#but believe me it's my conscious choice to make them worse

[nomohmoss]

they continue their trip

#genshin impact #artists on tumblr #fanart #genshin fanart #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya fanart #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc fanart #sumeru #the quality....... #im afraid people might start thinking i post stolen pics with how shitty they look 😭 #but believe me it's my conscious choice to make them worse

[lilmoonbunny]

Take me Back; Ex-Graves

When your ex shows up at your apartment severely injured, you have no choice but to help him.

When you return home from deployment to see your houses lights on and blood on the carpet, the first thing you do is pull out your gun.

Moving silently through your house is the only option as to not scare the intruder away.

However, your movements became louder the moment you saw who was bleeding on your floor.

“Philip Graves, I haven’t seen you in a few years, and the first thing you do is bleed all over my carpet? Forever the gentleman.” Y/N let out a small sigh at the unwanted visitor, but glad it was him and not an intruder.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” the bleeding man grunted out, evidently delirious judging by his honest words. “You always said your house was open to me.”

Y/N sighed. “That was when we were together,”

Graves simply rolled his eyes and pointed to his wound. “Think you can help me out?”

Of course, the first person you see when you come back home is your ex-boyfriend. Even worse, he was bleeding on your new carpet.

With a sigh, you grab your med-kit and begin patching him up.

As you work, he’s completely out of it from blood loss. He’s pale, shaking, and uttering absolute nonsense.

“C’mon, Philip. You can’t just pass out on me,”

“Don’t call me that,” he slurred out, the blood loss clearly clouding his judgement. It was clear she had to stitch the wound quickly.

“Why not?” Y/N asked quietly, brushing Graves’ sweat-stuck hair from his face before beginning to stitch the wound.

A groan left the Commanders lips, but no complaints were heard. “You never called me that,”

“What did I call you?” Whilst she knew the answer, Y/N figured it would be best to keep him talking, even if he’d be embarrassed once he was rested.

“Phil, Graves, baby. It was never Philip.”

His words were true, but you had been broken up for nearly two years now. Surely it had to be the blood loss making him say this; he couldn’t miss you the same way you did.

Eventually, the man passed out and you were left alone with your thoughts.

A groan slipped from Graves’s lips as he gradually gained consciousness. He had no idea where he was, let alone who the woman in front of him was; the last thing that he remembered was being shot.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” a familiar voice sounded, “glad to see you didn’t die on me.”

He was shocked upon realising where he was. He always knew he would think about you in his last moments, but he didn’t expect to have come to your house whilst he believed he was dying.

“Gave me quite the fright, you know?” You were oblivious to his internal struggles and continued talking. “Thought you were an intruder, then was shocked it was you, and then had to patch you up whilst you were talking absolute shit.”

“I missed you,” he mumbled. He had no idea why he said that, perhaps he was still somewhat out of it from the blood loss.

You froze at his honest words. It was one thing whilst he was delirious and bordering on unconsciousness, but to say it whilst completely conscious, albeit likely still dazed, was something else. It was something he would actually remember.

“C’mon, Phil. Don’t say that.” Y/N sighed quietly, “Don’t say things you don’t mean.

Philip shot up at the words, groaning as he pulled his stitches.

“Be careful you idiot. I worked hard on them.” She said, but he knew what she meant: she still cared.

“Please, Y/N. Please take me back…”

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty imagines #call of duty graves #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mw2 x reader #call of duty mw2 imagine #call of duty mw2 imagines #call of duty mw2 fanfic #call of duty mw2 fanfiction #mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #philip graves #philip graves x reader #philip graves imagine #philip graves imagines #graves #graves x reader #graves imagine #graves imagines

[one-flower-one-sword]

Hello! I love reading your analyses. What are your thoughts on Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu?

Thank you for your ask! I'm so happy you like reading my posts, that really means a lot to me ;_;

Okay so I really like both Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu as individual characters and also their relationship, I don't know if I have anything interesting to say about them though ;A; but I'll give it a try!

First thing that comes to my mind is really how what happens with the both of them once they're in heaven is such good evidence of how toxic the work environment and the power structures up there are. Everything they already struggled with in their sect is even worse; the jealousy, the bullying, the intolerance, the abuse of power. Quan Yizhen was drawn to Yin Yu because of Yin Yu's kindness, but I think he could tell that the pressure to conform to heaven's power structures was starting to chip away at it:

Quan Yizhen kept going. "They cussed at me first. I don't even know them. They said I was a low-ranking heavenly official and yelled at me for no reason, then they laughed at me and told me to scram and not to block their way. I told them to apologize, and they wouldn't, so I beat them up. They only shut up when I beat them up, otherwise I wouldn't have hit them."

Things were considerably more peaceful in the current time*, but in the early days, some heavenly officials - from both the Upper and Lower Courts - would throw their weight around and bully lower ranked officials with less experience. Yin Yu sighed.

"Are lower-ranked heavenly officials beneath other people?" Quan Yizhen asked.

"No," Yin Yu replied.

Was that true? It was obvious that he didn't believe his own words, and Quan Yizhen noticed.

Quan Yizhen, who hasn't ascended yet, declares that he doesn't like heaven, and when Yin Yu admits to the same, Quan Yizhen suggests that they go back to the human realm. But Yin Yu is deeply caught up in what's essentially sunk-cost fallacy; because ascending to heaven was both his dream and quite hard for him, he wants to stay even though it's making him increasingly unhappy. He can't face the fact that his dream has turned out utterly disappointing.

I think they're also a good case of why it's downright impossible for individuals to change the power structures of the environment they find themselves in on their own - Yin Yu tries to conform and to get by with smoothing over conflict whenever it happens, essentially just forcing himself to endure it all quietly. Meanwhile Quan Yizhen rightfully doesn't understand why he should let himself be mistreated and pushes back, though that also essentially doesn't change their situation and only leads to more pressure being put on the two of them. From his perspective, leaving is the best choice since life in the sect, where he was simply left to train all day, was much better for him. But it's also understandable that from Yin Yu's perspective, it wouldn't be much better since he'd already been having similar problems back then with people expecting him to manage and control Quan Yizhen.

Plus, Yin Yu is very conscious of the opinions and expectations of the people around him and quite anxious to fulfill said expectations - I can imagine that he wouldn't know how to deal with his sect's reaction if he, a cultivator who had received the ultimate honor of ascension, were to reject said honor and go back to being mortal. Kind of ironic to think that once he's banished, he will start working for a ghost who did reject his own ascension.

*Minor aside, since this it's from when Xie Lian was watching those events unfold, I think it's less that things are actually more peaceful now and more that Xie Lian doesn't yet know how deeply the corruption of the heavens really runs and how bad things really are. Plus, he overall spends very little time in heaven, so I don't think we can fault him for having this impression.

Speaking of Xie Lian, I find it very telling that the ghost realm, and specifically Ghost City - the one single autonomous place within all three realms - eventually becomes both his and Yin Yu's home. I know people joke a lot about Yin Yu deserving a raise and such, but I think they forget what it actually means that he's the right-hand man of Hua Cheng, given that Hua Cheng holds so much power and influence in all three realms that he's the only one Jun Wu is genuinely wary about. That's an incredibly high position, not to mention the level of trust Hua Cheng shows Yin Yu, like in the amnesia extra when he sends him to deal with the monster that stole Xie Lian's memories. I'm going to get more into this in the Yin Yu-centric meta I've been working on though.

One thing I've been thinking on as I'm drafting this reply is that I feel what ties all four of these characters together is how their relationships started because of acts of kindness, both big and small, and the long-lasting effects thereof.

Like for Xie Lian and Hua Cheng I think no explanation is needed. Then Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu's relationship started when Yin Yu asked his shifu to take Quan Yizhen in to their sect when he met him as an abandoned child that really wanted to learn martial arts and got beaten up by adults for it. Then Quan Yizhen's friendship with Xie Lian started because when that play that very cruelly mocked Yin Yu was shown in heaven, Xie Lian was the only one that cared how upset it made Quan Yizhen and threw a chopstick to make the curtains fall.

And I feel like for Yin Yu, it might be the same with Hua Cheng, who he stays loyal to because Hua Cheng was the only one to help him and the one to take him in when all of heaven abandoned him:

"Chengzhu has shown me grace. He saved me -"

"I know," Jun Wu said. "He even helped you pacify and send off Jian Yu's vengeful spirit after he died during your banishment, am I right?"

Hua Cheng right from the start is described as someone who, despite being a Ghost King, is known to sometimes do "odd acts of kindness", and I feel that taking Yin Yu in was one of those. Because think about it - by the time Yin Yu is banished, He Xuan has already infiltrated the heavens, so there's not really any valuable Intel to be gained from taking Yin Yu with him. I can't really imagine Hua Cheng doing it just to spite the heavens either, at least not completely, since he lets Yin Yu hide his identity and apparently no one (except apparently Jun Wu) knew where Yin Yu even was for years. But I can imagine Hua Cheng coming across Yin Yu - a god banished and shackled, abandoned and mocked by all of heaven, punished essentially for someone else's choices but taking the blame regardless, accompanied only by a wrath ghost - who might that have reminded him of?

Sorry, I feel like i probably ended up talking about lots of other things than what your question was about. It's when I start thinking about the themes and stuff in this novel I can't stop ;A; Feel free to ask a follow-up question(s) if I got too off-topic!

#answered asks #lazyrunawayphilosopher #yin yu #quan yizhen #xie lian #hua cheng

[severalforraelee]

Positive Part 9: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Photo credit to emilia. on spotify

Word count: 2,181

Written by raelee / Posted August 29

Masterlist

Outerbanks Masterlist

Positive Masterlist

“Why didn’t you bring her to the emergency room?” I hear the doctor’s slurred voice as I slump against JJ’s side, eyes closed. Despite not being able to see the doctor’s face, I can sense his annoyance.

“She can’t afford the emergency room,” JJ responds.

The doctor heaves a heavy sigh before resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” my eyes open slowly, “I’m just really, really tired right now.”

“What else are you feeling?”

“My chest is burning… and I know it’s normal to feel this big at this point in the pregnancy, but I feel really, like, bloated,” I rattle off.

The doctor asks some more questions, typing on the computer as I answer them.

“I believe that you have severe heartburn,” he announces.

“We went to urgent care just because you’re feeling gassy?” JJ raises his eyebrows at me. I glare at him.

“It’s common to have heartburn at this point in pregnancy but not this severe. I will prescribe you medicine to treat it. For future reference I recommend watching what you eat, making a conscious choice to eat healthier, and to take TUMs or Pepto-Bismol if you feel this occurring again,” the doctor informs us.

JJ swings his arm around my shoulder as we walk out of the doctor’s office. “Are you going to be okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I just haven’t been eating as healthy as I should be,” I admit, “I guess I forget that kind of stuff affects the baby too. God, I’m going to be such a bad mom, JJ.”

“Hey, none of that,” he reassures me, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re going to be a great mom. If your one mishap so far was eating too many McDonalds french fries, you’re going to be the best mom to this baby.”

The Twinkie pulls up as we talk, Pope, John B, and Kiara peering out the windows with concern.

“How did it go?” Pope questions.

“I’m going to be okay, it was just heartburn,” I inform them.

John B starts laughing while Pope rolls his eyes and Kiara smiles.

“Thank God it wasn’t something more,” she comments.

“Yeah, really.”

~

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” I ask worriedly through the phone after hearing the arrays of curses.

“No, whatever you do, do not come in,” JJ’s tone is harsh but I know that it’s out of concern and love.

After piecing the clues together that the gold is in Mrs. Crain’s house, we decided to break in and investigate. I was all for it- I was excited, actually. Until JJ told me that I couldn’t come with because I’m twenty-five weeks pregnant. After much begging and pleading and convincing from Kiara, Sarah, and I, we convinced him to let me come with as long as I just stayed in the car.

I’m trying to push my luck with just staying in the car.

“I found it,” John B’s distant voice exclaims. “I found the gold.”

“There’s no way,” JJ says at the same time Pope asks, “Did you really find it?”

I lean into the phone and watch it closer with anxiety, like I’m actually there with them. I wish I was by their side right now, but I know that this is what’s best for the baby.

“Did he actually find it?” I question.

“Go, we need to leave,” Kiara’s voice shouts before anyone can answer me. There’s a commotion on the other end, I hear gunshots and everyone shouting.

“What’s going on?” I inquire nervously, not expecting anyone to answer. No one actually does, though, which makes my anxiety worse. My eyes are glued to the house as I wait for someone, anyone, to appear.

It could be John B, JJ, Sarah, hell even Mrs. Craine, I just want a hint of what’s going on.

The door suddenly flings open and everyone runs out, jumping into the Twinkie as fast as they can. John B takes off before the door even closes.

“What happened?” My eyes flit frantically from face to face, trying to find out if anyone was actually shot.

“We’re all okay, she just had a gun and started shooting,” Sarah reassures me.

“She had a gun?” My eyes widen in shock.

“Yeah, and guess what else she had?” John B pipes in.

“What?”

A smirk makes it’s way across his face. “The gold.”

~

JJ and I stand in front of the counter, facing the lady at the pawn shop as she examines the gold. Pope, Sarah, John B, and Kiara act as if they’re looking at various objects while secretly paying attention to the interaction.

“It looks like somebody tried to melt it down,” the woman looks up at us suspiciously.

I glance at JJ out of the corner of my eye, knowing that I’m just here to make this interaction look more normal while he does all of the talking.

“My mom,” he answers immediately, “She had all of this jewelry laying around the house and she thought it was best to melt it down. Thought it would be worth more when we sold it to be able to afford furniture for the baby.”

He reaches over, gently patting my stomach. I’m so used to JJ’s touch on my stomach by now that I don’t even flinch at the unexpected gesture.

The woman heads into the back to talk to her boss.

“Y/N,” Kiara hisses.

I look over in her direction to see her holding up an assortment of boas.

“For your gender reveal,” she suggests. I giggle.

The woman returns, and after much back and forth, her and JJ agree on $70,000 in cash. On our way to the warehouse, we get pulled over by cops.

“All of y’alls hands up in the air right now,” a man suddenly appears at John B’s window, shouting.

Fear runs through my body, not only for my life, but for my baby’s life, too. If anything happened to her right now because of the shenanigans I’ve gotten myself into, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

John B opens the door for everyone at the gunman’s instruction and we climb out one by one.

“Lay down in the ditch, on your hands and knees now. Put your face on the ground,” he hollers.

It’s hard for me to get down on my hands and knees on a good day, but with all of this stress and anxiety and my growing baby bump, it takes me a while to kneel down.

“Now, pretty girl,” the gunman shouts at me.

“Alright, relax,” JJ hollers back.

Tears stream down my face as I bend down as low as I can go, trying my best to not put my full weight on my front and top half. I choke back sobs as best as I can, hoping that this stranger doesn’t hear me cry.

John B gets up slowly and climbs into the cop car as we watch the gunman search through our van for the gold.

I breathe heavily as the gunman screams at us some more. The baby kicks at my ribs, probably because of my heightened emotions, but I don’t bother moving my hands from my head to rub my belly and reassure her, not wanting the movement to catch the gunman’s attention.

Then it all happens at once. The gunman climbs into the cop car, John B gets his gun and starts a fight with him, and he falls out of the car for everyone to beat up. In the time that it takes all of this to happen, I stand up from the ground and join the group at the cop car.

“I know this piece of shit,” JJ exclaims. “He’s a basehead.”

“Probably knows my brother,” Sarah comments. I look at her, but look away before she can catch my gaze.

JJ punches the man again, taking his wallet and stealing his ID. This is a JJ that I don’t recognize. It’s not the JJ that holds my hands at ultrasounds, or picks up onesies at the store because he couldn’t resist. This is a dangerous JJ… one that I wouldn’t trust around my child.

~

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rafe questions furiously as soon as I open the door.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused.

Pope jumps up from the couch next to the door, angling himself in front of me as if to block me from Rafe. By the way his hands are shaking, I can tell that he’s nervous, but he and I are the only ones here, everyone else gone to run errands, so he feels like it’s his duty to protect me.

It’s sweet, but knowing his history with Rafe, I’m more concerned with his safety than mine at the moment.

“Why are you here? Leave, now,” Pope demands.

“I’m not talking to you, Pope,” the blonde growls, eyes locked on me.

“Yeah, well I’m talking to you,” Pope reaches out, pushing at Rafe’s chest. That gets Rafe’s attention and his eyes shift to Pope.

“Stop, stop,” I sigh, stepping forward and between the two before it can go any further. “What do you want, Rafe?”

“You’re going on adventures while pregnant with my child? Do you know how irresponsible and dangerous that is, Y/N?”

“Do you know how irresponsible and dangerous it is to do coke all of the time?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“That’s different, you’re pregnant, I’m not.”

“Yeah but we’re both still expecting a child. Oh wait,” I give him a sugar sweet smile, “I am, you’re not.”

I step back, closing the front door.

“Barry told me about the gold.”

His words make both Pope and I freeze. Luckily, since the door is closed Rafe can’t see our actions.

“Once other people find out about it, you’re going to be in some deep shit. Trust me. I’m just warning you now so that you can protect our child.” The sound of his footsteps leave the porch and Pope and I stand, gaping at each other.

“Do you think he’s being serious?” I whisper, even though there’s no reason to.

“Why would he lie about that? It concerns the safety of you and your child,” Pope whispers back.

I wish Rafe was lying, or just exaggerating to get a rise out of me. But knowing how serious he is when it comes to this baby, he’s being truthful right now.

~

“Where even is he?” Kiara checks her phone for a text that isn’t there.

“Probably with Sarah, he’s been spending all of his time with her lately,” Pope responds.

“Let’s just do it without him,” JJ suggests for the millionth time. We all groan.

“He deserves to find out the sex the same time as the rest of us, JJ,” Pope tells him.

“Well if he wanted to know, he would be here.” JJ raises the cupcake to his mouth, opening it to take a bite.

“Guys, guys,” John B’s frantic voice snaps us out of intensely watching JJ. We all completely forgot to take a bite of the cupcake in our own hands, too focused on him. “Ward knows, Ward knows about the gold.”

“How did he find out?” Kiara asks.

“I don’t know,” John B confesses, buzzing around with anxiety and energy. “He just tried to kill me on his boat.”

“What?” Pope gapes. On further examination, John B does look roughed up. He has scratches and bruises on his face and his clothes are ripped up.

“I have to go warn Sarah,” Kie sets her cupcake down, running off towards her bike.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Pope smacks John B on the back, leading him into the house.

JJ just storms off to his motorbike, not even bothering to explain his exit.

So it’s just me, sitting with a container full of cupcakes.

~

I wake up the next morning as the sun’s still rising. My feet carry me to the open container of cupcakes in the kitchen, long forgotten by the drama of the previous day. My hand grabs one and my feet lead me outside and down the dock.

My toes brush the water as I sit down, gazing into the pink swirling into orange of the morning sunrise.

I wish Rafe could be here enjoying this moment with me.

I wish we could get just a moment of peace.

I wish I could talk to him and explain what kind of father I want him to be to our child. I don’t want him to be on drugs or partying or caught up in his family’s antics and reputation.

I want him to be a good role model for our child- holding doors open for people, paying ahead at Starbucks.

I wish he could be sitting next to me, biting into an identical cupcake to find out the sex of our baby.

But it’s just me.

