#i do have common sense it’s just that I ignore sound logic and reasoning regularly

[dercolaris]

Purification

Fandom: Resident Evil Village

Characters: Mother Miranda, Salvatore Moreau

Relationship: Mother Miranda & Salvatore Moreau (None-romantic)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word length: 2052

Warnings: No warnings

Status: Complete

Short Summary: There are still doubts in the once pure heart of the Lord.

The heat was lurking heavily in the air as Salvatore dragged himself into the protective walls of the old church. It was so incredibly hot outside. He practically couldn't remember when Romania had such a warm summer. Temperatures usually climbed to twenty degrees or less by mid-year – not nearly forty. The doctor wiped his completely sweaty forehead and closed the large doors behind him. A pleasant coolness settled over his still busily mutating body. The Lord took a few deep, liberating breaths. The black-haired man quickly recovered himself and strolled up to the impressive altar, looking nervously around the spacious church again and again. The shadows of the hungry Lycans flitted past the cold stone, looking like unique patterns on the otherwise bare walls. The creatures growled loudly and dug their claws deep into the rock while moving around. They patrolled the whole village, especially around their high priestess. Otherwise, the Lycans regularly terrorized the surviving villagers or hunted animals in the adjacent forests. Salvatore had little to do with the cult's bloodthirsty aides. Of course, he had also experimented with the mould on some creatures, but without any significant success and the mindless nature of the mutants sometimes made him doubt the good intentions of Mother Miranda. The doctor brooded for a moment. She had once been so peaceful and shone with foresight and unattainable wisdom. For this reason, the villagers in particular could not believe for a long time that the priestess could actually be hostile to them. This blind trust had made it unexpectedly easy for the woman to build her own army and drastically reduce the human fraction of the small village. The Lord shrugged his shoulders slightly. He had sincere pity for the poor souls, but they would serve a greater purpose. At least that's what Mother Miranda kept saying. The man blinked a little and looked at the altar, then tilted his head slightly to one side. Everything seemed to be staged again today, even almost wrong. Salvatore half closed his eyes. The black-haired man was still not an idiot, even if the parasite slowly ate its way through his mind and gradually robbed him of the ability to think independently. This suffering of the poor people was not justified, no matter how hard the priestess tried to convince her subordinates otherwise. The black-haired man put a hand on one of the golden cups on the richly decorated tablecloth and carefully lifted the noble metal.

His grey eyes looked at the blood-red gemstones and for a moment regarded his own shape in the reflection of the material. Countess Dimitrescu and Lord Heisenberg seemed to have been completely robbed of their former humanity by the Cadou and were only little interested in the fate of the common people. Basically, the villagers were only expendable research objects or served as a slowly dwindling source of food for the family of the vampire. And the doll maker in her never ending solitude? Countess Beneviento was too caught up in her own world, which did not allow her to judge the current situation with a sense of logic. Salvatore carefully put the cup back. The priestess was probably just trying to convince him by now of her good intentions, but that wasn't really necessary. In principle, the doctor had no choice but to stay by her side and serve her. He could feel the parasites very clearly in his body. They moved through his organs, looking for new places to infiltrate and infect. They planted their poison deep in his cells. The man now closed his eyes completely. He feared the total loss of his former compassion. Wasn't that what made him and his family so special? Above all, his father, a noble doctor without great demands, had repeatedly explained to him during his childhood that their work was not for own enrichment and was only intended to help the general public. The Moreau family's job was to keep the village in excellent health. Salvatore looked down on the floor, concerned. He now successfully trampled this code under the force of the Cadou. The black-haired man looked up at the half-destroyed cross and finally fell to his sore knees. The Lord wiped the tears from his eyes and finally clasped his hands tightly. He lowered his head in humility and began to say a quiet prayer.

A solitary prayer for all the sacrifices the cult had already demanded and who would follow in the near future. The doctor knew that God had left this village years ago. Presumably he did not want to watch his own creation perish under the hand of evil. Salvatore spoke the 'Our Father' in a shaky voice. Perhaps the angry and restless souls would forgive him if he expressed his repentance to them. He ignored the constant growling of the Lycans, repeated his silent prayer three times. After a few seconds the man looked up at the symbol of his former faith. It would probably not be long before the cross succumbed to the extreme weather in Romania and fell down. The old chains were way too rusty. The doctor got up with great difficulty and snorted softly. He was the only one of the counts who actually came to church regularly to pray. Salvatore was about to make his way back to his reservoir when a melodic woman's voice stopped him: “Salvatore. Haven't we talked about this several times, my son?” Mother Miranda. The black-haired man shrank in an instant and turned to the priestess, startled. She came slowly towards him, a small smile lay on her lips. The man mumbled softly: “I can't bring myself to not pray at least once a week. My parents raised me to praise the Lord and I don't want to cover my families name in shame by simply forgetting old traditions.” The person addressed nodded slowly and took a step closer to her subordinate. As usual, there was no denial in her eyes, but a small trace of disappointment. This expression suddenly faded and gave way to a seldom observed warmth. After a while the woman spoke calmly: “I have always valued this loyalty in your soul, my child. A gentle and generous heart beats in your chest.” The Lord looked confused at the leader of the cult. Was she really serious? Her eyes left no room for doubt.

The doctor played with his fingers and replied shyly: "That is firmly connected with my original profession, Mother." The priestess laughed a little. She put her hand tenderly on the man's bulging cheek and caressed it tenderly. She spoke slowly while stroking the skin: “It is always touching to watch how seriously you take the suffering of the unbelievers and pray for their unsaved salvation. You are more than entitled to rule by my side, no matter what my other children say. I need a pure heart like yours for my plans, in order to maintain the balance between necessary hard-heartedness and good-naturedness." Salvatore swallowed a large lump down his sore throat. Her words sounded meek as usual, but the content was anything but peaceful. He knew all too well what hard-heartedness actually meant to the priestess. The leader of the cult showed no mercy in achieving her goals and regularly showed this nature in her dealings with the villagers. The black-haired replied hesitantly: “I really want to believe your words, Mother, but I have a hard time looking at the sheer destruction around you. Are all these sacrifices as necessary as you always say?” The woman raised her eyebrows slightly. She was apparently surprised by this question. Before the priestess could answer, the Lord added, almost begging: “Please tell me the truth at last. I can't stand the uncertainty or another lie in my life.” Mother Miranda ran her thumb over the man's cheekbones. She remained silent for a while, seeming to ponder an appropriate formulation for her answer. Finally the woman reassuringly stated: “It is necessary, Salvatore. The locals have followed a misconception and need to be purified in order to know their true destiny. Unfortunately, drastic means are often required for this.” The doctor looked the priestess in the eyes. He searched for the hidden lie, some sign that there was a valid reason to doubt the leader's intentions. After a while the black-haired man lowered his gaze again and asked cautiously: "I have to trust in your words, don't I?"

The woman smiled gently, only nodded slowly. She turned to the altar and lifted the cup that the Lord had held in his hands earlier. As if by itself, the vessel filled with a red liquid. Mother Miranda handed the goblet to Salvatore and said calmly: “Drink up, my son. It will quench your thirst for certainty and give you a clearer view of our task.” Small black dots floated in the strange drink. The Lord took the cup with trembling fingers and smelled the liquid slightly. At least it wasn't human blood, but the many pieces in the drink made him sceptical. He looked up uncertainly. The leader ran her fingers over the balding head of the man and quietly assured him: “Trust me, my child. It won't harm you. Drink.” The doctor looked back into the liquid. Finally he made up his mind and put the mug to his lips. Salvatore couldn't see the black dots moving in the direction of his mouth on their own. He drank the indefinable drink in big gulps. A sweet taste spread across his tongue, as well as a certain coolness in his whole body. The black-haired man wiped his lips with the back of his hand and handed the goblet to the priestess. Suddenly he was panting hard, practically gasping for air. Something was moving in his body. The Lord fell hard on his already aching knees and clutched his slippery temple with his fingers. Mother Miranda put the cup back on the altar, then carefully placed both of her hands on his head. She spoke almost gracefully in a soft voice: “I will cleanse you of all your doubts, my son, and take away the difficulty of having to make important decisions on your own any more. Express your loyalty to me and I will end your current suffering."

A strange feeling crept into his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw black dots moving through his superficial blue veins on his arm. Salvatore opened his mouth a little, but no words came out of his throat. The pain in his chest got worse and worse, but suddenly he no longer believed that it was a bad thing. A strong tingling sensation on his back signalled that something was happening to him. At that moment another parasite broke out of his skin and stared out into the world with icy eyes. The doctor finally replied in a whisper: "I will be loyal to you forever, Mother." As promised, the pain disappeared as if by magic. What remained was a feeling of closeness to the woman in front of him. They might not have the same blood, but their connection seemed beyond this ridiculous family trait. The cult leader gestured him to rise. She breathed a little kiss on the man's forehead and meekly whispered: “That's right, my child. Let go of this nonsensical prayer to a dead God and devote yourself entirely to your task. I have to be able to trust in you.” The Lord nodded eagerly, a broad smile crept onto his lips. He wasn't going to fail her. He couldn't fail her. Salvatore dragged himself to the gate of the church, flinching again and again from the working poison in his body. He finally wandered out into the stifling heat. The priestess watched him carefully and waited until she found herself back in her usual loneliness. Only then did she speak to herself, barely audible: “With all the others, only one Cadou was enough, but your ridiculous morality keeps you sane with three parasites now. I don't know whether to be impressed or upset about this development, Moreau.” Mother Miranda stood at the altar for a while, then withdrew to the basement of the church. There was too much to do right now to philosophize about such small failures.

#Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil Village #Salvatore Moreau #Mother Miranda #Cadou #Parasite #Hurt #Comfort #None-Romantic #Religious #Priestress Miranda #Miranda #Salvatore #Moreau #Lord Moreau

[whenthesecondsun]

I was commenting on someone else’s post about people (specially men) who insist on seeing so-called sex work as no different from any other low-skilled job, and since that turned into a whole fucking essay, I figured I’d post it as such.

I had a realization about men that have this stance a couple of days ago but didn’t have the patience to put it down into words until I saw this other post, so here it goes:

I was thinking about how many men who call themselves progressive insist despite all logic to think of sex work as ‘work’, no different from working at McDonald’s or at an Amazon warehouse. And I wondered, how the fuck do I explain to them all the visceral, unquestionable ways in which being raped for pay is simply not comparable to wage labor? How do I even explain it to myself? 

Then I remembered the key difference between how men and women think of prostitution: men for the most part only think of sex as an activity that feels good. That’s it. That’s the difference. That’s what sex is for men. It’s something they always want, will do just about anything to get, and that gives them the ever-craved orgasms they apparently live for.

You know those jokes about how even bad sex is good sex? How sex is like pizza, even the crappiest one is still good? Did you ever hear something like that when you were younger and think ‘erm... that doesn’t sound right, though?’ yeah, that’s because you’re a woman. And those jokes are made by men.

Men’s idea of bad sex is sex that isn’t as good as it could have been. Their experiences with sex don’t usually get any worse than that. Fears of STDs (which het men are far less likely to get) and pregnancy (which cannot happen to their own bodies at all) are far off abstractions for men who are too irresponsible to think through consequences of their actions. Being victims of rape and abuse is so unlikely that they don’t even compute it.

Women’s idea of bad sex, on the other hand, includes everything from ‘i didn’t get to come’ to ‘he turned out to have a weird ass fetish/be too rough and i didn’t love it’ to ‘I got literally hurt or injured by this sex’ to ‘i did not consent to this, partially or fully’ to ‘I got an STD after he refused to wear a condom’ to ‘I got pregnant after he refused to wear a condom - and now I have to figure out what to do about it’ to ‘i was manipulated into this and only realized it later and now I feel like an idiot’ to to to to ad infinitum. You all know the drill. That are a LOT of things that can go wrong for women when we have sex, a lot of risks to avoid and even what we might consider good sex isn’t always good enough to be worth those risks. No wonder we’re so much more careful about it. Or we should be.

