#saderposting

[fourleafclovxr]

do you ever wonder about the function of academic subjects in SGE? like: how does studying literature work if their stories are limited to actual, real-life fairy tales? do people even write fiction (also applies to gavaldon. are their only stories the ones in the fairytales. that's so sad)? is studying literature equivalent to studying history?

and yes, in the school for good and evil, it must be important to learn the practical skills: how to use magic and conduct yourself and stay alive. but what about critical thinking?

ANYWAY. this is my segway into the AU where august sader starts teaching media literacy, gets the students to question the stories, the system & the school master [basically what sophie & agatha do in the first book. good and evil as friends; as equals. but done by an Actual Adult], and overturns the underlying beliefs that govern the world of SGE.

also: inclusive education. i have a lot of thoughts about sader as a blind student during his school days, and how that shapes his teaching philosophy.

also: good teachers!! i similarly have a lot of thoughts about how sader must genuinely love history & how he might enable his students to do the same.

[cityglowing]

@saderplate7

dude i fucking love bagels

[fourleafclovxr]

(AU where the tale of sophie & agatha ends with the first book, rafal never stored his soul with evelyn, and sophie & agatha return to the school afterwards)

Not many people attend the funeral.

A few of Professor Sader's former students do, which is surprising. They're all historians and academics and authors, and they burn miniature copies of their books for him, raised dots shining on the paper. Some of them are familiar with the School for Good's vast grounds; some, those who were Never students, are not. But they close ranks like it doesn't matter at all.

Agatha learns, from Professor Dovey, that Professor Sader was a much more involved teacher before them. To Evers and Nevers alike. He'd distanced himself from their year; probably because he knew what was coming next. She sniffles a little as she says it.

Professor Sader's two older brothers are both there; both must be seventy at the least. The oldest, January, burns drawing paper and fine sets of paint, his face desolate. He speaks of Professor Sader like he raised his younger brother, and from what Professor Dovey says he practically did. How it must hurt, for your brother to leave you behind one final time.

His husband Matthew drops a stack of notes into the flames, the familiar dots glittering on the surface. He'll place a hand on Agatha's shoulder, later, and thank her for coming; tell her that Professor Sader was waiting for her, all this while. January will turn away, so Agatha doesn't have to see him cry.

July is the second brother, and he lingers a distance away from the casket. He doesn't burn anything, but he does step closer— just for a second— and whisper something Agatha doesn't want to hear.

Professor Sader has a sister, too. A half-sister. Her name is Evelyn, and Professor Dovey speaks of her with a quiet exhaustion. She taught at the School once. She doesn't return: not to see her brothers, not to say goodbye.

But one of her sons does. Rhian, he says softly when Professor Dovey asks. He looks very much like Professor Sader did; maybe that's why the adults can't bear to look at him, at the Sader who still has his whole life ahead of him. He never knew his uncle. January sent them the invitation anyway. His twin brother Japeth hadn't seen the need to go; but Rhian had always wanted a family.

The Sader brothers are kind to him. But they don't look at him. He goes to stand next to Agatha instead, like some odd pair of cousins. She doesn't object.

Who else? Not even the faculty attend. Most of them made no secret that they thought him insane. There's Professor Dovey, of course, and Lady Lesso by her side, for once silent. They each burn little paper models of houses: Professor Dovey's is a model of his rooms in the School, and Lady Lesso's is a replica of the Library of Virtue.

Then there's Callis. Agatha hadn't even known they knew each other. But she received an invitation from January, along with Agatha's, and their whole twisting story had come out. Their mutual respect, as researchers, as academics. Their friendship. The way Professor Sader had saved Callis' life, given her a way out of the Woods, just as he'd saved Agatha's. Just as he'd saved the School. Callis burns him paper clovers, the smoke reflecting in her gaze, curling up into the distant sky.

And Agatha rounds it off. She hadn't known Professor Sader, not really. But he'd known her. He'd cared.

He might have been something like a father to her, in some other life.

Just not this one.

She burns her copy of The Tale of Sophie and Agatha for him. She'd transcribed it, with Callis' help, into those patterns of raised dots. Professor Sader had never gotten to read it. He'd given his life for it. She thinks he's owed at least this much.

Thank you, she says quietly to him, as the smoke rises. She hopes that he can hear. She'll make sure people remember that it's his story, too.

[fourleafclovxr]

2: afterword

...The Tale of Sophie and Agatha is not a conventional one by any means. Whoever heard of a Reader dreaming not of fame and glory, but of going home? Whoever heard of Readers claiming to be placed in the wrong School?

Whoever heard of a princess and a witch, friends?

There are rules to the fairy-tale world, as I am sure most of you know very well; indeed, even if you have never learned them, or been taught them, they become quickly apparent. The Evil attack, the Good defend. The Evil hate, the Good love. And so on, and so forth.

The Tale of Sophie and Agatha is one that breaks all of these rules, in some way or another. There are those who will condemn our Readers for it. Those who believe that there is only one way to be Good or Evil, and those who believe that these ideals of Good and Evil must be upheld. Those who are unwilling to change.

I would like to remind our audience of two things. First, that our idea of Good and Evil today is shaped by the School Master Rafal’s original sin: to kill the brother he promised to love. That sin was a transgression against the true heart of the Woods. It was never meant to be.

It was not so long ago that Good and Evil existed in harmony, in all their shades of black and white and grey. We were not always sworn to be enemies. Indeed, we were once as close as siblings, as brothers.

The tale you have just read ends like this: with students Good and Evil become all the same, their pastel and black uniforms melting into silver. A divide crossed. A sin forgiven. A story closed.

It is time for us to move on.

