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Claude remembers vividly the first time he was invited to court for the Interpretation of the King’s dreams.

It was his first public appearance as an official member of the royal family at the ripe old age of 9, and that acknowledgement would make things much, much harder for him going forward.

And yet, it doesn’t seem to taint the memory.

The Oracle at the time was a vibrant man with a magnetic smile that Claude was sure could be seen from the back of the court. He wore golden bells on his colorful, sweeping sleeves that punctuated his exaggerated gestures with a raucous clattering of chimes. At the time, he thought it was magical. Now, he recognizes it as a clever performance.

Claude would listen with rapt attention as the man unraveled every detail of his father’s dreams into grand stories concerning the future of Almyra, or profound insights into the state of the King’s heart. All of this revealed to him by the direction of the King’s sleeping mind.

After that, Claude slept with ink and paper next to his bed. He doesn’t remember the content of his dreams- only the act of feverishly writing them down before they inevitably slipped from his sleepy mind.

At the time, he was transfixed by the idea that there could be meaning in everything, and admired the Oracle’s ability to make sense of it all. As he grew up, he admired the Oracle’s cunning performance, and his ability to carve out a place of safety at the King’s side.

Claude hasn’t dreamed in years.

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Logan stands glued to the spot, unable to look away from the oddly beautiful scene he’d stumbled into.

He’d seen the strange pink and orange light from a ways further inside the cave. He’s not sure if it was due diligence or curiosity that drew him to investigate. Not that he knew what to expect when he turned the corner, but he couldn't have dreamt up the sight- dozens of twinkling, multicolored crystals suspended around a broad hole in the cave's ceiling, tossing the dying sunlight all over the rocks below.

His head jerks at the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked. Dammit.

“Oh, sorry prospector.” His would be attacker lowers her gun. She’s a slight woman that Logan doesn’t recognize. When her face comes into view from behind her pistol, she looks relieved instead of intimidated, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here. Thought you might be a monster.”

Prospector? Logan looks down at the pickhammer in his hand. After he’d got caught up, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d come out here lookin’ for materials for Haru.

“Right, erm, sorry to bother you miss.” Better to get out of here in case she ends up recognizin’ him. He’d grown careless and left his mask behind. He’d have to tell the others that someone had made it a little too close to their hideout.

“Wait!”

Logan freezes in his retreat.

“It’ll look even prettier in like 5 or 10 minutes. I’d hate for you to miss it when you’re right here anyway.”

She doesn’t know who he is at all.

“Sorry, but I should really be gettin’ back to work. ‘Sides, this ain’t really my thing.”

“I saw the way you were looking at it earlier.” The woman steps closer to him, barely containin’ her excitement, “It’s based on a picture I saw a long time ago. This is the same spot it was taken- ever since I got here, I’ve been dying to recreate it.”

“That’s real nice, but-”

“Please? No one else was willing to come out here with me. Actually the Civil Corps told me I wasn’t allowed to. I’m not actually sure if they can enforce that. You’ll keep my secret, right?”

“Er…”

Before he can think of another way to rebuff her, she starts up chatterin’ again, “If it doesn’t end up being worth your time, I’ll give you my pickhammer. It’s made of tougher stuff than yours, so it should make digging a lot faster.”

He doesn’t particularly want her pickhammer, but he’s starting to feel a bit sorry for her.

“Alright, alright. Just a few minutes though. I really should be going.” If Haru were here he’d call him a big softy.

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Who all in-game knows that Byleth slept for five years? Do the other students get told that or do they just assume she was off doing mercenary work or something?

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Elysium, Underworld

“No. No way.” Jeralt intercepts Zagreus as he leans forward to rake in the pile of obols on the grass between them.

“What? By said I won.” He protests.

“You only win if you can explain how you won.” Jeralt says sternly.

“What does it matter?”

“Because it influences how you bet. If you don’t know what you have, then you’re just betting randomly.”

“That’s a strategy too.” Byleth shrugs.

Jeralt sighs, but relents, “We’ll see how you like it when it’s your hand he’s up against.”

