#I dunno if I succeeded with this doodle

[glitchyko]

Little warm up monkey doodle I did, he’s just chilling and vibing-

[chaosandthe-deadblog]

at some point im gonna doodle Band AU Shadow and Maria in the sweaters like goddamn i really love how you characterized them the trans chapter still makes me tear up, I like how you rolled with the idea of sexual dimorphism between female and male hedgehog Mobians too tbh, did any of that originate from Amy's old design by chance? How she had once had her quills spiked up but later it was changed to them being slicked down? (Personally I like the echidna-hedgie hybrid theory for her but your take on it is really neat!)

I also just love how you've characterized them all. I'm gonna be ranting a bunch and it's gonna be confusing a lil but like pls stay with me i just have the Big 'Tism so my brain go hugvyfcrytjkn

I enjoy having the whole thing be very plotless tbh, there's not enough of that in fics imo and it's the exact stuff I need a lot and I love that. I don't ever really feel anxious that, say, Maria is gonna suddenly die or some shit like that, or that some cataclysmic event is gonna suddenly happen. I like that, I've needed a lotta that honestly. I just love how you've written it so much,,

I am still curious about Shadow's past, though. Was he still genetically engineered? Is he still part-alien??? Does Chaos Energy even properly exist??? Is Gerald just A Guy who is a scientist and actually succeeded at what he'd wanted to do???? Seeing as it seems his "backstory" never properly happened, and they're in modern times, I presume Gerald would be still alive or something. Is Eggman there too???? /Is there potential that younger-Eggman exists and he's like a weird internet troll to the band or something????/ Perhaps jealous that his cousin gets to meet the "cool guys" and there's a very small and non-dramatic plot of Tails being like "ugh this guy again" and Maria's like "oh yeah thats my cousin!" and everyone's like "WHAT????"

There's just so much to explore with such a domestic take on these characters honestly, and I really love that. It explores parts of their characters that often don't get touched often due to how much they're always fighting or dealing with drama. It allows dynamics to be explored that are never really toyed with in canon. Adapting various pieces of the characters to a more laid-back setting is genuinely REALLY fun and you've done it so well I just,,, wawUUUGH,,,

I'm so interested to see what goes on with Knuckles too, since his whole story is seemingly so fantastical yet so easy to adapt to a more mature and "realistic" setting. Does he simply come from a culture that's often overlooked in this world? Is his inner compass about protecting his family name? Is he actually the last echidna in this world or are echidnas moreso simply a group that are marginalized in some way? I almost feel like him being someone who's struggled through, like, immigrant struggles would almost be a really interesting take on him as a character. He's quiet about who he is, where he's from, often keeping to himself, it's why he doesn't sing on his own and why he often is seemingly just... There. But Amy knows, she's one of the only ones who does know.

And maybe if Shadow still shares that "being made in a lab" past as his canon self, perhaps he and Knuckles could end up being friends if Shadow were to learn about his past. They could relate to one another's feelings of not belonging where they are, yet having strong drives to defend WHO they are.

(I've been reading a lot of immigrant poetry recently for class and because, despite not sharing those experiences, I still always feel like I relate to the general themes of them. I dunno why, but I always imagine Knuckles being the type to write stuff like that himself, since his whole story draws a lot from very real and serious sorts of topics that can be related to some of those real-life issues. I really like that about him, how it always seems that his story is taken VERY seriously and not downplayed. That's why I liked him in Frontiers, and why I know many liked him in Sonic 2. Just mentioning this all because that's my inspiration for even coming up with this idea)

Again I absolutely do not wanna seem like im hijacking your story! I just wanted to rant about characters because hmmmmng,,, you write them so well and give me many idea and I love that,,

damn you put so much more thought into this au than i did LMAO

ummm okay i'll take these one by one

first: the trans chapter, that is ABSOLUTELY what i wanted to do and i'm so glad someone picked up on it. I think male hedgehog mobians have their quills spiked up while female hedgehogs tend to have them drip down. That's why Sonic pre-transition tied up his quills! However, I do think Amy fucks with her presentation a bit in that sense, she still spikes up her quills (though i think, similarly to how there are short haircuts that are deemed femenine by humans, the same thing could apply to hedgehog mobians and their quills)

about it being plotless... aha. haha. im gonna be honest. i love drama. there WILL be some dramatic event, and there’s gonna be drama, but it's not gonna be sudden. i'll be sure to have enough build up so it hurts a little less. a little. but its gonna take a while. so dont worry about it :)

OKAY shadow's past. okay. yeah so. okay. everything is like a lot more normal and domestic than in canon, so the whole magic and powers aspect is... altered. similarly to how it is in pirate au, the characters still have some trait thats similar to their powers/abilities in regular canon (sonic raced in highschool and regularly goes on runs, for example). I think Chaos Energy and the chaos emeralds and all that stuff is the equivalent they'd have of mythology. some people believe it, some people don't. "chaos and the emeralds" is a name that came to sonic based on one of those myths.

so... about shadow. gerald is dead. old age. i'm gonna try to explore shadow's past on later chapters so i'll keep it to: shadow was adopted by and raised by gerald until the doctor died, leaving shadow in charge of finishing raising maria. (and also, i didnt take eggman in consideration for this au because... implications. but it would be funny if he was just maria's annoying cousin that both of them can't stand)

and about knuckles! yeah, it's pretty much the former! it'd be interesting if he was an immigrant or someone from an overlooked culture. and no he is definitely not the last of his kind but i do think where the gang leaves it's not THAT common to see echidnas. i don’t think i'll touch much on that because... well i'm very much white and very much live in my birth country so i am deeply unqualafied to write about immigrant struggles, but that's definitely the direction i'd love to go to for knuckles. also you didnt ask this but he's like a big brother figure to amy, they were childhood friends

i actually hadn't thought about most of the things you asked, and this helped me do some worldbuilding, so thanks a lot for the questions!!!

[saveraedae]

Can you please use your ask blog more

I would absolutely love to do that, but (spoiler alert) time is a big reason why I don't use it super often. That, and I'm not entirely sure how to keep it super engaging like I was once able to do back in the older days.

Another reason why my posting seems scarce nowadays is because I feel like I have to make the artwork visually pleasing to a certain degree, I remember the 2018-2020 ask-tms blog had a very lazy doodle/sketchy look and honestly... I don't know if anyone really liked how it looked that much? I mean sure, it was faster to answer questions but I'm sure that was probably disappointing to have the reply be a shitty sketch. My go-to art style for the blog nowadays is the regular TMS art style but a bit less polished (no eye highlights/shading and no neck shading)

Which actually leads me to this... Does anyone have any kind of advice as to how I should treat ask-tms running forward? I really do want to start using it more frequently, and I get asks, but what do you want to see on it? I remember G0/G1 TMS had frequent interactive blog and M!A esque things happening, but I'd like to know what you guys want!

Just a note though, I'd like to attempt to keep the ask blog a bit more lighthearted than regular canon. (Aside from asks that require it) Personally I would consider the blog second or third-level canon bordering on the non-canon territory. (As in, the way the characters are acting is aligned to how they would act within canon, but the specific events on the blog that happen do not necessarily align completely to the timeline)

Then again- I dunno. Maybe TMS would have succeeded better if I had just kept it as an ask blog like back in the day. :P

[doomatix]

Been playing Bloodborne! Thought I'd draw my Hunter in the starting clothes, sans the hood.

[shslpunkaskblog]

AYO XENO!!

DID YOU KNOW THAT ZARDY CAN CRUSH YOU I MEAN PEOPLE WITH HIS DONGS LIKE THIGHS CRUSHING A WATERMELON???

NO? WELL NOW YOU KNOW~!

PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE STRIKETHROUGH TEXT BTW. IT'S NOTHING IMPORTANT. REALLY. IT'S NOTHING. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

HAVE A NICE DAY NOW~! 8]

(I regret to inform you that Xeno is currently unavailable at this time. Zardy, however, is here and he has heard every single thing you've said there~!

It was nice knowing you lol.)

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Those Who Went Before - A Zerith Fanfiction

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/24378685

Aerith’s PoV

Aerith was somewhat ashamed to admit it… but there were certainly days that she spent contemplating the sky and her fear of it.

The Ancient wasn’t sure what it was about it that frightened her so… perhaps it was that she’d spent most of her life under the plate, and so had gotten used to seeing the steel plate above her. So, when she saw segments of blue above her instead of that, it took her back?

But why she thought it was going to open up and swallow her, Aerith didn’t know. She didn’t worry about that with the plate, so why

Or perhaps her uneasiness was because shrapnel could fall down from the plate... Only slight rain and snow came from the sky, that she only slightly got to experience through the plate, so was it the otherness of the sky that she couldn’t deal with? Especially since so little was known about how the sky came to be, compared to the giant pizza?

…But then he dropped into her life, giving her all the answers about the sky (and maybe even SOLDIER), that she had needed to know.

He was an example, after all, of all the good things that could come from there, or so Aerith believed.

But even so… Aerith much preferred the color of the sky in Zack’s eyes than the sky itself, and one day Zack seemed to notice this.

"Aerith?” he asked, as the two of them were making the rare walk to Aerith’s house to go see Elmyra. Sometimes, Aerith got the impression that her mother didn’t like Zack much… but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t like the puppy that he essentially was. “…Can I ask you why you're afraid of the sky?" Aerith bit her lip and pulled her hand from Zack’s as she refused to face him. And she hoped he didn’t think she was punishing him, or anything like that, this was just… a hard topic for her. Especially since she thought she’d finally figured out her issue with the thing. If he asked, she’d lie and say she was focused on the strange piece of materia that was in her garden and not that she was nervous and hurt. "…Because it takes everyone I love."

And faster than Aerith could blink, she found herself encircled in Zack’s arms. And a ridiculous part of her wanted to push him away—because she didn’t want to be getting emotional like this, damnit—and a girl who had grown up in the Shinra building didn’t need comfort. She’d learned how to comfort herself long ago, and yet she couldn’t help from leaning into him and thanking him, anyway. “Th-thank you, Zack. This means a lot.”

“I get it, Aerith,” Zack said earnestly, as he pushed her away from him some so he could presumably look into her face. And she was glad he had, because—ironically—looking into his sky-colored eyes now were anchoring her better than anything else could. “I mean, you know how I was after- after Angeal. But what if I could prove you wrong?” Aerith shrugged at this, as a way to say she wasn’t going to veto it but also wasn’t crazy about the idea. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to do, and that it didn’t work. But still! If it gave her more time with Zack, she’d happily agree.

“Sure, Zack! Do whatever you’d like to try and prove me wrong. Surprise me!”

And he would… but it wouldn’t be for months—and that did make Aerith’s heart sink some—because Shinra called him away again. But the moment she saw him again, he was full of ideas for fun games… and it was like the time without him had never happened at all.

A few feet from the church—a place where the two of them had tried to sell flowers before—Zack had placed a beautiful cerulean blanket onto a frame, and was rolling himself into it so that it was now wrapped around him—the way one might accidentally get caught up in a curtain.

"See, Aerith?" Zack asked now—with an amusing twinkle in his eyes, that seemed to indicate to Aerith that if he succeeded in this he might try out for Loveless. "This model of the sky isn't swallowing me, is it?"

Aerith understood where Zack was coming from with this, she did, because it certainly wasn't eating him... but she also did think Zack was unintentionally proving her right some. Because wasn’t he stuck in the material now? The Cetra got up from where she’d been sitting in the “audience” to tell her boyfriend this... but as she came his way, she somehow tripped over her own feet and knocked them both into the brown leg of the easel.

As Aerith had flown towards it, she had seen nothing but chocolate as far as the eye could see—and not the blue she was afraid of—and got hurt by it rather than the latter... as did Zack. As Aerith rolled away from the leg and rubbed at her offended nose, she decided that Zack had just been proven right with this.

"Oh, okay!” she relented, as she refused to look at her beau’s face, lest she lose all grace and burst out laughing at the silliness of it all. “You win! It wasn't the 'sky' that hurt me here, but something else. And I guess it goes to show that anything can do that, and I shouldn't just have a phobia of the sky. But damn! I can't believe you got this to work! I honestly didn’t think you would…"

Even though Aerith wasn’t laughing, Zack was as he held Aerith in his arms—and the sound of it was music to her ears, and what she’d been longing for for months… maybe even before that—and neither of them were at all interested in getting up from where they’d fallen on the ground.

"I'm glad- I'm glad it worked, Aerith," Zack replied, seeming suddenly serious as he looked off into the distance. And as he continued speaking, Aerith found herself wondering if he was worried that with how little he got to see his parents… the next time he got to do so, might be in the afterlife. “Those who went before you... I don't think they'd want you to fear the sky. I think they'd want you to live your life to the fullest and enjoy it... and maybe even be glad you'll someday see them again in it. But then again, I dunno.” And here Zack was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and trying not to look at her, it seemed.

But Zack certainly wasn't wrong... and while Aerith hadn't yet told him she was a Cetra—it still hurt too much to talk about—she did ponder if he'd just unknowingly stumbled onto some truths about the Promised Land there: a place she did desperately want to see. Aerith nuzzled her face under Zack's chin and began doodling circles on his chest... as she did, the words she’d been working towards all along seemed to finally free themselves. "Well, let’s go and see the sky together, then! …At least someday." And it was a promise Zack actually held onto, Aerith would one day see... for when she finally reached him in the sky and he took her hand, the first thing he did was show her the sky from their new vantage point.

And Aerith looked across the desert he'd once marched across to try and see her again, and Aerith grabbed onto Zack’s hand and cried.

"You did it, Aerith," he whispered into her ear sweetly now, as she leaned ever closer to him. "You enjoyed life—and yes, even the sky for the most part—and made it to your loved ones here."

And suddenly behind him as he said this, were her parents Ifalna and Gast… and Aerith pulled Zack with her so she could hug all three of her most important people at once.

Author’s Note: Since FFVII Remake, I wrote a CloTi and it’s only fair that I wrote a Zerith, too:) Though I actually started this before the Remake, when I got smacked with the Zerith feels again one night.

[nixdoodles]

More Mspaint DOODLES since that’s what I can manage rn and they’re fun.

left to right, top to bottom:

Rando Harpy

trying to express like, stressed anxious anticipation?

I had a head ache. If you couldn’t read the speech bubble it says: “hm.”

uuhhhhh I’m not really sure? trying to express a specific emotion. dunno if I succeeded

rando sighing in relief

Silver floating

a question make and a random character

Lacy from Callisto 6! specifically this was in reference to ep. 2 I think

ya’know with the two stressed exhales on this page and like, 2? I think in my sketch book in the last 3 days I might. be a little stressed. possibly.