The second thing I would like to remind you of: that we loved each other once, and that we can love each other again. I do not believe Good and Evil have to be enemies, or that one is better than the other. We have no duty to take up arms against each other; to turn love into hate, to recreate the original sin that led us to where we are today.

Love is not something that is inherently Good. It is something that is inherently human. It is something that we can always choose.

I hope that you, all of you, are able to make that choice.

Finally, to my students, Agatha and Sophie: it is my honour to die for you. It is my hope that you live in my place. Live freely, with no reservations. Live in whatever way you might want.

It is my hope that things will be different from now on. Let this be the tale to end all tales. Let this be the start of something better.

The future is in your hands.

Signed: August A. Sader

This afterword to The Tale of Sophie and Agatha has been published posthumously, together with the tale, as requested in Professor August Sader’s final will and testament.

We carry his hopes with us.

Signed: Dean Dovey, School for Good; Dean Lesso, School for Evil

[fourleafclovxr]

8: hewn

Only one teacher is allowed into the Theatre of Tales, the night before the Circus of Talents. The rest are locked in their rooms, doors spelled shut with a magic far older and more powerful than their own, for all the Dean of Good might try.

But August Sader walks unrestricted in the School; Rafal could not keep him trapped if he tried. Not that he would try. There’s an old analogy about two birds. One that has every luxury in the world, but is kept in a locked cage. Another that has nothing, except for its freedom to come and go as it pleases. The first will fly away as soon as it is able. The second will always come back home.

August is still unsure of which, exactly, Rafal sees him as. Or which he is.

Rafal must know that, in the end, they are not on the same side.

But he is kind to August, or if not kind, at least lenient with him in ways no one else is afforded. Of all his colleagues August alone is allowed the privilege of freely coming and going wherever he desires. He can go home, meet his brothers, meet their children— if they want to see him. He can visit his sister and her twins, Rafal’s twins— if she lets him. Most of the time she doesn’t. The last time he saw Rhian and Japeth was their eighth birthday, the year before Evelyn sent them off to Arbed House.

A lot of the freedoms Rafal allows him are not freedoms at all, really. August would not leave the School if he could help it. He likes it here, really, likes that he’s familiar with the winding steps and the ever-alike classrooms and the intersecting hallways, likes that he knows his way around.

More than that, this is his duty. This School; this post.

And this man, just a man, who knows full well August would never believe his mystique. The School Master is sparing with his name, but he’d given it to August freely: Rafal, or, as I was known before, Rhian. Call me Rafal. My dear brother was wrong about me. He’s dead, now.

August, who had written and animated his first draft of the Student’s History of the Woods about Rafal and Rhian, or the other way around— then promptly burned it— had only nodded. Rafal’s mask had glinted, a blur of silver in August’s vision. I look forward to working with you, my Seer, he’d said.

My Seer. Rafal has always treated him like a possession, a prize. Has always been so proud that August chose to come to him. It is something that is easy to resent.

And yet August chooses to come to him, even now. Chooses to sit and listen patiently as Rafal enchants wooden likenesses of dying princes, on the other side of the Theatre for Tales. He’s spelled them to die with choked-off screams and feeble declarations of Good, though August isn’t sure how they’re dying exactly. It would be disturbing, if they weren’t in a School quite literally raising children to kill each other in their fourth year.

August has been dreaming of these things for years. Before he knew what they were.

He’s been dreaming of Rafal for longer. He knows all this already.

One last scream, and the room drifts mercifully into silence. Rafal turns, his boots clicking neatly on the floor as he makes his way back to the Good side of the theatre, cape sweeping over the floor with more flair than ever necessary.

He comes to a stop in front of August; offers his arm, fingers brushing August’s shoulder. There is not much August can do other than take it, gripping his cane firmly as Rafal pulls him to his feet. Rafal’s hands are, as always, ice-cold.

“You never have anything to say,” Rafal says lightly, half-complaining. “Perhaps this is the year my art finally gets through to you.”

“Our dearly beloved School Master,” August says, acerbic. “An artist. Perhaps you should pursue that, instead.”

“I could say the same about you, my dearly beloved Seer,” Rafal laughs. He seems happy to have gotten a rise out of August at all.

They pause just in front of the wall. August brushes his fingers over the carvings with a gentle touch; the carved knights cough and cry as he does. It’s good workmanship. Rafal has had a hundred years to improve on it, after all. But it’s not a very pleasant experience.

He says as much. “It’s not supposed to be,” Rafal replies, “they’re Evil.” He guides August to a carving of… some monster, or another, one that roars under his touch, spitting a burst of burning sparks. August tugs his hand back reproachfully. Rafal laughs, again.

“I’ll enchant something nicer for Good,” he promises. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Our first Good Seer in generations. Our first Seer with any sort of allegiance.” His voice strays dark as he completes the thought.

“You know very well why I have an allegiance,” August says mildly. It’s his duty; to kill Rafal. There is only one way this story ends.

“We could have been such good friends,” Rafal sighs. “You and I. But then I suppose we would have no reason to be.” He hooks his arm through August’s once again. They play at closeness, the two of them. Or Rafal does, at any rate.

They move to the crystal freizes, on Good’s side of the Theatre. They must be lovely, like everything to do with Good is. The stained glass is pleasantly cool under August’s fingers; he makes out the outline of a rose in bloom.

“I’m thinking of having them bloom as the students enter,” Rafal says idly. “No monsters here.”

“You just resent that Good keeps winning,” August sighs.

“I do,” Rafal admits openly. He has nothing to hide from August. He could not, either way. “There are more carvings, lower down, if you care for them.”

August nudges at the base of the wall with his cane, curious; he kneels to feel the raised patterns. Textured feathers. There, a wing, another. Borne in flight.

