#my children are still learning how to be social with guests

[adarssuggestionbox]

Opening Our Gates

Glug- Lord Father... Do you think it wise to do such a thing? *Concern and perhaps a bit of fear laced his voice*

Adar- *He places a gentle hand on his son's shoulder* I do. With a treaty under way it would be only proper to learn to be socialized with the other folk of the world. We are capable of so much more that what we were forced to believe for so long my son. Let us show others of our potential for growth *He pats the spot*

*He leans down to nuzzle his son's forehead with his nose, as is a custom of parental figures authority to do for their children in Mordor*

Glug- *He feels tension being replaced with pride* Yes Lord Father. I'll inform the others right away. *He leaves with a spring in his step*

Adar- *He turns to watch his children as they prepare for what the day might bring. A small proud smile stretches over his lips before he joins them to do his part*

*His darkened heart finally feels alive* 🖤

[tedwardremus]

2024 Year In Review

This year I came back to fandom with a vengence I never knew was possible.

I published 336,619 words to AO3 in 2024 (This doesn't count my tumblr only fics/drabbles which is crazy to think about. )

I made Harry Potter Social Media AUs and moodboards

Had some fun with House Elf Hotties, ToadButter, and the @nenaandmeldetectiveagency

But most importantly this year has brought me new friends. I would tag you all and thank you for a wonderful year but I would be too embarssed and ashamed if I missed anyone. Please know that I love all of you and thank you for making this year fun.

In 2025 I look forward to finishing the Remadora Lighthouse AU, starting the sequel to Rage Against the Dying of the Light and continue my First War one shot series about the members of the Order of the Pheonix.

My 2024 fan fic review below the cut:

Rage Against The Dying Of The Light - In a universe where James and Lily Potter survive Voldemort’s attack on Halloween night. Most of wizarding society is enjoying newfound peace after a decade of war, except the young heroes who fought the war learn you can never really go back to the way things were before

Padfoot in Privet Drive - Sirius Black follows Harry to Privet Drive after the Triwizard Tournament.

Querencia - The time Lily, James, and Harry spent as a family in their little house in the West Country was far too brief, but it was overfilled with love, laughter, and, above all, life.

30 Times James Potter Thought He Was Going To Die and 1 Time He Did  - 31 microfics for Jilytober

It’s here. Now’s the time. I tell myself I’ll be fine -

It was a normal feeling to be nervous, a rite of passage for any mother or father. After all, eleven years old wasn’t that mature—children at that age were still so small, so dependent on their parents for guidance, comfort, and care.

Hope Lupin hugs her son goodbye before he boards the Hogwarts Express.

Interesting House Guests - (Or The time Sirius invited the lads to spend the week at Grimmauld Place)

Tipping The Scales - James helps Lily get back something that is hers from the Slytherin dorms.

Does Permanent Mean Forever? - It is James Potter’s seventeenth birthday, and to commemorate the occasion, he proposes to the gang that they go out and get tattooed.

Your Friend, James - It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Rumor Has It  - Severus doesn’t believe the rumors that Lily finally agreed to go out with James Potter.

A Happy Thought - The 7th-year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm. James is shocked to learn what Lily’s Patronus is.

Awful Euphemisms- Lily and James exchange laughs while discovering a new level of intimacy.

An Academic Study of Dungeon Dwellers - It was common knowledge that when the weather turned warm, students were impossible to teach and used their precious free time to soak up the sun and enjoy the outdoors. Unless of course, you were the Girlfriendus Potterus, also known by her common name, Lily Evans, who—despite the migration of most students to the sun-drenched grounds—had yet to leave the castle’s confines.

The Office Party - Petunia hoped that staying in London for Christmas would make her seem important. She imagined her parents would talk about her endlessly, telling Lily all about her new, sophisticated life in the city. How big and important she’d become. She didn't imagine that she'd meet the love of her life while at the office Christmas party.

Three Lemons and a Dragon - Once upon a time there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father’s Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Erasmus Lovegoods’s Guide to Brewing Love Potions -At the start of every school year, the Ministry of Magic distributed leaflets to all students taking potions classes regarding the regulations and legality of highly controlled potions.

I’ll Meet You After Dark - An Alternate Universe where the Statute of Secrecy hasn’t been enacted yet. Tensions between the magical and non-magical communities are high.

My dog said I can’t go out with you - Lily had been waiting patiently for James to ask her out for the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. Sirius insists she turn James down so Sirius can hang out with her instead. (it’s all part of Sirius’ greater matchmaking plan)

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along)- All Lily wanted to do was take a nice, quiet swim on a hot day. And then James Potter showed up. And Lily had already removed her clothes for the private swim.

Midnight Train To London - An escaped yeti causes a magical snow storm that leaves the Hogwarts Express stranded without any power. Head students Lily and James take charge and bring a little holiday cheer to the students trapped on the train.

Summer Fling Don’t Mean A Thing - Lily and James meet at a potions camp over the summer and have a fling. James promises to write to her when the summer is over, but he never does. Then Hogwarts hosts an academic competition inviting all the top students from around the country to attend, including students from Cockersand Coven Academy, the school that Lily happens to attend.

This Town Is Fake But You’re The Real Thing - Teen radio star Lily Evans works for a show on the wizarding wireless network called, The Marauders. The teen soap drama stars James Potter as an arrogant school jock and centers on the secret adventures of his friends in the forbidden forest as illegal animagus and a werewolf. The show’s antagonist, played by Severus Snape, left after a scandal, and now Lily has a romantic storyline with James in the final season of the show. Basically, her life is a disaster.

Field Study - Lily and James get left behind on a deserted island after A Care of Magical Creatures field trip.

These things that are pleasin’ you can hurt you somehow  - Lily is stuck in potions for a classroom disturbance she didn’t cause.

In walks James Potter who she had been avoiding all week.

White Winter Hymnals - Holiday themed jily snippets from age eleven to adulthood

Cuckoo (or the unwanted interloper baby in the nest)  - Sirius rescues Regulus from the cave and drops him off at the Potters house so he can clean up his brother’s mess. Regulus has an awful time…. until he doesn’t.

Katabasis- Snape gets hurt when he goes into the Shrieking Shack on the full moon. It is time for Remus to face the consequences.

Citius, Altius, Fortius – Communiter - Sirius is an Olympic athlete competing in the wizard pentathlon, James is a quidditch player, and Lily is a sports reporter. The three of them meet at the Olympic Village. And well, you know what happens at the Olympic Village…

Finding Your Magical Roots  - The Black Family welcomes the reality show Finding Your Magical Roots into their home to film a special episode.

101 Padfoots - An accident in potions class results in 101 Padfoots running around Hogwarts while Lily and James work together to round them all up

She Faced Danger, But Never Feared It  - Dorcas Meadowes is a healer at St. Mungo’s who specializes in emergency healing. A grandmother in her 60s who believes in caring for all members of the magical community. She is recruited by Albus Dumbledore to join the Order after she publishes and article in the Daily Prophet arguing that the rise of dark magic is a public health crisis.

When Death Would Not Come - Moody and the others will be here soon. Just endure for one more minute. Thirty more seconds. Five more seconds. As long as Neville was okay, she could endure anything.

Goodbyes and Surprise Greetings - Ginny’s brothers have abandoned her at the Burrow while they go to school or leave the country. But then she gets a surprise visitor.

The Past is a Bucket of Ash - Over burnt photographs, Harry had a late-night chat with Sirius about his family history.

Our Troubles Are Miles Away - “Would you like to unwrap your present?” she whispered into his ear, her voice low and teasing, yet so tender it made him ache.

He hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew better.

(Remus and Tonks have a small Christmas celebration while everyone else is asleep at Grimmauld Place.)

To Guinevere - The New Year's Eve party at Grimmauld Place was a complete bore. But then Ginny walked into the room with a basket of homemade cards.

The Parting Glass - The last full moon, Moony and Padfoot spend together.

Retrouvaille (or the happiness of meeting someone you love after a long time)- The times Sirius and Harry reunited and the times they were forced to say goodbye.

Attinge - Harry shaves his head after the battle. Only Ginny understands why.

Secret Garden - Neville plants Hannah a secret garden on the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. She wants to show him how grateful she is for the gift.

Burnt Cookies - Hannah keeps burning cookies as she gets ready for the Leaky Cauldron’s Halloween party.

Luckily, Neville is there to comfort her.

Tinsel In Her Hair - Neville helps Hannah decorate the Leaky Cauldron for Christmas. He notices something shiny in her hair.

1994 Quidditch World Cup  - Harry wants only one thing for his fourteenth birthday: tickets to see the final match of the Quidditch World Cup. Well, two things if you count his sudden desire to kiss Ginny Weasley.

A Time To Mourn - Sirius Black, recently declared innocent by the Ministry of Magic, visits his godson on Halloween.

Feels Like Home To Me - Snippets inside the Potter family home

Werewolf Registration Act of 1947 - A history of magic essay helps Teddy understand his deceased father a littler bit better.

Tethered - Teddy and Vic discover the isolated and deserted Hogwarts boathouse to be the perfect place to be alone together.

It’s All About The Timing - James Sirius Potter has wanted to ask Ellie Longbottom out since he was twelve years old. Unfortunately, he can never get the timing right.

Know Your Roots- Albus Potter is unsure if helping Uncle Neville repot moonwort plants is part of detention or a lame attempt at godfather and godson bonding. It might be both.

Acting Professional - Teddy wants to see Victoire’s new office while at a work event.

Ginny’s Very Serious Investigation - When Luna casually mentions in the postscript of her latest letter that she got married, Ginny is not having it. Who the hell is Rolf Scamander, and why is Luna marrying him without any prior warning?

Snuffles & Son - Sirius raises Harry and opens a shop that specializes in repairing cursed artifacts and places protection wards on family heirlooms. One day, an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries walks in with a cursed artifact from his cousin’s confiscated Gringotts vault, requesting Sirius’s assistance.

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness - A collection of Frank Longbottom stories

Without A Trace - Babies don’t just disappear without a trace

The Lighthouse - There is an old fishing town off the jagged rocky coast covered in permanent fog and a broken lighthouse that is no longer able to bring ships safely to shore. Tonks travels to the forgotten place to record an episode of her popular podcast. Imagine Tonks' surprise when she arrives at the abandoned lighthouse and comes face to face with its kind yet lonely keeper—Remus.

[bbrokenbback]

Percephone Danakt, the little miss of Iron

I realised I can't reblog from communities a little to late, so this is a copy of my post there, because well I'd like to share it.

Recently I asked here am I allowed to share the story of my Calliphone and Perturabo OC daughter, and since I got a positive response, here it is! Almost embarrassingly long rant based on yet incomplete story of Percehone Danakt is under the cut. I apologize in advance that the story might sound rather complicated, especially considering that I had to skip many small yet important details for the sake of keeping this post at least somewhat a reasonable size. The fanfiction itself is my personal reflection of the problem of fathers and children, and the general subject was inspired by Turgenev’s “Fathers and sons”. Considering all of this… yeah. There’s a lot.

Percephone is a consequence child of one and only night Perturabo spent with Calliphone as his final farewell. It is mentioned in canon that they had feelings for each other, but were never brave enough to act on them, so such occurrence seemed pretty possible to me. They slept together, Perturabo left, Dammekos quickly threw his daughter into some political marriage, and that was it.

I’m adding this part when I finished retelling 100 pages fanfic below to save your time. Here are just some fun facts about Percephone.

She’s too smart for her own good, but she has no wisdom, she knows nothing about the real world. For her entire life she has been in the Tyrant’s palace, spending her time in her little workshop, constructing weird things and showing them to guests when Dammekos demanded so. She’s socially awkward in the worst way possible – she’s impolite, she says all of her thoughts out loud, her behaviour is a nightmare, but not because of malice, since she has none, but because what a mess she is.

Percephone inherited too many of Perturabo’s features. Primarch’s genes are strong, so her eyes, her nose, even her dark unmanageable curls are from him. She also has his weird charisma – she doesn’t scare people off, but she is not easy to like either.

Basically, to summarise her personality, one can imagine her being that version of Perturabo that wasn’t disappointed in everything since the beginning. She does in fact learn things, not simply remembers them, lacking the joy of discovery. She has that weird kindness that got Perturabo drawn to humans before he lost his memory.  And she had only heard legends about war. She constructed some models and minis, of course, but the concept of death and especially of killing people is a mystery to her. She doesn’t realise that such things actually exists because she’s nine years old. Percephone may understand the complexity of decomposition process of human body, understand every little change that happens in cells. But she simply cannot yet comprehend that something like this can happen to her or people close to her.

She doesn’t know she’s half-primarch. She was purposefully raised to believe that she’s just an ordinary, even if very gifted, child. Dammekos made sure she doesn’t understand her abilities like Perturabo did, so she won’t cause the troubles he did.

Calliphone gave her a mechanical automaton in a cat body Perturabo made for her as a present. The cat is black, his name is Alexander, he can talk and he’s a dick.

She inherited Perturabo’s technomantic abilities, and this is the reason why Magnus is stated as a character in this story. Someone has to teach her how to control her powers before she stopped the Iron Blood’s engine in the middle of a warp transition due to her tantrum.

She’s awfully sensitive to everything, just like her father. She’s easy to cry, quick to anger and act on it. Since Perturabo is three meters tall, this fact is frightening and it’s dangerous. But Percephone is still small, she has a height of an ordinary nine-year-old. She doesn’t look scary when she’s angry, even if it may be just as disastrous.

Percephone definitely prefers Forrix over Perturabo, and it pisses the latter off.

She’s also not scared of the Primarch. She talks back to him, she can hit him with her tiny hands and calls him a drama queen. Perturabo’s in shock.

The story at once!

Except it wasn’t that easy. Calliphone gave birth a little less than seven months after that night, which seemed strange to public, since the tyrant’s daughter remained an important figure in Olympian politics. A child of a Primarch in my headcanon is expected to develop quicker than a normal human embryo, but the dates took all the suspicions off Perturabo due to the lack of knowledge on the subject. You can read a complete explanation on the whole half-primarch development/pregnancy here: https://www.tumblr.com/bbrokenbback/758213969513267200/children-of-the-primarchs?source=share (it’s yet another large posts made by me, lol)

So, long story short, basically no one knows that Percephone is in fact Perturabo’s biological child, except for the Dammekos family. It is obvious to both Calliphone, to her soft-hearted husband and to Dammekos himself. They keep this information a highly guarded secret, so Percephone basically grows up isolated, mostly left to herself. “Grows like grass” as they say, with all supervision and control attempts failing miserably, because you can’t restrict a child with an intelligence of a Primarch and a character of, well, a child. Calliphone is too busy dealing with pregnancy complications, Dammekos resents the little one because she is too much like Perturabo (and he thinks he failed in raising him, because he got away), and there’s only one person who actually cares about her, and it’s her gouvernante, Agnes. But Perturabo fires her in a fit of rages.

The story begins when Percephone is already nine years old. She still looks like an ordinary child and, since she was never allowed to train and find out the limits of her physique, she considers herself to be just a gifted kid. She still has the intelligence of a Primarch and a personality of a kid. And to set up a little more about her, lets add her appearance. The first picture is the reference I asked @coolesttatarka25 to use when she made arts for me, and the rest is the commissions I bought from her and some gifts she made for me, since we’re besties (check her out, she’s really cool and broke, she needs you:D).

What a cutie, isn’t she?

Back to the story. Perturabo arrives at Olympia in a hurry, since Calliphone, feeling her own death coming, sent him a message, where she finally uncovered the fact that he has a daughter. As a proof that Percephone is indeed half-primarch, she sends a few pictures, tells a few stories about what she had done during her short life and also gives Perturabo a book she wrote on a subject of theory of functions of a complex variable (it’s from advanced math and is usually studied in college).

Perturabo’s not happy with the whole ordeal. He doesn’t find the idea of being an actual dad to someone of taking Percephone with him to a Crusade, since, well, war is not a school and it would be more reasonable to send the girl to Mars, if she’s so smart. But Calliphone objects it, trying to explain that it’s basically dangerous to keep her in the palace for longer, because, when Calliphone dies, there will be no one to protect her, and Dammekos will make her into another court jester, just as he did to Perturabo.

The Primarch tries his best to think of a better solution than to meet his daughter and, especially, take her with him. He comes to a realization that he doesn’t want war to ruin her as it did him, and it makes him pissed, so he becomes enraged when Calliphone brings him a paternity certificate to finally make him believe her and asks him to think a little more, and lashes out on his late love. Calliphone, with her body being ruined during the pregnancy and childbirth, couldn’t take the Primarhc’s rage as she used to, and gets a heart attack. It was impossible to reanimate her.

After that Perturabo meets Percephone for the first time during Calliphone’s funeral. He makes a decision to take her with him, and doesn’t make any effort to explain the situation.

