#is this purple prose because it feels like purple prose but ehh

[nat-of-personifs]

Nao

My experiences of imposter syndrome, jealousy, and mostly creative FOMO, put through a metaphorical google translate. Second person practice. A bit of Guardian!Ira lore, as a treat. It’s google translate. Not all the metaphors correlate exactly.

—

Your friends are always in your thoughtspace.

They trample the garden you see it as with booted feet, behind five locks you never intended for them to navigate. They don’t know it. You let them: they are Active and you are classified as Passive, they are older, and they deserve this space to play in. They deserve the play they were denied while they lived, the imitation of which your own Active mocked you for. 

You would have been like your friends if you’d died earlier, before you met them, before you miscarried your own fandomspirit, because children always become Actives. It’s only fair. They should have lived longer. The Wall has a limit that changes, but there’s always a limit.

Or maybe there’s not, and the In-Betweenness has warped your feelings into Reality again. But this isn’t Reality: that was the first thing you remembered. You exist in the iPad under your pillow on the night you died, but you aren’t in Internet, you’re beyond. Your first friend exists in the pages of the last Wikipedia article they read on their phone, and the second exists in the code of the computer in the hospital on the day he lost his fight.

Maybe you’re the Pattern Screamers Ira manifests in Fiction. You’re surprised your memory, your thoughtscape, was strong enough at all, but the Wall emphasized that you should have woken up to Reality the next day. Sometimes proto-Guardians are just too tangled.

You only had a chance of becoming Passive because you tied your thoughtscape to your friends, anyway. They were marked from the day they were old enough to think: with the scraps of paper that hold their limbs together, clothing labels they cut off and keep, doctor’s offices diagnosing the colors in their brains. They didn’t like the way they bled into Reality–his more obviously than theirs, but no less valid. You would have grown up loving Reality and yourself if it wasn’t for them, but in the old tales, eternal life was the greatest gift to give. Is it worth it, in this form?

Only if you want it. Your thoughtspace is too close to the Wall, and it’s your true body now. Everyone’s an avatar. It beckons. You don’t exist, anyway. You also don’t care enough to terminate yourself. That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? Reality flowed over you, bland but filterless, and your thoughtspace eroded as slowly as igneous rock.

Homogenous. Silent. Thoughtspaces are refuges, but yours withers with boredom instead of flowering under duress as it should. You pried it open when you met your friends, a platonic love letter never sent. They assumed you were always as vibrant as you became when your minds crossed. It’s how they entered, why they trampled. It’s not fair that they’ve done so much and all you can feel from it is the string in the fabric of your chest pulling tight. You are vomiting emaciated imitations of the colors, even now, where everyone can see, and silently complain of the bleeding as your thoughtspace cuts you with their knives.

You could fight it back with a breath, or count the perceptions it doesn’t warp, or simply stop believing the knives can hurt you. You’re an In-Between, another forgotten mistake of the Wall. You have some defenses. But isn’t it better to bleed? You’re only mistaken for an Active when the colors leave marks on your face, the highest compliment a Guardian can send. Euphoria makes your arms softer (your mother always commented on how solid you were, compared to her looseness) and sharpens your knives. 

It doesn’t hurt, at least compared to the lonely blacks and blues you see rising above the heads of new Actives like halos. Your synesthesia is a dead end, words to colors, so the halos spell out bruises in cues only your thoughtspace unravels. They come apart with the satisfaction of ripping out knit mistakes in yarn. You take their colors too, and pretend they’re yours when you bind together loose papers in the Wall, but it knows your deceptions.

You can’t keep yourself away from the initiation rites, but newly-rough knife edges point to your arms when you look. The threat is enough. The only defenses your thoughtspace doesn’t block are your legs, and the tightness in your chest, locking together in an ancestral rite that most Actives use far too often. You run, it’s simple. Opposites aren’t attractive to you.

It’s not like you can’t look away, though. Pacing makes you feel like an airplane in a holding pattern, waiting to land, but you’re so impatient. Even the colors can’t help with the twitches and the boredom when you finally fall into bed, still peeling your nails, as your friends sharpen the knives they don’t know they have when they joke that you should have been an Active. Dopamine, as the flickering colors are validated, and cortisol, as you force the self that yearns for them to object to a falsehood you desperately want to believe. 

