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irafuwas · 8 months

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some thoughts on how lilia views love

I’ve been watching through the Stitch event and there’s a bit of dialogue Lilia says that unfortunately made me Think, so I wanted to gather my babblings here.

This post contains spoilers for: Book 7, Tsumsted Wonderland 2, Lost in the Book with Stitch, Spectral Soiree/Endless Halloween, and Tamashina Mina

After spending the day fighting off Gantu’s robots, scavenging for food, and exploring the island, the boys rest for a bit in an old cottage they found. Lilia wants to take the opportunity to spruce up the cottage and make it more resort-like while they’re enjoying this “vacation”, and Riddle and Jack are both surprised and a bit peeved to hear him say this.

Riddle: Don’t you want to find a way off this island as soon as possible, Lilia Senpai? Malleus Senpai, Silver, and Sebek… Everyone at Diasomnia must be worried sick about you right now. I should think you’d want to assuage their concerns a tad bit faster!

Lilia: …Thing is, I trust them.

Riddle: You trust them?

Lilia: Mm-hmm. Knowing them, no doubt they understand I’m safe and sound and having a good time right now. Malleus and the others know I’m not the type of guy who’d get in a pickle over something as trivial as this. And that’s because they know me very, very well – just like family!

(snipped)

Lilia: It’s truly wonderful having people in your life who trust you and wish the best for you - and for whom you do the same in return - no matter how far apart you may be.

When you take this dialogue and look at in isolation of this event, then it’s a wonderful thing to hear Lilia say. He trusts his boys and they trust him - because they’re family, and that’s what families do. It’s always great to hear the characters themselves acknowledge their strong bonds with each other, and I thought it was really cute how Stitch got so happy to hear Lilia talking about his Ohana.

But when you take what he said and consider the broader story of Twisted Wonderland (vignettes and events, included), and you consider other things he’s said and done in the past… This dialogue just hurts.

There’s been small moments here and there that made me think Lilia has kind of an unhealthy(?) or warped(?) view of love. I’m not sure what the best word for it is, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t like people worrying over him, he doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness, and he really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak. Additionally, he seems to value himself very little – he doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger, or that people would be happy getting pictures of him, or that his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much. I’ll go ahead and put examples for each point so you all can understand better what I’m trying to say.

He doesn’t like people worrying about him

We can see this partly from the quote this whole post is based on, as well as from Book 7.

Based on his conversation with Riddle, Lilia’s way of thinking appears to be:

If someone trusts me -> that means they wouldn’t worry about me

As well as:

If someone worries about me -> that means they don’t trust me

But we do worry about the people we love and care about, don’t we? We worry about our spouses getting home safely from a business trip, and our kids making friends at school, and our friends acing the interview they’ve been practicing for because we love them, don’t we? And because we want the best for them. But it doesn’t seem like Lilia thinks the same way.

And to add onto this point, it’s very clear the boys do worry about Lilia a lot, contrary to what Lilia claims. Due to Lilia’s departure, Malleus brought a snowstorm to the island in his sadness, Silver considered dropping out of school and leaving with his father, only to end up breaking down and crying in front of their crown prince of all people, and Sebek used his one wish to make Lilia be healthy and have him stay with Silver forever. They were all worried terribly about him in their own ways, but it doesn’t seem like Lilia ever noticed (or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to bring it up for some reason. Who knows.)

At any rate, he also gets mad (well, more like tsundere lol) at Silver when the boy was on the verge of tears after Lilia took a nasty hit for him. (I know this exchange occurred with General Vanrouge, and he was quite the asshole back then, but he’s still retained that dislike for people worrying over him.)

Lilia: Oh, would you quit it with the sniveling. I drank the potion, didn’t I? I just to rest for a little bit, and then I’ll be good as new.

He doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness

He exhibits his distaste of sappiness in Book 7 and the Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland 2 event. In the latter, when everyone is saying goodbye to their tsums, he mentions he doesn’t like the gloomy atmosphere. He wants goodbyes to be happy (and most likely, free of any emotional weight). The same can be said in Book 7, when he wholeheartedly agrees to the going away party the students wanted to put on for him, as well as when Silver mentions his father had wanted them all to send him off with a smile. I’m not sure if Lilia just doesn’t enjoy people getting serious with their emotions towards him, or if he doesn’t like seeing it in general. It gives me Macho Man (tm) vibes, kind of? Like, “don’t let people see you cry and feel sad because then you look weak” kind of thing but idk.

Lilia: Farewells are certainly sorrowful, but I hate leaving things on such a gloomy note. Let’s keep our chins up until the end. Tsum, your ability to surprise others was exceptional, and you made today so much fun. So long!

He really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak

There’s still a lot of loose ends to be resolved in Book 7, one of them being the full extent of Lilia’s motives for wanting to leave so suddenly. It does seem to be he’s telling the truth that his magic ran out early, since he couldn’t muster up enough strength to fight back against Malleus when he was about to Overblot, but we don’t know if the real reason for that is just because he “went a little to wild” in his youth, like he claimed, or if something else caused his magic to deplete so prematurely. But we did hear him reveal a little bit of his motives when he was talking to Floyd at the party.

Floyd was dismayed he never got a chance to fight Lilia, and he wished he could’ve seen Lilia go all out at least once. When he asks Lilia why he’s dropping out, Lilia says under his breathe that he didn’t want “them” to see him so weak.

Lilia (whispering to himself): …It’s because I didn’t want them to see me so feeble.

Regardless of why his magic ran out and why he wants to go the Land of Red Dragons of all places, we know part of the reason for his departure is because he doesn’t want Malleus and the others to see how far he’d fallen from his former military glory. (sidebar: I have a feeling he thought he’d be a burden on Silver and co. with him losing his magic, and he was trying to leave so quickly to escape his shame towards his rapid loss of strength and independence (I imagine since he’s a magical being who comes from a country that runs on magic, him losing his powers must feel very isolating and limiting, like he’s lost a lot of the control he used to have over his own life).)

He doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger

In Endless Halloween/Spectral Soiree, Lilia was surprised by how much Silver and the others had been worrying about him and Malleus when they disappeared. Interestingly, even though Lilia is the one that Silver was the most relieved to see (it’s hard to tell with the live 2d models, but it looked like he went up to hug? Lilia and Lilia slapped his hand away), Lilia later says “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about us.” (referring to himself and the others involved with the party shenanigans).

(I am aware they changed this line to “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me” In TWST EN, but I’m just focusing on the JP version).

I just found it weird that even though Silver was very clearly worried about Lilia the most, Lilia kind of redirected Silver’s concern over from “Lilia” to “Lilia and everyone else”. Did it make him uncomfortable to hear Silver was that worried about him? I’m not sure, but it just stood out to me as being a little strange how he responded, and how surprised he was that his own son would get worried about him suddenly disappearing.

He didn’t think people would be happy getting pictures of him

At the end of Lilia’s Tamashina Mina vignette, Yuu stops by Diasomnia to give him some photos he’d taken of Lilia on their trip, and Sebek, Silver, and Malleus are delighted to see them, since it’s not often they get to see photos of Lilia. Lilia is surprised at how happy they are to receive those pictures of himself. But why wouldn’t they be happy? They love him and treasure him dearly, of course they’d be overjoyed to have pictures of him to remember him by. It’s like he thought they wouldn’t care about him that much, which is really bizarre, considering the whole “even if we’re not related by blood we’re still family” thing he told Malleus before.

Lilia: To think, you’d all be so delighted just to see some pictures of me. I never would’ve imagined you’d all react like this.

He didn’t think his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much

This relates back to what I mentioned in the first point, but there’s one scene that demonstrates this perfectly.