In general, from the very beginning their relationship is not the best. Percephone is a mouthy, a little spoiled kid, who believes that she’s immortal (which is basically true, considering her nature). She’s smart, very smart, almost in a frightening way, but Perturabo doesn’t buy any of it.

He scolds her for the first time they talk properly, scares her to death, and then just hands her over to Forrix. But before that one interesting thing had happened.

You see, in canon Perturabo’s described as one of the Primarchs who have psychic abilities. But his gift is a little strange from what I could gather and combine in a headcanon: he can only see warp, he’s unable to interact with it anyhow. He can read people’s personalities but is unable to make them like him. He can see the Eye of Terror but cannot do anything about it. Taking his engineering talents into consideration, especially the fact that he made a mechanism that allows people to navigate through warp without the navigators (the Antikythera he shuttered to teach Magnus a lesson), we can say, that he has a gift of technomancy as well, but, due to its weakness, no one including him realises it.

Back to the Peach (this is a nickname I gave Percephone and it’s justified in the fanfic, since it’s in Russian, here’s the transcription to try to explain it: Per-tse-fo-na – Per-sik(Russian for ‘peach’). She, as well as Perturabo, can see the Eye of Terror and read people, although her technomancy is much stronger (although she doesn’t realise it at all). She cannot properly control her powers due to the lack of knowledge, and it has its own complications, one of which is illustrated in the story after Perturabo scolded her and made her cry.

Percephone tries to hide on the ship, and the best place to hide in a child’s opinion is somewhere dark. The strong emotions she feels after meeting a creature that has the same effect on people she does conclude in the Iron Blood (the Iron Warriors’ flagship) to be completely shut down for the time period Percephone needs to cool off. And no one understands why, Percephone herself doesn’t even notice it.

Perturabo is freaked out, but he knows that they cannot delay their department any longer. He’s already behind the schedule because of his trip to the homeworld, he cannot allow it. So the legion departs from the system of Skagan as soon as the ship is back to normal, and the four month trip through warp begins.

Perturabo is tired and annoyed after everything, and he needs some time to process what changes are going to be brought into his life with a half-primarch present in it. Since it’s easier for him to think in solitude, he hands Percephone to his most trusted son – his first captain Kydomor Forrix.

Forrix, being the only responsible adult in the legion, and, as my mutual @ladymirdan said, is the proud bearer of the only braincell of Iron Warriors, including Perturabo, tries his best to have this task done. It’s just a child, he tells himself, just a little girl, he can handle it, right?

Wrong. Percephone is a running nail, as soon as she senses that the captain cannot really object her in anything, she lets herself go. Let us once again make a little repeal to explain it.

It is well-known that the Primarchs have strong effect on mortals. Humans piss themselves, cry, laugh uncontrollably and some cannot even speak properly in their presence. And they have it since the very beginning of their lives. So, it’s only natural for Percephone to have some of that biological charisma.

There lies one interesting detail. Perturabo, being almost 90 years old in the fanfic, has trained himself so his charisma is only used in the frightening way. His sons are scared of him, they respect him out of fear, but they do not love him as a father. In Perturabo’s mind, it would be weird for them to love him – he’s their general, not a babysitter for a bunch of pretty adult yet a little autistic war-machines. He has a conversation about that with Fulgrim in “Angel Exterminatus”.

But Percephone has no need in scaring anyone. The closes thing related to war and fights she had at dinner with her granddad, and the worst punishment she got was being slapped on her face or flogged. Abusive, yes, but well they’re a reference to the ancient Greece, those people didn’t really care about children’s rights or mental state.

So, the effect she has on Forrix and on her other brothers is nothing close to fear. They see her as something almost painfully cute and lovely, feeling the type of affection one has towards a little animal with a primal urge to squeeze something so adorable to the point of the poor thing losing access to air.

It differs a little from one battle brother to another. When Percephone runs away from Kydomor and his boring books about space navigation, she encounters some of her other brothers, and it’s funny. I wanted to make a few filler chapters about her adventures, and, since there was no one to stop me, I did.

Forrix sees her as a talented, yet abnormally charming little girl. But he also feels the whole depth of the sinister valley effect, because it’s awfully obvious how different Percephone is. Her features are a little broken and unbalanced, her body looks strange, even if he blames it on her weird dress, her gaze is too mature.

She’s still a silly little kiddo, I remind you.

So, when Forrix tries to entertain her with some advanced math and space navigation books, she quickly finds an opportunity to run away to explore the enormous ship. First of all, she steals some fruits from the ship’s refectory (it's apple peaches). And then she quickly gets caught by a sergeant responsible for training candidates in the legion. Yeah, it’s stated in canon that due to high loses, Iron Warrioirs train the candidates at their flagship.

The sergeant mistakes her for another candidate (because there's basically no way a girl ends up in the fleet since all the mortal serfs are sterilized), and, first of all, he mocks her for her outfit – long curly hair and a dress, and tells her that he’s going to make her train in this to teach her a lesson. He makes her tie her hair with a strip he tears off her dress and also makes her throw away her shoes since they are impossible to run and fight in.

Percephone tries to explain herself first and tells the sergeant she needs to go to the first captain, but he brushes her off. She goes through the whole candidate training session along with other boys and in the end she even grows to like it. Others are tired while she’s still full of energy.

The last part of the training session is sparring. Boys quickly pair up, leaving Percephone to hang alone on the bars. When everyone is done, the sergeant, who manages to hide his impressed state that a child from a younger group managed to keep up with teens, tells Percephone, who still whines that she needs to go see the First Captain, that he will personally escort her if she manages to stand up against him for four minutes.

This is the first real fight Percephone has. At least, this is how she sees it, because it takes long before the sergeant fully understands that he’s definitely not dealing with a yet mortal child here. He doesn’t fight even in quarter of his strength, but still manages to scare the shit out of Percephone. She’s not even close to how strong Perturabo was at her age, but she’s much lighter and quicker, so she manages to snatch the battle knife from sergeant and almost cuts his throat with it.

Mind you, she never fought in her life before. She sincerely believed that the sergeant was going to kill her. She’s terrified at him and then terrified of herself, because she could actually kill a human being if it wasn’t for her hand slipping due to the lack of experience.

She runs away again, trying to hide in ventilation, of all places. And then she meets two other members of Perturabo’s Trident – Harkour and Golg. And also gets kicked by a dreadnought.

Golg is a mindless killer, Perturabo’s bandog. The Primarch didn’t even give him the title of Warsmith, despite his membership in the Trident. He’s looked down at by the other two, and in general considered a little dumb. He’s strength lies on other dimension. And, due to all of that, he’s the most affected by Percephone. And he adores the girl.

Erasmus doesn’t even try to understand how she ended up at the ship. It’s just like with Primarchs – as soon as he looks at her, he knows that he’ll protect her at all cost. And he spoils Percephone rotten in that short time he got with her.

He cuts her hair with a battle knife. He gives her serf’s robe to replace her dress. And promises her that the sergeant who didn’t treat her right will bring her the forgotten shoes in his mouth.

Harkour finds them in a training hall, where Percephone is taught how to use bolter and other weapons by Golg. They were having fun and Harkour ruined it.

You see, Harkour is sycophant and intrigant. He got his title only due to his sharp mind, Perturabo can barely stand his personality. And when he sees Percephone, he basically snatches her out of Golg’s rough yet loving hands to give “their little miss” the right treatment. Unlike Erasmus, he realises who exactly she is as soon as he looks her in the eye.

Just like her father, Percephone doesn’t like Harkour either. He’s too much of a yes-man to her tastes. She scolds him tiredly and retreats to Forrix’ chambers, leaving the poor Triarch shoked. And then she falls asleep, while Forrix is freaking out trying to find her on the ship.

So far, this is the whole story of the little miss Percephone. There’s a lot more to be added in the future, and also the fanfic has much more depth than what I’ve wrote here, including other subplots about Perturabo and Forrix personally with lots of side characters like the sergeant from before.

I hope you enjoyed reading it, and, if you like it, you can check out the whole thing on AO3 here , on Fickbook here and also in Telegram here. For other ways to find it: "Похороните меня под обшивкой". I’m planning to translate it when I finish the fic, but it’s been two years and it is still not even close to the culminating part, so… it’d take long. If there’s anyone who’d like to volunteer, please, contact me! I can write prompts for you or draw something in exchange.  

[blackmentallight]

All my doubts...

Remember one story about a liar, who's house was burnt but no one believed him...

You could think, I'm just an escaping and "infantile" girl considering herself as a 'princess', preferring fantasies instead of The Reality, maybe even enough arrogant to hallucinate how she dates the first dark apostle. And maybe enough silly not to notice what character he is. Maybe it's truly a bit. A bit, I must say. How I told earlier, when he emerged and began hit on me, I was emotionally damaged by another cause... Felt curiosity... And, surprised by his interest in me as in a woman (I seriously thought that Astartes don't need such things) and needed to be healed, surrendered easy. The moment was chosen situable, I must admit. I continued familiarity because was interested to watch and realise who is hanging around me. And, apparently, he burnt passion in me, how only such brutal guys can do. Especially, when I sensed some his emotions and realised some motives closer, I decided to give a chance to such a bond. I think I fell in love... But doubts never left me like satellites near their planet.

Doubts about his true nature, at first. What if it's just a daemon, playing tricks? I'm not glad to such guests. It could be more safe, if he was a "tulpa" whom I created being traumatized... But not seriously, still. There even was a funny episode:

~~~~~~~~~~

We were sitting in a MCDONALD'S and I was trying to tell him something. Suddenly he said:

– I don't exist, do not talk with air.

– But you...

— Stop talking to the emptiness, darling. I said, I'm not real.

I paused being embarrassed.

Then he laughed so loudly that I was glad it's just a joke and laughed too.

~~~~~~~~~~

I could not believe that THIS IS REALLY HIM. Couldn't believe that dark apostle could choose a simple girl which I considered myself... Or maybe I don't see how really especial am I and need seriously think about self-esteem?

But if this is really Erebus, should I get calm? Damn, NO. How should I get sure that his feelings and intentions to me are genuine, that I'm not just a part of his unknown for me but calculated purpose? However, I hope, his purpose doesn't bring any harm to me, my friends and family members.

***

I also thought that everything is strangely perfectly between us... Maybe because I really actually got it all from my mind, and should stop contact with "imaginary friend", being too adult? Or maybe "real" couples are not perfect because of need of physical interaction (not including sex). When you see reality with: dirty dishes, partner's scattered things, some changes or details like extra pounds or wrinkles etc., or when you cannot read thoughts of each other, maybe it's not perfect, but this – is the reality, which not infantile people learn to accept: they build relationships with other ones and don't escape the troubles. Or maybe couples, close to perfection, exist in our world, but I don't know them? But wait a second, what if this – is the true love, which not everyone can find? What if my tries to get something "real" instead of this – are actually avoiding the barriers and struggles standing on our ways to each other, and my capitulation, especially listening to whomever – narrow materialistic doctors, working for society psychologists, other shallow people – except of listening to my feelings and trusting to myself? Then such behaviour is even more infantile. What if this all is real too, but not achievable to laymans, who, actually, not always build relationships with someone who is dear for them. I heard a lot stories when people are together because of money, place for living, not planned children, etc... especially, causes when one loves, and the other allows himself (herself) to love. Or... "social norms". It hurts, but exists. So, if two people are able to connect with someone they really want despite the barriers of the material world, maybe it's just a gift from the gods or fate? Like free souls, not average people who are have to live pressed up against each other, finding someone more or less appropriate? So, if I have such doubts and we can't get physically together – this relationship already has it's own imperfection. Maybe I can get calm about this part of the doubts.

Think I should more meditate and even maybe learn lucid dreams to get more information: it's just nowhere to know more, and official Warhammer books can't help me. And decide for myself, what and whom do I really want.

[simplycyrys]

Waves lap lazily at dull, moon-kissed shores. The island is small, bare, and quiet. The breeze, cool and fresh, is stronger than usual. Perhaps, with one mighty flap of wings, one can take to the air. Some small structures and items are littered around, waiting to be approached.

Hello! Welcome to my little island I call Home. It’s quite the cozy place if I say so myself. Guests get milk and cookies! …Well, not really, but hey come stay a while still xD

(Projects) Where the sand fades into dirt and grass stands a makeshift wooden bulletin board. It is sparsely decorated with strips of paper.

Godfallen - A fancomic set in the PMD world. A god becomes seperated with her brother and learns what it means to be an individual. Uploading on Comicfury, link at the bottom!

PMD: Time Tears - A speculative comic around the events at Temporal Tower. Probably indulgent as shit. Working on pages offscreen.

PMD: Return Trip - An interactive fanfiction written in Choicescript. Tells a tale of a once-hero that had gone home, grew up, and forgot about the life they had. That is, until they get odd dreams - or are they memories? Dev blog: @pmdreturntrip-if

Season of Ruin - Drabbles of my Sky: COTL characters dealing with a sudden change.

(Tags) Faint light emanates from stone arches that stand humbly on the sand.

#season of ruin - stuff about my Sky: COTL ocs!

#godfallen - stuff about my PMD comic!

#my art - stuff I drew!

#others art - stuff others drew!

#ramblings -stuff I’ve been thinking about!

#other stuff - miscelleneous stuff!

# (more to be added…)

(Interests) Further in, some objects can be found lazily hiding amongst the tiny grass.

Topics

Ornithology

Floriology

Geology

Games / Shows

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon

Sky: Children of the Light

How to Train Your Dragon

Minecraft Story Mode

Dandy’s World

Terraria

Five Nights at Freddys

Nexomon

Look Outside

Stories / Books

Song of the Summer King

Guardians of Ga'Hoole

Wings of Fire

Interactive Fiction

Wayhaven Chronicles

(more to be added…)

(Other Socials) Wooden signs are staked into the dirt, makeshift and flimsy. They seem to point somewhere over the sea.

Toyhouse: Featherface

Artfight: Featherface

Comicfury: Cyrystyrne

Godfallen: https://godfallen.thecomicseries.com/comics/1

Youtube: simplyCyrys (dont watch its old shit <\3) https://youtube.com/@simplycyrys?si=h49DLTguS1pWcJ0L

Discord: ( Friends only! )

[m0thisonfire]

I would love to hear more about Caramele! What are his likes and dislikes? What's his backstory? [I am giving you permission to infodump. Go wild.]

AH OKIE OKIE- GONNA WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN WHILE I STILL HAVE MOTIVATION

I’m going to put his likes and dislikes at the end of this wall of text, and there is a lot, a lot to get down. Just think of one of those walls of texts that have the pinned up photos, on top of me still learning all the Graveborn lore. So it’s gonna be fanon and my stuff mixed with canon.

Also I started answering this and then went to check something on the lore site, and everything got deleted, so I am still suffering over that-

But to begin:

Caramele was born in a small out of the way country town simply called ‘Stone’ somewhere in the Lightbearer empire, named after the huge stone statue of an unnamed hero that watches over the village. There isn’t anything really remarkable or noteworthy about Stone except for the Blacksmith shop and the widowed Baron who lives there with his son. The only ‘remarkable’ things would be the barrows that are scattered around the town and territory, and the ancient magic that the land seemed to be ‘blessed’ or infused with.

A few of the townfolk can channel a little of the magic to grow crops and flowers, and heal their sick and injured to a very small degree. Nothing that can be used in battle or war, so isn’t really considered powerful magic outside of usefulness.

The Barrows, on the other hand, nobody goes near those unless it’s to pay respect to the dead. Stone would have been built around the time of the First Hypogean War, before Annih went AWOL and created the Hypogeans, so the gravesites belong to powerful mages and soldiers from long, long ago. And in the folklore that was passed down from generations, the barrows would have been protected by ‘Barrow Wraiths’, monsters/protectors of the crypts, created to hunt down grave-robbers and desecraters that would threaten the dead and items within. Not strictly ‘Graveborn’, but certainly not living either.

One such barrow would be nearby the shop in the woods.

Caramele’s family is very keep to themselves for many reasons, but his mom Winnifred, and himself, were always the social butterflies of the family, the ones to often go to the town and pick up orders for his dad. He enjoyed his community, despite the occasional odd look he would get from outsiders due to his albinism, but the locals were more than accepting of the Smiths’ son. Rubin Smith is much more introverted than his wife and children, a big and imposing man of few words and fewer friends, but takes pride in his work and family. Caramele also has two older siblings that spend most of their time hunting and foraging, twins named Addison and Aven. Almost everyone in the family knows how to work the forge, and even then Winnifred helped around the shop keeping it clean and organized. The twins hunted, their mother ran the house and gathered orders, and Caramele helped his father in the forge.

When Caramele would be around ten, disaster would strike.

Remember the Baron’s son I mentioned? Well, turns out, he is a not good person. A very unstable not good person. As in, the kind of unstable not good person you would never trust with Divine magic or sharp objects, which, unfortunately, Leon le Menteur had access to both. In abundance, enough so that when he grew up he went into the Heresy Inquisition in the Lightbearer Temple. Which, in itself, is a bad idea. On top of the fact he is one sadistic guy who would target anyone ‘different’. Different like Caramele.

