#the robe completely transformed her its so funny

[sophfandoms53]

Cory may have been evicted but his spirit truly lives on inside of America omg

[scattered-irises]

Tale IV: To Summarize, the Frog Prince

I have this little image of Cathy as the Cat Witch in my head. She wears a cute fluffy witch hat with cute witch robes. She helps the little village people with healing spells and tells funny stories. The one thing she can’t stand are spoiled princes. 

Rating: Teen  

Word Count: 5119

Characters: Thomas Arclight, Ryoga Kamishiro, Takashi Todoroki, Vector

Relationships: Thomas Arclight/Ryoga Kamishiro, reluctant Thomas Arclight/Takashi Todoroki

Warnings: The frog prince and all of its interesting moral lessons, Ryoga and Thomas snacking on psychedelic mushrooms

Summary:Thomas and Ryoga find a new green friend that is maybe too nosy for his own good.

Once upon a time, there was a bored, bored, bored prince who sought the hand of an enchanyantress for a wife. Bored of the princesses that paraded themselves before him, the prince wished to seek a woman that was more than “just a pretty face.” Gathering his bags, he traveled far and wide in search of the legendary enchantress. 

Through mountains, through hostile kingdoms, through barren plains did the prince wander. Oh, how he baked under the sun! Oh, how he shivered underneath the pouring rain! Yet his heart remained set on the legendary enchantress. At last, at last! He found the enchantress secluded in the darkest of bogs. She was purr fect! With silvery hair, obsidian spectacles and a robe made from the finest of cat hair, she welcomed him into her humble abode with glittering emerald eyes. 

  Soon, the prince told of his travels and the dull women that he had encountered in his kingdom and his travels. He longed for a woman of both beauty and intelligence, if she was willing to have him.

  Upon hearing his tale, the enchantress (me—ow!) merely laughed. 

  “I beg your pardon, your majesty,” laughed the cat-eared sorceress. “However, no woman is completely ‘dull’ or ‘silly’ as you have described your suitors.” 

  She dusted lint off of her long and magnificent robes. Ribbit! Her eyes trailed to a frog that had leapt through her window. The cute green creature looked up at the witch with limpid eyes. It hopped along her windowsill until it came upon a fly stuck in a web. The prince followed her gaze and grimaced in disgust. The enchantress grinned, licking her chops. 

  “Perhaps you have spent far too much time with yourself and not enough time with other people. Allow me to teach you a lesson in order for you to value learning about others,” she purred. 

  With a wave of her sharp-clawed fingers, the prince soon found himself transformed into a frog. As he ribbited and croaked in outrage, the enchantress picked him up and walked him down the path that he had come from.

  “Don’t fret, your frogginess! I’ve seen your future! If you take the time to truly learn someone’s heart, you’ll find that we all have something special to share!” 

  With a wink and a meow, the sorceress threw the frog prince into the air and sent him to live in the gardens of a nearby castle. 

  …

  Nyow, I promise you, all will turn out well. I saw Prince Takashi’s future in my cats’ bones, you see! And my bones are never wrong. 

  Well, unless someone outside of the fates’ threads interferes.

  🐸 

  “Damnit!” curses Thomas as his beloved puppet drops into the well. “Ryoga, you bastard!” 

  His friend snickers as Thomas stomps over and grabs him by the collar. 

  “I just finished him!” 

  “I was doing it a favor! It was so ugly!” snorts Ryoga. “My sister could do better than that egg with legs!” 

  “It’s called Humpty Dumpty the Humpfried!” snaps Thomas. 

  He peers into the well helplessly, his hands balling into a fist. 

  “I spent two weeks on him!” continues Thomas. 

  His eyes begin to burn with unshed tears and he quickly blinks them away. Whirling back towards Ryoga, he shoves him onto the floor. 

  “Ow…!” laughs Ryoga. 

  Looking up at Thomas, his face falls when he sees Thomas rapidly blinking his tears away. 

  “Gods, why can’t you just…be pleasant for once?” utters Thomas. 

  “I could say the same for you,” huffs Ryoga, avoiding Thomas’ teary gaze. 

  Awkwardly, he gets up and walks back towards the well. Looking down at its dark depths, he bites his lip. He just…he had just wanted to distract Thomas from…well, everything. He had just escaped from one of his father’s lectures about his duty as a prince, more disappointed than usual. The previous week, Thomas and his older brother had gotten into a disagreement and were still not on particularly friendly terms. And, to top it all off, he and Thomas had been finding ways to avoid admitting the truth to each other. 

  That they were definitely more than just the prince and the chancellor’s son, friends until the end. 

  In a fit of nervousness, Ryoga had grabbed Thomas’ puppet and carelessly tossed it into the well. His cheeks burn with shame. Never had he treated any of Thomas’ cherished creations like this. 

  “Lower me down. I’ll get it,” grunts Ryoga after a few moments. 

  “I should just push you down there,” snaps Thomas. “The paint’s already been ruined anyways.”

  Both of them know that that was a lie. Thomas’ creations were made of the finest materials. 

  “If there’s no rope nearby, then sure. I’ll climb down, take back the puppet and crawl back up,” offers Ryoga as he sticks his leg into the well. 

  Thomas glares at him, his arms crossed. 

  “How are you going to hold Humpty Dumpty on your way back up?” he snaps. 

  “I can hold one of his arms in my mouth, can’t I?” responds Ryoga after a few moments of thinking. 

  His friend makes a disgusted expression. 

  “You may as well keep it at that point,” he mutters. 

  “So yes, you want me to go down?” 

  Thomas grunts his assent. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Ryoga lowers himself down further. 

  “Don’t! I can do it!” calls a voice from below. 

  Ryoga falls out of the well with a shout. 

  “Who’s there?!” he snaps, taking out his blade. 

  “I call!” returns the voice. 

  “What…?”

  “Who are you talking to?” snaps Thomas. “If this is a ploy to get out of rescuing Humpty Dumpty…”

  Thomas peers into the well, its black depths seemingly endless. 

  “I, the er…the spirit of the well! I can get it for you!” continues the voice. “All you must do is make a promise with me!” 

  The prince raises an eyebrow. 

  “A promise…?” 

  “Yes! Erm…you have to…you have to allow me to eat off of your plate, sleep in your bed and accompany you at all times!” proposes the voice. 

  Thomas exchanges an incredulous look with Ryoga. 

  “What kind of wizardry is this?” he hisses. 

  He’s answered by a helpless shrug. Magic was something that could only be performed by a select few in the kingdom, the gift far and rare. Often, magic users were ostracized for their skills and could only be found in the farthest reaches of the kingdom. Even the elderly court magician, with his rheumy eyes and star-shaped hair, secluded himself in his own tower, far away from prying eyes. 

  “I-it isn’t wizardry! I promise! Please, just agree to my terms!” begs the voice. “It will save you and your friend time!” 

  The prince rolls his eyes. 

  “How do I know if I can trust you?” he asks. 

  A ribbiting follows. Ryoga and Thomas exchange another confused set of looks. 

  “I’m just a poor fr—well spirit seeking companionship…,” sulks the voice. “Please, just three days by your side…”

  Thomas groans. 

  “Do you promise?” 

  “On my honor!” 

  Ryoga scoffs. 

  “Honor,” he mocks. 

  “It means alot to me, unlike a ruffian like you!” shoots back the voice. 

  “Why you little…”

  Ever since the both of them had heard the tale of the prince condemned to herd geese, they despised making promises to anyone and anything. If a promise was so binding, why make them at all? The chancellor’s son rolls up his sleeves and prepares to climb down the well, only to be held back by Thomas at the last moment. 

  “Deal! Bring me back my Humpty Dumpty and we’ll see about the rest!” calls down Thomas. 

  Another ribbit followed. Thomas and Ryoga peer down into the well expectantly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive well spirit. After a few minutes pass, the two pull away and lean against the well. 

  “Do you think we both hallucinated this?” mumbles Thomas. 

  “Could be. We never really knew what old Faker’s mushroom caps actually were,” suggests Ryoga. 

  The prince snorts and folds his hands back against his head. 

  “We need to find a new court magician soon. I think half of his ingredients were stale.” 

  “He’s not going anywhere as long as his sons are favored by your brother.” 

  Thomas rolls his eyes in disgust, only to have his newly-made doll plunked onto his lap. He lets out a shriek of surprise. The bright orange egg with limbs languidly rolls onto the grass, followed by a voice against his ear. 

  “Salutations!” 

  Jumping away from the sound, Thomas and Ryoga’s faces slacken at the sight of the large green frog before them. Amicably, it hops towards them, holding up a webbed foot in greeting. A blue frond of…hair? sprouts from its head, bobbing back and forth with every motion the frog made.

  “Will you show me your home now? It wasn’t easy, hefting that doll up by myself, you know!” continues the frog. 

  “Would you like me to kick it?” whispers Ryoga. 

  Thomas grabs his doll and holds it tight to his chest. 

  “I’d tell you to do it, but its mouth is large enough to swallow your entire foot,” he whispers back. 

  The frog stares at the two expectantly, waiting for them to show him the way. Thomas swallows hard and forces a smile. 

  “Oh, of course! Let’s take the scenic route so I can show you all of my favorite places to play!” he says.  

  He exchanges a knowing look with Ryoga. 

  They wander through the twisting paths of the dark woods, hoping that the bushes and muddy paths that they waded through would discourage the frog from following. Despite all of their efforts, the frog blithely follows them step for step, remarking on the beauty of nature the entire way. When they reach the castle gates, Thomas reluctantly allows the frog to follow in his and Ryoga’s muddy footsteps. 

  They part ways when they enter the palace, Ryoga to his family’s dining quarters while Thomas goes to his. When he arrives in the dining hall with the frog, Thomas’ father looks at him with a tired sigh. He places a finger on his forehead and resumes eating his dinner. Unlike their father, his older brother, Christopher, shoots Thomas an acerbic glare. His eyes further narrow when he sees the frog. 

  “Running away from duties, only to come home for dinner?” drawls Christopher. “And with a…creature from the woods, nonetheless.”

  “Hello there!” calls the frog. 

  Thomas forced himself to remain composed as Christopher’s expression paled. For a few moments, his regal features appeared more akin to that of a fish’s than that of the crown prince of Heraldria. 

  Their father’s eyebrows raise while Michael, Thomas’ younger brother, clasps his hands together in delight. 

  “You see, your son’s companion carelessly tossed his doll into a well. I offered to return the doll in exchange for spending three days by your son’s side,” explains the frog as Thomas pulls out a seat. Blithely, the frog hops onto Thomas’ lap. 

  His father looks at him with wide eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

  Oh, Thomas, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

  “A chair,” says Thomas to the servants. “Please give my…companion a chair.”

  “Er…and your name is…?” asks his father. 

  “Prince Takashi!” croaks the frog proudly. 

  King Byron stares at Thomas with tired eyes. 

  “Thomas, if this is an attempt at a prank…”

  “It isn’t!” insists the frog. “I’ve been enchanted, that’s all!”

  “What luck, running into an enchanted creature!” marvels Michael. “I thought they were only in fairytales!” 

  Their father’s gaze remains focused on Thomas. Thomas hides his creation behind his back, shying away from his father and brother’s disapproving stares. After the servants find a chair for the frog, their father clears his throat. He sighs. 

  “Well. If you are who you say you are, then my son must especially honor his promise. Agreements from royals are known to be as good as gold, even more so when they are between royals. Consider this a test of honor from the spirits of the wood,” declares the king. 

  With the slight head shake that Byron gave as he resumed his dinner, Thomas knew that today had been a trying day in the councilroom. He was in no mood to argue nor further reprimand his sons, only quietly acquiescing to the absurdity presented before him.

  “It’s an honor to dine with you, Stag-King of Heraldria and Crown Prince Christopher,” says the frog, dipping its head. He then turns to Christopher, eyes shining with excitement. “I’ve heard plenty about your endeavors in the astronomy field. How fares your telescope project?” 

  Caught off-guard, Christopher places down his fork and turns towards the frog with less ice in his eyes. 

  “Where did you hear of that?” he asks. 

  The frog lets out a delighted ribbit. 

  “Oh, my old teacher spoke highly of your work! Not only that, I hear you’re planning an observatory?” continues the frog. 

  All of the ice melts from his brother’s face. Christopher gives the frog a rare smile. A flicker of jealousy sparks in Thomas’ chest. What he would give to have his brother’s approval. Reluctantly, he begins to eat his dinner. 

  “Oh! I’m quite famished. I hope you don’t mind, but your son pledged to have me share his plate as well,” says the frog as the servants arrive with a small plate.  

  A hint of amusement fills Christopher’s eyes while their father gives a tired wave. 

  “Let this be a lesson to you, Thomas,” he says. 

  Thomas reluctantly scrapes a few pieces of vegetables and meat over to the side of his plate. The frog sticks out its tongue, startling Thomas. 

  “Oh, don’t mind me! Carry on with your dinner as you will. My tongue is quite awkward, I know…,” says the frog. 

  “Not at all! I think it’s quite fascinating!” pipes up Michael. 

  Thomas bites into his ham harder than usual. As the frog continues to amiably speak to all of his brothers, he focuses on his dinner. His conversations eventually pique the interest of his father, who soon smiles and laughs alongside the rest of his brothers. In silence, Thomas finishes the rest of his food. To the young ladies of the court, he was considered dashing and charming. Around his family, it almost always felt as if he had nothing useful to contribute to. Even conversation with them was outbidden by a frog. 

  “I’m done,” mutters Thomas. 

  He picks up the frog, who was gaily chatting with his family about philosophers of old. 

  “Oh, stay for a bit, won’t you?” asks Michael. “Your friend is delightful to talk to!” 

  “I’m feeling sleepy and we are to share a bed,” grunts Thomas. “Goodnight.” 

  In silence, he makes his way upstairs and rings for the servants to prepare a bath. 

  “As part of the bargain…,” begins the frog. 

  Thomas groans. 

  “Really?” 

  The frog nods, limpid eyes steady on the prince. 

  “Yes, really.” 

  When the bath is drawn, Thomas strips and quickly hops into the tub. The frog happily joins him. It lets out a contented sigh as it floats in the water, tongue occasionally stuck out to catch a stray fly. 

  “Even the flies here taste different!” marvels the frog. 

  Thomas looks down at the creature in disgust. 

  He quickly bathes and carries the frog into his bedroom. It ribbits happily as it hops onto Thomas’ pillow. Grumbling, Thomas crawls into bed and pulls the sheets over his head. 

  In the morning, the frog awakens him with a sticky foot on his cheek. Thomas jolts up in bed with a shout. 

  “Good morning!” calls the frog. 

  Thomas blearily blinks as he peers out at the window. He groans and pulls the sheets over his head. 

  “What are you doing?! There’s a whole day ahead of us! You’ll miss breakfast as well!” urges the frog. 

  “I hate breakfast,” mutters Thomas. “And I hate my lessons and how I’m no good at anything and how my brother does nothing but ridicule me for being what I am as if I could help it and how my father treats me as if he’s already given up on me and how Michael tries to help me but knows that I’m helpless and…and…”

  Damnit. The tears have come back. Thomas buries his face in his mattress. 

  “Wow,” says the frog. “Er…”

  “You can go down to eat. They like you more anyways,” mutters Thomas. “A damn frog over his own son…”

  He can’t erase the sight of his father gaily conversing with the frog, even calling him by his supposed name at times. The joy that sparked in his father’s usually tired eyes was something that Thomas had never been able to do as far as he could remember. 

  “I think I can understand how you feel though. Back when I was human, I was always surrounded by people, yet I still felt alone,” begins the frog. 

  Thomas pulls the sheets from his head. 

  “Wait, you were human?” 

  The frog lets out an indignant ribbit. 

  “Of course I was! No normal frog can talk!” he scoffs. “It’s just because a certain enchantress decided to turn me into a frog!” 

  Thomas stifles a smile and he sits up in bed. He looks down at the frog with interest. 

  “Really?” 

  Huffing, the frog nods. 

  “I was from the Kingdom of Raschelbag!”

  When Thomas stares at him in confusion, the frog lets out an angry croak. 

  “I’m going to accompany you to your lessons and make you pay attention today!” snaps the frog. 

  “I know where that is!” says Thomas. 

  (He actually doesn’t.)

  “It’s just, I’ve never heard of you.” 

  “I’m the sixth son of the king’s fifth wife. I’m not surprised,” mumbles the frog. 

  “Oh.” 

  As Takashi continues to tell his story, Thomas begins to get ready for the day. Once he was fully dressed, he looks down at his companion with interest. He picks up the frog, prepared to head down to the dining room. 

  “So you’re looking for a wife?” he asks. 

  “Precisely. If you know any…”

  “Nope.” 

  “Darn.” 

  Together, the two arrive in the dining room. Thomas’ brothers and father’s faces fill with delight upon seeing the frog. 

  “Good morning, Takashi!” calls Michael. 

  “How was your night in Thomas’ room? I know that it’s a bit of a mess but…”

  Their father finishes with an awkward shrug. 

  “Fine, fine!” croaks Takashi. “I’d like to attend your son’s lessons and help him, if that’s alright.” 

  Byron’s face fills with relief. 

  “I’ve been searching for just the person—er, frog—for that. Although the chancellor’s son has tried his best, Thomas always seems to provoke him in the worst of ways.”

  Takashi happily laps at Thomas’ soup as he speaks, blithely talking about his array of tutors and the subjects that he was well-versed in. Meanwhile, Thomas feels himself shrinking back into his seat. 

  The rest of the day passes by uneventfully, the frog forcing Thomas to remain in his lessons. After dinner, Thomas lets out a groan, sinking into his bath. 

  “My head hurts.” he complains. 

  “To summarize, it means that you’re learning,” returns the frog breezily. 

  “I’d rather be out hunting with Ryoga.” 

  Once they were in bed, Takashi lays himself on Thomas’ pillow, languidly stretching out his green limbs. 

  “Save some space for me,” grunts Thomas. 

  “You like Ryoga, don’t you?”

  The prince stiffens. 

  “He’s an idiot. Why would I like him?” 

  The frog lets out an amused croak. 

  “Like calls to like.”

  “Why you little…”

  “I’m kidding!” says the frog nervously when he sees Thomas’ raised fist. 

  Thomas settles in bed and pulls up the covers.

  “There’s nothing between us,” he grumbles. 

  Despite the frog’s insistent prodding, Thomas forces himself to remain silent. Only one more day with this particularly loquacious amphibian. And then everything would be returned to normal. He could live with that. Back to being the worst prince. Back to being laughed at behind his back. Back to wondering about when either he or Ryoga would be engaged to some blushing maiden. 

  When morning arrives, Thomas sighs with relief. Once again, Takashi dines with his family with his usual cheer. 

  “What do you think, Thomas?” asks the frog.

  Thomas looks up from his eggs in surprise. He had become overly familiar with his family, calling his brothers by their names. Not even their father, who often stressed about the importance of titles, seemed to mind.

  “Wh…what?”

  His family looks at him expectantly. 

  “Er…what were we talking about?” he asks. 

  “The arts,” says Christopher. “Takashi was wondering if you’d be willing to perform with your puppets at the summer fair. It would help bring our subjects closer to us.” 

  Oh, so now he thinks it’s a worthwhile pursuit, thinks Thomas bitterly. 

  He forces himself not to glare at Takashi, who was looking expectantly up at him.

  “Sounds…fun,” murmurs Thomas. 

  “I thought you’d be more excited…,” says Michael, his brows furrowed.

  Not when it’s brought up by an outsider.

  “It’s just a bit sudden, after the way you’ve always treated me,” says Thomas after a few moments. 

  Christopher raises an eyebrow. 

  “Treated you…?”

  “Oh, don’t play stupid with me!” snaps Thomas. He tosses down his silverware. “Just because this frog here suggested it, you act as if my hobby weren’t a waste of time while before, you’ve had nothing but terrible things to say about my work. If you like him so much, you may as well have him instead of me!” 

  Pushing back his seat, he angrily storms out of the dining hall, ignoring Takashi’s cries. His feet lead him through the halls and into the castle courtyard, where Ryoga was practicing archery. Looking at his stormy expression, Ryoga sets down his bow. 

  “Do you want to talk about it?” 

  “It’s that damn frog,” snaps Thomas. “They like him more than me!” 

  Ryoga’s lips twitch. His friend forces down a smile before he can be punched. 

  “It’s only one more day and then he can leave, right?” 

  “They’ll make him stay or something!” groans Thomas. “I can’t do this any longer! All he does is make me feel inadequate. Imagine! ME! Feeling jealous of a stupid, enchanted frog!” 

  He angrily kicks at a stone. 

  “A promise is a promise though, right? After tonight, he won’t follow you anymore.” 

  Ryoga rests a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. Slowly, they walk towards a bench. 

  “Sure, he could become either of your brothers’ companion but he won’t be your responsibility anymore. We can go back to skipping lessons and sneaking ingredients from Faker’s tower.”

  Thomas’ thick brows furrow. He buries his face into his hands. 

  “But how much longer?” he asks. “How much longer can we be two fools before we’re separated?” 

  Silence follows. When Thomas looks up at Ryoga, a distant look has filled his friend’s eyes. The breeze ruffles Ryoga’s violet curls. His lips are dry and Thomas desperately wants to wet them. 

  “We can be fools now, can’t we?” murmurs Ryoga as he looks at Thomas. A slight pink has filled his cheeks. “I’ve given this a bit of thought and…”

  “Oh, you think?” snarks Thomas, trying to bury the nervousness building in his stomach. 

  Ryoga’s chapped lips curl into a smile. 

  “More than you do.” 

  “That’s not a particularly high bar,” snorts the prince. 

  His friend chuckles.

  “Anyways, I…you feel the same way, don’t you?” he asks, his breath catching in his throat.

  Ryoga doesn’t look at him, his eyes focused on the ground ahead of them. Thomas’ cheeks burn as he regards Ryoga’s expression. 

  “Yeah,” he grunts. “If you mean enjoying being a fool with you.” 

  A small smirk fills Ryoga’s lips. He turns to Thomas and leans closer. In his eyes, Thomas sees flecks of dark indigo. He’s never noticed that before. The heat in his cheeks intensify. Slowly, the two lean in, their lips coming together. When their lips finally meet, Thomas pulls Ryoga closer. In turn, Ryoga grips the back of Thomas’ shirt. They fumble in each other’s awkward embrace, neither exactly sure of what to do. 

  “Idiot,” breathes Ryoga as they pull away. 

  “Dimwit,” utters Thomas as he gazes at Ryoga’s flushed cheeks.

  “Er…” 

  The two turn towards Takashi, who was awkwardly hopping into view. 

  “It’s time for your geography lessons…,” mumbles the frog. 

  Thomas rolls his eyes. Ryoga punches Thomas’ arm. 

  “With his help, maybe you could catch up to me,” he teases. 

  “Shut up!” 

  🐸

  “Tomorrow’s the day, huh?” mutters Thomas as he prepares for the night. 

  “Yup,” agrees Takashi, disappointment edging his tone. 

  “I’m not letting you stay here, if that’s what you’re hoping.” 

  “I was only trying to help you! You seemed so lonely, I…”

  “I don’t need your help!” snaps Thomas. “I was fine as I was!” 

  The frog narrows his eyes. 

  “No, you weren’t! You haven’t been ‘fine’ for years!” 

  “So what? You’re going to hop in and change me for the better?”

  “Better than running off into the woods with your lover and hoping that things at home fix themselves,” huffs the frog. 

  Thomas’ heart skips a beat. Heat fills his cheeks. He picks up Takashi and shakes him. 

  “He’s not my lover! Gods, you’re nothing but a horrid frog with a big mouth!” 

  Before he knows it, the heat in his cheeks has turned into burning flames of anger. He raises the frog into the air despite its protests. 

  “You’ve done nothing but cause me trouble these last few days. I’ll be glad to get rid of you once and for all!” 

  With all of his might, he angrily tosses the frog against the stone wall. The frog lets out a terrified screech, yet when it hits the wall, Thomas is the one who is screaming. In a cloud of smoke, there is no longer any frog but a naked young man, cradling a broken arm. He looks at Thomas with the frog’s same limpid eyes. 

  “Gods, your temper is terrible…!” utters Takashi. He looks down at himself in surprise. Then he looks up at Thomas, his face breaking into a smile. “You genius! You broke the spell! I don’t know what possessed you to think of such a violent solution but, you did it!”

  “What’s the ruckus?!” calls Byron as he enters the room with a retinue of servants and his brothers. When they see the naked young man on the floor and Thomas standing before him, all falls silent. 

  In the back, Thomas can see Ryoga’s betrayed expression. 

  “Th-the frog…,” wheezes Thomas. 

  “Hello there!” nervously laughs Takashi, torn between covering up his nether regions or cradling his broken arm. “Your son broke my curse by tossing me against this wall!” 

  He makes do by turning his back towards his horrified audience. 

  Byron turns to his son, giving him a stern look. 

  “Per Heraldrian law and tradition…,” he begins after a few moments. 

  The blood drains from Thomas’ face, his rage completely forgotten by a wave of dread. 

  “In order to preserve both of your honors, there must be a wedding,” sighs Byron. 

  Thomas’ eyes dart to Ryoga’s. The young man has turned even paler. 

  “Please get him something to wear and the fastest messenger to Raschelbag,” orders the king. 

  No. No, no, no…

  “Father, wait!” begs Thomas. “I…”

  Byron shakes his head. 

  “In truth, Thomas, it was about time I found you someone.”

  He gives Takashi an awkward smile. 

  “Besides, I rather like this fellow.”

  🐸

Everyone, whether the lowliest Raschelbagian peasant to the wealthiest Heraldrian merchant, is dressed to the nines on the wedding day. In his dressing room, Thomas bites down a scream as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He’s dressed in white per Raschelbagian tradition. Takashi, on the other hand, must be draped in heavy brocade robes per Heraldrian tradition. They would be guaranteeing a partnership between their two nations with this marriage, the one thing that Thomas did right.

  And it hadn’t even been on purpose. 

  He had joked with Ryoga that he would make him his lover, but knew that once he set sail for Takashi’s homeland, there would be no returning. Since Takashi’s curse, a deadly plague had swept across his country, taking all eight of Takashi’s brothers destined for the throne. As the only one who had survived the ordeal, the Raschelbagian prince was swiftly reunited with his parents. 

  The bells chime four times, each chime a stab to Thomas’ heart. He had only just begun his journey with Ryoga. Why did it have to end now? 

  “Would you be happy if I killed him?” asks a voice from the shadows. 

  Thomas stills. Last night, he and Ryoga had raided the magician’s tower for one last time, gorging themselves on hallucinatory mushrooms. He’s certain that the effects of the mushrooms aren’t fully finished yet. Regardless, he turns towards the voice. 

  “Could you?” 

  A glint of teeth. 

  “It’s my job.” 

  The man peels himself from the shadows. He wears outlandish clothing, a long, silvery staff strapped to his back. 

  “And how would you pay me?” 

  Still certain that this was an illusion, Thomas shrugs. 

  “A life for a life, isn’t that what they say?” 

  He would rather be dead now anyways. 

  The man smiles. 

  “Precisely.” 

  Without another word, he walks out of the dressing room. 

  Shrugging, Thomas finishes up arranging his hair and pulls the white veil over his face. For once, the mushrooms hadn’t been stale. Together, in their hallucinatory daze, he had seen a future where he was with Ryoga. They had linked hands, laughing as they ran through the forest, chased by fairies and elves. 

  Really, the mushrooms had been worth it. 

  A loud bang! fills the air, followed by various screams. Thomas throws aside his veil and runs out into the halls. Below him, the guards are surrounding the fallen body of a young man. From the blue hair and brocade robes, Thomas could tell that it was Takashi. What had happened? 

  He sees a glint of metal from one of the castle towers. The man from his hallucination has returned, aiming his metal staff at Thomas. Thomas turns away from the man, his eyes now focused on the darkening stain on Takashi’s chest.  

  No. It couldn’t be…He looks up at the shadowy figure again.

  A life for a life. That was what he had promised. 

  “A royal’s promise is set in stone…,” hums Vector as he takes the shot. 

  That was what Vector’s prince had promised him as well. 

 An eternity by each other’s side, come the promises of heaven or hell.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Untamed TAZ Balance AU? Don't have to write anything, just consider that (is Wen Ning Lucretia in this or is he too nice for that)

NHS IS LUCRETIA, NHS IS ABSOLUTELY LUCRETIA, I HAVE THOUGHTS, my girlfriend yelled at me for these thoughts.  Hell this got long, I’ve literally been saving it in my drafts until Tumblr fixed the Read More issue.

WWX is Taako, JC is Magnus, WQ is Merle, JYL is in the umbrella (became a lich to keep her brother from doing it), WN is the Red Robe (became a lich because he thought it seemed reasonable), NHS is Lucretia, XXC is Davenport, LWJ and LXC are mutually Kravitz (LXC sets his bro up with the death criminal wizard), Wen Zhuliu is John Vore, LSZ is Angus but also a baby Reaper

ONE

So Wei Wuxian isn’t really a wizard, is the thing.  Like, he does the wizard magic, and apparently he has strong Wizard Vibes because wherever he travels, people ask him if he can solve their magical bullshit problems, but he’s, like, barely a wizard.  He’s an inventor, technically, except that a few years back some stuff went explosively awry while he worked with this traveling show and–yeah.  So he’s working as a wizard because, hey, he can cast Magic Missile and he needs to eat and he’s an Evocation specialist, anyway, so it’s not like he’s out here making food from rocks.  He’s hired on with a couple other random jackasses, a fighter who took a dislike to Wei Wuxian right off the bat and a cleric with a bad temper and an itchy Sacred Flame finger, and they’re doing a job for some dwarf, or whatever.  The dwarf has a guy hired on as muscle, but he doesn’t look like much, all wide eyes and baby face.  He calls himself Qionglin, no last name, and stares at Wen Qing like he’s never seen a cleric before, and Jiang Cheng spends the entire trip to Phandolin messing with his whip, which is the stupidest weapon Wei Wuxian has ever seen.