“you’re nobody till somebody wants you dead“~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AL583lVdZYk

a cat I think

a lot of venting on this page apparently.

[elzariel]

I was doodling while calling to replace my phone, succeeding in somehow making the most accurate Junkrat I’v ever drawn.

“Art is like farting. If you force it, all you get is shit.” - Dunno who

[musiciatee]

do the scene with the condom. i know you’re gonna write it eventually but DO ITTTTT

okay just some context, this is a little bit after the first stannie kiss but because annie’s so emotionally inept she pushes him away despite how she really feels    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“The stock market is based on two principles. What are they?”

She hated business. She hated the way Coach taught even more, but if anything, this was a class where she could sit back and let her mind wander if she wanted. Finstock always seemed too afraid to call her out to answer a question, like he was scared she wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of being called on in class and would have a complete mental breakdown.

Whatever let her cruise by without having to deal with him completely in her face, she was fine with.

He looked around expectantly at the class, sighing when he saw Scott’s hand fly up. “Yes, McCall, you can go to the bathroom. Anybody else?” He turned his gaze to the rest of them.

Scott dropped his hand, feeling a bit offended. “Uh, no, Coach, I know the answer.”

Finstock let out a wheezing laugh, probably laughing harder than she had ever seen him laugh. She twisted in her seat slightly, looking back to see Scott stare at his coach seriously.

It took several more moments for the coach to realize that it wasn’t a joke. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Y-yeah. Risk and reward.” He answered, confidently.

Finstock let out an excited laugh, “Wow! Who are you? And what have you done to McCall?” He strode through the aisle towards Scott, stopping right in the space between her and Danny’s desks. “Don’t answer that. I like you better.” He dropped his voice to an earnest whisper. “I like you better.”

Annie rolled her eyes and shook her head as she returned back to doodling in her notebook.

“Does anybody have a quarter? A quarter?”

She looked down at her bag, as though the motion of her simply turning her gaze was enough to actually look through it, before turning back to her doodling, only pausing when she heard a “Yep” and the sound of struggling behind her.

Looking back, she raised an eyebrow as she saw Stiles wrestling with his own pocket. But it wasn’t even a moment later that he finally succeeded in finding a quarter, though it seemed like he grabbed something else along with it. As though it were in slow motion, the object flew into the air in a graceful curve before it landed near the right, front leg of her desk. Looking down, her eyes widened as she finally registered what it was.

She was suddenly feeling very… parched.

Swallowing hard, it felt like she was short-circuiting. It didn’t make sense to her. It was like she could identify all parts of the situation individually. There was Stiles. There was a pocket. There was an XXL sized condom in said pocket that belonged to said Stiles, but…

Why does Stilinski have a condom?

“Stilinski… I think you uh- You dropped this. And congratulations.”

As the class burst out into laughter, it seemed like Annie could only stare at the damn thing until Coach picked it up and handed it back to Stiles with a wink and a grin. Turning in her seat she looked at him dubiously. “What the actual fuck?” she mouthed. He only pressed his lips together as he looked at her with wide eyes, blood rushing to the tips of his ears. That was when she felt it.

Emotion.

Annie whipped back around, the grip on her pen tightening as she just blocked out everything else that was being said and focused on the ironic symbol she had drawn into the corner of the page. The triskele represented balance and she certainly did not feel very balanced right now.

The part of her that absolutely refused to acknowledge the fast rising envy bubbling in the pit of her stomach reminded her that she had been the one to set the standards of their relationship. She had told him that they should only be friends. She had been the one to turn him down, so really she shouldn’t care what he did now.

Maybe that was why she was so annoyed. She really shouldn’t have cared, but she was finding that she cared about the fact that Stilinski had a condom and it sure as hell wasn’t because of her. And she cared about it. 

A lot.________________________________________________________________

Annie was very much aware of Stiles’ presence near her before he could announce it. It was, after all, hard to miss a nearly six foot, lanky, guilty-looking white boy hunched over in anxiety. “Hey, uh, I just wanted to… explain… what happened in class…” he trailed off awkwardly, a hand flying up to rub the back of his neck.

Her expression remained neutral, which made him even more nervous than if it had been one of outright anger. “What? When you very confidently whipped out an XXL sized condom? Kudos to you, by the way.” She answered nonchalantly, continuing her task of switching out her books, letting her left hand gesture vaguely towards his lower body, but not once turning to look directly at him.

Which he was rather thankful for, as her passive aggressive words drew out an embarrassed blush from him. He shifted uncomfortably, “Uh… Yeah, that. And I didn’t whip it out, it… flew out accidentally.”

“We still talking about class or the reason you have that condom?”

“Wha-? No! I mean, yes! W-we’re still talking about class” he sputtered out.

A part of Annie was enjoying the way he was squirming in her periphery. Once again, she knew she had no reason to be upset, it wasn’t like they were dating, she didn’t even know what they could be called. Whatever there was between them, she had made it very obvious to him that she wasn’t willing to pursue it. That should’ve been the moment she would’ve been okay with any of his more… intimate decisions.

Evidently, a deep dark part of her was not happy with that decision and was now subjecting poor Stilinski to behavior he really didn’t deserve.

Taking her moment of silence as permission to explain, Stiles quickly began speaking. “Look, okay so I went to a birthday party for a friend I haven’t seen in awhile… “ She paused in her actions and turned to look at him, a stoic and unimpressed expression painting her features. “… uh and I literally dunno what happened but suddenly we’re kissing-”

“Oh, good.” She interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Great. Looks like you were were a busy boy.”

Stiles shook his head, his hands rising in a placating gesture. “Wait! No! Stop, we just kissed, it was nothing!”

She gave a loud snort and shook her head, “Oh, kissing means nothing to you? Good to know.” She said, aggressively shoving the last of her books into her locker

Irritation began etching itself into his expression. “Okay, woah, now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

“Look, Stilinski, I get it. You’re a growing boy. Experiencing strange things with your body…” she started off, her tone condescending “… I don’t care, it’s your business and absolutely none of mine. You didn’t have to explain yourself.” She emphasized the last word with a slam of her locker and turned on her heel.

He raised a hand and cupped the side of his mouth. “You know you’re sending me a lot of mixed signals, Emery!” he called out after her.

“Fuck off, Stilinski!” She yelled back, not willing to look back but willing enough to raise a middle finger aimed with impressive accuracy right at him.

Stiles watched as she walked away, her curls bouncing with every step she took. Turning to her locker, he let his head fall against the cool metal.

[zurysalvatore]

*slides in* can i get mah gurl aleks and yo boi zed (or maybe tsun and zury?? Whoever suits your liking?? Can i ship them zury mun?)

I already told ya but yesh, you can totally ship’em! *^* ♥ (When I first saw the ask I was like “OMG YES!”XD)

Who said “I love you” first

Aleks&Zed: Well, this can be possible for both cuz since Aleks speaks her mind and Zed acts without thinking (then ofc turns into all shades of red) haha

Tsun&Zury: Tsun, probably that’s how it happened;

Tsun: Wanna hang out after school? But just like friends! It’s not I l-like you or something.

Zury: *kinda broke inside* So you dont like me… *with a cracked voice*

Tsun: O-of course I love you! *with a courage lol and then watch him turn into red*

Zury: *mission accomplished XD*

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Aleks&Zed: I dunno about Aleks but Zed will definitely has his sunshine as his lock and home screen wallpaper. Nice way to start the day :>

Tsun&Zury: Probably they’ll have pair wallpapers, maybe while looking eachother lovingly and making half of the heart with their hands so when they put their phones side by side, it’ll be a complete heart :>

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Aleks&Zed: Zed, he’ll also draw some doodles and hearts :> He can write smh like “How it feels like to see most gorgeous girl in the world everytime you look to mirror?” if that fits to mirror tho lmao

Tsun&Zury: Tsun’ll leave lil notes while Zury doodles cute things about them

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Neither, I believe, they all will give each other gifts that’ll suit their personalities and which have sentimental values~

Who initiated the first kiss

Aleks&Zed: My answer to this will be same with the first question~

Tsun&Zury: Zury haha, when they were on a date, eating ice-cream, so she took advantage of that~

Zury: Tsun, you have some cookie dough there

Tsun: Huh, where? (starts to wipe his mouth)

Zury: Here~ (chuuu~♥)

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

They should be all sleeping haha, they’re all night owls so ┐(︶▽︶)┌ But the one who wakes up first will watch and kiss the other~

Who starts tickle fights

Aleks&Zed: Zed, he loves her laughs

Tsun&Zury: Tsun, you cant imagine how ticklish Zury is :’>

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

I-I dont know how to answer this :’> Maybee

Aleks&Zed: Aleks??

Tsun&Zury: Neither? They are not that bold I assume @.@ 

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Aleks&Zed: Definitely Zed, pls, kitchen is his profession haha He’ll cook her favourite meals/snacks for her to eat at lunch :>

Tsun&Zury: This girls knows some things too ;) Thanks to her bro lmao So, yes, it must be Zury :> She loves cooking for her loved ones and it makes her happy ♥

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Aleks&Zed: Zed, he is a shy bean haha And probably was clumsy and did some silly things like;

Zed: The weather is nice today, huh? ^^;;

Aleks: Zed… It’s stormy right now…

Tsun&Zury: Definitely both haha, but after some time Zury will try to break that nervous aura around them (dunno how much she succeeded tho lol)

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Aleks&Zed: Zed, since Zury has arachnophobia, he is used to taking them outside

Tsun&Zury: As I said before, she has arachnophobia so Tsun will have to take them outside, if he tries to kill them or smh, she’ll just yell “DON’T HURT IT, JUST TAKE IT OUTSIDEE”

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Aleks&Zed: Both, probably they’ll compete eachother about who loves the other most haha

Tsun&Zury: Tsun, Zury never got drunk before~ And she loves watching him drunk so much *v*

[apathetic-revenant]

morning warmup doodles (not that it’s morning any longer)

I saw that thing going around about Magnús saying something about Number 8 being in a wheelchair, and maybe also a woman? I don’t really know the details but I wanted to try drawing her. which might have been a mistake since I can’t even draw regular chairs but oh well.

figured what with sports elf magitech and all that she’d probably have like, a really Extra wheelchair. it can fold out into a glider-type thing (as you can see I had trouble deciding what that would look like) so she can get back and forth from her airship. but while she likes flying around for fun I imagine she’d only use the gadget-y stuff in the same situations that Sportacus would; like, she wouldn’t use that as a replacement for the wheelchair when it comes to getting around and stuff, just to do things that no one could do anyway. 

tried to keep up the sports elf Aesthetic without just making her a colorswap of Sportacus, but I dunno if I succeeded. 

she is every bit as Extra as Sportacus and is constantly doing tricks and cool moves and stuff. she will challenge anyone to a race, any time, and will always win. just overall very enthusiastic and loves taking part in games of pretend with the kids where she always hams it up ridiculously. she’s super into promoting diversity and making sure all the kids know about mental/emotional health as well as physical.

she’s a bit snarkier and, I dunno, sparkier...? than Sportacus and she loves teasing him whenever they see each other (I dunno if all the heroes are supposed to be existing simultaneously but let’s assume they are for the moment). she also really loves gadgets and machines and her airship is ridiculously tricked out because she loves to tinker with it. 

she would probably get on super great with Robbie, like at first he would be all “??? not another one” but then he’d realize he found a kindred snarky spirit and they would talk about gadgets and pester the heck out of Sportacus. 

also I doodled a little villain for her in the corner. don’t know much of anything about him except he’s probably sort of a Riddler type who loves really elaborate puzzles and traps and is all persnickety and Proper and hates sports because ew, sweating. he’d probably lose patience with Robbie in like, .2 seconds.

anyway

[misedejem]

The Childhood of Angelo Panettone

Word Count:  14,885

AO3 

After losing his family at a young age, Angelo found himself growing up in Florem amidst the horrors that the war between the Duchy and the Orthodoxy brought to his country. Driven by ambition, pride, and personal vendetta, the baker was thrust into a path of hardship that would eventually lead to the Glanz Empire, and the prospect of bliss that lay beyond it.

Eleven short stories about Angelo's backstory and motivations between his fifth and eighteenth years.

(Major spoilers for Bravely Second chapter 5 in the section titled ‘Heaven’, and a moderately graphic depiction of violence in the section called ‘Eternia’)

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Year 2391 (Five Years Old) - Orthodoxy

The Great Plague had taken over half the population of Luxendarc since it had arrived on a ship twelve years ago. Every winter, it threatened to resurface, and simple diseases grew more and more potent as scientists struggled to restrain it, until death lingered over every country, picking people out sporadically, leaving the world in a state where every child in every major city could say they had seen it for themselves. The Great Plague had been cured four years ago, but still, one way or another, hundreds of deaths each year could be linked back to that dreadful calamity.

            The youngest child of Sienna and Oscar à la Mode could not remember the first time he hadn't known somebody who died. His father had fallen ill a few months after his birth, and had never recovered, but he had been too young to even remember what he looked like. Even so, he didn’t need knowledge of his father’s demise to recognise that, without a doubt, his mother had gone to join him.

            “Why did mama die though? Was she sick?” Angelo’s voice was muffled by his older sister’s arms, which were wrapped around him so tightly that he could not escape if he tried to.

            “Even if she was, she wouldn’t tell us.” Praline à la Mode was forcing her words through heavy sobs, her small body shaking and tears streaking down her reddened cheeks. Her grief was in contrast with her brother’s fear, for he was frozen in place, confused both at the circumstances and the way his sister was reacting. He’d seen Praline upset before, but never like this, and it was actually quite terrifying to see. He was scared that she would never be okay again. He didn’t want her to cry.

            The two siblings sat huddled against the wall in their hallway for some time. It was growing dark quickly, both of them being too small to light the lamps, and Angelo was becoming restless. Praline made small whimpering noises every time he attempted to move.

            “Purin? What are we gonna do?”

            “I dunno…”

            “…I’m hungry.”

            “Me too… But I don’t know how to get us food. We’re alone now.”

            “Is nobody gonna come get us?”

            “Maybe… If I don’t turn up at school, they might…”

            “Who is gonna teach me school stuff now mama is gone? I’m not allowed to go to your school!”

            As Florem was a city where only women were allowed to live once a person turned eighteen, there were no nearby schools that Angelo could attend, meaning his only options were to be sent abroad, or home-schooled.