Your friends have walked longer. Your friends cultivated their thoughtspaces properly, or improperly, depending on whose normalcy you take as the truth–but your normalcy is only whatever they do. Your body is eleven and the youngest of your friends, who say they look exactly the way they did when they died. You haven’t checked. The house you dreamed of the three of you sharing is constantly shadowed, and you put redaction bars over their faces. It’s a remnant from a fandomspirit whose Guardian body could put all your colors into boxes, and leave you barren and Passive as you should have been. But, like her, you can’t bear giving up the bits of meaningless control you have now. It’s why you made the locks.

They were never for your friends: your friends are free to access your thoughtspace whenever they feel the urge to (you dreamed of them visiting you in your lowest moments while you were alive, and blinding them with the colors you bleed), they’re for Ira, when the Wall finally forgives her behind an Old Triumvirate secret.

#creative writing #NTJ #Eyes of an In-Between #Nat’s Guardians #the Ira brainrot #imposter syndrome #is this purple prose because it feels like purple prose but ehh #or melodrama #oh well #second person pov #tw suicide mention #tw knife #uhhh Nao’s a little fucked up but they’re the most sane of all my characters #yes even saner than Vanguard

[sweet-sixteen-kraang-birthday]

2, 4, 10, 20 and 25?

Thank you so much for sending this in! ♥️♥️

You send the ones that I secretly wanting to answer, lol.

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I’m looking to writing a lot of things but—one thing that I’m really really looking forward to is writing that Time Travel fic.

I freaking love that trope so much. It’s my first thing that I think about in EVERY fandom I enter.

I’m actually writing one for TO!!! TWO. Vibaranting with excitement for it. It’s in the....works. I just want so badly to get the good parts and put it down but I’m so exited that I can’t seem to get the words down.

So far, one of them is going along VERY nicely. I’m so proud of it. The other one—I’m not sure the direction I’m heading in. There’s a lot of ways it could go down and I want all of them.

There’s also ANOTHER time travel fic I want to desperately write, but eh. It’s on TVD and I’m not so familiar with the characters and the plot so this one is at the back of my mind, constantly thinking of how it could go down...

I have this Scene in mind that I want to write so badly. Thinking about it just is making me WANT TO SCREAM

okay so I realised I have been rambling and didn’t even mention what the fics are on

First one: Hope going back in time, post season 5 to get glimpse of her parents. Act like she’s someone else to meet her parents but ehh the magic goes wrong and she’s stuck there. Or something. I haven’t quite worked it out.

Second one: Hope and Hayley in s4 going back in time to season 2 to find the last wolf for the spell. This is the one I’m proud of and liking the way it’s going so far. It’s a surprise at how easy it’s flowing. It was actually inspired after I read your Hayley&Cami s4 fic. Kind of. After I read it I got a sentence in my head and put it down... the rest just came afterwards. I was never expecting to write a time travel fix but I LOVE THE DIRECTION ITS HEADING.

third one: Hope going back in time for reasons and going to the school. It’s an outside POVs. one that I have in mind and I’m so excited for that because I freaking loooveee outside POVs.

There’s also other time travel fics that I have in mind. Another one that I am writing as well but ahhh I don’t want to spill any details.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

ehhhhh ANOTHER HARD ONE

okay, so. This is my first time writing Klaus’ POV. I never could get his voice. And this came to as a surprise?? I don’t even know how it happened, but it did. 

It’s the moment in s2 where Klaus meets Kol. AND THAT MOMENT WHEN HE REALISES THAT CAMI IS TAKEN AWAY. 

“Cami!” Klaus calls out, not breaking eye contact with his brother.”I changed my mind, I’m going to kill him after all.”

There’s a moment of silence, no reply. Worry and panic starts to rise and Klaus turns, says her name. And again, no response. 

Mikael, he’s thinking as he [WORDS HERE]

---blood. Cami’s blood. It takes effort to not let panic get the better of him and he walks around the car and sees the trunk empty. 

Father. Father has Cami.

Before this part, It was all fun and banter between Kol and Klaus and then THIS PART. Oh i loove how i did the tension here. I found it interesting that Klaus walks and doesn’t run or use his vamp speed. I was going to make him run but when watching the scene again... I realised he didn’t so while i was trying I was trying to get into his mindset.