After Silver breaks down in front of Malleus, Malleus teleports both of them to Lilia’s going away party. All eyes should have been on Malleus with how strangely he was acting, but the first thing Lilia honed in on was that Silver had been crying. And not only that, but Lilia looked surprised that Silver had been crying. And why wouldn’t he cry? The one person who formed Silver’s entire world and sun and stars was about to leave him and go die all by himself on the other side of the planet. There is no reason Lilia should’ve been surprised at Silver’s tears, yet he was. And I gather that’s because he never thought the boy could ever possibly want to choose to stay by his side, to choose him over all the hopes and dreams he’d burdened on the poor child from the moment he could walk, to choose him over his real friends and his real family members.

I hope when Lilia “wakes up” from his dream, the first he does is ask Silver what he’d been crying about back at the party. And I pray to god they will actually talk things out and Lilia will finally apologize for how much of a complete idiot he’s been acting.

My headache’s coming back so to wrap this up quickly, my current understanding of Lilia Vanrouge is that he either doesn’t realize just how loved and cherished he is by his family members, or that he does realize it and just pretends not to. If it’s the latter, which is what I personally lean towards, I think he does this as a means to protect himself.

He’s already lost so many of his loved ones, and he very well may be putting up these walls around his heart and pushing away the people who love him just so he doesn’t have to get hurt again. We don’t know how he became an orphan, but his birth family either gave him up or passed away and left him behind. Even when Queen Maleficia took him in, he was always made the scapegoat for the princess’s schemes, and it sounded like he was brought up more as Levan and Mallenoa’s inferior than their equal. And then war struck their nation. And then his one best friend went missing and the other one probably gave up her life trying to protect the very child who'd go on to shatter the ice surrounding his wounded heart.

Perhaps with Malleus and Silver and Sebek now, he thought his best option would be to exit their lives before they had a chance to do the same to him, because he knew they would do the same to him. Everyone does.

As a final note, I still keep going to back to what he said in Cater’s Halloween vignette. I think this one line sums up his views of love better than I ever could:

“But the more precious a bond is, the more pain it can inflict.”

(source)

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst theory #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twst analysis #not really a theory or anything more like its just me babbling but yeah

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yuurei20 · 1 month

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Continuing from a previous ask: what are easier / harder / Malleus-level magics? (easier / vague magics listed here) Part 2/4

Harder Magics: Barriers/Deflection, Complex Construction, Cleaning, Clothing, Light

Barriers/deflection:

Leona says that second-year students should know how to insta-cast barriers. The only characters who have mentioned casting barriers thus far have been the second- and -third-year students of Riddle, Azul, Jamil, Trey and Rook.

Concealment

In his third birthday vignette Vil says that, "Nowadays, of course, (he) could simply conceal (himself) with magic," but back when he first enrolled at NRC his "skills just weren't on that level," so it is possible that concealing oneself is too complex for first-year students.

Complex Construction:

When Idia sees Savanaclaw's Halloween set his first question is if Leona used his magic for it. Leona is well known for being extremely powerful, so this may be insinuating that constructing something of that scale and quality can only be done by a particularly adept mage.

Floyd, Riddle and Stitch build an entire cottage together out of magic (with Stitch's engineering skills) during the Stitch event, impressing Ace, Azul and even Lilia.

Cleaning:

Lilia says that Sebek has yet to learn cleaning magic, so it is possibly a form of magic reserved for older students. Jamil talks about using magic for cleaning in his third birthday interview.

Cater struggles with "autocleaning via implement magic infusion" in a vignette, but his issue seems to be less so with cleaning itself and moreso with "the spell formula structure" of setting up the "auto" part of the spell. Riddle says that, as a 2nd-year student, he has yet to learn it in class.

Clothing:

Crewel modifies the Halloween costumes for the students in Spectral Soiree, saying that "it's quicker to modify something that's already made than whip up a whole new outfit," so creating an outfit from scratch may be more difficult (we see Malleus do so for Lilia).

Cater uses magic to change both his own clothes and clothes for Ace and Deuce (and Grim's ribbon), and Leona mentions a spell for button repair (that he might not have actually used, but it seems that such a thing exists).

In Tamashina-Mina Jack's outfit is magically resized to fit Kalim, but in Firelit Sky Jamil explains that he "couldn't just conjure an outfit in (Grim's) size with only a day's notice," so it is possible that outfit resizing is fairly high-level magic.

Light:

Jamil, Riddle and Vil may be the only characters we have seen magically conjure lights.

Other magic types of magic we have seen in the game include: ・Water magic (unnamed students) ・Crowley's vaguely defined "tough love" (might require a magic item) ・Electricity-based magic is insinuated in Book 3 but not technically specified (Azul) ・Magic that brings stuffed animals to life (Epel, Sebek, Jade, Idia) ・Magic for braiding hair (Jamil) ・A "bubble colossus" spell (Grim) ・Lighting Magic (Sebek--thank you so much @sorrygotthesesacks !!) ・Magic to silence noises like doors closing and footsteps (Ace) ・Magic that paralyzes with a poke/slap (Eliza)

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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ghouljams · 8 months

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I’m going through fae fic withdrawal ghoul TT

Y'know I kinda am too, here's the the conversation right before Gaz tried to tap Witch. Told from the golden boy's POV.

Gaz does his best not to shift on his feet standing outside the little cottage. It’s so out of place in the city, bracketed on either side by taller more modern brownstones. Exactly the sort of place he would have imagined a witch to be. Price knocks on the door with a heavy hand as Gaz glances over his shoulder. It feels like he’s intruding on something, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end just from proximity to the house. The knocks are met with absolute silence, not a peep from inside the house.

He can feel the arcs of magic though, the spectral movement of life behind the cottage walls. There’s the soft click of a lock and the door is pulled open. Price smiles.

You’re pretty, and younger than he’d have thought. You look about his age, or at least the age he’s pretending to be. Gaz glances at Price, the fondness in his eyes. What is it? Half your age and seven? Although, Gaz supposes that can’t really count here unless you have a spare few hundred you’re not showing. Probably not, you smell human.

“Price,” You frown, brows drawing together in confusion, Gaz meets your gaze with a smile, “and friend. I assume you’re here for business then.” You sigh and step aside, holding the door open. “Come on in, I’ll put a kettle on.”

“This should be quick,” Price assures you, nodding for Gaz to follow him into the house. It feels like stepping through molasses. Slow and sticky, pulling at him until he breaks through the threshold. Permeable, but only just. Gaz rolls his shoulders to shake the feeling off, following Price where you wave for them to take a seat. The couch you direct them to looks old, feels old if he counts the hands that have touched it. Still, it’s comfortable and sturdy when the two men sit.

“Quick or not business is business and that means tea,” You call from the kitchen. An ornamental butterfly on the wall flutters its wings in agitation.

“You’re sure this is the witch?” Gaz whispers to Price. When he’d said he knew who to talk to about Soap’s problem you weren’t really what Gaz had in mind.

“Positive,” Price leans back against the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. Perfectly relaxed. Gaz doesn’t see how he could be, all the foreign magic in the air is starting to make his head spin a little. He swallows, pinching the bridge of his nose, more than a little. This place feels like a fucking whirlwind, made to disorient. Price settles a hand on his back, and the next time Gaz inhales he smells smoke.

He takes a deeper breath, closes his eyes to feel his mentor’s magic steady him. The swirling smoke, familiar, clears his head, settles his vision. “Should’ve warned you,” Price mumbles, “it’ll clear.”

“I’m good,” Gaz tells him, just as a clatter of teacups are set on the table in front of him. The noise jostles Price’s magic, knicks him.

“This should help,” You tell both of them, fingers careful on the teapot as you pour. “Count it a compliment,” You smile at Gaz when he looks up at you, “not everyone is smart enough to know they’re surrounded.” It’s an ominous statement for the sweetness in your smile. Gaz doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be threatened by that or not. He takes the tea, what else is he supposed to do?

Hyssop. It clears his head as soon as it touches his tongue, settles the magic around him like the final acceptance of his presence. Funny how quickly magic can flip on a person. You must get enough fae visitors to know what to do, that’s reassuring at least. Price takes little more than a single swallow before setting his cup down. Not one for bitter teas if he can help it. You take your seat opposite them, and pick up a deck of playing cards from the table.