            “I’ll teach you. I know more stuff than you.”

            “You’re seven. You know stuff, but you don’t know enough stuff.”

            “Then we’ll go to Eternia!” Praline raised her head from her brother’s shoulder. Her eyes were still glistening with tears, but she was no longer sobbing. “Auntie Cara lives in Eternia. We’ll go and live with her.”

            Angelo beamed at her, overjoyed to see his sister showing a sign of hope. Seeing her baby brother so elated in the face of utter despair seemed to stir something in Praline, and despite the circumstances, she began to grin as well. His smiles were contagious, passing to her even though her watery eyes and quivering hands made her seem so sad.

            Then the front door opened and the smiles vanished, replaced with a wide-eyed look of horror as both children froze in place.

            A pair of acolytes from the Crystal Temple entered the hall, hoods drawn over their faces, and one of them clutching a piece of paper in their hand. This one offered a smile to the cowering figures, as the other one looked at them pityingly, one hand on the doorframe so the remaining natural light of the evening wouldn’t completely vanish from sight.

            “Praline?” The smiling acolyte held out a free hand in Praline’s direction, and Angelo felt her muscles become tense, and her body stop shaking.

            “What are you gonna do to me?”

            “I think we were too late. An unlocked door… a dark house… and look at their faces.” The acolyte at the door hung their head.

            “It’s alright, my dear. You’re safe now. Your mother wanted us to come and take you to a safe place.”

            “I don’t… Understand…”

            The acolyte bit their lip. “I will explain it to you later. Are you prepared to leave?”

            Angelo couldn’t quite grasp what was going on, but he sensed that something was wrong when Praline suddenly squeezed him tighter.    

            “What about Angelo? Why aren’t you asking him to come too?”

            “Well… It’s against the Orthodox scriptures to allow boys to serve the Temple. I’m sorry dear, but your brother is going to have to stay in Florem.”

            “No!”

            “It’s getting dark. We want to be on the road soon. Just take the girl and let’s go.”

            “NO!” Praline began to bawl again, her words strangled by her tears. Startled by the sudden yelling, Angelo started to cry as well, and he buried his face into Praline’s chest, digging his fingers into her clothes.

            “I’m sorry Praline. These are your mother’s wishes, and it would disrespect her memory to disobey them.”

            “So you’re gonna let my baby brother die!? No! I won’t let you leave him!”

            “I hate it when they start screaming.” The acolyte that had been holding the door let it slip from their grasp, slamming shut and filling the hall with darkness once more. Angelo began to cry harder, and Praline continued to yell.

            The dark was perforated by a sudden, brilliant lilac light that seemed to burst from the hands of one of the acolytes. Angelo stopped crying as he began to feel light headed, and his limbs grew heavy with a sudden wave of exhaustion, as though somebody had drawn all the energy from his body. Praline, too, began to slump, her arms sliding from around her brother as the two of them began to fall backwards. Angelo’s eyes slowly began to close as Praline, the acolytes, and the world slipped away into the darkness.

Year 2392 (Six Years Old) – Bakery

“I’ve decided I don’t want to learn maths anymore.”

            Angelo proceeded to make a scene by sweeping the paper and pencil off the table, and folding his arms dramatically.

            “You don’t have a choice, kid. Pick it up.”

            Though Olivier Panettone was very young, and had no actual experience with looking after children, she was generally accepted as nothing short of incredible by the younger community in her neighbourhood. As much as he enjoyed teasing her, Angelo was inclined to agree. He had nightmares about what would have happened if she hadn’t come to rescue him from his family’s abandoned home a year ago, and he knew with full certainty that he never wanted those dreams to actually happen.

            “It’s so boring, and really hard too! Can I come and help you instead? Please?”

            “Not until you finish five sums. Alright?”

            “Why do I have to do this?” Angelo slid down his chair, staring at the table in front of him with every ounce of contempt he could muster.

            “You need to learn maths so you can measure out your ingredients properly. If you want to help me, you have to know this stuff.”

            “You need to know maths to make cakes?” Angelo looked up slightly from his slump.

Olivier nodded frankly. Sighing, Angelo realised he had no choice but to concede defeat, and he picked the paper back up again.

            The Panettone bakery was a small but successful business that sat in one of the outer suburbs of the city of Florem. Before she had adopted Angelo, the proprietor had worked alone, but Angelo had quickly discovered that he enjoyed nothing more than helping her produce the cakes that the people of their neighbourhood clamoured for. He was getting pretty good at it as well.

            “You look like you’re enjoying yourself there.” Olivier beamed at Angelo, who was standing on a wooden crate at the counter, kneading a hunk of dough with his tiny hands. He vaguely noticed his adoptive mother brushing a dusting of flour from his nose, but he was too engrossed in his work to even respond to her remark.

            She did have a point, though. Baking was the thing he looked forwards to the most. He revelled in the idea of making something wonderful that would make everyone who tasted it smile and give him praise, and it was those very compliments that fuelled his motivation to keep getting better and better.

            “Oh my, what a talented little one you’ve got here!”

            “He’ll go onto great things, that one.”

            “Isn’t he just perfect?”

            Most of all, it was when Olivier told him how proud she was that he gained an intense buzz of joy that spurred him throughout the day. After all, Olivier had saved his life, and he just wanted to make her happy as best as he could. He hadn’t quite grasped his school work, or housekeeping, but he thought that whenever he succeeded at baking, that was what gave her the biggest grin.

            Besides, it was the perfect way to make him so tired and focussed that whenever something went wrong, or he had a bad dream, it wouldn’t bother him quite as much.

            “Baking is very therapeutic,” Olivier had mused when he told her this. He had no idea what ‘therapeutic’ meant, but the way she nodded her head suggested to him that she agreed with his sentiment.

            If ever it rained, or started to go cold, every evening after the shop closed its doors, Olivier would invite the street children inside for a warm meal and shelter. She would always mention to some of the grown-up customers she met during the day that Florem had a serious problem with homeless children – usually boys – and that somebody had to do something to help them. Angelo usually hid himself upstairs and read or doodled in his bedroom when the small crowd of children herded themselves into their kitchen. He did want to help them as well, but in truth they frightened him a little. He was well fed, and had clean clothes, and his own room, and an education, and they had nothing of the sort. It was so scary to him that the world could make people suffer like that right outside his window every night, and that if Olivier hadn’t come across him a year ago, he would have joined them.

            “Why can’t you let them live here like you let me?” He asked her one evening as she did up the buttons on his shirt.

            “Oh, honey… The house just isn’t big enough for that many people to live in. They would have nowhere to sleep.”

            “Why don’t other people let them live in their houses?”

            Olivier furrowed her brow. “Well, perhaps they don’t have any money to look after any children. Or they don’t have enough space… Or compassion.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “There are some very unkind people in the world.”

            “Oh…” Angelo’s face fell, and Olivier pulled him into a hug. “Why did you save me though? Why am I different to them?”

            “I loved your parents very much. Like I love you. I wasn’t going to let their baby end up on his own.” She sniffled slightly. “Maybe when I have enough money, I’ll build an orphanage or something for them.”

            “You give them pancakes though. I bet that makes that happy.”

            Olivier laughed slightly. “Yes, I suppose it does. The best part of this job is being able to make people smile with the things you've made.”

Year 2393 (Seven Years Old) – Fighting

“Olivier, you can’t keep avoiding us forever. You have to get your ass back out there!”

            “I understand, I really do. I just can’t leave my son home alone, and don’t even think about suggesting I take him with me. He’s not ready for that. “

            Shortly before his sixth birthday, Olivier had announced that, on top of learning to cook, read, write, and do maths, Angelo also had to learn how to fight.  He assumed this was because the area of the city they lived in wasn’t the safest. It was so close to the forests and fields on the outskirts of Florem that oftentimes the carnivorous flora and fauna of the countryside would make its way into the residential areas of the city. Children could quite easily end up getting eaten. He still vividly remembered the time he had woken up to a sound outside his window, and had spotted a mandragora in the bins behind their house. He had slept on his mother’s floor for a week afterwards in the fear that a monster would get into his bedroom and eat him.

            It was early in the morning, and Angelo had not seen his mother at all, having only just crawled out of bed. Still slightly groggy, he was not entirely sure if the conversation he could hear on his way to get some breakfast was happening.

            “Why the hell would you even adopt the kid in the first place? He’s done nothing but cause you trouble.”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done plenty for you guys over the past few years. All Angelo has done is make it so that I can’t leave Florem, and frankly I don’t really care about that.”

            “He’s made you complacent. You were the best we had, and we should come first. Not him.”

            There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Angelo peered his head around the doorway just in time to see a red-haired woman with a red mark on her cheek strike his mother across the face.

            He was far from sleepy now, a rush of adrenaline suddenly hitting him, coursing through his body as he hurled himself towards the woman and collided with her leg, knocking her backwards.

            “What the hell? You little monster!”

            “Angelo!” Olivier quickly scooped him up into her arms and gave him a warning look.

            “She hurt you!”

            “Only because she hurt me first,” the woman muttered as she got to her feet. “Crystals, Olivier, what kind of child are you raising? He hits hard.”

            “He’s a strong kid.”

            “Yeah! I am strong!” Angelo chimed, smiling smugly.

            “You’ve been training him?” The woman squeezed Angelo’s upper arm, and his smile turned into a frown. He tugged his arm from her grasp and scowled at her. She looked slightly taken aback.

            Olivier shrugged. “I had to find some way to keep him occupied and stay in shape at the same time. I figured that if I was just working from the kitchen now, I might as well pass my skills onto someone else.”

            “All your skills?” The woman raised her eyebrows.

            Olivier shook her head. “Angelo knows why he’s not allowed to touch the cupboard where I keep my special ingredients. That’s all he needs to know until he’s older. He’s getting really good at baking, but he’s not quite ready to start experimenting yet.”

            Angelo nodded in agreement. When he’d asked his mother what the many locks on the cupboard were for, she didn’t hesitate to tell him bluntly.

            “In there are my special ingredients that are too dangerous to keep with the rest of them. They’re only for when heroes commission me to help them get rid of bad guys.”

            He had no issues with his mother’s ‘status ailment cakes’, as she called them. He thought it was really cool that she was helping fight crime from the comfort of her own kitchen. Yet, he didn’t feel comfortable that he could learn how to make them himself. Besides, he preferred making things he could eat afterwards.

            “I know how to use a knife though! I’m good at that.”

            “A wooden knife,” Olivier corrected him. Angelo noticed her shooting the woman a wary glance, though he was unsure why. “He’s still learning. He’s seven.”

            “That’s not that young. He could pass as eleven, easily, if you wanted him to.”

            “I don’t want him to. I’m not going to force him to do anything. I just want to give him the skills he needs to take whatever path he chooses.”

            The woman folded her arms and sighed. “Will we ever be able to tear you away from him?”

            “I suggest you start looking for my replacement.” Olivier placed Angelo down and swiftly escorted the woman out the door.

            Later that evening, as Angelo was scrubbing away the remains of the night’s dinner, Olivier approached him and placed a slender, wooden box on the sideboard next to him.

            “I’m giving you this. I want you to be very careful with it.”

            Angelo looked up from what he was doing, and hastily dried his hands before opening the box as carefully as his excitement could handle.

            Inside, on a silk cushion, was an ornate, silver cooking knife with a handle carved from wood. It was a lot longer and sharper than the one Angelo used to serve his desserts. His fingers were shaking as he began to lift it from the box, and he was surprised at how light it was in his hands.

            “It looks delicate, but it’s strong enough to slice your hand clean off. Somehow, it reminds me of you. Maybe because you just floored a fully-grown woman?” Olivier smirked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s time to teach you how to fight for real.”

Year 2394 (Eight Years Old) – Orphans

Angelo’s entire body was in pain. His head pounded, his eyes stung, his shoulders were screaming, and the angry blisters on his palms were so sore he could barely stand to touch a thing. Less noticeable, but nonetheless there, were the hunger and exhaustion. He supposed he needed to eat and sleep, otherwise he would lose all the strength he still had, and yet he could not bring himself to move. Instead, he brought his knees up to his chin and remained sat in the dirt at the foot of Olivier’s grave, trying very hard not to cry.

            Olivier had been murdered a week ago, or so he thought at least. The sleepless nights and endless days, punctured with visions of her death, had all merged into one. Had it not been for the orphans - who had come one night to find shelter from the rain, only to find four bloody corpses and a shivering boy in the corner - perhaps he would be wasting away already, dying just like she had. Like his parents had. He’d expected them to run. Instead, they got him his quilt and wrapped it over him, and had moved him to the kitchen, far away from the shop where the bodies were. The older ones, tall enough to reach the counter, grabbed a box of cakes from the side that Olivier had prepared to sell the next day and convinced him to eat, sharing the rest amongst the other children.

            “I wonder who those other guys are?” one of them asked another in a hushed whisper.

            “I recognise their clothes. They’re with the duchy of Eternia!”

            “They’re the people who took that quiet, frowny boy away to safety, aren’t they? What was he called? Alternis?”

            “I wonder who would do such a thing? To Miss Olivier as well…”

            Angelo scowled. The man who had killed his mother said the soldiers that lay dead in the other room were part of the Black Blades, and that they were the duchy’s elites. He didn’t want to scare the children by telling them the duchy had murdered the woman who was more of a mother to them than anyone. They already had too much to be afraid of.

            Furthermore, wouldn’t they stop helping him if they found out who had killed those people?

            The next day, they helped him bury her, and kept coming back each evening to ensure he was alright. He didn’t know why, but he was definitely grateful for them being there. It crossed his mind once or twice that perhaps it was because he was one of them now, but he quickly dispelled that thought. It made him feel nauseous to think about.

            A sudden noise from inside the house snapped him out of his stupor and his hand instinctively flew to the knife he always kept by his side. It couldn’t be the kids, could it? They didn’t usually show up while the sun was still out, as they liked to make the most of the good weather.

            A sudden, terrifying thought came over him, and he shuddered. What if its more Black Blades? What if they see the others?

            He and the orphans had not moved the bodies of the soldiers. What if more of them came? What if they found the bodies, or worse yet, what if they knew he was responsible for their deaths?

            He couldn’t help it. They were trying to kill his mother. She was screaming - she didn’t even have her weapon. They didn’t notice him at all, until he was driving his knife into their backs, as high as he could reach. Then they started to scream, and his hands and blade turned red with their blood.