And I’ll always be here to be the best mother that I possibly can to my baby girl.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction

[andbrokenmemories]

So it's weird how like. The Kennet girls are good at everything, aren't they? [pale spoilers ahead]

Like that's obvious, it's textual -- it's very textual, other characters being in something like awe over it over and over and over across the story. The girls are very good at this, and they have a deep well of power. This comes up continuously.

what's weird is thaaat a lot of the fanbase seem to like, enjoy that. Enjoy having protagonists who can play around with magic in a way Blake never ever could have. I kind of get that, I won't like shit-talk it too hard. (I do like Verona, y'know?)

But it's an interesting fact. Because Wildbow's the underdog protagonist guy! At least in action scenes, that's his whole thing! Taylor and Blake have to eat shit and die to claw their way to victory, and often those scenes work for me. And it's one of the things I think WB gets the most praise for? Like, from his established base. It's a conscious choice to not do that for Pale. He like, introduced the idea that this kind of wild practitioner would be especially powerful. He made that up for this book.

I wonder what that decision looks like -- after Ward, and Ward's issues, especially, since that seemed to be the first break from this. Underdog protagonists seem to be the default, for him; the thing he has most experience with. I've seen posts from him describing his process -- put characters against the wall without having a pre-planned out for them, so WB himself has to puzzle out exactly what they can use to make it out alive -- and he seemed to derive like... An actual enjoyment, out of it?

Yeah, there are fights in Pale where they're up against the wall... even one where, with Dire Consequences for us all, Wildbow had them lose because he couldn't see a way for them to win!

But it's not the same. I'd honestly say they usually lose because of their like, lack of full maturity -- their child soldier-y emotional rawness and uncertainty -- their lack of cohesion, as the book usually plays it. Lucy cannot stop John from joining the Contest because she can't hold her nerve against him. The girls cannot stop the murder plot from coming to fruition because they lack unity, aren't working together as a team. Emotional stuff. The girls have more tools in their box than any Wildbow protagonist before them, by far, but they can't always use them properly to get the W, for emotional reasons, for character reasons.

In theory, that's an interesting direction (maybe, possibly), and I should be relieved that Wildbow is trying something fresh. In practice... I've said I don't like Pale's fight scenes. I think Wildbow is plainly worse at this than the content of his previous works.

Part of this is seen in the Contest. Or, at least, how Wildbow Posts about it. If you can't tell, a specific WoG lives in my brain: Wildbow said once that he kept the story going past Break because he genuinely did not believe the trio could beat Maricica. I can imagine him doing his typical calculus for this, and what led him to that conclusion, maybe. For example, we've heard a lot about the ability of the Fae to manipulate stuff, aaaand to have the girls come along and undo all of that with minimal information to begin with wouuld sort of. Damage our belief in Faerie significance. Still, though -- cards on the table, here -- I think this was a Dumb and Bad choice. (It's a sidenote to this post, but I think it's very strange that, in-story the straw that breaks the camel's back is shown to be the Alabaster allowing shit to go on rather than throwing in with John, effectively a betrayer revealed moment -- a thing that, even if sorta his intention from the start, he could simply say 'aw beans i never really planned this out far enough' and just drop. for the sake of wrapping up a better story. and naturally i believe this would have been better also because it means we never would have fucking gotten White Woman Animus!! i digress. i digress.)

Maricica had weaknesses the story gave us to nibble on, and those weaknesses... are just kind of dangling threads, now? As of where I hopped off? like, guess she can't be that inexperienced with people if she became a goddess and started a cult and helped with all that red heron shit lol

So it's that thing I said, about fight scenes being more character driven. But then also, he's clearly thinking about this the same way as ever! As shown by his weird logic with framing the story going past Break as a thing he Had To Do, for Logical Reasons, or at least that weighing on the decision. a thing that is silly and i disagree with on it's face. right?

And then this shows in the sheer quantity of fight scenes -- if the girl's main limiter is internal emotional context and stuff........... uh... why are there so many fights? Why wouldnt the story naturally curve towards. having fewer fight scenes when theres no other way to square things away. that progress character arcs. whyyy do i care about fight scene 129 when i know how strong these girls are. whyyy are we fighting so many random others, and dedicating genuinely long segments of story to them, rather than montaging that shit? Getting it over with? If it has to be there at all? (for reference -- I just tried to think of a Random Pale Fight i fully don't think mattered. i selected the random like. angel summoner guy? with the fortnite constructor angel. that's a part of the musser invasion or whatever. this is a character with literally no substance, just a musser-side goon. From him entering the ongoing! fight to Lucy getting out of dodge is 4.6k words. Plague 12.7, the Mannequin fight, up to Mannequin leaving -- that's almost the entire chapter -- is 6.9k words. on the worm wiki, i saw there's a brief 'major events' summary of that chapter. i couldnt tell you the major events of the Pale chapter, of which that section of fight is like a third, maybe. lucy gets a bit more upset. lucy gets in a few quips against musser-side characters that actually matter but actually dont matter much to how that broader conflict is resolved. i guess.)

Wildbow writes any random fight the girls get into as being worth as many words as his fights in the past! the scrappy, pay-offy ones. bleh. My point in all this: you cannot simply set your protags up in the way I'm positing, here, and then continue to use the same vocabulary of every other serial anyway. it straight up doesn't work. it's exhausting. The Future is An Eternal Slaughterhouse 9000 Arc. Look, thats a criticism that boils down to 'web serials are too long'. And I'm not sure I care too much about web serials being too long! I have read longer web serials with longer fight scenes! I have written fiction with a longer average word count per chapter than Wildbow, at least during Worm! its a real criticism, but its not one im amazingly interested in personally. But the Kennet three could've had weaknesses to play around -- or at least, more weaknesses. We are in a Post-Pact world, and in this Post-Pact world, the magic in Pale really barely feels like it, uh, relies on discourse and presentation. like at all. And that seems like an option to give these characters obstacles! An option Wildbow gestures at during the Musser meta-arc!

but what struck me getting that word count comparison earlier, skimming that fight? The girls just aren't operating in that world. There's never a thought for presentation -- maybe sometimes, for a slight edge. But it never really matters, certainly not after the blue heron. They're using glamour as a workhorse tool, covering goblins in it for brief misdirects to get an edge in a fight; they're calling on the same shrine spirits over and over. They don't build up tools over a portion of story then cash them out for a satisfying win, they're just... strong. They have more items in their bags than Wildbow probably knows what to do with. Strong enough for just Lucy to dunk on any random set of practitioners, but not strong enough for the story to just skip that part, and not strong enough to just solve the plot until it's time to go fuck up Charles and end the story.

I know you could argue that I'm making this up, or that it's what some people prefer to what Pact was doing. But I just think it's not even what wildbow is good at! (and i always theorize that when wildbow is writing kind of bad, it's probably because he's not actually engaged or happy with what he's putting himself through. did he read a specific thing that made him personally excited to make the girls so versatile? I don't really know, but I don't get that vibe.)

And I have a couple of specific things I want to point out to try and prove this is like. a thing at all, to wrap up on: First, Glamour is used as this very, uh, soft magic thing, this very basic narrative tool. A pure mechanic of, like, mental states. If you're shaken, if you're uncertain, your glamour gives out on you -- if you shake your opponents, make them skittish, your glamour is better at misdirecting them. This is fiiine? But too vague for what Glamour is. Wildbow simply failed to properly present tradeoffs to one of his character's main action verbs, one that literally had those tradeoffs in Pact. And one last example to try and prove this: they dont even wear the hats and cloaks anymore duuude. Like, in my eyes: there was a very simple to read gambit being made, with the hats and masks and cloaks? You are awakening early, you will always have awoken early: You accepted an early shield against what that meant. A constructed image in place of the image of a fully-fledged adult, masking that youth; Whimsical and inherently magical, inherently wild. It's a very basic tradeoff, and one the story promises you it knows: even if they really would rather not have to go through the whole song and dance of suiting up, if it's tactically suboptimal or else they mature out of it and realise it's not for them, they will never be able to escape it -- not without giving up power. A mark accepted that cannot be given up. A mechanical restriction on their powersets to make up for some of their advantages, that also has some character relevancy. The Good Stuff.

except yeah it can. be taken off. it doesn't super matter. not really. they do plenty of magic without all the stuff on or even any of the stuff on -- it's rarely presented as an obstacle. it doesnt really matter. Because then, you see, they couldnt mature out of it and do cool stuff! it'd be. annoying. frustrating. they'd have to like. deal with changing past the natures they made for themselves. they'd have to. be characters. with character issues. that present themselves in fight scenes. you know?? what are we doing.

#ramble analysis #look. this is long but im not super confident i have the deets to back it up #analysis of my memory of pale ass post #but! the books long. frankly #so this is what you get #pale #wildbow #pale web serial #palecrit

[thechaoticreader]

Popular Books I Read and HATED

*Disclaimer: If you like any of these books, slay! I'm happy for you! These are just my own consumer choices, and imo negative book reviews are just as helpful as positive ones!*

This list is not long because I don't actively dislike many books that I read, and I have a very good sense of what I will and will not like, but there are some I had to read/were misled into reading so here we go:

1. Tender Is The Flesh

by Agustina Bazterrica

My rant review is above if you want more details but recently I've seen a few videos that articulate my feelings in a way that I couldn't before so im going to add a few reasons here that were not included in the original post:

It gave very Qanon and general antisemitic vibes: i.e blatant conspiracy made up by the "wealthy liberal elites" to encourage cannibalism for their own enjoyment (I know she's Argentinian however that doesn't mean im not allowed to get the ick from it)

Purposefully inaccurate depictions of meat industry and disrespect for farmers (context: im a vegetarian from farm country with a roommate who works in the cattle industry - Angus beef if you're curious - so im very familiar with the process and cannot say in good conscious that it is all bad -> just support local farmers <3)

world building makes little sense

COWS DO NOT EQUATE TO HUMANS NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO !!!!!!!!

the "disease" doesn't make sense (even if its made up who would believe it)

No themes were treated with the depth nor nuance they require (capitalism, feminism, veganism etc.)

I think thats all I haven't covered but this is the only book I have ever read where my hatred of it continues to grow with each day. I went out of my way and deleted it from my reader and get annoyed every time I see it. And for the record (because yes i'm salty) I didn't hate it because it was too disturbing, in fact I've read and loved worse and ive been an avid horror reader since I was (admittedly too) young. I hate it because there wasn't a well done story underneath the gore. I'll say it loudly for the people in the back GORY HORROR BOOKS STILL DESERVE A GOOD/INTERESTING STORY, especially if you want to try to put complex themes in it. If you cannot write a deep story but you're good at and enjoy gore, write yourself a lil 100 page splatter punk and we can all have a good time <3

Unlike with Tender Is The Flesh I don't have a ton of thought out critical reasons for the rest of these soooooo I'm going to give my highly subjective reasons -> I totally understand why some like them <3

2. The Handmaids Tale

by Margaret Atwood

hated the writing style

It didn't keep my attention

disliked the ending so much I actually threw it across the room <3

3. The Hobbit

by J.R.R Tolkien

hated the writing style

male centered fantasy is not my vibe

my ADHD cannot handle long incredibly descriptive sections in books -> I physically fell asleep multiple times while reading this book

honestly even with the movie I fall asleep every time

0/10 book I want to read

10/10 bedtime story

4. Lord of The Flies

by William Golding

hated the writing style

hated most of the characters (and not in a slay anti-hero way)

was forced to read it in high school and it single handedly sent me into a 4 year reading slump... I missed so many good books because of this and will forever hold a grudge

5. Romeo & Juliet

By William Shakespeare

I'm too jaded and gay to enjoy this -> every single character is so painfully stupid

tbh im just bitter that his (imo) better plays get less love than this one, its way over hyped

but I will give it points for boring me so much that I wrote my first fanfic (Romeo x Mercutio if you're curious ... no its not posted anywhere and it never will be <3)

sidenote -> Shakespeare plays I love incl:

Hamlet (duh im a depressed emo gay on Tumblr)

Macbeth (also duh, witches and female manipulator... need I say more)

Othello (a slow burn for the true crime girlies)

Measure for Measure (absolutely underrated, please please please look into this play -> I saw a production of it and it was incredible)

#bookblr #book blog #booktok #reading #bookish #goodreads #books #book review #books I hate #book hater #tender is the flesh #tender is the flesh hater #romeo and juliet #shakespeare #anti book club #anti booktok #the hobbit #hobbit hater #tolkien #tolkien hater #lord of the flies #books I had to read in highschool #bitter book review #books and reading #book club

[xray-vex]

"-- to bleed willingly and joyfully": Edward Teach and the double-edged sword of love

The Kiss scene in S1 ep 9 of Our Flag Means Death is one of the most beautiful, tender, and authentic performances of love and romance in film/TV, in part due to how masterful Taika's facial expressions are.

Have you ever been in love so deeply, profoundly, overwhelmingly, that it made you weep?

I've been thinking thoughts about Ed's face here during this scene. How his expression subtly shifts from loving adoration to a slightly more somber look, as if a cloud of melancholy passes over.

(I've slowed down the above video and close-cropped it a bit to make this easier to see.)

At first Ed's smiling, absolutely besotted, head over heels -- and then, it looks like he's blinking back tears, his throat bobs as if he's swallowing them down. It's just a brief, subtle, blink-and-you'll miss it moment.

What does it mean to love someone so much that they change your entire world? That you'd die for them, live for them? To feel so transformed by that love, so shaken to your core that you can feel it in your bones?

It comes with the knowledge that the very love that brings you joy and ecstasy will also deeply, profoundly hurt you someday -- and then making the conscious choice to love anyway, to pursue that love, to follow wherever it leads, despite knowing that it will break you.

This scene is an intensely intimate moment. Ed's face to face with Stede, so close they're sharing breath, gazing into each other's eyes, seeing each other's soul reflected back at them. In this moment, we witness Ed's realization that he's willing to endure unbearable pain to have the chance to love Stede and share a romantic life with him.

Prior to this moment, Ed was already aware of his feelings and how important Stede has become to him. He was already prepared to sacrifice himself for Stede by physically standing in the way of the firing squad. He signed away a decades-long successful pirating career and everything about his previous life. He gave up his entire identity just for the chance to build a new life with Stede.

HOWEVER -- The Kiss was the consummation of the first part of the journey that began when Ed first laid eyes on Stede. It's this moment, this moment -- when everything clicks, when Ed's become fully aware of the full gravity of his love. A new journey begins here, one far more perilous, with much higher stakes.

It's one thing to be willing to die for someone. It's another to acknowledge that you love someone so much that you are joyfully willing to suffer for them. You know it's going to hurt you someday, but your love is so immense that you're willing to pay the price, even if the pain is a fate worse than death. And loss and grief and heartbreak are inevitable; there is no other outcome to love. As the poet Richard Siken said: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”

Ed's melancholy expression is of anticipatory grief. He's madly in love with Stede, but also realizes he's done for. There's no going back now, no way out without pain and suffering. But the ecstasy of that love is exquisite; it's transcendence, a love so great that it makes him willing to endure the agony entangled with it.

I've been thinking of the kiss scene and Ed's bittersweet expression for a long time now in relation to excerpts from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. Not all of this work resonates with me (it focuses heavily on mentions of 'God' and 'traditional' male/female dynamics), but its passages about love are absolutely beautiful, and are some of my favorite writings on the subject ever.

The following excerpts perfectly capture what I mean about Ed's love for Stede in this moment following the kiss:

When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstacy; To return home at eventide with gratitude; And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

-- Another passage in The Prophet about joy and sorrow being intertwined is also relevant here, re: Ed and his intense emotional personality:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

This is the double-edged sword of being an intensely feeling person. Yes, you have the tendency to experience sublime ecstasy, but at the cost of enduring terrible agonies as well.

#ofmd #our flag means death #edward teach #edward teach kissed on a beach #stede bonnet #kahlil gibran #gentlebeard #blackbonnet

[despairforme]

I have some proof that nnoitra isnt stupid, just a dumbass sometimes:

nnoitra was one of the few arrancar that was fully aware that aizen had no intention of helping them; he embodies despair because he lacked the ability to connect with others and pushed away everyone that made an attempt to get close to him because he knew that they were all going to die anyway and didn't want to get attached to anyone. nel's constant refusal to acknowledge him as a warrior did not help him strive to be a better person and in fact had the opposite effect, as he resigned himself to become the beast because it's all anyone has ever told him he is. the one person he did manage to connect with and the one person who gave a shit about him got cleaved in half directly in front of him; once again, leaving him completely alone

[ Hello anon! I don't like discussing meta and/or headcanons. We are all entitled to our own interpretation of canon. If you don't see Nnoitra as stupid, that's completely valid, and you are free to write your own version of Nnoitra and portray him in the way you wish.

Please know I've been writing Nnoitra for almost 9 years now, and I guarantee you there is nothing you can tell me about his canon that I have not already interpreted, so presenting "proof" to me won't make me change my portrayal or my thoughts about him.

This is my view on canon. Not saying this is the "correct" view, because we are all just the audience and it's not up to us to decide what's the right or wrong canon, that's only for the creator. But, again - this is my portrayal of Nnoitra.

I disagree that what you are presenting is "proof" that Nnoitra isn't stupid.

Nnoitra was not "fully aware" that Aizen had no intention of helping them. His belief that Aizen would not help him had nothing to do with his intelligence, but only with his negative outlook on life. Nnoitra is the embodiment of despair, which means NO HOPE. It goes without saying that he would not see Aizen as a savior that could free Hollow. Like he says "there will be no salvation for us". That's what he believes. It has nothing to do with him "not falling for Aizen's plans".

Nnoitra's inability to connect with others, again, doesn't make him more or less intelligent. It also is not a conscious choice. He simply doesn't want to connect with anyone, because he is a solitary person who prefers to be alone. A mantis doesn't hunt in pack. It's true that in my portrayal he believes that everyone will die as a result of Aizen's plan, but - that is the whole reason why he follows him in the first place. Because he wants to die. He doesn't care that all the other Arrancar / Espada will die as well.

"He didn't want to get attached to anyone". He never thought he would be, so that was never a problem that occurred to him. With Tesla, who became the only person who he did connect to, it was actually a surprise to him that he ended up "caring" about someone. But, it's not like he actively avoided others because he was "afraid of connection".

He is not a beast because that's what everyone tells him he is. He IS a beast. He is very animalistic and very close to a more monster-like Hollow. He doesn't get to be "redeemed". He is a villain. He's supposed to be a villain, and not a misunderstood person who "just needed to be loved and told he's not a monster". He's a monster.

It's correct that Nelliel didn't help him become a better person. She did bring out his worse side. Again, this has nothing to do with intelligence.

And the final point - yeah, Tesla died in front of his eyes, and yes this did impact him, but again - it's got nothing to do with him being smart or dumb.

I really dislike arguing with people about my portrayal of Nnoitra, and i hate "explaining" my take on canon, because I feel like I'm lecturing others. So, please know that THIS IS JUST MY INTERPRETATION, THIS IS WHAT I BASE PARTS OF MY PORTRAYAL OF NNOITRA OFF OF. You can have your own take on canon. You can write Nnoitra however you want. But you can't change how I write and see him. ]

#[ i ask you to please read my rules ] #[ where it states that i don't want to discuss meta/headcanons with people ] #[ and that i don't want people to push their headcanons about nnoitra onto me. ] #[ this is my portrayal of him. ] #[ i welcome duplicates and love it when people write him so i'd say go for it! ] #toby post. ╱ out of character. #meta //

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

A Disproportionate Epilogue: A Malevolent Fanfic

Shub-Niggurath does not appreciate being woken from her rest by an unfit father.