It was really fun to write. It’s reason why I started writing this part. Wanted to capture the HORROR that klaus must’ve felt. The guilt the panic the anger. 

And oh how Klaus switches between “Father” and “Mikael” it wasn’t a concious choice but I love it. 

that bracket part is because I haven’t of how to get that transisation yet... I do have some ideas but anyways I really love how i got this part down. 

Also from the same WIP:

He was joking anyways. Partly. He’s not going to kill him, of course. Despite his behaviour, Kol is his brother. His blood.

Punishment, however, is entirely another thing.

IT’S SUCH A KLAUS THOUGHT. And im so proud because I think I got his voice down here really well. And because it was so fun to write. Gosh, I love him. 

The first part is a throwback to the scene where he shouts to kol “Im not going to kill you, you idiot” I love that moment so much. 

AND THAT LAST PART WHERE ITS LIKE “ Punishment, however, is entirely another thing.” i was crackling as i read it. 

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Oh! This is an interesting one. Erm. So I have a thought or scene in mind and it’s will be CONSTANTLY chewing up inside my head and I’ll end it up eventually writing it down. Or sometimes it’s more like. A sentence randomly pops up?

And then I start writing and let the words flow. It’s all over the place, the scenes and stuff. Not chronological. I gave up on that long ago. And is a PAIN to edit. The Worst.

At most I can write up to 300 to 400 words before I stop. It’s not that I can’t continue anyways I CAN just. My brain is working to fast for me to continue and I need to just daydream about the scenes. Sometimes I get more words down which is a surprise for me, but it happens.

I write first, get the words down. Anything, even if I don’t like it. Like for today, I wanted to write something on Gia but had NO CLUE where to start. So I just anything down and...

Apparently now, I am writing a fic where Gia and Kaleb meet??? Before she gets swept off to Marcel and his speech and him to Kol.

Idk. I don’t make the rules.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Ehhh, WHERE TO START. There’s so much!!

I’ll go with  despite the gentle hands that keep your head underwater 

this line:

Jack denied it, kept whispering no no no no no and they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t but knew, dread and horror curling cold—just like Mary—against his bones as the Devil laughed, laughed and laughed and said, Son— 

—Jack takes a sharp, deep breath, grips the sink tighter, hands ghost white, refusing to fall—

Sam and Dean never met to get him out, were never going to try and save him, but—Jack did, Jack got himself out of that box and darkness—

and will save himself

—“that’s right, son,” the Devil whispers in his ear—

even if Sam and Dean think he doesn’t deserve to be.

I REALLY love the choices i made here. 14.19 was the most painful arc for Jack. And i hate and love it?? 

Jack’s slow realisation to Sam and Dean’s betrayal HURTS and i wanted to show what it actually meant for Jack. He was denying it, trying to reasure himself that from the truth.  I love writing lucifer here as the “Devil” it makes him sound more... darker?? horriying?? And like Jack has been struggling with being his son, the actual devil’s son---so it would seem fitting that he thinks “lucifer” as the “devil” in his mind. 

And oh mary. How Jack tries to desparately bring her back but can’t. Cold. She’s gone, she’s not coming back, she’s dead. She’s here right now in his arms, but--shes not at the same time. Her body is here but she, Mary is gone. It’s that same feeling, of Sam and Dean promsing him soon and that this was a good choice for him and stuff - but Jack realising that they didn’t care. They did but they lied but Jack doesn’t see that *caring* part just. The actions, the lies. The betrayal.

AND THEN HOW DEVIL CALLS HIM SON. While LAUGHING.

FAVE IMAGERY. i use it...A LOT. I noticed. 

“Son” going back to what I said before of Jack struggling with not being evil and wanting to not be and what this means. He killed mary, for no other reason that he was angry. He *lost* control. He did evil. And so he’s now the Devil’s son. Everything that he didnt want to be. 

(everything that his mom didn’t want to be)

AND OH i really love how i use the dashes here. Cutting back to the present. Jack still gripping on. Refusing to fall. 

(Fall. Oh i never noticed that... intresting, interesting choice of words!!)

NNGH this HURTS and I LOVE IT. them planning to keep him in there and jack getting himself “out of that darkness” but is he really? did he just fall deeper in?