Well, then everything immediately goes horribly wrong, though, and turns out that Jiang Cheng is pretty okay with that whip.  Qionglin (Wei Wuxian spoke to the man all of one time, but he was sweet, if a little awkward) gets himself kidnapped by a bunch of goblins, and their employer is gods-know-where with whatever a Black Spider is, and suddenly this very boring escort mission is a very not boring rescue mission.

There’s a skeleton in the cave.  Wei Wuxian takes an umbrella from it, and it crumbles into dust beneath its red robe.  There’s a very annoyed man with a sword who calls himself Song Lan and speaks in static, and he’s somehow not the weirdest part of this whole day.

Phandolin doesn’t survive its brush with the Zidian Gauntlet, and neither does Qionglin.  Wen Qing screams when he dies, and Wei Wuxian grabs her under the arms with Jiang Cheng and books it for the empty well in Song Lan’s wake, and they just hide.  

And then they go to the goddamn moon, apparently.

TWO

The goddamn moon is run by an older man with hair still a glossy black, toying with a beautifully painted white fan in his hand.  He calls himself the Director and–after some testing–hires them more or less on the spot.  Something flickers over his face when Wen Qing, bemused by her own upset, makes an offhand mention of a man named Qionglin who died when the Gauntlet brought down so much lightning that it turned Phandolin into black glass.  But it’s not Wei Wuxian’s problem, so he doesn’t worry himself over it too much.  He takes the payment offered to him by the Director’s aide, a blindfolded, stunningly handsome man in Bureau blue and white who rests his hand on his own chest and says “Xiao Xingchen” and not another word.

The Bureau is–weird.  They’ve got a giant jellyfish and a store run by–something Wei Wuxian Does Not Trust and a dorm.  Wei Wuxian laughs and kicks Jiang Cheng cheerfully in the ankle and says “Just like college, huh?” and Jiang Cheng gives him a dark look and snaps “I never went to college.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking.  “Me neither.”

Whatever.  They go on a train adventure and there’s a kid, a kid who blinks and stares at Wei Wuxian like he’s seen a goddamn ghost and immediately walks up to introduce himself as Lan Sizhui, boy detective.

Wei Wuxian fucking loves this kid.  He’s not sure why this wide-eyed fifteen-year-old latched onto him so hard, but he’s smart, funny, loyal, and extremely easy to pick on.  13/10 child rating, in Wei Wuxian’s book.

(Sizhui, for his part, more or less kicks down the door to his father’s offices in the Astral Plane the second the Reclaimers are gone and shouts “I HAVE A LEAD ON WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WORLD.”)

(His father, Lan Wangji, the Grim Reaper, is very interested to hear all about it–especially when his son casually name-drops three of the biggest bounties that the Raven King, his adoptive elder brother, has ever sent him after, with the exception of that absolutely insufferably sweet-tempered lich Wen Ning.)

THREE

So…the Crystal Kingdom.

Is it Wei Wuxian’s finest hour, shouting obscure tentacle-related threats at the second crystal construct they’ve seen in the past twenty minutes?  No, probably not.  But it’s been a stressful day, they’re already down one Regulator and Song Lan is fuck-knows-where with Mianmian and, again, this is the second menacing crystal construct they’ve seen in twenty minutes.  Or maybe it’s the same one? 

Whatever, doesn’t matter.  They’re here to hunt down Meng Yao, a scientist who’s been dicking around with some seriously ill-advised necromancy and also the Philosopher’s Stone, and a crystal construct or two isn’t going to stop them.

Wei Wuxian actually physically cannot help himself, though, when the Reapers appear in the mirror, a matched set of beautiful men, and he grins broadly at the one glaring at him most viciously.  They get let go on a technicality, along with a conduit still containing Meng Shi’s memory of a vision beyond the cosmos, and Meng Yao leaves with his life and not much more.

Later, Lan Wangji is absolutely betrayed by the realization that his brother willfully set him up to be the primary go-between for the completely breathtaking deeply irritating wizard-by-way-of-death-criminal.  And that’s before the whole lich revelation.  (He does get a kiss, though, after he watches his brother pulled under by the Hunger.  That’s nice.  He hopes Wei Wuxian will mitigate the death crimes now that they’re dating.)

FOUR

The seven Relics are as follows:

The Zidian Gauntlet, which can generate a lightning blast so powerful that it can obliterate an entire city.  (Jiang Cheng–he watched the others try to lay in protections, try to make their Relics harmless, and he knew it wouldn’t work.  All the Gauntlet does is damage.  It can melt a city down to black glass, but it can’t be twisted, it can’t be made into any more of a nightmare than it already is.  He’s a fighter.  He knows all about damage, knew all about what he was making.  That doesn’t mean it didn’t kill him by inches to watch it leave a path of destruction–so much that his beloved jiejie tried to seal it away.)

The Oculus, which can make any construct real.  (Xiao Xingchen–Nie Huaisang didn’t take everything.  He doesn’t remember the mission, or his own past.  Something strange got confused in the process, and he lost most of his speech.  But he remembers how to fight, handles his sword as cleanly and effectively as ever, and he remembers that he doesn’t think much of Nie Huaisang’s combat skills.  Or maybe it’s just really obvious that Nie Huaisang isn’t much of a fighter.  Regardless, Xiao Xingchen insisted on accompanying him, before–before.  Then they went into the Felicity Wilds, and…Xue Yang is honestly delighted.  He’s never managed to ruin someone so badly on the way into Wonderland before.  It’s just a shame that Nie Huaisang sent Xiao Xingchen away before they reached the doors.)

The Healer’s Sash, which can manipulate natural forces like the wind, the tides, and tectonic plates just as easily as it can manipulate a heartbeat or a pair of lungs.  (Wen Qing–she prays to Pelor, the Dawnfather, the healer and Lord of Light, but she’s long since lost her faith in him as anything but a contracted boss.  It’s a shock to everyone including her when she’s granted a right arm made of glass and magic after losing it.  She was so determined to make a Relic that could be used for good, but–well.  She supposes she should have known better.)

The Philosopher’s Stone, which can more or less transform anything into anything.  (Jiang Yanli–she’s a Transmutation wizard, she’s been feeding the crew of the Starblaster for a hundred years on whatever she can pull together.  If the right person found the Stone, it would have ended world hunger.  The wrong person found the stone.  Jiang Yanli tried her damnedest to hunt it down, but she found the Gauntlet first, and, well–she already became a lich to stop one younger brother from doing it.  It’s not a struggle to decide that she’s going to take responsibility for saving Jiang Cheng from his own guilt.  Then things go horribly wrong, and she spends the next twelve years in an umbrella.)

The Temporal Chalice, which offers complete control over time.  (Wen Ning–he was a strict scholar until his sister was contacted about the IPRE’s creation, but he always did want to travel, and his theories about bonds were too good for Xiao Xingchen to pass up having on his crew.  Everything he’s done since they lost their home system has been about trying not to leave his family, about trying for second chances, he became a lich for them, he’s done everything to stay with them, of course his Relic is a second chance generator.)

The Animus Flute, which offers control over the spirits of the dead and, in the hands of a sufficiently competent expert, the living.  (Wei Wuxian–he’s watched his brother, his sister, his friends, die so many times.  He’s terrified of immortality, but he’s most terrified of being alone.  He meant to make something that could keep the dead present, so that they would never have to fear being left behind again.  Watching it rip Jiang Cheng’s soul clean out of his body in Xue Yang’s hands is the worst thing Wei Wuxian can remember, even after everything is over.)

The Bulwark, which Nie Huaisang never did explain to anyone, but took the shape of a hand-painted fan.  (Nie Huaisang lost the only person who mattered to him when the Hunger ate their home, and then as he slowly, painstakingly, rebuilt something like a family, he had to watch them suffer and die for a hundred years.  And then he watched them win, and grieve like dying all over again for the winning.  He’s sorry they suffered for his actions.  He’s not sorry for what he did.)

FIVE

Wen Zhuliu didn’t mean to make his whole plane give up.  But he had spent his whole life being used, and it all just seemed so pointless.  It all just seemed so pointless.  There was always someone stronger, always something bigger, always a rule he couldn’t break, always something, and he started talking, started telling people as much, and--

Wen Qing is about the farthest thing in the fucking world from a peacemaker by nature, if you ask her, but she’s a healer first, last, and most of all.  And, she thinks as she watches the sun sink with a very tired man crumbling away at her side, she might be the only person in the worlds who ever noticed that Wen Zhuliu needed a healer.

(They aren’t from the same plane, but--some of the others have found distant family, on their new home.  It’s an unanswerable question, if they might have been family, a few dimensions removed.  Wen Ning still thinks about it.)

[vampiresuns]

Fine Arts and Equally Fine People

1,845 words. In which Cadenza and Dante decide to have a little competition to woo Amparo Cassano, but Dante’s attention is taken away by someone else. Anatole flexes his language abilities for someone, and Milenko runs after a certain Countess.

Cadenza and Dante belong to @arcanecadenza​.

Dante and Cadenza looked at the poster announcing the play they came to see in Vesuvia’s Community Theatre. A painted poster depicting a scene with the characters of the Operetta, announcing “La Cassano'' as the main character above the name of the play. 

“That’s her,” Dante said, Cadenza still silently looking at the poster, her eyes tracing the lines of Amparo’s smile.

“It is. Let’s get in.”

The siblings got inside, showing the tickets they had already purchased, in the standing Yard. Cadenza would’ve preferred to be sitting in one of the galleries, but they had been told by the cast of the play (and Amparo herself) that many of the acts and intermissions were interactive, so a Yard position might be more fun, if they desired to experience the play in full. Besides, the play had already been going for some time, so it wouldn’t be as packed as it was during the first weeks of it. 

“Did you bring her anything?” Dante asked as they handed their coats in the coat check. “I wasn’t really sure of what the exact Vesuvian custom is, and then I thought everyone must bring her flowers, then I didn’t know who to ask and books were not very illustrative on the matter—”

“So?”

“So I brought her a self-refilling pen. Actors need to mark scripts all the time, don’t they?”

Cadenza hummed as she gave a coin to an usher in exchange for a program for the play. “I brought her tea. Asra said she always asked him to brew her some tea when she was over?”

Dante gave her a betrayed look. 

“What? He’s a friend of hers.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I would’ve brought her tea anyway.” 

“That’s still cheating.”

Cadenza decided to focus on the program, which explained the basic argument of the play, had a list of the dramatis personae and the name of whom they were played by, as well as other tidbits here and there. It was useful to take her away from her nerves. Cadenza didn’t exactly know what she was doing, even if she was confident enough in herself. It felt almost like a date without being a date (and with her brother there), not to mention gift-giving had never been her forte. She had been too busy to compose something for Amparo, but she had wanted to. Maybe she would be able to later. 

She hoped she was. She had been beautiful and so sure of herself in her flowing dress; her lips were defined and always curving up slightly, her hands soft as they had brushed with Cadenza’s, telling her how she wished she could make it to the play, not just for herself but for the play’s sake. 

“But I do hope I’m reason enough,” she had added, clearly flirting. Cadenza had told her she would be better company than her brother in a streak of competitiveness, making Amparo laugh. 

Cadenza found herself playing with the corners of the program, dog earring them; she frowned at it and offered it to her brother. 

Her brother didn’t respond. 

“Dante? Dante. Dante.” She rolled her eyes, leaning her shoulder against her brother’s. 

“Uh? Oh, I wasn’t looking.”

A blush began to bloom on Dante’s cheeks, Cadenza giving him a funny look as he began fidgeting, throwing one last glance in the general direction he had been looking, before taking the program out of Cadenza’s hands. Cadenza followed the direction of her brother’s gaze and finally saw him, recognition dawning on her. He was as blond as ever, animatedly talking to a man with dark, bronze brown curls, dressed in black. 

She couldn’t help but to give a curious look to her brother. “I didn’t know you knew Anatole.”

“You know him too?”

“Dante, I’m pretty sure half of Vesuvia knows who he is, but yes, we have tea together sometimes. Well, I have tea, I’ve only ever seen him drink coffee. He’s a friend.” She paused, in the background the orchestra still played. “Where do you know him from?” 

“The palace library,” the program was now completely forgotten in Dante’s hands. “I run into him from time to time, but we never visit the same sections. We talk sometimes, he’s, hm, very charming.”

The play began not very long after, the siblings dropping the subject altogether, even if Dante still seemed to steal looks towards the box Anatole was sitting in. The play was everything it promised to be and more: Amparo had been right, standing on the yard was never tedious, tiring. Something was always happening that took your attention away from standing on your feet — an actor would run through, someone would begin in an Aria in the middle of the crowd, leaving you to wonder when they got there. 

Amparo herself was stunning. Her voice was clear and melodic, capable of softness and drama; when she danced, the stage moved with her, the lights dancing to her lead. She transformed on stage, and Cadenza felt herself be transformed with it.

The crowd clapped, the siblings joining the ovation, and eventually the theatre began being evacuated. The siblings did as Amparo had told them too: they went backstage, announcing themselves. One of the lyricists of the Opera volunteered to go let Amparo know, and as soon as she cleared them, the lyricist came back to guide them through the hecticness which was the backstage of Vesuvia’s community theatre, asking them their opinion on the play. 

“We don’t really have private changing rooms but this is La Cassano, she’s too delightful not to let her get away with a little of this. Not that I need to tell you two, hm?” She said, cheeky. 

Amparo emerged from beyond a curtain. “Zinovia, don’t torment my guests! Only I can do that.” As a hello she winked to the siblings, holding the curtain open for them to come in. “I’m so glad you too could make it! Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The changing room, which was really just a space separated by dividers and colourful curtains, was not very personalised. Zinovia had been right when she said this wasn’t Amparo’s own changing room and in fact had space for more people. It was still cozy, if a little messy, with puffs to sit as well as a patched up armchair. 

Amparo sat in the chair of one of the vanities in the room, wearing a well loved, dark blue robe. 

“I do have my own changing room in the other theatre, so I hope you’re not put off by people announcing themselves in and out. If you’d prefer more privacy, we could always grab drinks afterward, I think I know just the place.”

With the mention of drinks, Cadenza mentioned the tea, saying it was inside the pockets of her coat. Amparo, lightly touching her arm, told her not to worry, she could send someone to retrieve the coats. “It’s nothing, I promise.” 

Before she could do anything, a voice came from beyond the robe. It was Anatole’s. “Are you decent and are you available, Lele?” 

Amparo snorted. “I’m not decent, but I’m wearing clothes, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She opened the curtain with one swift motion. “And almost always available for you two. Cadenza, Dante, these are Anatole and Milenko — my cousins.” 

“Oh, I do know both of you,” Anatole added with a smile.

“I don’t!” Milenko said cheerily. “Hi!”

While Milenko gave Amparo a quick kiss on her temple, congratulating her for the performance, Anatole gave Cadenza a friendly wave, but, to the latter’s amusement, focused on her brother. “Non sapevo che fosse tuo fratello, Cadenza. Dante, è un piacere, come sempre,” he took Dante’s hand to bring his knuckles to his lips. “I also didn’t know you two liked Opera, what a delightful coincidence. Amparo, Lenko, should we all go to get something to drink afterwards.”

Milenko had his head poking outside of the curtains, and was yelling a thank you back at someone. “I have to run.”

Anatole raised his eyebrows at him. Amparo gave him a quizzical, yet amused look “Because...?” She said.

“Apparently the Countess was discreetly watching the play with one of her sisters, and they’re leaving, so I have to go like, right now, I’m going, I’m gone.” 

Amparo’s and Anatole’s attention was taken away from the Alighieri siblings, as they encouraged Milenko and wished him luck, telling him to run fast and to go already, watching him get through the backstage crowd as he turned to yell back at his cousins that Nadia was what beauty itself should look like. Amparo laughed, and Anatole rolled his eyes.

“So,” Cadenza began, sitting on the armchair and straightening the nonexisting wrinkles in her dress, “you talk sometimes.”

“We’ve only talked, Cadenza.” 

“I win then?”

Dante paused. He looked at his sister, then at Anatole, who was talking about something he couldn’t make out with Amparo. “Okay, fine you win.”

“I did say she would find I’m better company.”

Dante didn’t have a chance to argue, because Amparo and Anatole had their attention back on them, asking them if they would like to go for drinks with them afterwards. Neither Cadenza nor Dante found a reason to complain. 

Soon enough their coats were retrieved. Dante took out the self-refilling pen, but Amparo politely declined. “I do mark up my scripts all the time, but I am sure Anatole will find that a little more useful. He collects quills after all.”

“You do?”

“I do,” his smile was inviting, bright, his eyes curious, looking between Dante’s face and his hands.

“Take it then, it’s yours.” 

With Dante’s attention otherwise occupied, Amparo took her chance to sit closer to Cadenza. She played with her own hair, taking it to the side so it fell over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand, her arm propped over her knee. “The tea smells fantastic. Did you enjoy the play?”

“Very much, your singing is stunning.”

Amparo smiled, her playful intensity folding over and away, a quiet kind coming in its replacement as her dark, green eyes scanned Cadenza’s face. “Thank you,” her tongue poked out between her lips when she said ‘thanks’. “I like it very much that you could come. Let me finish changing, and we’ll be on our way, is that alright?”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” Amparo repeated as she stood up, a smile reserved only for Cadenza on her face. 

In the background, the sounds of the backstage crowd of technics, direction and actors blended with Dante’s impassioned conversation with Anatole about the principles of transmutation. Cadenza was sure she had heard Anatole say before that alchemy is nothing he is very versed at, yet he seemed to be holding the conversation just fine. Perhaps she’d ask the next time she saw him, perhaps she’d forget to. Right now, following Amparo as she got behind a divider to get dressed and talk about the play and the rest of their night with her seemed like a much better prospect. 

[twitchesandstitches]

(commission of Rose going through some feederism-induced transformation on behalf of John.)

-------

The Land of Wind and Shade was actually very pretty, Rose thought as she and John walked along a path lit by the luminous fungi and trees. She’d never had much opportunity to really appreciate the visual aesthetics of their worlds when they had played the Game (as they thought of it now), back before they had become gods.

It felt like a long time ago, Rose reflected as she reached into a pocket and palmed a few tiny tablets that resembled a feminine figure in profile, with a massive belly. She considered it a divide in her lifetime.

Oh, yes. It was hard, sometimes, to really recall what it was like before they had given life to a new world and all of them (her friends, Roxy and her friends, the trolls, and all who had perished in the playing of the Game) ascended to true godhood, entering the Medium as their own divine realm and free to engage with the mortal world they made, if they wished.

It had been… who knew how long? Centuries? Perhaps millennia. Rose knew it had been a while since the Mayor and his carapacian cohorts had turned up again, presumably after the end of their mortal bodies, so perhaps it had been even longer. Eventually it might be worth it to check on the mortal world and see how it was doing without their direct involvement, but for the present, it was fine enough to simply experiment.

Reality was somewhat fluid for the new gods in their divine realm. They had different ways of expressing it, and ways to experiment with it.  For some, Rose included (and again, she thought of the transformatives in her hand), that meant tweaking their bodies.

She and John walked onwards, on the surface of his world, for the noble purpose of stuffing her with as much food as possible, and Rose was rather preceded by her own stomach, which bore a lot of testament success in this field. And perhaps a lot of worship towards her in the mortal world; she wasn’t sure if that had an effect or not.

Her belly hung out in front of her. It felt good, like that, and Rose contemplated taking another one of the transformatives she’d made specifically for this task.

Now she was waddling awkwardly, still not used to a body reshaped by those specific transformatives, and for a moment she thought that she resented this being the only word choice available to her.

She didn’t hate that she was waddling, exactly. She hated that it was an awkward word; she was pedantic, and insisted on picking the most applicable terms, and unfortunately she only had something so… inelegant, to work with.

She was waddling, even so. John was even slowing down his usual frenetic pace so she wouldn’t have to hurry, which made her smile even as being outwardly happy completely went against the persona she wore.

John was… tricky, that way.

Rose, like Dave and Terezi, had a whole headful of personas she put on around other people. She tailored herself to match their expectations, or to confound them, or because it was just really funny to do. But John saw through them. Somehow he had a knack for knowing exactly when Rose was putting up a front or not.

It was exasperating, sometimes. It was fascinating, too. It felt good to have a match that just rolled right through clever wordplay and saw what she actually meant, even if her actual wordplay falling on deaf ears was disappointing.

Now Rose fell into an easy stride, John still walking at her side, and striding was easy ernough for Rose with the physical transformation she had begun to explore lately. For instance, she noticed in a distant way, her hips were getting… wider. Much, much wider, and it helped that John enjoyed feeding her as much as she liked, and it was interacting with her transformations in some very unexpected ways; she suspected that his aspect was flooding into them, influencing the tasty treats with his very particular essence of… enthusiasm, and development.

He’d kept them moving onwards, and she wondered what that kind of attribute had towards food. Certainly it encouraged the body to pile on the pounds.

Her pelvis, she was sure, had also changed shape just as her hips had grown, her hip joints modified to swivel and roll with greater ease, and with the weight piling onto her body, it made her hips nearly three feet across. And she felt the delightful weight of every step, her hips rolling and rocking as a natural counterbalance.

Her butt was a heavy weight, beneath her robes. It pushed out and flexed in as her thighs moved, and there was a smack every time her thighs came together; they were wider than John’s entire body, wider than some of the trolls even, and the clapping of her thighs was a steady rhythm behind them.

She was starting to enjoy it, actually.

Her stomach, however, was the primary focus of her growth. The transformative pills she had made had involved little capsules and pictures of progressively bigger stomachs, and alchemized in such a way so that the pills created by it would have the attributes of bellies getting bigger, with all the resonance that implied; of good food, excellent digestion, and hedonistic satisfaction.

Or so she hoped. She no longer had SBURB to experiment with, but there was a whole reality for her to mess about with and see what happened, or maybe learn its rules.

The results of her experiments so far were plain to see: Rose’s gut was hugely distended, a round marvel projecting outwards, the itch to fill it up growing stronger even with a few recent meals gurgling away in there.

Her belly hung out from the rest of her body like a medallion, gently swaying to and fro as she moved, distending the rest of her clothes to a degree exceeding her breasts. That was no small feat; her bustline extended out several feet, lower slopes hanging above her navel and her cleavage was, all the same, pushed apart by the steadily expanding mound of a belly that was getting large enough, and often stuffed enough, to make her look moderately pregnant. Her god-tier robes had been subtly altered and now her stomach slung out of a spade-shaped opening at her front, a soft globe that was very visibly churning her most recent meals.

Her gut had changed; the way it worked was still changing. Rose was intellectually aware of that, just as she also knew that something in her power was affecting her digestive tract. To truly know something was to consume it, to totally make it part of you and grasp it, with your very being, and it seemed that her body had seized the idea.

It was quite another thing, feeling the muscles of her digestive tract seize and flex like a very mobile garbage disposal unit, or enormously powerful acids sink deep into everything she ate to dissolve it into something very much like the grist they used in crafting the things of the heavens. She could feel her meals from only a few hours ago dissolving like that, and she felt…

The essence of them, she supposed, merging with her. It felt… good. The slither of essence left a lovely shiver through her entire body.

Well, she supposed, if it felt this good already, why not give it a nudge? She took the rest of her sample of transformatives and slipped them into her mouth. She moistened them up with her tongue, and then swallowed them.

They slid down without issue. She fancied she heard a faint splash as they made it into her stomach. There was no immediate result, but she didn’t expect one. You needed food to use as fuel for a big stomach; she’d made it like that on purpose. Perhaps she didn’t have to, but there was such a thing as doing it right. ‘What,’ Rose had rhetorically written down in the cosmic journals that had largely replaced the game guides she used to expound upon. ‘Is the point of making your stomach larger if you don’t even do it by getting crammed with digestibles, I do mean, REALLY.’

The pills did have a minor effect; they bubbled and forthed ferociously in her gut, interacting interestingly with the more complex digestive processes her stomach had developed on its own since she started taking them. Her belly swelled slightly with internal pressure, and it was all she could do to stifle a small burp with her free hand.

She and John kept going; he glanced at her briefly, and left her to it. Like most of the others, he took a blaise attitude towards the current trend of mixing up their bodies, even if he currently didn’t seem inclined to do it himself.

Soon the illuminated forests and walkways gave way to an entrance arch with a suitably gnarled and strange-looking sigil upon it to indicate that this had something to do with Rose.

Beyond it, lay a small complex squatting on the ground like a lost turtle. It glowed with a faint, pleasant pattern of blue light: John had somehow taken a number of the luminous trees growing on his land and broken them down, reshaping them into a living house. As they entered, Rose saw that the general layout had not changed much since last she had visited some time ago. Then it had been, and it still was, a many-chambered and sprawling estate extending into the ground and also to the sky, producing new rooms as it expanded.

It wasn’t very well organized and it would probably be hard to find where everything was situated soon enough, but Rose honestly did not mind. It was a dinner place; those chambers were filled with very extensive and experimental cooking utilities, spawned from alchemiters from photos of ovens and handwritten lists of useful attributes for ovens, shaped the outline of massive kitchens that extended for miles, down into the depths of John’s world. They always were baking something, John’s own experiments mainly laying in the fairly mundane art of baking. Granted, where his powers were concerned, even something as straightforward as baking could get very complex.

Rose wasn’t sure if the food he made might interact strangely with her own concoctions. She thought it best to see for herself!

She looked up as they traveled into the complex, where John surely had lots of food waiting to sate Rose’s appetite; her belly rumbled loudly at the thought, so loud that John visibly jumped a bit. Rose acknowledged this with a faint shrug, but she was more interested in the smells of cooking up ahead.

They came into the complex, and John was glancing at her as they eventually arrived at a splendidly decorated chamber. He glanced up at her, specifically; Rose was fairly tall among their friends, at least the human ones, and John was probably the shortest of them all; his face generally hovered (and wasn’t THAT just the best possible word) somewhere around elbow level. The word that came to mind describing him, Rose mused, was ‘plush’; yes, she thought. Just like a plushy. He was thickly build and broad all around, but he was quite short and didn’t look terribly muscular. The effect was that of someone apparently designed for huggability.

Absently, she did just that, looping an arm around a compact but very strong shoulder and leaned slightly into him. The sudden motion tilted one of her massive hips against him, the swell of a huge butt check pressing on his waist.

He put an arm around her waist, in unconscious and perfect synchrony with her. She felt his pulse quicken, and at the periphery of awareness that her powers influenced, she felt the vague notion of thoughts blur across his mind. Not mind-reading, as such; she saw the potential that those thoughts embodied, or at least knew of them. They revealed themselves to her, like a sun rising overhead.

Such was the nature of Light.

Her belly rumbled again and Rose’s face shifted. It was genuinely pleasuable

John misinterpreted it. He looked up at her, around the curve of one huge breast, his expression adorably helpful. “Is your belly thing going okay?”

Rose smirked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sniffed the air, and her belly rumbled demandingly as the mass of her meal was transmuted into physical flesh, and her belly protruded a few inches outward.

The sudden growth made her steps falter.

John took a hard step to the side, and Rose found their trail meandering away. “Hey!” She started to say, and John just kept going, and despite being so much taller than him, despite being a lot heavier than him, she was helpless to control their momentum.

John gently brought her to a chair. “Do you want me to rub your belly?” He asked as he helped her down, the chair transforming to take in her exceptionally broad backside.

Rose’s immediate response was to simply deny any discomfort. This was thwarted by the greater urge, more powerful in recent days, to enjoy being pampered. Her mouth was still forming around the words as she said, “Actually, that sounds quite nice.”

She let herself flatten back, her broad thighs spreading wider as if lounging in some sort of overlord’s throne. Her belly hung out. For a moment she wondered if her sense of her own body was feeling askew or not, as her belly felt even bigger than it had a few moments ago. Surely that was just an illusion, spawned from her still adjusting to a new tweak to her body?

The outer curve of her stomach kept going, sliding against the cool air. She thought she felt it brushing against the tops of her legs, short of her knees, all while the sensation of growth made the whole of her belly a pleasant warmth.

She felt her belly growing, more and more. Doubtfully, she supposed she might have oversizing or undersizing its actual dimensions, and supposed it didn’t much matter. She really liked the idea of her belly being particularly big, and supposed a bit of guesswork on her part would throw anything off much.

Further speculation was halted as John pressed his hands against her stomach. It might have been the power of Breath within his body, or the intimacy of such an action, but his hands felt so warm and soft, moving against her bare skin with a wild thrill that felt so good, she had to resist the urge to force his hands still, or to squeeze against her body just so she could relish the sensation.

For a moment her eyes, and much of her body, glowed like a solar furnace, light pulsing out of her body, and then she mastered it, so that John only saw her glow like a whole body blush. “You get embarrassed easy!” he said, teasingly.

“Oh, you can think that if you want,” Rose said lightly, and gasped as he slowly moved his hands across the outer surface of her stomach, fingers kneading so deeply that it stirred against the transforming walls of her gut.

He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him smiling. Teasing smugness radiated off him, and she gave him points for deserving it there, at least.

Rose still sat up then, mastering the urge to simply lay back and let him rub her stomach, but oh, it was a powerful urge. Briefly, she imagined herself as an immensely bloated figure, without visible limbs, with nothing but an enormous belly that needed to be filled, and a great mouth ringed in huge lips for more food to be slipped down, and John a little fairy filling her up.

It ought to have been frightening. But at the thought of laying back, of food constantly sliding down her throat and making her belly constantly bigger and bigger and BIGGER, all while John orbited about to tend to her every need and whim…

Oh, yes. It was an attractive thought, at the root.

Slowly, without realizing it, she lay back, until she was lounging properly. If she were honest with herself (and honesty was not often a trait associated with those who awoke within Derse), she really didn’t care that much about keeping up appearances. At this point, it was just another habit she was gradually starting to shed.

John’s fingers slid up and around her belly, his strong fingers making intricate patterns on her just above her navel, his Breath power pulsing out into her stomach and accelerating the digestive process. Rose breathed in, and when she exhaled, the noise she made was a languorous and very satisfied sound, flush with the reality patterns of her meals fully melting into her as John’s powers sped up the whole process, mixing together in a very pleasant way.