AKA, The parts John and Arthur couldn't remember.

Takes place during A Disproportionate Response

(written with @sparklyandheroic)

AO3

---------------

OH, YOU POOR THING, John hears, a mocking rebuttal to the attacker’s words, and then there is movement, the shocking jolt of magical transport, and his mind goes blank.

#

Dizzying, dazing, a sickening spin of pressure and pull as they fly through dimensional walls to land somewhere hard enough that they make a wet splat when they land.

Arthur grunts, then goes still.

John can’t see. He can’t see anything, and trying to focus Arthur’s eyes hurts in some ill-defined way that John can actually feel.

What is that presence? It’s thick, powerful; the air is still as the bottom of the sea, and he feels observed by innumerable eyes that shift and whisper at his every move.

The damned baby black goat sent them here, or caused them to be brought. Why? To die? To finish expirating where precious Faroe couldn’t see?

Arthur wouldn’t think that. What would Arthur think in this situation?

Whole, well, Arthur would think something stupid and born of human hope, defaulting (by choice, and yes, John knows he benefits) to the belief that help can be found.

Broken, dying, Arthur only breathes.

It’s bad breathing, wet, uneven. Sort of gulping, and some memory from being the King in Yellow and murdering for fun tells John that this is a shutting-down sound, that humans take shallow, gulping breaths when they’re about to die.

John makes his own sound. A ragged keen, a haggard cry, a wordless wail of looming agony.

He no longer cares what happens to him. What he has to do. Where they are, what it will mean. He has to try to mimic Arthur’s lost hope. There’s nothing else left. 

H… help! Help us! Someone! Please!

EASY, BOYS , says a voice (a voice, a VOICE), and maybe there are two of them, or maybe there’s an echo, but even with such a gentle tone, they are too much.

Arthur’s ears bleed. Barely conscious, he cries out. “John?”

Arthur!

YOU WERE RIGHT. THEY ARE RATHER ENDEARING IN PERSON.

“Right?” says Kayne. “Totally weird.”

Kayne? The goatling sent them to Kayne?  

But it doesn’t feel like Kayne. It feels much worse.

Whatever else it is, part of it is definitely Kayne. “Oh, oh, oh, will you look at those muscle fibers! Arthur Lester, I believe you could have a six-pack if you worked at it! Goodness gracious, you’re just full of hidden potential, you darling little wastrel, you.”

Arthur moans. 

Arthur!

A huge, barely-gentle wave of power passes over them, and suddenly, John can see.

He can’t see well, but he can see Arthur.  Arthur wears more blood than he circulates, and he’s nude, but not exposed, because his skin just… it just…

It drapes like a heavy, wet blanket past his waist, and John sobs. 

John plucks at it weakly, Arthur’s left hand barely responsive. This can’t be shrugged off. This can’t be stitched. Not this time. He feels like he's losing his thoughts, like they're tumbling out the back of a truck.

BE CALM, LITTLE ONES. I DON’T HOLD YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR DISRUPTING MY PEACE TONIGHT.

And before John can react to any of that, something touches them.

John can feel it, power too great to wrap his mind around, touching their body with intentional caution so it does not crush and does not burn and does not ruin.

Arthur’s breathing evens out, and is no longer wet.

Arthur? Arthur! Arthur, wake up. Please, wake up.

ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU WANT THAT? WELL… YOU WON’T REMEMBER IT, ANYWAY, SO WHY NOT? I’LL KEEP HIS PAIN AT A NICE FOUR. THAT WAY, YOU CAN BE PART OF THE CONVERSATION.

It’s like they’re children, both of them, compared to her.

Maybe they are. He’s dying!

SWEET THING. NOT ANYMORE.

“Ooh, dibs,” says Kayne, and Arthur’s body jerks as though something tugged at him. John can’t feel the tug, but Arthur must because he moans. Then Kayne moans, too. Chewing. “Nope,” he says, messy, mouth full. “Human. Mystery not solved.”

Was he eating Arthur? What the fuck is wrong with you? John blurts.

“What…” Arthur manages, and begins to shudder. His four is, all things considered, a little higher on the pain scale than average, and his body is in shock.

Arthur! Arthur, lie still.

I HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU, ARTHUR LESTER, says the voice, and it comes with power, and John can feel it cupping Arthur’s mind like a hand around a tiny stone. YOUR LIFE DANGLES BY A THREAD. YOU HAVE ONE LAST MOMENT TO SPEAK. WHAT DO YOU WISH TO SAY?

“Faroe,” Arthur sobs.

John feels a pang.

Envy? No. Guilt? Maybe. He doesn’t know, lacks the word for it, but it is not a good pang.

A LOVELY ANSWER.

“Faroe?” And bless his heart, exposed to the world and visible muscles squirting blood, Arthur tries to sit up. “Where is my daughter?”

Arthur! The fuck, lie down!

WHAT A STUBBORN HUMAN! I THINK PERHAPS HE SHOULD STAY ASLEEP AFTER ALL, DON’T YOU?  And her power shifts, and something just touches Arthur’s eyes, and he goes limp.

“ETA… four minutes,” says Kayne.

FOUR MINUTES, THEN. JOHN… JOHN, WE HAVE A SITUATION, JOHN. I AM SUPPOSED TO BE RESTING FROM MY LABOR. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE RESTING IN YOUR LOVER. MY CHILD IS SUPPOSED TO BE CURLED AT HER FRIEND’S SIDE, NOT ASLEEP, FOR SHE WILL NEVER SLEEP, BUT GUARDING HER PEACEFUL DREAMS. INSTEAD, DO YOU SEE WHAT WE HAVE? AND ALL BECAUSE OF AN UNFIT FATHER.

Oh, John has a feeling what might be coming, and oh, he would not want to be in Hastur’s squirmy steps for anything tonight, and oh, maybe Arthur would live, and if Arthur lived, the rest didn’t matter, and he could parse what the fuck they meant by ‘lover’ another time, and he could help Arthur heal, and it would be okay.

HE’S QUITE FOCUSED, ISN’T HE?

“Boring, you ask me. Sixty seconds.”

NIBBLES LIKES HER VERY MUCH, YOU KNOW.

N… Nibbles?

IT’S A GOOD NAME, BESTOWED IN LOVE.

And Kayne cracks up.

It’s that bad laugh, the high and crazy laugh, the laugh that judders sanity like a bat hitting a barrel, and John cries out.

“Nibbles!” Kayne says. “Can you imagine? ‘Oh, no, here comes Nibbles! Oh no, our lives! Our lands! We must sacrifice to Nibbles! Our very souls are forfeit… to NIBBLES the Almighty!’ Ahahahaha!”

Kayne is right. That’s going to happen. Fuck, John hates him.

“Ten seconds!” Kayne cries, sounding absolutely thrilled.

WORD OF ADVICE? says the Black Goat of the Woods, the Mother Goddess, the Shupnikkurat. NEXT TIME THERE IS SUCH CRISIS, THE ONE YOU SHOULD ‘HOWL’ FOR IS NIBBLES.

What? Why? Why would? How would that? What?

And then Hastur arrives.

#

This was not the plan.

After punishing her, after reacting because Perse made his daughter cry, Hastur went to Faroe, was sniped by her tears, and found himself promising to bring Uncle Arthur back when he’d had no intention of doing that at all.

Arthur was gone. Probably dead. Not even his fault!

But Please, daddy! she’d sobbed, her eyes like limpid pools, and his hearts felt twisted, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d agreed.

Of course, he had no idea where Arthur went. It’s not like he could track him (he could have, if he’d bothered to mark him, but he hadn’t, and he won’t wrestle with that now). He’d have to launch an investigation, and follow clues, and -

And Nibbles, the worst pet that ever existed, butted him in the stomach as if trying to tell him to stop being stupid, and suddenly, Hastur knew where Arthur went.

Where he was taken.

Oh.

Oh, this was… this was bad.

Hastur knew how  to get to The Woods. Every god knew how to get to The Woods. It was like knowing how to face the sun. You knew. You felt.

Why in the name of Dagon’s salty ass was Arthur there?

Hastur didn’t want to go. Obviously, Arthur was insane or dead at this point. In The Woods? That’s it. No matter how special a human he was (and Hastur caught that thought to execute it before it went too far), he was done.

But Faroe looked up at him and gripped his robe, and tears streaked her face and her eyes were red, and…

And he lost his mind and agreed to go to The Woods to find Arthur’s corpse.

Not his fault if Arthur is ruined. He could blame someone else, and she wouldn’t be mad at him, and all would be right with the world.

#

So Hastur comes to The Woods.

He has never been here before. Never dared.

(Never gone someplace where he was so outmatched. He isn’t that stupid.)

Never gone into the presence of the Mother Goddess, never even dreamed of getting involved with any of her business, but here he is, hosting her child and invading her territory without an invitation, and it is all Arthur’s fault.

Since it’s not actually an invasion, he tries to be… graceful.

Tries to enter with less pomp and circumstance than her offspring did at Faroe’s party.

Tries to just part the curtains, not tear the wall, not smash the windows as he had on his way to punish his foolish sibling.

He floats out of the sky, confronted with endless woods, with dark and shadowed land, and this close, can feel where John is (and his distress, both pleasing and confusingly upsetting), which must be where Arthur is, too.

He approaches slowly. Not attacking. Not aggressive. Not—

“Oooh, you are in so much trouble!” blurts Kayne, and Hastur’s smooth glide stutters to a shocked halt.

He’s frozen in the air, staring down.

Below is Arthur—less flayed than he’d been, still breathing (a shock) still sane (a bigger shock), very unconscious.

And below is John.

And below is Kayne.

And above around between throughout inside outside everywhere is Her.

And she speaks, and her voices are like many waters, drawing him under to drown. IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU CRAWLED IN. TAKE A SEAT. WE NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE TALK.

Hastur is frozen. He can’t even think to breathe. She’s waiting for him. She’s unhappy. He’s going to be destroyed.

Arthur’s fault Arthur’s fault this is ALL Arthur’s fault—

Even like this, he can’t miss the poetic irony as she raises her enormous tentacle (too fast, too strong, too big),  snatches him out of the sky like a butterfly, and sits him down, hard, next to fucking Arthur Lester, in his nasty blood.

You! growls John. This is your fault!

“My fault?” Hastur snarls, shocked into responding. “It’s his fault!”

The only thing he did was exist, you narcissistic piece of offal!

“THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGG!” Kayne proclaims, every “g” hard and stuttered.

Hastur’s gone crazy. That’s what this is. He’s gone mad. “Is it my fault you two decided to go jaunting, unaccompanied? You knew the dangers.”

That’s not why we’re here!

“Then why are we here, Piece? Why is my court composer here?”

A sigh ripples through the air, punctuated with the clicking of a hundred tongues and what John assumes is motherly disapproval. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHY YOUR COMPOSER IS HERE, HASTUR. YOU WERE AN UNFIT FATHER TONIGHT.

Hastur’s further insults die in his throat, clogging it like a dead squirrel.

Arthur groans. “John?”

Worst fucking timing—shh. I’m here.

“Fuck, it hurts…”

Good. That means you’re alive. I’ll take it. John’s voice cracks.

“I…” Hastur has to stop and try again. “I’m n… I would ne…”

YOU PUT MY CHILD IN DANGER TONIGHT ALONG WITH YOUR OWN. DID YOU THINK OF THAT, AS YOU LET YOUR SISTER—SO MUCH LESSER THAN YOU, SO EASY TO RESIST—HAVE HER WAY WITH THIS HUMAN?

No. No, Hastur had not.

His tentacles go limp, slowly, resting on the ground, even in Arthur’s blood. He had not thought of that. His ichor’s gone to ice again. All his hearts hurt.

DARLING LITTLE FAROE, says the voices, so sweet and gentle that anyone just listening would never picture a being who could pinch out the sun. SHE’S FRIENDS WITH MY OFFSPRING. WE’RE ALL VERY LUCKY SHE IS, BECAUSE THAT GIVES YOU A SECOND CHANCE.

Hastur can’t answer.

“Psst,” says Kayne. “I think you broke him.”

HARDLY. And the way she says that is no compliment. She says it as though she knows exactly how one such as Hastur would be broken. NIBBLES HAS ASKED ME, FOR FAROE’S SAKE, TO SPARE ARTHUR. TELL ME, HASTUR, DEAR… SHOULD I HAVE TO BE DOING THIS TONIGHT? SHOULD THIS FALL ONTO MY SHOULDERS?

Hastur’s brain seems to have stalled.

He fucked up. He can’t believe it went this wrong. It wasn’t even his fault.

It’s just Arthur Lester. Faroe would get over it. It shouldn’t matter. Why should this matter?

“Oh, it matters, sweet cheeks,” says Kayne, low. “Looks like you got so sucked into the show that you… forgot? So I’ll clarify… again. But Hastur… I don’t like to repeat myself. You’ll regret you made me do it. Capisce?”

“What?” says Hastur, shaking.

“If Arthur dies, I will be bored. Do you really want me bored? Do you?”

And this is a totally different angle than Nibbles being upset because Faroe is upset. This is a completely different angle than Shub-Niggurath’s issue with him, and Hastur isn’t sure he can take both. “This… This isn’t about…”

“You know what happens when I’m bored?”

And She is here, silently laughing, and Kayne is here, threatening and confusing, and Hastur can’t do this. He wants to flee.

Is this what people feel like when he drives them mad? It must be.

He can’t flee. “Faroe is… leave her out of your games!”

“Faroe?” Kayne laughs. “No, no, no, I was talking about Carcosa. I mean, I don’t like reruns, but I suppose I could… burn it this time instead?”

And the penny finally drops.

Hastur hadn’t known who did it. How could he? They’d come in stealth, come without warning, come without setting off any of the magical wards and alarms any reasonable god sets up about their home base.

Something had come and destroyed and murdered and ravaged and smeared, and left it empty, left no survivors to clean up after.

The children had all been struck down at once, instant. The adults… had been played with. Taken from their homes. Chased.

Now that he thinks about it, that was on brand, wasn’t it?

And Hastur had rebuilt. He’d refined. He’d offered and traded, made some deals and a lot of kidnappings, and repopulated his city at last. And his new worshipers (whether they wanted to or not) had cleaned it up and fixed it up with spit and polish and power, and it was lovely and his and right again.

And Hastur had been hunting for who did it. Because it was beyond an insult. It was breaking into someone’s home and killing the parakeets.

And after all that, it’s Kayne? Hastur’d had his attention even then? “Why would you do this to me?” he says, breathless.

Kayne laughs.

It’s the worst sound in the worlds, that laugh. Dismissive. Cutting. Over the top like a fucking flood, threatening to crush and drown. “You? You? No, no, you’re the dull one, remember? No, I did it because I was bored… waiting for them.” And he gestures at them.

At Arthur. Arthur Lester. Who, might, Hastur is beginning to feel, be the bane of his existence.

And if this were not Her realm and in Her presence, and if he had any reason to believe Faroe would be safe, he would descend on those two right now and make them pay for his lost, precious city.

John is uncharacteristically silent.

Arthur is still unconscious.

Hastur cannot bring himself to speak.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND, HASTUR? ARE YOU READY TO BEHAVE?

Kayne holds up his hands. “I am so good?”

YES, DEAR, NOW HUSH. I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU, says the dual-voiced Mother, briefly blocking out the sky.

“What do you want me to do, Great Mother?” Hastur whispers.

If Arthur lives, bargains John all of a sudden, I’ll do anything you want.

BOLD LITTLE THING, she says. BUT THIS IS NOT FOR YOU. HASTUR, I WOULD LIKE TO REST, AND DO NOT ENJOY BEING WOKEN IN THE NIGHT BY MY OFFSPRING’S DISTRESS, SO LET’S MAKE THIS… SIMPLE? FIRST, YOU WILL MARK HIM.

“I will not,” slips out before he can think, and Hastur claps his own tentacles over his face.

IF YOU DO NOT, I WILL JUDGE YOU AN UNFIT FATHER, H’AAZTRE.

That takes him a moment. “What?”

NIBBLES LIKES HER. I AM NOT PARTICULARLY CONCERNED WHO GETS THE TITLE OF ‘PET’ IN THIS CIRCUMSTANCE—BUT IF I HAVE TO TAKE FAROE FROM YOU, SHE WILL NOT BE RAISED… THE SAME WAY.

And Hastur makes a sound.

He cannot know it’s the same sound John made earlier on this very ground, terrified he’d lose Arthur.

“I’ve never threatened your children,” Hastur whispers.

I KNOW, DEAR. THAT IS THE REASON WE ARE TALKING.

Kayne says, “Instead of, like, finding out just how many pieces you can become until they finally lose sentience and drift away.”

SWEETIE? DON’T INTERRUPT AGAIN.

Kayne salutes, mimics zipping his lips, and tucks the imaginary key in his breast pocket.

I TIRE OF THIS CONVERSATION, she says. YOU WILL GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, HASTUR. THIS IS ALL VERY ENTERTAINING—I AGREE WITH KAYNE. (Who waves.) HOWEVER, I WILL NOT SEE MY CHILD IN DANGER FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR PRIDE. TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOUR THINGS. CARE FOR YOUR OWN TOYS. IF YOU DO NOT, I MAY DECIDE YOU AREN’T READY AFTER ALL TO PLAY KINGDOMS AND EMPIRES. I MAY DECIDE TO PUT YOU TO BETTER USE FOR A FEW THOUSAND YEARS. IF I HAVE TO BAIL YOU OUT AGAIN FOR SOMETHING YOU DID TO YOURSELF, HASTUR, YOU WILL NOT HAVE ANOTHER CHANCE FROM ME.  ARE WE CLEAR?

And it was all spoken so kindly and so huge, and so motherly and so dark, and Arthur groans (unable to understand) and his ears bleed some more, but she’s already healing him, reattaching his skin, barely requiring focus to do it, and Hastur shakes, and Hastur hates, and Hastur swallows.

“I understand,” he says.

She seems relieved. GO HOME. I’M TIRED OF THIS.

Arthur? says John.

HE’S HEALED ENOUGH. HE CAN DO THE REST ON HIS OWN.

“Humans can’t heal from this,” Hastur says bitterly. “Infection alone will kill him.”

NOT THIS ONE.

Not this one? Just what was so special about Arthur Fucking Lester, anyway?

And John must have been drinking bold juice tonight because he dares ask for more. What about his pain?

Kayne snickers, opens his mouth, catches a look from her, and re-zips his lips.

YOU CARE ABOUT HIS PAIN?

Do you want me to bear it, or something? I will! vows John.

SUCH A THOUGHTFUL LOVER. VERY WELL. I WILL SEND OINTMENTS WITH YOU. HAVE THEM APPLIED, AND HE WILL SUFFER LESS.

Kayne unzips his lips. “The purple one? Please? Pleeaase?”

Her sigh is… half for show. AS YOU WISH. NOW LEAVE. BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND.

She makes no further move to help them. Instead, with all her uncountable eyes, she watches Hastur move.

Move as though he’s an old human man, stiff and ungainly.

Move as though approaching Arthur turns his stomachs (it does), but he is gentle as he lifts him from the sticky, bloody mud.

Hastur doesn’t look at either of them. He opens a portal and simply leaves, head down, about as little pomp or circumstance as he’s ever produced in his life.

“I give it a week,” says Kayne.

NOW, HAVE MORE FAITH THAN THAT.

Kayne snorts. “I meant a week of self-control to just watch before I poke them.”