“Is he your apprentice?” You ask, shuffling cards.

“Supposed to be.” Price leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Hm,” you hum, looking Gaz over, “I suppose you do like pretty.”

“I like a lot of things sweetheart,” Price rumbles, his voice lower than Gaz has heard in a long time. He glances between the two of you, narrows his eyes at the silk strand tethers that silver between you.

“So I’ve heard,” you are far too fond to count as business-like.

“You’re askin’ around about me?” Price’s eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Should I be?” You lean forward, and Gaz has had just about enough of this.

“Do you two want to find a more private room?” He asks, cutting through whatever strange dance his boss and you are performing. You clear your throat and sit back, Price doesn’t move. His eyes are just as warm as they were, Gaz hardly thinks he heard him. Except maybe to take the jab into strong consideration. God if he tries to cart you off somewhere, Gaz will just leave. No point sticking around if- You know he’s really having second thoughts about your ability to help them now.

“What can I help with?” There, that sounds way more professional. Flirting with his fucking boss, Gaz is about to lose his damn mind.

“One of my boys found your trap,” Price says, no beating around the bush. You hum.

“Which one?”

Price blinks. Gaz blinks. Which one? Which one, what? Which boy or which trap? No, he knows what you’re asking.

“Does it matter?” Price asks finally.

“I suppose not,” you shrug, “did it kill him?”

“Did it-” Gaz feels anger well in his chest, you’re so casual with it. “Price,” He looks to his mentor for… Gaz doesn’t know, confirmation(?) that he’s hearing this too. Price holds out a hand to keep him in his seat.

“Soap’s fine. Lucky I had your little hexbreaker on me, could’ve been a lot worse,” Price explains, you stop your shuffling.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Tell us how to get rid of the trap.” Price presses.

“Except there, I’m afraid.” You sigh, and spread your cards on the table. Your fingers carefully push certain ones up, scoot others to the side, as if you’re picking the ones you like best. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Gaz asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” You say firmly. “Besides, it sounds like the problem is taken care of.”

Gaz and Price exchange a glance, the problem far from taken care of. Soap is a stubborn bastard, one who doesn’t take kindly to threats. It’s better to clear the fae trap from the city before he goes looking for them again.

“Right, then just tell us how to break it,” Gaz tries diplomatically.

“No,” you tell him plainly, sipping your tea. Price’s eyes spark watching you, eager and entirely unhelpful. “You’re asking me to help someone who couldn’t even come here himself, against something I created, and you’ve given me no good reason as to why I should help in the first place.”

"What'll it cost?" Price asks.

"I'm not for sale," It's the finality in your voice that really settle's Gaz's mind.

This is going nowhere fast. He pushes down the spark of annoyance, no rules are being broken, they have no favors to cash in, and the witch clearly knows well enough to give them the runaround. There’s only one way forward, and that’s back. Time for a reset.

"Why don't we just wipe her and try again?" Gaz asks, pushing himself to his feet.

#1fae1 #kyle garrick mw2 #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz modern warfare #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price cod #captain price #oc: witch #very mild #john price x oc #john price mw2 #would you two stop fucking flirting for 5 seconds Gaz is having an allergic reaction #fae!gaz #fae!price

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watcheraurora · 2 months

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Abducted

I wanted to combine some ideas. This was the result. Happy reading 5.1k words

—

Scar groaned. Everything hurt. Which, by and large, was not a new experience for him. He was more than used to constant pain. Usually at a slightly lower level than this. But this time his head was also pounding.

He heard a familiar cough from nearby.

Peeling one eye open, he tried to lift his head—only for his neck to scream in pain and prevent him from doing so. Still, he could see.

Beside him on the spruce-wood floor, a head of fire hair burned low to its owner's scalp. Diamond armor—sans helmet—covered a red coverall jumpsuit and black utility vest.

Tango shifted slightly, sounding like he was hurting too.

Scar checked their surroundings.

They appeared to be in Tango's house. The steampunk cottage. Scar had gotten lost in here multiple times, but he knew they were on the floor with the big open balcony designed for landing and taking off with Elytra. Because this was the room with the bed. Which neither of them were on. Instead, they were splayed out, fully clothed, on the floor.

"T... Tango?" Scar asked. His voice was hoarse.

"Hey buddy," Tango replied, equally strained and raspy.

"You okay?"

"Head's pounding like you wouldn't believe, but nothing's broken." Tango managed to turn his head, his bloodred eyes meeting Scar's gaze. "You?"

"Same."

Scar tried to sit up. He'd been through pain like this, he could push through. He could—

Purple chains appeared around him, keeping him lashed to the floor. "Ah, ah, ah," a voice said. Feminine and unfamiliar. "You'll stay right where you are if you know what's good for you."

Scar and Tango both scrunched their brows and turned to follow the voice. Up another short flight of stairs, on another "floor" of Tango's M.C. Escher painting he called an interior design, stood a figure.

Definitely none of the Hermits. Her skin was so dark purple it was almost black, nebulae and stars constantly shifting, drifting over exposed skin. Her hair was long and flowing, played with by a nonexistent breeze, and only slightly lighter purple than her skin. She was dressed in black. A tank top and loose trousers. Barefoot. With a cloak on. The underside of the cloak was more cosmic sights, brighter than her skin. It billowed in that same nonexistent breeze that toyed with her hair.

Scar blinked when he got to her eyes. They glowed the brightest, most vibrant purple of all—and were actually glowing.

A sword hung on her hip. At first glance, he thought it was Netherite. But the metal of the blade was too black, and stars glittered on its surface too.

"Who are you?" Tango asked, a snap to his voice that showed he was more than a little displeased to have his house broken into.

The figure smiled. Her teeth were sharp. "You'll find out." She seemed to be half-obscured by shadow, even though Tango had lit his base up fairly well.

Then Scar realized those shadows were great black wings, towering more than a head taller than her.

He scrunched his eyebrows again. "Have we met before?"

She smirked. "No," she replied blithely. She raised a hand and examined her nails. Her eyes flicked up. A spectral, translucent eye blinked into existence on her forehead, glowing and large.

Pain burned in Scar's torso. Lava in his stomach and fire in his heart. He cried out, curling up on himself. Black crept around the edges of his vision. The chains didn't stop him. Tango ground out a noise of agony beside him, clutching at his chest through his armor.

It was over as quick as it had begun. Both Scar and Tango slumped.

"Hmm," the figure grunted, as though noting the weather. "Interesting. Still there, but only a single fiber left. I'd hoped so." She looked between Tango and Scar, her eyes focusing on Scar. "Now which one..."

"What—the he—" Scar couldn't even finish his sentence. He panted, his body reeling from the pain, even though it was gone. Tango was staring with wide eyes, pupil, iris, and sclera all indistinguishable from one another.

"Scar!" Tango stage-whispered, voice raspy still. "You okay?" He seemed to have recovered okay from the pain.

Scar didn't have an answer to that. It should have been a simple Yes or No. It wasn't.

"Um..." He shook his head. Spots were swimming across his vision.

The sky outside darkened as a crack of thunder resounded. So loud Scar thought his eardrums might burst. No flicker of lightning preceded it. Just darkness.

The figure in the next room smiled, showing those sharp teeth again.

In a ripple of black-and-purple shadow, another figure appeared right on the edge of Tango's balcony. The figure wore a black robe. One that fell directly to the ground, slits cut into the back for massive black wings. A black mask with a purple symbol like a broken Nether portal covered half the newcomer's face. The upper half. The hood of the robe was drawn up over the head. But not enough to block the light-brown bangs falling over the newcomer's forehead.

"You wanted my attention," a familiar voice snapped. "You have it." An otherworldly resonance accompanied the words. Like the words themselves were spoken by the thunder that rolled over the server again.

Darkness was radiating off the figure like fog, little flickers of purple occasionally visible.

The newcomer also wore a sword. The same starry black one that the one in the other room wore.

She was still smiling. "There you are, little bird," she crooned. "Come in, come in. Let's talk."