But of course, adept fingers alone do not make for a completely ideal belly rub. His palms pressed in, deeply, his wrists flexing his hands to sink deeper into the meat of her gut, pressing against the inner walls in just the right way to really stimulate them, and Rose absently patted her own stomach, feeling a warm and fuzzy feeling.

It was hard to keep her hands off her stomach. It felt nicer to have someone else’s hands… admiring her handiwork.

John’s hands made their way down, in steady and experienced movements. Rose’s belly got bigger every time he did this, but he knew her belly all the same. It got bigger, yeah, but he knew it. The places to slide his palms to please her, the areas near her sides where she was almost ticklish, the spots near there that were just perfect for stimulating her digestion and relieved a belly ache, or a recalcitrant bit of quintessence that just would not dissolve properly.

His hounds came to those places, and he was so intent that he didn’t really notice her stomach slowly growing outwards. His hands sank deep into the ticklish spots, just enough to almost bother her, and deftly moving away to safer grounds.

Her stomach swelled a few steps outwards, closer to John, almost pressing directly against him. Absently, too focused to realize it, he stepped aside and rotated his hands against a sweet spot or two, and Rose rewarded him with a happy little noise that put a huge smile on his face.

Then, he tended to the source of the rumbling; with Rose’s pleasure still occupying important spots in his mind, he grew more attuned to her needs and the intricacies of her body, and was in a position to realize that her wobbling belly was growing faster than he was used to at this point.

He placed his hands down in a spot where he would normally rub deep and make little circles in, and he laid them down well enough. Before he could actually do anything more with that, though, her expanding flesh carried his hands apart as her belly widened.

Now John stepped back, completely on instinct, reflexes wired for just this sort of thing, and Rose’s belly still kept coming, sliding right into him and pushing him back even further.

It flowed over her legs. Her breasts, though still quite big, looked improbably small compared to the teeming flesh rising in front of him with a keen sense of demanding need. It rose up, so high and curved that it seemed to be trying to inflate itself.

John stepped back again as her belly kept steadily expanding outwards.

For Rose, the sense of pleasure faded. She felt a curious swelling, though, throughout her entire stomach, and a sense of personal space extending outwards. For some reason, John’s hands felt smaller, before he moved away.

“Um, Rose?” John’s voice called out.

Rose closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling without pondering on it too much.

“Your belly just got super big.”

The sensation continued, so pleasantly that it was a struggle for Rose to open her eyes. She glanced down, unaware of her back gradually sliding backwards against her seat until she was truly laying back, and felt, rather than saw, her stomach growing.

It was not an abrupt thing, as was often the case with these things; that was a later thought, of course. In the moment, her sharp mind faltered and stared out as her stomach slowly expanded outwards, its outer curves rising upwards as well. Her belly glowed, radiating the power of Light and shining like a star in its own right, the same faint orange as the robes hanging off her pin-up body.

Her stomach kept sliding outwards. It’s growing girth moved over her thighs and dipped out past her chair, warm air sliding across her new flesh. It wobbled faintly as she breathed in hard, trying to find words to express alarm and curiosity at this, but… it felt good. It felt really, really good. Rose squirmed in unexpected pleasure, the thrill of digestion gradually fading in favor of the new sensation of her stomach growing so rapidly that, yes, it was rising upwards, right into her field of view, and was starting to interfere with what she could actually see.

It occurred to her that John’s hands had moved back to her belly, even as it was reaching to the floor. Her stomach was quickly starting to get bigger than her, and John was standing up and slowly scooting back, but his hands were still firmly sunk into her stomach. Rose felt a surge of pleasure from the slight adjustments in him moving against her, and made a decision.

“Well?” She said archly, and stifled another swelling belch rising up from deep in her. “I didn’t ask you to stop.”

“Is this supposed to be happening?” John asked. He didn’t sound alarmed, now, that Rose wasn’t either; possibly he felt that as far as he knew, stuff like this happened all the time and he hadn’t seen it yet.

“I don’t know about ‘supposed’,” Rose said, deciding to try to play it off. “We’ve never bothered with that sort of thing. But I would like it if you kept doing what you were doing.” She leaned to the side, just enough that John could see her face where her huge breasts and the person-sized, massive gut sprawling across the floor wouldn’t obstruct it. She smiled at him, softly, eyes half-lidded and thick lips quirked at both corners. “So, would you get back to it?”

John swallowed audibly. “Well, if you say so!” His palms sank in deeply again, and Rose groaned in pleasure as they found new regions to roam across her belly, sliding downwards, nearly to the floor where they rested. The traveling motion of his hands stirred other motions across her stomach, the copious fat rippling as he moved, and it did so with so much force that it traveled up and down her new expanded gut.

Just like a ripple. The push of his hands, the lovely ways he rubbed against her gut, was amplified by the rippling, all over her belly, and she made more low noises in unthinking response, her stomach glowing faintly in response. Oh, but that felt perfect.

John kept rubbing; either her stomach was structured in a way to apply the force evenly, his Breath powers were making his rubbing continue onwards past the point he was actually touching, or perhaps a blend of the two. But as he scooted to one side where there was still a fair bit of rumbling for him to knead at, her stomach kept sliding outwards. It kept growing upwards, with ever more capacity to slide in more of his delicious food.

Rose leaned back, barely aware of losing hold of the ideas of relentless self-control that had kept her in an uncomfortable position on the chair until her belly had gotten bigger. This felt better, as far as she was concerned. She felt her stomach sliding outwards, so that it was rapidly getting close to somewhere around her own size in overall length and width, and it felt so nice that she honestly was not concerned. It did, however, feel rather empty.

Her eyes slowly opened as pangs of hunger started to grow, outweighing even the pleasures of John tending to her belly. “You had some food cooking, yes?” She said, dreamily.

John paused, his hands sunk into her belly nearly to the elbow. “Um, yeah?”

“Go get me some, would you? As much as you can carry.”

John floated up, made a little mock bow, and flitted away, a zephyr in human form.

He came back shortly afterwards. Plates of food hovered around him; not carried in each hand, but levitating about him, and without the restrictions of just two arms to carry it, he was able to bring several dozen in, loaded with all the tastiest treats he’d experimented with at the time.

“I wasn’t sure what you, specifically, might have wanted,” John said. “So I got a little bit of everything!”

Rose’s belly was no longer growing. She barely noticed. The air was thick with sweet smells and sugary tastes, warm smells laden with the distinctive after-tastes of frosting and chocolates, and undertones of milkshakes, fruits coated with impossible layers sculpted into genuine statues via the medium of chocolate and caramel, edible works of art…

“Oh, that smells interesting,” She said aloud, intrigued by what he’d worked up this time. “I must see for myself. Well, not see, but taste is a much more forensic sort of examination than just giving it a smack with your eyes.”

“That’s a horrible mental image. I like it!” John came over, with his many sweets, and sat in mid-air next to Rose, the scent maddening and she knew that he was perfectly aware of it, and just teasing her by sitting there and not giving him a single thing. What a brilliant move, on his part!

(It was entirely possible that John had no idea that Rose expected everyone else to make their every social move as brilliantly calculated as her own, and was not deliberately teasing her. It was also possibly that he knew damn well that she would think he was, and did so accordingly. It was hard to tell, with him!)

Gurgles and rumbles from deep within the expanded regions of her gut, the considerably reworked complexities of her digestive tract, and a more prosaic desire for tasty treats all got the better of Rose. She held herself back as long as possible, playing the part of a refined opponent, and finally she could take no more, and wildly reached out for the nearest piece of cake. John floated just out of reach. Normally, she would have been fine to keep it going for a while, enjoying the game of competition, clashing wits and personalities like a chess game (though not actual chess; having known carapacians, chess was now an uncomfortable exercise), but the thought of getting stuff through her throat and down her belly was too tempting.

“Very well, I give in!” She blurted out, and that was quite the surrender, coming from her.

John was still floating away. There was a terrible look of mischief about him. “What’s the magic word~?” He teased, floating almost close enough for her to pull him towards her.

“Please, and do please hurry with the treats already!” She almost begged.

“Aww. Okay…!” John floated in now, gently taking a seat in the air right next to her, just high enough that his hands could transfer things from plates to her mouth with ease. He admitted he was a little intimidated, and he tried not to look directly at the teeming massives of her breasts, or the gigantic sphere of her belly. Some part of him kept thinking ‘did I do that?’ and he was trying not to think about how nice it would be to lay down on her belly, listening to her digest.

He noticed Rose looking directly at him. Her expression shifted a little; the look of raw need and frustration had just a hint of wickedness in there. Her lips had changed, he realized; they’d grown immensely thick, puffing out into the kind of thick forms you normally associated with balloons. She raised an eyebrow, in that special Rose way of communicating a lot just with a little quirk.

“No mind reading or you won’t get any candy apples!” He said, with an adorable scowl.

Rose chuckled. “One, I don’t read minds, and two, I really don’t have to. You’re easy to figure out.”

“Hmph.” He picked up the plate, which did in fact have candy apples, and he selected one at complete random, holding it by the uncoated stem he used for handles. Gently he maneuvered it to Rose’s face, just above purple-painted lips three inches thick.

He expected her to take a bite; he did not expect her to gently put her lips against it and suck in. Whatever had changed her stomach had also altered the pressure that went into her lips, not to mention the flexibility of her jaw. Her lips flowed around the apple, saliva coating it as they slid completely around it in one smooth movement, her jaws stretching to fit the whole thing into her mouth at once, and then she slurped it into her mouth, plucking it right out of John’s hands.

“Eep!” John squeaked. Rose silently crunched the apple in her mouth, cheeks bulging but showing no sign of discomfort. She kept her eyes locked on him the whole time, her expression worryingly intent. A few hints of saliva oozed against her lips in the heat of her confectionary pleasure, and were slurped back in. Her eyes fluttered as she took in the delicious flavors of the candied apple, the way caramel and fruit blended together in ways amplified by John’s power to make a true taste sensation that a mortal simply couldn’t hope to imitate.

“Mm,” she murmured, after gulping the whole thing down at once, her belly wobbling slightly as it took it all in. “More.”

John nervously gave her another apple. Rose tilted her mouth up and sucked it in more slowly, but also sucked in his fingers too; her lips engulfed them, and pinned them there. John found that Rose’s mouth was very warm, and incredibly moist; as the apple traveled down her throat to never be seen again, the entirety of her lips pressed warmly against his fingers and then the rest of his hand as she drew it into her mouth, holding it there for a moment, and then let it go with a sound suspiciously like a kiss.

“Mm, you still have sugar on your fingers,” Rose said, eyes half-lidded. John was not quite blushing, but he was having a hard time meeting her eyes. She smiled a bit broader at that; it was nice to get one over on him.

“Well, at least you like it, right?” He said, giving her another apple. She ate it without complaint, and the next one he did, and still another went between her teeth, and soon she had polished off the entire plate. The apples were gurgling away in her belly, and she still needed more.

“Go on,” she said warmly. “Fill my stomach up, why don’t you? I’ve more than enough capacity for everything you have?”

“Challenge accepted!” John brought down more plates, picking up a slice of pie and placing it into Rose’s open mouth, and watching with fascination as she slowly chewed it, each flex of her jaw so slow that she plainly was savoring each bite.

She ate slowly, like someone taking a very long time to read a book; all in order to properly appreciate each and every detail, digesting full awareness of it to the last detail. It was the most intense way he’d ever seen someone eat his food; as if with the food in her mouth, there was nothing in all the world but his food. Her eyes closed when she swallowed, throat swelling up in huge gulps, and she radiated such satisfied pleasure that he briefly felt a surge of grand accomplishment.

And then, silently, with her expression alone, she asked for more.

The plates were emptied, one at a time; despite their number, Rose’s appetite grew so ferocious that she devoured everything on them without any sign of growing full despite the massive portions. It was gluttonous, like Terezi or Nepeta during the occasional communal dinner they had (usually corresponding to feast days in their honor, on the mortal world), but it was not ferocious; Rose did not wolf down her food or gorge on it, or try to force entire plates down all at once, as if her belly being emptied was an offense to her and all she had worked for.

No; Rose worked to occupy her belly. One slice of pie at a time, or a fraction of cake, as if taking in residents to a newly opened luxury home complex that required as many people as possible without being too much in a rush. She ate slowly and calmly, savoring every moment of it, and when she swallowed, it was loud. John had heard bells that were quieter, and like a bell, it signaled something. In this case, that she was very pleased with his offering.

He could have sworn he heard a faint, muffled echo after she swallowed. As if he heard the mouthful splashing into place in her belly.

Gulp after gulp, time went by, and both of them were scarcely aware of time passing as it did. Rose was lost in the pleasures of sweetness, tasing every metaphysical connection that went into the sweets, and each mouthful lost her in a world of deceptively calm-looking joy. John found his own satisfaction in feeding her; she loved what he was feeding her, so much, and he felt… proud of it.

And he was noticing that as they worked through the plates, her belly was getting even bigger. It gurgled loudly, of a different character than before. Then, it had wanted more to fill itself with, but now, it seemed to him that these were happy noises; the sounds of a satisfied gut, and that was something that made him feel even more proud of his handiwork.

His nature as a god of Breath felt a sense of imminence coming from her belly, though; something was going on that neither of them were quite aware of, and John felt it coming. He figured that Rose had it handled, though. She always knew what to do.

Her belly swelled larger, and emptied plates (devoid even of crumbs) lay in a neat tower near them both. The tower rose higher and higher, but even once they were all totally cleaned off, they weren’t as high up as Rose’s stomach. It had grown even bigger, sprawling out further as the feeding had progressed; each mouthful adding to its girth. It wasn’t even particularly smooth anymore, flexing and squashing in random directly as tremendously powerful muscle action crunched its contents into a fine grist to be dissolved ever more efficiently, and the power of Light flooded from her body, so that radiant pulses fluxed through.

“Mm-mmm,” Rose said softly as her breasts, now growing large enough to outsize her own torso, towering upwards. They were still small compared to her belly. Even with all the frenetic movement, it was still growing, though more slowly now. The pace of it was a pleasure all its own, a sweet friction from inside her own body and reshaping it to more efficiently be an absolutely ideal glutton.

Food dissolved alarmingly fast, mixing in with fluids and enzymes entirely unique to Rose’s divine body. It dissolved so quickly that it was building up quite a lot of gas, making her belly swell up once more. The skin of it grew firm, the pressure pushing against the inside of her stomach so much that the tightly packed shapes of her food was obscured, her gut turning almost completely round. It was hard to say how much internal gas that was; it was certainly enough to power a small, person-sized hot air balloon at the least, and in a distant way, that was precisely how Rose felt.

Rose’s eyes widened. Propriety that she unthinkingly complied with demanded that she stifle it, right now, before she did something embarrassing, while at the same time a part of her that really did enjoy not caring so much about image demanded to know ‘for what purpose?’. She tried to find a compromise, placing her hand over her mouth to muffle what she was certain would be a truly memorable belch.

Up it went, ascending like the jetpacks John had once used. Her throat swelled up with the weight of it; her breasts rose and fell as it went up her body, and her cheeks bulged when she clamped her mouth shut, realizing too late that this would be loud-

Her lips, though enormous and powerful enough to turn a milk carton inside out with a single sucking swig, were not strong enough to hold the belch back.

It roared out of her like more a force than an actual sound, wet and dripping as it left her mouth and existed in the world for a long moment. It was a shame John didn’t have any windows in that complex, because then they could have rattled in a way that could satisfy Rose’s sense for drama; it wouldn’t have actually helped the situation, but it would have sounded cool. Stone trembled as the noise went on, so loudly that it silenced every other noise around it, and her gut visibly deflated slightly as the pressure abated. Various chairs actually fell over from the force of it.

And, finally, it faded away, leaving a warm sensation in Rose’s body.

“Excuse me,” she said, daubing at her mouth in the midst of the ensuing silence.

John started to learn forward to say something, and then Rose sighed softly. “Oh,” she said, not exactly wincing but looking fairly alarmed all the same. “That’s an unusual feeling.” She put her hands to the closest bits of rolls and chub that anchored her belly to her body, and squeezed tightly, shutting her eyes.

There was something else coming; another grand change, fueled by the consumption, by her desires, and set off by the burp. Things happened in little steps and then came all at once with the right things to trigger them; she knew this.

And she thought; it was very nice to lean back in this chair. It would be nicer still to not require the chair, for maximum hedonism.

This thought went on its way, and perhaps it gave the surge of sudden physical transformation a specific route to use, a keyword to direct it. She might have already been about to take on the incoming form anyway, and the thought was just a reflection of underlying impulses that heralded it. She didn’t know for sure, and later, it was maddening.

Rose lurched forwards, her legs moving sluggishly beneath her robes and belly. The latter obscured them more effectively as Rose actually managed to get off her chair, floating upwards and then landing with a crash onto the ground. Her stomach softened her landing, and she slid backwards off it onto the ground. The back of her robes flared up, wobbling and shifting alarmingly.

“Uh, should I be looking away-” John started to say, the dimples and outlines of Rose’s butt against her robes growing much more outlined.

The growth interrupted him. Her backside, probably responding to her happiness with reclining so much, grew. Not quite as slowly as her backside, either, swelling out in a great explosion of flesh. Her legs grew shorter as her butt expanded, but it didn’t actually change anything in her height. She just wobbled back and forth, trying to maintain her balance as her butt fluxed outwards, projecting out from her body like a living bustle from Victorian fashion, and kept growing bigger.

It rose up to her waist, and a little bit higher than that, and flared outwards; so big that the sides were as broad as the rest of her body, not confined entirely by her hips. Her butt kept growing, expanding so that it was almost bigger than the rest of her body. It smacked against the ground, taller now than John himself, and Rose leaned back into it, her face almost as shocked as John’s.

Her gut dwarfed it, even so. It didn’t seem to grow larger, apart from the constant state of perpetual expansion it had been showing for some time now, but that was an academic point, given how big it actually was now. Her breasts hung high upon it, and Rose leaned into it, suspended between butt and belly for a perfect balance.

Her legs trembled, and it was hard to see them. Rose frowned, as if puzzled, at a curious cool sensation of her legs. Soon it faded, and she found that she couldn’t feel anything to do with her legs at all. She expanded her perceptions, and gasped aloud. Her legs had fused together, joined in the middle and flowing into a single piece of extended body. While useless for walking, that soon became an irrelevant point: the bones of her legs dissolved, her legs becoming a shapeless mass that hung beneath her.

Any sense of horror was cut off by a pleasurable feeling, like warm nudges coming from inside her. It felt like a sense of pressure too, not unlike that preceding the massive belch that had set off this transformation. The length where her legs had been expanded and swelled out, growing even larger than her upper body and almost as big as her butt, widening out into a sort of living base for her entire body. It was invitingly round, a living sofa for her body to recline into, and it kept expanding until it was twice as broad around as her body. Still dwarfed by her belly, but as she wobbled in place with a few more minor alterations to her stature, she remained stable, and lounged into it.

Rose shifted in place, blinking furiously. She glanced down, her robes exposing quite a lot of flesh below her. Her backside felt very well aired, and her new… base? Podium? Stand? Whatever she might call it, it was certainly supporting her.

Any bewilderment or horror at the transformation was numbed; she was more curious than alarmed. She wiggled in place. Yes; there was something almost liquid within her there, bearing her weight like a living mattress, adjusting itself to her body to avoid any cramps or feelings of discomfort.

She kept wobbling herself, in fact. It felt fun.

Her whole body felt very nice, actually. “Well, that was interesting!” Rose said, feeling herself for any traces of more genuinely inhuman transformation. Well, besides the obvious, of course. She examined herself; massive belly and butt, that puffy lower body base… she looked like a person built of orbs, and she thought it looked very nice on her.

“Rose!?” John floated around her, with the frantic energy normally associated with a hummingbird realizing too late that a diet had been a poor decision. “What happened to you!? Are you okay!?”

“I would say so, yes!” Rose adjusted herself. She turned very easily, her belly dragging on the ground and knocking several chairs and display desks over, folding them into its squishy depths. Feeling those solid objects deep in her belly-skin felt great; so much hard rigidity, shifting against her in all the right ways… oh, that was an interesting sensation.

John slowly floated to the ground. “My food makes people puffy and bloated,” He said, in tones of grave horror. “Why did no one warn me that could happen!?”

“No, no, it wasn’t any quality of your cooking,” Rose said absently, leaning into her massive belly. She was going to need some other means of getting around, but somehow, staying put seemed very attractive. Just enjoying John’s company, and the possibilities offered by her new, lovely body.

She still couldn’t keep her hands off her stomach. It felt so nice to touch, like a massive erogenous zone.

“It was me,” she said, still feeling shockingly calm. She turned towards John, smirking faintly. He looked a little lower on the ground; her new puffy base must have given her a few extra feet in height.

He blinked. His eyes had the glazed look of one trying to process something big, and fit the new Rose into his understanding of the world.

Eventually he said, in patient tones, “Uh. Okay, but. Uh. But, but why, though.”

Rose shrugged, and put her hands right back on her belly where she felt they belonged. “But why not?”

John raised a finger to make a point. He thought about it. He frowned. He lowered the finger. “Fair enough, I guess?”

[sirsharp-a]

My Conscience is Clean. ❜

Summary:  Edgar can be an idiot but God was a bigger one this time around. Warnings:  Brief mentions of abuse/sexual assault, though nothing in detail Parts:  Part 1  |  Part 2  |  Part 3  |  Part 4 ( here! )  |

    His grief was insurmountable.

    “I trust you have made your peace with the end,”   Raku said as tentatively as he could, small form gradually sinking until he could sit next to Edgar at the edge of No Man’s Bluff.  The ground was cold.  The moon, round and full, gave off a ghostly glow.  Their silhouettes looked borderline comedic beside one another, one tall and distinctive while the other was a short stubby mass.

    The lye was silent for a while, black eyes affixed on the abyss in front of him.  To him, it was like staring into a mirror.  In a voice filled with vitriol:   “... rest assured, there will be no peace.”

    I will linger in the void as a ghost.                                My spite will blacken your name, enter your blood as venom.

    “Edgar…”   The deity sighed, eyes closing tiredly.   “This is the best way forward.  You know that I do not want to do this.”

    “I don’t want to hear it,”   he spat.  In the moment, his words were more poisonous than he was.   “Just get this over with.  There is nothing I can do.  Screaming and crying about it will only make me look weaker.  I am not weak.”

    The last thing he wanted to do was sit there and accept it, but he knew deep down that there was truly no way to avoid this outcome.  The God had already made up his mind, and he was powerless to stop the chain of events that would ultimately result in his demise.  He had spent millennia outfoxing the smartest of people:  white collar criminals who had the money to buy their freedom whenever they screwed up;  threatening organised gang units who didn’t fear the law; other lyes that were, at least on surface level, ‘more’ than he was.  This, though…  this was a fight that he could not win.  There was no element of chess, no wit to be challenged  -  there was fate, and there was a cold chasm, and that was that.

                                                                                                    Grace…

    Every time her name resurfaced in his brain, his heart began to ache all over again.  It hadn’t stopped since their last night together, her touch both soothing and scalding as he revelled in its undeniable purity, but thinking of her made it hurt more.  Though he tried ever so hard not to, he couldn’t help but yearn for her.

    How could I let myself fall in love again?     How could I let my feelings be returned?     How could I even think about leaving her behind?

                                                                     There has to be  SOMETHING  I can do--                                                                                       -- there’s  nothing  I can do.

    An ear twitched as his maker’s voice drew him back to the present.  He found Raku floating in front of him, held aloft by unbridled power, short black legs slightly bent as he relaxed above the open pit as if suspended by string cast down from the Heavens.   “... pardon?”

    “Kneel,”   he repeated, gesturing to the ground with his head.  

    After a moment of hesitation, Edgar realised that he was on his feet.  He didn’t remember getting up, nor did he recall having the strength to do so.  This entire thing has taken a toll on me.  I’m not weak but I feel it.  I feel so wrought with depression and anguish that I don’t want to move.  Every time I need to get up, there’s a great ache in my bones that won’t dissipate.

    Edgar shook his head.   “No.”

    He felt it then:  a steady pressure making a home on his shoulders.  It was light at first, though the longer he remained standing, the more harsh it became.  Eventually, he was trembling with the effort it took to remain upright, legs wobbling like jelly before a final barrage of metaphysical energy saw them giving out beneath him, knees hitting the cold rock formation beneath him with a dull thud.  A flush of shame coated the back of his neck, teeth bared in a furious snarl as he glared up at the deity.

    “I said kneel.”

    “Fuck what you said,”   Edgar growled, bile transforming into a tiny ball of molten venom. Without thinking, the lye spat it at the saviour, eyes flashing a menacing white as he did.  It shot a clean hole through the deity’s robe, material fizzling with raw energy, and the shocked sound that he made sent a bolt of pleasure through Edgar’s core.   “I won’t ask for forgiveness, even though my end is nigh.  I don’t require it.  My conscience is clean.”

    I’m not your bitch.  I’ll never  be  your bitch.                                     You may take my life but you will never take my rage.

    He zoned out again.  Even when the God glowed a bright white light that hurt his eyes, he remained unresponsive, refusing to give him even an ounce more of his acknowledgement.  How dare you try to take what you didn’t help me to get?  You don’t deserve my tears, or my pleas, or my apologies.  I’ll never--

    “Stop!”

    -- stop, I’ll never stop, I’ll--

                                                                                       … stop?

    As Edgar’s head slowly inclined, he realised that Raku was no longer looking at him but off to the side, large blade seemingly crafted out of pure  light  held stationary above his head. Gradually, Edgar’s line of sight followed suit, landing on none other than Grace.  Could you feel my longing?  Is that what led you to me?

    Simultaneously:

                                   “Who are you?”                                    “Grace…”

    When she was close enough to the scene, her form shifted, golden hair and striking blue eyes replacing her animalistic visage as she skidded to a stop beside her lover.  Even on his knees, he was more than half of her height.

    “What’re you doing?”   the Alpha asked through clenched teeth, feeling a searing pain blooming in his chest.  Not only was it shameful to be seen in such a defeated position, he couldn’t bear to make her watch him die.  You seeing me take my final breath…  it will change you.

    “I read your stupid letter--”   she seethed, looking at him with such scorn that it burned. Though he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off:   “How could you address that to me?!   You idiot--”

    “Grace--”

    “YOU IDIOT--”   She had a funny way of making him feel  grateful  for having his intelligence demeaned, but in this case it only wounded him.  It wasn’t even the insult to his pride that stung-- it was the  tears  welling up in her eyes, the strong woman that he knew crumbling at the seams. He couldn’t enjoy her misery in the same way that he could other peoples’.  Grace Adler in tears was a heart-breaking sight to behold, one that chewed at what little was left of his heart.  Please stop.  Please, please don’t cry.

    Grace sank to her knees in front of him, ignoring Raku completely, trembling hands reaching up to cup the sides of Edgar’s face.   “You can’t go.  You can’t.”   She fought against the gentle coil of his fingers around her wrists, refusing to allow him to guide her away from him.   “Y-You can’t confess your feelings to me and then just vanish…  y-you can’t do that, Eddie… please don’t do that to me…”

    “I don’t have a choice--”

    “You have a choice!”   Beneath it all, she knew that what he was saying was true.  She just didn’t want to  accept it.   He’s wonderful, powerful, smart as can be…  but that’s nothing to a God.  Bitterly, fingers lightly digging into his skin:   “I  won’t  forgive you if you do this to me.  I won’t.”

    The change in his face shattered her in two.  She witnessed the last little spark of hope in his eyes die, brows arching as he stared at her wordlessly, helplessly.  His dim gaze averted sullenly from hers, focused on the dead rock beneath him.  In a tight voice:   “...  I suppose that is what I deserve.”

    “Edgar…”

    Her ears swivelled the opposite way when she heard shifting behind her.

    “Grace…”   Despite his self-righteousness, Raku’s voice was soft.   “Please step aside.  Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

    “I refuse to leave him alone,”   she hissed, glaring daggers at him as soon as she’d turned her head.  Though she could feel Edgar’s hand pressing gently against her side, as if urging her away from him, she remained adamantly in place.  Teeth were bared in a defensive snarl, venom pooling at the corners of her mouth.   “I  WON’T  let you take him from me!”

    That seemed to startle the deity somewhat.  Slowly, his weapon was lowered to his side, glowing blade matching the pallid white of his robe.  The hole that Edgar had made was now gone, no evidence of his defiance left behind.

    “I understand that you’re angry...  but you don’t see the big picture, Grace,”   Raku began solemnly, stance now more open and patient.   “His continued existence is dangerous.  He is living on borrowed time.  He--”

    “I DON’T CARE.”   The woman stood up with a stomp of her feet, fiery indignation threatening to burn her alive.  Even in her fury, she knew that she was behaving rashly.  This was her creator…  her  maker;  the one she would answer to when all was said and done.  Nevertheless, her life was as good as over if she lost Edgar now.  It had been so long since she had been granted happiness;  whether his behaviour was birthed out of lust and a desire to meddle with her feelings or not, it didn’t matter.  The end result was something real;  something that, now that she’d felt it, she couldn’t live without.   “A-All of your excuses…  every single one of them, they’re not good enough for me.  CHOKE  ON  THEM!”

    As much as she resented it, she could feel herself getting emotional.  Her eyes burned;  her throat felt tight;  her heart ached so fiercely that she felt it would burst.  Arms wrapped around herself, squeezing her frame tight as she tried to resist the urge to scream--  to jump off of the edge of the bluff--  to hurl herself at her lord and saviour and send them  both  spiralling into the dark below.