Zagreus greedily pulls in his winnings and adds them to his dwindling pile. Despite being chided, he feels a lovely sense of warmth from within their little circle. Byleth and her father might as well be opposites, but unlike him and his own father, it doesn’t seem to get in the way of their relationship. He’s pleased that the game will continue for a few more rounds, at least.

“Where’d you get these cards, anyway? They’re not like anything I’ve seen before.” Zagreus asks as Jeralt smoothly flicks a new set of cards onto the grass in front of them.

“I asked the chatty boatman to get them for me.” Jeralt says, “turns out he’ll do almost anything for a bit of coin.”

Zagreus stops his coin stacking for a moment, “You had Charon smuggle something from the surface for you?”

Jeralt laughs, “I doubt I’m the only one he’s doing it for. I didn’t think he even understood me at first- but he came back with exactly what I wanted.”

Zagreus didn’t know that. The warmth from earlier dissipates. What else does Charon get up to while he’s ferrying souls for his father?

“I’m surprised you still want to play. I’d figure you’d be eager to keep fighting.” He says to Byleth, determined to leave the unwelcome feeling unexamined.

“Resting is an important part of any job.”

Jeralt looks up at him over his new hand, “You should listen to her, she’s smart.”

“You taught me that.” Byleth says blandly.

“Sure did.” His face breaks out in a jovial smile, “How goes all that, by the way? The big boss hasn’t come to stop you?”

“You mean besides putting the strongest shades in the underworld between us and the exit?” Zagreus quips as he looks at his own cards. It feels silly to bet at this point- what is he even supposed to glean from two cards? Maybe there’s more that he isn’t getting.

“We’ve made a lot of progress.” Byleth’s deadpan tone makes it sound like she’s giving a report, “It’s difficult when things keep changing.”

Zagreus wonders if she’s talking about the chambers or if she’s talking about him. He’s determined not to think about that, either. He tosses in a few of his new obols to start the bet.

Jeralt reaches over to flip one of the cards between them. A face card. Which one was that again?

“Father,” Jeralt’s head jerks up at Byleth’s addressing him, “You said you had something important to tell me before… before the incident in the chapel.”

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Chapter 14: Dancing with Demons

“Why does he call you demon?”

Zagreus is still trying to catch his breath after the long trek back to reunite with Byleth. They’d gotten their asses thoroughly handed to them by the King and Bull duo this time, and while he doesn’t really want to talk about it, he’s not going to pass up on Byleth initiating a conversation.

“Because he’s an ass, and because my father asked him to stop me.” He wipes what he thinks is sweat from his forehead but his hand comes away with blood. Gods, is she going to say something about it?

She doesn’t, “Do you have a bad relationship with your father?”

He looks up at her. Her expression is just as icy as usual but her head is tilted slightly to the side, as if she’s at least attempting to emote.

“My relationship with my father is…complicated.” he’s not sure how much he’s ready to share with her. He’s not sure how many more opinions of his situation he can stomach.

“I see. Is that why you’re leaving?”

“It’s part of it.” He pushes himself up off the ground to face her, “What’s with the personal questions? It’s unlike you.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.” Maybe a little, but he actually prefers it to the uncomfortable silence she’s been giving him so far, “What about your dad? Seems like you’re close.”

“He raised me alone. I put people off, so it was mostly just the two of us.”

Oh. Well, now he feels like a jerk.

“And your students.” He points out.

“For the last year or so of my life, yes.”

“You’re risking eternal torment for people you only just met?”

“Yes.”

She gets him every time with how blunt she is. He supposes it’s not really his business to question her goals, “Alright then. Ready to get moving?”

She nods and follows beside and slightly behind him. Another way in which her mannerisms feel somewhat awkward.

“Where do you go when you die?” She asks. She’s awfully chatty today (tonight?).

“Um, here? Isn’t that how you insist you got here?”

“No. Where do you go when you die here?”

“Ah, that. The river styx takes me to my father’s house. I have to go through Tartarus and Asphodel before I get here.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Aw, do you miss me?”

“I think we could make faster progress together.”

Damn. She is sick of waiting around for him. “Why wait at all then? You could go ahead without me.” It’s not like he asked her to wait anyway.