            It had all been for naught though. Olivier had been cut down by the blade of a katana before he had seen the person who wielded it. She was dead before she touched the floor. Her killer, the tall man in the green robes, was the demon who had been haunting his nightmares ever since.

            These thoughts fresh in his mind, he scrambled back into the house.

            “Oh, you’re there. Good. I’m glad.”

            A tall, red-headed woman who seemed vaguely familiar was stood in the hallway, outside the door that had once connected the shop to the house. Now, it was boarded up, thanks to the orphans, and there was a huge red cross painted across the wood. Angelo froze in place and stared at her. She didn’t look like an Eternian soldier.

            “You’ve grown even taller. It’s Angelo, isn’t it?” The woman offered him a smile. “You pushed me over once. Remember?”

            Angelo nodded, recalling the year before when somebody had threatened to hurt Olivier. This woman had the same red curls. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Why had he failed to protect her this time? Did this woman know Olivier was dead? Was she there to laugh at him because of it?

            “Hey,” she cooed in a soft voice, apparently noticing his tears. “Don’t cry, please. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.” She sighed and sat down on the floor, patting the ground next to her as though she was beckoning him. Slightly sceptical, Angelo instead sat down opposite her, still clutching the knife in a shaking hand.

            “I’m sorry. I know what happened here, and I wish there was something I could have done. It was the Swordmaster, wasn’t it? Kamiizumi?”

            Angelo nodded again.

            “Mm. I know him. He’s after me too, so I didn’t want to show my face around here until I knew the time was right. I knew you’d be safe, so that’s why I took so long to get here. Those kids have been looking after you.”

            “Did you ask them to?”

            “No. I’ve never spoken to them in my life.”

            “Then how did you know?” He furrowed his brow and looked at her. His eyes caught sight of the choker she wore, adorned with a strangely shaped, orange crystal, which she tentatively touched when she saw him looking. She smiled again.

            “Because I have magic powers,” she crooned, waggling her fingers for effect. “It’s hard to explain, and I probably don’t know how to word it so a kid will understand.”

            “I’m not a little kid.”

            “Haha. Of course you’re not. But this is real complicated stuff. Even Olivier didn’t understand it.”

            Angelo wiped his eyes furiously with his sleeve. The woman did have kind eyes, but every time he thought about her encounter with Olivier, he got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. She was strange, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

            “Why are you here?”

            “Hm… How to put this…” She looked up at the ceiling. “I’m here to bring you somewhere safe before the duchy do come back.”

            “No,” he stated almost immediately. He decided he was going to trust his gut.

            “Do I have to make you unconscious? Because I will.”

            “If the duchy are coming back then I’m gonna fight them,” he told her, using the quickest excuse he could think of. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't considered that though. His knuckles turned white on the handle of his knife just thinking about the duchy.

            “Oho!” the woman threw up her hands. “Aren’t you fired up? You’ll be killed for sure. I’m not letting an eight-year-old take on a battalion.”

            “They killed my mother.”

            “Yeah. Believe it or not, she was my friend. Kamiizumi’s got a lot of people out for his blood for what he did. But we’re all adults, and none of us is stupid enough to take on any of the Black Blades on our own. You got lucky that you took them unaware.”

            “How did you –”

            “I’ll explain it later.”

            “Hmph…”

            The woman sighed and rose to her feet. “Fine. If you want revenge so badly, you can have it. Once I’ve decided you’re ready, I’ll let you have him.”

            “But I… You can't tell me what to do!” It sounded childish, but it was the best he had.

            “Do you really think Olivier would want you to sacrifice yourself like this? She gave up so much for you. Do you know what she did for her job, Angelo?”

            “She had a bakery.”

            “No, not that. The other thing. I know you know what I mean.”

            Angelo scowled. This woman kept talking down to him, like he was a baby. Like she thought she was his mother.

            “She used to beat up bad guys with her special cakes.”

            “Right. Do you know where she kept the ingredients?”

            “Mmm… There’s a cupboard in the kitchen.”

            “And her recipes, they’re in there too?”

            “They’re in her bedroom… Under the floorboard.”

            He wasn’t sure why he was telling her this. He supposed it no longer mattered. He didn't care what happened to the recipes as long as the duchy didn't find them. They sounded scary in evil hands.

            “You know how to bake as well, right?”

            “Yeah.” He perked up slightly. He'd always enjoyed talking about his talents, especially when he was praised for them.

            “You any good?”

            “I'm super good.”

            “Excellent. Olivier’s skills were invaluable. It’ll be useful to have someone else who can use them.”

            He immediately frowned again. “Are you going to use them to fight bad guys like she did?”

            “Me? No, I can’t cook. I’m a mage, through and through. You, however, could probably pull it off.”

            “Oh. You want me to fight the bad guys instead?”

            “Well, not alone. But yes, that’s the idea. There was a group of us, that your mother was part of. People tell us about evil people, and we go out and get rid of them. If you’re serious about wanting revenge, I think you should come with me. I’ll train you so that you’re strong enough to win.”

            “… You mean it?”

            “Yes. I promise.”

            It was then that it dawned on him that, if he went with this woman, he wouldn't have to live on the streets. The woman was strange, but she was nothing compared to one of the scariest things he could think of. He didn't want to be alone.

            “…Okay then. I'll go with you.”

            “Good boy. I’m not really the parenting type, but I don't think I could have ignored you… Not when the last thing I did to Olivier…” Her voice trailed off, which took him by surprise. He hadn't expected such a sad voice to come out of her, not when she'd been trying to make him smile their entire conversation. It didn't last though, she quickly started smiling again and changed the subject. “I’ll also send food to this place for those kids every week or so, so that they don’t starve. That’s what Olivier would have done.”

            “Oh! Thank you.” Angelo had almost forgotten about the orphans. He supposed if he was really leaving then he needed to thank them first.

            “I’m Divinia, by the way. But in my line of work, I’m the Oracle. It’s a safety procedure sort of thing.”

            “Umm… Okay? Like a secret identity?”

            “Yeah, you can put it that way. Hm, I guess you’ll need a code name too… We called Olivier the Confectioner, but that would draw too much unwanted attention if we reused it.” She frowned, deep in thought. Then she grinned. “So from now on, I’m going to call you the Patissier.”

Years 2395-2398 (Nine to Twelve Years Old)

Divinia took Angelo into her home after that, telling her neighbours that she was doing a favour for a friend. He supposed that wasn’t too far from the truth, at least. In exchange for him cooking every night, she gave him classes in the mornings, and trained alongside him in the afternoon, but unlike Olivier, she didn’t drop everything to be with him all the time. He quickly learned to be more independent in her care.

            He soon learned the reason for her namesake was because she had developed an entire fighting style designed around foretelling the future, which admittedly made it quite difficult to attack her. Her predictions didn’t have 100% accuracy, like she wanted to claim, but she was still right far more often than she was not. She wasn’t afraid to hold back, either, especially not as he grew older, fighting more fiercely and speaking more directly than Olivier ever had. She treated him like a friend, and a student, but never like a son. She knew she could never replace his mother.

            That was how the next four years of his life played out. All his spare time, he spent baking, trying to perfect Olivier’s recipes, and then inventing his own. Homelessness was not as big an issue in the area where Divinia lived, so he could not unload the excess cakes onto people who needed them, so instead he would travel to the nearby villages and try to sell them. It was surprising how quickly he began to make a name for himself, and festival planners for events like the Sacred Flower Festival soon began offering him work.

            It was marvellous, they all said, that somebody so young could be so talented. Their compliments were what fuelled him to better himself every year. There was a certain euphoria he got out of being praised for his work, and it bolstered not only his confidence, but his pride as well.

            It was a lot more difficult to get feedback on the cakes with side-effects, however. Their potential to be fatal, or to deal permanent damage meant he was sceptical about testing them on innocent people, and even more sceptical about testing them on himself, and the Oracle did not like the idea of people getting hurt on the off chance her clairvoyance was not accurate enough. Instead, she would take them with her whenever she was assigned a new criminal to take down, and would report the results back to him, but it was a slow process. It took over three years for him to have a complete arsenal of edible status ailments that had been tried and tested both by Divinia and, once he turned eleven, on assignments of his own.

            The more he found himself having to please people to make a living for himself, the more he began to focus on the more superficial parts of his life. His cakes needed to be as equally flawless as his appearance, and being outshone by anybody quickly became out of the question. Divinia liked to tease him for his vanity in what was a pointless attempt to remind him to focus on his goals. She didn’t realise that they weren’t something he was going to forget. He would still see his mother die in his dreams, and every mention of the duchy filled him with a seething anger. He even took on the name Olivier as part of his own so that he would always remember what he was fighting to do.

            The thing was, he would tell her time and again, that even after four years, they both knew he was far from ready to take on his enemies. He didn’t want to sacrifice the luxuries he had when he still had all the time in the world.

Year 2399 (Thirteen Years Old) – Bloodrose

“At least now we know they aren’t here for us,” Divinia announced as she entered the kitchen, tossing the day’s paper into a small patch of sunlight streaming from the blinds onto the kitchen counter. Angelo cast a glance towards it as he dished up their breakfast and frowned.

            “The Sacred Flower Festival? What does that have to do with the Bloodrose Legion?”

            It had been several months since the duchy had dispatched troops from its third division to occupy parts of the city of Florem, withholding any reasoning from both citizens and the Matriarch herself. Divinia had been tense since they had arrived, worried they had been send to finish off the job the Black Blades had started now they were seemingly involved in the civil war in Eisenberg.

            “Everyone’s been saying for months that the really lovely girl who sometimes went into the slums at the far side of the city just to look after the kids on the streets was definitely going to win. But she didn’t. Some other girl did, apparently because her hair and dress looked ‘more suitable’ to be flower maiden.”

            Angelo could not help but smirk. The Oracle had been particularly despondent ever since that victory, most likely because the girl who had been snubbed had red hair, just like she did.

            “Yes, I remember. What about it?”

            “It just seems strange that the year the duchy turn up, our biggest Crystalist tradition takes a nosedive like that. I think they’re trying to spread their Anti-Crystalist agenda.”

            “Because a better-looking girl won? Is there a competition for weird old ladies who come up with stupid conspiracy theories? Because you should enter. I think you’d win.”

            “Do you think the Orthodoxy would just abandon their traditions like that?”

            Angelo bit his lip. He knew Divinia well, and had a feeling she was testing him. She was very much a Crystalist, and while he did not have any opinion either way about the faith itself, he would never forgive the organisation that ran it for what they had done to his sister all that time ago. They were every bit as bad as the duchy in his eyes, but expressing those opinions always got him into trouble. He decided to keep quiet.

            “This city feels so… vapid now. I suppose you probably wouldn’t understand what I mean though.” She crossed over to the counter and took her breakfast as she spoke.

            “Hmmm… No, no, I get it. I think. Is it that people are trying their hardest to be beautiful lately, but they just don’t have the decent personalities to match? Unlike me, they struggle to be both pretty and charming.”

            “Oh boy…”

            “It’s like my confections. If they look beautiful, people will praise them, but they must taste as equally beautiful to be good. Otherwise they’d just be worthless.”

            “But don’t you think an ugly cake is still a good cake if it tastes good? It’s just food, and food is meant to be eaten.”

            Angelo sighed. “You don’t understand. Florem is becoming obsessed with beauty, but they’re shoving aside the things like saving the orphans to do it. They’re not the ugly cake that tastes good, they’re the pretty cake that tastes bad. And that’s a really crappy cake.”

            Divinia smiled at him. “Fine. You make a good point.” She placed her plate back down and ruffled his hair, which made him grimace and squirm away. “Just… Don’t you go forgetting that looks aren’t everything, alright?”

Year 2400 (Fourteen Years Old) – Al-Khampis

The Red Mage was supposed to have died three weeks ago. Six of Florem’s finest killers had been placed around the perimeter of the country’s most lavish gardens, waiting to ambush him as the Duchy’s third division marched on the settlement that dwelled there.

            Hundreds of people lived in that village, protected by some of the country’s strongest assassins and the Bloodrose Legion had slaughtered nearly all of them. The flowers were tainted red with the blood of the people who had once called the Gardens home.

            Angelo had been lurking on the outer bank of the river that ran past the Gardens, away from the heat of the massacre. He had placed himself there on the off chance that DeRosa, their elusive target, would not want to delve into the fray himself, and he fully intended to drug the man as he was no doubt doing to the people of his hometown. It wasn’t until he returned to Florem that he learned DeRosa had not been there at all. He hadn’t even been in the country.

            “The last time our target was sighted was in the city of Al-Khampis in Harena. It’s supposed to be a student town, so it’s downright disturbing that this disgusting man is going anywhere near it.” Angelo crumpled the paper with his assignment back into his pocket. “How’s your leg today?”

            “Doesn’t hurt anymore, at least.” The girl sat next to him ran a hand gingerly over her right thigh. “I reckon it’s gonna scar badly though.”

            “Mmm, serious wounds like that often do.” Angelo rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a large, shiny burn on his forearm.”

            “How’d ya do that? Monster?”

            “Erm… Oven…” He blushed slightly, and the girl laughed.

            Aimee Matchlock had nearly been killed in the Legion’s attack on her village. Had Angelo not been there to fish her from the river, she would have surely died. She absolutely insisted on staying by his side afterwards, despite his vocalised worries about her injuries, though he had to admit that having her around had its benefits. It was pleasant to have somebody his age to talk to, and she was a bubbly person even in the face of the horrendous tragedy that had just befallen her.

            Their ship docked a few hours away from town, so they were forced to eat the food Angelo had prepared and packed in a carriage on the way there (much to his joy, as he did not like the sound of the spicy, overpriced student food the city was famous for.) He advised they spend the rest of the journey getting some sleep, but instead Aimee seemed to ignore his advice, more insistent on checking her hunting rifle over and over. She had masterfully affixed a blade to the underside of the weapon, claiming that it helped her fight in both close and long range situations.

            “You know, I’ve never seen you shoot that thing. How do I know you’re any good?”

            “Yer just gonna have to trust me. I’m a crack shot, I promise. I wasn’t about to fire this thing in Florem though, guns are dangerous in crowded places.”

            “That’s why we’re attacking at night. You work best in an empty field, and I work best with no witnesses to see what I’m doing.”

            “I’ll bet we make a good team. I’m excited to work with ya, Mr. Panettone.”

            “Ah… Please, just Angelo is fine.” He found himself blushing again. “We’re the same age and social status and everything, so being formal is totally unnecessary.”

            “Oh! Right, makes sense.”