“will save himself” OH JACK. 

ehhh words are failing me now but i love how i went back to the “devil whispering in ear” and “son” 

it sets up to the next scene of Jack losing it at the lies people tell and he goes like NO MORE LIES

and then how he goes down for Dean and doesn’t fight back.... because there’s a part of him, of jack that believes... he’s doing wrong. 

AND AHHH i just love that ending. It sets for dark!jack SO NICELY. 

and that little angst “even if Sam and Dean think he doesn’t deserve to be. “ OOF.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Most fun? This is a hard questions. There’s a lot of things!! I can’t just seem to put it into words.

I think.... ahhh this is really hard

sometimes it’s writing dialogue, sometimes it’s the actions, or the thought process....

OH actually thinking of “sometimes” it’s when the characters’ emotions and personalities SHINE out. Like when I can get to write to the fun stuff of this characters that I love.

Like. An example: Rebekah and Kol bantering? Or ELIJAH AND REBEKAH BEING THE SOFTED. And and Rowena flirting. She’s so fun to write. OR Hinny and their fun energy.

And really when I get to use purple prose. I’m a sucker for poetry and beautiful descriptive stuff and it’s ALWAYS so fun to write them down.

#sorry if i dont make sense #im just rambling here #and when i do. i tend to not make sense at all XD #aeruthien #THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN #i had fun with this <33 #asks

[50shadesofmittens]

So I went on vacation for a week

Meant I had minimal internet, but more time to write. I’m now happy to say that I’m at the point where unless something goes very wrong, I’m going to be editing the next chapter of Three Times They Don’t for only grammar, purple prose avoidance, and humor. Not at the same time, of course, but it means I’ve gotten more done. Yay!

It also means I have a bunch of stuff I cut from the chapter which I want to post here. So if you’re interested, just bear in mind some of this was cut for good reason:

He hadn’t spoken to me since that night at Ullanor, and I doubted he remembered me at all. And only a few millennia ago I learned that Magnus had been framed for a crime very personal to me.

Ten thousand years had passed for me as well, and I had far worse failures and far greater offenses behind me. I can honestly say I had no idea what to feel about him now beyond ‘potential major security breach.’

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

“So, you do know where to find it?”

“…Ehh… Iiii… It’s not quite…” The book may not have “I know where they are, but… I don’t keep those books in the library…” And frankly, I didn’t want the nerdy gene-father of the Bloody Magpies anywhere near my oh-so-irreplacible personal library that would be super easy for a bookworm kleptomaniac sorcerer to steal from. Or just steal.

“So where can I find them?”

“I… I keep them in the-” A brilliant realization struck me. ’The Screaming Angel’ was amongst those I did copy down and keep in the palace. The Black Library version had better printing, but there was another option.

“Keep them in?”

“Uh, sorry. I found a special hiding spot for some of the Who books back when their fate was being decided, just incase someone got too… trigger-happy and decided to burn them before a decision was made.” Stored alongside several other books with multiple copies. “C’mon, I’ll show you where they are.”

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

My standards must have been so low they were underground if mere possession of a wholesome moral code was all it took. Well, that and copious muscles. Admittedly fine muscles. And regularly wearing no sleeves, while still being non-threatening, or at least less threatening than every other pair of bare arms in the palace.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

In the silence that followed Magnus’ smile fell, the mood started to creep from enchanting back to awkward, and I decided to break the ice and extend the magical moment. “Anyways, nasty revelations and temper tantrums aside, I’m glad we asked about his past.”

“That was a wide berth of fascinating information.”

“But there’s still so much more I want to know.”

“I’m curious about what it was like when he came into his powers- what sort of impression the various shamen left, if they had any messages or wisdom to impart, if there were any clues as to what he was before then.”

“I want to know what the various cultures of Earth were like, especially the contrasts between them. That’s such a huge range of history, there’s got to be civilizations that rose and fell under similar circumstances with huge, contrasting factors between them.”

“That’s an unusual thing to fixate on.”

“Yeah, but think of it this way- if we know what the differences were between cultures with some constants between them, we can analyze the differences and figure out which were the cause of massive societal differentiation, and which were the results. And with so many centuries, there’s got to be plenty of examples to look at. Like- it’s one thing to get an opinion from scholars who share biases from living in the same era, it’s another to get a first hand account.”

“There are original sources, you know.”