I think one of the key reasons sex positivity has become so popular with young women is that they see how men think about sex, how easily they enjoy it, how little they worry about it or feel guilty, and they want in on it too. Women want to be able to view sex as a simple pleasurable act, like men do, and not as an ever widening web of fears and horrors just waiting to sneak up on you and ruin your life and mental health.

But to do that, to have that simple, pleasurable sex with men, given the way men think of sex (specially the pornsick ones, who have increasingly become the standard), women have to internalize those ideas of what men find attractive - which is a challenge, considering that so many things men find attractive are deliberately painful or humiliating to women. At the same time, women have to deliberately shut down the part of their common sense reminding them of all the risks of what they’re doing, all the possible mental and physical pain they might endure because of it, or else they’ll end up doing what other women did for generations before us: not have casual sex at all. And who wants to be THAT girl, who’s too caught up in politics and too afraid and too frigid to have any sex? The one that can’t get a boyfriend? The one who’s clearly missing out on such an ESSENTIAL aspect of everyday life that is casual sex, which all the cool kids do regularly? Best not to think about it at all.

So women are stuck, either trying to convince themselves that these types of (painful, humiliating, dangerous) sex acts are fun, acceptable, enjoyable, in order to participate in casual sex; or recognizing that they aren’t but then risking not being able to find a partner at all, or having any sex at all, which in our society is increasingly seen as a personal failure and as proof that you are unlovable.

(Obviously that last part isn’t necessarily true, and we can definitely have higher standards for the kind of men and the kind of sex we’re willing to have and still, hopefully, be able to find it. But the more normalized it becomes for casual sex, bdsm, kink etc to be the mainstream, the harder it is to find men (and women) who are willing to grapple with the issues inherent in that culture and move away from it.)

And that, ladies and gentlewomen, is how we end up having to field these questions (nearly always asked by men) about what is the inherent difference between prostitution and unskilled wage labor. Because to men, who can only conceive of sex as a fun activity with few negative consequences, being a prostitute if anything sounds loads BETTER than working at an Amazon warehouse all day. And since these same men hardly have the thinking skills or empathy necessary to think of women as humans beings with their own unique experiences, they can’t imagine that (or how or why) women might have a completely different understanding of sex, which for us clearly, unquestionably makes prostitution a lot worse than any other kind of ‘job’.

And meanwhile, we get a whole generation of young women growing up with this idea that having lots of meaningless, kinky sex is a true sign of freedom, that it’s something fun and exciting and normal and they should really do as much of it as possible, or else they’re missing out on the golden days of their youth or some such nonsense. Because they’re being fed this rhetoric all the time, everywhere, and being told it’s what makes them a good feminist to top it all off, these women are well-used to ignoring the parts of their brains that reminds them of the dangers. And, of course, people in denial are always the first to get defensive. 

So these women internalize this message that lots of sex is good and empowering, and women being financially independent is obviously good and empowering, and therefore ‘sex work’ is good and empowering. And GOD FORBID anyone tries to tell them otherwise. Their mental defenses are shut tight against that, and they will fire back at anyone daring to mess with their denial pathways.

#anti sex work #Antiporn #radfem #radfems do interact

[linkspooky]

The Curse’s “Creed”

Jujutsu Kaisen has a set of unique antagonists. Curses that are made of and emerge from the darker side of human emotion, and yet have gained intelligence and emotions of their own. They are at the same time, human and completely inhuman. Underneath the cut let’s explore the unique psychology of Jujutsu Kaisen’s most terrifying villains. 

1. Living True to Their Desires

In chapter 92-93 after already sealing Gojou there is a unique dialogue scene where after gaining victory, Mahito, Jogo, Choso, the three intelligent curses still decide to throw caution in the wind simply because they can. They act according not to logic, but to their own desires. To summarize the situation lightly all three curses, plus Fake Getou engineered the Shibuya incident with the primary goal of sealing Gojou. They also have a secondary goal of giving all of sukuna’s fingers to Yuji in order to grant Sukuna possession of the body and persuade him to their side, with those two objectives victory would be on their side. However, rather than doing the logical thing, Mahito suggests they do the illogical thing. 

They kill Yuji now, not because it serves any strategic purpose but because Mahito simply wants to. He wants to throw the whole plan off not for any good reason, but just because he strongly dislikes Yuji. It’s a situation that is all risk and practically no gain. For a human there would be practically no reason to do this besides “I want to”, but for a curse this move almost makes sense. Curses are the living embodiment of whims. They are desires. Understanding that curses lack the ability to say no to their own desires the way humans do is important to understanding them. 

The origin of curses lie in human beings. As Megumi explains, negative emotions that are regularly repressed subconsciously flow out of people and gather in places. These story concepts are based on several real world psychology concepts. 

The Shadow.

In Jungian psychology, the "shadow", "Id", or "shadow aspect/archetype" may refer to (1) an unconscious aspect of the personality which the conscious ego does not identify in itself, or (2) the entirety of the unconscious, i.e., everything of which a person is not fully conscious. In short, the shadow is the unknown side.

Because one tends to reject or remain ignorant of the least desirable aspects of one's personality, the shadow is largely negative. 

Repression.

Repression is the psychological attempt to direct one's own desires and impulses toward pleasurable instincts by excluding them from one's consciousness and holding or subduing them in the unconscious. Repression is a key concept of psychoanalysis, where it is understood as a defence mechanism that "ensures that what is unacceptable to the conscious mind, and would if recalled arouse anxiety, is prevented from entering into it."

Collective Unconscious

Collective unconscious (German: kollektives Unbewusstes) refers to structures of the unconscious mind which are shared among beings of the same species. It is a term coined by Carl Jung. According to Jung, the human collective unconscious is populated by instincts, as well as by archetypes: universal symbols such as The Great Mother, the Wise Old Man, the Shadow, the Tower, Water, and the Tree of Life.

Basically to put these three ideas into practice as an explanation for the emergence of curses. Every person has an unconscious part of their mind. This is made up of all the anxieties and undesirable aspects of ourselves that we are mostly unaware of. People do not live their lives constantly confronting the worst aspects of life, or their own negative emotion, so to live from day to day most people choose to repress, that is a defense mechanism that pushes unsavory things to the back of your mind. Finally if everyone has an unconscious mind comingles and forms a society, then Jung posits that everybody in that society collectively generates an unconscious as well. 

For example in the fight against Toji, Getou summons a Kuchi-saki Onna. This isn’t a traditional Yokai, but rather an urban legend that went around in the modern ages. It’s a story that people started telling about a woman who wearing a face mask walks up to a man, asks them if they’re pretty, and if he says no she kills him, if he says yes, she cuts his face up to look exactly like hers. This urban legend is told and retold enough times and enough people believe it that it basically enters the popular conscious. Jung’s idea of the collective unconscious is the same, that myths emerge from the fact that people existing in a society all tend to share the same experiences in life and therefore often tell the same stories over and over again. 

Curses’s emerge from this collective repression that humans do. Humans are built from lies. Humans feel hatred, murderous intent, but choose to repress these emotions instead of acting on them. 

What Jogo is referring to is the persona. If the shadow is what’s underneath the surface, then the persona is the surface. It’s the mask that all humans wear. 

The persona, for Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung, was the social face the individual presented to the world—"a kind of mask, designed on the one hand to make a definite impression upon others, and on the other to conceal the true nature of the individual"

Persona is the way humans engage other people. Behavior is in part a performance. The way you behave changes based on who you are around, you don’t swear in front of your grandma, but you might if you’re hanging out with friends. Therefore you’re always intentionally presenting a portion of your personality and trying to show what you consider to be your best traits rather than your worst traits. The conscious mind decides, it acts, it performs, whereas the unconscious mind that we have no control over simply is. Which is why Jogo says that curses products of an unconscious mind are simply more honest than regular human beings. 

Curses lack that mask. They can’t repress, they can’t lie, and they can’t ever deny their whims.

2. I Desire 

 This panelling in Mahito’s plan to either kill Yuji or offer the fingers to Sukuna is symbolic of this divide between conscious and unconscious. There are two faces to Yuji Itadori. There are two people essentially dwelling within the same body. 

 There is the forward facing Yuji, a well meaning boy who wants to save everyone he possibly can and surround himself with friends so he doesn’t want to die all alone like his grandfather. Then there’s Sukuna, the reverse face, the other side violence, selfishness, and the idea that might makes right personified. They may seem like total opposites, and yet they exist within the same body. 

Sukuna... Sukuna is literally called a two faced spectre. He’s thematically designed around the concept of having too faces. But, Sukuna and Yuji aren’t the only two faced characters. Everyone has two faces, ultimately. 

Yuji seems like he is too much of a good boy to have anything in common with Sukuna, but once again the idea here is dualism and not opposites. Yuji and Sukuna are two sides of the same coin. Yuji for all of his good intentions, is also capable of murderous anger, and relying on violence and strength above all else to solve his problems. Sukuna isn’t Yuji’s opposite, but rather someone who exist on the other side of Yuji. 

And Jung would argue that this collectively exists for all people. Yuji can have a terrifying curse like Sukuna existing in his shadow. Getou who was a decent, caring person can suddenly snap one day and decide to kill every last person on earth. Curses argue that these violent desires, these horrible urges, are not inhuman but rather that they’re perfectly human and emerge from human nature. Jogo uses this reasoning to assert that because they are unfailingly true to these desires that curses are more human than human beings themselves. 

This is in part what the small fry and reverse retribution arc was about. 

Junpei, who is for the most part a normal good kid who loves his mom is also casually thinking about how if he had a button to press that would kill all of his bullies he would press it without hesitation. At the beginning of the arc Junpei isn’t seriously thinking of killing them of course, but those negative emotions exist in his head. Junpei is the standin for the everyman character. It’s an understandable feeling, if you were being bullied consistently and didn’t have a happy life, part of you would just wish the bullies would go away by any means necessary. 

It’s not that hard to believe that the desire to kill is a completely human urge rather than an inhuman one. After all, humans make weapons, humans make wars, all of these are ugly sides of human nature that we often turn a blind eye too rather than confront. 

Mahito argues to Junpei that there’s no reason for him to restict themselves. Because Mahito lacks what most humans would call a conscience, or a set of restraints. It’s like most people might feel the urge to kill their bullies just because they want the pain to end, but also most people have a switch that prevents them from acting on those urges. For Mahito that switch is broken. He has no mechanisms of repression, he’s pure desire. 

So he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get why people would choose to restrict themselves in any way. He doesn’t understand why people would want anything other than absolute freedom. What Mahito encourages Junpei to do is to live more like a curse. To do what he desires when he desires without needlessly holding himself back or thinking of the consequences. 

It once again sounds inhuman but it emerges from human psychology. There’s an idea that overlaps with the shadow called the Id. Freud and Jung basically had models for the unconscious mind, Jung had a split model with Persona / Shadow while Freud split the mind into three. 

In the ego psychology model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual desires; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic agent that mediates, between the instinctual desires of the id and the critical super-ego

The id is a set of uncoordinated instinctual desires. For example if you had a cookie on a plate in front of Mahito and you told him not to eat it for five minutes, Mahito would have already eaten the cookie before you finished telling him. Mahito is pure Id, without any other part of the ego to interfere in his decisions. Freud split the ego into three planes, and just by coincidence there are now three major curses left. 

Mahito, Choso, and Jogo. This is what we call a freudian trio, each character corresponds with one area in the model of the psyche. Mahito who is the most impulsive and desirious of the three is the Id. Mahito is unrestrained, while he seems to enjoy the company of the other curses he doesn’t seem to mourn Hanami’s death at all (when even Jogo reacted to it), and decides everything even his involvement with Junpei who he merely found interesting until he didn’t based on a whim. He lives his life unrelated, unattached. Which makes sense because Mahito is literally the embodiment of the fear to connect that stops people from getting close to others. 