            Angelo couldn’t help but wonder if Aimee had slept at all as they entered Al-Khampis. Even as she peered around the city in awe, he realised how dark her eyes were looking. He supposed, thinking back to that awful time following the death of his mother, that she was probably going through a lot of mental turmoil. He couldn’t deny that he was slightly concerned that she wouldn’t be up for the task ahead, especially not with her injury on her leg. She still walked with a slight limp.

            “You really didn’t have to come with me.”

            “Nah. I did. I owe you as much.”

            The two of them spent the next hour camping in a secluded spot Aimee had suggested – one that gave them perfect view of the entire path to the Spire without being spotted themselves. Angelo’s intel suggested that DeRosa would be attempting to make a deal with one of the staff members at the school some time that evening.

            “I’m guessing hunting humans is a little different to animals, but finding a good hiding spot is probably more effective against people. Humans don’t tend to have strong enough instincts to detect a good hider without some kinda divine intervention,” Aimee whispered, pushing the brim of her hat back.

            “Just think of them as animals.” Angelo shrugged, and she gave him a confused look. “It gets easier after a few years.”

            “If yer tryin’ to scare me, give up. I’m on your side now. Do you smell somethin’?”

            “No.”

            “I smell roses. But not the real, sweet smellin’ ones. The fucker is nearby.”

            Angelo wanted to ask her how she could tell, but, almost as if it were rehearsed, Fiore DeRosa came into sight, his garish garb a beacon in the growing moonlight. He was quite some ways away, so even with the knowledge they’d been given about him, Angelo had no idea how Aimee was able to recognise him so easily. He would never admit it, but he was utterly taken aback by how impressive she was. Her resolve, her senses… He hoped her shot was just as good.

            Their plan, which they hastily devised in a minute after realising DeRosa had gone inside the school building itself, was for Angelo to lure him out onto a balcony (and slip him a sedative if he could manage), so Aimee could shoot him. The Red Mage had shut himself with his associate in one of the empty classrooms that faced the front of the building. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Angelo followed him up a flight of stairs and camped himself outside the door before hastily preparing something he could hurl at the man to slow him down long enough for him to get him to an open space without too much of a fight.

            He despised this kind of mission. The high-risk kind of thing that placed his life uncomfortably close to being snuffed always left that unpleasant sense of dread in his chest that he couldn’t rid himself of for days. Only in the direst of situations would he accept a task that would involve stepping into a potentially fatal battle.

            “Unfortunately, the division the Templar has dispatched to Anchiem is backed by an incredibly loyal force. The city cannot be allowed to remain intact much longer.” DeRosa’s muffled words oozed with a slick poison. He spoke of a massacre as though it were nothing.

A breeze crawled through the cracks in the door after the unmistakable sound of the bay windows being flung open, and DeRosa continued to spew his filthy words.

            “My acquaintance in Eisenberg sent me over an experimental drug he’s been working on. There is a chance there are students in the halls. Perhaps we should test its effects, just to cover our tracks?”

            The breeze became tainted with a sickly-sweet smell that seemed to clog the senses like a cork stopper. Angelo climbed to his feet, already feeling woozy and attempted to make a run for it. The last thing he remembered was a startling banging noise and a scream from behind him that made him jolt forwards in shock as he approached the staircase, before his vision faded completely.

            He awoke to the sun on his face and a bed beneath him, his whole body aching horribly. When he tried to move, a fierce pain struck around his right shin.

            “Oh, thank the fuckin’ gods, you ain’t dead.”

            “Hello Aimee…” He recognised her voice instantly. “I would look at you, but every movement is agony.”

            “The nurse said your injuries weren’t that bad! She lied!”

            “I might be over-exaggerating just a bit.” There was genuine worry in her tone, and his face fell. “Though my leg –”

            “It’s broken. I found ya at the bottom of a staircase, probably after fallin’ down it. Then I saw a teacher on night duty, and he said to bring ya to the dorms.”

            “I was near the stairs when that loud noise happened. Did you hear that too?” It came to him as an afterthought that he may have been hallucinating.

            “Ah… That might’ve been me. I must’ve startled ya when I shot DeRosa. Sorry. I fucked up big time…” Aimee’s voice began to waver.

            “You… Shot him? Is he dead?”

            “Nah… I really did fuck up. I shot him from our hiding spot, so he was too far away to see. I must’ve missed, because he managed to get away by the time I got to the Spire.”

            “You… What?”

            “I didn’t kill him.”

            “That doesn’t matter.” Frankly, he was just glad to have survived the ordeal, but he wasn’t going to mention that. “You did hit him. I heard him scream.”

            “Oh? That’s kinda awesome.” Her voice took on a triumphant tone.

            “You hit him from that distance? You actually hit him, and you couldn’t even see him?”

            “Uh, yeah. I told ya, I’m a crack shot. Well, I’m not the best. I was aimin’ for his head. But I guess if I hadn’t injured him, he mighta killed ya, so there’s that.”

            “You’ll get him next time, though.”

            “Next time? Wait… I broke yer leg and messed up yer mission. You want me to be there next time?”

            He considered, for a second, letting her know what he was thinking. She thought this was her fault, but in truth, the only person he could blame was himself. He could have died. Without Aimee, he probably would have. Admitting that, however, would be admitting he was weak, and the last thing he wanted was for anybody to know that. Instead, he kept that to himself.

            “I think your skills could be really useful in this line of work. I would gladly allow you to be my partner. I think we could be a real match made in heaven.”

Year 2401 (Fifteen Years Old) – Duchy

“…And therefore, the proverbial rot that is Fiore DeRosa has obviously infected the Florem Police force as well.”

            Aimee raised her eyebrows. “So that’s why the matriarch has got our lot trailin’ this kid instead?”

            “I suppose that’s the most logical explanation.” Angelo folded his arms across his chest. “That, and if we do happen to gather solid proof that those dead girls and the winner of the Flower Festival are linked, you could easily dispose of her from a distance.”

Aimee stooped to one knee and began loading bullets into her rifle, the blade she had fixed to it scraping the floor as she did. “I don’t really wanna shoot a little kid, so I kinda hope we come up blank. Do ya’ really think a pipsqueak like that girl would even be capable of killin’?”

            Angelo chose not to reply. He knew first hand that a child could kill a person, but he’d never told Aimee about his encounter with Kamiizumi seven years ago, and didn’t wish to explain it to her now. She was a useful ally to have, and he didn’t want to sully her opinion of him.

            A sudden commotion from the path leading away from the central plaza towards the Inn caught their attention, and they froze. Anticipating their target, they quickly hid themselves away. Shrouded in the darkness of an alleyway, all they had to do to make themselves invisible was to not make a sound.

            “Ah! Olivia! She wrote me a letter!”

            As an excitable voice began to read the contents of the letter aloud, speaking of the Orthodoxy and of hidden villages, Angelo found himself having to use every ounce of self-constraint he had not to throw something at them.

            “How ignorant do you have to be to read private information out loud like that in public?” He hissed, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be silent. “Especially when there are Eternian Soldiers crawling about everywhere!”

            “Damn straight. You might wanna keep your voice down a bit though. If Eternian Soldiers hear us, we’re just as fucked as those kids are.” Aimee began to bite her lip, then added in a whisper. “Do ya’ think we should maybe warn ‘em?”

            “No. I’m not risking my life just because some idiot children think it’s funny to scream about hidden Orthodoxy pockets for anybody to hear.”

            Much to his disdain, Aimee seemed to ignore his judgment, and peeked her head out around the corner of the alleyway. Angelo was about to scold her, but started as she suddenly jerked herself back, cussing under her breath.

            “Did they see you?”

            “Nah. Not them. Somebody was up on that balcony, and they looked right at us.” Aimee motioned with her thumb towards the Inn.

            “Probably just a citizen, or a tourist, I guess. You need to be more careful, Aimee.” He added that last part rather curtly.

            “Says the guy who was shouting just a minute ago.”

            “I’m sorry, what did –”

            Angelo did not get to finish his sentence, as Aimee quickly got to her feet and placed a hand over his mouth. She was frowning, but kept her eyes fixed on the entrance of the alleyway. Her entire body was tense, and something about the way she was standing so rigidly suggested that her superior senses had detected something Angelo couldn’t. He knew it would be stupid to so much as throw her hand from his face when she was like this.

In the silence, he suddenly became aware of the sound of heels against the cobbled streets in front of them, and soon after, a voice could be heard as well.

            “Perhaps you ought to go on ahead, Victoria. Allow me to perform a thorough sweep of the area to ensure we are unlikely to be followed. I shall meet you at the ruins to the west, and it would be best if you were to wait for me there.”

            There was something about that voice that was soothing, and at the same time utterly chilling to hear – no doubt due to the connotations of the words it spoke.

Someone had overheard those kids, after all, and they fully intended to follow them. Victoria… The same name of the girl the matriarch had asked Angelo and Aimee to tail, a suspect in the murder case of two young women.

            Perhaps Aimee was thinking the same thing as Angelo – that they should ambush these people before they could get away – for her arm slackened and her hand fell away. That train of thought was dashed, however, when a tall figure appeared in the opening of the alley. Before the two of them could react, the figure raised their hand, and a bright, scalding light filled the area, followed by nothing but darkness.

            A dull aching was the first thing Angelo noticed when he came to, though that already felt like it was ebbing away as an unusual warmth trickled through his body. It was due to this warmth that it took a few moments for him to register that he was lying sprawled on his back, with Aimee stirring a little way away.

            “Ah, good. I feared I was a little too forceful with my magic. I merely wished to momentarily stun you, but alas, I appear to not know my own strength. I prefer not to use that particular spell.”

            The voice was coming from that of a bespectacled man in an adorned, white lab coat. Though his face was hidden behind a huge mane of fluffy, grey hair, he had the complexion of a much younger man – the dark circles under his eyes aside. He had placed a peculiarly shaped golden staff up against the wall, and was using this, as well as his own frame, to form a barricade between the two teenagers he had subjugated and their own weapons.

            Angelo expected to feel some kind of pain as he attempted to sit up, but instead he felt nothing. He gingerly prodded his chest with his fingers, not altogether sure if he was hoping to find a trace of injury or not.

            “I took the liberty of healing you. As I mentioned previously, I did not mean to hurt you. My sincerest apologies.” The man gave a sweeping bow. “My name is Doctor Victor S. Court. I merely wish to know what you just overheard. And...” His eyes flickered to the weapons behind him. “To question the legality of these. I trust they are yours, yes?

            “Legality? What kinda bullshit is this? They’re perfectly legal!” Aimee began to rise to her feet, and Angelo joined her. He hoped he wouldn’t have to restrain her.

            “You see, from my knowledge of Florem’s laws, I am aware that you are not permitted to carry firearms until you are eighteen. If you can prove you are of age, I can give this back to you. I have some more pressing queries for you though, so if you would just w-”

            “Who are you to be enforcing your laws on her? This woman knows more about guns than you probably know about your stupid medicine, or whatever, so you have no place to be telling her what to do with them.”  Angelo placed his hands on his hips and scowled, trying his hardest to seem intimidating. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be questioning this man on his ties to the murders – now all he wanted to do was give him what he deserved for being so unpleasant to Aimee. However, even though Victor was his height, and didn’t look as though he had an ounce of muscle on him, in truth the way he was glaring was enough to make the bravest soldier cower. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

            Victor sighed, and muttered something about their stubbornness under his breath. “I don’t have time for this. I have to meet with my patient. If you refuse to cooperate, I will take these weapons with me and take my leave.”

            “Well, fuck you too!” Aimee spat, making an obscene gesture in his direction.

            Angelo wanted very much to stop her before she went too far, and then cause a diversion so she could run for it. However, Victor’s neutral face turned into a grimace, and before Angelo could act, he flicked his wrist suddenly. With a tremendous force, the staff by his side cascaded towards them and pinned the two of them up against the wall. He emitted a small gasp of pain as he felt his ribs crack.

            “What… the hell…”

            “A dear friend once told me that you should never underestimate the power of a White Mage. I could strip you to the bone with an incantation, were I a more violent person. Luckily for you, I aim to prevent death, not cause it.” Victor’s voice turned harsh. “Now then… Do tell me all about the concerns you expressed earlier involving ‘Eternian Soldiers’. You seemed quite unnerved about them. Were you, by chance, doing anything illegal? Besides carrying a firearm, of course.”

            Angelo’s chest was hurting too much for him to speak. The heavy metal of the staff was putting an awful amount of pressure on his broken ribs, so all he could do was grit his teeth.

            “We’re just wary of the bastards, alright?” Aimee replied. The shakiness in her voice was somewhat harrowing to hear, and Angelo swore that from the corner of his eye, he could see her watching him and not their adversary. “They turned this country to shit, and they’ve been making the residents’ lives hell for no fuckin’ reason. Do ya really think we’d be all chummy with them after that?”

            “I’m afraid the duchy has greater concerns at present than whatever is going on here. We have not had any reports that there are any issues with the way Florem is being handled. The Grand Marshal’s words are law, and the Grand Marshal has said nothing regarding the actions of the Bloodrose Legion.” Victor’s words seemed uncaring, but his voice quivered with regret.

            “Then the Grand Marshal’s gotta pay for pullin’ this crap in the first place.”

            “I wouldn’t dream of it if I were you. Look at yourselves. You are being thoroughly bested by the weakest of the Council of Six, and I will not deny that fighting is not my strong suit.”

            The reveal of Victor’s title made something click inside Angelo’s head, overriding the fear, the pain, and the confusion that the night’s events had awakened within him. As a bubbling anger began to rise in his stomach, enhanced by the sharp stabs of pain with every breath he took, a clock began to chime somewhere in the distance, and Victor’s face fell.

            “I am already late. What a waste of time this was…” He then rose his voice slightly. “I must adjourn. My apologies. I don’t have the time to deal with the two of you anymore.” He outstretched a hand and his staff returned to him, leaving its prisoners in a heap on the floor.

            Angelo involuntarily let out a yelp, and amidst the new wave of pain he could feel Aimee’s hands grasp his arm. Victor frowned, crossed over to him, and placed his hand gently to the boy’s chest, ignoring his flinching. The warm sensation from earlier came over him again, and the pain began to fade.

            “I don’t want help from duchy scum like you…” Angelo could barely manage a wheeze, but he got his words out all the same. He wouldn’t be able to live with the humiliation if he let an Eternian best him without at least forcing a few of his choice words their way.