Leon would be twelve at the time, Caramele ten, and a vicious plot would be unfolding in the Baron’s manor that no one even knew of. Under the cover of being a guest at the noble’s party, a stranger (Vedan) would be paying two grave-robbers to infiltrate the Barrow near the blacksmith’s shop, looking for a powerful spellbook he would use later on (Isabella’s book).

Long story short, the grave-robbers infiltrate the crypt and successfully grab the book, return it to the stranger, end up getting poisoned via wine to erase witnesses, and unintentionally woke up one of the Barrow Wraiths through their desecration and thievery.

The stranger would escape into the night never to return to Stone, yet there would be one life he would indirectly change forever.

While the thieves were stealing the book, Leon would have trapped Caramele in the woods nearby as an ill gotten joke before returning to the Baron’s party. And as the night got late and his family got worried, Winnifred would have gone out by herself to find him.

She found Caramele and helped him. The Barrow Wraith found both of them before they could escape.

When Caramele did eventually reach home after his mother sacrificed herself distracting the Barrow Wraith, his outlook on life would be changed drastically. He would be more reserved, friendly, yes. But he would be wary, even outright hostile to most nobles well into early adulthood, especially Leon. Nevermind the Barrows, he would live the rest of his life terrified of the dark and dead.

His family fell into silent suffering despite the seemingly indifferent yet sad demeanors. Rubin became more reclusive, barely speaking outside of his home unless it was for orders or favors for his neighbors. The twins were still lighthearted and goofy, but they would be adverse to speaking about their mother. Caramele, now spending most of his time in the forge to distract himself and becoming quite antisocial, would immediately change the subject with a pointed tone, growing as quiet as his father.

How did the boy every become a Circus Ringmaster, you may ask?

Thank his siblings for that. Noticing their little brother growing more reclusive as he aged, on his fifteenth birthday they begged their father for tickets to take him to a circus. They had hoped something new and exciting would help their brother out of his depression, and Ruben surprisingly agreed. At first, Caramele was less than enthusiastic when they arrived to the huge circus tent.

And then, once they sat down among the crowd, the show began. And for the first time in five years, Caramele would feel Wonder. Whimsy. Curiosity and genuine excitement. And he smiled, for the first time in years.

And he knew exactly what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

After the show, he searched for the Ringmaster and begged, pleaded to be mentored so he could join the circus too.

The Ringmaster at the time was planning to retire soon anyway, and was more than delighted to mentor the teen to take his place as the new leader. Since the circus traveled often and Caramele was stuck in Stone for the moment, the Ringmaster devised a way to mentor him from afar, writing down spells, tricks, and physical exercises for the boy to practice while the circus was traveling. Every year, around Caramele’s birthday, the troupe would return, and for the two weeks they were near the town, the teen was scored and directed in his abilities.

To Rubin’s relief and pride, his son began branching out, becoming more open and social like he had been before. Caramele spent more time outside the forge practicing his magic and honing his skills. The magic in the land helped him, having grown up on the blessed territory allowed Caramele to wield his magic easily, and eventually it began growing in strength the more he practiced. He trained, and he trained hard, impressing his mentor and the troupe with his dedication and growing passion. He even began performing the tricks and magic for other children and adults in the village, growing more certain in his path with every joyful smile and laugh he received.

The light he could see in others was slowly chasing away the darkness he had seen before, the darkness inside of him.

Alas, I can’t let this man be happy for long, so of course Leon does something drastic again.

At this point, Leon is well beyond obsessed with his childhood (crush) target, and once again corners Caramele in the woods. It would be a week before Caramele’s twentieth birthday, before his debut on the stage and before he took over the circus. Leon, who would be soon sent out to Ranhorn to officially be integrated into the Heresy Inquisition, was less than happy with the idea of Caramele being anywhere the Baron couldn’t keep track of him. So he threatened, pleaded, bargained, offered anything to keep Caramele in Stone until Leon could return for him.

Of course, Caramele refuses. Leon takes offense. A scuffle breaks out, and one right hook later from Caramele, Leon snaps and attacks him. Fortunately, Aven and Addison find them before more damage can be done and chases Leon off. But a shock of Divine magic rendered the nerves in Caramele’s hands shot and painful to move.

The circus arrives early, and the Ringmaster is devastated when he discovers Caramele’s condition. Not as devastated as Caramele though, fearful of being stuck in Stone forever, surrounded by Barrows and the Baron. The Ringmaster is fearful himself, and decides to take Caramele into the troupe early to attempt to help him.

The ceremony to give Caramele leadership goes on as planned, though the Ringmaster revealed there was something he had been keeping from the man until the time was right.

A book of magic in the older man’s possession that was bound to every ringmaster that took an oath to protect it, a book that held magic both damning and approved of. Runes that bent the world to the user’s will, conjuration, alteration, and destructive spells alike. On top of healing spells and illusions that would aid in keeping the circus safe.

The book would be bound to Caramele, and in turn Caramele would be both protected and the protector of his troupe, and the innocent he performed for.

Curious and intrigued, Caramele took the oath binding him to the book's magic. When he was finally given his uniform, already enchanted and imbued with runes from the Ringmaster, he could tell he was given a responsibility larger than he previously assumed. Slipping on his showman’s gloves, enchanted at the last moment due to the newest development, his nerves were soothed and even assisted, little to no pain plaguing him. A relief for his performances.

Ruben, the twins, and the newly retired Ringmaster were present for Caramele’s first performance a week later. Leon was as well, though he left in a fit of rage before the show was over. It was a success, and despite the mysterious book now in his possession, Caramele had never felt more at peace watching the happiness he brought others.

One would assume this is a happy ending. Despite it all, he got to find happiness again. Afterwards, he travels with his troupe all over Esperia, performing for folk and factions of all kind and bringing light and joy where he could.

He kept his circus in top shape, taking in the outcasts and those who had nowhere else to go. As a blacksmith, he could keep the equipment and important fastenings repaired and stable. He was used to wounds and injuries from his time in the forge and his siblings’ hunts, so he could easily stitch and fix minor wounds from accidents. He tested everything himself before shows to ensure top performance and safety for his group, and took genuine joy in training and practice with them. His dedication was admirable, his passion, undeniable. It was everything he ever wanted.

It did not last long. Tragedy number three struck, and struck hard after five years on the road.

It was a day he decided to train by himself in the woods. He wasn’t far from the tent, his troupe stationed near the house of Raine. The estate was a ways off, but Caramele had heard tales of their family. At twenty-five and traveling for years, he mellowed out towards folks and aristocrats, and even hoped that the Raines would attend.

When he heard rustling nearby, he would assume it was an animal of some sort, and be unbothered. When he heard the sound of a young girl groan in pain, he would stop what he was doing and rush to the sound.

It’s here he would first meet Silvina, near death but clinging to life. He would be filled with concern and worry for her, and would approach to help her up, return to the tent, and attempt to heal her. He would not have been able to account for the necromancer that had tracked her…

Caramele’s cause of death was a stab through the back, piercing his heart from behind and being left to bleed out by the necromancer’s surprise attack. Neither he or Silvina would be found by the troupe, and he would be assumed missing for many years to come.

Yet his resurrection causes… intrigue for many Graveborn once they discover his existence.

The necromancer did not resurrect him, no. Only Silvina. And yet, somehow, Caramele was slowly turned into a similar being as her by some unknown force. Not Quaedam, though Caramele would still be under his ‘guidance’.

When he awoke, he was met with the sight of the full moon above him. The next sight was Silvina standing over the body of the necromancer, and a dagger pointed at the newly resurrected Ringmaster. With a little convincing and a gentle hand, he manages to coax Silvina into a calm so he can figure out his situation.

A Graveborn. He was less than thrilled with that, considering his fear of the dead, but oh well. His forced optimism took the second chance as a second chance.

Afraid of returning to his troupe and overwhelmed with his situation and recent resurrection, he offered to travel with Silvina to help her get home safely. Silvina reluctantly allows him to tag along, and eventually, Caramele stands before Vedan’s castle.

On Isabella’s insistence and Silvina’s recounting, Vedan begrudgingly lets him stay with them until he gets his bearings. Of course, they eventually get used to the Ringmaster’s presence, and ‘until he gets his bearings’ turns into ‘You can’t leave, actually. Ever. The girls like you too much, so I won’t let you’.

At first, Caramele and Vedan clash. Hard. Vedan reminds Caramele too much of Leon, and Vedan doesn’t care. Because this guy is a blacksmith turned circus man. Why would someone like Vedan care about what he thinks?

… Until the day came when Vedan realized he somehow began co-parenting with Caramele. Until Caramele realizes that Vedan, in his own way, is completely different from the noble that tormented him growing up.

As time passes and Caramele gets used to being a Graveborn, Vedan integrates him into the ranks and brings him to Bantus.

And that’s usually where Caramele can be found when Vedan and the girls travel there. The man can either be found in the Count’s castle, or somewhere in Thoran’s castle, rarely anywhere else.

While most Graveborn fight and are used to break enemy ranks, Caramele is one of the more ‘essential type’ Graveborn. Not a mindless drone, yet not a fighter either. He usually works in the castle forges repairing everything and anything he can in his free time, or spends most of his time helping other Graveborn. Works in the infirmary with Niru, helps Silas with his experiments, runs papers for different officers, strategizes with Grezhul over battle plans, works in the library keeping records of different things… stays by Vedan’s side as a sort of ‘second opinion’ in the Bloody Priesthood, though he himself isn’t part of it.

His optimism eventually fades into cynical optimistic nihilism, still smiling, yet indulging in much darker humor and becoming more tolerant of the actions of Graveborn around him. Day in, day out, day in, day out… it wears on one's brain, and Caramele goes from initially horrified by those around him, to indifferent and sickeningly amused. He lives to serve, and still uses his passion to perform for his faction and bring a glimmer of joy into the ranks as best he can, though he is often sassy, sarcastic, and very stubborn on his morals and certain matters.

He gets along with the other factions, and is quite peaceful despite his demeanor. There are many things that make him unique as a Graveborn, such as him being able to remember his life as a Lightbearer and being able to walk around in the sun, dubbing him a ‘daywalker’. There are many theories about this from the medical and scientific Graveborn, from his abilities and memory, to the kind of Graveborn he and the girls are, to the fact he seemed to be one of the pactless Graveborn.

The working theory is that the oath Caramele took to bind the book to himself somehow keeps him from Quaedam’s influence and allows him to retain his humanity, though he can interact with the avatar of death just fine. A theory Shemira helped formulate was that he could walk around during the day because of the runes in his uniform. No one wants to test that theory in case Caramele does burst into flames without his unform.

Another working theory is the magic Vedan used in the ritual to turn himself into a Graveborn may have affected Isabella, Silvina, and Caramele’s Graveborn forms. The book, from the barrow in Stone, influenced Isabella’s undead form somehow. Silvina as a Lightbearer being in close contact with her sister at all times seems to have influenced her undead form as well. Caramele is not enthusiastic about this theory, because that would mean even as a child, he would have probably been cursed to this form because of the Barrow Wraith he had been in contact with.

Another reason he does not like that theory is because why the fuck was Vedan in Stone? When, where, why, and what does that mean if Vedan has a book from the gravesite Caramele knows the Barrow Wraith that killed his mother was from? Does Caramele even want to know?

He does not, he finds, because thinking on this actually tempts him to be aggressive and quite murderous. It does not help with his bottled up temper either-

For the current day and age during Afk Arena’s current events, Caramele is more temperamental, yet still subservient, beginning to actually pick fights and itch to fight the Hypogeans. He only takes orders from Vedan, Thoran or Theowyn, Grezhul, or Quaedam himself. Even then it’s begrudgingly and with an unbelievable side of sass.

As a technical Barrow Wraith, Caramele’s prone and main instinct underneath his humanity is to serve and protect his ‘barrow’. Isabella protects her book and sister, Silvina protects her sister and Vedan, Caramele takes it upon himself to protect the Arcanists Union and their home. As a Support Tank, this comes naturally to him, and the growing urge to defend as the Hypogeans grow near leaves him viotile towards intruders and enemies.

——

Likes:

Candies. As a Graveborn, Caramele insists on hard candies to keep himself focused or to zone out while fixating on something. It doesn’t matter to him he can’t really taste it, it’s sweet enough and that’s okay with him.

Coffee. Quaedam save this man, Caramele cannot get through the night without three to five cups of coffee, at least.

Sleep. He sleeps during the day, sleeps during the night. He is dead set on this schedule because it’s what he’s used to. Hence why he needs ungodly amounts of coffee if he’s forced to function at night. But sleep is, to him, temporary death, an escape.

Performing. He still loves making people smile, be it Graveborn, living factions, or Isabella, Silvina, or Daimon. His passion is still what makes him… him.

Smithing. It eases him, reminds him of home and his family. He’s damn good at it too, and takes pride in his work.

——

Dislikes:

A majority of the Graveborn. This man may be all smiles and pleasantries, but he despises the fact most of the Graveborn willingly turned themselves, and/or turned others against their will. He has exceptions, and hears out everyone’s stories. But for the most part, he’s suspicious of everybody.

His height being pointed out. Look, Caramele is only 5’3. He hates being called short. The one time Torne pointed it out, he never did again because Caramele stole his kneecaps and hid them in one of the kitchen cabinets. No one risked calling him short after that.

The dark. Caramele hates the dark. Hates the shadows, hates the things in the shadows, is terrified of the Barrow Wraith from Stone finding him again. At night, he sleeps with a candle.

Mirrors. Caramele. Cannot Stand. Mirrors. He misses how he was before, despite his albinism setting him apart from most people. He can’t stand seeing himself as a Graveborn, an undead, with ashen skin and glowing green eyes, and horns and a tail, so similar from the monster that killed his mom yet so different… he avoids mirrors whenever he can.

Eating humaniods. Caramele will not touch or eat anything considered humaniod or part of a faction. In his opinion, dead is dead, and goes out of his way to avoid eating people, choosing to eat animals instead. He does not trust a plate of meat given to him by anyone in his faction, and will not eat it.

[irish-urn]

Rando question in my head (since it seems like they pick you up!).

Don't answer this if this is too spoilery about what you're going to do. In your LWL series universe, in your opinion, what is the biggest thing at the current moment (after your recently released Part 3) besides the yet-to-be signed divorce that is holding Casey from letting herself have Derek?

Is it fair to say that my read of your LWL-universe Derek is that he is already there and ready to have Casey and its a matter of waiting for her to be okay with crossing that line?

I do love asks!!! I looooooove chatting. I am a very talkative person.

So, regarding my sappy LWL series, yes: Derek is ready to be with Casey whenever Casey is ready for that. But also... He's not in a rush? Like, it's been 20 years of quietly loving her, they've found a good rhythm together, they are creating a family... Like, in a lot of ways, they *are* together. And she knows his intentions, and she didn't say No, she said, Not yet. He's lived this long on a lot less.

Now, it's a lot... More for Casey. In Canada, unless you're filing because of abuse or infidelity, you have to be separated for a full year before you can file for divorce. Casey is "fortunate" that Peter lives away for 6-9 months of the year, because she's been able to claim that she and him have been living apart since, like, October. That shaves some months off. But still -- there's at least 4 months before she can file, and then who knows how easy Peter is going to make it for her. And while it isn't uncommon to date while you're only separated, it's still... Kinda frowned upon? Like, it may make the divorce process more difficult because it conplicates things.

Furthermore, consider who's all involved in this triangle: an internationally playing hockey star, a -- what I think from Casey's work uniform makes her a prosecutor? -- and a rockstar that's famous enough to make the social media news when he and his daughter have a disagreement (see the beginning of the movie)... Who's also her stepbrother who has been living in her Guest House for the last 9 months, and is on her kids' emergency contact and pick-up list. Like... That's... Tangly. The wrong person picks up that story, and it could make things very difficult for ALL OF THEM.

But, tbh, those are just the technical aspects. There's also the whole: will our family (both their little group of 6 and the bigger McTuri clan) accept this? That's been the biggest obstacle since she first thought Derek was cute when she was 15 -- and it hasn't changed.

But REALLY the big thing holding her back is: what if I ruin us? What will I and my children do without Derek (and Skyler) in our lives?

I think I alluded to it somewhat, but I'll probably let Casey dwell on it a little more, but Casey cares for Derek an awful lot. And she adores Skyler. And so do her children. All of them are very important to each other. And Casey... Is divorcing her husband. She has just failed in her longest relationship. She is a *failure* (this isn't ME talking, this is Casey's guilt). And Derek hasn't had a serious relationship since Skyler's MOM and look at how that turned out! Derek twitches every time Skyler mentions her name!

So... That's scary. Because if she starts a relationship with him, it CAN'T fail. It HAS TO WORK. it's too important for it not to.

And that's... That's an awful lot of pressure. That's very scary. And she's still healing and learning what she's worth. That takes time. She just needs some more time to heal and learn and gather her courage.