"Release Scar and Tango first. Then we'll talk," the newcomer spat.

"Oh, but if I release them, you won't listen!" the first shot back. She clenched her fist and yanked back. The chains reappeared, bright purple, showing she was holding them. Tango shouted in pain as the chains burned against his armor.

The newcomer growled. Animalistic and furious. Purple lightning flickered away from him. Scar... recognized the newcomer's teeth? Vaguely? Like he'd seen them smiling for years. "Let. Them. Go."

"Look at you, little bird. You've been the biggest, baddest being on every server you've been in since you left us and you think you can intimidate me."

The newcomer drew his sword and took a step deeper into the room. Barefoot under the robe, just barely peeking out from underneath. "I won't tell you again, Iris."

In a flash of purple, Iris was standing toe-to-toe with the newcomer, her hair and cloak whipping in a wind that Scar and Tango didn't feel.

"You ungrateful child," she spat in his face. Scar realized a mask had appeared over her eyes as well. The same symbol in the center. "We saved you. Gave you everything a Player could ever want—and still you spurned us!"

Several more eyes blinked into existence around the pair, hovering like clouds.

Tango and Scar glanced at each other, both still wrapped up in the ethereal chains. The tilt of Tango's eyebrows revealed a question he didn't dare speak out loud.

You okay?

Scar managed a nod. Yeah.

The other two began shouting at one another in a language Scar couldn't understand. Tango's brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Like maybe he was picking up a word here and there. Scar gave Tango a look in askance. Tango shook his head subtly.

Scar caught the smaller of the two figures—the one with human skin and hair, the newcomer—saying his name again.

This time, his brain actually clicked into gear and he realized why the voice was familiar.

"Grian?" he asked.

"Ga-gah!" Tango exclaimed in surprise, giving Scar an alarmed look before his head whipped to look at the two figures.

Both figures' hundreds of spectral eyes immediately trained on Scar.

An overwhelming sensation of power rolled over him. Like high air pressure and deep water all at once. He popped his ears.

Another flash of purple light. Iris was behind Scar, her black blade at his throat and her other hand grabbing the back of his head. There was some sort of triumphant smile on her face. "Want to feel that last fiber of your old soulbond snap?" she sneered at Grian.

"Ho-kaaay!" Tango said.

Scar, whole body rigid, looked between Iris and Grian.

"Let him go," Grian said, calm, collected. Back in a language Scar could understand. Sword still in hand. Often, when his emotions were heightened, Grian had a tendency to screech. He did not. The sword in his hand was only loosely gripped. "We're talking, Iris. You don't have to threaten him anymore."

"You're coming back, little bird," Iris said.

"I'm not." Grian's voice still rung with otherworldly power. Darkness still radiating off of him. A glowing eye hovering at his forehead. "I'm never going back." Thunder crashed again, earsplittingly loud.

Grian spun his sword.

The shriek of metal on metal made Scar, Tango, and Iris recoil.

Apparently Tango recovered first, because his inhumanly warm hand had closed around Scar's wrist and was dragging him to his feet. "Flee with extra flee!" he said softly. Scar stumbled to his feet and staggered after Tango, who was leading him down a set of stairs.

Where the magic purple chains had gone, Scar didn't have time to find out.

Tango led him through the absurdly complicated stairs and floors that made up the interior of the steampunk cottage. His Blaze Rods made a rare appearance, rapidly orbiting his head. His fire hair was blazing big and hot. Somewhere up above, an unnaturally loud clang! of swords clashing grated against their ears.

"Where are we going?" Scar asked Tango as the latter pushed him toward a ladder in an open hole in the floor leading outside.

"Just go, just go, just go," Tango hissed, bracing his feet on either side of the ladder frame and sliding down it. Scar followed him down. Once his feet were on solid ground, Tango pulled him to the right. Toward the cherry blossom mountain Scar, Grian, Skizz, Impulse, Mumbo, Gem, and Joel had chosen to build their bases on and around. Which was odd. Scar had guessed that Tango was going to lead him to the Nether, where Tango tended to feel more at home.

Tango didn't let go of Scar's wrist. His Blaze blood kept his internal temperature much hotter than a normal person's, and his heat was prominent against the skin of Scar's wrist. Scar had on fingerless gloves with his zookeeper outfit and where the leather of those ended, Tango held on tight.

The two skirted around the massive hole Skizz had been digging to build up his pyramid in—Skizz had already built the first layer, deemed it too big, and torn it down, leaving the hole empty again—and ran across the treacherously narrow temporary bridge across the river. They readjusted course to head a bit more to the right. Toward Skizz and Impulse, away from Gem.

Tango's boots hit the deepslate ramp of Skizz's starter base, heading up for the castle-like tower with its greenish-blue S emblazoned on the front.

"Skizz!" Tango shouted as they ran up the ramp. "Skiiiiizz!"

"Hey dude!" The man in question dropped off a ladder. "What's up?"

"Can you do that cool thing you do where you do the hand wavy-wavy and all the sparky-sparklys appear and no one can get get close?" Tango asked.

Skizz blinked. "You want me to put up a ward?" he asked.

"Yeah-yeah." Tango nodded.

"What for?"

"Now would be good," Tango said, his head turning toward his steampunk cottage. It wasn't on fire—yet—so Scar counted that as a win. "Please."

Skizz raised a brow, but did as Tango asked. His hands sliced through the air. Yellowish-white light followed his movements and a sphere of faintly-glowing light shimmered around his starter base.

"Wanna explain to me what's going on now?" Skizz demanded.

"Scary tall purple lady knocked us out and hurt Scar to get Grian's attention. They're currently fighting in my base."

All color drained from Skizz's face, leaving him ashen. "You're joking," he said in a tone that said he was not.

Tango shook his head, fire hair flickering.

"Are you two okay?!" Skizz demanded, looking them both over. He put his hands on Tango's shoulders as he inspected, before looking over Scar without touching him. "Where's your cane, buddy? Do you need it?"

Scar swallowed. His legs were almost aching worse than his head. "I don't know. I had it. And then I got hit with something and now I don't have it. I didn't see it at Tango's place."

Skizz grabbed something out of a chest, went to a crafting table nearby, and returned with a wooden chair a moment later, setting it down. "Sit down, Scarface," he said gently. Scar collapsed into the chair without protest. Stone and sticks and string were passed to him next. "Wanna craft a temporary one? I don't have a lot of metal here, it's all at the iron farm. Otherwise I'd make some bars that might be good—"

"This is fine," Scar said, dragging the crafting table over. "Thanks Skizzy-wizzy."

Skizz smirked before going over to Tango, who had just sat in a heap of armor on the floor.

"So, gonna explain why you seemed to know who we were talking about when I mentioned the scary purple lady?" Tango asked.

Skizz pursed his lips, a wry smile beginning to form like he was going to say no—

WHAM!

A familiar voice cried out in pain.

Scar used his makeshift cane to shove himself to his feet and go to the ramp under Skizz's tower to investigate.

Grian had been thrown against Skizz's ward. The scary purple lady—Iris—was in the air, her shadowy wings churning the clouds. Thunder rumbled.

"Aaaaand that's my cue!" Skizz announced.

Scar watched in fascination—he'd seen this before, but it never stopped being amazing—as Skizz's six white wings blazed into existence and a ring of white-and-gold appeared above his head.

Grian groaned, still splatted against the sphere, mask a bit askew, but still covering his eyes completely. "Skizz, get them out of here!" His voice was muffled through the ward, but insistent. Scar, his knees starting to buckle after the adrenaline had started to ease out of his system, hobbled a little closer. Tango pushed to his feet.

"Why can't he go through?" Tango asked, approaching. "I thought you said friends could pass."

"They can," Skizz said.

"Do you not consider Grian a friend?" Scar wondered, head tilting to one side.

"I do. But there are certain... beings that my powers will block no matter whether friend or foe."

At that moment, something slammed into the ward. The point of Iris' sword. She was braced against the shimmering transparent barrier like she'd gone for a superhero landing and Grian had rolled out of the way, pushed off the ward, and took flight. A fierce black bow appeared in his hand.