    “It feels like you don’t see the big picture,”   she uttered ruefully, voice wobbling, nails digging into her arms as she shook.  Though Raku was barely over a foot tall, his effortless hover made her feel small in his wake, like an ant staring up at an incoming boot.   “If you did, you’d know that killing Edgar is just as dangerous.  It tells me that you don’t  UNDERSTAND  all that he’s done for so many people!  It shows me that you just want somebody to be the villain, and of course it would be a lye.”   She wasn’t stupid;  she knew that Edgar wasn’t perfect.  On the contrary, she knew all too well that he was a sadistic creature that longed only for his own entertainment…  but he had always been good to her.  To his creed.  To his friends. And, as far as she was concerned, they were the ones who mattered.   “Business…  all the people that needed help and he was there to offer them it--”

    “Through abusing his abilities--”

    “It doesn’t matter!”   Grace exclaimed fiercely, teeth grit tight.   “He was there, and he was honest.  Those people needed help and he gave them it.  He didn’t need to use his powers for that but he did.  He helped the weak.  The defenceless.  Those that were trapped in horrible situations and couldn’t do anything about it themselves.  Abuse victims. Homeless people.  Young children.  Poor people.  All people who were suffering the weight of this place.  The place that you made.”   She didn’t wait to see if Raku had opened his mouth to rebuke her, nor did she look behind her to discern whether Edgar approved of her running her mouth or not.   “They’ll all be out a hero.  And his creed…  they’ll be out a leader.  You made lyes, right?  You know what happens when they’re gone.”

    “...”

    “Aléjandro Murphy.  He told me all about the time that you revealed yourself to him and a handful of others.  He’s a huro you look up to very much because of the family that he belongs to;  he’ll be out a dear friend.  Deeana Braav, a woman who treated you with extreme kindness while you were busy hiding from war;  she will lose the man who killed her abusive ex, the man who freed her.  Ivan Mox, the one I call my brother, will lose a steady beacon of support.  Huron will be out one of the first inter-species establishments that has existed.  And I…”   She felt a sob slip past her lips, even in spite of how vehemently she was trying to hold it back.   “I’ll lose all that makes me happy.  Y-You’re God…  you know the life I’ve lived--”

    “I don’t know,”   Raku interjected.

    “Then let me educate you.”   I refuse to let you take control of this conversation.  When all is said and done, you have the last call anyway.  This is the last and only chance, and I intend to take it.   “I was taken advantage of.  I was beaten and battered by my first Alpha;  raped and bred by my second.  It’s funny to me that the Alpha you want to kill off is the one that gave me everything.  Even when I was rude to him.  Even when I bared my teeth and insulted him.  Even after I acted like a little brat, because I didn’t know h-how to--  h-how--”   She paused to sniffle, furiously wiping at her eyes.  Don’t start crying now.  Don’t you  dare  lose it now.   “... h-how to deal with my--  deal with all that I’d been forced to live through…  a-and endure…  and he was  STILL  THERE.”   She’d long since learned that tears burned much like shame did.  As they trailed down her cheeks, she found that she could do nothing to stop them. How is this justice?  How does killing him resolve anything?  It’s your fault he’s even here again in the first place.  You  unleashed this ‘evil’ yourself.  The weight of the situation was steadily crushing her, an uprising surge of panic and grief threatening to submerge her.  After snivelling meekly, she doubled down, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands curled into defiant little balls.   “I won’t leave him behind.  If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me.  ”

     Could you do that, Lord?  Could you damn an innocent soul just for acting earnestly?

    “Grace…”   The God’s blade vanished, the small creature floating closer to her.   “You have to understand, this is for the best.”

    “For WHO?!”   she shrieked.   “For YOU, that’s who.  Not for me.  Not for him.  Not for the hundreds of people he’s helped.”    Everything  hurt.  Her chest ached every time she took a breath.  Her vision blurred a little more every time she blinked.  The tremors wracking her body left her feeling frazzled and exhausted.  In a more resigned tone:   “If he goes, so do I.”

    “Grace…!”   She turned back to see Edgar staring at her, wide-eyed and urgent.   “Please step back.  Don’t say th--”

    “I’m tired, Eddie,”   the scout interrupted, voice worn and weary as she looked down at him. Her hands reached out, gently touching the sides of his face again.   “... I’m so tired of living so precariously.  I want to be happy.  I want to feel stable.  I get those things when I’m with you.”   She smiled a weak smile, sinking to her knees before him once more.  Though she couldn’t stop crying, she nestled her face into his chest, relishing in the warmth, in the familiar scent.   “I always respected you for giving me choices.  I’d like to be allowed to make this final one.  If Raku takes you away, I’ll be close behind.”

    “... how…?”

    “We’re on the edge of a cliff, Edgar.”

    His arms wound tightly around her then, like an anaconda threatening to squeeze the life out of its prey.  She didn’t resist;  only nuzzled closer, his warmth soothing the terror inside.  You can’t fix me.  You never could.  But you can make things better.

    The God stared wordlessly at the couple, their wholesome embrace sending a chill down the length of his spine.  The whole time he’d thought to pursue this line of action, he hadn’t considered the possibility that Edgar was in a genuine, loving relationship.  The deity knew very well of Edgar’s sweet nothings;  of his momentary fascinations with ‘perfect’ women, only for it to sour when they displeased him in some way.  A hopeless romantic--  but a twisted one, too. One obsessed with fairytale-esque connections  -  and one who grew angry when the picture-perfect moment was soiled.  One argument was all it took.  One little blunder that most didn’t even consider a mistake…  but there was no faking the hurt on his face.  The way he clung to her was nothing short of desperate--  as if she was all he had.  Perhaps that was true.

    Was I…  wrong?  Did this little crusade of mine go too far?     Was there some element of truth to this murderer’s outrage?     Was the idea to raise damned souls from the dirt a twisted one after all?     Why do I feel like  I’m  the bad guy...?

    It had never failed him before.  Edgar was the first and only example of a hybrid lye far out-lasting its given time.  But just because his methods had succeeded in the past, itdidn’t mean that they were necessarily ethical.  A bad man Edgar Romero had been…  but a tortured one too.

    Would you have travelled that same path had you not lost everything?     Could I have done something?

    Briefly, he thought about all the positive things that he had accomplished during his first life. He’d done all he could for his family, bent over backwards to work and provide for them;  he’d been a fair, honest businessman who hadn’t resorted to trickery or fraud;  he’d incited positive political change, both as a protestor and as a public figure.  Saying ‘no’ to those above him when he felt that they were wrong…  he’d always done that  -  even before he’d lost his family.

    Are you saying ‘no’ to me in that same fashion too?

    “Perhaps…”   The God hesitated, before sinking to the ground.  Small black feet were soundless as they touched the rock below.  I honestly don’t know if I have the  bottle  for this regardless.  Killing somebody willingly...  it’s a horrifying concept, even if it’s for the greater good.  I was never too good at the ‘punishment’ part, was I, Al?  Though neither of the lyes turned or looked up to regard him, both sets of ears had swivelled in his direction.  They were listening, even if they were doing so begrudgingly.   “... perhaps there is another way.”

[nerdypanda3126]

MariChat May Day 1 - Witch AU

This is my first year for Marichat May! I'm super excited; I have so many fun little ideas for these prompts.

For Day 1, I went with a Hogwarts AU and there might've been a Polyjuice potion mishap...

Read on Ao3

Adrien peeks out of the abandoned classroom, his robes pulled over his head and his Hufflepuff scarf wrapped over his nose and cheeks. This is the worst possible thing that could've happened. Why did he agree to do this again?

He scans the hallway for someone, anyone, friendly and his eyes fall on a familiar set of pigtails. She’s sitting across the hall, her head bent over the sketchbook in her lap, smudging her charcoal stick across the page. The tips of his ears heat up at the thought of even asking Marinette, best and brightest in their class, for help, but he’s desperate.

“Psst.”

Her head pops up and swivels, looking for the source of the noise. He waves with a sleeve covering his hand to get her attention. Her eyes narrow at him suspiciously, but she closes her sketchbook, tucks it away, and shoulders her bag before she walks over to him.

"Adrien?"

“I need your help,” he says, clutching at her wrist and pulling her in with him, closing the door behind them.

She spins on him, wand out, as soon as they’re alone. He puts his hands up in defense, forgetting momentarily that he has claws. Her wand drops a fraction when she sees. Welp, that’s one way to reveal it to her. He sighs as he pulls the robes off his head and the scarf away from his face, revealing the cat ears mussing up his blond hair, whiskers, and fine black fur covering his face.

Her wand lowers all the way to her side. He squirms as she just stares at him. He wasn’t expecting her to start giggling.

“It’s not funny!” He hisses at her. Unfortunately, his tone does nothing to help his case. Her giggles intensify and she puts up a finger for him to wait.

The tail he had sprouted swishes behind him and he chases it for a minute before he catches it, looking at it fully for the first time. It’s fluffy. He has a fluffy black tail attached to him. Unbelievable. He drops it indignantly. Marinette can't even look at him; she just keeps bursting into new peals of laughter.  

When she catches her breath, she manages to pant, “You're right, you're right, it's not funny.” She suppresses the last of her giggles and wipes her eyes before clearing her throat, regaining her composure. “So you want to tell me why you were messing with Polyjuice potion in the first place?”

Crap. Of course she knows what he screwed up. “I was... trying to help a friend.”

“And ‘helping a friend’ translates to ‘Polyjuice potion’ because…?”  

Because his friend Juleka was being bullied and he and her Slytherin brother came up with this brilliant plan to transform Adrien into the biggest guy they knew so he could pretend to be dating her so people would back off. Who knew Ivan volunteers to play with kittens in his spare time?

“Can you help me fix it or not?” He asks instead.

“You think I know how to fix this?”

“Why not? You’re the best at potions in the whole school.”

She blushes and tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. "H-how do you know that?"

Because he stares at her in every class they share. Because he's caught her sticking her tongue out when she's working on a particularly tough potion. Because her name is like a neon sign whenever he sees it, and it's always at the top of the exam scores.

"Everyone knows that," he says. But he can feel the heat creeping up his face, and it has nothing to do with the addition of the fur.

She blinks at him. "Of course. Right. Here, let me see." She puts out a hand. He swallows past the lump in his throat as he sets the back of his clawed hand in hers. She grips his wrist and tests his claws with the pad of her finger, then flips his hand so their palms are together.

If he had more presence of mind, he would be embarrassed about the dense fur covering the backs of his hands. But Marinette is running her fingers through it experimentally, and she's holding his hand, and she's sticking her tongue out like he's a tough problem to solve. And his heart is trying to pound through his ribcage.

She looks up at him and brushes his hair out of his eyes to see them better. He can only assume they’re much more feline than normal. Her fingertips are cool against his forehead. He's never noticed before, but there’s a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She has a smudge of charcoal on the right side of her nose. Her eyes are steely blue, intensely focused, softened with concern. Beautiful.

His tail flicks behind him, bringing him back to reality with a crash. He's currently a half-cat disaster. Not his most attractive look.

She reaches up to feel one of his cat ears, and it surprises them both when he reflexively butts his head into her hand and starts to purr with the force of an engine. He claps a hand over his mouth and pulls away from her hastily until his back hits the door with a thud.  She seems stunned, her hand paused in the air.

He’s only had a crush on this girl for going on four years now. He’s never even been able to talk to her before outside of class. This is their first real conversation. And he just asked for pets. Mortifying. He’ll be surprised if she ever wants to talk to him again. At least she hasn’t run away yet.

After a moment, she clears her throat and drops her hand. "I'm officially way out of my depth here."

"Marinette, please-"

"But I can get you to the hospital wing and make sure no one sees." She gestures to his scarf and he takes it off hurriedly to give it to her. She circles him to wrap it loosely around his head in a way that conceals the ears and his face handily. She adjusts it in front so just his eyes are uncovered. She's wearing some sort of perfume on her wrists, and he tries not to think about how long the scent might linger on his scarf. Then she reaches in her bag and pulls out a pair of Slytherin gloves and offers them to him.

"But… the claws…" he says apologetically.  She flops the gloves at him again insistently. He takes them from her and puts them on, doing his best to avoid catching his claws, and she takes a step back to look at her handiwork.

"The tail… hmm... you'll just have to try to keep it still under your robes."

As if on cue, his tail pokes out and practically waves at her. He blushes, shoving the incorrigible appendage back behind himself.

"Easier said than done, I take it? Oh!" She digs in her bag again and produces a loose bit of yarn and a pair of pink scissors. He glances from the yarn, back up to her, and down to his feet. They can tie the tail down.

Before he can answer, she’s snipped a length of yarn off, tucked the extra back in her bag, and stooped down as if she’s about to tie his shoes. A jolt goes through him when she catches his tail and he has a curious instinct to hiss and yank it out of her hands. An instinct that he steadfastly ignores. Her fingers work quickly, though, and when she straightens up again, his tail is secured to his calf. It’s uncomfortable. But then again, this whole ordeal has been uncomfortable. Next time Luka suggests Adrien should pretend to date Juleka, he’ll just do it as himself, and not worry about Marinette possibly finding out he has a ‘girlfriend’. Not like he has a chance with Marinette now, anyways.

“Now, if anyone asks, you’re my cousin, visiting from… oh, I don’t know, someplace hot... And you find it unbearably cold here.”

He looks at his hands, encased in her gloves, and flexes his fingers. It’s a plausible excuse. As long as no one looks too closely.

“You’re amazing, Marinette.” Did he really just say that out loud? Wait, is she actually blushing? The end of his tail flicks impatiently against its constraint. They should go. He clears his throat.

“Do you mind leading the way? I can’t really see over the, you know, the scarf.” Tentatively, he offers her a hand.

She hesitates, blushing deeper than he thought possible, before she shakes her head and squares her shoulders, grabbing his hand forcefully. She opens the door to poke her head out, checking that the way is clear before she tugs him out with her and they’re off down the hallway.

With every step, he can feel the tie around his tail loosening. He can only pray it holds. Marinette has a quick, determined stride, and he stumbles a few times trying to keep up while being led by the hand. While he’s not paying attention, she stops abruptly and he barrels into her back. He hears her curse under her breath, then she spins him around to head in a different direction. He can’t imagine what she might’ve seen that made her change trajectory, until he hears someone calling after them.

“Marinette, wait up!”

It’s a familiar voice to him, although he can’t quite place it. Marinette certainly knows who it is, though. She clutches his hand tighter and pushes forward, trying to lose whoever’s back there. He can feel his tail slipping out of the yarn. He’s grateful for Marinette’s urgency, but they’ll need to stop soon to resecure it.

“Marinette, geez girl, who are you running from?” Finally, through what little he can see over the scarf, he recognizes Alya, Marinette’s best friend, as she catches Marinette’s shoulder in front of him. Marinette pauses, caught between him and Alya, and she turns slowly, pulling him back behind her as she does. As subtly as he can, he ducks behind her.

“Oh, hi, Alya, I didn’t know you were back there!”

“Who’s this?”

“Who is…? Oh! This is my….cousin… from, um…”

“Africa,” Adrien supplies behind her, the first hot place he could think of.

“Right, Africa! I was just showing him around, you know, the sights and everything.”

He can practically feel Alya raising her eyebrows in the silence. But the more pressing issue is that his tail has worked itself completely free of the yarn. He tugs at Marinette’s sleeve, but she shrugs him off.

“That’s the lamest excuse I think I’ve ever heard. What’s going on?”

Marinette shifts from one foot to the other, and she itches the back of her calf with the toe of her shoe. She’s stalling to think. He wishes he could help her come up with something. Instead he finds that he’s focused on how one of her pigtails is tied slightly lower than the other. Do not bat at the ribbons. Do not bat at the ribbons.

“Why are you hiding him? Is he your secret boyfriend or something?” Alya’s tone has turned teasing. The scarf is not helping the heat roasting Adrien’s face. He wishes.

“What? No!”

“Uh huh. Is it Adrien hiding back there? You’ve only been head over heels for him forever, it’s about time you asked him out.”

“Alya,” Marinette hisses.

His cat ears perk up under the scarf. Marinette? Head over heels for him? A purr starts deep in his chest and he coughs to cover it. Marinette turns her head a fraction to glance back at him. He shrugs, and he can see the corner of her mouth turn up in a smile.

“Uh, Marinette? Whatcha got there?” Marinette looks down at her feet, where Alya must’ve pointed. Adrien looks too. His tail had curled itself around Marinette’s calf while they both weren’t paying attention. Oops. There’s an awkward pause between the three of them, and then Marinette’s head snaps back up.

“Gotta go, I’ll explain later, bye!” The words rush out of Marientte’s mouth and she’s grabbed his hand and spun him around before he can blink. For some stupid reason, he looks back and waves at Alya. She waves back, dumbfounded, before Adrien and Marinette turn a corner. Marinette pulls him into an alcove, just in time to hear Alya running past. He should’ve known she would follow them. Apparently Marinette did.

They both wait anxiously for her to pass, and when Adrien turns his head back, he realizes he and Marinette are practically toe to toe. She’s still clutching his hand. She drops it when she notices, and she looks away while her face turns bright red. Marinette, head over heels for him.

“You should’ve told me it came loose,” she mutters.

“I did try.”

“Well, there goes the ‘no one seeing’ thing. Half the school will know within twenty minutes if I know Alya.”

He looks down before tapping the toes of his shoes against hers. “Does that mean half the school will also think I’m your secret boyfriend?” He dares to glance up at her through his bangs, grateful for the scarf for hiding more than his whiskers.

“My secret boyfriend with a cat tail and a penchant for winter wear.” She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling. Teasing.

He flexes his fingers at his side. He might never get this chance again. He pulls the scarf away from his face to look at her properly. Here goes nothing.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have to be a secret?”

A mischievous glint flashes through her eyes. She pushes him back by the nose, a smug smile on her face.

“Lose the tail first, then we’ll talk.”  

***

@marichatmay

[rowenaaclark]

The One where Adrian’s a Hufflepuff

Promised to post for the likes of @padsmcfoot and @unsuallyfurry - Here’s a Bloodlines HP AU solo fic drabble!

Adrian wandered down the candlelit hall, whistling to himself.  Portraits of witches and wizards long past eyed him suspiciously as he passed by, as the time of night was odd for even Prefects to be out and about. 

He never thought he’d end up in any sort of leadership role here at Hogwarts. He had never aspired to it, nor did he think he was even capable of such a task. In fact, he’d been quite happy somewhat bludging through his time at Hogwarts, scraping through his OWLs by the skin of his teeth. Professor Sprout had sat him down however and given him a long talk about why she thought this was an opportunity for him to not only take some pride in his character, but learn about responsibility and what it means to look out for one’s own classmates. 

He’d palmed it off at first as a joke, but the old witch just gave him a smile as she ushered him out of her small office. “I see great potential in you, boy. You just need to see it for yourself.”

A familiar cat sat on the windowsill, just down from the Hufflepuff dorm entrance, its black tail flicking petulantly. Adrian grinned, turning from the dorm entry and walked over to lean on the windowsill by the animal that almost blended into the night sky outside. 

“You know someone will eventually catch on when they realise you don’t actually have an owner here,” he murmured to the cat, offering it his hand to sniff. It was quickly batted away though by it’s paw, shaking their head in almost disgust at the gesture. “Aw puss, don’t be like that now. You won’t fool anyone with that attitude.”

He grinned as the cat stood up and shook out its fur, before transforming into the shape of a teenage girl, her long legs draped outside of the window and long dark hair catching the breeze. 

“I must admit the cat form is great, but you definitely look stunning this evening Miss Clark,” he said, folding his hands together. She all but hissed at him, running her wand across the ends of her hair, returning them to their usual lavender hue. She hated the fact she had to hide the colour half the time, but she knew a half purple cat would draw more attention to herself when she transformed. 

“I can’t wait until I perfect the spell so I can do it at will, though. McGongall says this month looks good for a storm after the full moon to finish off the incantation. Transfiguration is one thing, but I can’t wait until I get this Animagus form down,” Rowena said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. 

“But then you have to register, and think of the trouble you’ll get in then if anyone catches you out this late.”

She grinned at Adrian, a mischievous glint in her eye. “As if I’d get caught. Now, let’s go raid the kitchen for snacks.”

***

“You know, I don’t know how you both have so many extra pastries to snack on throughout the day.”

Sydney took a seat beside Adrian on the grassy hill overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Rowena glanced over at her brushing crumbs off her vest and finishing her mouthful. “Excuse me, but Beaters need all the extra calories we can get. Consider it building energy to crush Slytherin this weekend. Not to mention your pain of a half-brother in Gryffindor next month.”

“I just have hollow legs and like sweets,”Adrian said, nonchalantly, wrapping one hand through Sydney’s as she sat. Both Rowena and Adrian had been enjoying the rare sunshine that had graced the castle that afternoon, sleeves rolled up and stockings and shoes ditched beside them. “How’s your day been?”

Sydney sighed, taking out a book out of her satchel. “Arithromancy seemed to drag on forever this morning, but transfiguration and potions were both a walk in the park this afternoon.”

Rowena snorted. “No doubt because you’re already trying to beat out Marcus at his NEWTs and you’re in fifth year.”

Adrian nudged his best friend, almost knocking the unfinished pastry out of her hand. “Can’t you see Sydney is far too pure in this world to be in competition with him?”

Sydney raised an eyebrow at him, before flipping open her book in her lap. “I’m not going to deny I love a bit of competition with him. He was furious with me when I got that pass by him at last week’s game.”

Rowena laughed, stretching out on the grass. “This is why I recruited you for the team obviously, Sage.” 

Adrian looked back and forth between the girls. Rowena, with her fiery personality, had made Captain for the Ravenclaw team this year, the first female beater in a long while in the school’s history.  Somehow, over the summer, she’d convinced Sydney to try out for a Chaser this year after a few family games. Adrian had never been one for athleticism, preferring the commentary box instead, but he had to admit even the thought of his girlfriend letting her competitive streak out made him weak. It caused him more discomfort to think of watching her fly around, practicing with Ro that summer in minimal clothing in the heat. 

Sydney flicked over a page in her book, looking over at the foggy faraway look on Adrian’s face. “Earth to Adrian, you may want to stop that train of thought before something else happens,” she said with a smirk. He cast her a knowing glance, before lifting their intertwined hands and kissed the back of hers.  Rowena made a slight gagging noise before sitting up bolt straight, and letting out a chuckle. 

“OI FINCH, YOUR SHIRT ISN'T TUCKED IN, PRINCESS,” she yelled across the grass where the Gryffindor team were leaving the pitch after practice. Most of them looked up, but one looked the most displeased out of all of them. The blonde headed boy waved off to his teammates before swaggering over to the group. 

Marcus Finch was seventh year with Adrian, however the guy was awfully serious much like his younger half sister about his studies. He also happened to be Head Boy this year, which meant a lot of time dealing with Prefect meetings with the guy. The only benefit of those meetings was Sydney was there as well. Despite being only half-siblings, they both were somewhat similar and the pair of them were formidable when they took the same side of an argument.  

“Funny you guys are here, the team and I were just talking about how Ravenclaw is no match for us this year actually,” Marcus teased, dropping his broom in the grass in front of them. Rowena gave him the finger as he smirked and took off his arm guards. Marcus and Sydney were one dynamic, but Marcus and Rowena were the complete opposite. They enjoyed stirring each other to the point where arguments sometimes got to the verge of duel challenges. On other days, they were thick as thieves. 

Adrian snorted. “I love how none of you have faith in the Hufflepuff team this year.”

All three of them stared at Adrian before bursting out into laughter. Adrian rolled his eyes at the lot of them, loosening his yellow tie. The only other Hufflepuff in their small group of friends was a young girl called Jill, who Adrian had taken under his wing when he’d noticed her being bullied back in second year. She was only a year younger than Sydney, but fell into Rowena’s category of choice of subjects. It was an easy introduction to make, and Ro was happy to tutor the younger kind witch in Divination and Potions. Both Adrian and Ro had a talent for chasing off bullies too; Ro had a reputation for throwing punches and Adrian had a talent for a prank here or there. Both factors made the bullies disappear, and Jill had made fast friends with them all, even introducing one more to the group. 

Eddie Castile was a classmate of Sydney’s from Gryffindor, and their friendship had only improved since he had started dating Jill. Eddie was sensible and courteous and Adrian enjoyed teasing him on the regular, but he’d fit in well with the rest of them. 

Sydney looked over at Adrian, swinging his arm to rest around her shoulders and leaning into him. “I love you, but there’s no way Hufflepuff has a chance this year, sorry. They’re far too….nice, this year.”

Marcus nodded, rolling up his practice robes. “You’re all too nice really. All your fire seems to have gone to Rowena this year. She’s far too feisty with that bat.”

Ro smirked at him. “You’d know from personal experience too. You pissed me off far too much that first game.”

Adrian pouted down at Sydney, tightening his arm around her. “I’m not just ‘nice’ to you am I?” 

She chuckled, running a hand over his chest. “No, you’re chivalrous too I guess. You’ve let your bad boy ‘pureblood’ attitude slip far too much to be credible as a once were,” she mused. She smirked at him though. “Although you’re still pretty smooth I’ll give you that.”

 “Well, he tries at least,” Rowena added, Marcus chuckling at her comment, “Sage, we all know that you run this relationship, pick up lines or no.” 

Sydney laughed, patting Adrian’s leg in jest. Adrian sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Look I’m not going to deny, Sydney has me wrapped around her finger, but can I keep some sort of illusion of manliness?” 

Rowena shrugged. “Nah, I read it in your tea leaves. She’s a dominant presence in your life, and it ain’t changing anytime soon.”

“And there goes Clark’s credibility, everyone!” Marcus exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Ro lashed out with her foot from where she was sitting to tip him over while he wasn’t looking, but he caught her ankle on the way down and dragged her with them so they were both laughing in the grass. Marcus caught his breath and sighed still. “You put so much into Divination though, it’s going to get you nowhere.”

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Hey she’s predicting a damn few good things from my tea leaves, not to mention that time-”

Rowena gave him a sharp look, cutting him off. “It’s just been tea leaves, nothing else Adrian,” she said, her voice suddenly turning hard. Her eyes pleaded with him to stay quiet, and Adrian made a slight nodding motion at her silent request. No doubt, Marcus would only tease her more if he found out she’d blacked out one afternoon with Adrian while studying for her OWLs last year. The weird thing was though, she’d started talking about their lives like they were 30 years older. She’d quickly snapped out of it, and swore him to secrecy, clearly shaken from the event.

Sydney gave her a worried look, before turning to Marcus. “Have you heard from Dad this week?” 

Marcus shrugged, brushing the grass off his robes. “Nope. Although no doubt I’ll get some letter of disappointment that once again I’ve refused to make friends with one of the sons of one of his more important colleagues in the Ministry. Half of me wants to blow off being an Auror because he’ll be there, hovering at every moment.”

Adrian gave him a knowing look. Disappointing their fathers was something of a shared bond between Marcus, Sydney and him. Although, he didn’t tend to put much disappointment on Sydney. She was often met with resentment from Jared, mainly for the fact she was a girl. He’d never acknowledge just how talented and accomplished she was because of that one factor. Adrian smiled down at her still tucked into him, enjoying the sunshine on her face. She deserved nothing that her father threw at her, and Adrian knew he would die trying before he let her believe anything her father told her. 

“Well, you can always join me in flying by the seat of your pants and having no firm plans for after this year?” Adrian offered to Marcus, shrugging. “I mean, it’s a tough life, and I’d understand if it’s hard to dedicate yourself to but someone’s gotta do it.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I can definitely confirm, I won’t be doing that but thanks for the offer.”

Sydney gave him a knowing look, and let out a sigh. “It’s going to be weird when you’re both not here bickering. I may just have peace and quiet out here to study next year.”

Adrian gave her an incredulous look. “What, so you’re just assuming I’m not leaving Rowena with instructions to annoy you instead? I have a whole host of owls at the ready to send you my daily insights already too. You’ll barely get that peace and quiet I assure you, Sage.”

A distant bell tolled in the distance. Rowena perked up from where she’d been sunning herself. “Dinner time, excellent. I’m starved,” she said, grabbing her shoes and stockings. Marcus groaned as he pulled all his Quidditch gear together, Rowena picking up his broom for him and handing it to him after he stood. Adrian quickly slipped on his own shoes and socks, and caught up to where Sydney waited for him. The other two had started to make their way ahead of them, no doubt keen to fill their bellies from the long day.

Adrian took Sydney’s book bag from her before taking her hand. “I know I’ll be leaving at the end of the year, but you know this won’t be the end of us right?”

Sydney sighed happily, swinging their hands. “I know, Adrian. You’re the one thing that makes this studying and regular routine worth it. A little distance won’t come between us. Besides, now I get letters everyday apparently? That’d be nice.”

Adrian laughed. “I mean I can start now, but kinda defeats the purpose when I can just tell you how stunning you are in person, right?”

Sydney smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Time to start cherishing it, I guess.”

[touchmycoat]

5, 6 (i already know this is some insane amount), 9, 10, 16, 23, 26 (house)

BAAABE :*

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

my office cubicle apparently kdsjfnksd

no but genuinely anywhere i can zone out. i make faces & mutter to myself when i write tho so, anywhere where that wouldn’t draw weird glances lmfao

6. If you’re really concentrating, how many words can you write in a day?

bahahaha i think Farmer’s Almanac holds the record rn—10k, give or take.

9. Do you prefer to write AUs, canon divergence, or canon-compliant fic?

#selfintrospection, my pattern per fandom seems to be starting with canon divergence! I’m a side characters ho, y’all know this, so I always like to recenter the narrative & get a surer foothold in my own interpretations of character first. but after that.... no preference! I love (and have written) all three to great enjoyment heheheh just depends on where i wanna see ‘em fuck

10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot the most?

NFJDNFJDNFJD HOW CAN I CHOOSE

Exposition is sexy, and i get to be the most experimental & excessive & self-indulgent here w/ style choices.

Dialogue is sexy, ‘cause voices and humor and dirty talk and heartbreak and communication!!! I’m a movie ho so i’m all about that plot-driving script game ;;;;

Plot is sexy ‘cause that’s where you get to fuck around with all the canon themes, subvert & avert & redistribute them!!!!!!!! I’m a slut for that!!!!!!!!!

can’t choose won’t choose :’D

16. What is your most underrated fic?

LMFAO you know i’m gonna say Sword of the Yi Maiden ;) she’s basically like, our child ;;

23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?

well once i sort out the single dad!Song Lan universe, i’d loooooove to switch gears & swerve into single dad!Xiao Xingchen B) just for kicks. But where Song Lan is like, a high school lit teacher and A-Qing is our favorite local delinquent child. XXC gets called in for a parent-teacher conference, and he’s actually kind of dreading it at first because AQ honestly never had too many complaints about the English teacher, so if this Song Laoshi was suddenly going to betray his daughter’s trust and tattle on her XXC would def take AQ’s side.