There is a smile in her voices. WHAT SHALL I DO WITH YOU, BLOODY TONGUE?

Kayne stretches his arms out and grins like he’s about to kick off a three-ringed circus. “Enjoy me, love me, and come like a freight train for the whole damn ride.”

Her laugh breaks two nearby stars, shatters a passing moon, and peppers their relative planets with flaming rain and meteors for the next two hundred years.

#

Hastur stays gentle as he magically cleans Arthur off. (Can’t have Faroe seeing him like this.)

He stays gentle as he expands Arthur’s room, because now he will need medical care, and nurses (like hell is Hastur going to apply any fucking ointments).

He stays gentle—through great effort—as he goes to wake Faroe, carrying her tenderly into Arthur’s room so she can see he’s all right.

“Uncle Arthur!”

“No, darling. You cannot hug him now. He is wounded.”

And the tears come again (and part of him knew they would, though he wanted gratitude, though he wanted joy), and she wants to run to Arthur and he will not let her, and—

Arthur raises his hand. His eyes are barely slitted open. And he smiles.

For her, he smiles. He’s in tremendous pain; there’s been no ointment applied yet, not yet, and this is long past a four on any pain scale. “Sweetheart, it’s all right.” (And Hastur must admit he is amazed, because Arthur sounds fine, sounds sleepy but fine, and the effort of will that requires is not to be ignored.) “We can hug tomorrow, okay? But I got hurt, and I need to sleep. Okay, sweetheart? Do what your—” He hitches here, voice cracking, just for a moment, and Hastur can see (and love) the pain in his eyes—“do what your daddy says.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding miserable, then turns around and clings to Hastur with all her tiny might.

He’s fine with this.

If he shoots a look of victory at Arthur over her small head, he’s also fine with that.

But Arthur doesn’t meet that look. He doesn’t look at Hastur at all. His gaze stays on Faroe, softened, almost happy in spite of his pain (what gall), and whatever will he summoned sputters out, and he falls asleep.

Get out, snarls John. You and your fucking plans—

Faroe doesn’t hear him. She’s crying.

“What?” says Hastur, low.

—think I don’t know you could have stopped this? You think just healing him after because she cried makes up for anything? You think I don’t know you let him be hurt? You think—

What the hell is he talking about? Has the Piece finally gone mad?

Hastur peeks, and realizes with a shock that John has absolutely no memory of where they just were.

It was wiped. Arthur doesn’t recall, either. In their minds, they went from being attacked to being in here. It was seamless.

Hastur shudders and leaves before John’s finished ranting. Tomorrow. He’ll deal with that fallout tomorrow.

Tonight, he is taking his daughter to bed.

He is sifting through the terror that he put her in danger, however accidentally.

He is singing to her until she rests (and Arthur’s voice is better, and he knows it is better, and it twists at something inside him), and this will all be cleaned up, and he will never speak of it again.

He won’t.

He’s fine.

He’s calm.

Faroe is asleep in twenty minutes.

By morning, the east wing of the palace is completely destroyed, and Hastur, who thought it would help, still does not feel better.

#malevolent #kiy malevolent #shub-niggurath #john malevolent #arthur malevolent #arthur lester #malevolent fic #malevolent fanfic #surrogate series

[maylorscardigan]

I noticed you’ve spoken very loudly about Joe and his treatment of Taylor. You’ve discussed controversy with Matty. But I’ve never seen you mention the GG issue. Can’t defend him on that one can you? He’s a disgusting human being for that.

I knew this was bound to come up. I was hoping to save it for my blog I’m building on topics like this. But okay. I’ll address it.

Why am I not outraged by Matty and GG 🌽? Well…

My ex that I have mentioned before was a 🌽 addict. We aren’t talking normal levels of consumption here. We are talking hours spent a day looking for the right material. Self pleasuring 6-8 times a day on a good day. Being abusive towards me because of the addiction. Doing and saying things I would never, ever repeat to anyone. Even when he knew my history… it never stopped it. It just made the things he did to me worse.

I also have spent a lot of time working with victims of sex trafficking. I myself was a victim of it - for a few decades at that.

I know the harsh realities of the 🌽 industry. I know that most of what you see on 🌽 hub or any of the millions of sites - including NSFW Reddit or OnlyFans are trafficking. The fact that someone is verified and seemingly willing to do said things - doesn’t mean they are. It’s amazing what you will be forced to make people believe. All the controllers need is some weakness. Need it be a child to threaten to harm or worse, family, loved ones etc or a slew of other things. Or the fact that deep fake technology is used on even the most basic of materials in order to keep things like their bodies completely unrealistic as well as hide the victims identity better.

And I know what you’re thinking - this should make me even more enraged at him and to hate his guts for it. Is it something I necessarily like about him? No. Not at all.

However - Matty is the type of guy that if he knew the deep underbelly of the industry and what it was really like… he would step away from it as a hole or try to be more conscious about what he consumes.

Remember - we also don’t know what his sex life is actually like. There are people all over the world who engage in that sort of degrading and physically brutal sexual acts by choice - and I am not referring to what he may have been consuming. I am referring to the private of one’s home. He has been in a long term relationship with a woman of colour to which he said he was going to marry one day and again - we have no idea what they did behind closed doors. It could have even been curiosity and someone happened to walk in.

The point is - attacking one man and shaming them is not going to fix the problem. It’s a witch hunt. If we go after Matty for this then we have to go to the men and women around you each and every day of your life. Including family members or friends. Most of the world’s populations have watched and used 🌽 to get off. (I’m talking teenagers and adults) and some of those you interact with day to day have seen things that make GG look innocent and it’s far more popular.

The issue isn’t with one man - because there’s 40,000 other people subscribed to that channel in the hub. The views of these videos are multimillion. But we live in a society where we are told it’s normal and you’re a prude or a liar if you don’t watch it.

Me raging and going after Matty about this is not only going to do nothing to solve the problem but shaming someone is going to make them more likely to do so it. Shame is a driving factor in addictions and 🌽 is no different.

I chose too, instead, educate people on the realities of the industry and how real trafficking is when it comes to that kind world. I fight for change and awareness and I do whatever I can for victims getting out and trying to heal and be out in the world again. I also work with victims of trafficking directly as well as partners of those who have sex / 🌽 addiction.

All any of this is - is a witch hunt. And the people who watch these things casually are not bad or horrible people. They believe whatever you see on sites like 🌽 hub or many others is consensual.

If the people ripping him apart took even a 1/10000 of that rage for one man and put it towards awareness… it might be a very different reality.

#taylor swift #matty healy #the 1975 #maylor #tatty #matty and taylor #taylor and matty #anon #addiction #corn addiction

[matan4il]

Hiii Alice! Hope you're well! 🥰️

I read your meta for 6x14 and you wrote something that hit me: "...healing isn’t linear. He was advancing with some things, but in 614, faced with his aunt’s ambush, he feels cornered back into a place he’s been in before, a place that left its scars on him, and Eddie regresses. Which is okay!"

I don't know why but I felt like I needed to see that today. Personally, I just keep falling back into old habits of wanting to be liked by everyone and I tend to just agree with everything and do things so that I can be in their good graces. And not because I'm scared of them but because I really enjoy their friendship and just want to keep the joy that we have.

It was a lot worse when I was younger and in school (which was a whole different ball park) but sometimes I don't realise that I'm falling back into that pattern of being a 'yes-man'.

But seeing what you wrote about regressing and that healing isn't linear, it just hit me and I felt like I needed to see that 💜.

Sorry for hitting you with something personal alongside your buddie meta but I just wanted to say thank you for writing that :)

Sky, my love! *HUGS* Thank you so much for this ask. Beyond the fact that I am always thrilled to hear from you, it just also makes me so happy to know that my 614 meta had a personal meaning for you. i am SO grateful to you for sharing with me!

If it helps, this is true for ALL of us, we all experience these little setbacks from time to time. What's good is that you're aware of yours, so you can make conscious decisions about them. You can look at these moments and choose to believe in how lovable you are (BECAUSE YOU ARE) and that people will continue to treasure your friendship even when you're not their 'yes-man' and that you have every right to be yourself and express your views. They're no lesser than anyone else's! But at the same time, keep in mind that many of us in relationships do this to a degree. Decide that a certain opinion is not worth a discussion, so there's no need to vocalize it at a certain point in time, or that we're cool with just expressing regarding a specific thing what we agree on rather than what we disagree on. It's normal, and is all about balance. Finding the place where you feel most comfortable, where you know you did express yourself, so you know the friendship is real and your friends like you for you, not for an illusion of you, but at the same time that you don't push yourself to express things in the name of expressing yourself. Life is an act of balance, which is always a challenging thing, ALWAYS. For everyone. We have to go through the challenge repeatedly. The good news is, that means we have an almost endless number of opportunities to try again until we feel like we're getting it right.

I wanna wish you all the happiness, my darling! Thank you so much for the joy you bring others, and don't hesitate to make the choices that will bring you the same. I love you and I'm here for you if I can help in any way! As always, my ask tag. xoxox

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #evan buck buckley #personal #fandom love #all the love to you my beautiful friend #ask #skylessnights #HUGS #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

[wistful-wish]

Equinox

Part 1/2: Adolescence (for @sandersidesbigbang)

Pairing: prinxiety Warnings: Attempted parental alienation (on both sides), platonic possessiveness (parental), narcissism, threats and mentions of severe bodily harm, mentions of infidelity and paternity fraud.

Beta: @starry-knight-skies Artists: @selfdestructivecat (link) and @briandthemoon (link) Ao3: Link To the people above and the @sandersidesbigbang in general, thank you so much. This was a fun and new experience for me. Part Two (coming soon!)

Summary:

All fae began with the two antithetical, primordial Queens and their Courts. Seelie and Unseelie, Summer and Winter. Covetous, prideful and offended by the mere existence of one another, They warred for countless millennia. None suffered more for it than humans, caught in the crossfire of vicious and deadly seasons. 

Then came unexpected peace, the fae keeping to their woods. Mortals flourished in blissful ignorance, believing the conflict settled. In truth, it was a ceasefire. Part of begrudging collaboration between both Queens. Neither could create a new Royal Fae, a child akin to Themselves, through Their power alone. 

This is the story of Virgil, Prince and son to both Queens, and the inevitability of the choice he must make. Seelie or Unseelie, Summer or Winter, one cannot be both forever. Two options, one or the other, which all will suffer the consequences of. 

Thus, Virgil chose to spend the last year before his life implodes in on itself visiting mortal lands, avoiding his problems. Falling for a charming human prince wasn’t part of his non-existent plan, but the year away from the Courts might just teach him that there are things worth fighting for.

Virgil sat on his Unseelie Mother’s lap in Her throne room, growing increasingly bored. It was all rather repetitive, Winter fae presenting him with gifts to celebrate his first return to their Court. He was grateful, yes, but tired. It was hard to get excited about the presents. More than anything else, the prince wanted to doze. The shift from Summer to Winter had left Virgil… Drained. Dazed. He hoped it wouldn’t always be like this. Winter turning to Summer had been equally unpleasant. 

That was when his Mother spoke: “I have a gift for you, my Prince.” Virgil blinked, paying attention once more. Sleepy as he was, both his Mothers seemed expectant after giving him something. The prince didn’t want to upset Her. 

“A gift?” The prince echoed, careful to articulate the words properly. Doing his best to overcome his childish lisp. Virgil’s single year of conscious existence hadn’t been long enough to rid himself of it. It could have been worse. The fae prince heard rumours that mortals were born unable to talk at all.

Virgil wasn’t mortal, nor even a regular fae. He was Royalty, for all that he did not understand the difference. No one did, really. The only other Royals were his Queen Mothers, rulers of their own Courts. Even They differed from him- Neither of them were ever children. 

“Yes, my dearest treasure, a gift.” Virgil’s Winter Mother’s voice was pleased. Indulgent before She gestured imperiously at one of her servants. “Bring it in, now.” Her tone was abruptly cold and unforgiving of failure- But that was to be expected. It was Her usual tone when giving orders. Half a year had been long enough to notice that. It reminded him of his Seelie Mother, whom the prince had just parted with.

Virgil was distracted from his thoughts as a fae was brought in, no gift in sight. 

The fae was young, Virgil noticed, younger than any other he’d met. Older than himself, of course, it seemed every fae was, but… Young. Nervous with scales and mismatched eyes, another anomaly Virgil hadn’t seen before. A slit pupil… “Is the gift a lesson, Mother?” Some sort of educational lecture?

The Unseelie Queen let out a light laugh, a fond, chime-like sound. “A lesson in love, perhaps,” She ran a hand through Virgil’s hair, “of my love for you. I cherish you more than any other. More than any other being ever will. As such, I bestow upon you this fae. He is Mine, as all Unseelie are,” Her arms momentarily tightened around Virgil, to the point of discomfort, “but my child deserves his own fae to command.” 

Virgil processed that. “Thank you, Mother.” He didn’t have to fully understand the purpose of the gift to be grateful. There were so many things he didn’t understand, what was one more? Virgil pushed aside any discomfort he felt. “What is your alias?” The question was addressed to the -his?- scaled fae. 

Said fae bowed deeply. Almost as low as one did when grovelling for a Queen’s lenience. “I go by Deceit, great Prince,” came the response, “though you may change it at your leisure.” Change it? Why would Virgil change it? He was yet to decide on his own alias -instead using ‘Prince’ as a placeholder- why would he override Deceit’s? He- 

Cold lips whispered a secret only Virgil could hear. “His Name is ‘Janus’, my beloved child,” his Unseelie Mother passed ownership to the prince, “which now belongs to you.” Once more, Her hand ran through his hair. “As I said, a lesson in my love. She,” The word was snarled hatefully, “has not given you a fae, has She? Too selfish to part with a servant for your sake, too unwilling to seek one close to your age for companionship.” The Unseelie Queen kissed Virgil’s cheek, looking him in the eyes. 

Meeting Virgil’s gaze yet staring past him, through him, into him, as always. 

“I love you more than She ever will,” Virgil’s Winter Mother’s voice was soft as she promised him: “She shall ruin you, if you let Her.” 

Virgil’s Mothers really were similar. His Summer Mother had whispered the exact same words to him as they parted. 

LINE BREAK (Virgil’s POV)

Drawing his heavy, dark purple cloak closer around his shoulders, Virgil took comfort from the spider-silk fabric as he left the bounds of the First Forest for the first time. The fae prince knew most thought his chosen alias of ‘Anxiety’ was a reminder they ought to be anxious not to invoke his ire, and Virgil was careful not to correct that assumption. It was never wise to show weakness to a Fae, not even for royalty. If anything, it would be especially disastrous for Virgil to let his nerves show. Rather than think on that, the fae prince turned his thoughts to humanity.

Humans, Virgil had been told, were wary of their kind. Allegedly, they feared being tricked out of what they thought they were promised, or caught in the crossfire of their quarrels. The prince supposed he would soon learn the truth of such rumours, seeing as he was forsaking near everything he had ever known for the next year. Abandoning the relatively peaceful life Virgil had enjoyed rather than agonizingly witnessing its end. He-

“I’m so excited!” Creativity cheered, clapping his hands together. Virgil’s Seelie companion’s grin had a particularly deranged gleam to it as the man cackled. Once more, the prince second-guessed his own judgement. “A vacation before the real party begins. Even the stupid snow on the ground later won’t as annoying when I can imagine it’s Unseelie I’m stomping on.” Creativity’s smirk turned bloodthirsty as it turned to the final member of their trio. “I call dibs on being the first to duel you to the death!” 

Deceit - a rather bold choice of alias for a being unable to lie - sneered in response. The Unseelie’s serpentine eye flashed viciously. “If you wish to perish by my hand, I shall be more than happy to oblige.” The two members of opposing courts looked ready to settle the matter at any moment. As always, the antithetical nature of Summer and Winter fae motivated them to war with one another. 

Virgil scowled. “Whomever swings first shall find themselves facing both their foe and my own ire.” This crackling of tensions as the breaking point approached was exactly what he left the forest to avoid. This was the last year the prince had before the fragile peace would shatter, and Virgil refused to let his companions ruin it for him. “You may explain to your Queen why you felt warring was more important than the task assigned to you.” 

Deceit, to the credit of his sense of self-preservation, flinched. “I swear to you, Anxiety, Prince of the Fae: I will cause no unprovoked physical harm to Creativity during the course of this trip. The only exception is in defence of myself, yourself, or on royal orders.” Cleverly worded, Virgil internally noted. Deceit would attack Creativity should the prince order him to do so- Or if Virgil’s Unseelie Mother had already commanded him. The fae prince knew better than to believe She had refrained, and could only hope She had exercised some restraint. 

Creativity, due to a mostly lacking sense of self-preservation, pouted. “But I wanna fight to the death nooooooooow, Anxiety!” The grown Seelie whined like a child. “How am I supposed to not wack him with my mace for an entire year? Look at how mace-able his face is!” The irreverence was arrogantly reckless, given what Virgil could do to him. It was simultaneously brilliant, as the prince found himself reluctantly fond of the peculiarly raised -and generally peculiar- changeling. There was something… Endearing, almost, in how Creativity treated Virgil unlike any other fae did. That didn’t mean Virgil would allow him to bludgeon Deceit to death, nor to be bled to death by the Unseelie’s blades. He nodded in acknowledgement of Deceit’s carefully-worded vow before glowering at Creativity. “Think up another source of entertainment,” Virgil’s reply was unsympathetic, “or shall I dub you ‘Uncreative’ instead?”

Creativity looked mortally offended, rather than the mortally-wounded state he’d hoped to inflict on Deceit. “I am plenty creative!” He insisted, clearly horrified at the insinuation otherwise. “Of course I can think of fun things to do in the dumb human realm… Like, uh…” “Uncreative suits you well, given your hesitation.” Deceit looked pleased at getting to prod an insecurity. Virgil, for his part, was tempted to slip away while they quarrelled. Unfortunately, that would inevitably prompt a search party and put an early end to his respite from familial pressure. Creativity looked ready to pounce on Deceit, consequences be damned-

“Oh, oh, oh!” Creativity’s green eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “I know! Let’s go visit my kingdom!” His kingdom? That sounded… Dangerously close to treason to Virgil. There were two Courts, to claim some sort of authority not granted directly by one’s Queen was… “The stupid human kingdom,” the Seelie clarified while Virgil did his best to control his facial expression, “the one I was almost prince-and-future-king of. You know, the one where the ugly human version of me lives!” Ah, right. That tale was easy for Virgil to recall, now that the fae prince wasn’t preemptively mourning the torturous demise of his Summer Court fae companion. Creativity was an Unexchanged Changeling, normally ill-fated and short-lived. The Seelie who was born with the appearance and purpose of being swapped with a human prince, only for the Seelie Queen to override those schemes. She couldn’t let Herself be outdone by Virgil’s other Mother, after all. “You wish to see that which would have been yours, had your fate not been altered?” 

Creativity made a noise of general disagreement. “Ehh… Mostly I want to mess with my mortal doppelganger,” he admitted, “it’s as good a place as any to start, right? Human kingdoms are probably identical, anyways.” Virgil wasn’t sure of that, but he didn’t know enough about mortal kingdoms to refute the claim. 

“Human kingdoms vary in prosperity and the effectiveness of their short-lived rulers.” Deceit corrected Creativity, saving Virgil the trouble. “Prince Anxiety,” the Winter fae respectfully addressed Virgil, “should we continue in this direction for any significant length of time, we will inevitably come across one. There is no need to seek out any particular arbitrary collection of human settlements.” There was no reason to avoid Creativity’s desired kingdom either, other than Deceit’s clear desire to irk the Seelie. Petty and unnecessary. 