But she's getting there (maybe sooner than everyone thinks. 😉)

[georgiapeach30513]

It’s like they’ve never been responsible for having a job and all of the domestic labor simultaneously. 😂 // THIS!! Look, I would be happy to not have a job and be a homemaker and take care of children and things of the sort while my husband works, but unless he lost his job, I refuse to be the sole earner!! I know this is controversial and it is just my opinion, I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes, and I love having a job and working to make my own money. THAT BEING SAID, men are not socialized the way women are to be detail oriented about housework or domestic labor to the same degree that women are, if at all. A lot of men also just weaponize their incompetence surrounding household chores while preaching about 50/50. Bro, you don’t know how to do a load of laundry. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. 😂 Even if you have an amazing partner who helps out it is still likely that they don’t realize that baseboards have to be cleaned and shit like that. 😂 I’m the one that’s going to be judged for an untidy house if guests come over, regardless of who cleaned. Like seriously, men need to learn to clean and cook the way that women are expected to if they want 50/50 or whatever the fuck. I’m sorry to rant, but it really pisses me off the amount of like abstract thinking and philosophy and all this other shit men want to participate in without having the self awareness to look at who ends up doing the majority of the labor and maintenance in their daily lives.

I have nothing to add to this

[kariachi]

Some fic! Gwen learns some more about Osmosians during a visit to Kevin's clan.

~~

“So,” Gwendolyn asked as she finally managed to get Kevin alone- a mission that had left her to stalk about outside what passed for a bathroom around here, “why does your family keep looking at me like that?”

“Hey babe,” Kevin said in a way that wasn’t quite pointed, putting out an arm she happily tucked herself under with a bemused sigh, “nice to see you, how you enjoying the place?”

“Well enough, though I didn’t realize it’d be quite so hot.” Smugness radiated from him at that- he had warned them- as he pressed their foreheads together affectionately. “Why do your relatives keep looking at me like I’m a problem?”

“Eh, I’m too young for courting.” Mouth twisting into something that wasn’t quite a frown, she pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re eighteen,” she pointed out, and got a shrug in return.

“Ossys aren’t supposed to even be thinking about courting and shit until at least their twenties Earth time,” Kevin explained. “Preferably a lot later. And here I am rolling in, only eighteen, with an intended mate and you. They’re worried I’m trying to outdo Dad.” Still, Gwendolyn shook her head.

“You aren’t that much too young,” she said, “not enough for me to be getting looks like I’m an issue.”

“I said a lot later, G,” he reiterated, pulling her back in against him and resting his chin on her hair. She couldn’t help letting herself relax against him. “Far as they’re concerned I shouldn’t be bothering with anyone more than Argit- and even just him's a stretch- until about my sixties.”

“Sixties,” she exclaimed, trying and failing to pull away with a sharp look.

“My great-gran is like six-hundred-something and still kicking,” he said with audible bemusement, “Ossys don’t normally see a need to rush this shit.”

“Still,” she said, “your fucking sixties?” He shrugged.

“Twenty years Earth time and you’re honestly just considered ‘not a kid anymore'," he explained like it was normal, which, she supposed it was another things learnt early, "you can go learn a trade and start figuring life out but you're not an adult-adult. You spend the next forty-odd years figuring out what you’re doing with yourself, who you are, learning your trades, getting out all the extra wildness that comes with being young. Then, you spend forty years figuring out where you wanna spend your life, settling down, collecting a good group of mates, building your social standing. Once you hit like a century Earth time, you’re antlers are filled out, your shit's together, then you're an adult, you can start getting kids going and shit.” Gaping, Gwendolyn stared into the middle distance between her nose and Kevin’s chest.

“Don’t think Argit and I are waiting eighty years for children,” she finally said after a long, long silence. Kevin snorted a laugh that shook them both.

“Not marrying you, babe,” he said for the third time since they’d gotten together, and for the third time she didn’t believe him. She didn’t care what sort of enemies her family tended to acquire, Tennyson babies and parenting still had to be at least level with Argit babies and parenting. “But yeah, that’s why they’re worried. Dad laid my clutch at just sixty and it was far from the first, so seeing me running around with wedding plans in my head, a major suitor, and the mate definitely gonna die while I'm young? When I'm still a kid? They’re a little paranoid I’m gonna be clutching at like, twenty.”

“More than a little, I think,” she said, recalling that- while she, Ben, and Rook had been placed in a guest room- Kevin had immediately been bunked with a group of his cousins.

“Okay, more than a little,” he admitted. “You can’t blame them; I am a mess.”

“Don’t I know it.” Heaving a sigh, Gwendolyn burrowed herself deeper into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist. “I’m going to have to just put up with this, aren’t I?”

“I mean, I have to put up with your mom all the time,” Kevin said, giving her a squeeze, “think you can manage my clan for another week and a half.” Making a noise that was not a groan, thank you, she tightened her grip and steeled herself for the rest of the visit.

“You are so lucky I love you…”

[dehautdesert]

I'd also add that "natural impulses" pretty much don't exist.

Humans are social animals with complex information processing systems and a strong tendency to learn from their environments and especially their conspecifics. Social norms are the backbone of human functioning, and most societal activities are based around social norms. When you're in a social situation, you process the information coming at you through a framework that you learned from other humans around you and then select one of many possible responses that you probably also learned from other humans, unless it's a very basic activity like pissing your pants or running away while screaming incoherently.

Most emotions, except the very basic ones, and most motivational drives, are also socially constructed, and in any social interaction you'll have like ten conflicting ones activating simultaneously. Who's to say that your dissappointment over being gifted a blue labubu when you wanted a pink one is a "natural impulse" (your preference for labubus and labubus of a certain color are both socially constructed), while your desire to not make your aunt sad by displaying visible disappointment (=a desire to maintain good social relations with loved ones, natural for most humans since we are innnately social creatures) is somehow less of a "natural impulse"?

If I slap you every time you pronounce a word wrong, is your desire to avoid me a "natural impulse" or something determined by social conditioning? You didn't have that impulse before I started slapping you. How about if I insult you verbally? How about if I make a disgusted face and then don't invite you to my birthday party? Is having a reaction to rejection a "natural impulse"? Is wanting to avoid it? Etc.

The truth is that if you don't teach your children anything they're still a) going to pick up patterns from the environment and act according to those, because that's what human brains do, b) those perceived patterns will be a lot less clear or coherent than direct instruction and c) some of them are going to be *significantly better at it than others*, and the ones that are worse at it will be left behind and have worse outcomes.

Teaching them this stuff is just *giving them a tool to obtain their desired social outcomes*. Most people have desired social outcomes. That IS pretty much a natural impulse. Teaching them isn't really enforcing anything on them, because they still get to choose whether they'll use the tool or not, based on their current goals and the predicted consequences (this is why socially competent people break a lot of those rules very often and get away with it). I know that being polite to my aunt means that her feelings won't be hurt by something as minor as a labubu, so I'm choosing to roleplay gratitude. Because on some level I AM (hopefully) grateful that she thought of me enough to give me a gift, or at least appreciative enough of the relationship that we have generally. If I hated my aunt I'd probably lash out or ignore her. That's still a choice I made. Same for e.g. introducing guests to each other: I want my friends to feel good at my party. I don't want them to feel awkward. I want them to come over the next time I throw a party as well. So I have a shortcut to making them feel good in the action of introducing them to likeminded people. Expanding a person's behavioral repertoire isn't abuse ffs

I feel like in the rush of “throw out etiquette who cares what fork you use or who gets introduced first” we actually lost a lot of social scripts that the younger generations are floundering without.

[mocacheezy]

Moca watches: Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates: After the Laughter

Nice music

I love how much they can't tolerate her

Wendy lost her laugh! Tink: "Oh no.😒"

What happens if you don't laugh once a day when in Neverland? Tink: "You die.🙄 By the next sunset🥱"

She truly doesn't give a single sparkly fuck.

"Why ask me? It's a silly rule and I am just a Neverland fairy." oh she does hate to be talked down to. Ofc it'll be a different tune when it's Peter wanting to know✨

🎶We all live on a yellow submarine pirate ship🎶

"Monkey buisness in the Mermaids Lagoon!" "Explain yourself Mullins. Monkey business ain't MY business."

"The briney is MY DOMAIN!" now it absolutely IS his business

I love how very clear both of them are about their domains.

I see the animation teams changed again for this episode.

Wherever they are they aren't getting back out

Hook... Baby, honey, sweetie. For all I know Smee is going to open one of those windows underwater.

I fucking love the way this man cusses.💖💖💖

GAH! CHILD!! LITTLE SHIT No.2 ENTERS THE RING!

Alright, but the fact he's always been all about GoodForm tm, while also being underhanded is just so funny.

"I made that same mistake!" So his childhood is lost, but he retained memories from it. Well then, this is going to be a very interesting interaction then.

I also wonder if him as a kid having a lazy eye is intentional, or an animation error.

Hghdhdghd "It is no mistake, that's exactly what I'd say." At least he acknowledges it. But is grown-up Hook better at helping a little lady than he would back when he was a bully of a kid?

ALSO, is this why he kept rewriting that story and graded himself with a D- ? Was he at some point taught to be a perfectionist, or did he mature into one? That story had too many hooks for sure, but listen, the writer is their own harshest critic.

Okay so it seems he just plain didn't have playmates or real friends as a kid. Which would make sense if we look at his clothes and that he's clearly been taught skills that an average child wouldn't have access or need for. He was not poor, his needs weren't lacking on the material or intellectual front. But depending on him and his brother possibly being surrounded mostly by strict adults, I think they'd be stuck to each others side. And even if there were other children he could interact with, let's say if his parents had friends or acquaintances that would visit and had kids as well, there would still be a whole lot of social expectations to "get along" and "play nice" and "behave yourself". And of course, brothers first, so if Jasper didn't want to play, James likely wouldn't either. Because that leads to fights after and that kind of behavior is frowned upon of course. Not to mention getting dirty or rough housing is horrible when guests are over!!

I know this is a WHOLE LOT of speculations but still. Let me overanalyze my blorbo (I say to myself as I overanalyze & noone can actually stop me)

Also Hook, honey. Grown men are not the best playmates. Nor are grown women. Grownups are great, and it is great to learn and watch and see and yada yada yada, but having actual people your age is quite a crucial part of development, that you very, VERY, CLEARLY lacked. How do you behave with your peers, when you don't get a proper experience and learned to fumble early in life?

Now we don't know if having someone of the same intellectual ability for him to converse with would mean he'd make friends. Or if he had friends before Neverland, that weren't family or acquaintances, friends by circumstance. Because there is a big difference, and this man to my knowledge and opinion has no actual friends aboard his ship, or offshore. (I'm sorry, but Short Tom doesn't count)

Oh Peter really knows how to play this man's temper better than his windflute.

I AM AWARE

WENDY DEPRESSED FOREVER😭😭😭

Thank you Wherever

Misused it while he had it? How the hell do you MISUSE YOUR CHILDHOOD???

Good aim sir.

"Man overboard! Rig lines and nets!" Thank you Mullins, I was wondering how the hell everyone (aside from Hook and his spiderman/count dracula tendencies) manage to get back up onto the ship when there is no boat to use.

"She's just sleeping." is what a parent says when the family pet doesn't move from the porch.

Peter ACTUALLY grieving?

Tink, you are a real one. And yes, there is no pleasing humans. Especially if it's Peter.

... Wendy. Your first revival laugh must've scrambled something up there. "You had your game, and I got my laugh back! Where's the harm in that?" YOU NEARLY DIED WENDY.

*deep inhale* skoraj še nikoli ni zajca ujel, skoraj še nikoli ni zajca ujel, itd. itd. etc. etc. into infinity.

[borntobecheap]

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THE NICEST KIDS IN TOWN!”

IF I HAVE one regret in life, it's that I wasn't a Buddy Deaner. Sure, as a teenager I was a guest on this Baltimore show. I even won the twist contest with Mary Lou Raines (one of the queens of "The Buddy Deane Show") at a local country club.

But I was never a Deaner. Not a real one. Not one of the Committee members, the ones chosen to be on the show every day—the Baltimore version of the Mouseketeers, "the nicest kids in town," as they were billed. The guys who wore sport coats with belts in the back from Lee's of Broadway (ten percent discount for Committee members), pegged pants, pointy-toe shoes with the great buckles on the side and "drape" (greaser) haircuts that my parents would never allow. And the girl Deaners, God, "hair-hopppers" as we called them in my neighborhood, the ones with the Etta gowns, bouffant hairdos and cha-cha heels. These were the first role models I knew. The first stars I could identify with. Arguably the first TV celebrities in Baltimore.

I'm still a fan—a Deaner groupie. I even named some of the characters in my films after them. So you can't imagine how excited I was when I finally got a chance to interview these local legends twenty years later.

"The Buddy Deane Show" was a teenage dance party, on the air from 1957 to 1964. It was the top-rated local TV show in Baltimore and, for several years, the highest rated local TV program in the country. While the rest of the nation grew up on Dick Clark's "American Bandstand" (which was not even shown here because Channel I3 already had "Buddy Deane"), Baltimoreans, true to form, had their own eccentric version. Every rock 'n' roll star of the day (except Elvis) came to town to lip-sync and plug their records on the show: Buddy Holly, Bill Haley, Fats Domino, the Supremes, the Marvelettes, Annette Funicello, Frankie Avalon and Fabian, to name just a few.

You learned how to be a teenager from the show. Every day after school kids would run home, tune in and dance with the bedpost or refrigerator door as they watched. If you couldn't do the Buddy Deane Jitterbug (always identifiable by the girl's ever-so-subtle dip of her head each time she was twirled around), you were a social outcast. And because a new dance was introduced practically every week, you had to watch every day to keep up. It was maddening: the Mashed Potato, the Stroll, the Pony, the Waddle, the Locomotion, the Bug, the Handjive, the New Continental and, most important, the Madison, a complicated line dance that started here and later swept the country.

Although the show has been off the air for more than twenty years, a nearly fanatical cult of fans has managed to keep the memory alive. The producers of Diner wanted to include "Buddy Deane" footage in their film, but most of the shows were live and any tapes of this local period piece have been erased. Last spring five hundred people quickly snapped up the $23 tickets to the third Buddy Deane Reunion, held at a banquet hall in East Baltimore, to raise money for the Baltimore Burn Center. Buddy himself, the high priest, returned for the event. And more important, so did the Committee, still entering by a special door, still doing the dances from the period with utmost precision. I was totally star-struck and had as much fun that night as I did at the Cannes Film Festival. All on tacky Pulaski Highway.

IN THE BEGINNING there was Arlene. Arlene Kozak, Buddy's assistant and den mother to the Committee. Now a receptionist living in suburbia with her husband and two grown children, Arlene remains fiercely loyal, organizing the reunions and keeping notebooks filled with the updated addresses, married names and phone numbers of all "my kids."

She met Winston J. "Buddy" Deane in the fifties when she worked for a record wholesaler and he was the top-rated disc jockey on WITH — the only DJ in town who played rock 'n' roll for the kids. Joel Chaseman, also a DJ at WITH, became program manager of WJZ-TV when Westinghouse bought it in the mid-fifties. Chaseman had this idea for a dance party show, with Buddy as the disc jockey, and Buddy asked Arlene to go to work for him.

On the air "before Dick Clark debuted," the show "was a hit from the beginning," says Arlene today.

The Committee, initially recruited from local teen centers, was to act as hosts and dance with the guests. To be selected you had to bring a "character reference" letter from your pastor, priest or rabbi, qualify in a dance audition and show in an interview ("the Spotlight") that you had "personality." At first the Committee had a revolving membership, with no one serving longer than three months.

But something unforeseen happened: The home audience soon grew attached to some of these kids. So the rules were bent a little; the "big" ones, the ones with the fan mail, were allowed to stay.

And the whole concept of the Committee changed. The star system was born.

If you were a Buddy Deane Committee member, you were on TV six days a week for as many as three hours a day-enough media exposure to make Marshall McLuhan's head spin. The first big stars were Bobbi Burns and Freddy Oswinkle, according to Arlene, but "no matter how big anyone got, someone came along who was even bigger."

Joe Cash and Joan Teves became the show's first royalty.

Joanie, whose mother "wanted me to be a child star," hit the show in early 1957 at age thirteen (you had to be fourteen to be eligible, but many lied about their ages to qualify), followed a few months later by Joe, seventeen. Like many couples, Joe and Joan m* through the show and became "an item" for their fans. Many years later they married.

"I saw the show as a vehicle to make something of myself," remembers Joe. "I was aggressive. I wanted to get into the record business" —and years later he did.

Joe started working for Buddy as "teen assistant" and, along with Arlene, oversaw the Committee and enforced the strict rules.

You received demerits for almost anything: Chewing gum. Eating the refreshments (Ameche's Powerhouses, the premiere teenage hangout's forerunner of the Big Mac), which were for guests only.