“I have been.” He feels a little spike of anxiety in the midst of her lengthy pause, “I don’t make much headway without you.”

He’s relieved to hear her say so. And guilty that he’s relieved. And embarrassed that he worried about her lapping him in the first place.

“Well,” He says, hoping to keep his childish feelings to himself, “You’re welcome to come along. I’ll warn you though, it’s not pleasant. And Tartarus and Asphodel aren’t a picnic, either.”

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I do this a lot if I can't find the right word. I put all the "close, but not quite" words in brackets in place of the word I'm missing, so I can come back later. My husband has also fairly frequently been able to guess the word when I do this when he reads through my works lol.

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Chapter 1

Claude has figured out a bit of a cheat for reading Byleth.

It turns out that while her expressions are very muted, a lot of her gestures and quirks are similar to her father’s. Like the set of her shoulders when she finds something amusing, or the way she looks off to the side when she’s considering something.

In this context, the way she tilts her head reads less cute and confused and more “analyzing your dumbassery from a different angle.”

It’s not groundbreaking, seeing as he raised her. But her affect seems so different from the knight commander’s that it’s funny to compare them that way. The only problem with his new trick is that Jeralt is hardly ever around to compare. Should the captain of the knights really spend so much time away from the monastery?

Is Byleth a hostage, and Jeralt the target?

That’d definitely be one way to subdue such an unflappable man. And it makes sense that she’d want to- a decorated Captain of the Knights like him can only help to maintain Rhea’s stranglehold on Fodlan, and keep the people fearing the church.

But Byleth doesn’t exactly read as a likely hostage. She’s hardly a pushover herself and though Jeralt adores her, he seems not to worry at all over her handling herself.

So his current working theory remains that Byleth is the one Rhea wants. But to what end, he can’t begin to guess.

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Chapter 13: And Time Stood Still

Despite the repeated need for practice, Seteth had never been much of a deft hand at the art of lying.

It shows when he’s faced with clever men like Claude, who always seem to be on the heels of his family’s closely guarded secrets. He’d been quick to run from such situations before. Perhaps if he had insisted they flee after Flayn’s kidnapping… but it’s too late now. The time for running has passed.

When he’d accepted Rhea’s plea to return to the Monastery, he’d done so hoping that Rhea’s ability to stay ahead of her own avalanche of deception could shield them from danger. He had miscalculated again.

Now that Rhea is missing, he’s taken on the mantle of her lies. And he’s realizing just how much of it she’s kept from him.

The truth of the matter is, he’s not exactly sure if Claude is in danger due to Byleth’s hasty decision to save his life. He’d seen - and advised against - many such episodes of blood sharing incited or encouraged by Rhea. In nearly every instance the receiver of such blood was much healthier for it, and went on to live lives without serious complications.

Unless you consider living far beyond your natural life complicated, but that is neither here nor there.

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Best of Neil's stage directions/commentary in the good omens s1 script book

I went back and read this to help me cope after s2, as one does

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Can I make an AU one shot of a fanfiction I wrote? Am I getting too into the weeds here?

It's actually some writing I did to explore some ideas I had about the main story. I like it but it doesn't fit anywhere within the main story.

Also, do I put it in a collection with my main work? Or does that just add to the confusion about what it is?

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Chapter 12

The Alliance Leader's Suspicions

(FE3H x Hades Game Crossover)

(Zagreus is body-swapped with Byleth post time skip and doesn't know that Claude knows)

Zagreus watches as Claude breathes in the aroma of his tea, and then takes an indulgent sip. He places the teacup back on the saucer.

“Interesting.” He says languidly, but doesn’t elaborate.

“What?” he hears Byleth’s voice quivering a bit with his nerves.

“It’s just, you usually prepare my favorite tea.” he sounds casual, but something about his tone makes the hairs on the back of Byleth’s neck stand up, “You do remember what my favorite tea is, right?”

Blood and Darkness. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to figure out how to prepare the tea at all that he hadn’t considered that Byleth and Claude might have an established routine.