Virgil preferred it to outright bloodshed, at least. 

“Do not refer to me as a prince where mortals might hear.” Virgil ordered the both of them, not wanting to deal with the pestering questions humans would probably have. “We will spend some time at the first kingdom we come across,” he further decided, “then travel to Creativity’s mentioned kingdom later on.” It was a compromise, intended not to favour one side over the other. As the Prince of two Courts, he was an unwilling expert in such. “I wish to see more than a single human kingdom, especially if they truly differ-” For the first time in the prince’s life, he was interrupted by someone other than a fae Queen. “What are you doing so close to the Fae’s Forest,” a familiar voice demanded with audacious authority, “are you trying to provoke them?” The shock of it all stunned the trio to momentary silence as they processed it. For a brief moment Creativity and Deceit were in tune with one another, sharing a glance as if to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination. 

Riding towards them on a horse was the image of Creativity, albeit lacking his moustache and fiery warmth of Summer. The human prince hadn’t been taken then? Behind him was some other human, clearly trying and failing to keep pace. Virgil blinked, turning to look at his changeling companion, unimpressed. “Did you arrange this?” It was unlikely. Creativity was occasionally brilliant but perpetually impulsive. He lacked the foresight for this. Nonetheless…

Creativity grinned delightedly. “Nope! But I’d be happy to kill him in your honour! Delighted to, really. It’d be the perfect gift for your favourite playmate!” Creativity not intentionally provoking Deceit with claims like that would be the perfect gift for Virgil, frankly, but there was no point bemoaning the inevitable. 

Deceit, predictably, bristled. “A bold claim not backed by any declaration by the P- Anxiety,” the Winter fae hissed, “perhaps ‘Delusional’ would fit you as an alternative to ‘Uncreative’.” Perhaps Virgil could order them both to remain silent for the remainder of the year. In truth, he could. It was well within his rights, both as their superior and- Well. He held the power to force them to obey. Both the means and motivation to do so. Yet…

An action can never be undone.

“Cease your bickering,” Virgil ordered, tone harsh but lacking forced subjugation. “I’ve no desire for the humans to hear you squabble.” He had no desire to hear them squabble, period, but worded it in an intentionally misleading manner. Let them assume Virgil wishes to show a united front to the mortals. The prince didn’t care so long as it bought him some reprieve. 

The human prince paused with a gasp, staring at Creativity. Belatedly seeming shocked at the resemblance- No, not belatedly, Virgil realized, human vision is less sharp. The prince was immediately shocked upon seeing Creativity’s facial features. “Who- Who are you?” Another demand, significantly more unsettled than the first. 

“Rude to ask without introducing yourself first,” the Summer fae vibrated with excitement, “hey, prince, what’s your name? Can I have it, pretty please?” Well. Creativity wasn’t wasting any time. Surely the human wasn’t so foolish as to freely give his Name away like that, right? Virgil wouldn’t find out.

“Give your name to your changeling at your own peril,” Deceit warned out of nothing more than petty sabotage, “he’s unlikely to be merciful with it.”  

“Ch- Changeling-” The human prince gasped, looking at them with slowly dawning horror. Emphasis on the slowly dawning horror. He seemed a bit slow to Virgil. 

“Deceit, you bag of frozen dicks, there was like a 50-50 chance he was going to be dumb enough to tell me-”

“You’re fae.” A simple statement from the other human, having finally caught up. Blue eyes looked at them with obviously forced composure. “May we ask for what purpose you’ve left your forest? We… Haven’t seen your kind in nearly two centuries.” Two centuries? That made sense, upon reflection. There had to have been a ceasefire between the Courts while the Queens begrudgingly collaborated. One-hundred-and-eighty years wasn’t an inconceivable length of time for that to have taken. 

“You may ask your presumptuous question,” Deceit replied to the human while pretending to ignore Creativity’s ranting, “if you wish to proceed with the insulting implication that we need to justify our travels to the likes of you.” The promise of retribution was left unsaid. Virgil was so tired of this. 

“We travel because I wish to travel.” It was an oversimplification, but the fae prince owed them nothing. “We left the forest because I desired to leave the forest. We head towards your kingdom because I wish to visit your kingdom. We shall continue on that journey, now, because I wish to continue on our journey-” An idea, an impromptu change in plans, “and I wish you to be our guides as we do so.” Who would know the kingdom better than its prince and his entourage? More importantly, the humans could act as a buffer between the Summer and Winter fae. “In exchange, the rudeness of your initial greeting shall be forgiven.” Which was convenient, as Virgil didn’t delight in doling out punishments.

Perhaps such sentiments made Virgil a poor fae, but he was fortunately their only prince. He turned to the mortals. “Introduce yourselves. What are your aliases?” Virgil didn’t expect the humans to freely give up their Names, but needed something to call them by. The surprised, panicked looks the two shared at the question was odd. 

“I- Um- Creativity!” The human prince spoke the alias of his changeling. Virgil rapidly recalled their earlier conversation, trying to pinpoint how the prince knew it. Had they mentioned it while in earshot of the humans? Creativity had shouted at Deceit, but the Unseelie had only referred to Creativity as ‘changeling’. The fae hadn’t left the First Forest for longer than any being present had been alive, how could they have known-

“Hey!” Creativity snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl as to display his sharp teeth. “That’s my alias, copycat! You can’t have it!” Virgil held his arm out between Creativity and the human prince, blocking the Summer fae’s route to the human lest he lunge. Right. It wasn’t knowledge the human wasn’t meant to have, just a coincidence. Strange.

“Like a rabid dog…” Deceit clicked his tongue disdainfully, taking the opportunity to get a dig in. “Tut-tut, Creativity. That seems to be an unexpectedly popular choice- Which is to say: an unoriginal one.” Well... At least Creativity didn’t seem likely to tear his human counterpart to pieces, now that he had a new target. Unfortunately, Virgil refused to put up with that nonsense. 

“‘Deceit’ is an unusual choice for a fae.” Virgil acknowledged the rarity of the Winter fae’s choice. “Anxiety, on the other hand… I am hardly the first. There must have been countless ‘Anxiety’s before me.” The point Virgil was making wasn’t subtle. The insulting insinuation Deceit made at Creativity’s expense applied to the fae’s prince as well. 

Deceit paled, bowing slightly. Not ideal, but better than full on grovelling, especially with the mortal witnesses. “My apologies,” he murmured, “I meant you no offence. ‘Anxiety’ fits none other more than yourself.” Virgil sighed, feeling immensely tired as Deceit overcorrected for his ‘insult’. The humans looked confused, which only increased his exhaustion. 

“I took no offence.” A part of Virgil wanted Deceit to do something that would provoke him to take offence, though that was a strange and irrational desire. A confusing feeling the prince himself struggled to understand. Virgil turned back to the mortals, wanting to return to the original subject. “I ask once more: What are your aliases?”

A moment of silence, then the human prince’s companion introduced himself. “I will go by ‘Logic’, if you have no objections to the choice.” The words were phrased and spoken carefully, not unlike Deceit when Virgil had first been given him. Not unlike Deceit now, in truth. The fae prince had no issue with choice of ‘Logic’, though he thought ‘Cautious’ would suit the human equally well. 

“That will do.” Virgil nodded his assent before looking expectantly at the mortal prince. He was- Was the mortal pouting?

Logic nudged the human prince with his elbow. “Prince, you have to choose a different word.” The reproach in his voice, the way Logic seemed willing to tell his prince that he had to do anything- It made Virgil feel… Something. Something unpleasant that he didn’t wish to dwell on. 

The human prince shook his head slightly -to clear it, Virgil assumed- before letting out a quiet sigh. Disappointed to have his first choice already taken. “I suppose ‘Prince’ will do, then.” The mortal prince acquiesced before looking at Creativity. “Unless you’ve already laid claim to that as well.” 

Creativity laughed. He guffawed, falling to the ground and cackling like the madman he was. Anxiety understood why. ‘Prince’ had previously been taken by a member of the fae trio. A young Virgil had used it as a placeholder before deciding on his current alias. Deceit, for his part, kept his face impassive. Virgil understood: The unseelie was waiting to see Virgil’s reaction before displaying his own. 

“‘Prince’ will do.” Virgil had never felt particularly attached to the word in the first place. It had been naught but a placeholder for a reason. “Refer to myself as ‘Anxiety’.” The humans had already heard it mentioned, but it felt right to say it nonetheless. “We will not return to the First Forest until a full year has passed.” Best to make the boundaries of the situation clear. “You will be our guides until then.” Throughout it all, Virgil was careful not to look directly at Creativity’s manic display of amusement. If he didn’t acknowledge it, then he could pretend it wasn’t happening. 

After all, Virgil ‘not looking at’ and ‘not acknowledging’ things to pretend they weren’t happening was the entire point of this journey. Looking away, Virgil sighed. 

LINE BREAK (Roman’s POV)

Roman leaned over to whisper to Logan, his dear friend and future advisor: “How are we supposed to entertain three fae for an entire year?” Was there anything short of burning the kingdom down that would entertain their kind? Roman needed Logan to have the answers, as he didn’t. His royal lessons hadn’t prepared the prince for this. The fae were gone -had been gone- for nearly two centuries! A danger of the past, beings that ceased to leave their eerie forest! Roman wasn’t equipped to deal with this! “Forget merely being caught in the crossfire of their wars like ancient times, what if they get so offended they decide to attack us directly?” “Then I’ll get to have fun!” Roman’s own changeling, which was horrifying to contemplate, gleefully interrupted. Evidently the visitors could hear Roman’s not-so-discreet whispers, despite his hushed tone. Did fae have better hearing? Roman would have to ask Logan, assuming he hadn’t just caused a self-fulfilling prophecy with his earlier words. The fae’s lack of offence would’ve been comforting were it not for the clear delight in his lookalike’s gleaming green eyes. “Burn up the crops and dry out the lakes! Turn life to ash, ‘till new form it takes!” 

One of the others, so called ‘Deceit’, sneered. His partial scales and serpent’s eye made the expression all the more unsettling and uncanny. “How predictable of your kind, Creativity. Lacking any sort of innovation or deviation from the norm.” There was a strong disdain between those two, one made obvious by the constantly exchanged barbs. “Messy and overdramatic, too. Better to pull the warmth from every breath, sending them off to their final rest.” 

Roman winced at the antagonistic tension between the two. It was obvious that Deceit and Creativity were from different Courts, even without Logan’s meaningful looks. Roman wasn’t oblivious, despite what his friend-and-advisor seemed to think. The blatant references to burning versus freezing were impossible to miss. No, the only word beginning with ‘o’ which applied to Roman was ‘optimist’. Spiteful as the fae’s exchanges were, at least the two were willing to travel together. Wait, the prince realised, if the only ‘o’ word that suits me is ‘optimist’, does that mean I can’t be ‘outstanding’?

“Oh, like that’s any better-” Creativity heatedly shot back, snapping Roman out of his musings. Right, the fae. The fae who were here for strange, suspicious reasons whose offence could cascade into something terrible for Roman’s people. Citizens dependant on their prince’s ability to navigate this unexpected diplomatic curveball. He had to focus! To be charming! Oh, now that was a missed opportunity, he could’ve gone by the alias ‘Charming’ instead of ‘Prince’, or perhaps-

“I wasn’t the one to insist others refer to me as ‘Creative’ being-” Deceit’s voice was cold, disrupting Roman’s ruminations. Logan was shooting him a heated look, clearly aware of his prince’s wandering thoughts. Okay, alright, it was time for Roman to open his mouth and brilliantly ease the tension-

“Silence.” The final and most mysterious member of the fae trio hissed, voice carrying the forcefulness of a storm. Purple eyes flashed with otherworldly light. Abruptly, Roman understood why the fae had introduced himself as Anxiety. His voice and visage provoked a primordial fear. Not unlike staring helplessly at an oncoming disaster, the inevitability of it all sinking deep into one’s bones, the certainty of being nothing, small, insignificant insects about to be squashed- Only for the terror to end a frightened heartbeat later. Roman sharply inhaled, light-headed from holding his breath. The cautionary tales he’d been told had downplayed the otherworldliness of the fae. 

Roman glanced at Logan, whose face was impassive but unhealthily pale, his knuckles  holding the reins of his horse white with tension. The horses, for their parts, were frozen in place. It was either a testament to their training that they hadn’t outright fled, or a sign they understood it would’ve been futile. Roman clapped his friend on the shoulder in hopes of snapping him out of it. Logan flinched before giving him a simultaneously grateful and reproachful look, which Roman counted as a win. That settled, he cast his gaze to the previously bickering fae, surely relishing in their ‘amusing mortal fear’- 

Huh. That was strange. If anything, Deceit looked the most terrified of them all. Anxiety seemed stunned -at his own outburst?- and Creativity… Roman’s copycat had the most deranged smile the prince ever had the misfortune to see. He hadn’t thought such a distressing expression possible, and did not relish in the revelation. Particularly on this eerie copy of his own face. 

Creativity pretended to clap without actually making a sound. The Summer fae still seemed more delighted than ought to be possible, which was incredibly disturbing. Perhaps it was just the surrealness of Roman seeing his own face on another’s? Knowing the other had been born to steal his life. Unless- Unless that was still the plan. To assassinate him now and usurp his kingdom- 

Wait. It took Roman a moment to realize it, but the forest was quiet. Too quiet. A lack of sound he’d never experienced before, without a single bird’s song or buzzing from a bug. No rustling leaves nor branches being stepped on. Just silence.

The quiet was deafening, fragile yet impossible to break- Until Logan’s voice abruptly cut through the silence. Roman couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden noise. It felt loud, louder than could be put into words despite the fact he knew it wasn’t. It was Logan’s usual volume, amplified by the surreal silence. “We can finish the journey to the castle without verbal discussion, if that’s your preference.” Roman’s friend sounded remarkably calm as he broke the unnatural silence, though their childhood together ensured the prince could tell it was forced. 

Anxiety looked at his fae companions before shaking his head. “No-” The fae paused to clear his throat, an echo of that earlier storminess still in his voice. “No. That- That won’t be necessary. Not for any member of our travels.” That line was clearly directed at his fellow fae. “I simply tire of the bickering.” There was a heavy weariness there, all the telltale signs of an understatement. For the first time since Roman realized what the trio were, he felt a sense of empathy. If the other two were always like this… 

“Understandable,” Roman sincerely assured him, feeling a little less off-footed. Sure, the fae was terrifying and mysterious, but was there anything more universal than the tiredness in his voice? Goodness knows Roman felt similarly after long days of lessons or scoldings for poor performance on those lessons. Who -other than Logan- could really blame him for struggling to pay attention to endless lectures on history and political alliances of centuries long past? Most of them weren’t even relevant anymore! “Is there something else you’d prefer to discuss?” 

“Tell me of your kind.” Was Anxiety's immediate, curt response. “Is it true you endlessly tend to fields of plants in the hopes Summer will be generous enough to nourish them, and Winter merciful enough to allow them to endure?” What a strange way to ask them if they had farmers.

“Of course,” Roman replied, perplexed by the question, “what other options do we have? Foraging and hunting can only get a civilization so far, and every person needs to eat to survive.” The prince paused, taking a moment to reconsider his words before forging on regardless. There was a hint in there, in that odd wording. In the ancient wars of the fae, Roman knew the seasons had been extreme and deadly. He’d had the prosperousness of the most recent centuries impressed onto him over the course of countless boring lessons. He’d even paid attention to some of them! “Is- Would you call it deliberate generosity or mercifulness?”

Melancholy purple eyes blinked at him, an ethereal gracefulness -exhaustion- in the act. “I doubt the Queens consider the welfare of mortal crops,” Anxiety murmured, “but blessings granted on behalf of one can benefit another.” The fae sighed, looking away. “I’ve no desire to continue with this topic of conversation.” Once more, Roman was struck by how tired he looked, though the other two fae didn’t seem to think anything strange of it. Their expressions suggested this was normal, or that they simply didn’t care. Deceit looked tense, still, and Creativity pleased. “We shall visit the first farm we come across,” Anxiety declared impassively, gaze returning to meet Roman’s, “I… Wish to see it.”

LINE BREAK (Roman’s POV)

On their way to the castle -to host fae that may or may not intend to murder him- Roman noticed a farm. Not a particularly well taken care of one, perhaps, but a farm nonetheless. He wondered if it was abandoned before gesturing to it, looking into Anxiety’s purple eyes. “There’s an example of a farm, though I’m uncertain if there’s anyone maintaining it.” It was concerning. The land was closer to the forest than most, true, but surely fertile. For there to be no one in sight, the land not being worked on despite the fact it was newly summer… The more Roman thought of it, the worse he felt. This was a farm in his kingdom, making the wellbeing of the people who lived here his responsibility. People who might be gone, potentially even dead-

“There’s people in that building,” Anxiety’s words soothed Roman’s internal fretting, “three of them.” The fae’s head tilted to the side, not unlike a bird. Graceful, Roman couldn’t help but notice, he put the prettiest birds to shame. Wait, what- Why did he just- Yes, it was true, naturally, the fae were graceful beings- “There were four, until recently. Now three. Soon to be two.” Any relief Roman had originally felt was replaced by dread. “Two?” Roman repeated, pained at the implication. Perhaps- “Do you mean that one has left the building, and another will soon follow?” That was innocuous enough. “They’re still- They’re alright, aren’t they?” The prince’s heart panged at the thought of Anxiety’s words meaning what he’d initially taken them as.

“Pfft,” Creativity snickered, clearly amused, “I doubt it! They’re dead, right, Anxiety? One of them died already, and the other will soon, right?” He treated the idea like a joke, instead of the respect such a tragedy deserved. Roman’s fists curled in anger as he looked at the changeling. To think, this compassionless monster almost stole his life and his crown. The thought of it, of this uncaring fae having power over Roman’s people, not caring for their plights and sorrows… 

“Prince.” Logan’s voice was a soft but firm admonishment. Roman took a deep breath, forcing his hands to unclench and looking at his friend. Despite his tone, in his advisor’s eyes there was compassion. Logan understood what Roman was like, knew the protectiveness and responsibility he felt for his people. Which was why he was stopping Roman before he could do something that might have consequences. The prince nodded, grateful. He couldn’t give into that anger, not when others would suffer for it. 

Deceit clicked his tongue. “Perhaps a different farm, then, Anxiety?” The winter fae clearly didn’t care either, but callous disregard was better than abject amusement. The bar Creativity had set was very low. “If you wish to see how… Mortals live,” there was definite bafflement there, “this seems a poor example.” Anxiety was quiet for a long moment. “It is natural for mortals to die.” His voice was impersonal but soft. “Does that not make this the perfect example of how mortals live?” Roman wasn’t sure how to take that. Unsure where on the scale that sentiment fell, between Deceit’s lack of care and Creativity's clear entertainment. At least Anxiety’s intent was clear as he walked towards the farmhouse. “I wish to visit.” 

They were only halfway to the farmhouse when a girl -perhaps in her fourteenth or fifteenth year- left it, rushing out to meet them. Gaze fixed on Roman, specifically his circlet and armour. “G- Greetings.” She awkwardly curtsied, the gesture clumsy in the way anyone’s first attempt at a curtsy would be. Roman could see how thin her wrist was, the stress and desperation obvious in her eyes. “I greet Your Highness and- and his… Um…” She looked frantically between them all, clearly unsure the proper term of address. 