Choso is the opposite of Mahito. He’s the one most tied down. While Mahito emerges from the human psyche, Choso himself is literally a half-human half-curse hybrid with human emotions which makes him the most human of the trio as well. Mahiro is unrestricted, but Choso deliberately chooses to bind himself to his family, and his blood ties. Unlike Mahito he’s genuinely upset when he loses those ties and feels an obligation to kill Yuji to destroy them. He literally even uses blood as his weapon, and blood is a symbol of connection. This makes him the super-ego, because he’s the overly restrained and critical one. 

Jogo, the middle ground between those two extremes who is also the only one trying to stick to the plan is the ego. While he’s the one trying to remain logical, it’s also easy to appeal to his curse nature and just like it’s the ego’s job to negotiate between the Id, and Superego, Jogo is the Ego because he serves as the middle ground between the two extremes who keeps their long term goal in mind. 

Mahito can only think of his goal in the short term, and Choso can only think of the family ties he’s obligated to uphold, which makes the role of being the one to reconcile them both into looking at the big picture falls to Jogo. 

Jogo is still a curse ultimately though, and he’s easily persuaded by Mahito’s appeal to desire rather than his logic. 

Despite being capable of logical decision making Jogo is ultimately, prey to his impulsive nature as a curse. He doesn’t want to lose at the game, or left behind from all the others, or deny his desires and because of that he gets lured by Mahito into making the illogical move. 

If in humans the conscious mind is the ruler, and the shadow is the subject then its the reverse in curses. The shadow is the ruler, desire will trump everything else while conscious mind will always fall underneath the rule of desire. Curses are capable of thinking and being logical, but they don’t have the switch that lets them repress themselves like humans do, and that’s what makes them so deadly. 

#mahito #jogo #choso #jujutsu kaisen #suguru getou #curses #jujutsu kaisen meta #jjk icons #jujutsu kaisen theory #jjk meta

[thatishogwash]

Friend is the Watchword

BoKuroo Week 2020

April 1st, Wednesday - Affection

Five

“Hey hey hey!”  Bokuto crashed into the room which housed the Nekoma Boys Volleyball Team.  Kuroo already had his futon laid out, his back against the wall as he flicked through the songs on his Ipod.  “What are you listening to?” The over enthusiastic teen sprawled out on Kuroo’s futon, basically half laying on Kuroo.  Kuroo held out one of his earbuds without prompting, lips tilting up in a grin as Bokuto placed it in his ear before laying his head down.

It had become a nightly ritual for them during their many training camps spent together.  Bokuto had a hard time winding down from the day but listening to whatever music Kuroo was interested in the time with the background noise of the other boys getting ready for bed and the soft scritch-scritch of Kuroo’s pencil on paper as he did his work gently lulled him into a relaxed state.  More and more often Bokuto would end up falling asleep like that, the other Fukurodani members would check to make sure Bokuto was there but let him be.

No one had to know Kuroo requested earbuds instead of the headphones he usually used for christmas from his parents.  Just like no one needed to know that Kuroo spent a good chunk of time researching and downloading new music that would be calming and soothing.

He was just being a good friend, that’s all.

Four

They move in together after their first year of college.  It’s a tiny apartment on the fifth floor of a building that has seen other days.  The dorms lost their appeal for Kuroo after month one when he realized no one cared about anyone else's sleep schedule, things regularly went missing, fights were a common occurrence, and the fire alarm had been set off at least once a month.  After that Kuroo can deal with an elevator that doesn’t work and a shower that never quite has hot water.

The apartment only has one tiny bedroom so to save on money and space they only buy one futon, big enough to fit them both comfortably.  Kenma had given Kuroo the blandest look when he said they shared a bed due to economical reasons.

“It’s logical if you think about it Kenma, stop giving me that look.”

Kuroo still thinks it was the best decision but he decides not to tell anyone else about it.  Not because he’s embarrassed or doesn’t think it was the right thing to do but he doesn’t want other people to get the wrong idea.

“We’re just friends Kenma.”

Three

It had been a long day on top of an already long week.  The train was crowded even though it was pretty late at night, which meant Kuroo and Bokuto were standing back in a corner and trying not to infringe on anyone’s personal space.  Kuroo had a hold on the bar above his head and was idly scrolling through his email when suddenly there was more weight added to him.

Kuroo braced his legs better as Bokuto rested his head on his shoulder, letting on a deep sigh that showed he was still partially awake.  He then slipped his phone in his pocket so he could wrap his arm around the other man, just in case he really did fall asleep.

Bokuto was having a difficult time with his new team.  It was just an adjustment period, they would all find their rhythm and grow together but at that moment it felt disconnected.  Bokuto felt like he had taken several huge steps back and while he had made great strides on his mental health journey, he still had a tendency to have his ups and downs.

So if Bokuto needed a shoulder to lean on late on a Thursday night then Kuroo would be that shoulder because that’s what friends do for each other.

Two

“Looking good number 8!”  Kuroo yelled from the stands, earning a disgruntled look from Kenma next to him.  Bokuto turned, spotted Kuroo and gave an energetic wave before being pulled away by a teammate.  Honestly Kuroo couldn’t convince Kenma to come out with him often so when he did he had to make the best of it.

Which usually meant annoying Kenma until he started to threaten to leave.

“I thought that annoying voice sounded familiar.”  Kuroo turned, frown in place before he recognized the three people before him.

“Holy shit Sawamura, did you shrink?”  Kuroo cackled as the two old rivals bickered for a moment before he was reintroduced to Azumane and Sugwara.  Kuroo made room for them to sit down and Kenma looked relieved to not be the center of Kuroo’s ribbing any longer.

“Do you go to all of Bokuto’s games?”  Sugawara asked, smiling sweetly. The way he phrased it made Kuroo suspect there was more to that question than it sounded like.

“I try to make it to as many as I can, our schedules don’t match up a lot.”  Kuroo answered honestly.

“It’s impressive that you two are still together.”  Sugawara said, causing Kenma to snort quietly next to Kuroo.

“Suga, you can’t be so nosy.”  Azumane whispered urgently, earning an elbow from Sugawara and an eye roll from Sawamura.  Kuroo suddenly realized they had it all wrong, that they thought Bokuto and him were together but before he could clear that up the crowd cheered loudly.

Kuroo looked over to see Bokuto’s teammates slapping him on the back.  Bokuto looked up into the stands, beaming widely at Kuroo who gave a loud wolf whistle even though he had missed the play.  He could clear up the misunderstanding later, right now he was there to support Bokuto.

Support him as a friend would.

One

Kuroo would never have thought that large, in the prime of their life athletic men would be such lightweights.  He guessed it made sense, most of these men treated their bodies like a temple. Plus between games and training there wasn’t much time to drink and not worry it would interfere with their job.  But the tournaments had wrapped up, the season was done and everyone was letting go a little.

Never in all of Kuroo’s 25 years of living has he felt smaller than he did now.  He was a respectable 188 centimeters, he towered over the majority of the population and was constantly being asked to get stuff off of the shelves for his co-workers.  Yet here he sat, feeling like a delicate little flower surrounded by powerhouses and mostly enjoying it. He had no idea how Hinata dealt with it since he probably weighed as much as Barns left leg.

Bokuto was pressed up against Kuroo’s back as he explained something in a bastardized version of English and Japanese that was helping absolutely no one.  Meian seemed to be the only one who could understand and didn’t seem too put off by translating both ways, though his responses were getting slower with every sip of his drink he took.

“We should eat something to soak some of this alcohol up.”  Meian, who from what Bokuto had told Kuroo, looked as if he took up not only the reigns of captaincy but the role of the group dad.  Considering he had twin toddlers at home it made sense that he was used to the chaotic energy this one team had.

“Yes!”  Thomas agreed, looking proud that he had understood that much Japanese.  Bokuto cheered happily for him. “Karaage, please?” He looked around, confirming that he had spoken correctly.

“I’ll go get it!”  Bokuto leapt over the booth, surprising everyone with nailing the landing without falling on his face.  Kuroo laughed, wondering if he should let Bokuto wander over the bar without reminding him of something important but he decided to be nice.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”  Kuroo asked. Bokuto turned and tilted his head, his owl-likeness growing the more inebriated he got.  The only noise was the distant chatter of other patrons and Miya lamenting the lack of Sakusa, even though everyone had begun to ignore his incessant chatter almost the moment they entered the izakaya.

“Oh!”  Bokuto grinned, suddenly remembering and Kuroo laughed, reaching towards his coat when he felt something warm and a little moist against his cheek.  He turned slowly to look up at Bokuto. “I’ll get you sashimi too.” Bokuto went to the bar to place their order.

Kuroo slowly removed his hand from his jacket pocket, where he had stashed Bokuto’s wallet after the man had asked him to hold onto it for him.  He had seen a video on how keeping a wallet in the back pocket could have adverse effects on the spine and considering Kuroo always had a bag or coat on him he usually ended up holding onto Bokuto’s wallet and phone.

Kuroo touched his cheek, which Bokuto definitely had kissed.  No one at the table batted an eyelash, as if that behavior was not only accepted but expected.  Kuroo had laughed when Miya had shouted ‘No spouses!’ as he followed Bokuto into the bar. He had thought it was a joke.

They were just friends after all.

Right?

Zero

“Hey Kouta?”  Kuroo asked into the quiet of their shared bedroom.  They had moved out of their tiny flat from college into a more spacious apartment.  It had two bedrooms but they decided to turn the second one into an office-home gym.  They still shared one bed.

“Hmm?”  Bokuto hummed in response, drowsy from a full day.  During his off season Bokuto usually picked up a job to keep himself occupied in between practices and working out.  He had decided coaching a bunch of overactive 5 year olds on how to play football. Bokuto didn’t know anything about football, which was mostly fine because neither did the kids.

“Are we dating?”  Kuroo asked, fingers running idly through Bokuto’s hair.  He felt the other man shift towards him, it was too dark to make out any expressions but he could feel those nearly golden eyes searching him out.

“Do you want to be?”  Bokuto asked but continued on.  “I wouldn’t mind, but this is good too.”

Kuroo thought about it.  This, what they had, what they’ve been having for many years was good.  They were happy, both of them and healthy. They both found fulfillment in their chosen careers, they were settled, and content.

They were friends, very good friends after all.

But perhaps they were also a little more than that.

#bokuroo week #bokuroo week 2020 #my writing #haikyuu!! #hq #bokuroo #bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsurou

[mariniacipher]

J’en ai revé

A big thank-you for @quillfics42 for beta-ing this monstrosity! 

Summary: 

“The singer wore a veil that let his bronze skin gleam in the candle light, golden embroidery and precious pearls on his red dress a token of his skill and a staple of the wealth it brought him. His red painted lips stretched into a charming smile that showed rows of white teeth. All three men turned to him, just like the other nobles in the room, and as the musician started playing on the piano and Roman slowly started to sing, Virgil’s world shrunk, until all he could focus on was the gorgeous singer with the heavenly voice. It stretched around the notes with grace, inflected with heavy emotion as he sung of love and betrayal and grief, swaying to the melody, grass green eyes travelling over his audience- until he met Virgil’s gaze. Red rose to Virgil’s cheeks, and he wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t, eyes locked with Roman’s as the singer subtly smirked; he enjoyed the attention of the adorable noble in his audience. The song continued, and all others fell away as Roman saw the other become besotted with him. He loved the other’s sweet smile against better knowledge, winking at him with the last few notes, carried on by melancholy.”

(Royalty AU, with noble!Virgil and singer!Roman)

Ships: Prinxiety, background logicality, familial moxiety

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remy is mentioned

Warnings: slight angst because of the class difference, danger of cavities because of the abundance of fluff

Word Count: 5.681

Virgil “Angoissé” Sanders’s original reason for visiting his cousin, Marquis de Chiot, was to escape his parents and brother for a few months, their pestering about wedding plans and possible suitors finally driving him away. But, as he conversed with Monsieur Berry, a friend of his cousin’s, about the recent developments in astrology, he found himself suddenly aware of how little he missed his home, how seamlessly it’d been replaced by Patton’s château and, more importantly, those inhabiting and regularly frequenting it. The revelation had a careful kind of joy curling around his heart.

