I have found another Kieran AU blog for my Collection. Yes. Yes!!!!!!!! >:D
(i like kieran if you can’t tell)
I have so many can't wait to share them with everyone eventually
I hold them all gently...
I'll have to info dump about them all sometime
This is most of them, some of their designs are subject to change though... likely the more plain/vanilla looking ones to the right,,, they're all just little guys though ❤️
I signed up for an Ao3 account, so maybe soon...
There's also this lad (and this AU's Florian)
So I found out about a concept called like, omegaverse I think? And like... I really like a lot of the concepts in it... but it's usually explicit, so I wanted to make an AU like that- but not explicit? Just taking the fluffy and cute stuff and leaving the rest...
Basically I want everyone to go feral but also live in modern society haha.
I also have a tentative AU inspired by Kieranpon?
But I need to look into that more still cause I'm not sure if I'm allowed to make it, and I'm awful at talking to people,,, but I do have concepts
If these two got added to the mix that would make for a total of 19 Kierans... Maybe I should come up with another AU to make it an even 20 haha
I'm sure it will happen eventually anyway. He rots my brain like candy rots teeth.
Oh, since it's pride month I s'pose it'd be worth mentioning, a few of the AUs, Kieran is transmasc-
Those would be the Forgotten Future AU (One leaning on Centaur Kieran), the Meta AU (One in purple pajamas), and Un/Lucky AU (One in the regular coloured BB league tank.)
A few of my Florians are also transmasc, and then of course there's FF!Florian, who I think I've decided on being girlflux or demigirl...
Thinking about it I don't have any AUs where they're both transmasc at the same time... mayhaps on number 20
I don't wanna make an AU just for that purpose though, so I'll let it happen naturally.
Anyway, it's almost sunrise, I haven't slept yet, and I'm tired as all get out.
So goodnight, I hope you enjoy my army of Kierans
oh yeah, if you're wondering why most of them don't have shoes-
it's cause I don't like drawing shoes lol.
all of the ones with human feet have shoes, except for Meta AU, and most of them would have the shoes you would expect (almost all regular BB shoes, except for the one in jinbei, who has the matching shoes for that.)
Now it's finally out, here are my pieces for the thunderbirds au zine!!!! (WHICH YOU SHOULD GO AND CHECK OUT IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY TO SEE ALL MY FRIENDS' WONDERFUL CREATIONS!!!!)
CHIVALRY: A SHADOWROSE AU
An AU inspired by the 1864 watercolour by Frederic William Burton: Hellelil and Hildebrand, the Meeting on the Turret Stairs. The painting depicts the final parting of two lovers, a lady and her bodyguard.
Surrounded and under siege from enemy troops, Lady Penelope and her faithful bodyguard Sir Kyrano are forced to make a final stand.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
The clatter of hooves and the thunder of soldiers' feet on the cobbled courtyard below echoed up and up, filling the tiny turret room as if the entire battalion were crowded inside its very walls. As Penelope continued to gaze down, her eyes caught on the glimmer of the first rays of light on the knights' armoured helms. She was oft awake at dawn, but this morning - for the first time in her life - she cursed the encroaching sun. With every minute, the shadows retreated, illuminating the forces amassing below. A dozen mounted knights and fifty odd foot soldiers, armed with greatswords and pikes and longbows. A bannerman stood to attention at the front. The coat of arms of Belah Gaat's household was emblazoned on the banner, fluttering in the morning breeze.
The Tracy clan were renowned throughout the land for their skill in battle, but Penelope feared that the few of them hidden in this tiny outpost did not stand much of a chance.
Their party had been travelling back from the neighbouring lord's manor when they were ambushed in the woods. Some of their number had been slain, but they had survived and continued with haste to the border. To their horror, however, a further night raid had proven their assailants to be unafraid of pursuing them into home territory. They had taken refuge in the watchtower nearby - occupied only by a single man, since the reigning peace had rendered it useless as a military outpost for decades. By the following morning they were surrounded by a much larger force. For a while nothing had happened. Then, in the pitch of night, the invaders launched their assault. The cacophony had woken Penelope from her uneasy slumber. She had not been able to sleep since. Some time just before dawn, the enemy had breached the walls.
None of them had been able to ascertain any specific reason why Lord Gaat had decided to launch such an aggressive and hostile attack - on the Tracy's own land, no less. But motive meant nothing when they were all staring death in the face.
Behind her, her bodyguard was wearing a hole into the floor. She paced back and forth, her footfalls silent despite the chainmaille she wore and the blade on her belt. Kayo had been tasked by her adoptive brothers to protect Penelope whilst they repelled the enemy. Unhappy but understanding, she had acquiesced. She had spent the whole night even more restless than Penelope herself.