“Yeah, but if we’re going to do a second round of historical tales, it’d be a great time to learn more, well, history. Although, honestly I didn’t think it would be possible for us to get the whole tale of the Emperor’s life in one setting. After all that time, there must be thousands- no, millions of adventures he’s had throughout the eras!”

“Probably less than you think. It would not surprise me if he stayed too far from any local societies to pay much attention, only came out when he sensed a warp predator to vanquish.”

“You don’t think he did anything of interest in those years?” I said.

“Of course not, but you can’t honestly think he just blended in through multiple ages of human history. I can tell you from experience, people tend to notice. And when you have the sort of magnificent presence Father does, it gets even harder to hide.” Magnus said.

I knew then that Magnus would be amazed at how many places an advanced superhuman could hide. How many backwater planets and bustling hive cities we could disappear in. How many places a man could go to get fucked.

“Um.”

For an hour or a year, it didn’t matter to me back in the days when I had escaped from wonderland, but was still falling down the rabbit hole. I had nothing to drag me away. But that’s what happens when someone is betrayed by everyone they-

“Why is your aura all…” I blinked, realizing that Magnus was talking to me, “tense?”

“‘Tense?’” The word came out harsher than I intended, demonstrating his point. Carefully I relaxed my jaw, unclenched my fists, and let out a long breath. It had been a tiring day, and it was better not to let my mind go down a dark route.

“Your emotions are intense enough to…” Magnus trailed off, “Well, they were practically broadcasting themselves just now. But you seem to have calmed down rather quickly.”

It was an acquired skill. One I needed to keep myself from going postal through the palace. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

“It is a bit disconcerting.” Magnus admitted, “In my experience, one cannot have such an ability without also possessing a warped view of reality.” I thought it a testament to Emperor’s skill with genetics that his son was rather pretty even when he was being petulant.

“Ah.”

“N-not that that’s a bad thing, of course.” Magnus said, quickly. “I just mean- well,” His voice dropped to a mumble, “Oh gods, I’m no good at this.” Raising his voice again, he said, “I mean, hey, why don’t we go, um, find something to distract- I mean, something engaging to do while we wait out Father’s temper tantrum?”

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

He glanced about at the books on the top shelves and the conspicuously empty bottom rows. “Well the basic principal at the heart of our system is keeping the irreplaceable stuff out of fortress-pillow fights.” I hadn’t meant to be so honest, but the words came out anyways. In my defense, I was not prepared to face Magnus today.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

Magnus’ scowl dropped, and he looked at my helmet- not the face of it, but the entire symbol of the Custodes- with wide eyes. Not like he was reading my mind, but like he was reading into me.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

Magnus looked away, face flushed slightly. I’d like to think an unspoken understanding passed between us. Magnus eventually turned back to me, but he looked so handsome in the aftermath of that moment of wisdom that I didn’t want to break the spell. Briefly, I wondered if he’d grant me a hug if I asked for one, if only so I could get those muscular arms wrapped around me.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

There were more questions I wanted to ask. More things I knew the man I was pretending to be would say.

I wanted to kiss him, right then and there. Wanted it too much for it to be a rational thought. To this day, I’m not sure why you didn’t. Then again I still had my helmet on, and headbutts have never been terribly romantic.

“Erm.” With Magnus’ natural disposition it was hard to tell if he was blushing as hard as I was. “I’ll just… hey, do you want some popcorn?”

“Uh… … I-” He cut me off before I could finish.

“Why don’t I go make some snacks? It’s not like this garbage is going anywhere.”

“I can go get food. Menial tasks are usually my job.”

“No no, I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself. It’s fine, I’ll just… go.”

With that he teleported away. I remained for a moment, and my eyes drifted towards the Aquilla symbol on the walls. mind blank yet already certain of what I was going to do.

Six thousand years ago, I never wanted to leave the palace. One day a little under six thousand years ago, I ran away from the palace with no desire to ever return. That vow lasted until the Imperium fell apart, and nobody else was able to stand in the way of a tyrant. But even then, I barely returned to the palace.

I had to leave the palace and the planet before I could put those ghosts to rest.

I spent centuries running from the pain and betrayal in my past. But the ghosts of my brothers weren’t strong enough to keep me celibate for millennia, even if I’m finding old memories rising from the grave more and more these days. It always happens when I’m back in the palace, or when someone reminds me of all I lost.