"What kind of beings?" Scar pushed.

"That's for Grian to tell you later. Hold on." Skizz took both Scar and Tango's shoulders in his hands and shut his eyes.

A burst of yellow-white light nearly blinded Scar.

When he opened his eyes and blinked the afterimages of Skizz's halo out of his vision, he looked around. "Where... where are we?"

Skizz looked back to normal. No halo, no wings. Just Skizz in his suit with the sleeves ripped off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "This, gentlemen, is a small private server of mine. Little safe haven."

"We're not in Hermitcraft anymore?" Tango asked, looking around. His vibrant yellow brows knitted together, worry etched in the lines of his forehead.

"Nope," Skizz declared confidently. "Which also means you two are safe."

"Why'd she come after us?" Tango complained. Not being in the Hermitcraft server meant their inventories were wiped. No armor, no weapons, no food. No supplies of any sort. The only thing that had carried over was—thankfully—Scar's cane. Which he was leaning pretty heavily on.

Scar hoped it was temporary. Hermitcraft had just restarted and he was already just enjoying a fresh start. He didn't need another one so soon. He sank to the ground.

"She said something about the last fiber of the soulbond," he said.

"Oh come on," Tango retorted. "Double Life was Grian's game for fun. The soulbonds weren't permanent."

"Those games aren't just for fun," Skizz said. "Grian makes them fun. The others of his kind started them as a way to feed off the energy a person gives off when they die—and people's misery. Grian feeds off it too, but he tries not to if he can help it. Remember Limited Life? The time he was awake but not... there?"

"Yeah." Tango looked unimpressed.

"That was his kind pulling his soul out of his body and forcing him to just Watch."

"Great. What does that have to do with the fibers of the soulbond?" Tango, as usual, was dry and blunt.

"Iris sensed Scar's connection to Grian. Used it to get his attention. That's why Scar was targeted. Who was your buddy, again?"

"Jimmy. Solidarity," Tango replied.

Skizz made a face. "Well that's why she grabbed you. Jimmy and Grian are the same... species. Different subsets of powers, but the same DNA, so to speak. Iris probably detected that both of you were bound to one of her kind but couldn't tell which one led to Grian. So she hurt you both to see which one got Grian's attention."

"Great," Tango muttered sarcastically. He stalked off and started destroying the tall grass to get wheat seeds.

"Grian feeds off misery?" Scar wondered aloud.

"He can," Skizz said. "His kind can feed on any human emotion. But misery and other negative ones are the easiest to elicit. And some of his kind think they... taste the best. His kind set up those games, Grian invaded them to ruin the meal by making the games fun. To punish him, they chipped away at his power and pulled him out for a while. It's been a power struggle the whole time."

Scar looked down at his legs. They were shaking but he couldn't feel it. Probably a bad sign. But he ignored the worry for that in favor of some unidentified emotion coiling darkly around his heart.

Betrayal.

"Why didn't he ever tell us?"

"He doesn't want to be different?" Skizz suggested. "He wants to play and have fun with his friends? Maybe live his life away from the crazy people? You saw what Iris was like."

"Yeah..." Scar hummed thoughtfully and started to massage his legs, one at a time, until the aches started to ease. Anger was trying to poke its head out, past the betrayal. Scar did his best to force it down. He wasn't an angry man. And Grian was one of his best friends. That didn't change the fact that Grian had been keeping a secret from him. Scar wouldn't have judged Grian for not being a normal Player. His jaw tightened. "How do you know all this?" he asked to get his mind off of the bubbling emotions in his gut.

Tango returned, seeds in hand and a wooden hoe on his belt. He wandered over to where a river stood nearby and tilled the soil before planting the seeds. He sat on the ground by Scar, still looking grumpy.

Skizz took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, Scarface," he said, "G can't hide what he is from me. I knew what he was the second I met him. Can't really hide the black wings and the mask and the purple darkness from an angel." His halo hummed into view and vanished. "His glamour that makes him look normal to everyone else is good and can't be detected or pierced by most forms of magic or most people's powers. But his kind and mine are on the same... level. So I can see through it. And even before I joined you all on the server, he'd come visit wherever I was living when he needed to talk to someone."

"So... does Grian always look like that? What we saw today? And what we've always seen of him was fake?"

"Fake is a strong word. A glamour just masks his power and the appearance. I've got a glamour on right now too. Keeps the wings and the halo from freaking people out. I imagine Grian does it for the same reason. To fit in with his friends. He wants to stand out on his own merit, not just because he's got the power levels of a minor deity."

"He does?"

"That's for him to explain."

—

Grian's teeth vibrated with the force of Iris' blade striking against his. Why did it always come down to violence with the Watchers? He could never seem to get them to listen to him otherwise.

Part of him wanted to fight dirty. To dig his fingers into her wings and tear her feathers out. But that wouldn't solve anything either.

Grian?

The voice was distant, small, echoey. Not heard through his ears. But felt in his mind.

He ignored it. He didn't have time to concentrate on anything other than Iris trying to destroy his home server by pummeling him into the ground. Not now.

Grian, we need to talk, the voice said. Louder. Clearer. Familiar.

I'm a little busy at the moment, Tim! Grian thought back, shooting his words like a lance down the connection. Even over telepathy, he knew he sounded strained.

This is important! Jimmy insisted.

Grian hurled Iris away from him, his wings beating at the air to keep him aloft. Buying him a couple seconds. You have reached Grian's voicemail. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you. He did his best impression of a cool, calm voice that he would have left on his answering machine, taking a moment to get his breath back before twisting and plummeting into a dive, bow out and arrow drawn. He loosed it.

Iris batted it away with her sword, ducking. Her sharp, gleaming, blindingly white teeth bared in frustration.

Their swords met again, hard enough for Grian to feel the vibrations down in his bare toes.

Grian, this is about Tango! He's in trouble—I felt it!

With a twist, he tried to disarm Iris, but she managed to flip in midair and maintain her grip on her hilt.

I literally just sent Tango to safety with Skizz—now will you shut up?

What's going on?

You remember Iris, right? My lovely "sister."

Yeah.

Guess who infiltrated Hermitcraft looking for me and who I'm trying to banish?

She didn't!

She did. Now shut up.

Do you need help? I can get over to fWhip for a faster portal to you.

I'm fine, thanks. Just shush. I'll let you know when Tango's back on Hermitcraft safe, yeah?

Thanks.

Cheers. Call you back later, Grian said.

Bye.

Jimmy's telepathic connection vanished. Listeners like him were naturally telepathic and could reach people from much farther away. Watchers, like Grian, could learn telepathy but weren't as adept. Grian had learned to be telepathic, of course. It was a great way to mess with his friends. But it would always take him more effort than it took Jimmy.

Iris slammed into Grian, sending them both sprawling in the pit Skizz had dug for his pyramid. Grian hit his wing joint hard as he impacted the ground. He clenched his jaw and grimaced in pain, pushing himself up into a seated position so he could get his feet under him. The back of his sword hand was scratched and the skin was nearly shredded from the impact. He dismissed his bow to put his other hand on the ground and hop to his feet. Gentle purple light began to coalesce around his injured hand. Skin began to stitch itself back together.

The thing about being a converted Watcher, rather than a naturally-born one, was that he could use his powers in different ways than the others. Like immediate healing.

Iris shoved herself to her feet and bent her knees in her defensive pose. “You can’t defeat me, little bird.”

“I don’t need to today. I just need to banish you from Hermitcraft. And impose upon you the understanding of what I will do to you if you dare go after my friends again. There won’t be enough left of you for the others to identify, understand?”

Iris spat blood—purplish black—to the ground at Grian’s feet.

Grian raised his sword. His power was still darkening the sky and rolling thunder. He concentrated on the chaos of it all and pulled.

Lightning forked down. Purple and bigger than a normal bolt. It struck Grian's sword. He dropped its point immediately and leveled it at Iris. The electricity arced away, toward her. Carving her out of Hermitcraft.