            “Shut up. Now, don’t strain yourself for a few days, and you’ll be good as new.” Victor rose to his full height and turned on his heel to walk away. As he approached the mouth of the alleyway, he stopped and cast a glance back at Aimee and Angelo. “One more thing, and heed my words well. Do not mess with the Duchy of Eternia. You will most certainly be killed, and not even revenge is worth throwing your lives away like that.”

Year 2402 (Sixteen Years Old) – Performer

            Olivier’s bakery had grown dilapidated and worn in the eight years it had been abandoned. The roof leaked so much now, threatening to cave in, that it looked as though even the children who lived on the streets refused to use it as shelter. It had become nothing more than a canvas for graffiti artists, but even that looked old now. Monsters would likely soon start moving in.

            Or at least, they would have done, had the entire building not been completely engulfed in flames.

            Angelo had used Olivier’s own recipe to set her home alight. He figured that if she could use it to turn people into a human flambé, he could do the same to the place where she was buried. Burning wood smelled a lot nicer than burning flesh, but it did choke the air with a very thick cloud of smoke. He had to run for it to get away before he suffocated, hoping that the heavy bag he had at his side would not slow him down. He couldn’t die. Not yet.

            There was a new family living in the manse that used to belong to Sienna and Oscar, so he could not do the same to his other childhood home as he had to this one. He had no intention of hurting any innocent people and putting himself on the level of the Eternian scum he so despised. He hated his parents and he hated Florem, but sullying his name like that would be too humiliating to bear. Besides, his parents’ house was not theirs any longer, and Florem had already been punished enough. The knowledge that the scourge of the city, DeRosa, still lived was the only thing stopping him from torching the place to the ground. He would rather they live in fear of that man for the rest of their lives for every vain, elitist thing they had ever done.

            There were huge crowds of people making their way towards the upper plaza of the main city, drawn to the gaudy lights and loud music bursting from the rooftops like a swarm of garish moths. None of them noticed the baker covered in soot assimilating himself into their midst, his hand quivering on the handle of his delicate, silver cooking knife. They had the same destination, and they were covering him up perfectly as he made his way there.

            “Hey! The hell do you think you’re goin’?” an all too familiar voice called. Angelo scowled and kept walking.

            “Angelo! Oi!” There was a heavy patter of footsteps and a hand grabbed his sleeve from the crowd, pulling him away.

            “I don’t want to hurt you, Aimee. Leave me alone.”

            “What have you done?” She asked him, wide eyed, having caught sight of the black dust that clung to his face, hair and clothes.

            “I told you to leave me alone,” he told her through gritted teeth.

            “I ain’t going anywhere mister, not until you explain yerself! Like how you could just leave Divinia on her own like that.”

            He stayed quiet, scowling at her. She just scowled back, maintaining her strong grip on his sleeve and refusing to break eye contact. He turned his head to the side and let his fringe fall over his face.

            “What’s happened to you?” she asked, her voice now shaking. Angelo could not reply.

            “Aimee, I have to go.”

            “Where?”

            “…The concert.”

            He attempted to tug his sleeve away, but she grabbed his other arm.

            “Concert? That concert over there?” She looked past him towards the light show that was dyeing the sky in neon.

            He nodded, and tried to pull away again, but to no avail. Aimee was smaller than him, but she was stronger too, and he didn’t dare hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted.

            “Stop that. Why?”

            “It’s none of your business.”

            “Well I’m not going anywhere. Not ‘til you tell me why you ran away.”

            “… I can’t tell you.”

            “You can tell me anythin’. I won’t judge.”

            “No. I can’t. Let me go before it starts.”

            “Oh? What happens when it starts?”

            “Then I’ll miss my chance. Let go!” He sighed, realising that nothing he could say or do would make her let him go. She was impossibly stubborn like that. Now, more than ever, it was really making his blood boil. It was taking everything he could muster not to lose his temper. “Aimee, listen. The singer who is performing tonight once served the duchy. She was one of the Black Blades.” He breathed in deeply. “So I have to kill her. I can’t let an Eternian get away, not again.”

            “Seriously? That blonde bitch on all the posters is an Eternian? You leave her to me, I’ll pump her so full’o’ holes that-”

            “No. Not her. I have to take her out on my own.”

            Aimee looked as though she were about to retort, but was suddenly cut off by an eruption of cheering coming from the concert. Angelo cursed himself. He was too late. In her shock at the sudden sound, Aimee had loosened her grip on his arms, and he managed to break free. He stormed off towards the city gates, despising the fact that his eyes were welling up and that his legs were shaking. It suddenly dawned on him that he had not packed anything to dry his eyes with in his bag, but there was no way he could return to Divinia’s house. Not after he had stormed out on her.

            When he had seen the posters for Praline à la Mode’s concert, the one advertised as a first for her hometown, it was as though somebody had driven a fist into his stomach and had kept doing so ever since. Images of a young girl with golden curls and a big smile were replaced with the bunny ear headband and sickly-sweet gaze of the woman plastered all over the city. For so long, he had thought it was the Orthodoxy who had been withholding his sister from him. He had thought the duchy had killed her along with the rest of the acolytes, and the Vestal of Water herself. But the gossip around the city when the posters came out was that she was one of them.

            He did not know what hurt him more. That his own sister served the people who had killed Olivier, and who had destroyed his country, or that she had never, in all that time, come back to find him. He found himself blaming her for the way he lived, for all the lives he had taken just so he and Divinia and Aimee could survive. He blamed his parents too. If they hadn’t died, none of it would have happened. It would be their family in the manse he had been born in. He would be happy. He wouldn’t know what it was like to feel alone, to feel betrayed.

            That was why he had run away. He never wanted to feel that way again, so he chose to break himself off from everybody he had ever known. He had burned his favourite home so that guilt could not drive him back. He had betrayed Divinia so that she could not betray him. Only by abandoning his old life could he guarantee that it would not abandon him. He had thought killing his traitor of a sister would have severed his ties to Florem for good.

            Then there was Aimee. She had stuck by his side ever since they had met. She had never failed to make him smile. She was always there to watch his back when things got dangerous, and in turn he had been there for her. She was so good to him. He knew that she would have been the hardest one for him to leave behind. Even then, as he stepped out into the fields outside Florem, he could hear her just a few steps away. He grimaced. She was making something that was already threatening to break him so impossibly difficult, and he had a feeling that was how it was going to remain.

            From then on, he decided he would just ignore her. If he had to work with her then he would treat her as a colleague and nothing more. Keeping his distance was the only way, he thought, that her death would not destroy him when it came.

Year 2403 (Sixteen Years Old pt.2) – Eternia

A cold breeze blew into the vent Angelo was hiding in, making him shiver even in the layers of thick wool and armour he was wearing. It was awfully irritating that his hiding spot was so close to the gargantuan entrance of the Eternian Central Command Centre, but he supposed that meant he could make a quick getaway if somebody saw him. Not that something like that would happen.

            It had been surprisingly easy to get into Central Command, considering it was the primary stronghold of what had once been the most powerful ruling force on all Luxendarc. The hardest part had been finding somebody who worked at the centre who was over six feet tall for him to steal a disguise from. He had lurked around in the city for hours waiting for someone to show up, and after a few days in the cold climate planning his attack, he was starting to regret not bringing warmer clothes. He seemed to be coming down with something, and his head was feeling awfully stuffy. If he got sick, he would personally find the only tall soldier in the duchy and smash a cake in their face.

            There was a loud clatter outside his vent, and he smiled. He had swapped out the cakes in the building’s canteen for his own, all filled with a powerful sleeping draught that appeared to have just taken effect on the guards outside. He peered out, judged that the area was clear and filled only with unconscious bodies, and slipped out as smoothly as he could in the ugly, bumpy armour. Every soldier in the building was likely to be asleep or eating, so he felt safe shedding the stuff the minute he had his feet on the ground. Not only did it obscure his face, but it hindered his movement as well, and he could do without that bother.

            The target Goodman wants me to kill is in the dungeons, he reminded himself, before beginning to search the sleeping guards for the key. He’ll have been drugged as well when they brought him his food. Angelo had made sure to change the concoction in the prisoner’s food, however. Goodman had told him the bastard was responsible for the deaths of thousands of soldiers, both friend and foe, and he had been one of the Black Blades’ top officers. To make matters worse, he was the scum who had provided Fiore DeRosa with the drugs he had used to bring Florem to its knees. He wanted to see this man squirm as he killed him.

            “Help! Guards, help me! Something horrible has happened! I can’t move my arms or my legs!” A voice squealed from within the depths of the dungeons as Angelo made him way through them. He judged that, by the lack of response, nobody was around to hear the voice’s pleas.

            “You there! You’re here to help me, right!” the voice begged when Angelo came into view.

            “That depends. You’re Dr. Qada, am I right?”

            The man in the cell who was talking to him nodded feebly. Angelo offered him a smile and began to unlock the cell door.

            “Oh thank you! Tha-” Angelo cut his sickening gratitude short with a swift and sharp kick to the face.

            “Shut up. I don’t have time to listen to your bothersome babbling. Your voice is giving me a headache.”

            Qada started making a pained squeaking noise, like a deflating balloon. Angelo smirked at his pitiful state, and knelt in front of him.

            “Did you enjoy my cake, doctor?”

            “Cake?”

            “Yes. The delectable delicacy the kitchens served you today was made by none other than yours truly. For you, I included a special ingredient. I’ve no doubt that while you can move your head and your neck, you can’t move much else. Isn’t that right?”

            Angelo found Qada’s reaction incredibly perplexing. Instead of showing any sign of shock or rage, the man just laughed.

            “Gyah ha ha! Oh how fitting! You’ve bested me with a taste of my own medicine.” He suddenly lurched forwards, and Angelo stumbled back, ever so slightly unnerved by the scientist’s change in façade. “You boy, you’re not so different from me are you? I preferred to kill my victims with salves in their raw forms, but that’s not really a huge difference at all now, hmm?”

            “Be quiet! I’m nothing like you. You’re foul, you’re a monster.”

            “Don’t be so foolish. You have a pretty face, but those are the eyes of a killer. Why, they’re perhaps your most striking feature.”

            Angelo pulled his knife into view and held it firmly to the man’s throat. Was it the cold, or the illness that was making him shiver, or was he letting Qada’s words get to him?

            “One more word like that out of you, and I start cutting things off.”

            Qada just grinned. “The duchy are going to kill me, you know. I’ve got the death penalty for my actions in Eisenberg. They say they were war crimes. Hmph. I would disagree. Regardless, there’s no point in waving that knife around. Do you really want to sully your pretty hands with the blood of a dead man?”

            “Hah. I was sent by the Shieldbearers to prevent exactly that. Goodman thinks that the duchy disposing of garbage like you is a win for the Swordbearers. He’s paid me a lot of money to make sure it’s on his word that you meet your end.”

            “You hypocrite. You don’t see it, do you? The reason he hired you and not one of his own grunts? I kill for glory, and you do so for money. You avaricious fiend.” He started to laugh again. “I’m being killed by my own equal! How exhil-”

            Once more, Qada’s speech was cut off. Angelo plunged his blade into his throat, severing the windpipe and spattering his blood across the stone floor. He stirred feebly, unable to scream in pain.

            “I’m not like you. I’ve made myself clear. I don’t do this for money. I don’t enjoy this.” He shifted his position, and thrust the knife into Qada’s back. “The world just needs less people like you in it. That’s all.” He drew the knife out and stabbed again, and again, until he stopped moving, and the pool of blood had grown so huge that there was no way he could survive.

            It wasn’t until he stood again, and looked down at the dead man who had taken the lives of so many, that he realised he had forgotten to breathe. His head was still spinning as he stumbled his way out of the dungeons, and by the time he’d squirmed his way back into the suit of armour – not wanting to leave a trail of blood as he walked back to the city – he felt positively nauseous. By the time he got back to Eternia, he couldn’t stop sneezing. If only he wasn’t covered in blood under his disguise, he could probably have sampled some of the city’s famous remedies, but he decided it was probably safer to carry the cold back to Gathelatio. Aimee was waiting for him at one of the inns there, insistent of at least following him into the country, even though they had decided it would be safest if only one of them travelled north.

            It was the first time he had taken an assignment on without her ever since they’d first met. Even when he’d left Florem, adamant that she should stay, she had refused to leave his side. As the months had gone by, he'd been trying to distance himself from her, but even as their relationship began to weaken, she still stood by him. It was certainly odd not having her around. He thought it would be liberating, but it was almost dull without her. Maybe even a little lonely…

            He shook his head quickly, as though he wanted to dislodge the thought from his mind. Those were exactly the kinds of feelings he was trying to avoid.

Year 2404 (Seventeen Years Old) – Heaven

            “We held a memorial service for him. Janne said you didn’t want to come…”

            “Janne never asked.”

            Angelo bit his lip, watching the petals on the bouquet at his feet flutter gently in the sea breeze, partially obscuring the plaque beneath them.

            ‘Here remains the lasting memory of Denys Geneolgia, also known as Kaiser Oblivion, who nobly sacrificed his life so that his friends and family may live on and create the peaceful world he dreamed of.’

            “Please forgive us.”

            Angelo didn’t know how to respond. He realised that this was the first time he had ever had an extensive conversation with the Wizard, Bella, and he was not accustomed to dealing with her. Especially not when they stood over the memorial dedicated to a man they both owed so much to.

            “Janne is abhorrent. I think I’d rather blame him.” He gave an awkward laugh, but the woman’s expression did not change. “I guess I didn’t know the Kaiser that well anyway. I didn’t even know he was a Geneolgia.”

            Bella shook her head. “Very few of us did.” Her lips barely moved when she spoke, but there was no doubt that he was speaking to her, and not the doll she always used as a mouthpiece whenever he saw her in passing.

            The memorial plaque was just outside the stately manor house of Geneolgia that shadowed the city of Gathelatio in its size and power, and it was as he was descending the steps leading away from the house that Angelo had spotted Bella’s unforgettable shrouded appearance. It took him a couple of minutes to assure himself that he wasn’t seeing a ghost, for he had been under the impression that she had been killed in battle. As it happened, he had been completely misinformed.

            “I am keeping Cù Chulainn waiting. I should go.” She announced in a deadpan tone, breaking the long period of uncomfortable silence.

            “Uh, right. You shouldn’t make him wait and all that…” Angelo nodded.

As she turned to leave, he added something as an afterthought:

            “Please come by whenever you’re in Gathelatio. We – Aimee and I, that is to say – are opening a bakery here and I, um… I think she’d really appreciate it if you would stay in touch with her.”