“Companions.” Logan offered, clearly taking sympathy on her. Roman, for his part, had already dismounted from his horse. 

Roman hurried to assure her. “It’s alright, there’s no need for such formalities. Please, how can I help you?” It was obvious she needed assistance, and the prince would do his best to provide. He had some funds on him. If it could save her or her loved ones from the fate Anxiety had implied… 

“H- Help me?” There was a mixture of hope yet wariness in her dark eyes. Roman’s heart ached. “You- You really will?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “My- My name is-”

“Ah, don’t mention your name,” Roman interrupted her, glancing warily at the trio of fae. “Is there something else you could go by?”

“S- Something else?” She repeated, confused before complying. “I- D- Dearheart? My- My mother called me- That’s what she used to call me.” 

Roman nodded, doing his best to smile encouragingly despite the sorrow he felt. He noticed the past tense in regards to Dearheart’s mother. There had been four, Anxiety had mentioned. Now three. “Yes, thank you, Dearheart. Tell me, what do you need? I will help you, I promise.”

Dearheart took a deep breath, blinking back tears. “My brother… He’s sick,” she explained, “sick like- like Mother was. And she…” Had died from it. It didn’t need to be explicitly spoken for Roman to understand. 

“What sickness? What symptoms?” Logan could likely identify the illness if Dearheart didn’t already know. “Do you know the nearest place I could purchase medicine for him?” If the coin Roman had on him wasn’t enough, he’d simply swear to return with more. He could leave something of his as collateral, if necessary. “I’ll bring it to you, I swear it-” “He will perish before your return.” Anxiety cut Roman off, eyes locked on the building as if he could see through it. Seeming to ignore the mournful sound of heartbreak Dearheart let out. “He will be dead within the hour. There are no mortal means to save him.” Roman flinched, failure and responsibility hitting him like a dagger to the heart. He- If what Anxiety said was true, which it had to be, fae couldn’t outright lie- “Dearheart,” Anxiety finally looked directly at the girl, “I am willing to make a Deal.” 

Roman froze. Logan froze. Even Creativity and Deceit froze. For a moment, it felt like the entire world paused. 

“A… Deal?” Dearheart sounded confused, bewildered enough to be distracted from grief. She looked at Anxiety, and Roman could see the moment the girl understood what she was seeing. Only a fae could look so graceful while standing still, or be born with bright violet eyes. “You’re… You’ll save my brother? Heal him, restore his health, protect him from future sickness?”

Roman looked to Logan, who looked as worried as the prince felt. Worried, but not enough to risk offending the fae by interfering. Roman hated the idea of this poor girl’s desperation being taken advantage of, Dearheart saving her beloved brother at some terrible cost-

“If you agree to my Deal, yes.” Anxiety replied without missing a beat. “For my part…” He turned to his fae companions. “Have you any suggestions?” 

“Oooooh! Ooooh!” Creativity excitedly waved his hand in the air. “Make her get sick and die of it instead! Or make her have all the symptoms whenever he gets sick, but twice as strong!” 

Roman certainly felt sick at the proposal. 

“I accept,” Dearheart didn’t hesitate, “if that’s the price of saving him-“ 

“No.” Anxiety cut her off. Roman felt a mixture of gratitude and -fittingly- anxiety at what he would choose instead. “Deceit?”

Deceit hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you might force her to share every secret she shall ever have with those she would seek to hide them from?” Dearheart remained silent this time as Anxiety clearly considered it before shaking his head. 

“A variation.” The purple-eyed fae declared. Anxiety stared into Dearheart’s eyes. “There will be two parts to my deal. The first is to tell us your most painful secret, the one you most fear becoming known. The second part… I will decide afterwards.” 

Dearheart wavered, clearly cautious of making vague, binding deals with a fae. Rightfully so, in Roman’s opinion. Anxiety, previously considered the most tolerable of the trio by the prince, was rapidly showing his colours. Reminding Roman that the lack of outward amusement of mortal suffering didn’t change what was on the inside. 

“I- I’m not my dad’s daughter,” Dearheart’s barely audible whisper cut through the still air, “my- my mother told me on her deathbed.” The girl’s eyes were wet with tears, sympathetic ones springing up in Roman’s own. What a devastating truth to learn during an already distressing time. “My brother is his and- And I am not.”

Creativity began cackling as Deceit’s lips curled upwards. Roman wanted to punch them, run them through with his sword- 

“Creativity, cease your laughter.” Anxiety’s voice was cold. Unyielding, with the expectation of being obeyed. The laughter cut off, the Seelie fae pouting but not opening his mouth to complain. A miracle, really. “Dearheart, this is the deal I offer you: You will not tell any other being that secret, nor make any attempt to relay the information whatsoever. You will never speak of it, hint to it, nor confirm suspicions of it that are brought up to you. Forever, you lose the right to share this secret of yours. You will never know, of your own volition, if his love is conditional. If he loves you more than he would hate you for the truth. If-” Anxiety faltered for a moment, suddenly looking away. The next words he spoke were soft, almost mournful. “You will never know,” he repeated, “if who and what you are ever mattered beyond being his.” 

“Anxiety-”

“Anxiety-”

“Anxiety-”

Roman had the dubious honour of speaking in accidental sync with the two other fae. Deceit… His neutral tone gave no hints to his feelings, but Creativity seemed genuinely surprised. As for Roman’s own voice… The concern and compassion in it was obvious, given the look Logan gave him. The prince understood why. Fae were known to be prideful, concern could be taken as an insult, but- For a moment, Roman hadn’t seen a capricious fae. He’d just seen a person who was sad. Lonely. 

Anxiety flinched, glaring at all three of them. Roman saw Logan tense in the corner of his eyes, and yet…  Anxiety looked more defensive than offended in Roman’s eyes. Not to say that the purple-eyed fae didn’t look dangerous. There was a volatile, non-metaphorical gleam in his gaze that Roman‘s hindbrain warned him to fear. 

Fortunately -or unfortunately, they were all about to find out- Roman had plenty of experience in ignoring the logical part of his brain in favour of doing what he felt was right. 

“Anxiety.” Roman repeated, daring to lay a hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder. Next to him, Logan let out a strangled sound of terrified disapproval. Not unlike the sound the prince imagined his friend would make if Roman stuck his hand in a lion’s mouth while surrounded by hissing pit vipers. While actively being on fire. It sounded a bit like the whistle of a tea kettle. Roman focused on the wide, violet eyes staring at him with shock instead of his own mortal peril. Anxiety opened his mouth as if to speak, only for no sound to come out. Roman decided to say his piece before everyone around him recovered. “It will be alright.” 

(Art by @selfdestructivecat)

“Anxiety,” Deceit was the first to regain his voice, “If it pleases you, I shall… Deal with the mortal that presumed to touch you.” The implication of serious maiming to possible death was clear in his words.

“Hah!” Creativity snarled at Deceit. “If any of us gets to do immense physical or mental harm to Lame-Human-Prince it should be me! Anxiety wouldn’t take that from me! I’m his favourite.” That seemed to strike a nerve, as Deceit hissed at him, looking rather enraged. Roman wanted no part in their fight, especially since it was partially over who got the pleasure of hurting him.

The (not lame) human prince slowly removed his hand from Anxiety’s shoulder, looking said fae in the eyes. “If you dislike physical contact, I should not have touched you,” Roman openly acknowledged, “I apologize for that. My intent was to-” comfort “- I mean, that was not my intent.” Probably wasn’t a good idea to say Roman thought the fae needed comfort, particularly from him. “I will keep your boundaries in mind in the future.” There, that was hopefully fine, right? He was tempted to glance at Logan to see his advisor’s expression, but breaking eye contact with Anxiety would feel rude. 

Anxiety blinked, slowly, gaze momentarily falling to Roman’s hand. “It was… Not unpleasant.” Came his eventual answer, before the fae turned to face Dearheart once more. His cheeks seemed to have a faint -purple?- flush to them, but Roman blinked and it was gone. A trick of the light, then. “You will never know if his love is conditional,” Anxiety repeated, “because you will forget. You will forget this secret of yours, and it will cease to be true. You will become his child, a full-blooded sister to your half-brother. As if you always were.”

That was generous. Almost unbelievably so, from what Roman had heard of the fae. Unless there was a trick there, wordplay that would spell Dearheart’s doom- “I accept the deal,” Dearheart replied without hesitation, tears in her eyes. “I accept. And-” She bowed a little, the gesture sincere albeit unpracticed. “Thank you, Sir Fae. Thank you.” There were sparks of purple, gleaming motes of it dancing in the air as a sense of vertigo passed over Roman. Then it was over. He looked at Dearheart, who seemed unharmed. Her hair was a little darker, chin slightly pointier and a hint of a change to the curve of her lips as she blinked. Turning around and as a small child opened the door of the farmhouse. A healthy looking boy. “Sis,” Dearheart’s younger brother called out, “what’re you doin’ there?” 

Dearheart laughed lightheartedly as she raced back down towards him. “We have to sow seeds if we want a harvest, silly! Wake Dad up, we need to get to work!” The kid perked up at being given such an important task. “Okay!” With that, he ran back into the house. “Dad! Daaaaaad!” His lungs were really quite powerful. “We have to work on the farm!” A few moments later an adult man left the farmhouse. It was hard to tell from the distance, but Roman thought the colour of his hair seemed a perfect match for Dearheart’s now. The prince turned at Anxiety, intending to thank him for this kind deed. 

Roman was faced with the sight of the fae’s back, as he’d already turned around. “I wish to leave now. I do not intend to spend more time here.” Anxiety’s tone was curt, firm. A declaration, not a request. 

Once more, Roman couldn’t help the thought that the fae was sad. 

LINE BREAK (Virgil’s POV)

For an hour, Virgil basked in the blissful quiet. Not the unnatural, absolute silence he’d unintentionally Commanded earlier, just… The sounds of travel. The chirping of birds. The lack of incessant Seelie-Unseelie bickering. Even the appearance of a city coming into view didn’t elicit a verbal reaction from the travellers. It couldn’t last forever. 

“…You should’ve made her get sick more often.” Creativity grumbled. “Or made her remember the deal, so she’d always know she’s an imposter. No matter what she looks like now.” 

Virgil decided to reply before Deceit could. “Why should I have done that?” His tone was light, curious. Truthfully, the fae prince enjoyed moments like these, when Creativity would voice opinions. Virgil rarely agreed with those opinions, but… It was pleasant. He noticed the glance Prince shot their way, and the sudden tenseness of Logic’s knuckles. The humans were listening intently. 

“Be- Because that’s how it works!” Creativity passionately insisted. “Give and take! They want something, so they gotta get it on your terms! They can’t get something from nothing, so they gotta give something up! Otherwise you’re the only one giving, and you’re not getting anything!” 

Virgil hummed thoughtfully. There was truth in the protestation. The prince had used the Power that ran through his veins to alter reality. He hadn’t offset bettering one aspect of Dearheart’s existence at the cost of another, nor had he gained any tangible prize for his efforts. Virgil had acquired no firstborn nor glittering jewel. However, Creativity was missing an important fact: “Except I did benefit from my Deal, in a manner I could not have if the terms had differed.”

“Benefit?” Prince asked, daring to interrupt the conversation. Virgil found he didn’t mind. “How did you benefit?” A fair question, one Virgil wouldn’t indulge. It wouldn’t do to show weakness. 

“The answer to your question is greater than you can afford. You will have to accept never learning it.” Virgil, fae prince and son of both Queens, had no intention of telling anyone the painful truth: I got to pretend. 

For a brief moment, Virgil had indulged in the fantasy of a world where conditional love never had to be put to the test. A pleasant delusion soured the reality of the situation: Virgil may have changed Dearheart’s fate, but his own remained unaltered. Even the girl’s familial tragedy had only been delayed. Once the Eternal War resumed… That farm was too close to the First Forest to be spared.

Logic cleared his throat, gesturing at a gate. “That is the city’s main entrance.” It looked to be manned by four guards. “As your… Guides, I ask that you allow us to arrange your admission into the city.” It looked busy. Very, very busy. 

“Do you expect for us to wait in that line?” Deceit seemed incredulous at the idea of it. Understandable, as no fae had ever been foolhardy enough to try to make their prince wait in any line. However, there was a novelty to it that Virgil didn’t mind exploring. It was his Mothers that viewed the idea of Virgil being made to wait in line as an insulting, incredibly dangerous misstep for a fae to make.

“Let’s break in!” Creativity suggested, evidently distracted from his earlier complaints. Good. “Let’s start a riot and sneak in during the chaos! Actually, not a riot! A fire! Let’s start a fire then a riot, and sneak in while it burns!” 

Prince turned around, pointing an accusatory finger at Creativity. “None of that,” he snapped, “no damage of property nor person. You will not harm my people! You can visit, yes, as guests, but I won’t have you hurting the people I’m responsible for!”

LINE BREAK (Roman PoV)

Silence. Silence not as absolute as the one Anxiety had prompted in the forest, yes, but the stunned quiet of a group of people shocked at the audacity of a soon-to-be-punished fool. Roman couldn’t quite bring himself to regret being that fool. He would, if his folly hurt his people, but to listen to such malicious plans and say nothing… The prince couldn’t bear it. He lacked the restraint to bite his tongue in the wake of his protective fury. 

Creativity leaned over to Anxiety in a way that was decidedly inhuman. The changeling’s neck bent sideways at an angle no mortal could survive, his bright green eyes gleaming -glowing, almost- in the light. “Anxiety,” Creativity calmly murmured with what Roman noticed were incredibly sharp teeth, “can I kill him? Please? I’ve changed my mind about wanting to see this kingdom, I just want to burn it all to spite him.” Roman bristled, feeling such helplessness and hatred for the monster wearing his face-

Anxiety bodily moved Creativity’s head back into proper position, face impassive. “No.” The reply was a simple, absolute denial that filled Roman with relief. “Even if I let you, you would regret it later.” The fae seemed confident in his statement. Confident enough to speak the words aloud, and even in this emotional moment Roman still remembered their inability to lie. “You cannot undo burning a kingdom to the ground, Creativity.” 

Creativity dramatically fell to the ground, looking exactly like a marionette whose strings had been severed. When the fae spoke, it was in a childish whine. “I’m just feeling a little spicy, that’s all! Just- I just want to make things burn, Anxiety, don’t you understand? He ordered me around! He doesn’t get to order me around! And he’s mean.” Roman was mean? Mean? Ordering Creativity not to slaughter innocents was mean? To think, for even a moment, that Roman had thought the other some long-lost brother upon meeting him-

Deceit’s sneer was audible in his voice as he commented, “Pathetic, wasting our time in such a fashion…” 

“Perhaps,” Logan cautiously spoke up, “you might agree to do the kingdom at large no intentional harm without Anxiety’s consent?” Wait, what? Why would Roman’s friend ask for that? Sure, Anxiety seemed the least malicious of the fae trio by a wide margin. He may even be ambivalent, though it was hard to say about the pretty fae- the pretty tricky fae. The fae were pretty tricky, the purple-eyed fae was doubtlessly no exception. The point was- What was the point again? Right! The point was that Creativity might destroy the kingdom at the mere suggestion he metaphorically march to the beat of Anxiety’s equally metaphorical drums! 

“I can agree to that.” Deceit spoke, looking at Anxiety. What? “Anxiety, I shall not intentionally cause widespread harm to this kingdom over the course of our trip without your consent.” Why did the Winter fae look like he was expecting praise over that? Why had he agreed to it in the first place? 

“Yeah, well I can agree to it even more!” Creativity spoke up, popping back up to his feet like nothing had happened. “I mean, I agree to the same thing Deceit just did, Anxiety, but it’s more of a sacrifice for me because I was the one who really wanted to destroy the place!” Again, what? What was this? What had Logan noticed that Roman had missed? He looked at his advisor with confusion. Logan looked- Huh. Logan looked simultaneously relieved, vindicated and terrified at the same time. It was a very strange expression. 

Anxiety’s clear voice distracted the human prince from his friend. “Do you still want to ‘destroy the place’, Creativity?” The fae sounded… Also relieved, oddly enough, as well as tired and fond. Roman just wished he had the intellectual brilliance to put all these strange puzzle pieces together into some sort of cohesive whole. What did all this mean? What was he overlooking? How would this affect his people? 

“No, not really.” Creativity’s nonplussed answer came. “It passed. But I probably will again, later! So I’m still making a greater sacrifice!”

“Just because I have self restraint-” Deceit hissed out some response as Roman tuned out the sound of fae bickering. He approached the guarded entrance to his kingdom with Logan, the fae following them. They were immediately let in, as a result of his royal position. The fae trio were never going to have to wait in that line they’d so dreaded. Well… One member of the trio hadn’t complained. Roman looked over to Anxiety. 

The fae was taking in the sights, interest clear in those bright purple eyes. There was a light to them that reminded Roman of a star- There his mind went again, without permission. Roman resolved to focus, to remain vigilant for the rest of the year. Roman wondered where Patton would be at this time- “Oh no. Oh dear. ‘Oh no, no, no’ and ‘oh dear, dear, dear’.” They had to warn the incredibly friendly Patton not to introduce himself to the fae! Speaking of the fae- “Are your jittery mutterings directed at me?” Anxiety asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. Roman flushed in embarrassment at the realization he’d been staring at the fae the entire time. Roman’s panic spiked higher as he reminded himself about the importance of not causing a diplomatic incident. 

“Eh- Erm, n- no.” Oh, how his tutors would weep at such a fumbled reply. A glance at Logan revealed his friend had his signature ‘Roman’s-Nonsense-Is-Giving-Me-A-Tension-Headache’ expression. Alright, focus! It was time for Roman to prove himself the charming, valiant prince he aspired to be. “I simply was worrying about logistics.” See, Logan, Roman couldn’t help the look he shot the man, I know words like logistics! “And… Well, I…” Logan had already wrangled an agreement out of the fae, what was one more? Roman set his shoulders resolutely, looking seriously into Anxiety’s -luminous?- eyes. “Anxiety, I must ask: Do you intend to take the Names of any of my people? Do any members of your trio possess such intent?” 

“I can speak for myself!” Creativity exclaimed in outraged offence. “And the answer for me is: I do now, just to bother you! Before I didn’t really care, besides wanting your stupid Name.” The despicable changeling shot Roman a frustratingly hopeful look. “Hey, speaking of which, can I have your name, Mister Human Prince?” Roman didn’t get the chance to refuse. 

“You can not have his Name.” Anxiety announced, as if his word was law on the matter. A declaration that the fae clearly expected Creativity to obey. Roman had an epiphany as to why Logan had asked the trio of fae to defer to Anxiety’s judgement in regards to harming the kingdom. Anxiety was clearly supervising the other two in some manner! Like… Hmmm… Oh! Like a nanny, looking after a pair of rambunctious children! 

Exactly like a rambunctious child being denied sweets, Creativity pouted. Looking at Anxiety with pleading, melodramatically-betrayed, eerie green eyes. “What? Really? But whyyyyyyyyy? I thought you loved me!” A pause. “I mean, I still think you love me, but I don’t understand why I can’t have his Name!” Deceit hissed, like a snake about to strike. “What makes you think he loves you?” The bite to his words was greater than Roman had heard from the Winter fae before, his snake-eye glinting in the sun. “Creativity.” Anxiety’s tone was that of blatantly-forced calm. “I have never expressed such sentiment towards you. That aside, neither of you will be taking any Names during this trip. That is final. If a mortal gives you their Name, you will give it right back to them! If you have any complaints…” Those pretty purple eyes looked much more intimidating when the fae glared at his companions, snapping at them. “Then I suggest you consider it compensation for the way the two of you have been driving me mad since we left!” Deceit looked contrite. Creativity blew a raspberry. Anxiety looked like he was regretting everything in his life that had led up to this moment. Yes, Roman was certain of it. This was exactly like a nanny looking after a pair of terrible children! 