—

Scar looked up as thunder rolled across the small private server. The clouds turned from fluffy white to black and looming.

"Here he comes," Skizz said.

As if on cue, a figure fell through the clouds. Black shadowy wings furled close to a smaller body. Robe flapping around bare feet.

Grian nearly crashed into the area around spawn. He barely managed to twist his body and get his feet underneath him for a landing, but he hit hard and almost crumpled.

Skizz was next to him before Scar could even blink, taking Grian's arm and slinging it around his shoulders. "You're okay, G," he said. Almost like he was reassuring himself of that fact, rather than Grian. Tango ran over from where he'd been attending to the wheat he was growing. He'd brought back enough for a few loaves of bread so far.

"S... Skizz?" Grian's voice was wavering. Exhausted.

"Yeah, yeah. It's me," Skizz replied. "Why don't you come sit by Scarface."

Grian managed a weak nod. "I need... my..." Scar couldn't see the way Grian's forehead wrinkled under his mask, but by the way his mouth grimaced, he knew Grian was scrunching up his whole face.

"Don't bother with your glamour yet, buddy," Skizz said. "We're all okay with it, here."

Grian managed to tilt his head in Scar's direction. Whether he could actually see Scar through his mask, Scar had no idea. Grian didn't reply to Skizz, just let the latter help him sit down in the shade of an oak tree. He nearly flopped back to lie down, but tilted enough to instead crash into Scar's shoulder. Scar instinctively grabbed him and kept him upright.

"Scar?" Grian asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Scar replied.

Grian swallowed. "Yes you are. I can sense your emotions. You're terrified. Is it because of me? What I am?" As if magnetized, Grian's hand reached out and planted on Scar's chest, purple light drifting around the point of contact like a cloud—no. Like a whirlpool. Scar stared at it. The light was spinning and narrowing going up Grian's arm. His breathing was heavy and he was leaning hard against Scar's shoulder.

"Skizz. Skizz, pull me away. I can't stop it. I need to sto—I can't stop it!" Grian's voice turned panicked. Tango and Skizz each grabbed one of Grian's arms and dragged him back, away from Scar. Grian bit out a sound like it physically hurt him to be removed.

"What was that?!" Tango demanded, hair flickering faster than usual. Neither he nor Skizz let go of Grian's arms.

"I'm depleted. My body's seeking sustenance. Emotional energy to feed on. My kind tends to benefit off the negative emotions the best. Misery. Fear. Scar's terrified and my powers want it—need it—to rejuvenate. But I can't... I can't do that..." Grian arched his back, teeth bared as though in pain. "I told myself when I left that I wouldn't feed off my friends' worst feelings. It's bad—don't want... don't want to be bad anymore."

Scar watched, eyes flicking between Grian, Skizz, and Tango. Skizz looked concerned and sympathetic. Tango almost looked angry.

Scar cleared his throat. "I'm not scared of you. Or what you are, Grian," he said softly. The other three froze. "I won't lie. Feelin' a little bit betrayed that you never told me you're basically a god. But I'm scared for you. That you're hurting and exhausted." He used his cane to push to his feet and closed the gap. "If my fear and betrayal is what you need, take it."

Grian shook his head. "I can't—I can't do that to my friends—"

"Grian, listen to me," Skizz began.

But Scar cut him off. "You're not asking, mister," he snapped at Grian. "I'm telling you to take it." He pried Tango's fingers off Grian's wrist and brought Grian's hand back to his own chest. The purple whirlpool of light started spinning again. Siphoning the emotional energy directly into Grian.

Tango and Skizz seemed surprised, stepping back with raised eyebrows.

Grian and Scar stayed in the same position for nearly two minutes. Scar leaned on his cane, but he stayed standing while Grian knelt in front of him, hand raised and planted on Scar's chest as though unable to remove it.

Finally, Grian gasped and ripped his hand back. His wings beat a little to get him away from Scar, scrambling backward. "That's enough. That's enough. I'm okay now. I don't need more." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. With one hand, he reached up and balled his fist in his mask, ripping it off. He panted, staring at the ground. His eyes were wide, then narrowed as though blinded by the sunlight, despite being in the shade and tilted down, away from the sun.

"Better?" Scar asked.

Grian managed a shaky nod. "Loads. Thank you."

"That's what friends are for."

"Yeah... yeah." He tied his mask back on and massaged his temples. "I... I need to call Timmy back. Give me a moment." He looked about ready to collapse.

He did not, in fact, call Jimmy. Instead sitting in silence while continuing to rub his temples. Scar scrunched his eyebrows and looked over at Tango and Skizz, confused.

"Jimmy's telepathic," Tango explained. "He can read minds from across the universe if he concentrates hard enough. Grian's talking to him through their thoughts, probably."

"Ohhh. Okay. I get it," Scar said. While not, in fact, fully getting it.

After a few moments, Grian tilted his head up as though meeting everyone's gaze. "Right. I suppose I owe you answers," he said. "Before I start, what have you heard about the Watchers, Tango and Scar?"

#Hermitcraft fic #Aurora Writes #Rory Writes #Watcher!Grian #Tango Tek #TangoTek #Skizzleman #GoodTimesWithScar #Scar #briefly featuring Jimmy Solidarity

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lumenniveus · 2 years

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What? You think I'd let that baby go to waste? Of course it's coming as single DL. Duh

Download on SFS - updated for patch 03/14/2023

This is a bike. Yes. That's all it is. It's the basegame bike from the Cottage Living pre-order bonus stuff turned into a light-weight sports bike type of thing. You get get that thing in spectral pop + extra swatches so there's definitely going to be something for you to enjoy. Does it make the oh so good engine sound effects? No... unfortunately -- BUT it looks neat.

I did playtest in my own game but as per usual bug reports go into my inbox. Deal? Cool.

This is my first bike. It will not be the last, and I swear one day I'll make a lightcycle! JUST BECAUSE I CAN!

You can totally recolor, rip and / or convert this thing. The mesh is my own work so all I ask for is to get some credit. I'm fine with all of that, just no paywalls. Really, don't do it.

#fan stuff #sims 4 #maxis match cc #sims custom content #sims cc #maxis match #bike #maxismatch #sims 4 custom content #ts4 simblr #ts4 download #ts4 custom content

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jess-the-reckless · 1 month

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I started out 2024 with a fervent prayer that it would be a nice, boring year with no major upheavals. Alas, that dream shat the bed before the end of February, so with one thing and another I've been a bit busy. Still chugging away with A Fete Worse Than Death, though, so here's a sneak peek of how pillow talk goes when you discover that your wife once spent part of the Cold War working undercover as a spectral chimpanzee.

________________________________

Crowley, champagne glass in one hand, flung back the covers. She patted the mattress next to her. “Get in,” she said. “Come on. Bedtime for Bonzo.”

Aziraphale slid down between the expensive sheets. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“No idea. Recurring brainfart, I think.”

Aziraphale plumped the pillow against her neck and settled in. She’d always loved this. As much as exploring each others bodies in bed was fun, sometimes it was just nice to talk. Whenever they were together she and Crowley had talked a lot, but it hadn’t been until they’d ended up tangled up beside the fire in the gardener’s cottage that their conversation had reached newer, deeper, more interesting levels. Sometimes the things they’d shared were profound, conversations carefully skirting the thing they had been unable to say out loud, and other times the details were small, and stupid, at least on a surface level. It was here, in a series of bedrooms, that Aziraphale had learned that Crowley hated Marmite almost as much as Aziraphale loved it, and that Crowley – for all her hair looked so shiny – sometimes fought a secret battle with dandruff. Aziraphale had consulted her library and determined that this delightful new level of conversation was that ‘pillow talk’ that lovers often did in books, and then had to make herself a very strong cup of tea, in order to remain sensible while grappling with the notion that she and Crowley were now lovers.