But! Turns out SL’s calling him in to be like “hey, AQ never does homework but is fine with participating in class if i kind of trick her into arguing about it, so i figured she just really doesn’t like being told what to do. That’s fine! But that also means I don’t think she’ll respond well to me sitting her down to talk about her higher education options, so I figured I’d run it past the parent first to see if you have any thoughts about how we’re going to proceed.”

it’d be SO fucking funny... AQ stops skipping class or stops zoning out the moment she catches onto her dad’s little ~thing for Song Laoshi. She starts challenging him in class instead on every little thing (”yeah but don’t you think it’s inherently racist to require us to read conrad at all, if there are so many books out there written by actual African postcolonial authors”) but he’s just happy she’s engaging so they bond

they’re both super proud and near tears at graduation, and AQ is too but to hide her own embarrassingly feelings she’s like “don’t pretend y’all aren’t just crying ‘cause you can finally date each other now that it won’t be fucking WEIRD for me”

26. Which part of House was the hardest to write?

hmmmmm I think I had the most number of false starts w ch. 3!! i never save shit rip but at one point i straight up had like.... 13 pages all blacked out? Oh i remember, the scene where AQ first tests SL. I had that set in like, the breakfast stall, in a busy street, a quiet street, etc. etc. I was putting each of their conversations in different contexts too, just seeing how they would play out based on the surroundings??? i even thought about dropping AQ’s POV completely at one point but I’m very glad i didn’t. The current version is actually the very first opening for the chapter i ever wrote so, el oh el, i try not to think all that effort went to waste. It’s more like, I had some ideas, but i had to prove none of them would work before i could proceed with this one, y’know?

BUT TELL YOU WHAT I DID SAVE THO. The first draft of the Ch. 2 opening? After I wrote this i was like “yikes this is way too conventional a set-up for a flashback let’s just do it,” and wrote the current version on ao3 lmao. I kept the chapped knuckles thing~

Under the Cut:

((Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing Asks!))

Song Lan stood at the entrance of his room in the inn, fist clenched hard around Fuxue’s hilt as the rain came in. Night had been the herald, and now, the lantern at the top of the stairs to Song Lan’s left was flickering wildly, buffeted about by the stormy wind.

The inn’s owner, an older woman in her 50s, spoke a string of worried utterances as she hurried up the stairs to close the window. As her hands approached the latch though, Song Lan sensed bloodthirst. Fuxue went flying.

The woman screamed, but the harm was over; a mutated critter of a hungry ghost slumped against the window frame, pinned there by Fuxue’s cool blade. Instead of closing the window for her, Song Lan pressed two paper talismans on either side. He pulled out Fuxue and watched the hungry ghost dissipate.

“Daozhang, daozhang, gratitude,” the woman wept. “A few here and there is nothing, you know? But once they begin to stay, and bigger things start to come, and we have young ones in the house, oh, it terrifies me, what state this city has been falling into…”

Fuxue returned to its sheathe, and Song Lan still had his fly-whisk tucked in his arm. He gave the inn owner a polite bow.

“I will attempt an extermination tonight.”

“Daozhang is so reliable,” the woman said, tears instantly transforming into simpering gratitude. Her distress had been in part a show, meant to move Song Lan into action. Song Lan did not mind; this was his third night at the inn, after all, and the second time the inn owner’s requested a favor from him. It stood to reason that she would think he needs more affective convincing, even if she’s wrong.

“I may trouble you for tea upon my return,” he murmured. When the woman reached out to pat his elbow in a matronly gesture, Song Lan stepped back, disguising the gesture as a readjustment of his robes as he replaced the stack of talismans back in his sleeve.

“Of course,” she replied, hand waving in the air before lowering back down to her side. A spot of tension eased at the base of Song Lan’s neck. “The stove never stops burning in our kitchen, particularly when we have guests. Just give our door a knock if the evening chef isn’t around. We’ll take care of you.”

Song Lan was grateful. He’d need the hot drink when he returned from the rain—soaking in the deluge always left his skin feeling beaten and bloated. And the sensation, if untreated, never failed to transform itself into two long iron nails hammered deep into his skull and brain. The pain was best avoided if at all possible.

(Xiao XingChen knew this about him. Nothing’s ever eased the migraines faster than XingChen’s smile as he wordlessly pushed a cup of hot water or tea across the table. Nothing’s ever distracted Song Lan from the pain more effectively than wondering exactly what would happen, if XingChen’s fingers lingered and his own could touch, just lightly, those perpetually chapped knuckles.)

(Take better care of yourself, Song Lan had once chastised when blood came seeping up between cracked skin.

I forget to, XingChen had confessed, sheepish lines crinkling around his eyes.

Had Song Lan been anybody else, he would’ve said out loud what he wished he could’ve said out loud: I’ll do it then.

Had Song Lan been anybody else, he would’ve thumbed a layer of protective grease over Xiao XingChen’s dry hands himself, save them both the need for cheesy lines and impotent promises. Words often got him into trouble, he knew this; he much preferred the vows made in every shared action that was mutually fostered into consistency. But what did it say about him, that his hands flinched from touch and Xiao XingChen walked at a careful radius around him, that he couldn’t make a vow on any level that counted?)

The extermination was no reprieve from the discomfort, the dissatisfaction, the disassembly of it all. The sky was falling apart and so was his skin. Moderation was less a stranger to Song Lan than longing, but tonight, the berating of his body was not moderated at all.

A year of searching, over, just like that.

An opportunity to apologize, gone, just like that.

A promise.

A dream.

So do you like him then? You want to really build a family with him?

Gone. Just like that.

[kartoon12]

What Does God Need with a Space Station?

Okay guys, this is probably going to sound like the weirdest post I've ever made, as this is a subject I don't talk about too often---that being dreams. Most of the time, I don't remember having any, or I'm able to recall tiny snippets here and there, with the rest disappearing into a fog. There's really only a handful of very long, very vivid dreams I can remember having, and all of them were wacky, but mostly funny thinking back on them. And they almost always involve fandoms in some way. If anyone's interested in hearing more about those, feel free to message me. (The one where me and the bridge crew of Star Trek: TNG were trying to escape a hospital with Captain Picard yelling at everyone because we were making him late for a party is a particularly fun one.)

 However....just a few nights ago, I had a dream that....REALLY takes the cake, which is putting it mildly. This is one time I really felt the need to make this public, as I seriously, really want to try and see if anyone out there can help me analyze this, as this dream contained subject matter I've almost NEVER dreamt about before, and certainly not to an intensity and specifically detailed degree such as this. I wouldn't call it a nightmare, but neither was it fun. It was spooky...but more for the oddity and sheer level of "what the f**k?!" -ness to it.

 I also feel the need to open with a disclaimer: I was raised in a Catholic household, and though I haven't attended a mass in quite some time, I still at least say my prayers every night. But I have friends of many different sections of faith; I totally respect other people's religious beliefs, and I'm not trying to force mine on anyone here. I try to keep my mind open to other interpretations of "what lies beyond" and such. Why this disclaimer? Well, you're about to find out.  Strap in, folks. This is gonna' get lengthy....

 So the dream opened in third person view, as though I were watching a movie. Somewhere in the middle of outer space, two giant robots are just sort of hovering there, fighting with each other. (I'm talking like mecha in the style of Transformers or Gundam or the like.) It's also worth mentioning that this whole opening section of the dream was presented like a cartoon. (The art style of "My Life as a Teenage Robot" is the closest I can get to describing what it looked like.) One mecha was an orange/red color, the other was blue and white. Note that I said they were fighting WITH each other, not attacking one another. That's because the "camera" (for lack of a better word) then shifted to show this HUGE spaceship off in the distance, slowly making its way towards a space station. (But not like, a realistic NASA space station or anything---this looked all sci-fi/future-y like something out of Star Trek.) The Star Destroyer from Star Wars is the closest I can get to describing what this starship looked like in terms of size and scope. Although it wasn't outright firing lasers or anything, in dream-world, my mind already knew the backstory that that Star Destroyer thing was on its way to attack the space station.

 So naturally, red and blue robot have been sent out to stop the thing. Except the two of them were bickering amongst each other, arguing over the best course of action. Blue Robot keeps insisting they have to work together; Red Robot won't listen to reason and thinks his plans are better. Finally, Blue Robot gives up trying to argue and flies off to fight the Star Destroyer thing alone. A voice over the radio (probably someone back at the station) pleads with the two to work together and that Blue Robot doesn't stand a chance and can't do it alone. Blue Robot responds with, "Well I'm gonna' have to try." And disappears into the distance.

  Considering my love for movies and comics and stuff, so far, this is par the course for dreams I've had in the past. But THIS is where things take a turn for the truly bizarre.

 The "movie" then cut to inside the space station (very futuristic and high tech looking. All white walls, furniture and equipment. Very slick and clean looking.). Everything's now in first person view, so obviously from my viewpoint now. There's a guy frantically typing at a control panel (I'm assuming he's the one communicating with the robots.) All sorts of alarms are blaring and going off. The entire station is shaking and vibrating as it starts coming under attack. I think to myself, "I gotta' get out of here!" So I race to the nearest automatic doors and have to pry them with both my hands just to get them to slide open.

 The second I crossed the doorway, everything stopped being an animated cartoon, and from here on out, for the rest of the dream, everything is now normal/live action/real world. I started running all through the station trying to find help, until eventually, I hit upon an idea.  I kid you not, the only thought that came to me at that point was, "....I have to find God."

 Yes. You heard me. "I have to find God." Hang in there. It only gets freakier.

 So I head off, trying to find anyone who can help me look for God, as by this point, He's the only one who can get us out of this mess. Couple important things to note here:

1.) Despite being on a space station, none of the people aboard are in any sort of discernible uniform. Everyone I encounter is wearing normal clothes like jeans and T-shirts and stuff (save for one person, but we'll get to HER in a second....)

2.) The deeper I go into the station, and the farther I get away from that docking bay area I started off in, the less the station shakes, and the alarms gradually get quieter, until eventually, the attacks stop completely.

And 3.) A large portion of the crew (or passengers?) I initially come across are all Chinese (or of some Asian descent thereof). Whether this station was built or funded by China, I don't know.

 In any case, no one seems to be able to speak English, and no one seems to be scared or bothered, or even aware of what's going on outside. But they can tell I need help, so they point in the direction of this lady that I'm assuming is the leader or figurehead of some sort.  I assume so, because she's the only one dressed differently from everyone else.....and she's dressed like something out of the Feudal Era. A geisha, I think they call it. A red robe with gold flower patterns. Hair done up in a bun. Face painted white. Red lipstick. The works. Queen Amidala look, ya' know?

 Of course, dream-me doesn't question this at all, and I plead with her to take me to where God is. I then started repeating the phrase, "you know?! Heart, mind, soul?!" to her, over and over again. During which, I'd point to my heart, then my head, then trace a circle in the air with both index fingers for emphasis, hoping she'd get what I was asking her. Please note that in real life, I have NO clue what Chinese religion or mythology entails, nor have I ever studied it, and I'm 100% sure what I just described is completely wrong and total bulls**t. But apparently, this is how it worked in dream world, and apparently, I knew just the right sign language to make, because Geisha Lady finally got a look of understanding on her face, smiled and nodded, and said something in her own language that gave off the message of "oh, okay. I'll take you to Him."

 So she takes me by the arm, motions for me to follow her, and I let her lead me through the rest of the space station. All the alarms and chaos from earlier has totally stopped by this point. Her dress/kimono thing is so tightly wrapped around her that she had to take fast little baby steps, and you'd think with her penguin-walking it would've taken forever, but it actually took no time at all to get where we were going.  During which, I look around, and notice that, at that point, the hallways of the station started looking more and more like the isles of a department store. She weaves me through rows and rows of shelves stacked with all sorts of stuff. Some shelves are full, others have some stuff but were clearly picked through, and some shelves are completely empty.

 At long last, Geisha Lady shows me into a large waiting room of sorts, bowing and sweeping her arm out as if saying, "well, here we are." I look around, and there's a long line of people all waiting to get into an adjoining room where God is. Only then do I finally start seeing other races of people besides the Chinese from earlier. Black, Hispanic, Japanese, White---a mixture of all sorts from seemingly all over the world are in line. And every single person has some kind of item in hand. Books, potted plants, a wooden spoon and whisk (guess that person liked cooking?); any kind of knick-knacks you can think of. (Which I guess sort of explains the department store place from earlier and why stuff was missing.) I then walked past the line and peeked into the adjoining room to see what everyone was waiting for, and.....

 Well.....um.....I found God.

 The room was a very plain looking bedroom, with beige-colored walls, a queen-sized bed, and a single nightstand, but nothing else, not even a lamp, which would explain why the room was so dimly lit, with the only available light coming in from the doorway. I took a step closer to try and better see the....well....'being' occupying the bed. Or pair of beings I guess I should say (more on that in a second). At the foot of the bed was, what appeared to be, a Hispanic man in his 20s or 30s, with short scruffy black hair and tanned skin, and wearing nothing but a plain, white T-shirt....because he had no legs. His body ended at the torso, and he was propped up with a ton of pillows so he could see the visitors better. More pillows were situated on the floor for the people to kneel on, and at that moment, a lady and her kid were kneeling in front of Him, and everyone was speaking in super hushed tones, so I couldn't really hear what they were talking about. Though, every so often, I'd hear the amputee guy (that I'm assuming was God) speaking in a calm, reassuring tone, saying things like, "Don't worry. You're going to be okay. Everything'll be fine." And so on. No stereotypical big booming voice or anything like that.

 But I probably wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was then focused more on the OTHER being occupying the rest of the bed. Lying at the top of the bed, directly behind the Hispanic guy, was another humanoid shape cut off at the torso. I say humanoid because this....thing....was more hidden in the shadows due to its position in the room. I could make out a head, neck, arms, hands, and chest....but no discernible clothes. It was more like....a dark blob that took the rough shape of a human....and it had no face. Or maybe it did, but....anytime I tried to look directly at it, its head seemed to be encased in a kind of fog, with the face area constantly shifting and blurring. If you've ever watched police or crime shows where they interview someone who wants to remain anonymous, and they blur their face out, that's basically what it looked like. And seeing this half-a-humanoid lying above the Hispanic guy, making it look like they were stacked on top of each other, almost kind of reminded me of Vishnu a bit. (The being from Hindu mythology who looks like a human with multiple arms.)

 Anyway, so I'm just standing there, taking this all in, when someone who was waiting in line (can't remember if it was a guy or lady) came up next to me, and they must've saw my confusion, because they leaned in and whispered, "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." This is the only wording I SPECIFICALLY remember, EXACTLY. Whoever the "they" is that this person was referring to, I have no clue. The robots? The Chinese? The people waiting in line? Who knows.

 The person then explained a little more, and unfortunately, I can't remember the exact wording, but they basically said something like, "It's strongly recommended that you bring Him a present." Guess that would explain why everyone in line was holding stuff. Finally, this person whispered to me, "I hear that books are His favorite." And I remember thinking to myself, 'Considering this dude's got no legs and is probably stuck in bed all day, yeah, he probably needs something to do.'

 And though I can't remember whether I thought it, or said it out loud, my last thought was, "Damn. I should've brought my books with me." (And if you know anything about me, I was most likely thinking of my self-published comic books.)

 And that's when, quite suddenly, I woke up.

  No, I'm NOT on drugs.  I have NEVER taken any drugs; recreational or otherwise,  nor do I drink. Thanks for asking.

 So.....what in the name of all that is holy does this all mean???

 Like I said in the intro, this is something that is SO far out of my wheelhouse when it comes to what I normally dream about that I felt that I HAD to put it out there somewhere. I mean, I've gotten a bare-bones taste of other religions and cultures, mostly via movies and stuff, but it's not like I'm actively studying Feudal Era China or Hindu legends all the time, nor was I reading up on any sort of material right before bed or anything. I guess what I'm getting at is that the whole religious aspect of it is what really threw me, to the point of almost feeling prophetic in a way. I had goosebumps upon waking up, and I just couldn't stop thinking about what I experienced for the rest of the day.

 I've managed to come up with just a few theories, though this could totally be off base, so bare with me.

 The only part I'm really sure on is the beginning part with the robots, since one was red and the other blue. And that whole part was in the style of a cartoon (while the rest of the space station was in "live action/real world"). My guess is that the robots are representing the Democratic and Republican parties, and how both of them have been reduced to blathering, cartoon caricatures who can't work together at all to fight something that's threatening everyone. (With the star destroyer as a stand in for the virus, I guess?)

 Then, what's with the people lining up with gifts and the section that looks like Wal-Mart? Is this supposed to mean that society's become super greedy and materialistic, to the point of thinking we can buy favor with someone? Or bribe our way into Heaven?   Then again, at least in the dream, I had little doubt that the beings in the bedroom WAS God, since He seemed like a pretty chill dude who spoke kindly and was being comforting.  So maybe the gifts people were bringing were like....representations of their hobbies or something? Maybe the vibe was supposed to be more like, "Hey! Thanks for creating me, God! Here's something I made with the talents you gave me!" Like a kid showing off their macaroni art to their parent or something like that. OR, maybe it was supposed to mean something like, "In order to follow Him, you have to give up your love for material things?" I don't know.

 And then there's that weirdly specific line that still haunts me. "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him."   I have a feeling the humanoid blurry shape that I wasn't able to clearly see the face of was the real God, while the Hispanic guy was His avatar of sorts.  Still don't know who the "they" is, though.   Or was this meant to mean something along the lines of, "Society has become so focused and desperate for a savior that they're starting to see celebrities and politicians as false gods? Thinking that one guy can fix everything, when really we should be bettering our inner selves?"

 "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." I mean, with phrasing like that, and with a certain presidential election coming up.....

 *sigh* I'm just going to end it here before I start opening up a whole other can of worms. Thanks to anyone and everyone who stuck with this all the way to the end.  The whole dream actually felt like it lasted all of ten minutes---it just took me a bit to explain all the details is all. I haven't had any similar dreams since. But still.....if anyone out there can help me interpret this thing, I'd love to hear from you, as I have the biggest gut feeling this all means SOMETHING important. I just don't know quite what. But if this IS a premonition of some kind, I just hope to God it's a good one.

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

Chapter 28

Sirius Black was extremely antsy. He just couldn't sit still. His godson would be partaking in a deadly and dangerous task in just a few days time and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even be there when the damn thing happened. The minister for magic would be there, not to mention 'Mad Eye' Moody and his damned magical eye. Even if Sirius showed up in his animagus form, Moody's damn eye could probably spot him, and then everything would be thrown to the shitter.

He was returning from another trip down into Hogsmeade Village, playing his role as the lovable stray, Snuffles. He came upon the entrance to the cave and transformed back into his human form. He'd been doing this for months now and perhaps he'd gotten complacent, or perhaps his mind was just too distracted by his worries about Harry; whatever the reason, Sirius Black was caught completely off guard when he came face-to-face with a man, leaning against the rock wall beside the entrance to the cave.

He froze for a stunned moment before he had his stolen wand drawn and aimed at the unidentified man's chest. The man in question, who looked to be around twenty years old and had dish-water blond hair tied back into a loose low ponytail and had bright blue eyes, did not actually respond to suddenly having a wand drawn on him. Instead he just grinned and slowly rose his hands to about mid-chest, with his palms out showing that he was unarmed.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here!" Sirius demanded as his eyes began to dart around checking for any signs of an ambush or aurors.

"Don't worry, I'm alone," the man said calmly.

Sirius could detect a trace of amusement in his voice and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the young man. "That didn't answer either of my questions."

The blond man grinned wider. "No, I suppose it didn't. My name isn't really all that important, so I'll skip that one and move along to the second instead. What I'm doing here, Mr. Black, is to provide you with some information, and make an offer."

Sirius froze. Whoever this guy was, he knew who Sirius was. How the hell did he find me!

"I mean you absolutely no harm, and if, in the end, you are not interested at all in what I have to offer you, I will leave and you will never hear from me again. I won't tell the aurors or call out dementors or anything of the sort. I was only sent here to deliver a message."

"Sent by who?" Sirius asked.

"We'll get to that," the man said with a smirk.

"And I'm supposed to just trust what you're saying?"

"How about this? I'll make an oath. Swear on my magic. Would that help you feel better?"

Sirius's eyes widened minutely in surprise. Only an idiot would throw out a magical oath carelessly. Magical oaths were serious business.

"Alright, but draw your wand slowly."

The young man nodded his head and snapped his wrist lightly causing a yellow-golden wand to shoot out of a hidden holster and into his hand. Sirius tensed at the sight of it but the man kept his movements slow and obvious. He held his wand in a loose grip, pointing it at his chest and spoke clearly.

"I swear on my magic that I have no ill intentions towards Sirius Black, and have no intention of harming him while I am here today. I do not have, nor will I call in reinforcements, and I swear that I have not, and will not report his location to any branch of the Ministry. I also swear that the information that I am here to deliver to him is, to my knowledge, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So mote it be." A golden light swirled out of the wand and then around the man causing him to glow for a moment before it faded.

Sirius was stunned, but as he fully took in the words, he did feel himself relax, even if only minutely. If the young man standing before him went against his word in any way, he would be left as nothing more than a squib.

"Satisfied?" the man asked and Sirius was pulled out of his shock.

"Alright," Sirius nodded slowly. "I'm listening. So what do you want?"

"I've got quite a bit to say and some things to show you. Can we, perhaps, go into the cave?"

Sirius's eyes narrowed but he nodded his head. He led the man into the cave, and they were instantly greeted by Buckbeak the hippogriff. The man stood a few feet from the large half-horse, half-eagle creature and bowed low. Buckbeak eyed the man for a long moment before it lowered his head and bowed back. The man grinned and walked forward to lightly brush the creatures head before turning back to Sirius who had watched the entire thing with a significant air of surprise.

"Impressive creature. He got a name?" the man asked as he walked to the opposite side of the cave and pulled a small mokeskin pouch from inside his black robes. He tapped it with his wand and it tripled in size.

"His name is... Witherwings," Sirius said.

The man looked up at Sirius with a raised eyebrow and chuckled. "Sure it is." He pulled the opening to the bag open wide and pulled out a large heavy bowl with runes engraved all around it. Sirius's eyes widened again.

"Is that a pensieve?"

The man looked up and grinned as he pulled out two small crystal phials filled with the silvery liquid that he recognized as memories.

"That is correct, Mr. Black. This is a pensieve."

"Those are pretty hard to come by," Sirius said slowly. "Damn expensive and rare."

"That they are," the man confirmed. "I've borrowed this one actually, and have to make sure it gets back undamaged. However what I have to tell you is difficult to believe, and I doubted you would even consider believing any of it without some sort of evidence."

"Okay..." Sirius said slowly as he came to stand beside the man as he conjured a table and two chairs with a few wordless flicks of his wand. Sirius had to admit he was impressed. It was one thing to transfigure a table and chairs from something, but conjuring from nothing was a considerably more difficult thing to achieve. Chances were that the pieces of furniture would dissolve in a couple hours though.

The man placed the pensieve on the center of the table and set the two phials beside it as he sat down in one of the chairs. Sirius followed suit and watched the man suspiciously.

"All I ask is that you keep an open mind and realize that I am not trying to deceive you. I swore an oath to you that what I'm telling you is true to the best of my knowledge and I meant it," the man started and Sirius nodded.

"You are Sirius Black, once the best mate and best man of James Potter, and the man that he and his wife Lily named as the godfather of their son, Harry James Potter," the man began. "This being the case, I am assuming that James Potter at least mentioned to you that there was a prophecy made about Harry Potter...?" the man trailed off as a question.

Sirius stiffened and his eyes went wide. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The man smirked. "I'm sure you don't. During Lily's third trimester Albus Dumbledore went to the Potters and informed them that they were likely the target of Voldemort because a prophecy had been made that targeted their son. He had been there when the prophecy was first made, and witnessed the entire thing. However another person had been spying on he and the seer and had also overheard part of the prophecy. This individual happened to be a marked Death Eater and took the partial prophecy to Voldemort. Dumbledore told the entire prophecy to the Potters, but I suspect he told them not to tell anyone else, so I would assume that you are unaware of the exact wording, correct?"

Sirius floundered, unsure what was safe to say. He really didn't know what the prophecy said, and this guy clearly already knew about it's existence...

"No, I don't," he admitted finally. "I have no idea what it says."

"I do. I have it right here. Want to see?" he said as he picked up one of the phials and swirled it a little between his fingers.

Sirius felt his heart thrumming loudly in his chest and slowly nodded his head. The man uncorked the phial and slowly poured the silvery liquid out into the bowl in front of them.

"Have you used a pensieve before?" the man asked and Sirius nodded. A moment later they were both 'descending' into it together. They landed suddenly in the center of the Hog's Head pub in Hogsmeade. Sirius blinked for a moment, catching his bearings and looking at the room around him. The Hog's Head was a fairly shady place during the first war. People had been unaware at the time that the pub was actually owned by Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, and that the headmaster of Hogwarts had taken advantage of its seedier clientele to spy on Darker wizards. Sirius also knew that Dumbledore had used the pub a few times to leak information to the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

"The Hog's Head?" Sirius asked, in surprise.

"Yes, funny thing that, huh?" the other man said. Do you know what Dumbledore was here to do?"

"No," Sirius said shaking his head.

The other man nodded his head towards the door as it opened and Sybil Trelawney walked in, then loudly announced to the barkeep that she was there to see Dumbledore for a very important interview. She also made it a point to mention her great grandmother, who even Sirius recognized as a well renowned Seer.

The barkeep lead her up the stairs and Sirius and the blond man followed them up. Dumbledore was already in the room waiting and the two went through some standard greetings and began to commence the interview.

"He's conducting a job interview!" Sirius asked incredulously. "In the Hog's Head?"

The blond man snorted. The two watched with mild disinterest as the 'interview' continued for a few minutes. "You were an auror," the blond began, stating it rather than asking a question, "so were you trained to spot anomalies in memories?"

"Of course," Sirius said.

"Is there anything... off about this memory? It came from Trelawney, by the way. Just so you know the source."

"Yes, I figured it was her," Sirius said distractedly as he seemed to concentrate on the illusion around them. His brow puckered and he frowned for a moment before his eyes went wide with realization. "She's under the imperius!"

The blond smiled and nodded his head. "I noticed that as well. Funny thing that. If you dig into the memory with your magic you can feel the spots where her exact words have been manipulated. The important part is about to come up, so pay attention here."

A moment later Trelawney's eyes glazed over and her voice changed as she clearly entered a trance and began to recite the prophecy. Sirius watched intently. Half way through they heard the scuffle in the wall outside the room and Sirius was distracted by it for a moment before he refocused on Trelawney. Once she finished speaking there was a knock on the door and Aberforth appeared holding Snape by the collar and began to growl about having found him in the hall eavesdropping by the door.

Sirius looked like he was about to explode in anger when the blond man froze the memory.

"We'll get back to the fact that Severus Snape was the spy who gave Voldemort the partial prophecy later. Lets go back to the actual prophecy," he said as the images before them suddenly reversed and then replayed at the start of the actual prophecy. He paused it again when the disturbance first sounded in the hall.

"This is as far as Voldemort heard," he said turning to Sirius. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... With that much of the prophecy Voldemort deduced that there were two possible candidates for the identity of the one who would have the 'power to vanquish' him. One was the Potters, the other couple was the Longbottoms. Both Lily and Alice were pregnant and due at the end of July – the seventh month. Both couples had openly opposed Voldemort and had faced against him and survived, on three separate occasions."

"Frank and Alice..." Sirius breathed in a quiet voice.

"Correct. The thing that eventually separated Harry Potter from Neville Longbottom was that Neville was born on the 30th while Harry was on the 31st. So it was the Potters that Voldemort decided to focus his efforts on, and thus, the Potters went into hiding under the Fidelius."

Sirius refocused on the man with suspicious eyes. "You are extremely well informed," he said in a low voice.

"I am. And there's more. First, we need to ask ourselves, what could be behind the fact that Sybil Trelawney was clearly under the Imperius curse while making that prophecy."

Sirius's eyes darkened and he frowned. "The prophecy was fake."

"And what's more, someone wanted it to be overheard by the wrong sort. The only reason to have that conversation in a place like the Hog's Head is if you want someone to overhear it. Look here," the man said pointing to Dumbledore. The memory was still frozen at the moment that the scuffle had begun out in the hall. "Does he look pleased?"

Sirius looked at Dumbledore's aged face and gave a small start of surprise as the anger in his eyes as he glanced at the door. It wasn't the annoyance at being disturbed, it was far deeper than that.

"It looks to me like someone wasn't very pleased that their eavesdropper got interrupted," the blond man mused with a hard look at Dumbledore.

Sirius's brow furrowed for a moment before realization crossed his face. "You think Dumbledore set this up?" he gasped.

"Dumbledore wanted that prophecy to get to Voldemort. Dumbledore put Sybil Trelawney under the Imperios curse," the man said and there was no amusement in his face or voice.

"That's absurd!" Sirius shouted angrily.

"I ask that you reserve judgment. I have one more memory to show you. Come on."

And with that the memory dissolved and the two of them were back in their seats at the conjured table in the cave. The blond man used his wand to siphon the memory out of the basin and back into the phial before uncorking the other one and pouring it in.

They entered the memory to find themselves in Albus Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts and Sybil Trelawney sitting in the chair opposite the Headmaster's desk.

"This is the previous day," the blond man said as he came to stand at the end of the desk and Sirius came to stand beside him.

"The previous day?" Sirius echoed.

"Correct. This is the date that Sybil Trelawney and Albus Dumbledore originally had scheduled time for an interview. In Sybil's modified memories, she recalled getting an owl an hour before the interview from Dumbledore telling her that something had come up and asking to reschedule it for the next day down in the pub. This memory was a bit harder to find, but it was still there. Dumbledore was afraid that if he mangled her memory too much it would have an affect on her Seer's sight."

Sirius gaped at the blond man disbelievingly but his attention was drawn back to the memory as Sybil's voice suddenly shifted to a lower, gravely tone.