“Swans,” Rafal provides. Of course. He’s more predictable than he thinks.

August moves his cane along the wall, then starts walking back towards the other side, cane knocking against the continuous loop of carvings. Twin swans hewn all around the Theatre. A reminder of a promise unfulfilled.

Rafal doesn’t usually care so much.

But, of course, this Circus is special.

“This will be the tale to end all tales,” the School Master says, almost to himself. “Won’t it, August?”

“I don’t take questions,” August says.

“This is what you’re here for, after all,” Rafal continues, as if August had never spoken at all. “What role are you going to play, I wonder? Will we have to be enemies?”

This is the second to last time they will ever meet each other. August has spent years knowing Rafal, years with the idea of him— the shadow of him— living in his head. It was never going to amount to anything more than this.

Will he fly free, out of this gilded cage? Or has he sworn himself to Rafal, and his tale, and his end? You go on, no matter the cost. Seers don’t speak of costs, they only speak of duty.

Either way, both of them are trapped.

“You know,” Rafal says. Almost wistful. “You know, if I had the chance, I would want it to be you.”

[fourleafclovxr]

new AU: rhian (sader-mistral) is a seer. the school master takes him away from arbed the year before sophie & agatha come to the school. he and august navigate a desperately messed up uncle-nephew relationship.

featuring, in no particular order:

rhian is a seer but he's not very good at it/not particularly gifted.. unlike august he has no clear picture of the future, and certainly not so far ahead. there's an arc about worth and self-worth here

'why is my weird uncle who i've never met kinder to me than my own mother' gee rhian! i wonder why!

august dislikes how the school master is using rhian, rhian tells him that they're in the same situation. something about rafal's possession, about his hunger for control.

rhian doesn't become a student at the school, but hovers vaguely in classes for both good and evil -> something to do with the myth of the Eagle. how it doesn't take sides.

(can be forced by rafal; or against his will)

kei is enrolled to the school for good as a 'gift' for rhian, from the SM. is he actually good? does it matter? i am a keian truther.

lesso asks them about aric/arbed house

instead of august being distant and cryptic, agatha just talks to rhian. they become buddies and rhian gets august to cut his martyr complex bullshit

rhian involves himself in housing the spirit of rhian the ex-school master (at the end of SGE). somehow this leads to no one dying. except maybe rafal

japeth and aric appear, At Some Point,

[fourleafclovxr]

11: your turn

“Your turn,” Agatha says. Someone raises their voice from the room below— high, piercing, ugly. It’s probably Rhian’s mother. Who thought Sader family reunions were a good idea?

“Hurry up, Rhian,” Japeth snaps. He’s in a bad mood today. Understandable, but so is Rhian, and he’s not taking it out on anyone.

He fumbles with his cards anyway. Agatha has just put down a yellow reverse card, throwing the direction of play right back at him; he puts down a yellow five, leaving Japeth to groan as he snatches a card from the draw pile.

“I’ll get you back for that,” he grumbles. It’s hard to tell whether he’s being serious. It’s been getting harder and harder these days.

“You can try,” Rhian retorts anyway, and Japeth snorts something like a half-laugh. A joke, then. It wasn’t very funny.

It’s Agatha’s turn, again. “Uno,” she says, as she slaps down a blue five, brandishing her one last card triumphantly. “I’m going to win.”

Rhian eyes his own hand of ten cards, then Japeth’s with twelve after Agatha had hit him with a double plus four. “It’s not like you have very steep competition,” he points out.

“Not all of us listened to everything Mom told us to do, Rhian,” Japeth says, rolling his eyes. “I played Uno with my friends in primary school. You’re the only first-time player here.”

“Your friend,” Rhian coughs. He gets an elbow to the stomach and a dark scowl for the trouble. Not his fault it’s true. But he’s going to have a bruise on his ribs for a good few days.

“Like you’re any better,” Japeth hisses. “You and Kei.”

“Yeah, but Kei isn’t crazy,” Rhian mutters.

“Okay, I get that this is very much not my area of expertise,” Agatha intervenes, “or my business, but if you guys are going to kill each other, can you wait until we finish playing? Because I want to win.”

“You’re weirdly chill about this,” Rhian says, even as Japeth subsides into an angry silence.

“My best friend tried to ruin my life in first year,” Agatha offers. “I know a lot about crazy friends. Or, you know. Only having one friend. Not to rush you, but it’s your turn again.”

No blue cards, no fives. Rhian shrugs and picks another card off the draw pile. Plus two. Nice. “Right. Nice talking with you.”

“Good talk,” Agatha agrees. Japeth slaps a blue skip card onto the pile, and it’s back to Rhian again, who takes another card in due resignation.

“I’m going to catch up,” Japeth mutters, “just you wait,” and puts another blue card down.

There’s the sound of something breaking downstairs. Agatha pauses, hand halfway towards the draw pile, and Rhian and Japeth exchange tense looks. Again, with feeling: who thought a Sader family reunion was a good idea?

Uncle August, that’s who. Rhian has nothing against the man; he’s likeable, and he’s kind. Definitely kinder than Rhian’s mother is. But he has such terrible ideas sometimes.

“This is why Uncle July doesn’t come to family dinner, isn’t it,” he mutters.

“He doesn’t come to family dinner with us because he hates our mother,” Japeth says, deadpan. “He goes to family dinner with Agatha.” He says this matter-of-factly. Rhian doesn’t really want to know how he found out. It probably wasn’t pretty.

“He does, yeah,” Agatha sighs. “It’s really awkward, though, because his kids are closer to my dad’s age than they are to mine, and then I end up sitting there with no one to talk to.”

“Still better than whatever’s going on down there,” Rhian says gloomily. He’s ninety percent sure his mother threw something at someone. Only a little less sure that it was at Uncle August.