Pillow Talk – wasn’t that a film with Doris Day? The thought knocked something loose in Aziraphale’s mind. “Isn’t that a film, too?” she said. “Bedtime for Bonzo? I want to say Ronald Reagan, and I’ve no idea why that name rings a bell.”

Crowley blinked incredulously at her. “You amaze me sometimes. You know that?”

“Why? What have I done this time?”

“The man was President of the United States for eight years. You’re maybe the only living entity who can still write in cuneiform, but you remain wooly on Ronald Reagan? How?”

“I’ve been around for a long time, darling,” said Aziraphale. “I lost track of world leaders round about the time Alexander the Great was still handing out tips on intercrural. And there have been rather a lot of kings and emperors and presidents and such, especially lately. They’ve been going through them like lavatory paper in Westminster. Which one was Ronald Reagan again?”

“Cold War guy,” said Crowley. “Used to be in films.”

“How funny. I didn’t even realise he was an actor.”

“Neither did most people. He got upstaged by a chimp in Bedtime for Bonzo. Oh and that’s why it keeps coming back to me: it’s one of Satan’s favourite films.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, perhaps even more confused than before. “Satan watches films starring chimpanzees?”

“Well, yeah. Eternal damnation. He’s got a lot of time on his hands.”

“I suppose so, yes. Was it a good film?”

“Fuck, no. It was a stinker,” said Crowley. “The chimpanzee playing Bonzo seemed to know Reagan was a wrong ‘un, too. She tried to strangle him with his own tie. Almost killed him, actually.” Crowley’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Wait…she wasn’t one of yours, was she?”

“One of our what?”

“Agents. Her name was Peggy. She was a girl chimp playing a boy chimp in the film, but in those days nobody minded if chimpanzees cross-dressed. She died mysteriously in a fire, and there were times when I wondered…well…if Downstairs had anything to do with her death.”

Aziraphale emptied her champagne flute in a long swallow, and topped it up. She had a feeling it was about to become one of those conversations. The kind where she needed a map.

“Right,” she said. “You thought Hell had murdered a chimpanzee? Why?”

“Because she tried to kill Reagan,” said Crowley. “Who was definitely one of ours, by the way.”

“An agent?”

“No, no. Just a very useful idiot. But it stands to reason that if you’ve got an idiot that useful to Hell, then your boss – what with omniscience being what it is and all – might have sent one of God’s creatures to…you know…” She pulled on an invisible tie and made choking noises. “…neck him.”

Too lazy to call room service again, Aziraphale miracled the bottle back to full. She was going to need a lot more champagne. “Crowley, are you seriously asking me if Heaven is in the habit of training chimpanzee assassins to eliminate future world leaders?”

“Yes,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shook her head. “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond films again, dear.”

“Nah. Like you always say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. If they’d known Hell had a target on Reagan’s back…I mean, that’s why they sent me.”

“You? To do what?”

Crowley shrugged, her bare, tanned shoulders bronze against the white linen. “Get in there and shake some things up,” she said. “The usual. At first I was like ‘don’t see what Satan sees in this guy’, but you didn’t have to know Ronnie for long to see that he was seething human crucible of vicious resentment and bile. He hated his fellow actors, especially the ones who were more talented than him, which was most of them. Including the chimp.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “You don’t think he set fire to poor Peggy, do you?”

“No. Although he wasn’t exactly crying too much about her death. It was pretty much ‘rest in piss, you scene-stealing monkey.’”

“How rude. She was an ape.”

“I know. And she was a scene-stealer, to be fair. Chimpanzees are naturally funny, whereas Reagan had all the comedy chops of a bucket of rendered animal fat. And it wasn’t just Peggy he had it in for. When he wasn’t being upstaged by a chimp he was busy denouncing his fellow creatives as Godless commies. He was a bastard, and a nuisance. All he needed to become a full-fledged monster was a little push. So I…pushed. How was I supposed to know it was going to end in trickle-down, AIDS deaths, and ketchup being reclassified as a vegetable? I just thought it would be amusing to spend some time as a chimpanzee.”

Aziraphale frowned, still no clearer than before. “Crowley, what are you telling me?” she said. “Am I to understand that you were the star of Bedtime for Bonzo?”

“No. Of course not. This was after Peggy died. Perfect, really – well, for me, not for Peggy. But it gave me an opportunity to play the role of a spectral chimpanzee. What better way than to taunt him by turning up as one of his funniest co-stars? It was only a part time gig anyway. I’d chimp up and then appear at his breakfast nook in the morning, or turn up driving his limo, with the hat and everything. Hats were a big part of it, actually. If you’re going to be a chimp you might as well wear a hat, because it’s funny. And I was hilarious. I had a fez at one point, and one with a propeller on the top, even though they’re kind of hack as far as comedy headwear goes. The viking helmet in the downstairs toilet properly freaked him out, though. Quite proud of that one.”

Fascinated, Aziraphale topped up their glasses. “All these years,” she said. “And I had no idea you’d spent part of the twentieth century as a chimpanzee. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Of course I can,” said Crowley. “I’m like if a medieval bestiary could own shoes. I spent most of the seventeenth century as a series of witch’s familiars.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And not just snakes, either. I’ve got range.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I’ve been black cats, hell hounds, bats, violent ferrets, suspicious toads – you name it. Regular menagerie, me. One time I was even a bewitched chicken in Norwich.” She winced at the memory. “That was an experience. Probably why I’m still quite elastic in the pelvic floor area, actually.”

#ineffable wives #good omens fanfic #fanfic #ronald reagan

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weirdsatellites · 2 months

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SIGINT #08019 from RASR-2 (TS/SCI) 1. Shattered Pumpkins 2. Wall of Duct Tape 3. Cottage of Spectral Doomscrolling

#surveillance #weird #maps

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ravendruid · 7 months

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Food, Friendship and Comfort

This fic is part of the @critter-genfic-events Bingo to fulfill the Comfort and Cooking slots. [Check my bingo card and other works here.] Set post-Campaign 2 and Mighty Nein Reunited. Read on AO3

Beauregard Lionett’s days as a Cobalt Soul Expositor are either dreary and dull with endless paperwork or exhausting with back-and-forth trips to Rexxentrum to track the Cerberus Assembly. Today is one of the latter days where she trades a warm, sunny Zadash for a gloomy and cold Rexxentrum.

Beauregard scheduled to meet her friend Caleb for breakfast this morning, so as soon as she steps out of the teleportation circle connecting the Rexxentrum and Zadash archives, she speeds past the guardians and archivists without a word and exits the dimly lit library onto the bustling street of the capital of the Dwendalian Empire. The feeling is immediate as the cold hits her uncovered skin and makes her curse between her teeth. Beau doesn’t have time to linger, so she follows the familiar cobblestone streets, ignoring the people rushing to and from work, the colorful buildings, and the heavy presence of crown guards in the more seedy areas.

The cottage that appears when Beauregard turns on another crossroad is a sight that makes the corners of her lips curl and her skin tingle in anticipation of warmth. She should have known better by now and brought a warm jacket along. The two small planter boxes out front are still full of tall, green plants, possibly kept alive in the cold by some arcane means from the owner of the cottage, and as Beau approaches, she notices that it either has recently been harvested or is yet to produce green beans.

Beau knocks at the rustic door, and where the motion would usually be followed by the sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor, it is now followed by silence. Weird. Caleb knew she was coming. Even if he is still in his arcane tower, he would have certainly set up alarms that would have triggered by now. Beau knocks again, louder this time, but still, no answer comes from the other side. She tries to peek in the side window through the small gap in the curtain but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The house is intact, with no signs of a struggle (or worse, an attack). Beauregard doesn’t want to expend the single use of her sending stone yet, lest it be needed later. However, the cold is bothering her right now, so she does what any good friend would do if they suspected their friend might be up to something or in a difficult situation: she picks Caleb’s lock. What are the chances that he has arcane wards against thieves? Highly, Beau tells herself as the lockpick clicks. Too late now. However, the door opens with a creak, but nothing explodes in her face. Beau sighs in relief as she steps into the musty interior and relocks the door behind her.