Or dancing with other Committee members when you were supposed to be dancing with the guests (a very unpopular rule allowed this only every fourth dance). And if you dared to dance the obscene Bodie Green (the Dirty Boogie), you were immediately a goner.

"I got a little power-crazed," admits Joe. "I thought I was running the world, so they developed a Board, and the Committee began governing itself." Being elected to the Board became the ultimate status symbol. This Committee's committee, under the watchful eye of Arlene, chose new members, taught the dance steps and enforced the demerit system, which could result in suspension or expulsion.

Another royal Deaner couple who met on the air and later married was Gene Snyder and Linda Warehime. They are still referred to, good naturedly by some, as "the Ken and Barbie of the show." Gene, a member of "the first Committee, and I underline first," later became president of the Board. Linda reverently describes her Committee membership as "the best experience I ever had in my life." They later became members of the "Permanent Committee," the hall of fame that could come back to dance even after retiring. "That was our whole social life, being a Buddy Deaner," says Gene. "It was a family: Buddy was the father, Arlene was the mother."

Even today Gene and Linda are the quintessential Deaner couple, still socializing with many Committee members, very protective of the memory, and among the first to "lead a dance" at the emotion-packed reunions. "Once a Deaner, always a Deaner," as another so succinctly puts it.

The early "look" of the Committee was typically fifties. And although few will now admit to having been drapes, the hairstyles at first were DAs, Detroits and Waterfalls for the guys and ponytails and DAs for the girls, who wore full skirts with crinolins and three or four pairs of bobby socks. Joe remembers "a sport coat I bought for $s from somebody who got it when he got out of prison.

I was able after a while to afford some clothes from Lee's of Broad-way" (whose selection of belted coats and pegged pants made it the Saks Fifth Avenue of Deaners).

One of the first ponytail princesses was "Peanuts" (Sharon Goldman, debuting at fourteen in 1958, Forest Park High School Chicken Hop), who went on the show because Deaners were "folk heroes." She remembers Paul Anka singing "Put Your Head on My Shoulder" to her on camera as she did just that. She became so popular that she was written up in the nationwide Sixteen magazine.

"On the show you were either a drape or a square," explains Sharon. "I was a square. I guess Helen Crist was the first drapette: the DA, the ballet shoes, oogies [tulle scarves], eye shadow—eye-liner was big then—and pink lipstick."

Helen Crist. The best little jitterbugger in Baltimore. The first and maybe the biggest Buddy Deane queen of all. Debuting at a mere eleven years of age, taking three buses every day to get to the show, wearing that wonderful white DA (created by her hairdresser father) and causing the first real sensation. She was one of the chosen few who went to New York to learn how to demonstrate the Madison and was selected for the "exchange committee" that represented Baltimore's best on "American Bandstand." She was the only one of the biggies who refused to be on the Board ("They had power; a lot were disliked because of it").

Helen's fans flocked to see her at the Buddy Deane Record Hops (Committee members had to make such personal appearances and sign autographs). "I got all these letters from the Naval Academy," Helen remembers, "so I went there one day, and all the midshipmen were hanging out the windows. It was a real kick!" Her fame even brought an offer to join the circus. "This man approached me, telegrammed me, showed up at the show. He wanted me to go to a summer training session to be a trapeze artist. I wanted to go, but my parents wouldn't let me. I was really mad. I wanted to join the circus."

Two other ponytail princesses who went on to the Buddy Deane hall of fame were Evanne Robinson, the Committee member on the show the longest, and Kathy Schmink. Today they seem opposites.

Over lunch at the Thunderball Lounge, in East Baltimore, Kathy remembers, "I could never get used to signing autographs. Why?' I'd wonder." She wasn't even a fan of the show. "It was a fluke. My mother wanted me to go; she took me down to the tryouts. At first I was so shy I hid behind the Coke machines."

But Evanne "used to come right home and head for the TV. I had always studied dance, and I wanted to go on (the show]. I'm the biggest ham." Although she denies being conscious of the cam-era, she admits, "I did try to dance up front. I wasn't going to go on and not be seen." But even Evanne turned bashful on one show, when Buddy made a surprise announcement. "I was voted prettiest girl by this whole army base. I was so embarrassed. Buddy called me up before the cameras, and I wasn't dressed my best. The whole day on the show was devoted to me."

BEING A TEENAGE STAR in Baltimore had its drawbacks. "It was difficult with your peers," recalls Peanuts. "You weren't one of them anymore." Outsiders envied the fame, especially if they lost their steadies to Deaners, and many were put off by boys who loved to dance. "Everybody wanted to kick a Buddy Deaner's ass," says Gene, recalling thugs waiting to jump Deaners outside the studio.

"It was so painful. It was horrible," says Joe. "I used to get death threats on the show. I'd get letters saying, If you show up at this particular hop, you're gonna get your face pushed in?" And Evanne still shudders as she recalls, "Once I was in the cafeteria.

One girl yelled 'Buddy Deaner' and then threw her plate at me. My mother used to pick me up after school to make sure nobody hassled me."

The adoring fans could also be a hassle. "I must have had ten different phone numbers," says Helen, "and somehow it would get out. There were a lot of obscene phone calls."

And the rumors, God, the rumors. "They all thought all the girls were pregnant by Buddy Deane," remember several. "Once I was off the show for a while, and they said I had joined the nun-nery," says Helen, laughing. "It was even in the papers. It was hilarious."

Some of the rumors were fanned on purpose. Because "Buddy Deane's" competition was soap operas, the budding teenage romances were sometimes played up for the camera. "One time I was going with this guy, and he was dancing with this guest I didn't like," says Evanne. "Buddy noticed my eyes staring and said, 'Do the same eyes.' And the camera got it." Kathy went even further. "I was with this guy named Jeff. We faked a feud. I took off my steady ring and threw it down. We got more mail: 'Oh, please don't break up!' Somebody even sent us a miniature pair of boxing gloves. Then we made up on camera."

Romance was one thing; sex was another. Most Deaner girls wouldn't even "tongue-kiss," claims Arlene, remembering the ruckus caused by a Catholic priest when the Committee modeled strapless Etta gowns on TV. From then on, all bare shoulders were covered with a piece of net.

Other vices were likewise eschewed. If a guy had one beer, it was a big deal. Some do remember a handful of kids getting high on cough medicine. "Yeah, it was Cosenel," says Joe. "They would drive me nuts when they'd come in the door, and I'd say, 'Man, you're gone. You are out of here. You are history.' "

Although many parents and WJZ insisted that Committee members had to keep up their grades to stay on the show, the reality could be quite different. With the show beginning at 2:30 in some years, cutting out of school early was common.

"I'd hook and have to dance in the back so the teachers couldn't see me," says Helen. "I had to get up there on time. My heart would have broken in two if I couldn't have gone on." Finally Helen quit Mergenthaler (Mervo) trade school, at the height of her fame. "The school tried to throw me out before. I couldn't be bothered with education. I wanted to dance."

"We had a saying: "The show either makes you or breaks you,'" says Kathy. "Some kids on the show went a little nuts, with stars in their eyes; they thought they were going to go to Hollywood and be movie stars."

Yet Joe was a dropout when he went on the show and then, once famous, went back to finish. And according to Arlene, Buddy encouraged one popular Committee member (Buzzy Bennet) to teach himself to read so he could realize his dream of being a disc jockey. He eventually became one of the most respected programmers in the country and was even written up in Time magazine.

WITH THE 1960s came a whole new set of stars, some with names that seemed like gimmicks, but weren't: Concetta Comi, the popular sister team of Yetta and Gretta Kotik. And then there was teased hair, replacing the fifties drape with a Buddy Deane look that so pervaded Baltimore culture (especially in East and South Baltimore) that its effect is still seen in certain neighborhoods.

Some of the old Committee kept up with the times and made the transition with ease. Kathy switched to a great beehive that resembled a trash can sitting on top of her head ("I looked like I was taking off"). And Helen, Linda and Joanie all got out the rat-tail teasing combs.

Fran Nedeloff (debuting at fourteen in 1961, Mervo High School cha-cha) remembers the look: "Straight skirt to the knee, cardigan sweater buttoned up the back, cha-cha heels, lots of heavy black eyeliner, definitely Clearasil on the lips, white nail polish. We used to go stand in front of Read's Drugstore, and people would ask for our autograph."

Perhaps the highest bouffants of all belonged to the Committee member who was my personal favorite: Pixie (who died several years later from a drug overdose). "You could throw her down on the ground, and her hair would crack," recalls Gene. Pixie was barely five feet tall, but her hair sometimes added a good six to eight inches to her height.

But by far the most popular hairdo queen on "Buddy Deane" was a fourteen-year-old Pimlico Junior High School student named Mary Lou Raines. Mary Lou, the Annette Funicello of the show, was the talk of teenage Baltimore. Every week she had a different "do" —the Double Bubble, the Artichoke, the Airlift -each topped off by her special trademark, suggested by her mother, the bow.

"We really sprayed it," remembers Mary Lou today from her home in Pennsylvania. "The more hair spray, the better. After you sprayed it, you'd get toilet paper and blot it. Sometimes you'd wrap your hair at night. If you leaned on one side, the next day you'd just pick it out" into shape.

Mary Lou was the last of the Buddy Deane superstars, true hair-hopper royalty, the ultimate Committee member. "We have a tele-gram," Buddy would shout almost daily, "for Mary Lou to lead a dance," and the cameraman seemed to love her. "When that little red light came on, so did my smile," she says, laughing. At her appearances at the record hops, "kids would actually scream when you'd get out of the car: 'There's Mary Lou! Oh, my God, it's Evanne!' Autograph books, cameras, this is what they lived for. They sent cakes on my birthday. They'd stand outside my home. They just wanted to know if you were real. I was honored, touched by it all."

Mary Lou was aware that in some neighborhoods it was not cool to be a Buddy Deaner. "Oh sure, if you were Joe College (pre-preppie), you just didn't do 'The Deane Show.'" "Did you ever turn into a Joe College?" I ask innocently. "No!" she answers, with a conviction that gives me the chills.

But as more and more kids (even "Deane" fans) did turn Joe College, many of the Committee made the mistake of not keeping up with the times. Marie Fischer was the first "Joe" to become a Committee member-chosen simply because she was such a good dancer. As with the drapes and squares of the previous decade, she explains, "there were two classes of people then-Deaners and Joe College. The main thing was your hair was flat, the antithesis of Buddy Deane," she says, chuckling. "I was a misfit. Every day I'd come to the studio in knee-highs, and I'd have to take them off. You had to wear nylons. Before long I started getting lots of fan mail: I think you're neat. I'm Joe, too.' There was a change in the works."

Part of that change was the racial integration movement. "I had a lot of black friends at the time, so for me this was an awkward thing," says Marie. "To this day, I'm reluctant to tell some of my black friends I was on 'Buddy Deane' because they look at it as a terrible time."

Integration ended "The Buddy Deane Show." When the subject comes up today, most loyalists want to go off the record. But it went something like this: "Buddy Deane" was an exclusively white show. Once a month the show was all black; there was no black Committee. So the NAACP targeted the show for protests. Ironi-cally, "The Buddy Deane Show" introduced black music and artists into the lives of white Baltimore teenagers, many of whom learned to dance from black friends and listened to black radio. Buddy offered to have three or even four days a week all black, but that wasn't it. The protesters wanted the races to mix.

At frantic meetings of the Committee, many said, "My parents simply won't let me come if it's integrated," and WIZ realized it just couldn't be done. "It was the times," most remember. "This town just wasn't ready for that." There were threats and bomb scares; integrationists smuggled whites into the all-black shows to dance cheek to cheek on camera with blacks, and that was it. "The Buddy Deane Show" was over. Buddy wanted it to end happily, but WJZ angered Deaners when it tried to blame the ratings.

On the last day of the show, January 4, 1964, all the most popular Committee members through the years came back for one last appearance. "I remember it well," recalls Evanne. "Buddy said to me, 'Well, here's my little girl who's been with me the longest.' I hardly ever cried, but I just broke down on camera. I didn't mean to, because I never would have messed up the makeup."

IN 1985 THE COMMITTEE MEMBERs are for the most part happy and healthy, living in Baltimore, and still recognized on the street. "They kept their figures, look nice and are very kind people," says Marie from her lovely country home before taking off for the University of Maryland, where she attends law school.

Most are happily married with kids and maintain the same images they had on the show. "We are kind of like Ozzie and Harriet," says Gene Snyder as Linda nods in agreement. "I'm a typical middle-class housewife," says Peanuts, "Girl Scout leader, very active in my kid's school." Mary Lou is still a star. That she has an affluent life-style surprises no one on the Committee. In her home, near Allentown, Pennsylvania, she serves me a beautiful brunch, models her fur coats and poses with her Mercedes. "When I get depressed, I don't go to the psychiatrist; I go to the jeweler," she says.

Oddly enough, few of the Deaners I've talked to went on to show biz. Joe Cash has Jonas Cash Promotions ("my own promotional firm—we represent Warner Brothers, Columbia, Motown-eighty-five percent of the music you hear in this market")-and Active Industry Research (a "research firm-I'm chairman of the board"). Evanne and her brother run the John Brock Benson Dance Studios and have a line of dancers who appear at clubs all over the state. But most have settled down to a very straight life.

And none are bitter. Although the Committee was a valuable promotional tool for WJZ at the time, and belonging was a full-time job, no one (except teen assistants) was paid a penny. Even doing commercials was expected. Mary Lou laughs at the memory of doing a pimple medicine spot on camera. And who can forget those great ads for the plastic furniture slipcovers that opened with the kids jumping up and down on the sofa and a local announcer screaming, "Hey, kids! Get off that furniture!"? Or the Bob-a-Loop? Or Hartford Motor Coach Company? Or Snuggle Dolls? The Deaners didn't mind. As Marie puts it, "The rewards were so great emotionally that you didn't have to ask for a monetary award."

Many had difficulties dealing with the void when the show went off the air. Gene calls it "a big loss." "It was living in a fantasy world," says Helen, "and later on, growing up, it was a definite blow: reality." "I still have a whole box of fan mail," says Evanne. "If I'm ever depressed, sometimes I think, 'Well, this will make me feel better,' and I go down and dig in the box."

Holding onto the memories more than anyone is Arlene Kozak, who is by far the most loved by all the Committee members. (They gave her a diamond watch at the last reunion.) "Do you miss show biz?" I ask her. "Not show biz," Arlene answers, hesitating, "but the record biz, the people. Yes, I miss it very much. I don't think I'll ever get over missing it, if you want to know the truth."

Many of the Committee members' spouses faced an even bigger adjustment. In "mixed marriages" (with non-Deaners), many of the outsiders resented their spouses' pasts. "At twenty-one I married a professional football player," Helen remembers, "and he made me burn all the fan mail. I had trunks of it. He was mad because I was as popular as he was. He just didn't understand."

But some have dealt with the problems in good humor. When Mary Lou's husband gave me the long and complicated directions to their home on the phone, he ended with, "And there you will find, yes, Mary Lou Raines." He later confided that when he first started dating her, he had no idea of her early career. "Everywhere we went, people would say 'There's Mary Lou.' I wondered if she had just been released from the penitentiary."

THE BUDDY DEANE phenomenon is hardly dead. Each reunion (and a new one is in the works) seems bigger than the last. Deaners seem to come out of the woodwork, drawn by the memory of their stardom. Buddy returns on a pilgrimage from St. Charles, Arkansas, where he owns a hunting and fishing lodge and sometimes appears on TV, to spin the hits and announce multiplication dances, ladies® choice, or even, after a few drinks, the Limbo. Some of the really dedicated Committee members get tears in their eyes. Was it really twenty years ago? Could it be?

Why not do "The Deane Show" on Baltimore TV again? Just once. A special. The ultimate reunion. From all over the country, the Deaners could rise again, congregate at the bottom of Television Hill, and start Madison-ing their way ("You're looking good. A big strong line!") up the hill to that famous dance party set, the one that now houses a talk show. The "big garage-type door" they remember would open, and they'd all pile in, past George and "Mom," the Pinkerton guards who used to keep attendance, and crowd into Arlene's office to comb their hair, confide their problems and touch up their makeup. Buddy could take his seat beneath his famous Top 20 Board, and the tension would build. "Ten seconds to airtime. . . . three, two, one. Ladies and gentlemen. . . the nicest kids in town!"

John Waters (Crackpot: The Obsessions of John Waters, 1986)

[thesongthesoulsings]

Greetings! I was born and raised in Germany and we (my German husband and I) left last year, because we wanted to homeschool our children. It is true - the Nazis illegalized homeschooling in order to have more power over families and with it the public. The government did not want to give up that power, so homeschooling in Germany remains illegal to this day. (There were a bunch of other issues that made us leave, but when schools in big cities are made of over 90% of Muslim children, education sucks and violence is a daily threat. I know, because it was already the case when I left school. The police was a frequent guest at our school and I was not in some special school, but a fairly average one in Frankfurt, Germany. Keeping our children away from that was top priority.)