“I don’t know why your dad tries,” Japeth says to Agatha, bitter. “Mom’s not going to like him anytime soon.”

“He’s gotta try,” Agatha says quietly. “Sucks to give up on family.”

“I’d give up on her in a heartbeat,” Rhian volunteers.

Japeth turns to him, mouth drawn up in a half-snarl, and for a second Rhian really, truly believes that Japeth is going to— what? Jump him? Bite him? He’s done it all before. But Agatha’s there, so he doesn’t. All he says is, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Alright, fine,” Rhian mutters. They don’t agree on her. It’s fine. They don’t talk about it, and that’s why Rhian can still tolerate talking to his brother. And the other way around.

They’re each other’s closest friend, unfortunately. They know everything about each other. Sure, there’s Aric, and there’s Kei— sweet, serious Kei. But they came later.

It’s been Rhian and Japeth against the world all their lives.

And it sucks massively.

Because Japeth is screwed up in the head. Because Rhian is supposed to be normal, and he can hardly go around being normal when his brother is half-insane. Rebellious one moment, mommy’s boy the next.

Because maybe, just maybe, that’s all Rhian is ever going to get. To deserve.

“Your turn, Rhian,” Agatha interrupts. She says it gently; with no bite behind it. Quite unlike Rhian’s brother. He puts down a card absently. Japeth rolls his eyes as he takes another from the draw pile.

What Rhian wouldn’t give to be Agatha’s brother, instead. August Sader’s son. They seem happy. Normal.

The door slams open. It’s their mother. Of course it is.

“We’re leaving,” she snaps. She doesn’t even acknowledge Agatha before she storms out.

Rhian drops his cards. He fumbles to sweep them up, but it’s too late, they’re all face up for Agatha and Japeth to see. Can’t even get this right. Can’t even play a game right.

Mother never allowed games. Said they had to focus on their schoolwork, and their extracurriculars, and their portfolios, and Rhian did, he did, so why is everything still so screwed up—?

His hands are shaking. That’s not good.

“Hey,” Agatha says, alarmed. “Hey, it’s just a game. It’s okay. We can play again sometime, we’ll see each other in school anyway— well.” She winces.

Rhian goes to school with Agatha, because he got out of Arbed on scholarship. Japeth is still there.

“Whatever,” Japeth says dismissively. It’s entirely possible that he genuinely doesn’t care. Rhian sometimes wonders whether he has feelings at all. “Rhian. Let’s go.” He's already dropped his cards, reaching for the rest of his things. It’s easier not to argue, when she’s angry, and they both know it.

“Yeah, okay,” Rhian says, softer.

The door opens, again, nudged open by the end of a cane. “Dad,” Agatha says. “Hey. Are we going home, too?”

“Agatha,” Uncle August acknowledges, warmth diffusing through his voice. He’s always much more open around her. “We can if you want, since Rhian and Japeth are leaving. But it’s your choice. Also— hello, you two. I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s okay,” Rhian says. Their mother has never apologised for anything, so this is already a step up in his books.

Uncle August sighs. “I don’t think it's the last you'll be hearing of it.”

“What did you do that pissed her off so bad?” Japeth asks carelessly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Ah,” Uncle August says delicately. He’s definitely stalling.

“Dad?” Agatha asks, voice tilting into a question. Great. Rhian wasn’t about to point it out.

“It has to do with their father,” Uncle August answers.

Their father? Rafal hasn’t talked to them in months. He normally just pretends they don't exist. Unless he’s been talking to their mother again?

“We’d know if he did anything,” Japeth snaps. “Mom would be yelling at us about it for weeks. Saying we’re just like him. I’m just like him.” He gets defensive about their father, too. The name gave him a bit of a complex. RJ. Rhian is glad it wasn’t him.

But the Saders aren't supposed to know who their father is. Their mother never told anyone. Never tells anyone a thing about him. Rhian and Japeth don’t talk about him either. No exceptions.

“What is going on,” he says.

Uncle August hesitates, still. His fingers twist up and down the head of his cane.

“You’re not supposed to know about him!” Japeth seethes. Took him long enough.

“I did not, no,” Uncle August says thinly, “until tonight.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Agatha pipes up. “Just tell it to them straight, Dad.” Her eyes are bright with curiosity, and worry. She’s probably dying to know, too.

“He’s seeing your father, that’s what he wants to say,” someone else says. It’s Uncle January, the eldest brother, suddenly appearing at his youngest sibling’s shoulder.

“He’s what?” Rhian demands.

“Seeing your father,” Uncle January repeats.

“No, I heard you the first time, what the fuck,” he spits. Uncle August has the decency to look slightly apologetic— no, he doesn’t even have anything to apologise for, he didn’t even know. Didn’t know Rafal was their father, the father who left them with Evelyn Sader as their only trusted adult, the father who left, full stop. That only makes Rhian angrier. How dare he feel sorry. He doesn’t even know—

Japeth snatches up his bag and storms out of the room, shoving past their two uncles; Uncle January slips away to follow him with a worried crease of his eyebrows. Clearly he’s having trouble processing. Rhian is too. But he’s just sitting there, numb, so he’s not really doing any better. Never mind.

“Um,” Agatha says, with polite disbelief. “Sorry, what? The man from the university, with the silver hair. That’s Rhian’s dad?”

“Yes,” Rhian mumbles, “fuck, he teaches at the university, he dyes his hair because he thinks it looks nice.” He presses his head between his knees. This cannot be happening. This actually cannot be happening.

“I don’t intend to let it continue,” Uncle August says, somewhat like a promise.