            Bella's painted lips turned upwards into a grin. Donna the doll sprung to life in her hands and began to speak.

            “We’re soooOooo glad you’ve come to your senseeeees.”

            “Aimee deserves happiness, so would have hexed you if you hadn’t.” Bella added in her normal voice.

            “I don’t –”

            “Goodbye Panettone. Until we meet again.”

***

“ – but yes, she was just as weird as ever, but very much alive,” Angelo said, casting a glance at Aimee, who was stood next to him. She was still hacking at a piece of meat for him to use in that night’s dinner, but was doing so with little enthusiasm – nothing like she had been mere minutes ago.

            “I’m glad they’re alive. Sucks about the Kaiser though.”

            “Mmm. And the fact that Janne had the cheek to exclude us from the funeral.” Angelo sighed deeply, tightening his grip on his mixing bowl. “The man saved our lives – twice – and this is how we found out he had died.”

            “Would’a been nice to pay our respects. Next time I see Janne, I’m gonna fuck him up.” Aimee drove the meat cleaver into the food with such force that Angelo almost dropped his spoon.

            “I’ll watch your back whenever that is, but the kitchen doesn’t deserve that kind of punishment.”

            “We ain’t stayin’ here anyway.”

            “True…”

            “I won’t abuse the house when we get to Gathelatio, how’s that sound?”

            “I’m sure the house will take its fair share of beatings regardless of where we stay. You’re a rough fighter.”

            Aimee shrugged. “That’s all on you, buddy. I can’t help but be rough when my sparrin’ partner’s so much bigger than me.”

            “Perhaps when we meet the Eternians, I’ll just smile at them and then you shoot them while they’re distracted. That will save us a lot of unnecessary furniture repair costs.”

            She laughed. “I know that’d work on most people. Not sure about those bastards though.”

            She pushed the chopped meat towards Angelo, who began to pile it into the pie base he had been preparing.

            “You make this a lot quicker. I actually quite dislike preparing savoury dishes. They’re an inaccurate representation of my talents.”

            “I can’t cook for shit. I guess I could learn though.”

            “Why would you want to? You hate cooking, and you have me.”

            “Uh…” Aimee began poking at the groove she had left in the countertop. “Like I’m gonna let you do all the work. You got me thinkin’, there’s gonna be a lot more demand for your cakes up in Gathelatio. It’s huge port town, and every time I’ve seen it, the place has been packed with traders an’ stuff.”

            “I suppose you’re right about that. With no monsters to contend with like here, tourists are going to be clamouring for a taste of my delicacies.” He pushed his hair back from his face and grinned.

            “Not if yer too tired to make ‘em.”

            “Oh. I see what you’re getting at. It’s alright though, you don’t need-”

            “How about you let me help you out every once in a while? This goes in the oven now, yeah?” She pointed to the food.

            “Mmhmm.”

            “Yer blushin’ real hard right now, by the way.” She teased him as she crossed over to the oven. Her relief that Angelo had already prepared it was almost palpable, as both of them knew she had no idea what she was doing.

            “I know…” He pressed a hand to his face to try and suppress his grin. He had a feeling he looked like an idiot already, and didn’t want to make it worse. “You’re being so good to me… It’s so… So sweet of you.”

             Angelo’s talents undoubtedly extended to having a way with words that could charm anybody almost as effectively as his cakes, but the security he brought through his words was fabricated to make people bend to his will. He could make things up with no problems at all, but he had always had trouble articulating his actual feelings. He had an awful lot of friends and allies who had died before he had the chance to give them the acknowledgement they deserved – the Kaiser perhaps most of all. He’d been close to Aimee – regardless of whether he was willing to address that or not – for nearly five years, and he still found it hard to tell her how he felt sometimes.

            He supposed she’d probably figured him out by that point, however, as she beamed at him and wrapped her arms around his waist, moving across the room so quickly that he’d barely seen it happen, and in the process sending her hat flying when it collided with his chest. Still smiling, he hugged her back.

            “Idiot. Of course I am – it’s the least I can do after everythin’ you’ve ever done for me. An’ I love you. That’s more than enough reason to give ya all the support I can.” She nestled her head into him. “You don’t mind, right?” She added, with a little more urgency in her tone.

            “Heavens, no! I mean… I appreciate every little thing you’ve ever done for me. I know I haven’t shown it in the past, but I assure you, I’ll support you every bit as much – no, wait. Double the amount. To make up for the past few years.”

            “Thank you, darlin’. Really, thanks.”

            “And like you said, it really is the least I can do as well. I love you too, Aimee. I love you so very much."

***

            “Angelo? Were you having a bad dream again?”

            “Yeah…” he replied when he had managed to catch his breath. “The same one… Every time.”

            “I gathered. You okay?”

            “I’ll be fine.”

            He rubbed his neck, which was oddly stiff, and surveyed the room with his eyes. After they had eaten, he and Aimee had started packing some of their things for the move to Gathelatio, and judging by the large crate in front of him, he supposed he must have fallen asleep. Tiredness was just a normal part of their lives ever since the dreams had started. Any sleep they could get was valued.

            He felt something soft but heavy fall on his back as Aimee draped one of their blankets over him, before snuggling under it herself and placing her head on his shoulder.

            “I woulda thought beating Geneolgia up would get rid of ‘em…” she sighed. “Guess not.”

            “Hmm, technically he beat us up. Maybe we should challenge the brat again when we next meet, and see if that helps?”

            “Sounds good to me.”

            “Oh… But we owe the Geneolgia household so much. Also, isn’t he technically our boss now?”

            “Huh, yer right. Shit…”

            “And we owe his brother a lot too.”

            “We do?”

            “Oh, uh… I didn’t tell you? Kaiser Oblivion’s real name… It was Geneolgia. Denys, or something like that.”

            Aimee didn’t say anything for a while. Angelo frowned. Was this her way of grieving? It wasn’t like her to be so quiet and subdued, and it brought a pang of guilt to his chest. How many times had he been so completely oblivious that he hadn’t realised she was hurting? He’d been so self-centred for so long that it hadn’t even occurred to him that she was genuinely in love with him. He’d been so stubborn that it took mental torture – in the forms of these nightmares – to realise he was in love with her as well. It didn’t seem unlikely that he had missed this along with everything else.

             Just thinking about his behaviour over the past few years made him cringe. He'd been so overcome with his own cowardice that he'd turned foul, treating the people who loved and admired him like dirt for some selfish desire to protect himself. He was ashamed, and he knew just how lucky he was that Aimee had never given up on him. Not only had she stuck through that dark time of unpleasantness with him, but she'd also been so supportive of his endeavours of self-improvement in the recent months. He slid his arm around her and told himself that he would never disrespect her again.

            “Maybe Yew will know what we can do to repay him. Think I’ll ask him, instead of shooting him.”

            Angelo smiled, and held her closer. “Do whatever you think will help.”

            “Yeah. I suppose we better make amends with the Glanz Empire before we get our revenge on the duchy as well. Just so nothin’ is left undone if we fail.”

            “Yes. We need to let Divinia know we’re alright as well. She’ll be worried; we just up and vanished. There's something I need to tell her anyway,” he stated. The Geneolgia brothers had made him realise just how awfully he had treated her as well,  after everything she'd done for him, and he knew he needed to apologise, even if it was hard to admit out loud. He breathed deeply. “Aaah, we’ve got a lot of things to put right. So that means we’ve got a lot more life to live. This mission might mean our ends, but our families deserve to be avenged, so… We just have to do everything we need to do while we still have the chance.”

            “Yeah. I need to see the Venus sisters, and put things right for my people. I don’t wanna die, but it’s somethin’ I gotta do.”

            “I don’t want to die either. But I won’t rest easy until I’ve faced the Black Blades for what they did to me.”

            “That’s years away though, right? We can’t go throwin’ our lives away this young. Neither of us have even turned eighteen yet, we’re still nothin’ more than a couple o’ dumb-ass kids. So we don’t have to rush or nothin’. There are things I definitely wanna do before I die, and I wanna do ‘em with you.”

            “What kind of things?”

            Aimee smirked. “Stay alive, and you’ll find out.”

            “Seems reasonable,” Angelo laughed. “I suppose I better do just that then. I’m not dying on you. And you’re not dying on me. That’s how we’re going to support each other.”

            “Aaah, yer the best. I love ya, darlin’.”

            “I love you too… My sweet little sugarcake.”

            She wrapped her arms around him tightly and nuzzled his face. He smiled contentedly and pressed his lips to the top of her head, closing his eyes and letting that moment take over like nothing else mattered in the world.

            They spent the rest of the evening in each other’s arms, sharing kisses and stories about nothing in particular until Aimee eventually dozed off on him. Angelo’s arm was dead at this point, but he didn’t really care. He was too content to notice. And regardless of how numb he was, or the fact that he couldn’t move if he wanted to, he had assured himself that if Aimee needed him when she woke up, he would be there for her.

            It was all he could do for the person who had made his life so much more complete. She was the sole reason that, even though he had no idea what his future held, or even if he had a future at all, he could die happy, knowing for certain that he could say he had been to Heaven.

[animationnut]

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 21

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls. 

                                                   Chapter List

To: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Stanford Pines (Highsixer); Stanley Pines (StantheMan); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick)

Subject: Greatest snowman to ever exist

1 Attachment (Photo File)

This wicked snowstorm means no school, and no school means complete freedom. My brothers and I worked together to build this snowman, which is totally the best snowman ever created and you can't tell me otherwise.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Mabel Pines: Oh my gosh! It's amazing! How much tape did you need to use to get it to hold up the axe?

Wendy Corduroy: About two rolls. But it's okay. They look like bandages covering a really nasty wound.

Dipper Pines: Whose ushanka did you steal to give it a hat?

Wendy Corduroy: My brothers had to draw straws. Glen lost.

Stanley Pines: You don't know how much I wish I was in Gravity Falls right now. Soos, take a baseball bat to it!

Soos Ramirez: No way, Mr. Pines. Snowmen have a right to exist too.

Wendy Corduroy: Don't be jealous just because you know you could never craft a good a snowman as mine.

Stanford Pines: I suppose you know what you're about to start with a comment like that.

Stanley Pines: It's on, Missy. I'll make a snowman that'll kick yours to the curb and steal its wallet.

Stanford Pines: I'll admit you've always been creative, but your crafting skills have never been up to par.

Soos Ramirez: Mr. Pines made all the exhibits at the gift shop. He's the best crafter there is.

Stanley Pines: You tell him, Soos. Poindexter may be able to invent weird gadgets, but he knows nothing about artsmanship.

Stanford Pines: First of all, that's not a word. Second of all, you don't need to be a genius (which I am) to beat you in a snowman building contest.

Wendy Corduroy: Ah yeah! Here comes the smack-down! My entry is already done. Feel free tearing each other apart for my entertainment. I've clearly won.

Soos Ramirez: Your lumberjack snowman is pretty rad, but I've been building snowmen for years. Abuelita said I was the best at it. Dunno if you can beat that.

Stanley Pines: All right Ford, looks like we're making a detour to a wintry place. I've got some hopeful souls to crush. Especially yours.

Mabel Pines: Woo-hoo! Let the games begin!

School bag slung over one shoulder, Dipper entered the kitchen to retrieve a can of soda from the fridge. He popped the tab with one hand while he used the other to dig his phone out of his pocket. He read through Wendy's email to see the comments made after his, eyebrow raising.

"Mabel, encouraging them makes it worse!"

His sister appeared in the entryway, Waddles skittering behind her on the hardwood floor. "They would have turned it into a competition anyway. I'm just showing my support."

Dipper sat down at the kitchen table and dropped his bag to rest by his sock-clad feet. He studied the picture Wendy had attached to her e-mail again, grinning at the ice and snow creation that loomed a head taller than the redheaded female. There was a dark brown ushanka pulled over the top, smallest snowball, a pair of acorns for eyes, a broken handle of a pick for a nose and the metal handle (from what Dipper assumed to be the same pick) for the mouth. There was a red plaid wool jacket shrugged over the middle snowball and through the arms of the jacket were two thick pieces of chopped wood. At the ends of the wood were frayed white work gloves. Attached to the right glove was an axe, held in place by black tape.

"Isn't it cool?" sighed Mabel wistfully, peering over her brother's shoulder. "I like California, but the problem is that we don't get snow days. While we were doing math Wendy was making a snowman."

"How cruel life can be," quipped Dipper.

Mabel poked the back of his neck. "Come on. As much as you love school you'd love a snow day."

"I would," Dipper failed to deny. "But that's not going to happen. We'll just have admire the snowmen from afar and be with them in spirit."

Propping her chin against the top of Dipper's head, Mabel wondered, "What do you think Grunkle Ford will build?"

"Probably something to do with his research. If he doesn't do a life-size sculpture of the abominable snowman I am going to be rather disappointed."

"Grunkle Stan?"

The two fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment. After a while, Dipper replied, "I honestly couldn't begin to imagine. But I doubt it'll be appropriate."

To: Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Stanley Pines (StantheMan); Stanford Pines (Highsixer)

From: Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

Subject: Behold the beauty

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Yo, dudes.

No offense, Wendy, your snowman was super cool, but mine's super cooler. It sparkles and it has some oomph to it. I just wanna thank my inspiration for motivating my creativity. Couldn't have done it without you.

Soos out!

Lying on her back in the soft grass, Mabel splayed out, absorbing the sun's rays. Waddle laid across her stomach, nibbling at the hem of her light blue fleece sweater. Dipper was beside her, reclining against a looming oak tree, nose buried in a book. They were both distracted from their peaceful relaxing as their phones beeped in unison, alerting them to a notification.

Mabel grunted as she sat up, careful not to dislodge Waddles completely. She moved her sunglasses to rest on top of her head so she could get a better look at the screen. Her eyes lit up when she realized Soos had completed his entry in the impromptu snowman contest and eagerly clicked the attachment.

Positioned in front of the icicle-covered Mystery Shack was a life-size sculpture of Melody. The hair was made of strands of hay, packed closely together so that it seemed like it had density to it. A pair of sapphire-coloured plastic gems were used for eyes. A purple jacket hung on its arms and torso and somehow Soos had managed to attach a pair of jeans.

"Wow," said Dipper, eyes wide. "Abuelita was right. Soos is pretty dang good at building snowmen."

"You can't call this a snowman," protested Mabel. "It's a snow sculpture! It's gorgeous!"

"This is definitely going to be hard to beat," said Dipper with a grin.