The only one with the power to match the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

The Dark Lord will come for him and mark him as his equal.

He will have two paths from which to chose. From one path, the End will fall upon us all. From the other, we shall be saved.

The Dark Lord and his Equal will either rule together, or destroy each other.

For either to die, it must be at the hand of the other for neither can die while the other survives...

The blond man stopped the memory and stood there silently as Sirius stood there dumbfounded.

"Can you play it again," Sirius whispered.

The other man nodded and the memory resumed from the beginning of the prophecy, playing through once more.

A thick silence spread through the room for a few long minutes afterwards.

"If you examine the magical signature of the memory you can see that it hasn't been tampered with and she is not under the Imperius here,"the blond said.

Sirius nodded his head slowly, as if numb. "Yes... I noticed," he said hoarsely.

"Do you understand what it means?"

"According to this prophecy, the only way for Voldemort to really die is if he and Harry kill each other..." Sirius said slowly. "Harry has to die..."

The man nodded. "It would appear that Dumbledore either misinterpreted it in the beginning, or he simply hoped that having Voldemort attack the child would be sufficient to destroy the Dark Lord. Dumbledore modified Trelawney's memories and then used the Imperius curse to control her and make her reenact the interview and prophecy in a more public setting – only with a modified prophecy that would make the Dark Lord target the child and try to kill him; thus destroying himself. He used Trelawney, Snape, and the Potters in a scheme to destroy Voldemort without having to actually lift a finger himself. They were all expendable pawns in his plans for the greater good," the man sneered

Sirius seemed to snap out of his stunned silence and turned to look at the man with a horrified expression.

"No!" he hissed.

"Yes!" the man hissed right back. "And when Harry Potter was alive afterwards, and marked on his forehead Dumbledore realized that instead of finishing the prophecy he had only set it in motion. He knew then that Voldemort wasn't really dead and that the scarred child left behind would be left with two paths he could choose from. On one hand, Harry Potter could choose to be a martyr for the Light and destroy the Dark Lord by sacrificing his own life. On the other hand he could go dark and join the Dark Lord, making him unstoppable. Dumbledore, being the master manipulator that he is, decided that he would need to try and control the child to make sure he would make the right choice," again the man sneered the last few lines with disgust.

"However, Dumbledore also knew that James Potter undoubtedly would have told you about the fake prophecy since you were the child's godfather. You would know that Harry had been foretold to be the one who would destroy Voldemort and you would raise him appropriately. With you Harry could have had a happy childhood with people who loved him. He would know what it was like to have joy in his life, and he would want to live. You would also train him to fight. You would have taught him advanced magic and raised him to be a proper marauder," the man smirked at Sirius's surprised expression.

"Dumbledore would have no control over him if he were to be raised by you. Dumbledore didn't need a fighter, he needed a weapon who would die by Voldemort's hands. He didn't need someone strong willed and happy, he needed someone broken and malleable. Someone that he could sculpt into his perfect weapon. The perfect martyr. Harry Potter's childhood was beyond miserable. He was beaten and starved by people who hated him and treated him no better than the Malfoy's treat their house elves. Then he was rescued by Rubeus Hagrid, who was sent by Albus Dumbledore personally. Hagrid, who did nothing but proclaim what a great man Dumbledore is. Dumbledore needed to be Harry's savior. His mentor and the person that Harry looked up to and confided in. The only way that this would all work is if Dumbledore maintained control over Harry's living arrangement.

"Fortunately for him, the rest of the world was under the impression that you had been the Potter's secret keeper. Are you aware who it was who cast the Fidelius around the Potter's house?"

Sirius frowned and shook his head. "I wasn't there. Peter was the only other one there because he was the secret keeper."

"Neither James nor Lily cast the actual spell. Neither had done it before and they didn't trust themselves to the task. They were afraid it wouldn't be cast properly or be done strong enough, so Dumbledore volunteered to cast it for them."

Sirius's face went white and he suddenly looked ill.

"Obviously, since he was there, and he cast the spell, he knew perfectly well who the secret keeper was," the blond finished airily.

"How do you know this?" Sirius whispered hoarsely.

"Peter told me."

Sirius's face went from horror stuck to fury in point-five seconds.

"WHAT! When! You've seen that rat bastard? Where?"

The man chuckled lightly and held up a hand. "We'll be getting to that in a moment actually. Shall we exit the memory?"

Sirius nodded his head jerkily, still clearly upset and a moment later the images around them were dissolving away and they were back sitting in the cave.

The man used his wand to siphon the memory back into the phial and corked it before slipping them back into the bag, followed by the pensieve. He shrunk it down and slipped it back into the inner pocket of his robes.

"As you can see, I still have my magic, so I have not lied to you," he said easily as he settled back into the chair and crossed one leg over the other knee.

Sirius blinked, seemingly confused for a moment before he frowned and nodded his head.

"Dumbledore knew that you were not the one who betrayed the Potters. I have no proof, but I would be willing to bet that he knew that Pettigrew was already a marked Death Eater. I would even be willing to bet that it was he that originally suggested Peter to James as an alternative to you as the secret keeper. Dumbledore wanted Voldemort to get to Harry, after all."

"No..." Sirius said in a weak whisper as he shook his head.

"Denial is more than a river in Egypt, Mr. Black," the man smirked, but Sirius saw no humor in the current situation. The man waited a moment and then spoke again. "He threw you away. You were in his way. You were no longer useful or necessary to his plans, so he considered you expendable – everyone is always expendable if it's for the greater good. He always had the power and the knowledge to get you free, but he let you rot away in Azkaban because as long as you were there, he had control over Harry Potter's life. Control over his weapon."

"No... no, I... I can't believe it," Sirius said again, shaking his head furiously from side to side as his face contorted in anger and despair.

"Dumbledore is not the man that everyone believes him to be. He puts on this grandfatherly facade; the barmy, slightly-senile, but brilliant old wizard that is kind and loving and that you can always trust to do the right thing," he said sarcastically and then snorted. "It's all fake. It's a lie. He puts up a fake persona to put people off their guard. He's a lying manipulative, deceitful old bastard, and you can not trust him. Least of all, with Harry Potter's safety. Dumbledore doesn't want to save Harry, he wants him dead. Why the hell has Harry Potter come face to face with almost certain death in every year he's been at Hogwarts? Ask yourself how many of those things could have been stopped by Albus Dumbledore, and then ask yourself why he didn't stop them?"

Sirius was still shaking his head, but he knew he couldn't deny the truth in the other man's words. He couldn't deny what he had seen in the pensieve. He still didn't know what to think of that prophecy. The real one.

"You said you spoke to Peter," Sirius said after a moment, latching on to a distracting diversion for a moment.

"Yes. I suppose its a good time to transition into the proposition portion of our little talk. Where to start... well, I suppose the direct approach is best. I was sent here by the Dark Lord."

Sirius was suddenly sitting ramrod straight, and at full attention. His mouth was open to say something, but Sirius found himself so stunned by the statement that he didn't know what to say.

"What!" he finally gasped, hoarsely.

"The Dark Lord sent me. He's returned to a body and is already full strength again. Has been for some time now. He's building things back up quietly before going public. He's given me permission to offer you Wormtail. Peter is unaware of this, of course, but who gives a damn what he wants, hmm?" the man chuckled and grinned as he clasped his hands on the knee that was folded over the other leg.

Sirius's jaw floundered for a moment. "Offer me Wormtail? What do you mean? In exchange for what?"

"Even trade. You get to take him and do whatever the hell you want with him – be it torture and kill, or hand him over to the Ministry and get yourself cleared – and in exchange, you join the Dark Lord and take Pettigrew's place."

"NEVER!" Sirius hissed as he stood to his feet.

"Why?" blond asked calmly without so much as flinching at Sirius's outburst.

"Because he's a murdering bastard!"

"And Dumbledore isn't?"

"He killed James and Lily!"

"Dumbledore set them up. Voldemort never would have personally targeted and gone after them if Dumbledore hadn't concocted the fake prophecy and intentionally leaked it to one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters."

"He's a bigoted bastard. He wants to wipe out all the muggleborns and kill off all the muggles!"

"No he doesn't," the man said simply.

Sirius scoffed. "Oh really?"

"Still under my oath here," the man reminded Sirius with a pointed look. "The Dark Lord doesn't give a damn about the muggleborns so long as they can keep a damn secret and follow the rules, and he has no intention of allowing his Death Eaters to resume slaughtering muggles this time around. The muggles have progressed a long way and their news travels fast now. Attacks upon the muggles would risk our exposure which is, quite literally, the last thing he wants. He wants to gain control over magical Britain and demolish and rebuild the governing system. It is corrupt and run by incompetent fools."

Sirius stared at him for a long minute, still angry and confused. He shook his head slowly and spoke. "I would never betray everyone like that. I would never betray Harry." He paused and gave the blond man a hard glare. "That's why you want me, isn't it? To get to Harry. Voldemort wants to get Harry on his side and you figure that you can do that if you get me to join?" he scoffed and stuck his nose in the air, insulted.

"No. Believe it or not, that is not why I am making you this offer. We have absolutely no intention to try and use you to get Harry Potter to join the Dark Lord. Oh, and still under oath, here," he added, smirking as he waved his wand and conjured a wordless lumos to illuminate the cave. The sun was setting and it was growing a bit dim but Sirius knew that the real point was to demonstrate that the man still had his magic.

Sirius looked back disbelievingly. "Why, then?"

"There are a number of reasons. The Dark Lord is willing to take you in Pettigrew's stead because he knows you'd be a considerably better asset. Wormtail is a worthless ball of sniveling, cowardly, lard. The man is a pathetic dueler, he can't act as a spy except in his rat form, can't really risk being seen in public, he is a rather low powered wizard, he sucks at wards and charms and is only mildly good with transfiguration and herbology, which is still not remotely useful to the Dark Lord.

"The man has no backbone and the only reason he returned to the Dark Lord in the first place was because he hoped that Voldemort could protect him from you, Dumbledore, and Harry Potter. He did not return out of loyalty or a desire to see the Dark Lord reborn, he did it out of fear and in an attempt to save his own sorry hide. He is worthless and a total waste of space.

"In contrast, you were one of the most formidable aurors to cross the Dark Lord's forces during the first war. You are a powerful wizard with a great many useful talents. You are a highly skilled dueler and if we give you Pettigrew and you hand him over to the Ministry, it will clear your name and people will realize that you were not responsible for the Potter's deaths, and not a death eater. They will likely feel guilty for you having been wrongfully imprisoned and you will be welcomed back into the Light with open arms. And when Dumbledore calls his Order back together, you will undoubtedly be invited back in."

Understanding dawned in Sirius's eyes and he scowled. "You want me to be a spy," he hissed.

"Among other things, yes."

"I won't be a murderer, I won't be marked, and I won't betray my friends," Sirius growled.

"You won't be asked to kill if you do not wish to do so. If you ever go on raids you can stun and use other non-lethal spells. As for being marked, obviously it would be unwise to mark you if we wish to use you as a spy, so that is not something you will have to concern yourself with in any sort of immediate situation. As for betraying your friends, well that's relative."

Sirius barked out a disdainful laugh. "Relative, he says."

"We hope to bring Remus Lupin to our side. He is a werewolf; he belongs with the Dark. Dumbledore will never truly push through any reform that benefits werewolves, no matter what he claims. He is the Light Lord, and werewolves are Dark creatures. They do not fall under his protection and he bears them no responsibility. It is a part of the Dark Lord's task to reassure the safety and prosperity of all Dark magic users, both human and creature. When he builds a new magical government the dark creatures will be treated with the respect that they are due."

Sirius snorted. "Moony would never join the Dark."

"He might. If you and Harry joined. The only thing that's keeping him back are his ties to the light. His debt to Dumbledore, who really is only just using him, and his loyalty to you, and to Harry Potter."

"And what about Harry? He wouldn't join you. You would have me betray my own godson? Never. I will never join the dark."

"Let me pose you different question, then," the man said calmly. "Would you join the Dark if Harry chose it?"

"What?" Sirius blanched.

"The prophecy itself says that Harry Potter has two paths. That he could rule by the Dark Lord's side as his equal. If Harry Potter chose that path, would you support him? Would you stand by his side?"

Sirius scoffed. "Harry would never join Voldemort. Voldemort killed his parents. No matter what role Dumbledore might or might not have had in it, it won't change the fact that Voldemort killed James and Lily."

"Hypothetical scenario. If Harry joined the Dark Lord, would you follow?"

"He wouldn't!"

"Hypothetical scenario!" the man said, raising his voice for the first time.

Sirius scoffed and looked away scowling. "If Harry chose to go against Dumbledore... if he... if he joined Voldemort – which he wouldn't... then I'd stand by Harry. He's my godson. I failed him before and left when I should have stayed, but I won't abandon him again. I'd stand by Harry no matter what path he chose. It's my duty. He's mine to protect."

The blond man smiled softly and Sirius was startled and confused by the depth to the expression.

"I sure hope you mean that, Sirius," he said and Sirius watched as the blond man brought his hands up and began to slide a silver ring off his finger. The moment it left his hand completely his appearance shimmered and then melted away.

Sirius gasped as he found himself sitting opposite his godson.

"H-harry?" Sirius asked.

"Will you join us, Sirius? Please?" Harry asked with hope in his voice.

"Whaa.. how... Ha-harry?" Sirius stuttered while his mouth floundered like a fish.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you Sirius. I've been hiding things and you've been so worried about me, with the tournament and all... but I just couldn't risk telling anyone what's really going on. I couldn't risk anyone finding out the truth. If Dumbledore gets wind of what I'm doing... of who I'm with, then... I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to have me killed. Or lock me up somewhere. If he realizes that he's lost control of his weapon; that I've joined Voldemort, he'll probably do anything to keep me from him. There's no telling what Dumbledore will do if he gets desperate. I just couldn't risk it."

"What... what is going on! How did this happen? You... you joined Voldemort! Harry, are you insane!"

"He's nothing like what I used to think he would be. Not really."

"He's Voldemort! He killed your parents!"

"Yeah, well I've forgiven him for that, alright! Besides, he was tricked! Dumbledore was trying to trick him into destroying himself, and me and my parents were just collateral damages! Voldemort was used and manipulated right along with the rest of us! Dumbledore is still doing it! Every year, he has allowed these different situations to spawn and grow out of control, all in the hopes that Voldemort and I will come head to head and finally just destroy each other! I'm not going to be that man's pawn anymore! I refuse to be someone else's weapon!"

"So you'll be Voldemort's weapon!"

"It's not like that! And at least Voldemort is honest with his followers! No one joins Voldemort without knowing exactly what they're getting into."

"Yeah! Death, murder, torture and servitude!"

"IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!"

"VOLDEMORT IS AN INSANE, MURDERING, MEGALOMANIAC!"

"HE IS NOT!" Harry yelled, standing to his feet and knocking his chair out from behind him.

Buckbeak made an annoyed screeching sound and the two turned to look at him warily for a moment. Harry still felt himself fuming but he picked his chair back up and sat down.

"At least... he's not insane. Yes, he's a murderer, but he only kills when it's necessary to progress his plans. And he's not a megalomaniac... he's just really ambitious," Harry said in a low cold voice.

Sirius barked out an incredulous laugh. "Ambitious? Harry, he's trying to take over the world!"

"He's trying to save the world!"

"That's ridiculous!"

"You don't know anything about what's really going on, Sirius! I mean it! Nothing! There is so much more going on than anyone ever realized. Publically, people were told that the war was all about wizarding supremacy and power over muggles, but it never had anything to do with that! Not really. Voldemort drew in some of his followers with that line just so he could get them to work for him, but his goals, his task, has nothing to do with that!"

"Well what the hell is it then?"

"I can't tell you!" Harry moaned and collapsed back into his seat. "Not yet... even I only know bits and pieces of it and that's because I stumbled across it on my own and confronted him about it. He admitted that I was right, but hasn't yet been willing to go into deeper detail. He's bound by an oath to Magic itself. This is so much bigger than anyone knows."

"How can you possibly trust him, Harry? How? He's... he's a monster, Harry! Even if what all you say about Dumbledore is true and he really is a lying manipulative old bastard, how can you think that Voldemort is any better?"

"I know because I've spent the last few months getting to know him. I mean, really getting to know him. He's nothing like I ever expected him to be. Nothing, Sirius. You don't know what Voldemort is like in person or in private because you've never seen that side of him. Hardly anyone does. He keeps his true self really private because he can't really trust hardly anyone. But he is a person. He's got this big, omnipotent, scary, alter-ego that he shows to the public and to his lower followers, but it's just a mask. It's how he deals with his responsibilities. How he maintains control of so many aggressive and ambitious personalities. He has to use fear and respect to control most of them, but if you really get to know him, you see he's a real person behind the scenes. He's still human."

"Human! Harry are you kidding me? I mean, I guess I haven't seen him since his grand return, but if he looks anything like he did before, he hardly classifies as human! Bloody snake-faced bastard!"

"That's just a transformation! He can still look human if he wants! In fact, it took him more than a month to teach his new body to take on his old form."

"What?"

"It's not important. The point is that he is human. He still looks human, as long as he's with someone he trusts – which admittedly, isn't often – and no matter how much of a crazy bastard he acts in public, he's still a man. He still thinks and feels and is still capable of giving a shit about people. Yes, he's a controlling bastard. Yes, he's a murderer. He has goals and he believes strongly in them, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals, but that doesn't mean he's a monster."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe his 'real person' thing could be the act, and the controlling insane bastard is the real him?"

"It's not," Harry said with a hard, determined voice. "Look, Sirius, I've been at this for months. I've gotten to know him pretty well."

"And how the hell did you get to know him? How could you have been working with Voldemort for months! You've been in school!"

"I go visit him every bloody day, Sirius! I've got a two-way port-key that takes me directly to his manor house and back, and I use a time-turner so that it never looks like I'm missing from the school."

"Oh, Merlin!" Sirius groaned as his hands came up and began to rub his tired and haggard face.

"Come on, Sirius! I'm trying to help you, here! You won't have to stay in this damn cave, or any cave, if you come join us! You can stay in the manor house with a bed and three meals a day! Tom's house elf Mixey is a great cook and she's not weird or crazy or anything. And I'll be there! That's where I'm staying this summer."

"Wait, what!"

"I'm not going back to the Dursley's this summer," Harry stated in a hard voice while sitting straighter and folding his arms across his chest."

Sirius paused and sat, unsure what to say for a moment. "Does anyone know of this plan?"

"Ron and Hermione are aware that I don't intend to stay with the Dursley's. Obviously they don't know where I'm really going. I'm going to let them think I'm staying in France."

"France? Why France?"

"Hermione and Ginny are under the impression that I've got some secret love interest at the school. I wouldn't tell them who he was with the excuse that he wasn't out to his family yet, and we didn't want to risk the tabloids getting a hold of his name. Basically I intend to let them think I hooked up with one of the male students that stayed this year from Beauxbatons. If Dumbledore thinks I ran off to France with my boyfriend it will look less suspicious than me just disappearing from sight for three months without any explanation at all.

"I know it would be easier to stay under Dumbledore's radar if I just went back to the Dursley's, but I absolutely refuse to go back there! I will not be forced into the company of those bastards, ever again. The only reason Dumbledore sent me to live with them in the first place was because he wanted them to break me. Well fuck him! And fuck the Dursley's! I won't ever go back there!"

"Fine, Harry. Alright. But... but Voldemort's manor? Are you crazy?"

"I swear it, Sirius! It's nothing like that for me. He trusts me. I trust him! I know it sounds mental, but I... he and I we're like... friends?"

"Friends?" Sirius echoed incredulously. "Lord Voldemort does not have friends, Harry! That's idiotic! It's just an act! You're angry that Dumbledore manipulated, but now you're just being manipulated by Voldemort instead!"

"I AM NOT!" Harry roared. "You know nothing about this, Sirius! Nothing! You're making all of these statements and assumptions from things you saw and heard second hand during the last war, but you've never seen it yourself or actually spoken to the man as an ally or a friend. He's totally different. You've only seen the side of him that he shows to enemies on the battlefield! I've spent hours and hours, every single day for three months in his company, Sirius! I'm not a fool or an idiot. He's not playing me."

"What the hell are you doing with him to warrant spending hours with him every bloody day!"

"He's been teaching me. Dueling and magic. We also work out together."

Sirius stared at Harry with shocked disbelief.

"You what? You work out together? What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

"He has a big gym set up in the manor house with exercise equipment that he designed and built. Weight training and muscle building. He'd been working out in there every morning since he got his new body back. He needed to get it into proper shape, so it made sense for him. After he started teaching me dueling, he told me I needed to work on my stamina and endurance so I could last longer in battles, and to improve my dodging and foot work. That's when he told me to start coming for his morning work out too and he'd teach me to use his equipment."

Sirius still looked dumbfounded and blinked several times as if he was still having enormous trouble wrapping his mind around what he'd just heard.

"The Dark Lord works out in a gym?" he said slowly.

Harry smirked. "Yes, he does. Most of his exercise equipment looks like it's basically modeled after muggle exercise equipment too. He's even got a magical treadmill."

Sirius's jaw floundered for a moment before he shook his head in disbelief. "I cannot even picture that."

Harry laughed.

"He's in his real form whenever we're in the gym. I guess it would probably look pretty weird to see him in there each morning in his serpentine form. I'm going to have to get used to that form though, since he's going to be using it a lot more often during the summer."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well he's going to be bringing in all his old Death Eaters soon. He's been sending out magical pulses through the Dark Marks on a regular schedule for the past month, and he's sped it up to every two days, and by next week he'll be doing it every day, and then at the end of that week he'll actually call them."

"Wait, why is he doing all that?"

"Warning, really. Giving them time to prepare. They'll know that after it's pulsed once a day for one week that he's going to call them to him, and knowing that, they'll be able to plan and prepare for it. They also know he's back to full power now because the magical pulses have been growing in strength for months. With this much advance warning, there's no excuse not to show up. Anyway, once he's called them back to him, Death Eaters will be coming and going from the Manor all the time, so he'll probably be staying in his Serpentine form almost all the time."

"What about you? You said you'd be staying there this summer. You'll get seen."

"That's what this is for," Harry said, pulling the ring out of his pocket. "Actually, I want to key you into it, so we'd may as well do that now." Harry slipped it back onto his left index finger and his appearance shimmered and shifted back into the older, blond-haired man from earlier.

"That is crazy," Sirius said with a bit of awe to his tone. "Where on earth did you find something like that?"

"The ring?" Harry asked, although his voice was lower and smoother now.

"Yeah! Merlin, it even disguises your voice!"

"It's incredible, isn't it? Tom made it."

"Who?"

"Oh, shit. Er... Voldemort."

Sirius's eyebrows rose slowly into his hairline. "His name is Tom?"

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "Yeah. But I wouldn't recommend ever ever calling him that to his face. He'd probably crucio you, if you did."

"What about you?"

"Well, he lets me call him that. But he and I have a... weird sort of relationship between us. The whole prophecy thing. There's also this er..." Harry paused, pulled off the ring and then pushed his messy black fringe away from his forehead exposing his scar. "My curse scar? It's more than anyone ever really suspected. Voldemort and I are connected together by some incredibly powerful and old magic. You know the part in the prophecy about how we can only die except by the hands of the other, and neither can die while the other survives?"

"Yeah..." Sirius said slowly.

"It's... true. I mean, we're literally immortal unless we kill each other. He cannot die as long as I live, and I cannot die as long as he lives. The only way that the two of us can die is if we shoot Avada Kadavra's at each other at the same time. Otherwise, we're immortal."

Sirius's jaw dropped and he fell back into his chair as if he had just been stunned. "That's insane!"

"It's true. It's really complicated, and I can't really risk some of the details getting out so I'm afraid I won't be explaining it in any more detail, but just trust me when I say it's true. I know that you're afraid that all of this stuff is just being fed to me by Voldemort and that he's manipulating me or tricking me or something, but I seriously found out most of it on my own. He didn't get me, Sirius, I went to him. I found him, and went to him on my own. He was shocked when I first showed up. He thought it was some sort of trick or a trap. And he didn't feed me the prophecies, I found them. I went digging around in Trelawney's head and dug the memories out of her on my own. I gave them to Tom!"

"What do you mean that you dug it out of her head?"

Harry grinned. "I'm really good at legilimency. Anyway, I got side tracked," he paused and put the ring back on, slipping back into his blond alter-ego. He rubbed his finger over the green stone set into the thick silver band and then extended his hand across the table to Sirius. "Touch the ring and it will key into your magical signature."

Sirius looked as if he wanted to protest and get back on the thing about his godson being skilled at legilimency of all things, but huffed and touched the ring. It glowed for a second and a moment later Harry's appearance shimmered and shifted back to that of black-haired, green-eyed, Harry Potter. But he was still wearing the ring.

"What just happened?" Sirius asked.

"I keyed you into the ring. Now you'll be able to see through the glamors to the real me. I can wear the ring all the time at the manor over the summer. When I look in the mirror I will see my real face, although I can switch it so that I see the glamors myself in case I want to make adjustments to it. Anyone keyed into the ring sees my real appearance too, but anyone else sees the fake me."

"And Voldemort made that?"

"Yup. It's incredibly complex magic. He's amazing at crafting things like this. You should have seen this magical orb that he made for when I went to Snape."

"Snape? Snape! He was the spy who told Voldemort the prophecy!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes he was, but he's been used and fucked around almost as much as the rest of us. Dumbledore has screwed him almost as much as he screwed you. But Snape got a cushy job out of it. You got locked away with fucking dementors."

Sirius's face went hard and he scowled angrily.

"Anyway, Sirius... I hate to do this, but I really need some promises from you before I can keep going. I've already told you way too much, but I really want to trust you."

Sirius sat up and looked at Harry. "What do you need?"

"I need a vow that you won't go to Dumbledore. An Unbreakable Vow that you won't reveal any what I've told you, to Dumbledore. You don't have to join Voldemort or the Dark if you don't want to, but I need to know you aren't going to betray me to the Light either."

"I would never betray you, Harry!"

"Then make the vow. Please, Sirius," Harry pleaded.

Sirius stared Harry in the eyes for a moment before sighing and running his hand through his hair. "Of course, pup. I'll make the vow."

The next five minutes was spent with their left hands clasped while they each held their wand in their right, pointing at their joined hands and speaking the vow.

Sirius swore to never reveal the secret of Harry's allegiances to anyone, but specifically Dumbledore or anyone in the Order of the Phoenix or Ministry, unless given express permission by Harry himself. Once the magic had settled the two sat in silence in the dim cave for several long minutes.

Finally Sirius heaved a big, defeated sigh and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Are you really sure about this Harry? I mean... Voldemort?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head at his godfather. "Yes, Sirius. I really am sure."

"How did this happen? How did you end up going to Voldemort? You said you found him? That you went to him? How...?"

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other knee. "After my name came out of the cup on Halloween, everyone ditched me. Everyone. I mean, I know you stood by me, but you weren't here. It took months for letters to come back and forth between us, so I was basically all alone. Ron and Hermione ditched me.

"I did a lot of thinking in the beginning. I sort of went into myself and started questioning and thinking about things that I'd ignored or taken for granted before. I also sort of accidentally stumbled across this huge resource of magical energy inside me that I didn't realize was there. I can't really explain it, but an enormous amount of my magic was being diverted and focused on something completely frivolous. Once I stopped it, I suddenly had access to all this magical energy and mental focus that I never had before. I could think more clearly and my mind was more focused. I gotthings. And I could see and feel the magic around me. It suddenly became so much easier to do magic, and it was amazing.

"I started teaching myself some more advanced magics in preparation for the tasks and it just sort of took off from there. I ended up digging into the Dark Arts all on my own," Harry paused as he saw Sirius's head shoot up in attention and his eyes widen a bit. "There's a place inside the school... it's not on the Map so I don't think you or the Marauders found it. It's called the Room of Requirement."

Sirius frowned. "I've heard of that. But everyone said it was just a myth. James tried to find it but we never did."

"Well I know where it is. It can be whatever you need, and that includes unplottable and exempt from the dark magic wards around the school. If you perform dark magic in there, no one will know. I practiced it in there."

Harry had decided to just stick with this story for consistency sake, but also because he wanted to keep at least one of his secrets in the school secret. If ever he needed to escape somewhere inside the school, he wanted to be able to go to the chamber without anyone knowing that he was there.

"So that's how I started getting into the Dark Arts. You remember how I told you about that vision I had during the summer? The one where Voldemort was talking with Wormtail and another man I didn't recognize? Voldemort told the third man that he wanted me for something – remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Sirius said nodding his head.

"Well, that wasn't the last vision I had. I kept having them all year and they got longer and clearer the more er... the more I tapped into my own dark magic. Not only did they get easier to remember, but they stopped hurting. I guess the more my affinity shifted to dark, the more compatible my mind was with the visions from Voldemort's mind so they didn't hurt anymore.

"The thing I never really explained to anyone about my dreams and visions about Voldemort is that I wasn't watching the dream, I would experience the whole thing from Voldemort's perspective. Like I was him. I would speak his words and think his thoughts and then I'd wake up from it and be all confused and disoriented for a minute while I realized that those weren't my thoughts, but his. Anyway, the more visions I had and the more I got into his head, the more I realized that there was something much bigger going on. Things that had been hidden from me my whole life by Dumbledore. I also realized that Voldemort was a person. He had thoughts and feelings like a real human being – not the insane monster I had always thought him to be.

"The more time passed and the more visions I had, I started to figure some things out. I also figured out where he was staying, and who he had working for him inside the school. So the week after the second task I confronted his spy inside Hogwarts and asked that he take me to him.

"By that point I had already decided to... I don't know... help him? Join him? My affinity is completely dark now. I'm a Dark Wizard and I'm proud of it. I love the Dark arts. They're thrilling and exciting and... everything is just so... it's just..." Harry's voice trailed off in awe and he was shaking his head and had a far away look in his eyes. Sirius could see a slightly crazed glow in Harry's eyes and felt a pang of fear.

"Harry, are you addicted?" he asked suddenly.

Harry's head snapped back and he refocused on Sirius. "Not anymore. Tom's made sure I got it under control. But... well, I was. I guess it was probably pretty bad too."