It’s been a little under six thousand years since I slept with someone who was stronger, or as strong as I am. I’m not sure if it’s because I was never ready to be vulnerable or because it’s so hard to find someone who fits the bill. Now the palace had someone who was beautiful and sexy, someone who- I was sure- wanted me, but also wasn’t so crazy as to pursue any whim of desire. I thought that ‘Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to reclaim one more lost piece of myself.’

I knew that a psyker could easily make me feel things that weren’t my own. I knew this could be a trick for Magnus to manipulate me. I wasn’t underestimating or discounting the possibility. At the time, I just didn’t care.

Rule one: Always make sure you to full, uncoerced consent. The vast majority of Imperial Citizens don’t feel safe telling a superhuman ‘no,’ I had to make sure to avoid those.

          Well I certainly didn’t have to worry about that with a Primarch who could bench-press me

Rule two: Always make sure you want to give your full consent. Especially if you might not be able to back out later.

          That was a good point…

Rule three: Make sure you both go into it knowing exactly what to expect from the other. Don’t assume a once-off is the default, and don’t assume you’re promising monogamy.

          I could easily abide by rule three.

I reached the kitchens quickly. The nice gold ones that the serfs only entered to clean where Astartes lived out whims of being warrior chefs. I found Magnus with his back turned to me and a bowl hovering six feet in the air. Something clicked into place somewhere deep in my mind.

In the seconds before I spoke, I thought to myself, ‘For someone who’s spent a good deal of time avoiding physical contact with some very fine and eager men, I’m about to be rather forward with my affections.’

What came out of my mouth was, “You know, we never did finish our little… discussion.”

The room had seen enough destruction that parts were constantly being replaced, but throughout all the renovations the floor always had a checkered tile pattern.

           //More content here I never included

“Mmmyes, I think that’ll do nicely.” I said, lowering my voice to a purr, letting more of my weight fall against him and perusing his body further.

Magnus responded with jerk and a noise somewhat like an elephant trying to hit all the notes in “Amazing Grace” backwards on a trumpet within three seconds. The pan in his hand flew through the archway opposing me and hit a wall in the hallway with a loud clang.

The sound echoed while the two of us stared at each other.

“I’m sorry, what?” Magnus asked.

“Um-” I look at him. Surely he cannot be serious? Magnus has never-

All at once my world goes cold. Besides me the Magnus of the Tower says, “I mean- I’m not, not complaining exactly, I just want to make sure that you- you said- you were just joking, right?”

He sounded half-bold at first and the illusion of confidence faded away at the end, but I barely processed his babbling. Instead I studied the man in the kitchen. Would I still want him if I hadn’t loved another who shared his name? How much of my desire was genuinely for the person who’d served a Chaos God for ten thousand years and how much of it grew as an extension of what I once had with another Magnus.

Because I still didn’t know how much the different fragments of the Fifteenth Primarch shared together and how much was cultivated by the experiences and memories of each individual. But it only took a few tiny similarities to make the confusion- the way Magnus flicks their hair back when it falls in the pages of a book they’re engrossed in, the way they sway ever so slightly when a story has enraptured them, the way their face goes slack when they see a sight of true wonder.

None of those things had anything at all to do with a person’s humors, temperment, or maturity. I knew that, and yet such small details could easily blind me, make me see an enduring history or a fire-forged bond of trust where none existed.

But as Magnus shifted uncomfortably in the face of my silence, I realized that any proposition from me would be unfair to Magnus. Because I hadn’t finished my rules, and one of them was very important today.

Rule six: Don’t lie about who you are. If you can’t be honest to the people you know, then go find a stranger who’s looking for a stranger.

The rule was mostly an extension of rule one, but in this case the issue wasn’t whatI was so much as whoI was to Magnus.

Should the Crimson King return to Tzeentch, anything he learned would come to the direct attention of the gods. Or what if I told him the truth and he forced me to lead him to the other fragments of Primarch XV, devoured them and made himself whole.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

And then a baneblade rode through a hallway just a few dozen meters away from where we were.

“…Well, I’d better get back to work. Please- if you want to take anything else from here, let me know before you do.”

“This should be enough.” Magnus said, levitating roughly three quarters of the books in the closet.

#wip #tts