The noble looked up as his cousin joined them. Patton sat down next to him, his curly  black hair in an impressive up-do, a pastel frock coat highlighting his dark skin. It was easy to spot Monsieur Berry’s flush on his pale face.

“I hope you’re having a good time,” he smiled, and Virgil suppressed a snort as he could watch the other’s mind reboot, not minding being ignored if only for the entertainment it brought him. Berry quickly straightened though, polite facade setting back into place. The only trace of his anxiety was his unsteady hands unnecessarily adjusting his glasses.

“Of course, Monsieur,” his smile turned sheepish, “you know I always enjoy your gatherings.” Patton blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I have heard you’ve employed a new singer to perform today?” Logan asked, somewhat brusquely, hoping to ease the noble’s flustered state but still not having regained his composure.

“Oh yes! He should start right about-” he stopped as he heard a servant begin introducing the coming performer: Roman Prince. “-now.”

The singer wore a veil that let his bronze skin gleam in the candle light, golden embroidery and precious pearls on his red dress  a token of his skill and a staple of the wealth it brought him. His red painted lips stretched into a charming smile that showed rows of white teeth.

All three men turned to him, just like the other nobles in the room, and as the musician started playing on the piano and Roman slowly started to sing, Virgil’s world shrunk, until all he could focus on was the gorgeous singer with the heavenly voice. It stretched around the notes with grace, inflected with heavy emotion as he sung of love and betrayal and grief, swaying to the melody, grass green eyes travelling over his audience- until he met Virgil’s gaze.

Red rose to Virgil’s cheeks, and he wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t, eyes locked with Roman’s as the singer subtly smirked; he enjoyed the attention of the adorable noble in his audience. The song continued, and all others fell away as Roman saw the other become besotted with him. He loved the other’s sweet smile against better knowledge, winking at him with the last few notes, carried on by melancholy.

He bowed to his audience of one, having forgotten the men, women and enbies applauding him, only seeing the violet-clad man that slowly regained his senses as Remy stood next to him, sending him a smirk that Roman elected to ignore. -It wasn’t like he wanted to do anything but to talk, to flirt, to enjoy himself. Even commoner were allowed some fun, weren’t they? Besides, he wasn’t naive enough to start something with a noble . He’d learnt his lesson.

But before he could head to the sweet gentleman, he was already swarmed by lords, ladies and serrahs, voices overlapping, smiles blurring and perfumes dizzying. The singer gave them a charismatic, practised smile, knowing these people could employ him one day, that his living depended on their fancy, but he inched away from the crowd as quickly as he could still. Still replied to questions he couldn't understand with pleasantries that held no meaning in fear of seeming rude.

Thank the gods, he managed to escape and spy the cute noble, who was being teased by his employer- oh, cruel world, why must you torture me so - who in turn was being pined after by a scholar sitting with them.

Roman took a breath, steeling himself as he walked towards them, the epitome of nonchalance.

~

Virgil saw the singer head towards him out of the corner of his eye, and, eager to escape Patton’s incessant teasing, he excused himself, hoping the scholar wouldn’t be offended by his abruptness. He met the singer who’d bewitched him only seconds ago halfway, offering him a skeptic glance, which was met with a confident grin.

“You’re a magnificent singer, Monsieur Prince.” Virgil said, for it was the truth, and although Roman was used to people complimenting him, he blushed. Huh . No matter. He stepped closer, to an almost indecent degree- not that the other seemed to mind.

“I would hope so, tesoro ,” he twirled a lock of hair between his fingers, “either way,  I’m glad to have performed here... It’s so rare to find good company nowadays.” Roman delighted in seeing the other blush, his tough facade cracking; not that it took him long to fix his mistake, sadly enough.

“Of course, singers are always so limited in their place of business, after all.” The wry reply wasn’t expected and Roman was left gaping for a second- rude! - but he couldn't just let the other get the better of him so easily! The singer quickly put a smile on, hoping to cover up his faux-pas.

“Oh, but we are, skeptical one-  whether the courts I sing at are Spanish, Finnish or French, in the end they’re all the same. We may not be limited to a place, but to a scene, a type of people- although you seem... distinct, -”

“-Sanders, Virgil Sanders,” Roman took his offered hand, ”And please, Monsieur Prince, don’t take me for a fool,” Virgil’s smirk twisted into a self-deprecating grin, “A man as far traveled as you should notice I’m no different than any other.” They let go. Virgil’s hand felt cold without the other’s around it.

“Quite the opposite, I fear,” Roman charmed. Virgil laughed, not convinced, but amused.

“Well, I hope you’re worth my time then,” he teased.

Roman gasped, hand raised to his chest. “Such slander! It is truly a disgrace, to be treated so rudely by the one I’d hoped to be my company tonight!” He raised a hand to his forehead, careful not to displace the small tiara perched on his dark hair, noticing how pretty Virgil’s amused smile looked. “But then, how dare I expect anything else from those born into arrogance, those that drink from goblets of gold and sleep in beds of silver-”

“It’s mahogany, actually. Silver would be a bit show-off-y, don’t you think?” Virgil’s smile only grew at Roman’s deadpan look.

“You know what I meant-” the singer froze before his teasing reply could escape him, suddenly reminded of just who he was talking to “- I- I’m sorry, I… I am more than overstepping my bounds, Monsieur,” he said, mortified at his break of etiquette, eyes on the floor- he’d just gotten so involved in their banter- but that’d be meaningless if the noble- noble , Virgil was no commoner, he was off-limits, above him, noble - decided he didn’t like him anymore. Even if Virgil seemed like… like he was kind, and witty, and sometimes even sweet, that could change. And if it did, Roman would be left behind with nothing but rumours to circle around him, keeping him from ever getting employed here again. He couldn’t risk that.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Virgil saw the singer’s anxiety, his insides twisting at the thought that he’d caused it. “It’s not like it was unrequited.” A hesitant smile. “And I cannot speak for you, but I quite enjoyed having someone to banter with.” Roman chuckled at that, relief letting his tense muscles easing up again. Virgil’s smile grew.

“Oh no, your enjoyment is certainly reciprocated,” he grinned, gaze growing distant for a moment, before he returned to the present again. “But if you’re a Sanders, then you should know this mansion well, shouldn’t you? Family ties and all that.”

Virgil’s eyebrows rose in question. “Well, duh. I do live here, Princey.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me around? It’s so boring always seeing the same rooms- there’s bound to be something more interesting behind all these closed doors.” Judging by the skeptic look Virgil shot him, he knew Roman wasn’t being quite truthful, but that was fine with him.

Away from prying eyes, their teasing continued, and Roman had to keep himself from preening as he got Virgil to laugh. It was a beautiful sound. He’d love to hear it again.

~

Virgil blinked as he saw the name on the envelope, before opening it, blushing as he noticed the paper smelt of the same perfume Roman had used at the soirée. He quickly unfolded the rose colored paper, snorting as he saw the extravagant, loopy cursive. Of course the singer ‘s handwriting would be unneededly dramatic, anything else would’ve clashed with his aesthetic.

Dearest Virgil,

I hope not to disturb you too terribly, but after our meeting, I found myself reminiscing about our conversation, and yearning to once again find you in my presence to match wits and exchange quips.

Therefore, I am asking whether you shall be attending the soirée on the 16th of this august at Marquise de Lafayette’s Salon as I shall be singing there, of course considering your cousin’s approval. I hope to have piqued your interest, and to see you there...

Answer me soon, mio temporale-

Sincerely,

Roman Prince

It took Virgil a few seconds to stop his mind from reeling, feeling the redness cover his cheeks, reading and re-reading the letter over and over again, thinking of the flamboyant singer, of him wanting to spend time with him, converse with him, be seen with him-

It was absolutely ridiculous. Ludicrous, even! -Almost hysterical. An asinine idea- if his parents ever found out, they’d be scandalised! Besides, this was probably nothing but a fleeting interest of Roman’s, he’d be after some other shiny quickly enough, really, it wasn’t worth the heartbreak-

His eyes found the invitation again, the proof of Roman's affections. His chest filled with warmth as he read the words again, written in such a loopy script it was sometimes hard to decipher them.

He got his stationary, cursing himself and the world at large, but still wearing a silly smile.

~

Roman fiddled with his cuff links as he waited for his cue. The harpist, a slight woman who was further dwarfed by her giant instrument, shot him an annoyed look. He pacified her with a charming grin, but his nerves remained. Which was dumb . After all, he’d sung in front of much larger crowds before, to much more important people. Really, this should be easy, effortless, child’s play.

He peeked through the door separating the performers from the nobles, and saw Virgil, mingling with the crowd, and his heart jumped into his throat. He almost beat his head against the door frame, but it wouldn’t do to destroy the work Talyn had put into turning his shoulder-length hair into something resembling an updo fancy enough for Roman’s tastes. He hadn’t been this nervous when a servant took him to prepare for his show- for hell’s sake, he’d kissed the other on the cheek!

And Virgil had blushed, looking for all the world like a dream come true… Roman wished he could sneak back to him, exchange jabs and banter, forget the judgemental stares boring into his back. It shouldn’t bother him at this point; ever since he took to singing before nobility he’d been beloved on stage and a commodity off of it, it wasn’t anything new at this point. But that didn’t mean it didn’t irk him still…

“It’s time, get on your positions!” barked another servant, Roman scowled at his rude tone, but did as he was told. Arrogant imp. He stood next to the harpist; she gave him a sympathetic look, but Marquise de Lafayette was already herding her guests inside, smile bright and easy.

She wasn’t young anymore, laugh lines around her mouth and creases between her brows, freckles dotted across her cheeks, sweet and caring to everyone she met. If she was the only one he had to interact with, he wouldn’t mind singing for her more often, if he was honest. She had a way of making people comfortable that was similar to that of Virgil’s cousin.

He was ripped out of his thoughts by the first notes of the harp. He straightened, putting on a sweet smile to fit the romantic ballad. The lyrics were mystical yet sentimental, a song he’d grown up hearing, the words imprinted in his brain, along with the memories of his family, his siblings, their home, filled with music to distract from the emptiness of their stomachs.

He caught Virgil’s gaze, caught the wonder in his eyes, the tenderness.

He sang with renewed vigour, the room fading until all he felt was Virgil’s soft gaze on him, their eyes locked, his fingers twitching to reach out. So close, even with a whole room in-between them.

The song ended too soon and didn’t last long enough.

Virgil had to force himself to clap and applaud with everyone else instead of running up to Roman and do something dumb, like taking his hand, like cradling his face, like kissing him. He was almost relieved at the gazes constantly on them; if it weren’t for them, he didn’t know if he would’ve kept his composure. He still hated them as they surrounded Roman, crowded him with questions and advances alike, his discomfort obvious in the tense line to his smile, the way his gestures, so grand and flamboyant as they first talked, were now subdued.

A protective, cold kind of rage boiled in his gut, gave him the courage to wade through the crowd until he was next to Roman, next to this charming man he wanted- needed - to protect.

He took Roman’s arm, smile sweet and false, saying something he wouldn’t remember later- asking the other to join him for a breath of fresh air? Roman gave him a grateful smile that stole his breath, and before his blush could ease, they were already on the balcony, his eyes plastered to the gardens below to avoid having to look Roman in the eyes, suddenly self-conscious. What if he’d read the signs wrong, what if he’d just taken Roman out of the spotlight unwillingly, what if the singer would never want to speak with him again, what if he never forgave him? What if-

“Thanks for saving me back there.” Virgil looked up just in time to glance at the other’s beautiful- sheepish smile, his hands twisting on the railing. Their eyes met and for a second, there was only stillness, before Virgil finally managed to reply.

“Well, you looked uncomfortable…,” he murmured, hoping his anxiety wasn’t as obvious as the heat on his cheeks. Roman smiled at him; it seemed the other could see right through the false smiles that beguiled so many. It was almost exciting, talking to someone who cared for more than the shows he put on, were they literal or figurative.

“Still, thanks for the rescue,” Roman grinned, gently shoving his shoulder against Virgil’s, making the other chuckle. It was such a pretty sound, almost addictive.