“No,” Rhian says, with feeling. “I mean— don’t do that on our behalf. Yeah, he left and everything, but honestly. Who wouldn't leave our mother? Have you met her? She’s crazy.”

“Rhian,” Uncle August says quietly.

“No, she’s actually crazy,” Rhian assures him. “She didn’t let me have a phone until I was fifteen because she was scared it would stunt my learning. She doesn’t let me talk to Kei outside of school. She doesn’t care that Japeth is screwed in the head. I’m telling you, anyone who left her was definitely making the right choice.”

“Be it as it may,” Uncle August says, “I don't want her to take it out on you.”

“She does that anyway,” Rhian says. “Might as well be of some use.”

Uncle August exhales. “You’re just a child,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have to think of these things.”

“Tell that to our mother. Oh wait, you probably did,” Rhian says, a little hysterical. “S’why she hates you. She hates that you're always so good. So upright. Things always go your way. You’re too good, Uncle August. You’re not the same as we are.”

“We’re family, Rhian,” Uncle August says, low and tired.

“It’s gotta count for something,” Agatha says, finally. “That we’re family.”

Rhian wants to ask her: what does it count for, exactly? There’s no point. Everyone hates their little branch of the family. Their nonexistent— well, existent now— father, their crazy mother, the two of them, equally screwed up in their own ways, just that Rhian is more considerate about it. Everyone else is normal. Happy.

“Maybe it does,” he says, “for you.”

“Man,” Agatha says. She turns away from him to collect the fallen Uno cards, shove them in the box and hand them to Rhian. “Look, this is what it counts for, okay? You take those, play with Kei or whoever, with Japeth. The next time we see each other in school, we’re playing and I’m kicking your ass, and you’re giving that back to me. That's what this means.”

Rhian blinks, reflexively taking the box of cards she drops in his lap. “Come again?”

“You’re not just turning away from me like that,” Agatha says, quieter. “From us.” Uncle August nods in the hallway, mouth curling in gentle, fatherly pride. Rhian’s heart wrenches for a second. Flings itself off-beat. It would be so easy to turn away. It’s how he’s lived all this while. No one but Japeth; no one but himself.

But he wants this. He’s never wanted anything more.

“Your turn, next,” he says, finally, and Agatha smiles.

“Bet,” she says agreeably, and Rhian finds himself smiling, despite it all.

[fourleafclovxr]

15: delayed flight

Across from Rhian, two children begin to cry.

Kei’s eyebrows curve in concern beaide him; the children’s mother rushes to soothe them, and he shifts as if he wants to reach out, wants to help, though Rhian can’t think of any way he could. Kei has always had a soft spot for children.

They’re not the only ones in distress. The announcement went something like, this flight is being delayed twelve hours, and now they’re surrounded by clamour and complaints. Rhian pictures himself as an anchor of calm, of silence, in all this noise.

He’s kind of relieved, actually. He hadn’t particularly wanted to go home. He doesn’t, ever.

Neither had Kei, but worry twists at his mouth all the same. Rhian nudges at his shoulder in a silent question, and Kei shrugs.

“My parents will be unhappy,” he says softly. “Though I admit they would be anyway. My sisters— well. I don’t know what they’ll think. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

Kei speaks of his sisters often. At Arbed— when they would talk about other schools, more normal ones— they had almost seemed like a point of pride. It’s difficult to tell. For people like them, the problem children, the troubled cases, it is endlessly hard to think well of your family. They won’t ever think well of you. Even Japeth dislikes Rhian, and they’re both in the same boat, so it’s not like he has anything better to show.

But perhaps that’s just them, the Sader family. Kei talks about his sisters from a distance, more like characters than anything else. But he has never quite spoken ill of them. lt’s more that they were never afforded the chance to be close; a forced sort of isolation. Again, very much unlike Rhian and Japeth, who were stuck together, like it or not.

His parents are a different story, a more sensitive one, but so are everyone’s.

“I guess you’re happy,” Kei observes in that same, quiet way.

“Any excuse not to go home,” Rhian says. “Anything at all.” It’s a strange thing to say, in the midst of all these people who want to go home— because no one goes to Foxwood for any other reason, no one thinks of it as anything but a poorer, less exciting version of Camelot or Jaunt Jolie— but it’s the truth.

Rhian does not know what it is, to long for home. Home has always been this: absent father, obsessive mother, crazed twin. Not people Rhian wants to be defined by. Not somewhere he wants to go back to.

And sometimes it was this: inadequacy. Rhian tries— tried?— to be a good kid, to make it work, if only because he knew Japeth wouldn't. It won't ever be enough. There will always be something in him that his mother resents, even if it's only his father’s blood, his father’s face. And there will always be the fact that his father didn’t care for him, for them, that they were only an afterthought. And there will always be this family he cannot fix.

Home is too much work and not enough to gain from it, from trying. Rhian doesn’t really care to try anymore. He’s not scared. He’s not. He’s just— not willing to watch it fail.

Kei lays a hand over his. “You're in your own head again,” he says, not unkindly.

“I always am,” Rhian murmurs. Always dreaming, or, lately, the antithesis of it. Convincing himself of reality. He curls his fingers through Kei’s, and for a moment they just sit like this, holding hands at the boarding gate.

He is blessed, to have Kei, who is perhaps the only person from whom he has nothing left to hide. Rhian could not ever know how to thank him. Could not ever be grateful enough.

Kei squeezes his hand, near-gentle, and lets go. He picks up his phone from where it lies in his lap, starts typing a message. To one of his sisters, most likely. They’re lucky to be sitting next to a charging station, though they’ll probably have to give it up sooner or later. Rhian glances at his own messages— four from his mother, one from his cousin Agatha. He contemplates ignoring them.