LINE BREAK (Virgil’s POV)

Virgil fumed as they headed towards the castle, stormclouds gathering ominously in the sky above them. Thunder boomed, though not a single drop of rain dared to fall. He was so frustrated. The state of things were awful enough without Deceit and Creativity making things worse! Their bickering was one thing, trying to steal the human prince’s Name on top of that was- Wait, why did Virgil find it so unacceptable? He blinked in bafflement, the sky clearing up slightly. Was it due to the fact that harming their mortal guides would further sour this final year of peace? 

Yet… Virgil had forbidden the taking of not just Prince’s and Logic’s Names, but any Name at all. Reflecting over his emotional response, Virgil could recognize that he’d lashed out. He didn’t want to treat his companions like that, despite how stressful they were. Virgil wished he could freely apologize for it. He knew… Virgil understood the fundamental incompatibility between Seelie and Unseelie. His Mothers, both of whom possessed such all-encompassing hatred for one another, were proof enough of that. The fae prince sighed, repressing his misery over his familial situation as best he could. There was nothing else for it, beyond a distraction. Fortunately, Prince was looking at him with a bit of concern, likely due to the rainclouds Virgil had subconsciously gathered. “Prince, distract me.” An impassively spoken demand. 

“D- Distract you?” Came the panicked response, the human looking worried. “Um…” Prince’s grass green eyes metaphorically lit up with an idea. Looking into them, Virgil mused on how much they differed from Creativity’s own. The Seelie’s bright green eyes were more reminiscent of a particularly poisonous frog’s colouration, warning predators that feasting on them would be a fatal mistake. Belatedly, Virgil realized the human prince had successfully -and unwittingly- distracted him already. “Anxiety, do you want to meet the Objectively Nicest Person Ever?” Intrigued, Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression ‘Nicest Person Ever’ was not an objective claim.” It was an amusing quirk, the ability to casually lie like it was nothing. Strange to imagine that this verbal freedom humans possessed was impossible for even Virgil’s Mothers, the Queens. “It is a figure of speech.” Logic explained on behalf of his prince. “A way to emphasize how strongly Prince feels about his statement. The conviction he has in his opinion that… That person is the ‘Nicest Person’.” There was a disapproval in the man’s voice, but it wasn’t directed at Virgil. The fae suspected Logic didn’t particularly want them meeting this allegedly very nice person. Unfortunately for him, Virgil’s curiosity had been piqued.  

Prince fondly rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know you hate the metaphorical use of ‘literally’, Log- ic!” There was a pause as everyone registered how butchered that pronunciation of ‘Logic’ was. “Low-g-ick?” Creativity repeated, snickering. “I love it! I’m calling you ‘Low Ick’, now!” The Summer fae clapped, clearly delighted. “Maybe you do have a redeeming quality, Potentially-Not-Entirely-Lame-Human-Prince!” What a mouthful. How utterly ridiculous. Why were Virgil’s lips curling up into a half smile? He covered it with his hand, though not before noticing a brief crack in Deceit’s smugly disdainful expression as some worry shone through. Virgil was kind enough to pretend not to notice. 

“You realize his face is the template upon which yours was cast, yes?” Virgil pointed out to Creativity, amused in spite of himself. “Do you not consider his looks a ‘redeeming quality?’ ” Creativity was vain, as most fae were, and was unlikely to relish in the insinuation that he considered himself unattractive.

The Summer fae grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away. For an unknown reason, Prince looked flustered. Odd. In the end, it was Deceit who spoke up first. “I must agree with Creativity on this matter, both the human prince and the changeling cast in his image are…”  A pause while the Winter fae looked disdainfully upon the both of them. “Rather distasteful.” 

“How dare you!” Creativity took immediate offence. “I’ll have you know that I taste delicious! The first time I lost an arm, I-” 

“The first time?” Prince’s voice was high pitched with incredulity and distress at the thought. “How many arms have you lost? How many did you start with? Why did you have multiple arms if you were based on me?” 

Logic leaned in to whisper into his prince’s ear. Unfortunately for him, fae hearing rendered the attempt at secrecy rather pointless. “Prince, you have multiple arms. Two of them, in fact.” An astute observation. “Creativity has also only ever had two arms attached to his body at any given time.” Virgil explained, feeling immense regret for the myriad of decisions -both his own and those made by others- that had led him to this moment in life. Simultaneously, the fae prince felt unexpectedly entertained. It was a strange duality. “He is a peculiar being, and his response to a request such as ‘distract me’ is to say ‘oooh, watch this!’” 

The Seelie fae mentioned rolled his eyes. “But it worked, right, Anxiety? You seemed pretty distracted to me, afterwards!” Indeed, Virgil had been. Even for a fae, losing a limb was no minor injury. Creativity would’ve had to trick or convince another to take on the wound themselves had Virgil not panickedly asked his Seelie Mother to heal his fr- fae. At the time, the prince hadn’t the confidence in his own ability to resolve the problem. 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. How had Virgil been saddled with a fae so utterly lacking in reason and self-preservation? At least Deceit was a more typical example of a fae. Virgil turned to his Unseelie companion. “Do not take after Creativity in that respect.” That was the last thing he needed, Deceit concluding that was key to earning Virgil’s favour… “Hah…” Virgil sighed. The topic of conversation had gone on long enough. “Let us meet this alleged ‘Nicest Person Ever’.”

LINE BREAK (Roman’s POV)

It was clear, based on the expression Anxiety had, that the fae hadn’t been prepared for Roman to be right. “It’s so nice to meet you, kiddo!” Patton greeted with his usual enthusiasm and sincerity. “Gosh, it’s been so long since a fae left the woods, but here you are! I hope you’re having a good time!” Roman’s friendliest advisor clapped his hands together expectantly, looking at Anxiety with such hope. The human prince studiously ignored the clear disapproval and dismay Logan was practically radiating. 

“I- Uh- Um…” Yes, Anxiety definitely hadn’t anticipated Patton. From the baffled looks of the other two fae, neither had they. “Yes? I mean- I have enjoyed myself during parts of this trip? Which is a statement. I have enjoyed myself during parts of this trip.” It was delightful to see the purple-eyed fae flustered, with that purplish tint to his cheeks again. “How- How did you know that I am an adolescent?” 

Wait, Anxiety wasn’t unfathomably old, as so many fae supposedly were? Creativity was a changeling based on Roman, therefore surely of similar age… Then Roman eyed Deceit. Were they all adolescents or new adults? Why? What was the purpose of all of this? The prince looked towards Logan, his brilliant advisor. The look on his face suggested this had confirmed some theory of his, though gave no hint as to what it was.

On that matter, How did this information factor into Roman’s own nanny-looking-after-rambunctious-children theory? Hmm… Oh! It fit in perfectly, thinking about it while staring at Logan! It was like Logan himself, constantly scolding and keeping Roman and Patton in line! Forcing them to do boring things like study and making sure they didn’t get in over their heads. The trio of fae must be friends, and Anxiety was just the peacekeeper of the group! Erm… Not that Roman was anything like Creativity, nor Patton akin to Deceit. Ugh. 

Patton’s expression shifted sympathetically as his voice pulled Roman from his musings. “Only for ‘parts’ of the trip, huh? That’s a shame, but life is full of ups and downs. Here’s to hoping for more ups than downs! And I’ll do my part, too!” The words were matched with an encouraging smile. “Oh, and you can just consider that my Dad Senses tingling!”

Anxiety looked perplexed.. “Dad Senses?” Patton nodded solemnly. “A father always knows.” 

Anxiety seemed even more confused, looking at Roman's friend over similarly to how he’d examined Dearheart’s farmhouse. “...You have not sired any children.”

“You don’t have to get someone pregnant to be a dad, kiddo! It’s all about what’s in your heart!” Patton winked at Roman. “Isn’t that right, sire?” Clearly unable to resist the pun. When Anxiety’s purple eyes met Roman’s gaze, he nodded. 

“It’s true.” Roman confirmed. “It’s more of a… State of mind than anything else.” The fae seemed skeptical. 

“Perhaps we might circle back to the topic later, are you-” Anxiety paused. “You never mentioned your alias.” 

“Oh, that? How about ‘Dad?’” Patton offered, only to be immediately shut down by all three fae in unison. 

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

Patton pouted. “Okay, well… Heart?” A good proposal, but Creativity looked a little too excited about it for Roman’s comfort. He decided to speak up before the proposed alias was accepted. 

“Would ‘Morality’ work?” Patton was a bastion of morality and good deeds, it would be a fitting choice. Thankfully, Roman’s friend took the suggestion well, nodding with a big smile. The fae seemed ambivalent. 

“Right,” Anxiety spoke up once more, “Morality. Are you volunteering to assist in my attempts at having an enjoyable visit?” 

Patton nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm! I’ll have you know I’m an expert bakery-er.” Patton tilted his head curiously. ��Is that why you came over? To have a lil’ vacation away from home?”

“Essentially.” Anxiety casually answered, as if he hadn’t previously dodged questions of his intent. “What is a ‘bakery-er’?” 

“It’s like how some people are good ‘shoppers’! I’m very good at going to bakeries! An expert, really!” Patton beamed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Do you like sweet things, Anxiety?” The bewildered uncertainty in Anxiety’s eyes had a smile twitching on Roman’s lips, thankfully able to hold back a chuckle. He was so proud of Patton. Who, other than his fantastic friend, could so successfully unnerve a fae via sheer sincerity?

Anxiety was silent for a moment, belatedly replying: “I… Like sweet things. Such as honey.”  

“Fantastic!” Patton clapped in sheer delight. “Are you tired? You should rest if you are. If you aren’t, we can go right now! Otherwise, let’s go tomorrow! It’ll be fun!” A long pause passed before Deceit broke the silence. “Anxiety? Is there… Anything I might do to-” He was shortly interrupted by the very fae he was questioning. “No, no, that will not be necessary.” Those pretty purple eyes briefly met Patton’s earnest gaze before looking away. “We will rest tonight, and-” Anxiety’s gaze suddenly bore into Roman, with a light to them that the prince was beginning to think he wasn’t imagining. “Which rooms shall we be staying in?” Roman’s cheeks heated for some bizarre reason. “The- We have a diplomatic guest suite. I plan to ask the servants to prepare it for you-” Which he’d only hesitated to do earlier in hopes of his parents being asleep and therefore not awake to ask questions. A curt shake of Anxiety’s head. “There is no need for that. We will head there now and come to you on the morrow.” From one breath to the next, it abruptly felt like Roman was standing on a capsizing boat, the world tilting on its axis- then it was over, and the three fae were gone. 

“Did they just… Vanish?” Roman questioned incredulously, looking at Logan for answers. “For that matter: Do they even know where their rooms are?” The prince imagined his parents laying in bed -chastely holding each other and not engaging in any activities that would traumatize Roman to imagine- only to suddenly have three fae visitors… One of them a deranged, moustachioed imitation of their son! Roman knew he couldn’t hide their ‘guests’ from his parents forever, but that would be the worst reveal. 

Logan sighed, looking exhausted. “We must assume that they are aware, or trust that anyone being ousted from their bed will gracefully accept it.” He didn’t look particularly trusting in that belief. “Chasing them down after that announcement of their intent may seem… Rude. Moreover, they might not be gone at all.”

“You think they're merely hidden? How clever!” Roman turned to the spot the fae had disappeared from, carefully waving his hand through the space. Nothing. “Ah. Probably not, then.” That being mostly confirmed, the prince turned to his more enthusiastic friend. “Morality! You were wonderful. I knew introducing you was the right idea! There’s no better host in the world than you, my friend.” Patton would make sure the fae left with a good impression of them. Though Roman did wonder one thing… “Why did you focus so much on Anxiety? If it’s because of how pretty he is, I understand, but it would be unwise to pursue him.”  

His friends shot him identical incredulous looks, apparently on the same page for once. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed eager to help Roman get to the same metaphorical book, let alone chapter. “I agree, it would be very unwise.” Logan’s tone suggested he was trying to get agreement from Roman- But it was Roman’s point in the first place! Of course he agreed with himself! 

“Well, now, Logic, it’s a little early to say things like that!” Patton cheerily disagreed, continuing on while the other spluttered. “And it made sense to focus on him! He’s the one in charge!” Roman squinted at him, and the confidence in which he spoke. Still, the prince had his priorities. “I really want to know how you know that. Logic and I just figured it out, while you only met them moments ago! But…” Roman placed his hands on Patton’s shoulders, looking seriously at him. “Please do not pursue anything with Anxiety.” The very thought had the prince feeling anxious, ha. “I know he’s very pretty and seemingly uncharacteristically kind for a fae, but it’s too dangerous.” Yes, Anxiety had been merciful to Dearheart and reigned in his companion’s destructive desires, but nothing good would come from Patton pursuing him romantically! Roman could feel in his very bones how awful such a thing would be.

Patton patted one of the hands on his own shoulder comfortingly, nodding solemnly. “It’s okay, R- Prince, it’s alright. I know you think Anxiety is very pretty and apparently kind, but I won’t go looking for anything romantic with him. I promise.” 

“Oh. Well…” Roman cleared his throat, embarrassed, and took a couple of steps back. He vaguely felt like he was missing something, and didn’t revel in the suspicion. “And the- The ‘you knowing Anxiety is in charge’ thing?” 

“Before we move on, perhaps we might all swear not to pursue any fae romanti-” Logan didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. Patton shushed him, covering Logan’s mouth with his hand. “That isn’t necessary! And, to answer your question, Prince, it’s because he was looking around! With great interest!” The answer made sense, fitting with what Roman recalled of the purple-eyed fae, however… 

“Wouldn’t a lack of interest mean the others might be in charge?” Roman felt a little silly asking, but this was Patton. His friend and advisor. Roman was meant to ask him questions, to get his opinion and wisdom on things! It was the same in regards to Logan, but that particular friend of his was currently being silenced by Patton’s palm. 

Patton smiled paternally at Roman. “Not when they only really look at him, kiddo. Creativity looked around sometimes, but still mostly focused on Anxiety! And Deceit…” His smile faltered. “Deceit seemed to constantly be looking at Anxiety, like he was… Waiting to see how Anxiety reacted to things so- so he could react in a way that matched.” Patton wrung his hands together. “It reminded me of some of the guests we’ve had before. Y’know, important people who are from places that are… Strict with their servants, and… Well...” Patton’s voice glumly trailed off. Strict, of course, was a polite substitute for ‘cruel’.

To some degree, Roman could see it, based on Patton’s observations. “But they’re constantly driving him mad with their bickering. Anxiety even said as much! If they were… Frightened of him,” which Roman wasn’t sure Creativity was capable of being, “then surely they’d- Well, behave, right? Better than terrible, rambunctious children?” His ‘nanny’ theory didn’t fit in with Patton’s perspective, neither did the ‘trio of friends’ one. 

Patton shrugged, finally moving his hand from Logan’s mouth. “I don’t know, Prince, I’m sorry. Maybe he likes them? Maybe it’s different with the fae. But he- He mentioned the reason he’s here, right? He’s here for a vacation! And, um, it doesn’t feel like the other two are here for a vacation.” Logan looked at Patton with wonder. “You’re… Right.” He sounded shocked, which was a bit rude in Roman’s opinion. Patton was right about many things! “You have a lot of… Good points.”

“You could sound less incredulous, Logic.” Roman defended his friend. 

To his credit, Logan startled then turned to look at Patton. “Oh, I- I apologize, Patton, I was- I was thinking of the implications…” His gaze turned distant, the gears clearly turning in his mind. “It’s possible he simply possesses their Names…” Yet that possibility didn’t seem to satisfy Roman’s intellectually brilliant friend. “Prince, they said they’d come to you on the morrow. Please come retrieve me from the library before you leave the castle.” “Logic!” Patton scolded, sounding outraged. “Are you planning on researching all night?” “Yes.” A curt reply from Logan, leaving no room for debate. “Sleep is important!” Patton didn’t let the curtness stop him. “Your health-” “Will not suffer long term consequences from a single night of research into our incredibly dangerous guests.” Logan sighed, looking tiredly at Patton. “I appreciate your concern, Morality. Please respect my decision.” 

Patton deflated, looking away. “Alright, but I’ll be making sure you sleep after that, mister! And Prince- Well, make sure you sleep, okay? It’ll make me feel better knowing one of my kids is in bed.” Roman smiled the most reassuring smile he was capable of. “Oh, believe me, I am eager for rest. You’ll have no complaints from me.” The prince shot a firm look at Logan. “And I’ll help you drag this one away from his books tomorrow, if I must.” 

LINE BREAK (Virgil’s POV)

Virgil exhaled slowly, pulling his drifting consciousness back from his trance-like rest. The rooms designated for diplomats had been a tad dusty indeed, but that hadn’t mattered. The fae prince had simply drawn on the Royal power within his veins, and the minor mess had politely sorted itself out. It was as both his Mothers had told him, unintentionally echoing one another: reality listened to Royal Fae, altering itself according to their will and whims. It was why the entire world felt it every time the power struggle momentarily swung in favour of Winter over Summer, or vice versa. It was why it was so easy for Virgil to rewrite Dearheart’s biological origins, to change which man had fathered her.

…It was why Deceit was so terrified of him. No, that wasn’t entirely true, it was but a single reason out of many. However frightened his Unseelie companion was of Virgil, Deceit’s fear of Virgil’s Unseelie Mother was at least tenfold that. Even as Virgil readied himself for the beginning of a new day, he was aware of Deceit watching him. Sometimes, Virgil wondered what the Winter fae saw. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. What unpleasant, dour musings to start the morning with. 

“Hey, Anxiety, look at me!” Creativity demanded, literally hurling himself at his prince. Virgil, for his part, neatly sidestepped the overactive Summer fae. He did oblige in looking at the fast moving projectile known as Creativity and- “Oh.” Virgil tilted his head to the side, too curious to stay silent. “Why are you dressed like Prince?” The white, red and gold wasn’t Creativity’s usual style, nor was the fae normally the type to copy another’s look, despite his origins. He was generally too ‘creative’ for that, which meant this had to be some sort of mischief. 

“For mischief, of course!” Creativity immediately confirmed Virgil’s suspicions, “I just think it will be funny if people start thinking Mostly-Lame Human Prince has a twin! Or, even better, if they think I’m him, and that he secretly likes licking doorknobs!” Virgil considered that reasoning for a moment. 

“...I do not believe humans are capable of instantaneously growing such a moustache. If you wish to be mistaken for him-” Virgil was interrupted by the only non-Royal fae daring enough to do so. 

“Not my moustache!” Creativity protectively covered it with his hands, as if Virgil were about to lunge and tear it off with his bare hands. “I would never willingly cut it off!” Given the things Virgil knew from experience that Creativity was willing to cut off… 

The fae prince turned to Deceit instead. If he didn’t acknowledge Creativity’s nonsense, maybe it would peter out on its own. Deceit was dressed in his usual garb and looked a bit scandalized. Still unused to Creativity’s antics, it seemed. “I am glad you are not dressed as Logic nor Morality.” 