Studies are pretty clear - homeschooled children do not just score far above their public schooled peers, they also do not struggle with mental health issues like their public schooled counterparts.

What do you mean by "I´m cutting my children off from the real world"? If you mean they don´t get exposed to bullying and porn, do not have to sit still in a closed room all day, where they are being told they aren´t there to socialize etc. then you´re right.

My children have contact to children and adults of all ages, are polite, do not get bullied, learn how to question instead of simply repeating answers, get to focus on subjects which they are naturally inclined towards and I can see them bloom.

While public schooled children can barely read or write, my 6 year old reads stories to me, questions why things are the way they are, can tell you about the states of matter and more.

Homeschooling is indoctrination. You are cutting off all exposure to the real world.

[cinnamonest]

I have one minute left of Monday as of writing this intro, but I have not had a Momcon Monday in ages (which is criminal) and "what if the Kamisato father still died but Kamisato Mama never died" thoughts have parasitically wormed their way into my brain and taken hold, therefore I cannot be held legally responsible for the degeneracy of this post.

After what I learned in a Japanese history class I took in college, I imagine Inazuma to have a similarly very incestuous history >:) Also obvious canon divergence, this kinda ignores the canon Kayo

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

For any Inazuman family, the firstborn son is the pride of the household. It's sort of a traditional value, that great attention, care, and importance is placed on said firstborn son. While this may be very beneficial in some ways (other children in Inazuman families often resent their firstborn brother, feeling he gets more attention and priority than them), this advantage is greatly counterbalanced by the sheer amount of stress, responsibility, and expectations placed on the son.

Having only two children is an abnormality, as noble families tend to be fairly large (albeit smaller than they were in some eras of the past). And only one son, even rarer. It places the utmost stress on your son, to an extent you feel a bit of guilt -- perhaps you should have had another boy just to alleviate some of his burdens?

Regardless, you try to be there in the ways he needs you to be, to be a source of comfort and a shoulder to lean on. That, too, would be perhaps a bit frowned upon in Inazuman nobility culture... it tends to be a rather uptight and strict culture on such things, and Teyvatan nobility in particular often encourages pushing children to their limits, hardening them, but you can't bring yourself to be too harsh. People still tell you not to make him turn out to be weak or soft.

Even so, that turns out to not be the case at all.  As Ayato grows, he is no exception to the standard – capable in every matter, intelligent, strong, skilled in combat and wit alike. You couldn't be more proud. You make sure to tell him so, and everyone you know, for that matter. People frequently say similar things to you, I wish my kids were that well-behaved, if only my son cared about his studies like yours... on and on it goes, and in truth, it does make you feel that much more proud. He's wonderful in his behavior towards you as well, always so pleasant and thoughtful, going out of his way to check on you, get gifts for you, include you in his life. He even speaks highly of you to others, especially when praised -- ah, but I would never have done so well without my mother there to encourage me.

But life can drastically change overnight, and it does.

Death, particularly of the head of a household, is a particularly volatile, uneasy time. He’s incredibly stoic throughout, and takes charge of things very quickly. That, too, is something you're quite proud of, how quickly he adapts and takes over, and the efficiency with which he does, far surpassing what would be expected of someone his age.

Things are a bit awkward at first, though, because he replaces the role of your husband, while you remain in the same role as always, right beside the head of the house, which is now him. It just feels a bit strange, looking to him as and having many of the same partnered functions as you once did to your husband. For example, you are expected to remain side-by-side for all important affairs and meetings being held at the estate.

You don't contribute very much, merely supposed to sit there quiet and demure unless addressed or during the more casual socialization that occurs after important affairs are dealt with, but it would be socially embarrassing for someone of his status to appear in front of guests alone, as having either a wife or other matriarch of the household present is the expected standard. Still, although you know it's your responsibility, it just feels... strange.

Soon, however, it starts to feel something different entirely, due to your son's unexpected behaviors - humiliating.

It catches you off-guard, at first. You would never expect it from him, who has always praised you, held you in some degree of reverence and respect, always done as you asked.

It quickly seems to change, though. As he begins to take his father's place in dealing with other significant figures in local politics, he talks about you in front of others in a way that makes you feel degraded, as if you were an animal incapable of understanding he's even talking about you. You voice concern over what seems to be a disadvantageous decision being made with a major political power, trying to interject in a way that is as appropriately as you can manage, seeing as you're not supposed to talk much, but you can't let it go unaddressed... but your son just waves his hand dismissively, smiling.

Ah, you'll have to forgive my mother. She has a tendency to upset herself over trivial matters. He finishes with a chuckle, rests his hand on the top of your head for a moment.

He also gives you subtle warnings and guidances regarding your own words. The custom in your culture is for you and your guests to sit on opposite sides of a table low to the floor, with the head of the household -- now your son -- and the matriarch of the household (that's you, and would be your daughter if you were to pass) sits right beside him. This is an opportune way for him to be sure you don't say anything he would prefer you not to. You'll just be talking as usual, when you get a sudden firm squeeze to your thigh. Telling you that, for whatever reason, whatever you were saying has been deemed not acceptable, or perhaps that you simply are talking too much when your role is more to sit there and smile.

You give your son the benefit of the doubt. You rationalize it. He's young and all of this is so new to him, he probably wants to prove himself and take initiative over the social atmosphere, and would feel embarrassed if you were to to guide the meetings... he wants to feel capable and in charge. You taking over would be belittling to him, he would feel like you're treating him like a child, and you can understand that. That's a good thing that he's being so responsible, isn't it?

Besides, it's not like his behaviors towards you outside of the meetings have changed... until they do, in fact, begin to.

It starts with you taking a deviation in your routine. Not that that in and of itself is a big deal; there's nothing dictating that you have to follow a certain routine or anything like that. You don't have many responsibilities, as your son takes care of business and management affairs, your job is primarily to be present when needed, and ensure the household is being kept in order.

Therefore, you get a great deal of lounging time. One day, you simply felt like reclining to read for leisure in a different spot than usual, opting to sit in the estate's study rather than the foyer. Something done without any consideration to the matter, not thinking it anything that could possibly cause an issue in any way.

You jolt when the door harshly opens, barging through with urgency. Your son sighs when he sees you, shoulders falling as tension leaves his body. You think something to be the matter, that he must have something upsetting him -- is something wrong, sweetheart?

But instead of answering you with some other matter, his eyes narrow.

I have been searching for you for nearly half an hour. You would do well to not worry me by disappearing so.

There's a frustration in his voice you're unaccustomed to, an authority in his tone he has never used towards you. It catches you off-guard, your eyes widen.

O-oh, I... I didn't mean to...

In the end, you reassure him you will not repeat this variation in your usual schedule, at least not without informing house staff so that they can inform him when needed. He didn't seek you out for any reason, though, as it turns out, only coming to check on you.

You suppose you should appreciate these checks, as they continue. The monitoring becomes more and more intense over time. He begins to check on you several times a day, or at least sending a member of the house staff to do so. He requests that you have a consistent schedule, so he doesn't need worry about you.

One day you decide to take some time to yourself, wanting to clear your mind. The family has long had a very peaceful, calming estate grounds pathway to walk on, a natural garden area behind the main building with flowers and greenery and the like, where you often go to walk around in when you have a lot on your mind.

You've done so for years, and it's never been an issue, but you've been so preoccupied that you haven't gotten the chance to do so since your husband's passing... and yet, this time, you're not even gone for twenty minutes before someone comes looking for you.

Oh... him. The housekeeper is such a sweet boy. Always bright-eyed and energetic. And he feels bad for you. You can tell, you can sense it even now as he comes briskly walking up to you, hand held up in a greeting gesture, smiling -- but in that apologetic, sheepish sort smile, furrowed eyebrows conveying a very different message than the upturned corners of his mouth.

Likewise, the choice of words is polite and sweet, and yet, you can hear the unspoken part without needing to hear it.

'Oh, I was just wondering where you were!'

(I was sent to come find you.)

'...has been really worried about you--'

(I'm going to be in trouble if you don't come back.)

'And I was just thinking--'

(He told me to say--)

He keeps this cheery, upbeat sort of tone, but you can feel it's forced. It's just short of audibly hearing what it says on its own: sorry.

And you know exactly why he's the one coming to find you. Sure, part of it is no doubt because he's so sweet and soft, but you know your son's real line of reasoning -- that you wouldn't want to get him in trouble, that you'll feel more empathetic to him than you would towards any regular servant, and thus you'll be more willing to comply from the start. You hate to admit that it works.

Thoma becomes a sort of guardian over you. He's there in the mornings - of course, you have a female servant to dress you for the day, but as soon as you exit your room, he's always there, smiling and bowing his head in greeting, cheerful as always. Polite and respectful, too, always keeping with the formal honorifics and ma'am's and the like, even if you've tried to tell him it's not necessary. He always makes you food and tea in the morning, always accompanies you if you wish to go out (a fairly new pleasure in your life, as your late husband often told you to refrain from doing so, but you figure it can't hurt to visit the city every now and then), often sits with you and your daughter at meals, particularly if your son is too busy with work to do so.

He hovers over you, a constant presence. Ayato even went to the extent of hiring another new servant to help around with the tasks that had usually been under Thoma's responsibility, to give him more time to watch over you. In truth, it's suffocating, but you know he's only following commands, and you tell yourself that you ought to be grateful you have a son who cares for you so deeply.

And thus, your son continues to utilize him to control your own every move.

That is, until a certain incident.

You do get along well with Thoma, really. Who wouldn't? He's a very pleasant boy, easy to hold a conversation with, bright and energetic while also amiable and easygoing. He's content with talking about pretty much anything, goes wherever you want to go, never complains.

And usually, he's very well-prepared, but of course, everyone will make mistakes every now and then. Thus is how the two of you get caught in the rain, returning from a leisure stroll along the road. The poor thing apologizes a hundred times on the way back for neglecting to consider the possibility of rain and failing to bring an umbrella, taking his jacket off to hold over your head the whole time, but the rain is particularly heavy, so much so you both end up soaked anyways.

He frantically runs to fetch towels, still nervously apologizing (even though you told him it's fine each and every time), getting you multiple towels to dry yourself off. He leaves so you can dry your body off and change your clothes, but even after you return to the living area, sitting by the fire at the back-center of the room, he helps you rub a towel over your scalp and shoulders, arms more or less wrapped around you, leaning in, bodies a few inches apart.

It's at that moment Ayato passes by. Not intending to stop, merely walking past seemingly in a hurry, but his eyes flicker over to you two as he passes, and he comes to an abrupt halt. He's quiet for a few moments. He's a composed young man, never the type to show negative emotions too outwardly, but you can make out a distinct look of displeasure on his face, mouth pulled taut and eyes narrowed. After a moment, he questions what happened, in a calm, but cold voice. You're the one to explain before Thoma can say anything, wanting to defend him, thinking your son is upset over you getting caught in the rain, perhaps.

I see.

It's all he says before turning and walking off.

...You don't see Thoma very much anymore after that. Well, you still see him, he's always around doing some task or another, but he doesn't come to visit you anymore, and even when you see him and speak to him, he sort of leans away from you, keeps an arm-length away from you at all times, smiles and speaks in a sheepish mannerism for a few minutes before coincidentally remembering something he's forgotten to do and leaves to go do that. It hurts you a little. You want to say something to Ayato perhaps, but in truth, you're uncertain how to approach him... was he truly that upset over you getting rained on? Or was it something else? You have trouble making sense of it. Regardless, surely he's overreacting.

He seems so uptight lately. You imagine he's under a great deal of stress. He used to be rather lax and easygoing, but these days he seems to be more easily upset. Ayato's "bad moods" are nothing compared to someone of a less pleasant disposition, he merely gets cold and quiet and a bit harsh with his voice and words, but nonetheless, as your child, you know him well enough to know these things indicate he's upset.

He gets into such a mood more and more often, often nitpicking about the things you wear and do, getting unnecessarily upset if you fail to inform him of your activities and location, insisting you stay in the same places at the same times each day for him to come by so he can briefly check on you.

It's unnecessary, and frankly rather obnoxious. But once more, you're unsure of how to bring the matter up. Perhaps he's merely undergoing a strenuous period of time, and will improve once it is over. You hope so.

He assigns more servants to you, first a different female one, then another, and soon you have three, who are constantly following you around, tending to your every need. It's not as if the estate hasn't always had personal servants, but in the past, you merely summoned them when needed, and in truth, you were never the conceited type to have servants do everything, you were more than capable of performing certain tasks for yourself and didn't feel the need to command someone else to do it. But it's never been like this, never so suffocating.

Eventually, it becomes too much.

You need some time to yourself. To appear in public by yourself would be unseemly for your position, but nonetheless, you have to find a way to get some room to breathe... you know he would be furious with you if you were to intentionally avoid contact, to go off into the expanse of nature beyond the estate grounds... but the "what he doesn't know won't hurt him" is a motto you imagine all mothers use at some point when dealing with their children. When the beloved pet was killed by a kick from a horse, so you told the children it ran away. When the country underwent such a financial crisis a decade or so back that even your family had to sell some of their heirlooms to pay for the expenses of the estate, so you told the children they were simply tacky and you no longer wanted them. That sort of thing.

Yes, this would be no different. To leave the estate at night and walk around beyond the grounds for a while, beyond the garden where servants might see you, just to get some time and space to yourself, to clear your mind. You have to wait until night, when your servants are no longer trailing you so closely, but you manage to find an unguarded door to the outside, and slip away undetected.

Almost.

You're just taking the last few steps out the gate when a spear is thrust in front of you, the pole section blocking your path. The exterior guards. They seem high-strung, almost panicked by seeing you out. As soon as they stop you, they tell you to (albeit very politely, prefaced with please, madam, it's not good for you to be out here at this hour) return in side immediately.

You try to reason, and yet, they continue to insist. You give a demand -- Please, this is an order, I am simply going for a walk -- and yet even still, even with such an authoritative statement, they merely shake their heads. They take steps forward, gradually pushing you back inside, until you finally relent, making an exasperated noise before turning on your heel and stomping back inside.

You know your son had to have said something to them. Even your husband never held so much power that the household staff would so immediately and sternly disregard your words.

More importantly, you know they'll tell him. You know he'll be upset.

But you were expecting him to simply address it the next day or so. You didn't think he'd be so angry that he'd come into your room so late. You're pretty sure it's past midnight when you hear heavy, quick footsteps come stomping down your hallway.

Nor does he knock. Your doorknob simply turns, opening the door in one swift motion.

Mother.

If his tone alone didn't convey exactly how unhappy he is, the force with which he shuts the door behind him certainly does.

It feels as if your roles are reversed -- you find yourself shrinking back, stammering, like a child caught doing something wrong. You shift uncomfortably on your bed, watching as he sighs, closes his eyes and pinches at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Don't you realize how foolish a stunt like that was? And bizarre, too, who tries to go outside at night like that? It has nothing to do with you wanting "time to yourself," as you quickly try to defend yourself with, no, he interrupts you before you can finish. You're merely being spiteful. You're bitter about the matter of him having authority over you and giving you instructions on behaving recently, it feels humiliating to you, and you're acting out in some desperate desire to prove your autonomy to yourself, to validate yourself, or perhaps to even intentionally upset him... how utterly childish.

You'll likely do something to escalate the situation just to make him more upset, like going off into the city on your own, putting yourself at risk. Truly, you are so naive, you have no regard for safety.

This is precisely why he will be moving in.

You blink. You take a moment to process his words.

What?

He exhales in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it's a very simple, obvious matter that you're dense for not immediately grasping.

As you know, this room belongs to the head of the estate. It's very obviously designed to be so, given it's center position among all the rooms, size of the bed and the room itself and all that. It's sort of inappropriate for him to still be sleeping in his old childhood room.

You still only blink in confusion.

So... you want me to move out?

He huffs in frustration again, but hearing how soft and meek your voice sounds with those words, his own tone softens, though his words are still stern.

Obviously not. As he just said, he's moving in here to keep better eye on you. That's part of the whole point. You will be staying in the same room and bed from this point forward. You shared a bed with his late father most of your life, yes? This should be no trouble, then. Please, have some maturity.

I'm not a child anymore, mother. I have the final say in how this household operates, and it will make things easier on us both if you cooperate.

You're not sure what part of the matter to protest -- the bizarreness of it all, the fact that sleeping with you is something reserved for a child, the invasion of your privacy.

You say you have no intention of doing something worse like he claims, that you were just going to walk around for a short while. And before he can respond, you interject the obvious question -- that's not... that's not normal, don't you realize that?

He just sighs. You're being needlessly difficult. You know I have the utmost affection for you, Mother, and I've tried to be patient with you, but please be reasonable.