“At least reply to Agatha,” Kei says abruptly. Rhian hadn’t realised Kei was looking over at him and his screen, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “I like Agatha.”

“Who I reply to isn’t defined by who you like,” Rhian mutters. But he clicks her message open anyway. Kei’s mouth curves into a slight smile, the only response that Rhian gets.

you’ll be here at seven tomorrow, right? Agatha has texted. my dad is worrying again.

And then there’s that. Rhian tries very hard to avoid family dinners with the previous generation of Sader siblings, which are made even more awkward for him by the fact that their entire branch of the family is technically illegitimate, and also born out of Rhian’s grandfather cheating. Going to school in a different region of the Woods has made that quite easy— for him and Agatha both, as awkward classmates, though she normally does try to go home.

This was supposed to be the first dinner he attended in a year or two. Well, that’s unfortunate. my flight got delayed, he types back. twelve hours. but mom and rj will be there at seven.

you’re KIDDING me, Agatha replies almost instantly. honestly, good for you. but good luck telling your mother. This is followed by a string of pictures of pathetic-looking animals, about ten more than Rhian asked for, or wanted. At least she didn’t say skibidi like she did the last time they texted, or he might have to block her again.

“I almost feel bad,” he mutters. “Throwing her to the wolves.”

“The good Professor will protect her from the worst of it,” Kei says lightly. “Unless your brother brings Aric, in which case there will be blood, probably. I wouldn’t put it past Aric to take a shot at Professor Sader, too. Animal that he is.”

Kei, of all of them— Rhian and his mother and Aric’s own mother and everyone else but Japeth— has always despised Aric the most. It’s been a long-standing grudge, held since Aric nearly killed Kei back in Arbed. Years have passed, now, and the scar still tugs at Kei’s lip when his mouth curls. A constant crooked flaw in his joy.

Kei, Rhian remembers, had been more angry than anything else. It had been Rhian who had worried, hands curled in Kei’s, heart in his mouth.

“If Japeth brings Aric, I’ll throw him out myself,” he says.

Kei laughs— breaks off halfway to say, “Hello, did you need something?”

Rhian stares at the kids standing in front of them. One taller girl, one tiny boy who can’t be more than five. Kei smiles, indulgent.

“Could we share the charging station?” the girl asks shyly. She holds up the phone she’s holding. “Please?”

“Of course,” Kei says, before Rhian has the chance to react. Not that he would have said no. He’s not a terrible person, just… not particularly fond of children. “You can sit there if you want?”

He gestures to the empty seats on their other side. “If your parents are alright with it.”

The two kids are already looking at their mother— and, oh, they were the ones crying. She waves an affirmation at them, exhausted, and Rhian feels a little more sympathetic. Fine. He can tolerate it, for now.

Kei tugs his charger out so that the kids can plug theirs in, chattering happily. They’re playing Candy Crush. Because of course they are. Five minutes later they lean over to ask Kei whether he knows how to play.

Kei is on level eight thousand and counting. Rhian is pretty sure he was playing earlier on. What a question to ask. What a question, indeed.

The kids are on level five hundred. Kei is practically glowing. Well, as long as he’s happy.

Rhian wouldn’t mind staying like this, he thinks, a little wistfully. Twelve hours, four more on the plane. A world to themselves. A little life of their own. A liminal space, a transition, a delay. Rhian and Kei, the way he always wants it to be.

If he’s ever longed for home, he thinks it might look something like this.

[fourleafclovxr]

Wait a minute, I just realized something about your recent excerpt—are Agatha and Callis "soulmates" in some way, like how canon explained it offhand once? Callis' shooting star mark could represent Agatha's latent wish-granting Talent and Agatha's rosemary could represent Callis' witch doctor role in Gavaldon or her use of ingredients as an Uglification professor. Did I get anything right?

For August, I'd assume his fate's tied to the Schools or the twin School Masters themselves in some way?

! yes this is absolutely right. the way i envision this AU to work is that if someone is important to you, they gain your mark, which is in turn a symbol or drawing that represents you: so agatha has callis' rosemary (herbs, ingredients, in abstract: memories of her time in the Woods), and callis has agatha's shooting star (wish-granting, in abstract: shining bright, being brighter than the rest).

august's mark is special in that it's not really something that represents him, or rather, that someone else (i.e. his role in the fate of the School and the School Masters) is more representative of who he is, than he himself is. in this AU, each of the School Masters had a swan as their mark, and august has both: one for rhian, who embodies the fate he has to fulfil (...getting possessed and dying), and one for rafal, whose story he is so closely tied with.

(i am a little bit of an august/rafal truther. just a little.)

[fourleafclovxr]

14: forgiveness

“—You must know that your sister will never forgive you,” Rafal says curiously. “For whatever she thinks you’ve done, at any rate. Letting her have a chance. And then letting it be taken away.”

Sader stays quiet, patient. Waiting to be dismissed. He has a way of silence that sets Rafal on edge; a silence laden with things unsaid, with things that Rafal cannot ever begin to understand.

He is loath to call it disturbing— but Sader, at the heart of it all, is disturbed. And though he might not care, it is certainly discernible to anyone watching him closely enough. As Rafal does. As Rafal will.

“As I said,” Sader offers, finally, almost bored, “perhaps she’s just here before her time.” He knows something. Obviously. He always knows something. Rafal cannot bear it, Sader and his careful neutrality, his trained apathy. It is wretched, how much he cares.

“I was given to believe that Evers cared about family,” he jabs, if only for the sake of saying it. “About love. About doing right by it.”

“The Sader family is not traditionally Good,” Sader says, still soft, still desperately unreadable. “To us, there have always been things that matter more than love. But I would assume you know all that already. You are quite familiar with our line.”