Wendy Corduroy: Well dang.

Stanford Pines: That has more than just oomph, Soos. Melody must be very proud of this.

Soos Ramirez: Thanks, Mr. Pines! She loved it. But she wishes I would've asked before borrowing her clothes.

Mabel Pines: How did you get the jeans on?

Soos Ramirez: I built the legs first and then had to cut the jeans to fit them on properly. Figured it out after three tries.

Dipper Pines: Uh…does Melody know you ruined her jeans?

Soos Ramirez: Do you think she'll notice?

Stanley Pines: Eh. It's not bad.

Mabel Pines: Are you crazy? It's fantastic!

Wendy Corduroy: Like you can do any better, Mr. Pines.

Stanley Pines: Don't take your bitterness out on me because you so clearly lost. Of course I can do better. Who do you think taught Soos everything he knows?

Stanford Pines: Which probably wasn't very much to begin with.

Stanley Pines: Sure, make fun. I'll be the one laughing when I cream the lot of you.

Dipper Pines: He's got a plan. Those never turn out well.

Mabel Pines: But they're always entertaining!

Soos Ramirez: Good luck Mr. Pines! And Mr. Pines!

Wendy Corduroy: Yeah. This is going to end in disaster—and hilarity.

The voice of her teacher droning in her ears, Mabel's pen scrawled against her paper as she took notes. The shooting star charm of her bracelet clattered softly against the surface of her desk as she moved her wrist back and forth. Heaving a quiet sigh, she shifted her gaze to the clock hanging above the door. There was still an hour before school let out and her brain had already decided to quit for the day.

Mabel paused halfway through her writing of science notes when she felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. She peeked over at the teacher, who was facing the chalkboard as he lectured. She positioned her textbook so that it was blocking most of her desk from his sight. She slipped out her cell and held it behind her makeshift barricade, tapping on the e-mail icon.

She grinned widely when she discovered the sender of the e-mail and looked over at her brother, who sat diagonally from her. Dipper gave her a side glance of disapproval, which evaporated when she mouthed 'Grunkle Stan'. His curiosity too great, he did the rare act of taking out his cell in class, tucking his textbook into his lap and keeping the device cloaked behind it.

Stan had sent the e-mail a couple of class periods ago, meaning that they must have missed the initial notification and succeeding ones as their friends commented. The latest remark on Stan's snowman entry finally caught their attention and Mabel could not stop the burst of surprised laughter from escaping.

Turning around, her teacher said sharply, "Do you have something funny to share with the rest of the class, Miss Pines?"

Mabel shook her head, cheeks red not from embarrassment but suppressed mirth. "No sir," she managed to choke out. "Sorry. Just thinking to myself."

Eyes narrowing slightly, he returned to the lesson as their peers gave her odd, sneering looks before going back to their own work, whether it be meticulous notetaking or lazy doodling. Dipper's shoulders were shaking from laughter, his head ducked down as he pretended to focus on the text in their science book. Mabel bit down on her bottom lip and glanced at her phone, staring at the snowman Stan had constructed.

It was a replica of himself made out of snow, wearing his wool beanie, what looked to be grey cloth from a mop making up his hair. Apart from that, the only other article of clothing this Stan snowman was wearing was a speedo. The snowman itself was positioned in the pose of the Thinker. Stan left few details out of his wintry work of art.

Mabel rested her head on the surface of her desk, silent tears of laughter trailing down her cheeks.

To: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Stanford Pines (Highsixer)

From: Stanley Pines (StantheMan)

Subject: Now THIS is beauty

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Soos making a snow sculpture of Melody is sweet and all, sure. And let's not even get to Wendy's mundane attempt. I present to you the greatest snowman (and snow sculpture) ever created. Bask in his glory.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Wendy Corduroy: Oh. My. Gosh.

Soos Ramirez: Wow. It's a great likeness!

Wendy Corduroy: No. Do not support him with this one. He's a lunatic.

Stanford Pines: I promise you I had no idea what he was up to. If I had the slightest inkling, I would have knocked him out.

Stanley Pines: What's wrong with him?

Stanford Pines: IT, Stanley. A snowman is an 'it'.

Stanley Pines: Then why do they call them snowmen?

Wendy Corduroy: We're not getting off-topic this time. Why, for the love of everything, did you build a snowman of yourself without a shirt, pants, and too-small underwear?

Stanley Pines: It's artistic! Like those life painting classes or whatever. Besides, there's no greater beauty than myself.

Soos Ramirez: It's really detailed.

Wendy Corduroy: Way too detailed. And I've seen this guy in his boxers multiple times. I've seen Soos in his underwear for crying out loud. But this is way more traumatizing.

Stanley Pines: Keep on talking. I've spent my life dealing with jealousy. It just rolls of my shoulders now.

Wendy Corduroy: You are so full of it.

Stanford Pines: Right. I'm off to destroy it.

Stanley Pines: DON'T YOU DARE.

Dipper Pines: I can't believe we're related.

Mabel Pines: No offense, Grunkle Stan, but the only bathing suit I ever wanted to see you in was your old man one-piece.

Soos Ramirez: I didn't know he owned a speedo.

Wendy Corduroy: Now we all know, unfortunately.

Dipper Pines: I thought I was traumatized before. I was wrong. My consolation is that at least it's just a snow-version of him.

Soos Ramirez: It's a good ice model, though.

Wendy Corduroy: If you can look past all of…that, then I guess that it's okay. Explains where Mabel gets her artistic skills, in any case. But seriously, when did this snowman contest become an intricately-carved snow/ice sculpture contest?

Dipper Pines: Well, Soos took it up to the next level, and I think Grunkle Stan would have done this regardless. Wished you hadn't started this whole thing now?

Wendy Corduroy: Nah. I still think my snowman is the best. It's a twist on a classic.

Soos Ramirez: I think mine is the best. But that's just me, dude.

Mabel Pines: Yours is really good. But Grunkle Stan added moles to his snowman.

Wendy Corduroy: What? Like the mole he has on—?

Wendy Corduroy: OH MY GOSH HE DID HE MANAGED TO INCLUDE THE MOLE!

Dipper Pines: Mabel stop laughing! You're going to get us in trouble!

Dipper Pines: Too late.

Mabel Pines: Delete all evidence! Teacher incoming!

To: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Stanley Pines (StantheMan); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Stanford Pines (Highsixer)

Subject: The original snowman

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Wendy's snowman was certainly a childhood classic, and Soos' was a touching tribute to his girlfriend, I have crafted the original snowman. It is a replica of the creature that roams mountains, causing mysterious disappearances of hikers and skiers. Its existence dates long before the discovery of the recreational activity of building figures out of snow.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Stanley Pines: You didn't mention my snowman.

Stanford Pines: Obviously.

Stanley Pines: Hmph. At least I know how to have fun without turning everything into some boring lesson. Seriously, the abominable snowman?

Dipper Pines: Called it. Very good choice, by the way.

Mabel Pines: You made it really tall!

Stanford Pines: Yes, I tried to make it as life-like as possible. It was difficult using a ladder in this icy climate.

Stanley Pines: He fell off of it at least three times. You should see the black eye he got.

Wendy Corduroy: Wow. Is that actual hair you used?

Stanford Pines: You'd be surprised by how much llama hair is shed.

Wendy Corduroy: I'd ask where you are but it would probably be best if I didn't know.

Soos Ramirez: Dude. That's pretty scary.

Dipper Pines: It is pretty realistic. Have you ever seen the abominable snowman, Grunkle Ford?

Stanford Pines: Not yet, but I hope to encounter it soon. However, I've done quite a bit of research and come to the conclusion that this is an accurate representation.

Mabel Pines: You guys are really great when it comes to snowman.

Wendy Corduroy: I could argue with that, but I won't. So which one of us wins?

Stanley Pines: Isn't it obvious?

Mabel Pines: How about we take a vote?

Dipper Pines: Where you have to vote for someone else. You can't vote for yourself.

Wendy Corduroy: I guess that works.

Soos Ramirez: I'm in. But do I have to vote now? This is kinda a tough decision.

Stanford Pines: We can cast our votes tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.

Wendy Corduroy: Our time zone or yours? Wherever you are.

Stanford Pines: Yours.

Stanley Pines: Deal.

Dipper Pines: Then we'll find out the winner tomorrow.

Mabel Pines: May the best snow creation win!

Dipper shook his head in amusement as he set his phone on the coffee table situated in front of the couch. "I have a feeling it might be between Soos and Grunkle Ford. Those two took it up a notch."

"I love Grunkle Stan, but I don't think anyone is going to be able to get rid of that mental image," said Mabel with a giggle.

She studied the picture of Ford's snowman, a towering mass of snow carved in the shape of the yeti. Llama hair covered every inch of the creature, black coals acting as eyes, peering ominously from a curtain of white hair. Icicles hung from the armpits and arms, the hands and feet massive in order to be in proportion to the body.

"It's not fair," she lamented, getting to her knees so she could look over the edge of the couch through the living room window. "They can play in the snow and we just got a rainstorm last night."

"It's a mud wonderland," agreed Dipper. Their entire front yard was damp and soft, the grass nearly swallowed by the thick brown mud. "Too bad there's no such thing as a mudman."

There was a pause as the twins were struck by the same idea. With a beaming smile, Mabel jumped to the floor and declared, "Let's go, brother of mine!"

"We'll make the greatest mudmen in history!" cheered Dipper.

They spared a moment to shrug on their boots and rain slickers before charging out into the misty afternoon. It took a half hour to decide what they should craft and they soon got to work. They gathered piles of mud with shovels and packed it together with their bare hands. For two hours they sloshed about in the mud, hair sticking to their foreheads and boots caking with dirt and grass.

"There!" exclaimed Mabel, wiping droplets of water from her skin and leaving a streak of mud. "It's brilliant!"

Dipper removed his phone from his pants pocket and snapped a picture of the scene. There were seven mud figures rising from the ground, and though they weren't perfect they were identifiable. There was Wendy with her ushanka, which Dipper had removed from his head temporarily, Ford with a long beige jacket, which Mabel had dug from their father's closet, Stan with his tuxedo jacket, tie and eyepatch that Dipper found from their old Halloween costumes, Soos with his green T-shirt and a question mark drawn on it, Waddles in the middle, and on either side of the mud-pig were sculptures of Dipper and Mabel. Dipper had found one of his old hats and vests to use on his mud counterpart, and Mabel had managed to affix a knit jacket and sparkly headband to hers.

"Who says we need snow to have fun?" laughed Dipper. He then looked around the yard, which now bore holes and dips from their effort to gather as much mud as possible. "Uh…as great as this is, we better put the mud back before Mom and Dad come home to find the yard torn up."

To: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick)

From: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

Subject: Mud Shack crew

1 Attachment (Photo File)

It's almost time to vote! But before the inevitable fight begins about who deserves to win, Mabel and I make our unofficial contribution with our mudmen. I present the Mud Shack crew, complete with a mud version of Waddles. We may not have snow, but we learn to work with what we have.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Soos Ramirez: Mud looks pretty good on me.

Wendy Corduroy: Dudes. That's pretty sweet. But yo, you're gonna wash my hat, right?

Dipper Pines: Maybe.

Grunkle Ford: I don't think I've seen soil used in such a way before.

Grunkle Stan: Talk about making the most of your environment.

Mabel Pines: I'm going to have mud in my ears for weeks, but it was worth it!

Grunkle Ford: How exactly did you manage to get mud in your ears?

Mabel Pines: I slipped and fell. A few dozen times.

Dipper Pines: We are hopelessly snowless, so we found our own way to contribute to the contest—just for fun, anyway. Are you guys ready to vote?

Wendy Corduroy: Yup.

Soos Ramirez: Totally.

Grunkle Stan: Let's start it, then.

Grunkle Ford: Why don't you kids start?

Dipper Pines: Sure. I vote for Wendy. Her snowman may not be extravagant, but it's a classic snowman, which I think was sort of the point before Soos took it to the next level.

Mabel Pines: And that's why I'm voting for Soos! His snow sculpture of Melody was really sweet and pretty, and I like that he took a different route.

Wendy Corduroy: I vote for Dipper and Mabel, because I look pretty rad as a mud sculpture.

Dipper Pines: Wait, what?

Soos Ramirez: I vote for the little dudes. It was hard making a snow sculpture, so it must have been twice as hard to make what they did.

Mabel Pines: But this is a snowman contest. We didn't make ours out of snow.

Grunkle Stan: Who listens to the rules? Not me. You get my vote, kiddos. I think I look even better made out of mud.

Grunkle Ford: It's settled, then. Including my vote, that makes you the clear winners. Substituting mud for snow is allowed, since there is a lack of snow available to you and you used alternative resources.

Grunkle Stan: But next time we have a contest you can't participate so that I get a shot at participating.

Soos Ramirez: Next year we could have a snow fort building contest!

Wendy Corduroy: I don't think so. I thought I was competitive but ya'll take it to the extreme.

Grunkle Ford: Runs in the family.

Grunkle Stan: I'll annihilate you next time.

Mabel Pines: Sweet! We won, bro! We're champions of mudmen!

Dipper Pines: Not bad for the tender age of thirteen.

[genrechowderstudios]

Stepping away from the birthday cards, here we have a character from an invite card. No name as of yet. What do you think his name should be? - These are for invites, as I’ve previously stated, but you’d want a different vibe for a different event, wouldn’t you? So there are five feelings for the five different cards. That way, you can still have a retro manga style, and you won’t have to worry about sending a sassy, chic invite to little Billy’s sleepover. - I’ve mentioned this before, but despite the fact that this is essentially a oneshot character, I did want him to have a decent “character” to him. There’s not grandstanding sin in making a character look generic. Heck, sometimes, the lack of personal details might prevent distractions from the main point of the thing. But usually, a generic character feels like there’s something missing. Even if everything is rendered well, it always only seems to reach 80-90%. Without that special 10%, I dunno, it just falls flat. Whether or not I actually succeeded in adding that 10% will remain to be seen, but at least I tried~ . . . . . #drawing #artist #sketch #sketchbook #doodle #artistsoninstagram #wip #cartoon #retromanga #workinprogress #pencildrawing #sketches #concept #conceptsketch #creativeprocess #cartoonist #drawingsketch #characterdesign #cartoondrawing #boycharacter #smalleyes #retroaesthetic #hessupposedtolookexcitable #helookslowkeyasallgetout #genrechowderstudios https://www.instagram.com/p/BoOBBmTglzd/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=v055trfghe0z