“You know me, the knight in shining armour.” Virgil scoffed at the inanity of his statement, wry smile in place.

“Please!” Roman pointed at the noble in accusation. “It is I who would be a knight, noble and bold!” His smile grew nostalgic for only a second as he remiscined about dreams long dead. “You…,” he hummed as he thought, banishing the silly thoughts, “most probably, mio temporale…,” he snapped as it hit him, “you’d be an enigma! A living mystery with their home at court but their mind elsewhere, a dark, mysterious figure, well-known for their dry wit and awful fashion sense-”

“Hey!” Virgil pulled a mock-offended face, but didn’t bother to hide the amusement in his eyes. “I am so fashionable.” He threw his hair back with his hand and a distinctly dramatic flair that wasn’t supposed to imitate anyone at all . Roman pouted.

“Nothing but scorn for my efforts… truly, it’s a travesty,” he sighed. “After all, is it my fault you dress like you’re still in mourning? No; I’m naught but the messenger, and yet I have to endure such cruelty-”

“Jesus, chill,” Virgil grinned, even as he rolled his eyes. Roman threw a hand to his chest in shock and offence.

“ Never! ” How dare the other even imply for him to abandon his unearthly charms and magnificent personality? So rude… “I am the epitome of grace and elegance, to even think of critiquing my flawless self is blasphemy , you-”

Virgil tried to keep a smile off his face as Roman continued ranting.

~

Patton watched from inside as his cousin argued with the singer, smiling to himself as the two men both attempted to hide their obvious amusement. They were such an adorable pair! He really hoped Virgil would introduce him soon, so he could gush over them up close!

“They certainly are ‘adorable’, as the youths would say,” Logan commented and Patton jumped as he noticed the scholar leaning into his space, having followed his gaze. His friend quickly moved to steady him. “I apologize, Monsieur.” Patton nodded, flush on his cheeks, even though it was made subtler thanks to his darker complexion.

“It’s okay, nothing happened, after all,” he smiled; Logan blushed, nodding mindlessly. Only as he looked down did the scholar notice his hands still encircling Patton’s waist- such an inappropriate act! He quickly untangled himself, hands folding together behind his back, trying in vain not to miss the solid form of the Marquis under them. Patton cleared his throat, smile having grown sheepish.

“Uhm, sorry, I- do you want to go get a drink? With me?”

It would be incredibly rude of him to deny a Marquis’s offer, Logan reasoned. He’d risk offending him, maybe even falling out of his good graces, he couldn’t risk that, surely. He had to think of his future, if he ever wanted to reach the kind of renown he so ceaselessly worked for he couldn’t afford displeasing a noble as popular as Patton- it had nothing to do with his sweet smile, with his warm eyes, with his pretty, black curls, partly pulled back, framing his face perfectly, with the fire so often alight in his expressions, with his warm, infectious laugh, with his boundless excitement for everything, with the warmth of his skin when Logan kissed his hand in greeting, with how- How lovely he looked, pastel pink ensemble highlighting his dark skin, freckles dotted across his cheeks like little stars, arm stretched out for him to take-

“I- I’d be delighted.” Logan coughed slightly to hide the crack in his voice, tucking his arm into Patton’s, letting himself be led to a loveseat. The other thankfully overlooked his faux-pas, filling the silence with talk of the newest tidings of the astronomer’s gild Logan belonged to, asking for the his opinions only so he could hear him talk, seeing the passion lit in his eyes, the wild movements of his hands, the way his whole posture opened up.

Logan leaned into Patton’s space, hand resting on Patton’s thigh, and even a fool could’ve identified the look on the noble’s face as lovesick as Logan talked on.

A pity that Logan was a scholar.

~

Virgil looked up from his sketchbook as a servant entered the sitting room he and Patton were currently occupying, a letter in hand. He already moved to return to his sketch, as the servant cleaned his throat. “Monsieur Sanders, a letter for you,” the servant said, and Virgil tried to quell the excited grin attempting to find its way onto his face.  

“Oh?” He motioned for the servant to give him the letter, thanking him mindlessly, already opening it with unsteady hands. A blush came onto his face unbidden as he saw Roman’s now familiar script. He discarded the sketchbook without a second thought.  

“Ohhh, did Roman reply already? I’m so glad you finally made a friend!”

Patton smiled guilelessly as his cousin spluttered.

“Shut up! Besides, you don’t know if it’s him, it could be- I mean… shut up.” His shoulders hunched up to his ears as he moved to read the letter, hiding his face behind the sheet of paper and muttering ominously.

Patton nodded exaggeratedly. “ Sure .”

His focus on Roman’s reply, his addition to their most recent argument, spared Virgil from noticing the other’s pitiful attempt at a suggestive grin.

Dearest Virgil,

As much as I am tempted to agree with your excellent reasoning, I sadly must oppose you on the basis of one simple oversight- As much as Nathanael’s infatuation with Olimpia may have been caused by his loneliness, there are scenes wherein his perception of her changes because because of the telescope, an object given to him by Coppola and thereby the Sandman, leading me to believe in a shared guilt found between both supernatural and psychological causes-

Virgil couldn’t help smiling as he read the letter, obvious and adorable in his lovesickness, if you asked Patton.

He couldn’t help it, the letters they exchanged had only made it more obvious to him how smart and witty Roman was- not that he’d ever tell him that- and discussing plays and prose with him was just as fun as gossiping or trading childhood memories. He’d never felt this kind of ease with anyone before- the ease with which they could tease each other in writing and in conversation, the ease with which he found himself trusting the other man, the ease with which he fell for- grew to care for him. Especially paired with the nervous excitement that cursed through him whenever he wrote a response, whenever he saw Roman grin, saw him sing, saw him talk , voice infused with passion. It was like the world faded whenever the other man ranted about anything from Shakespeare to Schiller to his most recent employer- Virgil would gladly listen to him forever.

Patton looked up as he saw his cousin startle. He furrowed his brows, curious and slightly worried, but deciding to observe for now. Virgil blinked, re-reading what appeared to be the last passage of the letter over and over again, disbelief and joy warring on his face-

Virgil couldn’t believe this, only just holding back a burst of laughter.

I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries when I tell you that I’d be absolutely delighted to accept your invitation, and to spend the holidays with you- there is no one I’d rather be with, to be frank… as unspoken as it may be, between us, I value our friendship most fervently. You are a most respectable and admirable person, Virgil, and a joy to converse with to boost. I cannot wait to see you again, and I shall count the hours spent away from you.

Sincerely Yours

Roman Prince.

And as indifferent as Virgil felt towards the holidays, for some reason, he suddenly couldn’t wait for them to come.

~

Roman looked up at the Chiot family’s great country house. He stepped out of the carriage, watching two servants come out of the mansion, finely dressed, taking his luggage, the smaller one asking him to follow her. He nodded, mindlessly bidding the coachman good-bye. He wrapped his arms around his torso, even the short trek over the snow-covered pathway had him freezing, despite his thick cloak.

“Monsieur Chiot and Monsieur Sanders are in the salon, they asked you join them,” she informed him. Roman looked up- away from the marble floors, the plush armchairs, framing the hall leading to the grand staircase splitting in two directions halfway up, the frescoed ceiling and walls, the heavy curtains beside the grand, clean windows, offering a clear view of the snow-clad yet cherished gardens outside; looked away from all the signs of wealth and riches and status . Of all he never had and would never gain. His mind was suddenly cleared. Another servant took his heavy cloak. He noticed the warmth in the room, compared it to the cold that used to seep through his home, unless you were close to the always-burning hearth in their kitchen. He thanked the servant without looking at their face, before turning to the maid.

“Lead the way, please, mademoiselle.” It had been easy to forget Virgil’s status when they were together, when the only sign of it was the sudden lack of judgemental looks shot his way.

He regarded the details on the fresco with dread coiling in his stomach. It must’ve cost a fortune to have it painted. He looked at the maid’s back, the beautifully patterned short dress over her stays. They must pay her well. He never should’ve forgotten the distance between him and Virgil. The noble was born into lavish mansions, expensive clothes and luxurious parties, and Roman… he was Common. The thought stung. He shook his head to chase it away.

This was no occasion for such doubts; Virgil had invited him here, to spend the holidays together, and he had no intention of letting anything ruin that. Not even his own thoughts.

He bravely smiled at the maid, thanking her with a kiss to her knuckles as she held the door to the salon open for him. She rolled his eyes, but did it fondly. It was a familiar reaction. Roman felt earthed again.

~

Patton looked up as he saw Virgil turn towards the door, lighting up as he saw Roman in the doorway. He really did look dashing, in a red frock coat and an embroidered rose waistcoat, confidence draped over him like a shawl. His cousin seemed to agree, judged by the blush on his cheeks. It rivaled the pink details on his purple dress.

“Roman! I’d feared you got lost on the way from the foyer,” he teased, and Patton waved the singer over, who plopped down next to Virgil.

“You know me, dastardly devil, I’d never waste a chance at pleasant company- how are you, Patton?” Patton giggled as Virgil rolled his eyes, sinking back into the back of the coach, muttering ominously.

“I am feeling quite wonderful, Roman.” Patton motioned at Logan. “You know each other, right?” Logan nodded, straightening his waistcoat.

“Yes, we have made each other’s acquaintance.” It was hard not to, with them both so often in the cousins’ company. “It is pleasant to see you again, Roman.”

“I know, my presence is always a blessing.” Logan shared a look with Virgil, both rolling their eyes.

“Right, Princey, you tell yourself that.”

Roman gasped in faux shock. “How dare you-”

“It’s quite simple, really, I just tell the truth-”

“-The truth?! To proclaim such slander to be verity is a slight against the mere concept of it!” Roman gestured wildly with his hand, eyes looking at the mild distance. “It is a betrayal of what it stands for, to even utter it in the same breath as such- such-”

“Falsehoods?” Logan supplied, amused quirk to his lips.

“Falsehoods! Yes! Thank you, Logan! See, he gets me,” the singer huffed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, darling.” It was obvious that Virgil was teasing, but Roman still froze, blush spreading over his face at the pet name.

“Well, you should be!” The noble, who’d frozen as soon as he’d noticed the pet name that’d snuck past his lips without permission, smirked as he heard the singer’s voice crack, obviously flustered.

“Hey Logan, do you want to see the view from the observatory? It’s such a clear night, you could show me that constellation you talked about- Canis Major?”

“Oh, uhm, I don’t think it’ll be-” Patton motioned at Virgil and Roman, not bothering with any subtlety whatsoever- “Uhm- I mean, yes, of course, I’d be... delighted to show you.”

“Great! You have fun with each other, kiddos!” Patton took Logan’s hand to lead him out of the room, the scholar shooting he two other men an awkward smile.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Logan wanted to ask what Patton had planned- he was silenced by a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for going along there,” a blush to meet Logan’s was on Patton’s cheeks. “I hope you’re not averse to stargazing with me?”

Logan looked at Patton, sweet, sheepish smile, warm brown eyes and plump lips. The epitome of beauty. Then he kissed him. Their lips met for only a few seconds, before Logan pulled back. His hand had moved to cradle the other’s cheek without him thinking about it, there was a pair of arms around his waist- Patton took a step towards him. Their noses almost touched. Logan looked up at him with big eyes, and for a second, feared to have overstepped. Then Patton kissed him again.

His fears deserted him, replaced with euphoria.

This- this was nice. Patton tasted sweet, like the sugar he always put in his tea. This- it was really, really nice.

Logan never wanted for it to stop.

~

Virgil let out a breath as the door shut, trying to dispel the sudden awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Well… that was subtle,” Roman muttered, Virgil snorted.

“They probably wanted to have some alone time,” Virgil leaned against Roman’s side, “I swear, they’ll get together every day now.”

Roman hummed. He debated putting an arm around Virgil, surely it’d be too obvious? “Well, I hope it happens sooner rather than later, they are unbearably obvious in their advances.” He decided to go for it anyway.