He says it like a matter of fact, which it is. Which it must be, to him. It is Sader’s wont to always know more than he should. He calls himself a student— and teacher— of history, and so the secrets he deals with are those of the last, antithetical to his Sight as it is.

To Rafal it is a discomfort; an unease; a danger, even. Sader knows of his long-dead ancestors, those who first spoke to Rafal and his brother so long ago. He knows of Peter Pan and Hook and everything in between.

And he knows about Rhian. Of everything, that is the one secret Rafal must take to his grave. The one secret he cannot afford to let go.

It is fortunate, he supposes, that Sader is so inclined to silence. He is perhaps the one person left Rafal cannot afford to kill.

(He’d thought that before; Sader must know that, too.)

“And I think,” Sader says abruptly, into the lull of silence, “that of all people, surely you must understand why love can so easily take second place. I will do what I must.”

It is also particularly annoying that Sader fails to be scared of anything. If he has not Seen it, it must simply not be true, and if he has— there was never anything to be scared of. Someday Rafal will cheat fate, just to see the fear on his face.

But for now Sader says exactly what he wants to, and Rafal bears it as he always has done. It is not often that Sader prefers to run his mouth. Certainly he has far more often been obedient; been quiet. No matter how infuriating that is, either.

Breathe in. Breathe out. “You aren’t wrong,” Rafal concedes. He gave up on love a long time ago. He knew what the price would be; he knew it would haunt him. Hundreds of years render the memory hazy. But this is crystal clear: he knew, and he chose anyway.

“They are not going to forgive you,” he says. “Not now, not ever.” A warning, perhaps. Though he’s not sure what compels him to say it.

“There will never be forgiveness for me,” Sader says readily. Easily. In his mouth, his steady voice, it feels something like a prophecy. “I’ve made my peace with that. Have you?”

[fourleafclovxr]

Hi!

I really love reading the SGE writing you publish on here, and I enjoy when you mention August Sader. I think he deserved more attention in the actual series and I'm so sad we don't hear more of him in Canon.

What do you think about Callis and August (as a pairing), and how did you get inspiration for the Rafal/August writing you did? It's an interesting relationship I don't see too often.

Anyways, reading your writing almost every day here makes my day, especially after stressful ones. You really bring the characters and stories to life!

thank you!! i'm glad you like whatever i have going on haha

i don't mind august/callis as a pairing (i shipped it for a while!), but i personally view them as having more of a (queer)platonic relationship. not friends, not lovers, but a secret third thing, so to speak. i imagine august has an odd relationship with the concept of romance, but that will have to be another post because it would make this answer WAY too long and it already is long.

in the canon world, i always see them as having this layer of distance yet odd connection between them - they're coparenting agatha (i firmly believe in father figure!sader), they were coworkers for an unspecified period of time (okay soman's timeline is kind of wack but i also firmly believe in the professor coworker dynamics), callis is a character in the most important lesson/tale sader will ever tell... it's like something ties them together. they play the same role in the narrative from opposite sides. sort of. that parallel is something i really, really like!

in modern AUs, or any other AU where they don't have that complicated bit of history behind them, i prefer to think of them as close friends/best friends/secret third thing... two people who mesh together really well, who care for each other. i don't think it has to be romantic but i can definitely see how it could be!

as for rafal/august: oh gosh. okay. unfortunately, i sometimes have a soft spot for toxic mlm relationships... this particular one came about when i was writing an Evil!sader AU a few years ago that i eventually scrapped. in the AU, rafal was interested in the concept of a Seer who was Evil specifically, but that idea stuck with me because, yeah, why wouldn't rafal be interested in him anyway? isn't august's Sight eminently valuable to him and his ambitions? even canonically? from there it extended to rafal being interested in august, as a person, as far as my characterisation of august separates his personhood from him being a Seer. (that is to say: very little. whoops) like. it doesn't have to be romantic, again, but it has to be INCREDIBLY toxic.

one thing i like about the rafal/august dynamic, i believe that august is one of the few people who is genuinely on rafal's level in any sense at all, because of his Sight. in my head this is like: no one knows who rafal is except for august... no one knows what rafal's plans are except for august... and no one, not even rafal, knows how he's going to die (the first time) except for august, because he's going to kill him...

there are a few lines from AWWP that contributed a LOT to my august/rafal truthing - i think there's just something about the sense of familiarity between them, the private meeting where rafal supposedly kept himself distant (this might be wrong please correct me), rafal almost defending august against his sister even when she's insisting august will kill him (and the part about 'swear on my life' to link to that)... yeah.

[fourleafclovxr]

May I humbly request more Sader posting 😼😼

this has been sitting in my inbox for so long sorry!! have some sader family headcanons.

the sader line is all-male (as in canon), and their Seers rarely go to the School for Good and Evil -> stemming from the neutral position that most Seers tend to hold, in the grand scheme of things. august is an exception because his duty/knowledge of the future involves stopping Evil, in particular.

august's father, constantin sader, is the head of the sader family, as the oldest child in a generation where there were no Seers. he dies sometime in august's first years as a teacher in the School for Good, which leaves august as the head, technically (as dictated by Seer ability).

his mother's name is shiying 诗滢. (诗: poem, 滢: clear.) this does mean the sader children minus evelyn are half-chinese. she graduated from the School for Good as a Leader, and her fourth-year quest involved the history of the Woods, leading her to the saders as a subject of interest. she's killed when evelyn & august are young children.

the eldest son, january, is a painter, and he's seventeen years older than august (born when their parents were in their twenties). he's married to a man, has one son, and an adopted daughter. he's the de facto head after constantin dies, since august is at the School.

the second son, july, lives a very normal life. he tries to distance himself from the family. he's fifteen years older than august, and has two sons.