Why would you think this odd? You are family, after all, so no amount of closeness should be strange, there should be nothing to be embarrassed about. His tone as he finishes speaking is firm, making it clear that no further opposition is to be voiced. You find yourself wide-eyed and silent, slack-jawed as he proceeds to not leave, but rather, make his way over to the bed, sitting on the side opposite of you. He reaches out, affectionately putting a hand to rest atop your head, trying to soften the mood after being so firm.

His voice is far more gentle as he speaks again. I do worry for you at night, as well. I know being alone now must be difficult for you... I want to be here for you.

You don't protest further. In truth, he's right to an extent, it's not like it's a stranger or someone unrelated, so it doesn't feel all that unnatural. Still, he's grown, it's been ages since you were last like this... but even then, that thought takes you back to the days he would come shuffling down the hall, tearful over a nightmare or frightening shadow, and would nuzzle up to you all night, and that memory makes you feel warm and happy inside.

It's still awkward, of course, and you have trouble falling asleep with him there. At first you try to close your eyes and pretend it's your husband, but... no, that's too painful to think about. You toss and turn for some time. You keep repeating to yourself that it's not a big deal, even if it feels bizarre. Maybe he's actually stressed, and wanted you for comfort, but didn't want to say so...? That is a possibility. Or, even if it's exactly as he said, that's concern for your wellbeing.

Yes... he's just concerned is all. It's odd, but the sentiment is wholesome, in fact, you feel guilty for being defiant considering it was out of concern for you. You even make a note to apologize to him, the following morning, when you wake up beside him. He just smiles, back to his usual gentle, good-humored self. It's alright... you were merely emotional from stress. I understand. The choice of wording feels a bit degrading, but you know he means well.

Thus begins a rather... odd setup. The next day, you find servants moving some of his belongings into your room. They say nothing, they don't look you in the eye, merely go about their task as presumably instructed. You no longer have the servants following you around either. Instead, Ayato insists you merely stay with him. It will be easier for me to keep an eye on you this way. Really, this would have been easier from the start, but I didn't want to upset you...

You're allowed to do as you normally do. Read, entertain yourself in various sedentary ways. In the afternoon, when your high-class lifestyle has you adjusted to taking a short nap, he returns to the room with you, sitting at the desk to continue his own work. Really, you prefer him to the servants, it feels less awkward, but... he's very nosey. Always wanting to know what you're doing, what you're reading. He sets a schedule for you, ensuring you accompany him everywhere as necessary.

But it begins to become more and more intrusive. You try to take a bath, get some time to yourself, but soon he's knocking on the door to tell you that you've had long enough, and need to get out so you can accompany him to yet another meeting. You try to ask if you can go lay down in your room due to headache, and while he allows it, he insists on accompanying you. If even a servant comes to speak to you, he turns his attention to them too, careful to listen to every word, and you are never granted a private conversation with anyone but him.

You notice other oddities, too. You haven't had any guests for you in ages, despite the fact that you used to have friends and distant family on your side of the family visit fairly often. But since your husband's funeral, you haven't gotten any letters, nor any visitors. You can't imagine he would turn guests away, or intercept the estate's mail for things addressed to you... at least, you hope not, yet you can't think of anything else that could explain it.

You do ask, after finally summoning the gall to do so, but as per usual these days, he just sighs and gives you a vague answer. I have the servants sort through everything addressed to us, Mother. Do you really believe they would withhold anything from you? Somehow, it isn't reassuring.

He begins to personally dictate your choices as well, in ways even your husband never did. You find robes already set out for you each morning, what you will wear thus subtly dictated to you ahead of time. You don't see any point in doing so, but... if it makes him happy... you suppose you can oblige. So you tell yourself, among everything else.

He begins to become more touchy as well. He sits closer to you during your meetings, often so your bodies brush against each other. He often rests his hand on your head now, often touches your shoulder to get your attention. At night, he leans forward to kiss your forehead. And when you sleep, you manage to always end up entangled with each other, you always wake up to his arms on you.

It's all so, so suffocating, it becomes unbearable. You just want a moment to yourself, to do anything without being questioned. You find yourself growing tearful as you lay down at night, lamenting your loss, wishing you could have back your life before, where your husband at least gave you room to breathe, and your son was still merely you son, with no authority over you. You know he's trying his best, and you want so badly for him to be confident and capable, but you can't take it.

And while he's still amiable, still pleasant and easygoing on so many things, you learn that he can snap into that firm, harsh tone at a moment's notice. It's intimidating, truthfully, and for that reason, you tend to stay quiet. You would feel guilty for upsetting him, when he already has so much responsibility. Thus, you let the frustration build. You make excuses for him in your mind. You tolerate it all. The emotions bottle up inside.

It's bound to reach a breaking point, and one day, that point finally comes.

Rather, one night. Not that you do anything wrong by any rational standards. You wake up thirsty, in the middle of the night, and naturally, as anyone would do -- as anyone would do, anyone at all, you tell yourself -- you quietly, slowly slip out of his grasp and out of bed, and make your way down the hall in the moonlight coming through the windows, fetch a glass of water, and turn back the way you came.

You run into your son halfway down the hall. Despite visible grogginess, the moment he sees you, his eyes narrow.

What are you doing?

You halt, begin to shrink back. Out of learned instinct, you feel guilt, despite having done nothing wrong, dread that builds in your gut. Over doing something so simple, so harmless. You stutter as you try to say exactly that, but he isn't having it. He speaks calmly, but his voice is deep and firm.

Come back to bed. I have explicitly told you so many times to not wander off on your own, and yet you continue to deliberately disobey... what am I to do with you...?

And with those words, something inside you snaps. The frustration all comes bursting out at once. Your grip on your glass tightens, you stomp the ground harshly, causing even him to raise his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden lack of dignity. There's venom in your voice as you talk back to him.

I've had enough!

The words come out without intending them. You don't even really process what you're saying, just that you're so, so tired, that you're sick of not having space to yourself, that you won't tolerate being disrespected so. That you think it was ridiculous that he would forbid you from taking walks, that he would remove that sweet housekeeper boy from your side, that he insists you accompany him everywhere. Your eyes well up with tears as you speak, you squeeze them shut.

You aren't in control of me! I am not a wife for you to command, I am your--

But he grabs your jaw. You go silent at the harshness of the grip, your heart skips a beat. The now nearly-empty glass goes falling to the ground, rolling as it hits the rug. His expression is cold and dark and furious.

What you are to me is irrelevant. You are under the authority of the head of this household. Do you understand?

Even in his most frustrated moments, you have never heard him speak in such a low, ominous tone, quiet yet piercing. It strikes fear into your core. You can do nothing but stare up at him. A few moments of quiet pass, your eyes wide with shock, staring into his own. Finally, after moments of crushing tension, he lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head.

...Come, Mother. We're going back to bed.

The grip he takes on your wrist makes it clear you have no choice in that matter. You stumble a bit as you're pulled back into your room, set down onto your bed, turning to light a candle for the slightest bit of light, signifying that he must think you have more to discuss before you sleep again. But before you can lay down, he sits you upright, hands on your shoulders, before sitting down in front of you, not taking his hands off you as he does. You stare in confusion and questioning. He repeats that affectionate gesture, moving a hand to the top of your head, before speaking again.

I understand what is the matter now. Why you're behaving this way.

Your eyes widen further. You can't find your voice. You find yourself leaning back. There's an unsettling feeling in your chest, something like dread, anticipation. You can just barely make out his eyes in the light.

In truth, I refrained for your sake, thinking it would be too soon... but I see now that was a poor judgement. Your needs are going unmet now... I've neglected my own as well, to control myself for you.

His voice is softer as he speaks, then. Still, something about it makes you feel uneasy. Nervous. Your heart pounds in your chest. What?

Slowly, he reaches out. Not to your head, not to your shoulders. His hands firmly come to rest on your waist. Your body stiffens. He leans forward, forehead against your own.

It's too blatant to not understand the atmosphere, the implicit, silent understanding that passes between you without words. It takes you with such shock, you recoil. You scramble backwards on the bed, away from him, looking up to him with terrified eyes. You can't summon your voice, but your expression says what your mouth can't. After a few more moments of quiet, he speaks in a low, soft voice.

...Mother, are you familiar with what was done in our situation, in the old days? At the passing of the head of the household, what would happen in your case?

The question seems completely out of the blue, takes you completely off-guard. Your eyebrows furrow.

Yes, there were traditions for these sorts of things, you knew that much. Traditions that are now no longer observed, that have been lost to time and the changing of social values. In the case of a patriarch's passing, in the Inazuman nobles of old, there was a process that was to be immediately followed thereafter. In those days, the families were huge, having a large number of children. The eldest son took over the estate and all of its affairs, and was to marry if he had not done so already, middle sons would largely proceed as normal. The most notable of old customs, one of a different time and different mindset, that so notoriously earned disgust from present-day individuals looking back, was for the youngest son, who, if the patriarch left behind a widow, was expected to be wed to his own mother.

You have one son. The eldest and the youngest, by definition.

You shake your head. Disbelief renders you stiff. That's... that's from a different time. That's not... you don't do such things now, it's not right... it's vile, it's...

Mother.

That firm tone again. You stiffen once more. You can't help a soft, quiet noise that comes out of your throat. Your body trembles. You jolt as his hands reach out to grab your waist again.

...The attitudes of society come and go, Mother. They change with the times. You needn't concern yourself with that.

His hands pull you back towards him. His hands then reach for your wrists, and pin them together in one hand. He leans forward, other hand on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away as his mouth meets yours. It's only for a few seconds, but in your shock, everything is slow, it seems to pass as an eternity. Eventually, he pulls back, leaning instead to your ear to murmur to you.

It's alright. This will help your frustrations... remind you your place. It is only natural. Try to understand that... forget about everything else but me.

He doesn't listen to you. Words of protest come out of your mouth, but it's as if he doesn't hear you at all. You struggle to speak as he progresses, but your words devolve into shameful, high-pitched sounds as his mouth latches onto your breast, as his fingers trail down your stomach, under your nighttime robes, slip inside of your body. You squeal when your clothes are pulled off. You cry out, you flail, your legs spasm and your breath hitches when you feel him push inside you. Obscene noises spill from your lips until it all goes quiet.

It doesn't feel real. You shiver in place with his arms around you. You stare at the faint light cast on the ceiling. He murmurs soft comforts to you, pulling you close, rubbing a hand up and down your back, but you can't seem to even make the words out.

You don't remember closing your eyes, you merely wake the next morning far later than usual, almost convinced it was a nightmare until the soreness all over your body sets in. Your limbs feel heavy and limp. You slowly turn your head as your son stirs beside you, sitting upright with a quiet groan, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Are you sore? I'll have today's schedule adjusted... come, I'll dress you...

As if it's nothing at all, no particularly big deal. You're silent and trembling as you stumble to your feet at his tugging on your arms. You feel hot with embarrassment as his eyes trail over your body, now in full daylight. You stand stiff, still overcome with shock, unable to move more than just the slightest on your own as he pulls your clothing onto your body. He mentions to a servant in passing to get you herbal tea for your aches, not specifying what said aches are from.

And from there, it all falls so perfectly into place. It repeats the next night, the next, and the next. Your protests are quickly silenced with a firm, commanding voice that makes you go quiet, makes your chest swell with fear at the sound. Told that you're being unreasonable, that you're thinking too much about the matter, that you just need to be more open-minded, and you'd realize this is what is best for you. And the next night, and the next night, and the next. Then, during the day, during the time reserved for your afternoon naps. Then, at his desk, pulling you over to sit on his lap, sheathed inside of you as he works, telling you it's beneficial to his progress.

The servants accept it. As time goes on, they seem to slowly figure it out, little by little. You see it in their expressions. For a while their eyebrows furrowed, they looked perplexed whenever he was so close to you, kept his arms around you, whenever they had to come knocking on the door to inform him of something and saw you in there through the crack when he opened it just enough to talk to them. And after some time, their expressions change. The corners of their mouth pull taut.

The trade partners and all the figures of local politics and business that visit your home seem to accept... whatever they believe it all is. It used to be frequent that you would hear them pull him aside, propose an arrangement to marry their wealthy daughters, but he would always politely tell them he plans to put that off for a few more years now. Some acquaintances visiting would likewise ask if he planned to marry soon, and he would give the same answer. They gradually stopped asking. You even overhear two guests once talking to themselves about the matter. He seems content with his mother filling the role of a wife, hah. You clench your jaw and think to yourself that they have no idea.

You're trapped and helpless. Everywhere you turn, there is no solution, no way out. The servants won't help you; even if personally revolted (based on the expressions that sometimes cross their faces, you know they are) they're loyal to their paychecks at the end of the day. They won't let you leave and seek help elsewhere. Everything is locked into place exactly as your son wants it, everything is set up to function as he would have it, with you left unable to do anything about it.

Except for one little problematic piece, one that cannot be fitted into the metaphorical puzzle, yet the image is not complete without its presence, it cannot be removed from the scene altogether, and thus, it creates an obstacle.

Your daughter is a perceptive, intelligent girl. You've always been proud of her, wanted a better and freer life for her than you had. You want to shield her.

It pains you to know that she knows something is wrong. When your son moved into the same room as you, he kept it quiet, but she has noticed, having passed the room several times. She doesn't speak to you much lately, and when she does, it's quiet, she looks at the wall or the ground. Her eyebrows furrow with an expression of confusion and unspoken questioning, but it's only ever so slight, so much so that you know it's only a mild confusion, that she hasn't begun to really understand anything. You want to say something, desperately want to address the silent but unbearable tension, and yet you can't find the words. The tension remains, crushing.

It's the worst-kept secret, anyway, as you know the servants all know something is going on. Even so, it didn't matter if they knew. That wasn't your concern. Above all, you were still hoping to shield it from her. Did everything in your power to appear normal and as if nothing was amiss, just for her. Wanted so desperately to preserve her innocence and happiness, dreading the thought of bringing such a depraved, distressing thing into her life and force her to live in awareness of it. You wanted to spare her that undoubtedly scarring experience. You prayed you could just maintain that alone, that you'd endure anything as long as she could live in ignorant bliss.

One night as you lie in bed on your back, legs slung over your son's shoulders... you hear a sound. Wood against wood, a soft friction, the door sliding. The movement of the bed and wet sounds of his body in yours drowned out any footsteps you might have otherwise heard approaching. Instead, it's just that soft wooden sound... and, as soon as it slid open just the slightest inch, within a split second, it slams shut again.

He stops, equally caught off-guard, head turning towards the door. In the absence of movement between the two of you, you hear hurried, clattering footsteps running back down the hall in the opposite direction. There's a silence that follows as the footsteps grow further and further until they can't be heard.

For once, even your usually composed and collected son seems to lose some composure, eyes wide and face visibly worried. He's never had anything he considered important enough to stop mid-session like this. Even before, when you had company or anything of the sort, he would tell the servants to tell the visitor to hold on just a moment, quickly finish up with you first.

But not now. He pulls out, stands up, throws all his clothes back on in a matter of seconds. I need to talk to her.

Part of you wants to intervene. You want to do something, you don't want him to be the one to say anything to her, are afraid of what he might say, and want to hear whatever he says... and yet, you just lie there. You can't bring yourself to face the crushing shameful feeling, can't bear to look her in the eye. As badly as you want to do something about it, you can't bring yourself to face it, and in avoidance, instead you curl up into yourself, shivering as you grip a pillow to your body, letting tears gather on your eyelids and soak into the fabric.

You never know what he says to her. It takes a long time, though, you know that much. Several hours pass before he finally comes back to bed. He says nothing about the matter himself, only quietly enters the now-dark room, crawls into bed with you (stirring you from having fallen half-asleep), and presses his mouth to yours, resuming your former activities before you can even question anything. You know whatever transpired frustrated him, his grip is intense and his movements are forceful and harsh... but you say nothing. You don't want to ask, you don't want to know.

In the end, though, however it went down, he must have had the final say. Nothing happens to indicate any sort of change. And as for your daughter... she, too, pretends nothing happened, goes about her day as usual. Only now, she speaks more quietly, she won't look you in the eye when she talks to you. It's painful, yet at the same time, you can't bring yourself to bring it up. You're not sure which would hurt more.

You once, accompanying your son, rounded a corner into another room, and caught her talking to Thoma, a hushed but pleading voice, but unable to make out the words. He was a bit louder than her, though, you could clearly make out the replies on his end with each back-and-forth exchange.

I know... I know, I wish I could-- I know. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do... I don't even know what to--

But both fell quiet as the two of you came into their line of sight. Both visibly stiffening. Coming up with quick excuses to walk off, flashing forced smiles and a greeting gesture as they passed you.

You remember how sick you felt for the rest of the day. You lay in bed for hours, and your son was kind enough to stay by your side... and to even breed you more gently than usual, something he seemed to feel was particularly benevolent of him.

It goes unaddressed. Not a soul in the household doesn't know. But it is never spoken, never brought up. No one reaches out to help you. You know your squeals and protests are loud enough to be heard. You see the way the servants refuse to look you in the eye. You feel the bitter humiliation when some even smirk or snicker as you pass. You can't speak to guests outside of your son's perpetual, hovering presence. It feels like drowning, struggling, all while those around you merely watch.