"Tom did? Sirius asked incredulously.

"Gah... Voldemort. Voldemort made sure I got it under control."

"I get that, I just find it hard to believe. Seems to me like he'd benefit from having his followers addicted."

"Dark wizards who are in control of their magic are far more useful than Dark wizards who are controlled by their magic," Harry said, repeating something that Tom had told him several times. "And he didn't want me to be weak or for my actions to be controlled by my magic, rather than my mind."

"Maybe he says that, but I know for a fact that the more high on Dark magic a wizard is, the more apt they are to go to him. The Dark magic makes them desperate to go to the Dark Lord. You can't claim that it had nothing to do with you going to him."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy black hair. "It did. I'll admit that. I know now that it's true. I probably wouldn't have actually gone to him if I wasn't so enticed by the power of the Dark magic I had been using. But I can only be grateful that that happened. The path that took me to him was a bit iffy, but I wouldn't change any of it. I'm glad I went to him. So much has come out of it that I wouldn't give up for the world. And I finally feel like I'm in control of my own destiny. For the first time I'm staying on top of things. I finally know what's going on, and I'm doing things about it.

"And the more I've learned about what's really going on – the more I learn about the Ministry, and Dark creatures, and what the real differences are between Light and Dark magic... the more I realize I agree with Voldemort. With his real goals. His political ideals. There are some things we come to head about, but they're minimal. And he's not unreasonable. He's willing to listen to other opinions on things. He just doesn't want to show weakness to his followers, so if a person ever disagrees enough to try and contradict him, they just have to make sure they do it in private. If you go against him in public it'll just make him angry, but if you are respectful about it, and do it in a private setting, he'll listen to a logical, rational, argument. He welcomes it, even."

Sirius sighed and shook his head. "I just have some trouble taking what you're saying and what I personally saw in the last war and reconciling the two."

"I know, Sirius. I know. But... can you just give him a chance?"

"You mean, can I give being a Death Eater a chance?" Sirius asked, grimacing.

Harry sighed. "Is it true you have a Dark magic affinity?"

Sirius's grimace deepened. "Just barely. It's more neutral than Dark. Heredity and years of tutoring is hard to counter act, no matter how badly you want it."

Harry nodded his head. "He is the Lord of all Dark wizards. Deemed so by Magic itself. He fights for the rights and prosperity of Dark magic. The Light has been in control of magical Britain for so long that the balance is completely out of whack. Things are too one-sided. He's going to fix that. But he's also working towards an even greater thing. Something so important... it's not just for the Dark magic users, it's for the good of all magic users. Wizards and creatures alike. If he fails... it'll be bad Sirius. People don't realize what's really at stake."

"Then tell me! Help me understand, Harry."

Harry huffed and ran his hand through his hair again. "It's complicated...but... here's how I first learned about it. Before I even spoke to To-Voldemort about it. Tens of thousands of years ago, when the the High Elves still lived in our world, their seers foretold the end of the world. According to their vision, if muggles ever discovered the existence of magic, they would try to steal it for themselves. When they succeed at that, the end of the world will come, and we will all die.

"They somehow communed with Magic so that they could warn it of their vision, but it already knew. They learned that Magic was setting a plan in motion to try and save at least some of us. It could only save the magical creatures and the magical human half-breeds – wizards – but not the muggles. It assigned two magical Lords – a Lord of the Light, and a Lord of the Dark. It was the task of the magical Lords to keep a magical balance, and to make sure that the secret is kept and that when the time comes for the muggle's Armageddon, we stop them from stealing the magic and save ourselves.

"Dumbledore is the Light Lord and I think he may know about all this, but I don't think he realizes that there is no way to save the muggles. I think he thinks he can save everyone. Or something... I don't know. In any case, he's a fool for ignoring the harsh reality of the true prophecy, which is that the muggles can't be saved. They're doomed no matter what. Our options are to save ourselves, or save no one. We all die, or only the muggles die. To-Voldemort has no qualms with sacrificing the muggles. He admits that in his youth he thought he could just bypass the waiting and destroy the muggles now, saving the rest of us. But he's realized that will never work. That he was young and naïve. He isn't going to focus on the muggles this time, but instead focus on the magical system. Getting things back in balance, and increasing the security and secrecy of our society. And when the muggle Armageddon comes, he'll fight it. But he isn't going to do anything that will risk making it happen sooner than needed – which is what the muggle slaughtering was really doing in the end."

"You're serious?"

"No, you're Sirius."

Sirius blinked at him before chuckling and shaking his head. "I cannot believe you just used that joke."

"What?" Harry asked in mock innocence and laughing.

Sirius sighed but smiled. "So where did you find out about this whole end of the world thing?"

"An ancient book I found. The whole thing is written in Old Albric. Hermione, Ginny, and I spent most of the last term translating it. The legend was in it."

"Old Aldric? How in Merlin's name did you translate that?"

"A book I found on the language," Harry said shrugging.

Sirius blinked at him in mild disbelief for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head. "Alright, fine. So you went and confronted Voldemort about all this then?"

"Yes. He was pretty shocked I found out about it on my own. Just about no one knows about this stuff anymore, and he's bound by an oath of secrecy not to speak about certain aspects of it. It has something to do with how he became the Dark Lord in the first place. Apparently there's some sort of system in place where each successor has to discover how to take the role on their own, so no Dark Lord can speak of it to any one else. It's to prevent a Dark Lord from choosing their successor. Fate has to do it, or something. It's the same for Light Lords."

Sirius frowned and gave Harry a long, piercing look.

"You aren't aspiring to be the next Dark Lord, are you?" he asked suddenly, in a completely serious tone.

Harry blinked once before bursting out laughing. "No Sirius. I'm not going to be the next Dark Lord. It's impossible."

"And why is that?"

"Because a new Dark Lord cannot come into power until the last one has died. The only way that Voldemort is going to die, is if I die with him. So, no chance of me being his successor."

Sirius grimaced and his brow furrowed deeply. "I still don't get what's going on with that. How the hell can the two of you be tied to each other like that?"

"I told you it's complicated and I also told you that I can't tell you about most of it."

Sirius grumbled and leaned back in his chair, pouting slightly. "Can you tell me about any of it?"

Harry sighed. "It's a combination of things. He's immortally linked to me because of something that went wrong when he tried to kill me, and I'm immortally linked to him because of an unexpected side-effect of the ritual we used to give him a body back a number of months ago. We didn't really get any of it figured out until after I'd found the real prophecy and we did some real digging into it's meanings. It was after that that we realized that we had already accidentally made it true without even realizing it."

"But how can you be immortal?"

"It's not perfect immortality. Not a physical immortality. Our bodies can still be damaged, and potentially even killed. His was destroyed all those years ago, for example. But our souls and magical cores are immortal. We're both bound to this world by each other's existences. We're tethered here, so our souls cannot cross over."

Sirius shook his head and looked, unfocused at the cave wall. "Crazy..."

The two sat there in silence again for a minute. "I need to leave soon," Harry said, finally breaking the heavy quiet. "I'm going to need you to make up your mind before the end of term. It'll be harder for me to get away from the manor after that. Once I don't show up at Privet Drive, Dumbledore is going to be searching for me like crazy. As long as I stay inside the manor's wards, he won't be able to find me, but that means I won't be able to come out to meet you then."

"You're going to spend the entire summer inside Voldemort's manor?" Sirius gaped.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You do realize that otherwise I would have been spending my entire summer locked inside my room at the Dursley's and only let out of it to clean their house and do their gardening, right? I didn't get to go anywhere there either. In fact, I had considerably less space. The manor is quite large and the grounds are expansive. Voldemort made sure the wards extended all the way out to the edge of the property so there's a lot of land. The grounds and the garden are pretty overgrown and messy, but he's planning to get a couple more house elves in the next month to help keep the place up. Since it was just him and Wormtail there regularly right now, he didn't see there being a lot of need for more help, but since the Death Eaters will be frequenting the house soon, he decided to finally do it."

"Right... Wormtail... So... so you've seen him? You seriously spoke to him?" Sirius asked, incredulously.

Harry nodded and then remembered something that caused him grin, wickedly. "I have. In fact, I got to practice two unforgivable on him."

"What?"

"When Voldemort was teaching me how to do the Imperius, we used Wormtail as my test subject. And a number of weeks ago when Wormtail did something insanely idiotic, and Voldemort was punishing him for his undeniably grievous mistake, he let me throw the cruciatus at the stupid, fat little man as reward for stopping the mistake from becoming a huge problem."

"You've cast two of the three Unforgivables!" Sirius exclaimed before groaning. "Oh, Harry..."

"Actually, I've cast all three. Got the killing curse to work the first time I tried it."

Sirius's head snapped up and he looked horrified. "Harry!" he hissed. "Please tell me you're joking!"

"I'm not. And the stupid bitch I threw the curse at deserved what she got."

"Oh, Merlin, Harry! Please don't say that..." Sirius moaned.

Harry just sat there with a blank, unapologetic expression on his face.

Sirius sighed and looked up. "Who?"

"Rita Skeeter."

Sirius blinked and gaped at him.

"You killed Rita Skeeter."

"Yes."

"Anyone else?"

"No. She's the only one."

"How long ago?"

"It's been months."

"And no one suspects it was you?"

"She was an unregistered animagus. Her form was a small beetle and she used it to spy on people. No one knew of her form and no one knew she was sneaking into Hogwarts. There's no way that anyone could suspect me of having the opportunity to do it."

Sirius grumbled and ran his hand through his long, messy hair in a frustrated gesture. "You've got to be careful Harry. Using just one of those curses on another person is enough to get you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. And believe me when I tell you that you do not want to go there."

"I know, Sirius. Don't worry. I'm not an idiot. Besides, if I ever got caught, Voldemort would get me out."

"You can't know that, pup."

"I know it," Harry said in a tone that showed no doubt.

Sirius sighed and shook his head. "Alright, Harry... look, I said I would stand by you and I meant it. You're my godson, and I'm going to be there for you, no matter where you go."

"Don't agree to this lightly, Sirius. You can stand by me and remain neutral too. Just stay out of everything. Don't agree to join the Dark unless you really think you can do it. You won't have to kill anyone, but you will have to show Voldemort deference. You have to treat him with proper respect, and follow his orders. But if you do join, he's willing to hand over Wormtail. We're going to have to clean out the last year of his memories with one hell of a powerful obliviate, but you can have him once we do that."

Sirius nodded his head slowly as his eyes shown how intently he was thinking over this.

"If you get an offer to go back to the Order, you will be expected to spy for us," Harry continued.

Sirius groaned lightly under his breath. "Right..."

"But if you join, you get your name cleared, and if you want, you can stay at the manor this summer with me. A soft, clean bed, three square meals a day with clean clothes and access to me for as long as you stay at the manor. Of course you'll be a cleared man by the end so you can come and go as you please."

Sirius gave him a long, scrutinizing look before he sighed and nodded his head.

"I'll do it, Harry."

"You have to be sure, Sirius."

"I'm sure. I'll..." he heaved a large sigh, "I'll join the Death Eaters."

Harry smiled at him softly and nodded his head. "Okay, but I'm still going to give you some time to think on it before I take you to him. I don't want you rushing into this and regretting it because there's no going back afterwards. If he gives up Wormtail he's going to want something in return. He's willing to do this only really because I asked him. This is a personal favor to me, you know. He's still a bit iffy towards you because of all the trouble you caused him during the first war."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow and Harry noticed the corner of his mouth threaten to turn up into a proud smirk.

"If you do this, you cannot be an ass to him in any sort of public setting. I meant it when I said he doesn't mind hearing opposing ideas and input, but it has to be in private. You can't openly oppose him if there are any other Death Eaters around, you got me? You can't push his buttons. He wont' stand for it. And I don't want you getting hurt."

"I can look after myself, Harry. I'm the adult here, remember?"

"Yeah, and you're a Gryffindor."

"So are you."

"I'm nothing more than a snake in the lion's den, Sirius. I was never supposed to be in Gryffindor."

Sirius blanched. "What?"

"The sorting hat wanted me in Slytherin. I had to beg and plead with it to put me anywhere else. It reluctantly put me into Gryffindor, but not after making it blatantly clear that it thought I belonged in Slytherin."

Sirius's lips moved slightly but no sound came out. He closed his mouth and sighed. "You were still a Gryffindor."

"I was forcing it. I was trying so hard to live up to everyone else's expectations. All I wanted was to finally please someone. To finally make people happy. My whole childhood was spent being told I was a worthless, good-for-nothing, freeloader and a freak. There was nothing I could do that would please the Dursley's. Nothing.

"Hogwarts was like a fresh start and all I wanted was to finally be able to make someone care about me. Make someone proud or pleased. It was all a part of Dumbledore's plan – I see that now. Do you realize that the first two people I really spent any real time with in the wizarding world were Hagrid and Ron? And you know what both of them told me? Gryffindors were brave and courageous, and Slytherin's were all dirty lying bastards who went dark and turned into murderers. And the guy who killed my parents was a Slytherin and he was the darkest most evil bastard of them all. How do you think I felt when the hat said I belonged in Slytherin?"

"Oh... Harry..."

"So I tried... so hard to prove the hat wrong. I was sorted into Gryffindor and I had to prove to myself and to everyone else that it was where I was supposed to be. I was sorted there because it was where I belonged, not because I begged the hat not to put me in Slytherin. That's the real reason I acted the way I did. Part of it was real, but part of it was always forced. It was a reaction... an over-reaction. It was me compensating..." Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair roughly.

"I feel better now," Harry said quietly. "I feel more like... me. Like I'm finally comfortable in my own skin. Like I've come to terms with things and I'm not lying to myself anymore. I know, rationally, that there are things a bit... wrong, with me. But I'm okay with that. I enjoy things that the moral standard says are wrong to enjoy. But I don't care. I'm done lying to myself. Done trying to force myself to be something I'm not. Anyway, we've run off on another tangent again, and I really do need to get back.

"The point is that, while this life is the one for me, and I would really like to have you as a part of my life, and to be able to help you, I also know that this life might not be the life for you. So, I'll come back the last week of term – probably a day or two after the third task. If you're still sure then, I'll take you to him."

Sirius held Harry's eyes for a long moment before he nodded his head. "Alright pup. I'll... I'll think on it."

"Good."

Harry stood up and straightened his nice black robes. Harry pulled the mokeskin pouch out of his inner pocket again and pulled out a smaller bag from within it. He set it on the table and with a tap of his wand, it unshrunk to the size of a medium sized suitcase.

Sirius looked at it and then up at Harry in confusion.

"Food," Harry said with a small smile and a shrug. "And several sets of clean robes and a few other supplies."

Sirius ducked his head, feeling ashamed that his godson was having to take care of him when it was supposed to be the other way around. He had failed Harry in so many ways...

"Thanks, pup," he said in a raspy whisper.

"I'll see you in a week," Harry said as he headed to the mouth of the cave.

"Bye Harry."

"Bye."

[jmeelee]

CHAPTER 2        [Read Chapter 1 here]

As soon as the sun kisses the shore of the Black Lake, Derek and his pack simultaneously rise from their seats around the common room, heads cocked in a distinctly lupine way, bodies answering a supernatural call Stiles and Lydia can not hear.

“I’d give anything to shift again,” Erica whines. Her body screams run: balled fists, hunched shoulders, muscles taut.

“It’s alright,” Boyd consoles. He reaches out, plants a huge hand on the back of her neck, blunt fingertips rubbing gentle circles into the fine blonde hairs at her nape. Isaac sways closer to her, brushing her sweater-clad shoulder with his own. Derek places one hand on Isaac’s forearm, below the rolled-up sleeve of his white button-down, and the other hand on Boyd’s broad back, completing the circle. Erica closes her eyes, whole body relaxing with a soft exhale. Everything, from their silent, comforting gestures to Boyd’s tender tone, broadcasts their connection, the bonds of devotion and friendship between them. Jealousy rears its monstrous head, spitting fire and scraping talons along the inside of Stiles’ rib cage, hoarding every affectionate gesture. You used to be that close to Derek; you should have Derek’s trust and love.

He buries the feelings and memories unearthed by the intimate scene, and falls back on his standard, reliable line of defense: being a sarcastic asshole. Stiles leans into Lydia’s personal space and mock whispers out of the side of his mouth, “That was kind of creepy.”

Lydia smacks him in the chest, hard, without sparing him a cursory glance.

Derek drops both hands from Isaac and Boyd like they’re on fire, and crosses his arms over his chest, directing angry eyebrow at Stiles. “You always knew how to ruin a moment, Stiles. Glad to find nothing has changed.” Derek is a sarcastic asshole, too, a trait Stiles likes to imagine he is at least partly responsible for. Derek stalks to the common room door, throwing it open for his friends to pass through. “Everyone knows the plan?” Five heads nod. “Good. It’s time to go.”

Derek’s decision to shed his skin and become something other never surprised Stiles; Derek had been questioning his place in the magical world before he’d ever received his Hogwarts letter. He hadn’t minded listening to Derek bemoan the lengthy, arduous process—mandrake leaves, electrical storms and all sorts of impossibly unique tasks. What he did mind was Derek’s new transformation skill came with more than additional body hair; it came with Erica, Boyd and Isaac, who, in Stiles’ loudly-voiced opinion, embodied the worst aspects of Ravenclaw House.

“You don’t even know them.” Derek had spit the words at Stiles’ feet in the Entrance Hall. Scores of voices, distorted and distant, filtered through the heavy doors of the Great Hall, a chaotic soundtrack to the dissolution of their friendship. “As if your Gryffindor girlfriend is any better?” Derek jeered. “Or Scott McCall?”

Stiles saw red. “Scott’s more puppy than snake, and you know it! And for the last time, her name is Lydia and she’s not my girlfriend!”

“Whatever.” Derek had run a thick-fingered hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration, causing it to stick up in all directions. Stiles took grim satisfaction in the chaotic locks, so opposite from Derek’s usual polished exterior. “If you have a problem with my friends, than you have a problem with me.”

“Fine! If your obnoxious, revolting Ravenclaws are so important to you, go sprout a tail and piss on trees with them, and leave me and my friends the hell alone.” Stiles sneered, and uttered the words that would haunt him for almost two years. “That way I won’t have to see it.”

Derek sucked in a breath, turning hurt, wild eyes on Stiles’ stone-cold face. He’d clutched his Charms textbooks to his robe-covered chest. “So much for always. You were full of shit, as usual.” He’d spun on his heels, and marched away.

Now, as everyone drifts out of the common room, Stiles is rooted to the spot, a terrifying stray thought freezing the blood in his veins; if they fail tonight, Stiles will never get the chance to see Derek in his wolf form. Lydia heads for the door Derek holds open, but pauses when she realizes Stiles isn’t following her.

“Stiles, what is it?” she asks, raking shrewd eyes over his immobile form.

Even half hidden by a mask, Stiles can tell two bushy eyebrows are raised in question above Derek’s green-gold eyes, his fingers grip the door so hard they turn bone-white. Derek’s face will always be a Marauder's Map to Stiles, spilling secrets, no matter how much time passes. Derek thinks Stiles has second thoughts about helping him, but that isn’t the case. The brick wall Stiles erected around his heart to keep Derek at bay has been cracked and crumbling from the start, patched together with stubbornness and spite, and tonight, regret for all the time he’s wasted claws at the mortar.  

Stiles looks to Lydia, blinking fast, mouth gaping but no words spilling forth to express all the what if’s bottle-necking in his throat. “I know,” she says, firm but gentle, and the rare softness in her voice dispels his panic, “but you’ll get the chance.”

Derek glances between them, mouth tight. His shoulders fall. “Come on, guys. We have a long night ahead of us.”

*****

They tiptoe through hidden corridors, avoiding detection from portraits and professors, and skirt along the outer walls of the castle, flying past Hagrid’s hut on fleet feet. It amazes him there isn’t a path worn permanently in the grass leading down the hill past the Whomping Willow. He and Derek traipsed this exact route countless times, courting adventure—and a fair share of trouble—over the years. They broach the shadowy tree line as sunset slips from the sky, where thick spring foliage swallows the last of the warm, dying rays. Stiles shivers, partly from the temperature drop under the leafy canopy, and partly from the ominous feeling of the Forbidden Forest settling into his bones. The reasons this place is off limits to students have never felt more consequential.

Boyd and Isaac lead the way down the dark path, conversing quietly, dead leaves and twigs snapping under their loafers. Derek and Lydia walk together, heads bent close, rehashing the plan yet again. The familiar scents of damp earth and Lydia’s perfume wafts toward Stiles on a cool, fragrant breeze. Glimmering eyes follow their progress from hollow tree trunks, as Stiles lags behind the group, with Erica keeping pace.

“I stand by what I said,” she declares, boldly.

Stiles rolls his eyes, side-stepping a gnarled tree root. “And what was that, exactly? When you told me I looked like a wart-faced toad during the Yule ball?” Stiles smirks. “Or was it when I scored higher than you on all my O.W.L.’s, and you told me to eat slugs?”

Derek quickly glances back when Erica laughs, loud and carefree. Be nice, he mouths. Stiles isn’t sure which of them he’s admonishing.

“Neither.” She playfully punches Stiles in the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “In the common room tonight, when I said you were supposedly the best wizard Hogwarts had seen in ages. I still can’t believe someone so clever could be dumb enough to drop his best friend like a sack of potatoes.”

Stiles bristles, eyes grimly focused on a lone grey squirrel scampering up the bark of a tree, loudly announcing to the world that it’s late for bed. “I’d call it a ‘mutual dropping’.” He makes air quotes. “Derek didn’t like Scott and Lydia, and I didn’t like you three. Still don’t.” Stiles bites the inside of his lips. “It was better to part ways,” he says in a softer voice. “Not all childhood friendships last.”

A rude noise escapes from under Erica’s mask. “Well that’s bullshit. Did Derek actually say he hated Lydia or Scott? Did he ever utter those words?”

“Well no, but—”

“Because he didn’t. He doesn’t. He resented the time you were spending with them. He’s not like you, Stiles. Derek doesn’t make friends easily. People don’t flock to him like they do to you.” She appreciatively eyes Derek's pert backside. “Despite how good looking he is.”

“Don’t try to distract me with Derek’s perfect butt. We hate each other, and Boyd and Isaac don’t tolerate me either. There was as much bad blood on your end as there is on mine. You three think you’re better than me, better than everyone.”

She scoffs. “Don’t tell me you buy in to the rubbish about our house placements determining our personalities. If someone has shown me kindness, I return the favor. You’re not my favorite person at Hogwarts, I’ll admit, but that wasn’t always the case. In third year, I tried to be your partner in potions.”

“What?!” Stiles’ incredulous eyebrows can rival Derek’s. “You did not. I’d remember.”

“I thought you were smart and funny. I thought we could get top marks in class if we worked together. I certainly didn’t think I was better than you. You didn’t even notice me. So I thought, why waste my time liking this guy if he only cares about himself?”

Stiles stops walking, turning to face her fully in the feeble light of green glowing insects and a waxing crescent moon. Overhead, branches bang against each other like drumsticks in the hands of a giant. “I don’t only care about myself.”

Erica pauses, contemptible smile full of sharp white teeth beneath her gold mask. “Oh, sorry. You, Lydia Martin and Scott McCall. Derek Hale didn’t make the cut.”

He sucks in a noseful of wild herbs and rotting wood. “That’s so unfair.”

She takes one step closer, a pine cone splintering under her foot, chin jutted high and feet planted wide. “When we all started to spend more time together, I asked Derek why he hung around with you; you were so self-involved. Do you want to know what he said?”

“Not really, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me anyway.” All around them, the cacophony of the forest falls silent; no buzzing insects, no hooting owls or the flutter of unseen wings, no foraging of animals in the detritus. The eerie silence lends itself to Erica’s ominous admission.

“He told me, Stiles is the most loyal friend in the world.”

Stiles stares at Derek’s back, growing further away with each heartbeat. His fingers itch for his wand, for the orange and purple ropes of a Carpe Retractum, something to force the distance between them to close. “It was a mistake.” The whispered confession loosens something in his chest. “I’ve missed him every day.”

“Hey guys!” Boyd pivots, squinting in the low light and yells, hands cupped around his mouth. “Hurry up! It’s right here.” He points to a trailing canopy of moss.

Erica pushes Stiles forward. “Maybe tell the guy? Before we all get trapped in the Faerie Realm and dance ourselves to death.”

They march on, but a few yards from the rest of the group Erica grabs Stiles’ shoulder, halting his progress. “And Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t think he’s imagining the softening of the hard lines around her mouth when she looks at him. It’s minute, but a spark of hope ignites in his chest.

“Derek missed you too.”

*****

Lydia digs the invisibility cloak out of her satchel. “You don’t have to do this,” Stiles tells her, grabbing hold of her forearms and bending down slightly to peer into her eyes. They’ve been over the plan a hundred times, but he still needs her to know. “You could stay out here, go for help if we don’t return.”

She shakes her head, strawberry-blond tresses trailing along her shoulders. “Who else is going to save the day if you fuck this up?” She throws her arms around his shoulders and squeezes him tightly.

The cloak falls over her head, removing her from sight. “So, Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He answers the disembodied voice in front of him.

“Don’t fuck up.”

Isaac reaches out, pushes through a thick canopy of vines hanging from an old, tall oak tree, and Stiles shudders as he steps over the threshold of a world outside their own—a strange and wonderful twilight kingdom. A reverent hush falls over their entourage.

Stiles has never witnessed anything like it—and he’s grown up with magic. A silver forest stretches ahead of them, as far as the eye can see. When they’d been in the human world, the moon was almost new, a sliver of pale yellow light, but now a full moon leads them down a narrow footpath. Under the moonlight the pure silver leaves sparkle and dance like musical chimes. Stiles hears the sound of violins far in the distance, so faint he wonders if he’s imagining them. Stiles spins in circles, eyes darting from one gleaming branch to another.

A warm, fragrant breeze scented with jasmine fills the air when they draw clear of the silver trees, and come to a dazzling forest of gold. Thousands of gold leaves catch the light of the moon, turning the world to bright golden day instead of silver night. The music is clearer now, closer, and Stiles catches the sounds of many different instruments playing a beguiling tune.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Stiles says, fighting a euphoric smile.

Derek steps beside him. “Just wait.”

Finally, they cross into another forest, far more stunning than the others, where glittering diamonds cluster on every leaf. It’s as though all the stars in the heavens rained down to rest on the leaves.

Stiles can’t help himself; he laughs, overcome with delight. Every time a diamond catches the light the moon shatters hundreds of tiny rainbows over the entrancing world they’re traveling deeper and deeper into. Stiles stretches out his arms, watching them play on his skin.

He cups a few in his palm, holds them up for Derek to inspect, like they’re kids again, discovering magic together. “Look.”

Derek never takes his eyes off Stiles’ face. “Beautiful,” he says.

Stiles drops his hands to his sides, sobering. “Derek, I owe you an a—”

“I need to tell you something,” Derek says at the same time.

They blink at each other. “You first,” Stiles says.

Derek reaches up and plucks a sprig of diamond off a low-hanging branch. “What if… I think I…”. He sighs, tossing the priceless jewels away. “When we came here, the first night, I felt like you do right now; overcome. I try my best, all the time, everyday, not to think about you, but when I saw this I…”

His rainbow-dappled mask turns toward Stiles. “I wished you could see it. I wished you could be here with me. I swear, I never said it out loud but… here you are, all the same. What if my wish brought you here? Put you and Lydia in danger? If something happens, and we can’t leave, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Derek.” Stiles steps closer. “You didn’t bring me here. I brought me here. And I should have been here”-he gestures between them-“all along.”

The music grows stronger, drowning out Stiles thundering heart, and all at once Derek and his pack turn toward the sound, the same unsettling hive mind behavior from earlier in the night.

One second, they’re alone, then Stiles blinks and a handsome man stands before him.

At first, all he can register is silky black hair, a strong jaw, gentle, piercing eyes a kaleidoscope of green-gold-blue, but the harder Stiles looks, the more his appearance changes. Every time he blinks, it’s like starting all over again. Stiles shakes his head, trying to clear it, as the man steps up to him and bows deeply, taking one of Stiles’ hands between his ice-cold fingers. “Ah, you’ve brought a guest tonight,” the King says, eyes playful but shrewd. He kisses the captured appendage with plush lips, and the feeling of a thousand tiny ants crawling beneath his skin ripples out from the spot.

“You must be Stiles.”

[nadziejastar]

I’m pretty sure there might be parallels between Isa/Saïx and that anime doll in the Toy Story world. What tipped me off was the blue hair and green eyes, rabbit ears, and the cutscene afterwards stating it was possessed and attacked its fellow toys against its own will. Which makes it all the more jarring considering how much control Saïx and the other Norts all seem to have in KH3.

Angelic Amber

An unlucky denizen of Galaxy Toys that was possessed by a Marionette.Unpredictable and erratic, her moves made her a maddening foe to face. After Sora and his team freed her from the Marionette’s ill influence, she bore a melancholy expression.

I didn’t make the connection until you pointed it out, but you’re right. The doll does bear an uncanny resemblance to Isa, lol. The hair color, the eye color, the eye shape, nose and lips. Even the rabbit ears. I suppose gothic lolita fashion is the doll equivalent of Organization XIII robes, too. And I mean, hey. Yozora does look like Riku. The characters even admit it. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if the doll was inspired by Isa as a reference to what he was supposed to be. Maybe as an inside joke on the part of the development team.Buzz was afraid they’d wind up like her. Forgetting themselves and attacking each other. Which he did.

“The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next.”

–Lewis Carroll

Ya know, now that I think about it, it’s very common to see Alice dressed up in that kinda gothic lolita fashion in anime art. Alice in Wonderland is often used as a literary example of a “Lower World” journey in shamanism: she fell down the rabbit hole and landed in a world full of mysterious creatures and strange experiences. If taken allegorically, all the elements a shaman might encounter in the Underworld are represented during her adventure; from puzzles, to transformations, to guides and guardians and the journey itself – finding the white rabbit. 

Alice: Oh, whatever am I going to do?

Sora: Something wrong?

Alice: Yes! I can’t remember anything–not even my name!