Virgil nodded, leaning further into Roman. “Yeah, it’s almost embarrassing- how do they not notice that they’re in love? I don’t get them…”

“It is utterly absurd!” Roman used the hand not wrapped around Virgil to gesture wildly. “They are usually so intelligent too, I cannot comprehend how they’re overtaken by such selective bouts of blindness! It is simply-”

A knock interrupted them.

The two men quickly separated, blush dusting their cheeks, both avoiding to look at the other.

“Monsieur Sanders, a postman just came-”

“-at this hour?” incredulity rung in Virgil’s voice.

“Yes, Monsieur, they said Lord Sanders had been most urgent about this letter’s timely delivery.”

Virgil tried not to groan. “Of course he was…” His tone turned authoritarian as he turned to the servant. “Make sure the man stays here overnight, there should be a room available for him. Patton wouldn’t forgive me if I sent him out into the cold again. And the letter- please?”

Roman watched as the butler gave the letter to their master, gulping down the discomfort he’d done such a good job of forgetting. It was silly; of course Virgil acted differently towards his servants, of course he felt no qualms about such things. It’d be silly, and Roman was being silly, finding such an issue with the ease Virgil had when dealing with his butler. It was only natural. Virgil was a noble. No amount of bickering, of shared smiles, of cautious butterflies, would change that.

Roman knew that, or he was supposed to, at least. The door shut quietly, and Virgil looked at him oddly.

“Are you okay? You look… unwell.”

Roman put on a smile, practised and bright. The crease between Virgil’s brows deepened. “I am fine! Don’t mind me, just a bout of slightly irksome thoughts, nothing to worry about-” Roman cut himself off before he could add a title. It’d tip Virgil off and the noble already looked at him so doubtfully. He rested a hand on the other’s arm. “Come on, mio temporale, I won’t break in two.”

There was still suspicion in his eyes, but Virgil let him lie. “If you say so…”

“I do, so no need to grimace like that- whose letter even is that?”

Virgil sighed, suddenly weary. “My father,” he used his left hand to rub at his eyes, “he’s always had a penchant for killing the mood.” Before Roman could even formulate a question, Virgil sat up straight again, exhaling as he put himself together. Roman nervously played with the cuffs of his frock coat. “I’m sorry, I am being unfair,” the words sounded uncomfortably practised to Roman, but he let Virgil go on, “he is just a rather… traditional man, regarding some things. It’s why I’m even here; our opinions don’t quite… match.” A wry smile on Virgil’s face, a snort escaping Roman.

“Such surprise!” Virgil snorted at Roman’s teasing, the singer wanted to trap the sound between his hands, to keep it close to his heart when the world turned grey. “Well, if he’s such a downer, why don’t we postpone reading this darling letter to a time when we aren’t having such a gay, old time?”

Virgil shrugged, not resisting Roman tugging him close again. “I’m sure as hell not complaining.” he cuddled close to the other’s chest, hands wrapping around Roman’s, playing with his fingers.

“Aren’t you a poet,” Roman muttered, rolling his eyes, but it held no bite. He settled back into the couch, pretending not to notice when Virgil threw a leg over his, just like Virgil pretended not to notice when Roman freed one of his hands to trace patterns over the noble’s collarbones, exposed by his dress.

They drank in the other’s presence, watching the fireplace burn, talking with hushed voices, exchanging laughter and ignoring the warmth they both felt in their bellies, the butterflies in their stomachs, the infatuation that slowly grew into something more. It was a problem for future them to handle, a problem for a time when their limbs didn’t feel heavy with cosiness, their eyes slowly drooping, the trust they shared and the affection they held enough to lull them off to sleep.

Roman pressed a kiss to Virgil’s hair when he was sure he was asleep, the noble only huddling closer to him.

They were together, and, for now, they were peaceful.

#prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #royalty au #secret santa #cheesy #mutual pining #class differences #fluff

[goonlalagoon]

The Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry || Leagues and Legends

A few months back I wrote a Leagues & Legends/Hogwarts AU as a birthday present for a friend who’s also a huge fan of the books, and figured I may as well post it here!

When Laney Jones goes under the sorting hat, her back is perfectly straight and her face is placid, relaxed. Her hands fold neatly in her lap, and none of the students and professors think she’s anything other than calm, maybe even disinterested. 

Internally, she quite seriously threatens the Hat with a fiery death if it spits out her secret. The threat alone would probably merit Gryffindor, but the Hat isn't easily swayed by mere stunts. When the rip along it's hem opens, it sends her to Slytherin.

(Such a thirst to prove yourself. You'll do well there)

She's practically a squib. She makes no attempts to claim otherwise, because if you say you're Merlin reborn everyone watches you, but when they think you're a step away from being a muggle they take the fact that you got some coloured sparks as a victory, even if you're supposed to be turning a matchstick into a needle. Pride is one thing, but Laney knows that sometimes you have to let people think poorly of you so they won't look too close. 

She excels in herbology, potions, and magical theory. She won't excel at History of Magic until her second year, because she is unequipped both for professor Binns and for the way all of the magical history she knew was geographically removed from everything they covered in class.

(Laney Jones isn't a squib; her mother is a squib, so that effectively makes Laney a muggle. Her brother is a wizard, though she hasn't seen him since she was eight. She scours the Prophet every morning, because she still thinks her big brother is the centre of the world)

Rupert Hammersfeld had already read every History of Magic text book on Hogwarts' seven year book list at least once by the time he was ten. He stays awake in Binns' classes making detailed notes anyway, but most of them are his own thoughts and recalled external sources. Rupert likes history; his mother is a curse breaker, and so he knows plenty of non euro-centric history from her, and his uncle made sure to teach him at least some of the history of the parts of India their ancestors hailed from as well. He writes out theoretical alternate lesson plans when he's done transcribing his years-old notes on the British goblin wars.

He's read a lot of textbooks over the years, curled up in the Hogwarts library in the holidays. He watched years worth of students pass through the halls before it was his turn, helping his uncle with the paperwork and quietly finding the homesick kids at weekends with his palms full of hot-chocolate and handkerchiefs tucked into his pockets. 

His uncle fretted, sometimes, that he couldn't give Rupert as much time as he deserved. The world outside thought he did, of course he did, the headmaster of Hogwarts having to raise a child, it was a wonder he had any time for the boy at all. They sniffed and murmured about how irresponsible, how unseemly, it was for that Elizabeth to have not only had a child out of wedlock but to have then left it with her respectable, long-suffering brother to raise while she ran wild. 

He was pure-blooded (that his father had magic at his fingertips was one of the few things Rupert knew, not because his mother gave two figs about blood status but because one of the few stories she shared of him included the elegance of his preserving spells), from a line that could trace itself back to the Founders, and he just wanted everything to be orderly, calm, and safe. He spends ten and a half minutes under the hat, discussing where he should go. The hat is quite adamant, but Rupert knows how people would talk and takes a while to convince.

(Usually, the hat accepts a direct request to go into a certain house - but this is from a self-imposed sense of obligation, and under it there’s a strong sense that the hat’s option would be really nice, actually, so it insists)

The Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins don't have any first year classes together; for historic reasons they tend to be paired with the Ravenclaws, which suits Rupert quite well. He's from a family of Gryffindors, but they can be a bit...much, sometimes. He’s all for chivalry and protecting those who need it, but from a lifetime in the castle he’s familiar with just how often the Gryffindor common room exists in a state of chaos.

He's aware of the black almost-squib in his year anyway, of course. He watched his fellow first years arrive on the boats, matching names to faces as they were called up to the front of the Great Hall, noted houses. And you could never escape the gossip - a castle full of teenagers lived on rumour and hearsay.

Rupert sneaks down to Hogsmede regularly, to meet up with Sez and Bart. He slips past Laney in the halls or out on the grounds, unseen, and he says nothing to anyone - not that there was a student out of bed, or about the mix of muggle tricks and magical practical jokes she was carefully practising with, night after night.

They don't meet properly until third year, when they chose between the optional subjects and classes became more widely mixed between the four houses. Laney takes Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies. She doesn't particularly like the sound of muggle studies, but she knows her own grades - the extra work is worth it, she figures, for that number of perfect grades to outweigh her abysmal practical demonstrations. Besides, she's eyeing the idea of a political career, and she figures it wouldn't hurt to be officially Able To Speak the Muggle Lingo.

Rupert signs up for all of the same subjects except for Muggle Studies as well, so their schedules rather abruptly align almost completely. It's several weeks into third year before Rupert (hesitantly) offers her the recipe to a colour changing powder he'd found in a market stall, one summer visiting his mother. Laney had been hiding dyes up her sleeves and hidden in bracelets for years, turning mice green when she was supposed to make them into a pin cushion. The Dozen Drop Dyes she’s been using are expensive, and require active enchantment to make. A powder is in several ways easier to hide, and it’s something she can make herself with the help of a few magical ingredients.

She drops her Magical Theory books down next to him in the library the next day because he'd been struggling with the underpinnings of Gamp's Exceptions (again. It just didn't make sense! What was different about food? He could conjure wooden furniture, but he couldn't conjure spices that were made from dried bark. It wasn't logical) and Laney was painfully aware of anything even close to a debt.

By the end of the year, she would be trading notes and explanations because it was easier to study together than alone. He would be occasionally transfiguring things in class for her, always partially and always incorrect, and talking her through the non-magical defences he'd learnt over the years of helping Sez and Bart track down dangers in the streets of Hogsmede and the edges of the Forest.

At the start of their fourth year, there are  two arrivals of particular note. One is a red-head who towers over the first years, and the other is short even by the standards of his cohort. Farris, Jack, goes into Gryffindor. Sanders, Grey, has an extended period under the hat and is finally sent to Ravenclaw.

(Jack thinks the hat sounds a bit grudging about it)

It turns out that Jack is actually in their year, a transfer student. When asked where from, he shrugs and says "here and there", which people generally take as either home schooled, or expelled from every other magical school in the world, because it turns out that Jack gets into fights the way most people breathe.

It isn't even duelling; magic is rarely involved. Rupert half-suspects that's intentional. After all, when you're fighting someone over the fact that they've just said something dismissive about the muggleborn, sending them to the hospital wing with a broken nose without drawing your wand at all does rather illustrate the point. Rupert lectures him about fighting and files neat, official complaints and sends home form-written teacher’s notes where it will help.

(Grey slips safely beneath the radar, by and large. He doesn't get letters at breakfast, but occasionally he'll find a book he's never seen with his name on the fly leaf in the Ravenclaw common room. Spider had been at Hogwarts, once upon a time, and he used to slip out to Hogsmede, and after all -  the Ravenclaw tower was guarded only by riddles.

This was all immaterial, given he could also turn into a spider at will, but at heart Spider appreciated the detail of these things)

Laney and Rupert quickly discover that it is very difficult not to like Jack. He seems permanently cheerful, but has a streak of dark humour that never fails to make Laney snicker. His magic is all over the place, which Rupert marks down to his haphazard teaching. Some of the fourth year material  is old hat to him, and some of their first year spells are novelties.

He also has a distressing (to Rupert, at least) tendency to wander at will into the Forbidden Forest. Rupert makes sad sounds whenever he catches Jack wandering in or out of the trees, and ignores the guilty awareness that he's been gradually working on containing an acromantula infestation in there for years. 

Laney tells Jack she isn't even an almost-squib, magically speaking, early in their fifth year. She had thought about it the summer before but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She's too used to secrecy, and she can't just hand this over to someone without knowing for certain that they won't let it slip. He stares at her, delighted, and immediately produces a battered jacket imbued with a shield charm. She pours over it, and he promises to write to the friend who made it for him to see if she can be persuaded to share her secrets. 

Laney and Rupert are too busy with their own studies to help Jack catch up on the patches in his own past learnings completely, so he’s had a mismatch of tutors since the professors first realised he was missing several foundations. Somehow he ends up being taught second year Charms by the runty first year he shared a boat over with. Grey trades off time running Jack through old class notes borrowed from Laney and Rupert to explain things he hasn't necessarily studied yet himself for time going over the material the fifth years are currently studying. 