The Unseelie fae seemed pleased at the compliment. “Yes… I imagine my eye and scales would give the game away rather swiftly. Not that I considered such an act in the first place.” Virgil nodded. Deceit looked unlike any mortal Virgil had seen. 

Light began to trickle into the room. Virgil let out a hum of consideration, looking out the window at the slowly rising sun. “It’s morning,” he murmured. “We should go to Prince.” Virgil was looking forward to it, which was a bit unexpected but not unwelcome. He had genuine hope that the day would be mostly pleasant. Visiting bakeries run by mortals… The fae prince focused, thinking of Prince and willing the physical distance between to reduce. For Virgil and his companions’ locations to shift, change, as if they’d been there all along- 

Virgil had heard that with age came experience. The instant he registered the mattress he was laying on and the body next to him, Virgil had a mortifying epiphany. This had been the first time he’d twisted reality to move to a person, instead of to be at a place- Virgil leapt off Prince’s bed, landing silently on the ground with instinctive grace as the human bolted upright. 

“Have at thee, assassins!” Prince brandished his sword at them, presumably from beneath his pillow. Virgil hadn’t been paying attention. The mortal’s voice was rough with sleep but undaunted. “I will- You- Your eyes glow?” Fae eyes did glow, particularly royal ones, and given how embarrassed Virgil was in the moment the entire room was lit with soft purple light-

Creativity fell over, cackling. The sound was loud and grating, particularly since Virgil knew he was the one being laughed at. Thankfully, Deceit regained his bearings first. “It is humorous that it took so long for the mortal to notice such an obvious physical feature.” While unable to directly lie, the Winter fae’s careful wording suggested that the reason for Creativity’s hysterical laughter was Prince’s befuddlement. “And mistaking us for assassins? As if we care enough about mortal politics to directly assassinate the likes of you.” The deriding disdain was absolutely perfect, as it kept Prince’s attention off of Virgil. 

The human blinked rapidly, lowering his sword and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He shot Deceit a frustrated look before glancing down at his bed where Virgil had briefly layed. “Was- Was there someone on my bed?” Virgil didn’t move. Still as a statue, he contemplated disappearing and touring around a different kingdom. 

Deceit rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “Why yes, Prince! I would certainly consider yourself as being on -or in- your bed. I would even go as far to consider you as a ‘someone’, as it's a rather low bar.” Virgil had never been more grateful for his Unseelie companion’s deceitful guile. Prince seemed flustered and bewildered, his still-waking mind doubtlessly making it harder to see through the fae’s verbal tricks. Things were quiet for a moment. 

Wait, quiet? Virgil turned to look at Creativity, who had stopped cackling and had a contemplative, mischievous look in his bright green eyes. No, no, no. Absolutely not. “Not a word, Creativity.” Virgil ordered, his voice echoing through the room like thunder- And drawing Prince’s attention to him. 

“What has you so furious with him?” Prince asked, despite the slight wariness in his expression. “I understand he is deliberately irrita-” Virgil saw the moment Prince registered Creativity’s outfit. Suddenly, the mortal looked exhausted. “Is he pretending to be me?” Perfect. A change in topic. 

“Creativity is dressed like you for the purpose of mischief.” Virgil confirmed, before looking pointedly at said chaotic Summer fae. “He enjoys irritating people.” Creativity, to his lack of credit, shrugged unapologetically. Certainly, the only thing keeping him from quipping in response to Virgil’s rebuke was the order that he not speak. 

Instead, it was Deceit who spoke next. “Shall we await the human prince outside, given his… State of undress.” The Winter fae cast a judgemental glance at Prince’s sleepwear. There was nothing wrong with it in Virgil’s opinion, beyond the fact that it wasn’t suitable for wandering around in public. He supposed the way it exposed some of Prince’s chest could be viewed as indecent. Truthfully, the longer Virgil stared at it, the more indecent it felt. And to think! Just a few moments ago he had been lying in that same bed- The room was getting brighter. Virgil hurriedly looked away, hoping the glow from his eyes hadn’t broadcasted to everyone what he’d been staring at. Unfortunately, Virgil made the mistake of looking in Creativity’s direction. “You will never speak of this event.” Virgil ordered, certain Creativity would do so if not explicitly forbidden. Though Virgil’s orders held no weight compared to the authority a Fae Queen held over Her Court, by the time Creativity spoke to Virgil’s Seelie Mother next, none of this would matter. It was… A shame. Sad. From what Virgil had seen of the mortals so far, they did not deserve what was coming. Virgil commiserated. No one deserved the strife that loomed ever-closer over the horizon. He sighed, looking tiredly at Deceit. “I trust your discretion.” No order would be necessary for his Unseelie companion.

Deceit nodded, looking pleased. A spark of hope in both his eyes. “I will endeavour to live up to your expectations of me.” Good. Wonderful. Why did Virgil feel so hollow? 

Prince, for his part, simply looked confused. “Um… This event being you three appearing in my bedroom?” He then shot Deceit an offended look. “And don’t sneer at me for being underdressed whilst sleeping in my own bed! This is what sleepwear is for!” 

“I agree.” Virgil spoke before anyone else could. “Sleepwear is for sleeping, you were clearly unprepared for our arrival, we shall await you outside your door so you may-” Hopefully the bright purple glow of his eyes camouflaged the flush on his cheeks. “-dress. Without us. Being present.” With that, the fae prince willed them out of the room, reappearing in the hallway. Was this what embarrassment felt like? The indignity of making a mistake, and scrambling to cover up one’s failure? He had only accidentally transported himself closer to Prince then intended, surely there was no reason to be this flustered about it. Prince hadn’t even noticed! At the very least, Prince had been convinced that nothing happened. 

Creativity inserted himself into Virgil’s view, pouting at him. Still entirely as unapologetic as ever, yet daring to wordlessly plea for an end to his silence. Virgil let out a heavy sigh. “You may speak,” he allowed, “but you shall never speak of this morning’s events. Not a single one of them.” 

“I CAN SAY WORDS!” Creativity gleefully shouted, doubtlessly waking others in the castle. Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care. It was only fair that they, too, suffered through Creativity’s antics. Well… Perhaps the prince ought to reign in his subordinate, but it was too late to undo his shout. Instead, Virgil chose to punish him by changing the colour scheme of his outfit. The white fabric turned black, and accents a toxic green. He could do more, was well within his rights to punish Creativity further- But Virgil couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Creativity gasped in betrayed outrage nonetheless, before shrugging it off like nothing had happened. Unbothered as ever. It was a little frustrating. It was strangely endearing. It was maddening.

“So can I!” Came a cheerful -only slightly quieter- response, as Morality hurried over to them. “Hiya, Anxiety, Creativity and Deceit! I figured you might’ve intended to go at sunrise! And you said you’d find Ro- Royal Prince, our Royal Prince, Crown Prince, or as you call him now: ‘Prince’.” Virgil blinked, attempting to process that before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. 

“Greetings, Morality.” He said instead, rather than asking the origin of ‘hiya’, or why the mortal referred to Prince in such an unnecessarily verbose way. The bright smile he got in response to the short greeting was almost unsettling. Thankfully, Creativity exclaimed once again. “Morality! You shouted while people were still sleeping!” The fae sounded a mix of  delighted and accusatory. “You’re my new favourite human! If I end up killing you later, I’ll make it quick! Unless I’ve got orders not to. The Seelie Queen’s Will is Absolute, all must obey, and all that. You know how it is!” Something seemed to occur to Creativity. “Or maybe you don’t know how it is. Oh well. It’s too boring to explain.” 

“It is the Unseelie Queen’s Will to which the world will bend.” Deceit refuted Creativity’s claim. Virgil could hardly blame him. To stay silent upon hearing such ‘heresy’, as it were, would be to invoke the wrath of one’s Queen. That didn’t make listening to the arguments the two were obligated to have on pain of a fate worse than death any more pleasant to listen to. He opened his mouth to interrupt- “I am dressed!” Prince loudly announced, opening the door to his room and striding out into the hallway. His words were true. The human prince was dressed in a manner befitting high status, clothes unwrinkled, gold accents present, and the white fabric in his attire unblemished. His chest was fully covered, something Virgil unwillingly noticed. He looked away, focusing on the world around him. The finite mortal lives flickering nearby. Logic was… Hm. Moments away from dozing off in a library, surrounded by stacks of books. 

“The five of us are enough.” They could leave Logic to his rest. “You spoke of bakeries, yes, Morality? Let us visit them.” Virgil surely possessed enough precious gems to purchase whatever pastries they desired. His Mothers had always strived to one-up each other in Their generosity, and the members of Their Courts hurried to follow suit. 

…That was how the final Summer of the Summer-Winter Truce passed. A season of fae bickering, touring the kingdom, tasting treats and seeing sights. Accompanied by either Morality or Logic, but always Prince. The love all three humans felt for their kingdom was obvious to Virgil. For a short while, he allowed himself to be swept away by it, to live as if it wasn’t all about to end.

(Art by @briandthemoon)

Then Winter came, and with it, an end to the first half of his trip. A reminder of how little time he had left.

#tssbb 2022 #prinxiety #sanders sides

[castingmysilver]

....I keep being surprised and distressed and disappointed by how many people not only have access to information which could undermine their views but *have* accessed it, *know* it, at some level even *believe* it, and seem to make a conscious choice to interpret it in such a way as to make themselves feel superior and the other guy (gender neutral) look bad.

I was raised *without access.* I literally did not have opportunities to learn things which weren't spoon fed to me ideologically, much less incentives to try. Everyone I knew and trusted was from inside the same insular community, all my school curricula; ideologically compatible radio only, internet usage watched and sometimes directly controlled, visual media vetted, *library books* vetted individually before I checked them out until my mid-teens. Even books my fundie homeschooled peers were allowed to read sometimes didn't pass inspection. Even if they were for sale on the shelves of bloody Lifeway.

And for me... there are many things I have been initially confused, but also *relieved* to discover in the wild! It's so cool to me that the world outside the greenhouse is a more complicated and less unmitigatedly terrible place than I had been led to believe! That many people are in fact working from different data and interpretations than I was rather than denying "the truth" for the evil lolz or whatever, and that many, many people whether they love my God or not are doing their very best to love their neighbor and help their fellow-man.

And then I keep finding that the people who tried to keep me in the dark were not perpetuating a *mistaken* belief and too invested to look outside, and they weren't unaware, even, that their take on the data could be actively harmful. Sometimes maybe they convinced themselves there would be *worse* harm from another course of action, but...

They still knew. They knew. Sometimes they even developed the ideas I was taught as an intentional hostile reaction to the ideas I was relieved to discover. There are so many powerful people who demonize their neighbor and terrorize their own children *willfully*, with the full ability to have chosen otherwise.......

I was a *child* for fuck's sake, everyone who was supposed to teach me was teaching me badly, many of them were *originating* bad teachings rather than just passing it down the grapevine, and I *trusted* them.

I trusted them.

#personal #vent #silver processes bs #religious baggage #indoctrination #homeschool graduate #exvangelical #us politics #choosing how to live

[galaxythreads]

Wait a minute so in your fic loki believes thor threw him off the bifrost???? So probably thanos tampered with is memories too. Ohmygod add that to frigga doing that illusion stuff how is he even going to be able to trust his memories (when he finds out what actually happened) about anything D:

And he lives with thor even though he believes that his brother tried to kill him but also is now protecting him??

God it must be so confusing for him. this is so sad and so angsty its brilliant

Also also, its probably a pretty minor thing but really pumped me up when i was reading the fic, i used google translate for the asgardian dialogues and loki always calls odin "dad" in them instead of the usual and more formal "father". Was that a conscious decision? Or is it just a translation thingy?

asdfklja;sdlkfjasdf SO MANY ASKS TODAY. :DDDD I die of happiness.

Yes, Loki thinks that Thor threw him off the bifrost. In the Avengers, Loki says "I remember you tossing me into an abyss" which is normally glossed over by a lot of fics and people in general. But not in this one, nope! Thanos 1000% tampered with memories.

And Loki doesn't know that.

Thor and Loki have discussed the throw/vs you jumped thing already. Many many times. The giant argument they got into before Thor left for Jane's and was ~Vanished~ was about this. Emotionally, Loki finds it hard to hold Thor responsible for something so awful and he kind of just lumps it against Odin (as in Odin forced Thor to do it) because it's easier--And with how adamantly Thor denies it happened--but confusion is an understatement. The one thing Loki has had consistently in his life from his family is Thor's love and the fact that he now has to question that caused a lot of issues. But the thing is, Thor still rescued Loki from prison, and Loki knows this. So in Loki's mind, even if Thor threw him off, Thor doesn't want him dead now and that means things are different. Loki knows that the fight was an emotional mess for both of them. He did, y'know, try to kill Thor in it, so it's not like either of them would be blameless in his mind.

I wouldn't say Loki's forgiven him, but he's moved past it as much as he can. Thor is the one who can't let it go.

Because to Thor, the fact that Loki would even consider the idea that Thor would try to kill him is horrifying. Loki is his best friend. His brother. Thor would never want to kill him. Even in the actual bifrost fight, Thor kept insisting that he wouldn't fight Loki. What he did fight was in self-defense. Thor didn't go into the offensive once. But Loki's insistence makes Thor wonder if Thor remembers it wrong and he DID throw Loki from the Bifrost. To Thor, it is exceptionally painful that Loki would consider him capable of this.

There's a lot of confusion about all of this, to be certain.

Yeah, honestly, bare in mind throughout the majority of this fic that Loki and Thor think that the other hates them. Or at best, tolerates. But Loki still wants to help Thor.

Which is what makes Frigga's choices a lot worse. I was just about to spoil this massive thing and then remembered I'm trying not to do that and refrained, lol. XD

And about the Norwegian thing, I am not a native speaker, to make this absolutely clear. I started seriously learning it for this fic, enough that I can put sentences together, mostly correct google in absurd translations, and can recognize about 150+ common words, but I wouldn't consider myself fluent.

With that stated, it is my understanding that Far/Mor is the more formal way of addressing your parents. A majority of Norwegians would call their parents mamma/pappa. I think google will just use them interchangeably when going from Norwegian to English or consider "pappa" to be a closer translation to "daddy" which it's not.

There are a lot of places in the fic where I think the translation of it doesn't really matter. Dad/father doesn't make that big of a difference except with how desperate Loki seems to be. Just rest assured that when/if Loki starts calling Odin "pappa" that's when you know that he's intentionally using "dad" rather than it being a one or the other thing.

#answered #ysfslwftca #my fics #i love you anon

[queermatters]

Coming out as trans as an autistic person

That’s it now. I’m finally out as a trans person. I’ve known for almost 2 years, I’ve been ready for months.

It felt so hard to do. Every time I’d go to bring it up with my mom, my mouth would glue shut. I’d spend the run up trying to think about how I was going to tell her, how I’d respond to her questions and how she might react. I had no worries that the response would be negative, but it still felt impossibly hard to just say it.

Yesterday I had 3 perfect opportunities to do it, but every time, I’d spend so much time thinking about it, that when I felt I had planned and looked into the future enough, my mouth would lock up and I just wouldn’t be able to say anything.

But I did succeed the fourth time around. I just hung out with her for a while, and made a conscious effort not to think too hard about it. I figured I’d be better off not letting myself think too hard about it and just start the sentence off with something that would lock me into continuing.

I opened up with: “I’ve got some news by the way”, at which point, I have no choice but to follow it up with any other combination of words other than: “I’m trans”.

What followed was a affirming and supportive reaction from my mom, one which I’m incredibly privileged and lucky to have had.

But it made me reflect more on how tricky being neurodivergent can make these sorts of difficult conversations.

So often, as we grow up, we have our self esteem and trust in our own judgment chipped away. We’re often treated as incompetent and not capable of autonomy, like we can’t make the right decisions. And I really think this shows up to these sorts of situations as well. That’s why I obsess over every last detail of more difficult conversations, because I don’t trust myself to just come out and say something. What if I fuck up, what if I missjudge something and hurt someone?

The tragic thing is, we’re a lot more competent, autonomous and capable than anyone has ever allowed us to believe. We may have to do and approach things differently, sure. But that doesn’t mean that we’re any less capable than anyone else at figuring things out. But I know for myself, I find it incredibly hard to trust that in myself. The result is often, I end up overthinking difficult conversations so much that I end up not being able to have them, or not being able to communicate how I feel clearly.

This isn’t to say that we shouldn’t sit and think about how to have these difficult conversations. We should. But at the same time, I feel for myself, I can get into the loop of doing that 1000 times before actually having the conversation in the first place, and worse yet, ending up in murky and unclear waters as a result.

#actuallyautistic #actually autistic #lgbtq #lgbt #queer #lgbtqia #trans #transgender #autistic #enby

[lesbian-in-leather]

1, 9, 16, 20 for the writing asks :)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I absolutely care to the extent that I changed my default setting because Cambria Body makes me want to scream. There are also a lot of fonts that I literally cannot read because they make my eyes jump around the page and I can't follow the lines, so I usually use Times New Roman unless I need a font for like a Specific Purpose. Like, titles can be a Funky Font - (I am newly obsessed with this free downloadable one because it's SO NEAT), and sometimes I need like, a typewriter font or a handwriting font or something for a specific passage. But yeah apart from specific circumstances, I use Times New Roman

Also I typed it too many times and now font doesn't look like a word anymore

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

Honestly I don't even know. Do I?? Some places have Off Vibes and also I might have maybe seen a ghost backstage at the theatre I performed in a few weeks ago, but like. It was an ambiguous scenario. Hm. No okay yeah I think I believe in ghosts, but also I think they are wayyy rarer than people think. Also I don't believe in ghost-hunters all of them seem to be bullshit and I don't like liars

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

Okay sadly I don't think I've ever used anything too weird. I've def used my elbow, my forearm, and once - briefly - my hair. Also my phone. I'm very conscious about damaging books though so I don't tend to use anything too wacky - also I do collect bookmarks so I usually have one to hand (or at least the classic 'receipt from when I bought the book five minutes ago'). Also also I read a lot of pretty hardcover editions (my beloved <3) which tend to have the ribbons in the spines so that's always helpful

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

Bold of you to assume that's not the same thing

Okay right but like. Okay. Okay hear me out. This is mean actually and I don't want to choose. BUT, in the interest of I have to choose here's the thought process:

So eternal happiness implies eternal life for both me AND my love(s. I know it says 'one' but what if I want multiple girlfriends huh? what then) - but could I be eternally happy if my fave little WIP could never be finished - or, worse, could only be finished wrong? Also I don't even know which one my fave IS - does the curse block all of them?? Does it switch depending on which is my current fave so I can never work on anything?? I don't LiKe tHiS.

But what if I choose the WIP? Can I cheat and still have mortal-lifespan happiness with my MULTIPLE loves?? Is that how we win here??????

I think I'd have to choose the WIP because like. Despite what the curse says, just knowing I COULD have Made The Thing and knowing that now it'll never happen would inherently ruin my eternal happiness :( I'm sorry my love :((( but also I feel like my theoretical girlfriend would not only understand, but actively support this decision. We can still find a loophole it's fine. It's FINE

#THANKS FOR THE ASKS THESE WERE REALLY FUN #though i am still mad that i can't have both for the last one #>:( #the lesbian herself #weird questions for writers #vaguely functional directions #also i'm not actually up at 4am i swear i just queued this #it's currently like 3 but i'm going to bed now #that's not as bad right