“Caleb?” She calls out to the empty house. It’s cold inside. The hearth is full of ash, and there is a layer of dust on every surface as if someone hasn’t cleaned in weeks. Beau inspects every room, each darker and emptier than the one before until she finally reaches the back room where she knows Caleb often tutors children who didn’t get accepted to the academy. This room, too, is empty and dark. Dust covers the desks and chairs, a few pieces of old parchment are spread out, and empty and dry bottles of ink sit forgotten. At first glance, this would be an average room. Messy, yes, but ordinary. But Beauregard knows better. She knows what to look for and finds it in a corner, slightly obscured by a tall bookshelf, a shimmering door that leads into Caleb’s tower.

Beau is welcomed by a lit fireplace in the study, a spectral Bengal cat rubbing at her legs, and a mess of Caleb lying on the soft, plush couch by the fire, reading a book about Dunemancy. He is alive but looks almost as bad as he did when they first met. Caleb’s shiny red hair is full of knots, although still in a ponytail, his beard is shaggy and unkempt, his clothes are wrinkly, and there are a few coffee stains on his shirt. Caleb is indeed a mess, which can only mean one thing.

“How long?” Beauregard asks in a harsh tone that means she will take no bullshit. Caleb lifts an eye from his book, finally acknowledging his friend’s presence, but he doesn’t reply. “Caleb, how long has it been?” Beau presses on. She strides confidently to where the man lies on the couch and effortlessly removes the book from his hold, closing it with a thud. Caleb stares at her for a moment, then finally greets her with the hoarse voice of someone who hasn’t spoken in days, “Hello to you too, Beauregard.”

Beau does quick math in her head. It hasn’t been that long since they last saw each other, perhaps two months, not even that long. She remembers Caleb saying then that he was waiting for a visit from Essek, but those were usually short and never resulted in a depressive mood like this. Something must have happened during their Xorhasian friend’s stay, and if the empty look in Caleb’s eyes is any indication of it, then Beau is determined to help and comfort him in any way she can.

“Clean up before I message Jester to tell her you smell and look like a hobo again. Just when she was starting to let it go away…” Beau threatens, scrunching her nose at him. Caleb nods and rises from his nest of pillows and blankets with the groan of someone whose joints are stiff from being in the same position for a long time. Beau shakes her head in displeasure and stares at the back of the man’s head as he lifts through the arcane elevator and disappears above the central iris.

Caleb meets Beauregard an hour later, freshly clean and bear-trimmed, in the dining room, where they plan their day over eggs, pancakes, and pocket bacon. Caleb doesn’t mention Essek, and Beau doesn’t ask questions about the state she found her Empire friend, so the only names said aloud are those of the Cerberus Assembly, particularly Ludinus Da’leth, who is up to no good. Caleb shares with Beau the detailed information he gathered since their last time together, information that cannot fit the 25 words of the sending spell they use for their daily reports. Beau is glad he took the official position at the Soltryce Academy, not for his proximity to the Assembly members, but for how much happier Caleb has been since he was allowed to teach and shape young minds.

When they separate hours later at the gates that lead up to the school, Caleb’s shoulders are lighter, and his smile brighter. Beau knows whatever happened is still lurking in the shadows, but she won’t pull unless he wants to push. So, before she turns her back to him and returns to the archives to fill out report after report, Beau throws her friend an invitation, “Why don’t you stop by later to have dinner with Yasha and me? She would love to see you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Caleb says, but from the look in his eyes, Beau knows he will knock at her door with a bottle of wine and apple tarts. So be it. She waves him goodbye and leaves.

—

Caleb is happy to find that Zadash isn’t as cold tonight as Rexxentrum. The smaller city’s lights are already sparkling against the dusky sky, and the aromas of food and burning wood fill the residential area around him. He knows he could have teleported directly to Beauregard and Yasha’s house, but he would hate to intrude on them, so Caleb teleported into a narrow alleyway not far from the center of town and strolled to their friends’ abode. The house is just as he remembers it. Not large, but cozy. The garden that Caduceus has been teaching Yasha how to care for is dormant as the first signs of winter approach, but the ivy growing up the front of the house is still there, larger and taller than the last time Caleb saw it. He stops at the iron gate, peering through the open curtains to see Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. He knows she has been learning how to cook from a neighbor, not always successful, according to Beau’s reviews in the few words they share about their day. Meanwhile, the tall Aasimar’s wife is just finishing setting the table for three people. How Beau knew Caleb would show up, he doesn’t know. Maybe she hoped? Perhaps she just… knew. Either way, Caleb is here now, crossing the iron gate, walking down the pebbled path towards the ivy-framed door, and knocking twice.

Beauregard opens the door with a smirk. She is wearing different clothes than Caleb saw her wear in the morning—more casual, comfortable clothes—her hair is still up in her signature bun, and she is still wearing some of her golden jewelry. The woman in front of him is not an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul anymore, but his friend from adventures that have been almost forgotten in time.

“Hello, Beauregard,” Caleb greets her sheepishly. Beau’s smirk gives room to a bright grin as she greets him back and steps away to let him in the house.

It’s a cozy, lived-in house (although a bit too messy for Caleb’s tastes) that smells of stew and sweets, where a small fireplace crackles in front of a comfy couch and a shaggy rug. The walls are adorned with art, paintings done by their tiefling friend of the Mighty Nein and their allies. Caleb’s favorite piece is definitely the large painting above the mantelpiece of their group of misfits, one that includes Mollymauk at one end, Kingsley at the other, and Essek smiling next to Caleb. Caleb has the same painting in his office in his small cottage (Jester painted one for everyone so they wouldn’t forget about them. So they could look upon it and smile, remember the memories of what they have been through, and soothe the sorrow of missing their friends).

“I’m glad you could join us, Caleb,” Yasha greets him, bending to give the man a bear hug. Beauregard must have told her wife the situation she found him in that morning because he sees compassion and comfort in Yasha’s eyes. Caleb merely nods and drapes his coat over the back of the couch. He produces a bottle of wine and a plate of apple tarts—not homemade today, though—that he kept in his private pocket dimension and hands it to Beau, who tuts at the wine label reprovingly but promptly uncorks it nonetheless.

Dinner doesn’t take long to be served, and it’s not half-bad (a vegetable stew with harvests from Beau and Yasha’s garden with a side of rustic bread also made by the latter). The conversation flows nicely between the three, sometimes pausing to sip on wine or to change the subject. Caleb listens attentively to Yasha’s tales about their neighbor, Martina, who has been teaching her new recipes to use their produce (she was, apparently, the one who taught Yasha the stew recipe they are eating). The conversation changes again to Beau and Caleb’s work tracking the Assembly, and the three discuss and share theories about Ludinus’s plans. Through it all, no one mentions the name of their drow friend, the war criminal who has been running from both the Empire and the Dynasty, which makes Caleb relax.

Essek doesn’t get the opportunity to visit often, and when he does, it’s in disguise, so Caleb has learned to cherish those fleeting moments. However, things seemed to have calmed down for a while, and Essek’s stay was extended to over a fortnight before chatter began, and the man departed again under the light of the moon. He hasn’t heard from his Xorhasian friend in weeks, which is not uncommon, but this separation has taken a harder hit on him. Beau clearly saw it that morning. She guessed from the state she found Caleb’s house in but didn’t ask, and neither did Yasha. Caleb knows the women will wait until he’s ready to share, and he’s thankful for that. He makes sure to give them a smile to convey his gratitude, and, in response, he is offered a place to stay overnight so he doesn’t have to return to his empty house and empty cold bed. Here, surrounded by two of his dearest friends, chatting happily about vegetables, fertilizer, and power-hungry mages, Caleb is still far from healed but on the mend, and the dark loneliness in his starts to vanish.

#critical role #cr fic #mighty nein #caleb widogast #critter genfic bingo #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #shadowgast #<- mentioned #beauyasha #<- background relationship #Post-Campaign 2 #Post-Mighty Nein Reunited

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