Sora: That’s awful! And strangely familiar… Have we met?

Alice: Oh, I do hope so! Then you can tell me my name.

Sora: Your name is… Alice!

Alice: Alice… Yes, yes, that’s it! Oh, thank you! Now, if only I could remember everything else…

All these elements represent the astral world she’s journeying through. It’s very similar to the Realm of Sleep. I think that’s why Wonderland was chosen as a world in 358/2 Days and Re:Coded. So it’s possible that the doll is not only based on Isa, but an “Alice in Wonderland” version of him. It mixes Alice, who is in a strange dream world, with the White Rabbit design.

Sora: What did you do to him!?

Young Xehanort: I thought I made it clear. I am testing the strength of their bonds. In this world, toys have hearts. And those hearts come from a powerful bond. So what happens when those bonds are stretched to their limit? When they are worlds apart, can cloth and plastic hold onto their hearts? All I needed was a wedge to widen the divide—someone like you to fill them with distrust and doubt. And that chasm you created can be filled with a vast darkness. Witness it for yourself.

The possessed version even has orange eyes. It’s kinda sad that this doll does a better job representing the whole idea behind Isa’s character than the canon depiction. Because that is exactly what Isa was turned into, like all vessels. A doll/puppet for Xehanort’s heart and mind. It’s SO stupid how they were all given free will in KH3. By far one of the worst plot decisions that game made IMO. It completely ruined all that was interesting about the Seekers of Darkness. Isa would have been the first successful vessel, other than Terra and Braig. Terra put up a fight, and Braig was willing. I think Isa was the first vessel he created by turning them into an empty shell without a sense of self first. So, the doll being designed like Isa would make perfect sense.

And I swear, for someone who was allegedly in complete control of himself, Saix sure does have some of the blankest expressions I’ve ever seen. He’s the only Organization member in that illustration who looks so…out of it. Like, his eyes look totally glazed over. It’s just like how Terra looked after he became a vessel. Like there’s nobody home. Even in the final battle, Isa just looks like he’s so unaware of himself. Which is actually what happens to berserker warriors. They are said to fight in a trance-like state. And when people are put under severe enough stress, their fight or flight mode kicks in, and they can enter a berserk state where the parts of the brain that control the sense of self shut down. But I’m doing a separate post on that. I think it’s relevant to the experiments.

Randall: But negative energy? Especially sadness? Give ‘em something that really breaks their little hearts, and they’ll stay sad forever. We’ll never have to worry about energy again.

It’s funny. All the Disney worlds in KH3 have such a strong thematic connection to the Xehanort Saga, but they still wound up feeling totally irrelevant. I think Nomura had all of these plans for how they would be connected to the actual story, but their implementation never amounted to anything more than half-baked ideas. You’ve got Young Xehanort who shows up in Galaxy Toys. And his interest in toys is because they are empty puppets, which is how he wants his vessels to be. And he’s experimenting on them, testing their bond.

Vanitas: My heart is made of just one thing. And the Unversed collected enough screams and sadness from those children to reconstruct it.

Then there’s Vanitas in Monstroplis, who was using negative emotions to build his heart. I found it really weird that there would be all of this talk about how the new Organization was figuring out the perfect way to get a heart to fall to darkness in the worlds of KH3. Which is what is necessary to create a vessel and presumably what Xehanort was trying to do. Yet, it wasn’t even necessary since there were so many people lining up to join the New Organization completely voluntarily. And how can anyone become a vessel for Xehanort’s heart and still be trying to atone? Like Vexen and Saix. You either have to fall to darkness yourself, or you have to have no sense of self to be a suitable vessel. If Saix and Vexen had altruistic intentions, then I highly doubt they’d have enough darkness to sustain Xehanort’s heart. Shit makes NO sense.

🦆🦢🦜Anyways, this is not in response to this question. Just something in general that doesn’t deserve its own post. I wish people would stop telling me to use “Read More” text breaks, LOL. I do! Apparently they don’t show up on certain mobile apps. Not my fault. Blame Tumblr. 🦉🦅🐦

[petitelepus]

Decepticon For Life, Part 11

Now that you got your friends Constructicons back your space bridge program is finished! Or is it? It may be that you might need your sworn enemy to help you out with the program. Tagging @fyrestrike because she’s my biggest fan! Love ya you silly!

”So, eh, any advice for this oath we’re about to take?” Mixmaster asked from you as you lead two Constructicons towards the main chamber where the ceremony would take its place.

”Yeah, uh, do we sign papers or something?” Scrapper asked. You giggled lightly. They were so funny!

You stopped and smiled at them over your shoulder. ”First you must kneel before lord Megatron and bask in his saving grace. Then you will repeat after him the holy Decepticon oath and as you do that you get the Decepticon symbol on you and you will become real Cons, just like me!”

The duo stared at you long and hard before they both let out a long whistle. ”Frag sounds pretty intense.”

”None at all! I just make it sound nicer for appeal.” You turned and lead them rest of the way to the main chamber. ”We’re here.”

Your three superiors were already perfectly lined up in front of the space bridge. The enormous project of yours was lighting whole are in teal light as it stood there finished. Now with Constructicons on your side, you were able to finish the bridge and use it to take over Cybertron and Earth.

You quickly moved Mixmaster and Scrapper to take their place before lord Megatron, helped them down on their knees and you took your place on Blitzwing’s left side and bowed your helm in honor at the sacred oath you were about to witness for the first time as a onlooker and not as the one subjected to this oath. 

”Mixmaster. Scrapper. In honour of your successful construction of my space bridge, the time has come to officially initiate your both into ranks of Decepticons. Now, repeat after me…!” Megatron repeated the sacred oath he had announced once before for you. Mixmaster and Scrapper repeated the oath faithfully with their helms down in honour and it didn’t take long before ceremony came to it’s final step.

The branding.

Megatron pushed the irons sizzling with energy into their chassis and the reaction was almost instant. Mixmaster’s scream tore through the mountain first, followed by with Scrapper’s scream. The duo went down quicker than you had ever seen a mech went down and rolled on the floor in pain, with their new handsome paint jobs and red optics now on display.

The sight brought memories to your processor by the time you were branded and taken as one of the Decepticons. You smiled gleefully, your friends’ screams dying out to whimpers and a lot moaning in pain.

”There’s gonna be oil… Right…?” Mixmaster asked as he got up and rubbed his sore aft. You went to help him and Scrapper up while your lord chose to move up to space bridge with the shard of Allspark you have been all collecting into one fragment piece by piece together.

”With this Allspark fragment powering my space bridge, nothing will stand in the way of victory…!” He said as he inserted the the big shard on the machine and turned towards your holding cell where your apparent human pet stayed. You didn’t know much about him, other than you were denied from talking to him. ”Professor Sumdac if you do us the honour?”

The tiny professor pulled the lever upwards and you all turned to look at the space bridge heating up and making whirring noises as it came to life. Or at least it should have came to life. The giant machine died down quickly and your lord turned his attention to your pet human. He was quickly speaking of if and what not and why it wasn’t working.

Lord Megatron sighed. ”Uugh…! If my space bridge is to become a reality I must require additional help.” Suddenly he turned to address you, Lugnut and Blitzwing. ”Make sure Constructicons do as our professor tells them to do. I must address this problem privately.”

You three nodded and went to advice what to do while your lord made his way to his private chamber, but just as he was about to enter someone cleared their intake behind him. Megatron turned and was addressed by Blitzwing in his cool personality. ”Pardon me my lord, but there is something I must bring to your attention.”

”Whatever it is it can wait.” The warlord snapped and turned to leave Blitzwing on his own, but the triple changer quickly stated what was on his scrambled mind. ”It’s about Dreadtrap, my lord. She was having another heat stroke a week ago. I… relieved her wiz best of my abilities before she collapsed.”

”What does her virus has to do with anything?” Megatron growled, getting inpatient. Blitzwing swallowed hard under the heated glare of his leader and blurted out what he had heard. ”Before she fainted, she mumbled something about Autobots. I’m worried she might be a spy after all.”

Megatron grew quiet, but his glare didn’t die down, if anything it grew harder. ”Keep an eye on her. If she appears to try to sabotage space bridge or contact Autobots… put her down.”

”Yes my lord!” Blitzwing saluted him and left to join others. Megatron grunted and went on his way as he took a seat on his throne and turned on the communicator system right by his left side. The screen sizzled to life and a single red optic owning con appeared on the screen.

”I’m so glad you contacted me. Everything is going as planned oh Great One! As you predicted the Decepticon uprising of the rim of the galaxy are straining Autobot forces to the breaking point.” Shockwave greeted his lord and master, his single optic as emotionless as always.

”Excellent, but I got a more immediate problem. Track down Cybertron’s top space bridge technician and deliver them to Earth as soon as possibly. By any means necessary. A future of a Decepticon victory depends on it.” Megatron ordered.

”One moment Excellency.” The cyclops con turned his attention on his left as he fiddled with buttons off screen. ”While I excess the Cybertronian datanet…. And that’s odd!”

”What is?”

”I’ve tracked down Cybertron’s top space bridge expert, but he’s not on Cybertron.”

”Then where is he!?” Megatron was starting to loose his calm. He was done with this scrap, he wanted answers and more than that results.

”On Earth.” Shockwave replied and a image of Bulkhead appeared on the screen. The con pressed a button and another until Bulkhead’s records came up on the screen as well. ”This Autobot is a rather unique case. According to his file, he scored higher than any Cybertronian scientist on his space bridge ebjicute test, yet seems to have no other skills.”

”I don’t care if he knows his crankcase from his drying shaft! All it matters is it’s ability to complete the space bridge.”

Shockwave nodded, but still kept spoking. ”But an Autobot would never willingly work with Decepticons.”

”That won’t be a problem. I plan to making him an offer he can’t refuse. In the mean time, I want you to find out anything you can about our newest recruit.”

”Dreadtrap? I can certainly try my glorious leader, but it won’t be easy with her real name, frame and occupation hidden. But, knowing what I’ve of her from you I can find out who she is.”

”Excellent. Report to me at once when you find out about her.” The corner of Megatron’s lips quirked upwards and he shut down the communication with his special spy. New plan in his mind, he rejoined his loyal Decepticons, pleased to see that no one had to be put offline. Mainly you.

When three of you noticed that Megatron had came out from his quarters you all gathered behind him as he walked up to take a look at the space bridge and the two Constructicons working on it.

”The importance of this mission can’t be underestimated. I will handle the Autobot’s Bulkhead myself. But while I’m away I need three of you to pick an item for me from Sumdac tower. A little something that should help the Autobot to co-operate with us.”

Bulkhead? You were confused. Why would you need that big sack of bolts? Or perhaps he was going offline him for you for hurting your friends? Oh, Megatron truly was a grand and glorious leader! But wait, he said you guys needed Bulkhead? What for? You didn’t dare to ask as Lugnut was already talking. ”But oh grand and glorious one, the professor can’t be trusted alone with the new recruits! Who would keep an eye on him?”

Lord Megatron didn’t reply. He walked up to your pet’s closure, punctured in a code that would open the lockdown space and snatched him up with his two servos. ”I’ll handle him. He could be use for me. Now go and don’t disappoint me! I’ll comm you the details of your mission!”

You, Blitzwing and Lugnut went rigid as metal pipes, saluted your leader and took off with your jets and turbines hacking the air. You were out of the mines quicker than you could say coal and on your way towards the city and Sumdac tower.

As per usual, you needed to stay a little bit behind your superiors because of your higher flighting speed, but you didn’t really mind it. Instead, you took the chance to wait for your mission details to come. You didn’t need to wait long before your lord’s voice ran through your processors.

’Retrieve me the Headmaster unit. We are going to need it if we want to persuade the Autobot to help us with our space bridge.’

You all thanked your master for the information and you went on your way as you reached to city grounds. The Sumdac tower was easily the tallest building in the whole Detroit so it wasn’t hard to find. Lugnut did the honour, knowing already where the Headmaster was being held and he blew up a hole into the side of the building with his rocket. Blitzwing went close in, transforming and taking what you needed from what you expected to be a warehouse, before transforming again and you three returned to mines where unconscious Bulkhead was already waiting for you.

You all transformed and Lugnut threw a robe of steel cable to you. ”Tie him up and make sure he won’t be able to move!”

”Yes, sir!” You nodded and went to tie down the evil bot with the best of your skills, making sure that the robe was tight and that knot wouldn’t come off no matter how much he would struggle. Once comfortable with your handiwork you pleaded Blitzwing to check the robes and he nodded, pleased with you.

”Good job. We’ll take it from here.” He said and together with Lugnut’s help they each jostled Bulkhead up on his feet and just in time as he started to come around. ”Uuugh… Hey, what’s going on…?” The prisoner mumbled as he tried to online his optics and keep them that way. None of you answered to him and your superiors started to drag him to Megatron.

As soon as you made it to the main chamber your pet human, back in his cage, and Bulkhead started to talk between each other, but they were silenced by your lord Megatron. ”Silence Autobot!” 

You stopped before your leader and he crossed his arms. ”As improbable as it may seem by the looks of you, I have an a good authority that you are quite the genius when it comes to space bridge technology. Equally improbable is that I need your help.”

”Never gonna happen Megatron! Not as long as I have an ounce of spark in my chamber!” Bulkhead shouted stupidly boldly against your lord and you felt like smacking him over the head, but you didn’t dare to harm your prisoner without your lord’s permission.

Megatron smirked. ”Have it your way Autobot. Why don’t you show our guest what you picked up at Sumdac tower?”

Lugnut and Blitzwing let go of your prisoner as he fell to his knees and laid out the machine you had picked up. You shivered. You had no idea what it did, but it couldn’t be good as it looked really creepy by the looks of it. It literally looked like some mech’s chopped off head.

”Refuse to co-operate with us and I will have no choice but to cut of your helm and replace it with this Headmaster unit.”

”Been there, done that, the answer is still no!” Bulkhead snapped. Megatron grinned. ”Ooh, so very brave of you.” He walked past you all towards the Headmaster unit and that was your and your superiors’ sign to pin down the prisoner on the ground with his helm sticking out easily.

Megatron continued to speak as you all held Bulkhead down. ”Of course your suffering will be relatively easy thinking back to what your friends will endure when I destroy them using your body.” Megatron reached his arm towards Headmaster unit and two tips of his servos bolted into the Headmaster, bringing the unit to live. ”Starting with professOor Sumdac.”

”No! You wouldn’t!” Bulkhead shouted and struggled in your hold. Your hold of him actually faltered, he was that much stronger than you, but Blitzwing and Lugnut had a good hold of him. But you had to wonder, was your lord serious about killing your pet human? You weren’t allowed to talk to it, but it did help you to get your voice back when you first met.

The Headmaster was flying now with it’s jets on either sides of it’s head and a thin beam of laser shot out from it’s bottom. Megatron’s smirk faltered and he turned serious again. ”Let’s test that theory, shall we?”

The laser moved slowly closer towards Bulkheads struggling helm and the bot’s struggling doubled, but your superiors were far bigger and stronger than he was. The laser was just about to reach him when there were footsteps behind you and Scrapper and Mixmaster came from lord Megatron’s private oil chamber with canisters in their hands.

”Yo Megs! I hate to complain, but we’re running a little low on oil.” Mixmaster said as he held up an empty canister of oil. How did they drink it all while you were away anyways!? You couldn’t think about that, you had to watch over your prisoner.

”M- Mi- Mixmaster! Scrapper! I- It’s me, your buddy Bulky, remember!? Little help here!?” Bulkhead pleaded, much to your shock and annoyance. He knew them? Buddy!? He was the solemn reason why you lost them in the first place!

”Yeah, but…” Mixmaster trailed off and Scrapper continued where his buddy left off. ”Not ringing any bells.”

Smug by their answer and denial of knowing the evil Autobot, you walked over to your friends from behind your prisoner and presented yourself for the prisoner with your friends.

”See, they don’t know you! I told you, they’re my friends!” You shouted smugly and yes, maybe you were being a bitch now, but this green bot was evil!

Megatron smirked. ”You have no friends here Autobot! When I’m finished, you have no friends anywhere!” For some reason, your lord glanced briefly at you, but he probably wanted your approval so you nodded your helm. You were no friend to this Autobot!

The laser was just about by the point of his chin, when-!

”Okay!” Bulkhead shouted. ”Okay! You win! I’ll… help you finish your space bridge…” He said as he hung his helm in shame and sweet defeat. You couldn’t help yourself. You crossed your arms and smiled smugly as lord Megatron smirked wickedly.

”Wise move, Autobot…!”

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Everyone Expects the Ishgardian Inquisition 06/05

It was shocking to say the least when an Inquisitor was brought to the apartments in a side wing shared by his branch of the Haillenartes. Anselme de Haillenarte had already been through a court martial, what more could they want from him. He had been told by a fairly solid source that it was pointless to resist when the Inquisition came. Name and rank counted for nothing if there was enough evidence. He went along willingly and without fuss, as not to upset the family he had been visiting, promising he’d be back in time for supper. The knight and two Inquisitors arrived in the Tribunal and he was brought to a sparse room with only a few chairs and a table. One of the infamous interrogation rooms, though this was at least above ground. That was a good sign. The Knight smiled good-naturedly, as best as he could given the circumstances, and settled into the indicated seat. “Any chance for a cup of tea to go along with all this?”

"As a matter of fact I could go for a spot of tea. Galdemps? If you would?" Inquisitor Danglars gestured to the tea pot near the door and the fine glasses that surrounded it. Once the gesture was complete, the hyuran Inquisitor reached forward and ticked on the heat lamp and adjusted its ray to face Anselme. His expression was entirely amicable throughout. "Now...where shall we begin. For the record, your name and rank if you would, Ser Knight. Lest we make a dreadful mistake and rake the wrong man over the holy coals." The Inquisitor flashed a humorous grin as if to suggest his words were merely jest.

Inquisitor Galdemps, as the less senior of the pair, is forced to stand, and thus takes up a spot behind Danglars’ chair--close enough to be helpful, but not enough to be a distraction. At least, not unless one was needed. He nods once to Danglars, then goes to fetch the tea--though his attention is only half on his task, for he's intently listening to the conversation going on at the table. There is a small smirk on his face as he returns with the tea; he found Danglars’ joke amusing--though perhaps--not quite for the right reasons. In any case, he sets out two cups, then goes back to where he was standing. Keeping quiet, for now.

Anselme blinked rapidly as the light was turned on and shone in his face. He winced slightly at the intensity and the warmth of the lamp, settling back slightly in his chair so it wouldn’t be quite so close to his face. He was saving tanning for his beach vacation, after all. “Of course, Ser. Anselme de Haillenarte. Formerly an officier subalterne, rank sous-lieutenant. Currently on extended leave.” He stated calmly enough, sliding the tea towards himself and letting it cool in front of him rather than drinking immediately. He straightened his shoulders into a more military posture, keeping his attention on the Inquisitor in front of him as he spoke. Anselme kept his expression carefully neutral. Either not getting the joke or not finding it very funny at the moment.

"And we thank you for your service, Ser Anselme de Haillenarte," the Inquisitor dipped his chin as he flipped through the files in front of him, eyes scanning the words rapdily as he did so. "What can you tell us about the events that lead to your intrusion into House Dzemael's Darkhold?"

Anselme inhaled slowly, then exhaled as well. “Can you specify which events you’re referring to, Ser. I was born quite a long time ago… that’s a lot of events to go through and I did promise my mother I would be home in time for supper.”

--

Anselme nodded firmly, flashing a cheerful grin at them both. “Very good, so I can expect you both to lend aid should she return? If you’ll give me your names I’ll arrange for messages to be sent once I’m reinstated. We shall be the first line…” He started to rise to his feet, trying to draw the conversation to a close. He bumped the table in that moment when Luca was mentioned, knocking his own teacup over in his clumsiness as he stood. “Oh noo.” He declared, grabbing a handful of parchment nearby to begin mopping up the mess. “My apologies, a bit hard to see where I’m going with the light.”

Danglars seemed nonplussed by the accident. "The boy, Anselme de Haillenarte. His name? Whereabouts?"

Galtemps steps forward at this, moving around the table towards Anselme. He didn't do anything, yet, besides seriously implying that the knight wouldn't be allowed to leave just yet.

Anselme stacked enough parchment on the spill to ensure it would be absorbed eventually but didn’t sit back down. “I don’t know, Ser. I suspect he was using a false name and I didn’t ask where he had come from. Mercenaries are rather dodgy that way.”

"Galtemps, if you would, please," said Danglars, gesturing towards Anselme.

"With pleasure," Galtemps remarks. The elezen moves surprisingly quickly; he would try to grab Anselme's shoulders and force him roughly back down into the chair. "Last chance," he growls. "Tell us what we want to know, and this will go so much easier for you."

Anselme inhaled deeply, bracing for what would come next. Yet thankfully it was nothing too much worse than being shoved to sit down once again. Nonetheless he winced at the growl. “There was a boy there.” He admitted slowly, looking up at Galtemps. “But there’s no reason to believe she had any interest in him more than any other.” He frowned as something didn’t add up, something big enough even for him to notice. “There was no one else there…”

"You are a respectable Knight from a respectable house, Anselme de Haillenarte--you wouldn't have hired just any *mercenaries* to assist you, let alone a child. You knew the boy. Meaning you know his name." Danglars slammed his hands down on the table and stood from his seat. "GIVE US HIS BLOODY NAME! Galtemps!" Danglars seemed to command the larger man with an unspoken order, gesturing towards Anselme again. 

Anselme pushed back suddenly from the table, knocking his chair over backwards in the process. There had been no one else there. Idristan and Luca wouldn’t talk to the Inquisition, if they had any sense they were laying low somewhere other than Ishgard in the first place. “The guards were all dead.” He said slowly, visibly shaken as his brows lifted and eyes widened. None had been there to see the witch mark Luca save for the three and the darkness. “I’d like to have my superior officer present for any further questioning.” He said quickly.

Galtemps gives Danglars that wolfish grin once more before he takes a step back from Anselme. One of his hands dives into the bag he was wearing at his side for a few seconds before reappearing holding a vial filled with an odd substance, as if someone had bottled up black smoke. Giving Anselme one last look, he actually laughs. "As if they would help you," he sneers, before stretching out an arm and breaking the vial onto it. The smoke starts to wrap around him, and where it touches, it transforms. Limbs lengthen, fingers curl into vicious claws, and a maw filled with jagged, sharp teeth roars as a voidsent comes into being where an elezen once stood.

"I think you'll find...." said Danglars, flashing a devilish grin, wider than should have been possible for a mortal mouth. "We have very effective ways of making you talk. Count yourself lucky that you were spared her wrath. Spared his wrath. We won't be so gentle. Praise Him." Danglars did the same, then, pulling back one of the sleeves of his robe revealing a bold black tattoo that seemed to be branded into the skin--a dragon wrapped in a figure 8 biting its own tail. He smashed his own vial over it, releasing the same black smoke around his limbs. His body snapped, twisted, grew, contorted and spasmed until Danglars, too, had been replaced by a grotesque voidsent.

Anselme was moving the moment the vial was brought out. The Knight grabbed the chair from where it had fallen and stood with the bottom of it pointed at the Inquisitor closest to him. Just in time to see the man morph into monster, complete with claws and massive teeth. “Halone’s frozen tits you can’t be serious…” He gasped as he backed slowly to the far side of the table where the light rested. At a very inopportune moment he was forced to wonder if perhaps a certain someone had a point about the current Tribunal going to the Hells, though he hadn’t expected it to be so literal.

@roses-and-grimoires and @luca-the-hunter playing the fantastic Galtemps and Danglars, RIP

((Lower 3 Screenshots courtesy of Luca, thank you for letting me use them!))

[the-knights-who-say-book]

“hello,” the dark lord said, “i need a library card.”

“everyone needs a library card,” the librarian said brightly, sliding a form across the desk. “fill this out.”

the dark lord produced her own elaborately plumed quill from the depths of her robes and scrawled her name in handwriting that was completely illegible but seemed to whisper the secrets of the dark from the blinding white page. “yes, but i need mine in order to take over the tri-kingdom area.”

the librarian’s polite smile barely faltered. “funny, the last dark lord to try that didn��t bother with a card.”

“yes, and do you see that fool currently ruling our kingdom? no. of course not. utterly ridiculous, to attempt to take over any size country without a library card, much less an intermediate-sized one like this.” she accepted the thin plastic card with a gracious flourish of her gloved hand.

the librarian, adding the new card’s number to the database, privately agreed, but chose not to say anything.

the librarian balanced the pile of pulled books under one elbow and held the list of call numbers in their hand for easy consultation. “intermediate spell casting for grades three and four,” they murmured, running fingers along the peeling spines until they found it. “willing to bet that’s sorrel’s request.”

they fit the large, paperbound book under their elbow and moved on, checking the list again. “magical creatures encyclopedia, L through M. that’s jackaby trying to finish the entire set by midsummer.” they would get that one last to carry it around the shortest amount of time.

“next — the complete guide to raising the dead.” they paused in front of the row of shelves with the right call numbers. they could guess the requester of that one too, but knew better than to say it out loud.

the return slot thunked loudly as it swung open and closed, having swallowed the returned books with a wet gulp.

“good morning,” the dark lord said pleasantly as she looked up from sliding her books in — or as pleasantly as “good morning” could sound when it was uttered by a voice that sounded like gravel being chewed to pieces by the jaws of a large monster.

“it is, very,” the librarian said crisply, conjuring a clean handkerchief for the still-slobbering return slot.

the mouth just visible under the dark lord’s enormous cloak hood curved into a scythe’s blade smile, but she said nothing else.

“did you enjoy your books?” the librarian asked, since she wasn’t moving and there were no other people waiting (most likely because of the dark lord standing there).

the hood nodded up and down. “extremely. especially the taped lecture by doctor dramidius ardorius of the dark arts institute.”

“well, we have many more taped lectures. i especially recommend the one on the healing powers of tea.” they tilted their head in a now get out sign. the poor steam-powered self-checkout contraption would get overheated if people were too scared to check out at the front desk.

they didn’t really expect the dark lord to take the recommendation seriously, but the next day they noticed the cloaked, hooded specter glide out the door with the taped lecture on magic-infused herbal teas tucked between a CD of dark chants and a step-by-step art book on drawing occult symbols.

“you give good recommendations,” the dark lord said with a shrug when the librarian raised their eyes from the front desk’s computer to the shadows of her hood.

the librarian wasn’t sure what to say. “you seem to take up quite a lot of my time.”

“i’m only a simple library patron,” the dark lord replied in a saintly voice that resembled a dragon coughing up a partially digested house. “do you enjoy mermaid song?”

“yes. you can find the library’s collection in the CD section over there.” they looked pointedly back down at the computer.

“i hear there’s a concert on the shore tomorrow evening.”

“perhaps we’ll get a recording of it.”

the dark lord continued taking out books on various unsavory topics. the librarian continued suggesting books on healing, positive thinking, and community service. the dark lord seemed more amused with each visit. her smile was almost charming, once you got past the long, sharp teeth.

the librarian was trying to go about their usual morning ritual of pulling books that had been requested the night before, but the dark lord wouldn’t stop making faces at them from behind gaps in the shelves. she seemed to find it hilarious. the librarian hadn’t decided yet if they were amused or annoyed.

“ooh, look at this,” the dark lord said, pulling a sturdy but beaten up board book featuring a werewolf mid-transformation on the cover from the shelf. “this was my favorite when i was just a little menace.”

“somehow i’m not surprised.”

the dark lord tucked the book into the ridiculous basket made of a large skull that floated alongside her. “didn’t you have a favorite picture book when you were little?”

“Barker the Sentient Book End,” the librarian said promptly. “i screamed for it every night until someone read it to me, long after i’d already memorized each page.”

the dark lord cooed, sounding like a cross between an owl and something eating an owl. “adorable. i knew you had a little monster in you somewhere.”

the librarian crossly debated denying being a monster at all or pointing out they had actual kraken blood in them.

they should have guessed how close the dark lord was from how good her mood was, but it wasn’t until they arrived at work on monday that the librarian heard the news.

“the newest dark lord managed to overthrow the faeyrie monarchy last night. something about combining traditional herbal spells with a newfangled mental magic based on the power of willful thinking… or something. the news reporter mentioned the use of mermaid song in a mild kind of mind control, i think? i wasn’t listening. the good news is, our budget stays in place.”

the librarian contemplated hurling the can of bookmarks across the room, but concluded that it would be both unprofessional and unsatisfying. they settled for aggressively stamping returned, only slightly saliva-covered books with red ink.

the phone clicked loudly. “public library, how can i help you?”

“by taking my offer,” the dark lord said, slightly hesitant voice like a rock slide that wasn’t sure it was ready to slide. “the royal library in the capital needs a new head librarian.”

“why’s that?” the librarian spun in their new swivel chair, tangling the phone cord while they were at it, thinking they wouldn’t want to leave so soon after getting it.

there was a cough like the ocean spitting out a new island. “erm, hmm, last one got… eaten. tragic. these things happen when you’re very, very small, you know.”

“so i’ve heard.” the librarian stretched the phone cord and watched it bounce back. “well, i’m happy where i am.”

“well.” her voice was more disappointed than they’d expected. “it’s a very nice library, you know. large selection of mermaid song in the CD section.”

“the royal library is part of our system. i can request any materials from there that i want to be delivered here.”

a pause. the dark lord had not considered this. “well, maybe i’ll take the royal library out of the system.”

“you wouldn’t dare disrupt the workings of our very intricate library system set up at the dawn of time.”

“maybe i would!”

“no.”

“fine. i wouldn’t.”

the librarian swiveled some more, wrapping the cord around with them until it ran out of give and spun them in the other direction. “would you like to grab a coffee sometime?”

“yes,” the dark lord said, voice too surprised to resemble anything in particular. “i can travel down meet you tomorrow morning.”

“don’t you have things to do?”

they could sense the shrug from the other end of the line. “i’ll move the capital to your town. i can do that, you know. i’m the supreme ruler of the tri-kingdom area.”

“yes,” the librarian agreed, un-spinning to return the phone to its cradle. “just don’t forget who gave you the library card.”