(Grey is vaguely considering taking his OWLs early, except then he'd take the NEWTs early too, and he'd be stuck out in the world with stunning grades but no legal guardians, too young to do things like rent a flat or get a job even with his forged papers placing him as a few years older than he actually is)

Jack gets letters sporadically, usually accompanied by pictures covered in sticky fingerprints. They rarely seem to be delivered by the same bird twice, until he goes home to Mexico for one winter break, Grey in tow. They have a great time, even if Grey complains about the heat, but he also notices that none of the family know anything about what their youngest has been up to for the past six years. 

He corners Jack about it once they're back at Hogwarts, in a roundabout way, and it spills out - the one magical son in an entirely muggle home, except for a mother who had some magical relatives and extended family friends in several different countries. They'd fabricated an excuse for why he was leaving home, and Jack hadn't gone back since. His mother had been insistent that it would be good for him, better than staying at the local underground schools or going to the closer boarding school in America, even if she hadn't been able to verbalise why. She just knew.

His mother had been quite keen to hear what he'd been up to since he ran away from school, but Grey knows he wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation and won’t be getting any answers if he asks.

Laney listens closely, peers sidelong at Grey, and smirks at them both. 

"Well, I had to forge enough paperwork to get onto the Hogwarts register and fool my mother." While Grey splutters at the new information, Rupert tilts his head and asks ‘why Hogwarts’. She's never spoken about this before, and he hadn't wanted to pry. Laney shrugs. 

"Uagadou acceptance can't be faked, and I was actually born in England - mom and dad were over for a year living with my uncle, diplomatic stuff - so it was just feasible that I would have gone onto their register not Uagadou's." She smiles, sharp. "And anyway, everyone at Uagadou uses gestures not a wand, so magic would be a lot harder to fake."

They derail into a conversation about different schools of magic. If Rupert or Laney find it odd that Grey goes quiet when they mention Mahoutokoro, the school of magic closest to his home town (though they don't know this, precisely, just that he has a certain face structure and accent, and a tendency to slip into Japanese when he’s grumbling over books without realising), neither mention it. 

Jack waxes unexpectedly, passionately lyrical about how colour coding robes is harsh and minimising and biased anyway, because it rewards grades not effort, and some of the more flashy, non-grade related ingrained colour shifts follow no reasonable pattern, with no care for context.

Did you know that if you kill an aggressive giant with a third year spell you'd use to play pranks on your friends every week (and a lot of luck), your robes turn shimmering gold for 'services to the community'? But if you kill a rampaging dragon as it tries to eat you after razing an entire village with a curse you've only heard of and never dreamt of using, they'll go white as snow.

The year Laney, Rupert and Jack reach their sixth year of school, Grey is finally old enough to go to Hogsmede with them - well. According to his paperwork, anyway. They had offered to take him before through the hidden passage Rupert preferred for getting to the village to meet Sez, but he'd waved an ink specked hand to decline because he was too recognisable, too obviously not old enough to be on a Hogsmede trip, and that meant he wouldn't be allowed into the bookstore, so what even was the point?

Jack cheerfully trails Grey into the bookstore, holding a growing pile of books and trying (and failing) to see any kind of rhyme and reason behind the collection. Laney peels off to the joke shop to buy a few new toys. She comes out with a mental list of other purchases for Rupert, Jack, or Sez to pick up for her later to make sure nobody draws too many connections to her.

Rupert wanders around the local houses with his pack full of gifts he's carefully brought down from the castle - a pepper up potion brewed with better ingredients than a family could afford, a handful of pages carefully transcribed from an old rare book that only existed in three collections in the world for someone's research, several bags of cookies baked in a corner of the kitchens (the house elves had gotten used to this when Rupert was a child and didn't panic too much nowadays) to hand out to anyone he knows is having a bit of a rough patch, or will just appreciate a friendly visit.

They meet up at Sally-Anne's place as always, because it's good, cheap food and Rupert wouldn't dream of going anywhere else unless required by circumstance to be a Noble Example of a Pureblood Son.

(Sally had inherited the Hog's Head not more than a couple of years ago, but she's been practically running it since she was fifteen so everyone thinks of it as Sally-Anne's)

When Rupert arrive there are already textbooks scattered over his favourite booth. He, Jack and Laney all have a Care of Magical Creatures group project to work on. Grey is theoretically working on his own History of Magic essay, but is actually pouring wide eyed over their notes. Jack is waving his hands as he talks at length about dragon communications to an increasingly fascinated Grey and a frustrated Laney, because none of this is in any of the five books she's read, Farris, where are your sources - Rupert nudges her as he sits down, because while the mystery of Jack's sporadic yet strangely specific knowledge base is something they both agree they need to get to the bottom of, they've also agreed they should probably make sure they do it somewhere they can't be overheard, given how much he slides away from it.

Halfway through doodling a dragon (it's supposed to be a Liondragon, but Jack knows it's a poor copy of the carved sketches he's spent years watching George leave on tables, support beams and pieces of firewood) Jack feels a chill on the back of his neck, and shrugs it off as residual paranoia. 

The window explodes a moment later, and he pushes himself thoughtfully up from the scattered glass.

"Huh, so I guess that was an anti-apparition ward being set." He tries to explain this to the aggressive fellow Gryffindor who's loudly threatening to go fetch the aurors, and winds up tearing up his robes to act as a tourniquet because he isn't carrying any dittany and it's not like he's going to be given his wand back to actually repair the splinching wound anyway so he needs to do something.

Laney catches his eye as the two searching men start tearing up the floor in search of the rumoured tunnel to Hogwarts. She's fiddling with the bracelet on her left wrist, a dark wooden bangle with - if Jack remembers correctly - some constellation etched onto it. Rupert goes very still beside him, eyes apparently fixed on Sally shouting furiously at the Wizards tearing up her pub.

The hidden compartment on Laney's bangle flips open, and the room is abruptly plunged into night as it fills with dark mist. Jack lunges forwards towards the wizard holding their wands, and rolls cheerfully to his feet amid the sound of them clattering to the floor. From somewhere off to his left he can hear the loud oof of someone who has just been punched in the guts and probably hasn't been in a fight other than a magical duel since he was ten and doesn't remember how to roll with the punches.

In the dark, Jack grins.

#Remember the Dust #Beanstalk #Echoes of a Giantkiller #leagues and legends #L&L fic #L&L!Hogwarts AU #Laney Jones #Rupert Hammersfeld #Jack Farris #Sanders Grey #This is a bit jumpy and no particular plot but it was fun #I went back and forth on which house Rupe should be in for ages #Because he screams Puff to me in a lot of ways #but I could be swayed to Ravenclaw as well #and I feel like baby Rupe would sit there going #No I should be Gryffindor #I'm sort of Gryffindor's legacy people with TALK they'll blame my UNCLE for not having time for me and I'm SUPPOSED to be Gryffindor #but I decided that the hat would go nope not the right reason to make yourself miserable I know what your uncle thinks and it is not that yo #u are a disappoinment if you don't wear the family colours #George is still running around in Japan learning magic on the down low from Bea #I...didn't decide what happened to Liam #Grey's dad is a squib but one who took it A LOT LESS GRACEFULLY than Laney's mom #Hence why Grey had to run somewhere else to get his education #Also yeah I was really struggling for a nice title for this one so #my writing

[rpedia]

[Ask RPedia] Getting Together: How To Meet Your Characters!

Anonymous asked: Alright, I've been reading your stuff and it's all really helpful and you're awesome- I've gotta ask this though. How do I get two characters to meet and a story going? I can't seem to come up with good reasons for people to interact with my character and it's really frustrating. I've made starters, but I always end up stressing over not being able to come up with a plot good enough to keep anyone's interest for very long and never send them. Any tips or anything would be great!

Sounds like you’ve got some issues beyond the original question, which means you want to meet characters and keep them interested in each other, I’ll deal with that too, but first! Let’s discuss how to get characters to meet up, in situations ranging from ‘we work together’ to ‘we don’t even exist in the same universe canonically.’

So. There’s a bit of a spectrum here in terms of how problematic it’s going to be to even set up a scenario in which two characters might meet, let alone the chemistry of that meeting and how to keep it going. So we’ll try to consider some broad strokes here, remember that these get ‘harder’ so you can use anything from any section for the others, they’re just focused on the easiest way to do it each time. So you can make it harder for yourself if it’s... actually easier. I don’t mind. Use as tools, not as rules.

So what if they already know each other? If they’re people who are from the same canon, and may know each other things are a hell of a lot easier. You’ve already got a library of scenes and situations they regularly find themselves in, together, or have the possibility of finding themselves together in. Is there an elevator? A pool? A regular event? Something hinted at, or rooms, or anything really that has a chance to have them both in the same place at the same time? Look! They have a reason to meet up. You’re golden.

Do they not inhabit the same area really, but know each other a little bit? Well, you have a more limited, set of preconceived settings. You don’t know anywhere they both frequent, but that means you can make one up. Look at people they have in common, or situations they may be attracted to but haven’t been show in. Things that are logical, just... improbable. 

Have they never met at all, yet have a reason to meet up? This one’s easy, spot their commonalities. What do they have in common? Do they both love hot dogs? They can meet at a hot dog cart. Do they both fight? Make a fighting tournament. Whatever they both like, or dislike, they can find a point in this universe where that would push them together. If not, there’s always the next option up.

Have they never met and have no reason to meet? This seems harder, but hell it’s just a matter of situations converging instead of people. A series of convenient plots. Some kid’s mom hasn’t picked them up from school. They meet an aliens from another planet whose navigation system got bumped by their co-pilot, they land on Earth, and while there realize they need to pick something up anyways. They walk across town, and bump into the kid. They’ve met. Kid shows interest in the alien being awkward. Takes an active approach to bothering them, and follows them. Tada! If it can work for boring school kid and an alien from another galaxy, something similar that’s just a bunch of excuses to get them in the same place.

Are they actually in different universes, so you have to break something to force a meeting against all laws of physics and man? Now this one is fucking fun. Because you literally get to BREAK THE UNIVERSE. This tends to be deliberate as fuck, so you might have a third party or force elaborately pushing these things to happen, or having them happen as a side effect to some major event somewhere in the universe. Or a minor one that causes major side effects. Look, something happened, and now a portal opened. You go through it, or your universes merge seamlessly, or you wake up in a city you don’t recognize and there they are. Surprise and fear and loss and hell the universes splitting in two during science and magical bullshit that defies physics is well and enough reason to latch onto the first relatively friendly or manageable person you see.

Now that they’ve finally met up, somehow, someway, they have to interact and stay interested in each other. This comes down to a lot of factors, including chemistry between the characters, and chemistry between the writers. You’re gonna need to step your game up, make shit up! Make the world come to life, give them reasons to interact. One of your characters has to be an active participant, curious about the other. They have to lead the story. They need to pester them, while the other character needs to do something else so that the first character has a goal to ‘understand’ them. Let secrets out slowly, and make sure you drop shit that makes no sense. They need to have more questions to follow up on them.

This can be as simple as giving a weird name, and having the character wanna know why they’re weird. Or your character could say something additional. “This is my name. Now scat kid, I need to ___.” Then the kid asks about the blank, and yadda. It all depends on temperaments too. Two nice character, a mean one, rebellious, a kid, an old fart who is so tired of this shit? They’re all gonna react differently as fuck to each other. So react! React big! Ask questions about them, show curiosity, share your character’s life in pieces to force them to ask questions back. Engage in curiosity, and drag them into hell with you by feeding theirs. Once you’ve met up, you need reasons to keep talking. Choose activities to do together as background noise or a sub goal while you really tie them up in each other’s lives. Force the setting to force them both to stick together. Kid doesn’t know how to get home anyways, so the alien, who forgets where they were, has to take them with them INTO SPAAAACE, or fucking whatever. Whatever makes sense. 