evelyn is two years older than august, and was the product of an affair that constantin had. she was raised together with august on constantin's insistence.

august is the youngest, and the miracle child of the family; they thought they wouldn't have a Seer in his generation either. he withdraws from the family once he becomes a teacher (and gets involves with rafal); not that they were very close to him anyway. his life is shut away in the School. it's his duty, after all.

family dynamics:

constantin isn't in the picture; he's a bad husband and worse father (L)

shiying is the one who raises january and july. for evelyn and august, january is more involved with them than anyone else after her death, but even then he has his own life and family. the younger two practically raise themselves in an empty home.

january and august are close in an awkward way; january taught august how to paint, as a child. they grow apart as august chooses to teach at the School for Good, and withdraws from interacting with his family.

july does not want to be there. he wants to be normal. a sader can never be normal. he takes his wife's name. he and january were close as children (before january became too busy with their siblings), and become closer again after their father's death despite july's reluctance to associate with the family.

none of the sader siblings, or shiying, ever blame evelyn for her circumstances. she resents them anyway. when she's declared as a Never, she takes it as a confirmation (an excuse?) that she doesn't belong and that they will never let her belong.

evelyn and august... august cares for his sister more than anything, he latched onto her when they were children because they were all each other had. evelyn resents him because he has everything she wants... and is still unhappy, despite it all. (i will post more about why being a Seer sucks eventually. but i bet it does)

[fourleafclovxr]

To Professor Sader (in your fic or any other characterization of him): What are your feelings for the School Master? Or… is he Rafal to you?

(in my imagination of the SGE world:) seers have a duty and that duty is always, always tied to a particular story; a particular purpose. sader functions to enable the tale of sophie and agatha, which is rafal's story if you think about it that way— and their interactions (reader prophecy. killing him. please.) are so critical to the tale, almost as much as sophie and agatha are.

i think, to be someone's purpose, that's something that ties people together whether they like it or not. sader doesn't like rafal (see: callis, agatha, sophie? lesso, evelyn. all the people who've been wronged by him). but he's well aware of the fact that the both of them are the only two people on the same playing field. the only two people who know the shape of rafal's plans, and rafal's ambition. consider, also, that seers are set apart. (crackpot, crazy, delusional.) it's ugly, but it's all he has.

and sader, as both a historian and a seer, is uniquely positioned to Know rafal, to understand him. he's just rafal, because sader alone of everyone knows better than his mystique and his school master persona. there's an intimacy in that, too.

i realise i haven't talked about feelings much,, i guess it's not really a feeling? my sader is just: tired. faithful. dutiful. and rafal is so integral to that duty. rafal wants him close, wants him under control; it's easy to just not resist, it fits neatly into his role. and i suppose it's easy, too, to be charmed by rafal.

i don't imagine seers feel very much at all, but that's probably something for a different post.

[fourleafclovxr]

so a couple things about the sader family:

one, the all-male lineage thing is crazy.. so all the sader kids are just boys? but somehow because evelyn was illegitimate she was a girl?? how does that work, like, genetically???

two, the sader siblings canonically have like. brothers. and nephews. are the brothers called july and january or something. i'm not going to lie i can't perceive them with siblings outside each other. in my head this is explained away by a twenty year age gap or something (miracle child august sader and his not so miracle sister evelyn sader who??)

[fourleafclovxr]

(AU where rhian sader is a seer, with mildly prescient dreams)

Rhian dreams of his father. He doesn't tell anyone.

Silver hair glittering just out of his line of sight. The magic humming beneath his skin. A weight to his shoulders, like he knows something that no one else does, like he bears secrets no one should ever know.

His hands are warm. Warmer than Mother's distant embrace or Japeth's half-hearted hugs. He doesn't ever hold Rhian so close as that, but he often lays his hand on Rhian's shoulder, lets it rest there.

Rhian never sees his face. Never quite looks him in the eye.

He asks Mother who their father is; Mother says, with appropriate gravity, that they're King Arthur's oldest sons. They're destined to take his throne. Japeth isn't convinced, and neither is Rhian. For once, they work together to coax the truth out of her.

Mother gives in: fine, they're not King Arthur's sons, though they might have been. They're the children of the immortal School Master, of the School that Rhian has been dreaming of for longer than he knows how to name. They were born, and blessed, to be just as great.

This is a more plausible scenario, somehow. It at least explains why the three Mistral sisters are with them so often. Rhian's not stupid, he read about them in that history book Mother hadn't wanted him to touch; she'd insisted on cutting away its cover pages, but she hadn't managed to stop him. He knows they're dangerous. He knows they wouldn't be there unless it's for a really good reason.

But it still feels off. The School Master's hair is silver, his magic is tangible enough that it sings. He probably knows more secrets than Rhian will ever get to hear.

But the School Master is carved ice, snow-white hair and winter-blue eyes, and his hands are so pale that Rhian can see the blue outline of his veins. Rhian can always see his face in his dreams. Can always look him in the eye.

The School Master is cold, cold, cold. He would not leave such a budding warmth in the corners of Rhian's memory. On his shoulder, where his father's hand would rest.

So this father of his, whoever it might be; it's not the School Master. Mother is lying. Mother, Rhian is coming to realise, does nothing but lie.

[fourleafclovxr]

And if August isn’t teaching, or grading, or helping people learn; he’s in the library again, with his old friend the library tortoise. He delights in it, still. He delights in knowledge in a way that the rest of the School and the rest of the faculty does not quite understand.

What more is there to know of their world? This is the way things are. This is the way they always will be.

But if anyone could challenge that, it would be August.

adjacent to my academics post: sader is a great teacher and i will die on this hill. learning is about making a change.