But nothing is ever done. You suppose that, too, is part of the expectations of nobility, to fulfill one's responsibility without question. Your son has done an excellent job of meeting that standard... hopefully you will learn to as well.

[noveroom]

Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Chapitre 156 Novel

Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Chapitre 156 Novel

The first appearance at the gathering was the first formal stage for the young aristocrats who had become adults, and it was also the event that opened the door for the Festival of Thanksgiving.

During the thanksgiving season, a large-scale dancing and hunting competition was held in the imperial family, and people from all regions of the empire, starting with the local lords, attended it.

The young men who had recently appeared in the assembled world were introduced to them one by one, and the bonds they had built in that time continued to influence them in the future.

There was no better stage than this for young men who wanted to successfully assimilate into aristocratic society, but for me, there were so many family names to memorize that I felt my head was about to explode.

“Ugh…”

not only this.

What kind of foundling invented this?

I shuddered as I looked at the etiquette book, in which it was written in detail the angle of bending and the motion of lifting the skirt.

“Noble families are not always good either.”

While memorizing the complex imperial family tree, I jumped up when I heard that the dance teacher had arrived.

My father, who was getting ready, called Mrs. Joy. She was a master of social etiquette, and a popular teacher at parties.

The nobles have learned to dance, but when they show up, many eyes will see them so that's a problem.

'There are many nobles looking for a wife for their children.'

Before their appearance, the little ones improved their dancing skills by checking if there were any bad habits in their movements.

“Dancing is still fun compared to memorizing four or five names.”

With a remarkable knack for using my body, I mimicked the teacher's movements like a photocopier.

"What a perfect move! Princess."

While the dance teacher spit out compliments and clapped her hands.

“You are one of the best people I have ever taught… Ah!”

While learning to dance in the rehearsal room, Duke Seymour suddenly appears.

"Never mind me and let the lesson continue."

Standing on one side of the wall and crossing his arms, the female teacher continued to sweat.

"I'm not saying that because she's my daughter, but she's really good at dancing."

"The princess dances with grace and delicacy like a swan. If she does the actual practices to prepare for the performance, I can assure you she will get the most attention on the ballroom."

"Actual practice?"

"Since it's all about social dancing, having a partner to practice with will help her improve her skills."

"It's good enough now, what else do you need to practice?"

"No, of course. Duke."

“…that's right, I can't even learn to dance again.”

The Duke, who was standing there with a dissatisfied face, muttering something, approached me as soon as the lesson was over.

"Let's go for a walk to get some fresh air."

"yes."

I went out with him to the garden outside the annex.

“Deborah, did you get what you wanted from the Marquis of Paslin?”

"Yes, father."

"The Marquise of Paslin is a noblewoman who lacks nothing and is ideal to become your chaperone. She is also … a cousin of the Duke of Visconti."

"Well, that's right."

“I can’t believe the time you were invited to Paslin Castle overlapped with him. What…”

My conscience pricked, but I tried to speak calmly.

“Because Master Paslin was about to leave, there were many guests in the castle besides me and Master Isidor.”

"I see."

"By the way, it was cold and the flowers were almost wilted."

I hastily changed the subject.

"Time flies by the speed of an arrow. I can't believe you're already making your social debut. If you need anything, just tell me."

"yes."

I thought the conversation ended in a friendly atmosphere.

That evening, Isidore was suddenly called home, and I had no choice but to spit out the juice I was drinking.

Duke Seymour slowly grabbed the platinum snake-shaped stamp with a grim expression.

"Hello, how are you?"

Isidor said his greetings with a soft smile.

Most young men at that age were afraid of me, but he was extraordinary.

"Sit There."

Duke Seymour, failing to make headway, coughed once to clear his throat and then ordered the servants to bring him tea.

Isidor, who sat across from him, took out a document from his bag.

"This is the investigative data of Mia Binoche."

He stopped by the house today to provide this data.

He has the face of a beautiful prince and a gentleman too.”

Duke Seymour's eyes narrowed.

'this child. Do you think I've never had a relationship before?'

"You've done a good job. I'll pass the data on to my daughter. You must be busy, but thanks for stopping by, Duke."

Although he was angry, Isidore smiled sweetly.

"The tea smells good. Unfortunately, I only get treats over time. I brought good late-night snacks."

Since overtime was the fate of the family master, a strange sympathy arose between them in an instant.

Duke Seymour glanced at Isidore, who was acting deliberately, then took out and scanned documents relating to Mia.

"Hmmm. A little girl from a fallen family. It's hard to take care of herself, but she volunteers for people with charity. She has a strong spirit."

Although this move was quite unusual, it was a little girl.

If she hadn't pretended that Deborah's strength was hers, he wouldn't have suspected her.

Duke Seymour pouted his thin lips.

“…the regent is the Marquis François.”

François' family belonged to the Senate, so they had a short history, but they were a rich family.

"Mia Binoche, like a princess, is about to debut this year, but according to the news, Marquis François has invited a private tutor to actively support her."

Isidor put down the tea and spoke slowly.

"He has reason to support Mia, who dedicates herself to volunteer work, but he is distant from François, who moves with pure good intentions."

Moreover, after the incense ceremony, Mia started to go to the temple, and Marquis François took care of her before that.

It was not clear what Marquis François could gain by supporting Mia Binoche, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

Isidore has already attached a new informant to the Marquis François.

"I will investigate further."

“Okay, but you…”

Duke Seymour blinked like a snake for a moment, startled Isidore.

"…yes?"

“What class are you in magic? Tell me a bit.”

Come to think of it, Duke Seymour was sending a warm look that he had never seen before. Isidor regretted that he had already revealed himself to be a wizard.

“Actually… I don’t even know.”

"What do you mean you don't know?"

“It is difficult to measure classes according to general criteria because the mana circles are connected like a helix.”

“You have a unique constitution because you are a magic swordsman. Have you experienced what kind of magic you can do?”

"It is possible to use 7 classes of magic in the area of space magic that I have studied for a long time. However, to learn first-class magic of the other classes, it takes a longer skill mastery period than ordinary magicians. I have to adjust everything in a way that suits my body constitution." .

“The magic of dealing with space is notorious for being complex, so does that mean you have improved it?”

"yes."

Since childhood, Isidore wanted to have his own space where he could accumulate gold indefinitely.

After that, the first thing he learned was space magic and movement magic.

Duke Seymour's eyes brightened as he looked at Isidore.

"Oh, think about it, it's too late. Let's go to dinner together."

“Yes, my father-in-- well, Duke Seymour.”

Since overtime was the fate of the family master, a strange sympathy arose between them in an instant.

Duke Seymour glanced at Isidore, who was acting deliberately, then took out and scanned documents relating to Mia.

"Hmmm. A little girl from a fallen family. It's hard to take care of herself, but she volunteers for people with charity. She has a strong spirit."

Although this move was quite unusual, it was a little girl.

If she hadn't pretended that Deborah's strength was hers, he wouldn't have suspected her.

Duke Seymour pouted his thin lips.

“…the regent is the Marquis François.”

François' family belonged to the Senate, so they had a short history, but they were a rich family.

"Mia Binoche, like a princess, is about to debut this year, but according to the news, Marquis François has invited a private tutor to actively support her."

Isidor put down the tea and spoke slowly.

"He has reason to support Mia, who dedicates herself to volunteer work, but he is distant from François, who moves with pure good intentions."

Moreover, after the incense ceremony, Mia started to go to the temple, and Marquis François took care of her before that.

It was not clear what Marquis François could gain by supporting Mia Binoche, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

Isidore has already attached a new informant to the Marquis François.

"I will investigate further."

“Okay, but you…”

Duke Seymour blinked like a snake for a moment, startled Isidore.

"…yes?"

“What class are you in magic? Tell me a bit.”

Come to think of it, Duke Seymour was sending a warm look that he had never seen before. Isidor regretted that he had already revealed himself to be a wizard.

“Actually… I don’t even know.”

"What do you mean you don't know?"

“It is difficult to measure classes according to general criteria because the mana circles are connected like a helix.”

“You have a unique constitution because you are a magic swordsman. Have you experienced what kind of magic you can do?”

"It is possible to use 7 classes of magic in the area of space magic that I have studied for a long time. However, to learn first-class magic of the other classes, it takes a longer skill mastery period than ordinary magicians. I have to adjust everything in a way that suits my body constitution." .

“The magic of dealing with space is notorious for being complex, so does that mean you have improved it?”

"yes."

Since childhood, Isidore wanted to have his own space where he could accumulate gold indefinitely.

After that, the first thing he learned was space magic and movement magic.

Duke Seymour's eyes brightened as he looked at Isidore.

"Oh, think about it, it's too late. Let's go to dinner together."

“Yes, my father-in-law--well, Duke Seymour.”

a He was secretly hiding in a carriage that was entering the little castle of François in the middle of the night and the Marquis, who had seen Albert appear as a ghost, was horrified.

"What happens suddenly?"

"Looks like someone caught me."

"Oh really?"

“All the girls who tried to use their fortunes returned to their original place, and only Ravi, who was searching for the holy child, vanished.”

In a situation that could not be easily resolved, François asked with quiet displeasure. "who did that?"

"If you knew, it might make it worse. You should leave it as a personal aberration of a black magician."

Anyway, Ravi is a loyal follower who gave her soul to the devil.

"Oh my God! Ravi is smart. Mia spends a lot of sacred blood, so it would be a problem if there were less people who would offer it that way."

“I asked Mia to stop volunteering for the time being. Now I am teaching her the etiquette of an aristocratic society.”

"How is that?"

"Things are going well. It seems that Princess Deborah has become a catalyst. To make up for the loss of 3 flower titles this year3, we have to work hard."

“Is there any news about the saint?”

“I used a lot of strength during the incense ritual, so it will be difficult to receive revelations for a while.”

"wait ".

Albert let out a long breath with a worried face.

“For the time being, Albert, as you have ordered, please do more to stir up rumors and public opinion that undermine the Crown Prince.”

"yes."

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[theaudacitytowrite]

Damned Eternity

Morpheus x Reader

A/N: I hope this one is not too self indulgent so y’all can enjoy it. Basically it’s just two socially awkward beans who haven’t seen each other in over a century. My initial notes to this idea were "two emos in love".

Summary: Cursed with immortality by an unknown power you find yourself fleeing into the dreaming to cope with having to live in a world that gets worse with every century. Until the last reason that makes your life bearable gets taken away too. 

(Takes place after Episode 6 when Death convinces Dream to reach out to his friends)

The sun stood high on the firmament while a still chilly breeze drifted through the park. Aside from the birds who were already wide awake as they chirped their sweetest melodies the park was quiet. Soon people would start to pour into the park to enjoy another perfect late spring day.

Along the avenue, a line of benches was set next to each other with some space. From the bench in the middle of the park one was able to catch a glimpse of the entire park.

That’s where you sat cross-legged as you stared into the distance. You fixed your hair that poked out from under the hood of your sweatshirt. You sighed as you brushed away a few strands that just wouldn’t stay where they were supposed to, out of your face over and over again until you gave up. You leaned against the cold wood with your back, shutting your eyes tightly for a while so you could immerse into the sounds around you.

Your eyes were still heavy, begging for sleep or at least some kind of rest. Even now as they were closed, you felt them burning. The night hadn’t been kind to you as the several ones before. You had laid awake on your back, staring endlessly up at the ceiling as the night fell and the sun was about to rise again. That’s when you decided to get up and watch the sunrise in the nearby park. There wasn’t much to do for you anyway, so you didn’t mind wasting your time in this park.

You must’ve sat there for a few hours already as the park had slowly started to fill up. Groups of Teenagers had already arrived while families with giddy children that ran around chasing pigeons were only just now turned up. The commotion quickly encased you in its midst, yet no one seemed to take notice of you despite the stark contrast of your all-black outfit to the vibrant colours all around you.

All of a sudden you felt the air around you shift as the wind picked up again and all at once it was wind still again. You could feel a presence behind you, so unusual yet so familiar.

“Dream of the endless.” you exclaimed, never averting your gaze from the fixed point in the distance, "So it is true, you're actually back."

"I am." his husky voice resounded from behind you, erupting goosebumps on the back of your neck. With slow steps, Dream walked around the park bench into your line of view.

“May I?” he asked nodding towards the space next to you, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket.

“Be my guest,” you muttered, and Dream sat next to you, taking in the view you were still fixated on.

“How did you find me?” you asked dryly.

“Death perhaps gave me a hint.” he smirked bashfully, “Without her help, I wouldn’t have had a chance to learn about your whereabouts.”

Silence fell over the two of you. It felt strange to have Dream sitting right next to you after more than a century. A part of you was afraid that he was only part of your imagination, wishful thinking of your overtired mind. You barely dared to look at him in fear his image might vanish if you’d look directly at him.

"I see, you still enjoy the solitude." he interrupted your line of thought.

“What else is left there for me?” you retorted bitterly, “After a few millennia life loses its appeal… especially if the last thing that brought me joy was taken from me too.”

“You stopped dreaming.” he nodded knowingly but without a hint of reproach in his voice.

“I still did for a while... But your absence made it hard to find joy in it anymore. Any time something flitted in the corner of my eye I expected to see you lurking at the edge… but you weren’t there.”

“I’m back now.” The dark timber in his voice resounded deep in your bones. Your eyes met for the first time, and you inspected his features. He looked just like you remembered him all these years ago yet the glint in his eyes seemed to be new.

“I thought it was just another Dream.” you admitted teary-eyed, “Too good to be true.”

“It is not.” he smiled softly back, his hand gently covering yours that rested on your knee, “I am here.”

To feel his warm palm cup your hand banished any of your fears, and your heart ached as it expanded in your chest. An overwhelming sense of happiness filled your chest, a sensation you had missed for too long than you could remember, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch up into a smile. But your face fell quickly again as the paralyzing guilt in your veins fought back, suffocating the pleasant excitement all at once.

Dream watched the sparkle leave your eyes as quickly as it had appeared, the cold gaze that had greeted him earlier returning. He withdrew his hand, leaving yours cold. He gnawed on his lips as his gaze fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I still had to deal with some … incommodities.” He mumbled.

“Death told me.” Even your voice had returned to a monotone pitch.

He took a deep breath as he steeled himself for your possible answer to his next question.

“Why haven’t you visited the dreaming again since I returned?” he nervously entwined his fingers, “Do you resent me?”

His sombre remark tugged on your heart.

“Oh, Morpheus.” You whimpered sorrowfully as you couldn’t bare it any longer. You sat up properly, falling around Dream's neck in the next moment. You hugged him tightly as remorse washed over you. Dream was quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you close against his heart. To hear his name from your lips again made his heart flutter in joy.

“Why would I ever have reason to resent you?” you sobbed against his coat. Dream loosened his hug as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Then what is it that’s bearing you down then, my little lune?” he rasped.

“It’s just…,” you stammered. You took a deep breath, working up the courage to be truthful to Dream, “If one has the right to resent someone, it’s you.”

Dreams eyes fluttered open at your words. His intense gaze made you feel so small suddenly. You created more space between you, even though your mind yelled at you for the loss of Dreams touch.

“After I heard the news of your imprisonment, I visited Lucienne right away. I had already grown suspicious about why I hadn’t seen you in my day nor night dreams, but I foolishly believed you were busy creating new nightmares.” You explained to him, “When I entered the dreaming, I was appalled to see your kingdom gradually decaying. Lucienne explained to me the dire need for people to remain in the dreaming and not turn their back to our Lord… but after a while, I just couldn’t bear to not see you anymore. Any time I’d fall asleep I woke up feeling even more unrested. Daydreaming didn’t feel right anymore either. My favourite pastime turned sour and soon I couldn’t stand it anymore… So, I’m at fault for destroying the dreaming as well. I abandoned you.”

“You did no harm, Y/N.” Dream took your hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly, “No matter how much you would’ve dreamed or not, without a ruler there is no kingdom.”

“I just feel so guilty… that’s why I didn’t dare to enter the dreaming again.” You explained in between sniffs.

“You have no guilt to carry with you in this matter.” He assured you again as he pulled you back into his arms, and gently rubbed your back.

“But I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most nonetheless.” You whispered.

“I know.” He hummed, “You need rest now, Y/N. You can dream peacefully again.”

“Is this an invitation?” you asked sheepishly. Dream chuckled and stood up.

“How can I make it any clearer to you?” he mused as he looked down at you with a smirk. He held out his hand towards you, “Come with me.”

Without hesitation, you laid your hand in his, sure that you would never let go of it again.

If you enjoyed this one, let me know if you're interested in another lil fic. I might have another idea...

Tagging (bc I have no idea who wants to read it): @leucoratia @kellatron55 @poetic-fiasco @vbecker10 @xwhiteoleanderx @nobody1390-24