I have a arguably terrible habit of always going for the same basic things. Sleep, eat, play, work. I love dragging characters to go get food in town, or go hunting, or cook in the kitchen. I like to be tired, and get weirdly existential, and fight to go to bed, or find somewhere comfortable, or curl up near people and just talk. I like to go do things, like see the sights, go to carnivals, events, mess around with things we’re given in canon (or have devised as canon) in such a way as to be inclusive to my partners, or just play tag or wrestle. Sometimes, I even work, a character might have to drag a tagalong to work, and they can function together finding out they work better as a team than solo. They can fight, teach, explore, whatever comes with the job with tons more fun than they can alone. Even if they just tell stories while they go out delivering packages, and laugh it up.

Try to keep a real basis of interaction underlying everything. Nothing is perfect, I’m sure you’ve talked to people and had arguments in your life. Not everyone agrees, and a heated conversation can get you guys bonded together once you come out the other side. Embarrassments, misconceptions, errors, just plain disagreements? They are, surprisingly, fantastic ways to keep a story going. If everything is just yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir... well. If you’ve been around this blog long enough you can say this with me: Crisis is Necessary. Keep things interesting by keeping goals and problems arising that you need to fix. A happy comfortable character has no motivation to change what they are doing, and therefore you write yourself into a rut and everyone gets bored.

See: cuddling for 8 hours, walking for an entire RP without talking, falling asleep and expecting your partner to respond to your sleeping posts, kissing constantly, or just being quiet together and ignoring each other. You’re better than that. Show it. Do things you haven’t before, break your rituals, change little things, or make big things happen. It doesn’t have to come from internal actions, like what your characters want either. External forces can shift the whole story. Daily coffee? They were closed for repairs. Elevator broke, you’re trapped together. Someone died, and you need to get out your emotions. They didn’t have your fucking brand. Oh, a war is going on. Look aliens invading. Jesus Christ I got a letter to Hogwarts.

Anything is better than the daily grind. It can be hard coming up with stuff because you get iffy about whether your partner will like it, or if you will. You worry yourself out of it, or maybe you’re burned out and have no idea where to go next. Just kinda... roll the dice on it. Open a dictionary website and find a random word, and go off that. Read a news report and let it fuel your imagination. Skim fanfics, and go write your own ending and concept or, how you’d do it better. Take your favorite appealing things and apply them to your character’s stories. You love pears? Your character hates them? Have them mistakenly eat a pear, and react to it. Let them call someone to talk about it and complain. Anything can be a story idea. Every little happening, magnified, and plastered into a bigger wider version cut and clipped to fit your character.

Now why would people lose interest in a storyline? Some of the common issues are, the story isn’t moving fast enough, the characters aren’t being empathetic, your partner is stonewalling you by not reacting or acting enough, your partner is giving you minced replies with no content to reply to, or you don’t feel the chemistry and you can’t summon the willpower to enjoy yourself. It’s okay if you just don’t mesh. It’s not the end of the world. If you don’t mesh many many times over, you may want to examine your approach.

Do you regularly offer information that continues the storyline, or do you tend to use precise replies? Precision is great for school work and official documents, it’s shit for creativity. Give more than you get. Do you tend to try and avoid things partners are nudging towards you without giving other options? That’s stonewalling, it stops the flow of information, and therefore the creativity and story. Do you tend to rehash the same things over and over again? That can lead to burn out and boredom and players will wander off. Some folks just can’t keep their focus on slow replies too, so you might ask yourself if you’d do better in a faster chat, or a slow journaling platform that may take a week to reply.

You need to stand up, push for story, and keep things moving. But at the same time... stories end. And continuing the same scene day in and day out is not a good bet. I personally play in an episodic style. I do a scene, then we cut out for the day (sometimes over the course of two days) and timeskip to the next “fun” part. You don’t need to play out all the boring inbetweens, you’re a writer.  Writers don’t explain how someone takes a shit unless it’s important to the story, that’s why it seems like no one ever goes to the bathroom in novels unless they find something important there.

Feel free to do Episodic play, each day is a new scene, or every time you complete a scene jump ahead. You might run out of steam over time anyways. Most of my longer roleplays last a couple years max before they move on. My shorter ones last one session in public and then we never really get into it again. Roleplay is a fluid creature, don’t blame yourself if it stops occasionally. Sometimes it’s just not the right time for it. If someone complains, or you regularly lose RP for no reason... there’s a reason. Look at yourself and figure it out, don’t just whine, ‘people never RP with me, they just quit or block me for no reason!!!’ because that’s a fucking red flag that you do something horrible you don’t even realize, or you have been told and think they’re lying. Hint... they aren’t, and you’ll scare away more players that way.

In any case, action! Reaction! Story! Build more than you expect to get through and they’ll pay attention to the little details as future story hints. If you drop a phrase now, you might not get to it now, but you can bring it up again in a new context when things get slack. Just have fun, and make things as big and vivid and round for the character as possible in order to keep folk around.

Remember, it only has to make sense to you and your partners, everyone else can go fuck themselves. Have fun.

#roleplay #rph #rpc #roleplay help #rp #Ask RPedia #RPedia

[josephkitchen0]

Barking is the Language of Dogs

By Brenda M. Negri – Barking is a language for all dogs, and livestock guardian dog (LGD) breeds are no exception. In fact, barking is an integral part of what LGDs do. It’s always done for a reason and a purpose. Not all barking is the same and once you begin to understand your LGD’s barking language, you’ll note the variety of barks he or she possesses.

When a dog barks, it’s:

• Communicating with you, or with its own kind • Barking as a guardian • Barking a warning at a perceived threat • Expressing happiness, sadness, or loneliness • Barking out of frustration, fear, and stress

Learning to logically distinguish those barks is an important part of being a good LGD owner and can help you help your LGD do a better job.

One of the common complaints I read and hear about with livestock guardian dogs has to do with what their owner calls “excessive barking.” Novice and first-time LGD owners sometimes claim their LGDs bark excessively. Usually, it isn’t that the barking is necessarily excessive, but more of a problem of the owner’s inability to understand the reason behind the barking. That’s a problem that can be cured with education of the owner.

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Types of Barking

In her book, Barking: The Sound of a Language, famous European dog behaviorist, author, and trainer, Turid Rugaas, categorizes dog barking into six different types:

• Excitement barking • Warning barking • Fear barking • Guard barking • Frustration barking • Learned barking

Rugaas’ book goes into great detail on each type of bark.  Although an LGD is capable of all six kinds of barking, the two most frequent barks you’ll hear from them are warning barking and guard barking.

LGD pups will emulate their mentors and parents. This includes learning what to bark at and when.

Why Guardian Dogs Bark

The role of the livestock guardian dog is to deter predators from approaching livestock.  There are many ways this is accomplished.  One is by leaving scent or sign, by defecating and urinating around the perimeters of the dog’s patrol area.  By marking his “turf” an LGD sends a powerful message to any interlopers or intruders: “Be gone! And stay away from my flock!”  LGD breeds have been bred for generations to do this.

In Barking: The Sound of a Language, Rugaas writes: “In the scattered farms throughout Europe and other places with lots of space and few people, early settlers preferred dogs who (sic) barked when strangers were approaching, as a warning.  Today, if you get a dog like a Great Pyrenees, you will find out that they are still very good at barking in similar situations.  They are genetically dispositioned to do it and it would be cruel to punish them for it.”

Warning & Guard Barking

Besides marking territory, another way of telling predators to “steer clear” is by barking.  A warning bark is usually one sharp bark notifying you, the owner, that something is amiss.  Or there may be danger afoot and your LGD wants you to know about it.

By guard barking, the LGD ends a message to hungry coyotes, wolves, bears, or other predators to not come any closer, because this is the LGD’s territory and it is protecting it.

A dog’s sense of smell and hearing are much more accurate than that of a human.  Thus they typically smell and hear things we cannot.  This is why dogs often seem to be “barking at nothing” to the average observer, when in fact, they hear, smell, or even see something that escapes human detection.  They are actually warning or guard barking.

It’s prudent, therefore, for the LGD owner to first go outside and check what it is that his dog is barking at, rather than simply yelling at them to stop barking.

Bark signals are a universal language of all livestock guardian dog breeds. But some are less vocal — and less prone to barking — than others, even when something attracts their attention.

A Case Study in “Excessive” Barking

I would like to share a story from a client who sought my help with her LGD’s barking.

Barbara Judd of Froghaven Farm in Washington has four LGDs she received from me: Two purebred sibling Spanish Mastiffs and two dogs that are crossbreds of Great Pyrenees and Pyrenean Mastiff. The dogs protect her heritage flock of Buckeye chickens and goats on her 40-acre farm.  They had begun a habit of standing at a back fenceline on her large farm and barking off into the woods.

Barbara could not see anything, but she knew herds of elk and deer often passed through the area beyond her perimeter fence.  She also lives in a large predator area, with bear, lion, and coyote packs.  There’s no telling what could have been beyond her fenceline, on the prowl.

Two of her LGDs seem obsessed with something they could not see, and would stand for long periods of time barking at a high repetitive pitch that was both bold, yet concerned in tone.  Whatever was out there was disturbing them and they felt it was a threat to their chickens and goats.

Parallel Walking to Calm Your Livestock Guardian Dog

Taking a tip from Rugaas’ book on barking, I asked Barbara to go out and put the dogs on a leash and place herself between the dogs and the unseen but perceived threat “out there,” beyond the fence. I told her to walk them along the perimeter fence, parallel to what was disturbing her dogs. The important thing was to place the owner between the dogs and the perceived threat.

Barbara did this for about 20 minutes, then two more times later that day. The dogs calmed almost immediately. In just one day, doing this drastically cut back on her dog’s non-stop barking. She was able to help them and give them peace of mind.

Why did it work? Because she showed her dogs that she was involved in their dilemma and taking action to help them.

By placing herself between the threat and her dogs, she was showing her LGDs she was part of the guardian team. Likewise, this powerful body language put their concerns at ease.  The dogs knew she was taking responsibility for this, too.

They were still vigilant. But they relaxed, realizing their owner was not only aware of their guard barking, she responded to it, and showed them she too was concerned and cognizant of what it was that concerned her dogs. By putting herself between them and the perceived threat, she eased their minds. By this simple, yet powerful act, her body language showed her dogs she was listening.

The four dogs now have stopped their incessant barking at the fenceline. They are still vigilant and do their jobs, yet they’re no longer stressed or hyper-concerned and/or needlessly worried. They know Barbara is there to help them if needed.

Brenda M. Negri is an author, illustrator, and rancher, who raises and trains livestock guardian dogs in Northern Nevada.

Listening to Your LGD

Being tuned-in to what your LGDs are doing — and what their barking is telling you — is part of being a responsible LGD owner.

Likewise here, when my LGDs are barking at something beyond my fence that I cannot see, I typically go outside, stand next to and just in front of them, between the perceived threat and the dog.

I will stroke their head and back and speak calmly in a low voice. Their barking stops almost instantly. They realize I am there and invested in this possible threat, just as much as they are. That is usually all it takes.

Your guardian dog needs to know you are interested in what they are doing. They need to know you recognize what they’re telling you with their barking signals and that you are not ignoring them, but are engaged and acting on it.

The simple act of participating in the perimeter patrol was all it took to show Barbara’s LGDs that their owner was backing them up, paying attention, and was responsive to their concerns. Once they had that confidence, it calmed them and the excess barking stopped.

An owner or keeper should never punish a livestock guardian dog for doing its job when it’s barking and the keeper doesn’t understand why. It’s better to work at understanding the root cause of the barking. Show your dogs you’re part of the “protection detail” on your farm. Never resort to using harsh and painful artificial methods such as shock collars, electric collars, or muzzles, which can be incredibly painful.  And they confuse the dog.

Take the initiative to help your guardian dog out, by listening to their barks, understanding what they’re barking at and why.  And participate, by showing them you’re backing them up.

Recommended Reading:  Barking: The Sound of a Language, by Turid Rugaas, Copyright 2008, Dogwise Publishing, Wenatchee, Washington, USA.  www.dogwise.com/barking-the-sound-of-a-language.

Originally published in the July/August 2017 issue of sheep! and regularly vetted for accuracy.

Barking is the Language of Dogs was originally posted by All About Chickens