“I’m sorry. This is my favorite tea.” Zagreus says, holding on to his own tea cup as if it might steady him.

“Really?” Claude raises both eyebrows, “It’s Lorenz’s, too. What a coincidence.”

Zagreus takes a drink in hopes that Claude will change the subject if he says nothing. It kind of works.

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A friend once told me that when they are struggling with getting laundry done, she pretends it is her sworn duty to smuggle the young prince out of the castle to safety, disguised in a laundry hamper.

Now, when I am struggling with hygiene, I pretend I am part of a village with an annual festival, and I get one day a year to spend luxuriously at a bathhouse in preparation.

What my friend imparted on me was the skill of turning mundane tasks into fantastical adventures to make them more compelling and bearable.

So next time you need to go on a mental health walk, maybe consider doing reconnaissance for a secret underground organisation.

Next time cooking is too much of a chore, consider you ability to turn space station rations into a feast to the delight of your crewmates.

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The most inspiring thing to me is seeing the artist's process. The unrefined first or second draft. The character study they wrote that was never intended to be published. The workspace that's chaotically mid-project. The comfortable clothing dancers wear to practice. I love hearing people share what their process looks like, what they love about it, what they hate about it, and what they've learned. I love seeing everyone's WIP online. It moves me to want to create too, and makes me feel connected to common humanity.

I'm never quite sure if it's appropriate to ask about it, though, since it's kind of personal. I'm curious, do you like to be asked about your process? Do you like to share and discuss it?

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My computer kicked the bucket, and technically there are lots of other ways I can still write, but it has disrupted my apparently fragile writing process. I’m curious, where do others do most of their writing? Pen and paper? Computer? Phone? Type writer?

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actually i love it when the characters are all lying. i love it when they all have secrets and none of them trust each other. i love being given clues that solve puzzles i haven't even been presented with yet. i also love it when i get chills watching a scene without even knowing what it means, and when i do know what it means, i get even more chills. i love theorizing and thinking and solving and coming up with possibilities of where a story might be going. i love it and i will do it for free, for fun, for no real reason.

this is a mystery appreciation post!! if you appreciate mysteries and secrets and stories that slowly unravel before you, please interact!!!

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Chapter 9: A Meeting at Midnight

Byleth had always had an uncanny awareness of her surroundings that made it challenging for Claude to follow her around discreetly.

When they first met, he found this quality suspicious. Vigilance like that comes with secrets.

In retrospect, it may have been a hasty assessment. That vigilance clearly benefited her on the battlefield. They’d been in some tight spots during the fights she’d seen them through, but never once did it wind up with any of them spending more than a day or two in the infirmary. “Ashen Demon”, they’d called her. The title lit his imagination with mythical stories he’d been told in his youth, or the vicious fighting style favored by competitors in Almyra’s betting rings. What he found instead was a steady force through a chaotic battlefield.

All this to say, she’s not on her game tonight.

Byleth meanders slowly through the gardens of the monastery. To someone who doesn’t know her well, she appears listless- but to someone who has spent a lot of time watching her, she looks downright restless.

It’s late enough that there aren’t many people out, so Claude’s skin tingles with the anticipation that at any moment she’s going to notice him tailing her.

She never does.

Their late night excursion takes them to the Sacred Tomb, a place he’d taken great pains to make accessible upon returning to the Monastery. He hadn’t spoken with Byleth about his little pet project though, so he’s surprised to see her stumble into it now.

He listens to her heels click loudly on the stone floor before following behind as quietly as he can manage. He slips behind the stone railing of the entrance platform as he watches her make her way leisurely to the dias where the large stone throne sits. She takes sweeping glances around the room, but doesn’t appear to be looking for anything in particular.

She stops when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. She looks up at the throne for a long moment, and then slowly drops to her knees.

What are you doing?

Before he can get carried away in his thoughts, she abruptly raises both her fists and then brings them brutally down against the stone floor. Ouch.

She does this two more times, then sits upright and falls still.

Byleth has always been a bit of a puzzle, but this behavior is strange even for her. She sits for so long that Claude starts to wonder if maybe he should leave. But then, something in the air shifts.