Penelope tore herself away from the sight below, turning to face her bodyguard. Kayo stopped pacing at her movement, pulled out of whatever foul thoughts were clouding her mind and meeting Penelope's eyes.
"How many are there?" she enquired. Her tone was anxious, tentative - as if she already knew and feared the answer.
Penelope paused, worrying her lip. "Too many."
"There is no chance at all?"
"I- " Penelope's hands twisted the fabric of her skirts. "I do not know. We are massively outnumbered, that is certain."
Kayo stepped over to the window, surveying the courtyard. One hand rested on the window ledge; the other caressed her sword. After a second, she turned back. There was something glimmering in her eyes which Penelope did not like.
"Kayo…"
"I have to help."
Penelope exhaled slowly. "You were tasked with protecting me. Virgil instructed you not to leave my side. You cannot." The unspoken message hung between them: you cannot leave me.
Kayo's gaze turned pleading. "That was before they breached our walls. They need every swordsman they can spare. Penelope…my love…I cannot stay here whilst my brothers are slaughtered below."
Her words stung deep. Penelope swallowed against the growing lump in her throat; when she spoke, her treacherous voice cracked, words splintering on her tongue. "You care more for them than for me?"
Kayo's eyes widened in horror. She rushed forward, taking one of Penelope's hands in both of her own and clasping it tight. "I do this for you! If we fail here, they will kill those able to fight and then- then, I do not know what they will do to the captured." She reached up with one hand, cupped Penelope's face; Penelope closed her eyes against tears, savouring the feel of her bodyguard's calloused touch. "I could not bear it if they took you. I will not let them."
"I would take my own life before that happens," Penelope swore fiercely.
"I know." Kayo's voice was more full of emotion than it had ever been before. "But I would do anything to prevent you from having to do such a thing. Which is why…you must let me go."
Penelope opened her eyes again. The tears which she had been keeping at bay finally fell, but she took no heed. She studied every inch of her lover's face, took in every tiny detail which she had long ago committed to memory. Kayo's eyes were greener than ever, shining in the way which she knew meant she was close to tears herself. Often Penelope would lose herself in them, their mossy depths so full of all the emotions the warrior in her so rarely expressed. She didn't know how she could ever live without seeing them again.
And yet she knew that there was only one choice to make.
"Very well." Two words had never hurt her more. They left her lips as scarcely more than a whisper. "Go. Defend us."
The barest smile graced Kayo's lips. "Thank you."
Sir Kyrano was almost at the door when Penelope called out her name again - one last desperate attempt to stall her, to stretch out the final moments they had together. Her feet acted of their own accord, following her lover to the door as if some arcane force were drawing them together. "Promise me one thing?"
"Anything."
It was Penelope's turn to grasp Kayo's hand. Her bodyguard looked taken aback by the fierceness of her gaze. "Come back to me alive."
It was a futile thing to ask, and they both knew it. Nothing so great as life could ever be guaranteed. They both knew that intimately - had both lost so much so young. And yet Penelope asked anyway.
yapping about my medieval capthorne au bc i’m thinking abt them again:
thomas is a nobleman, of course. the captain is his devoted knight. initially, captain was called upon to protect thomas's father, but his over-protective parents passed on cap to thomas. they both hate this arrangement at first. captain can't stand the self-entitled brat, and thomas thinks it's ridiculous that he's not even allowed to visit the market without his knight by his side.
of course slowly, and reluctantly, they begin to enjoy each other's company. captain finds himself following thomas to his quarters in the evenings, just for conversation. they always enjoy indulging in each other's hobbies. cap teaches thomas archery, and thomas will often end the night by reading captain some of his writing. the two of them spend hours on horseback, just aimlessly wandering around and chatting about nothing in particular. captain's affection for him grows quite strong and he has difficulty separating that personal emotion from his duty. he can't tell if he'd lay his life on the line for thomas because there's something in his chest begging him to, or simply just because that's his job. on the other hand, thomas finds himself growing quite jealous when he visits the armoury one day and sees cap laughing at some joke another knight had made. from that point on, he amps up the flirtation, whether he's aware he's doing it or not.
one day it is said that the captain is to be transferred to a different family but thomas has such a meltdown about it and begs his father to keep cap on, no matter the cost. captain is insanely flattered by this and is happy to stay on, even though he knows thomas doesn't need much protecting anymore
i'm not sure if they get together, but i think this ends with poor thomas dying, from a sword through his back (francis button when i get you..). it was not the captain's doing but he is absolutely devastated that he couldn't protect him and sobs over his body for hours
A/N: still trying at this ! i still don't own any tables so honestly, writing has been kinda hard :') but i'm still up to a polished chapter 7 and know VERY well what is happening in chapter 8, so we're looking pretty good. i wrote all of chivalry chapter by chapter so.....hoping this goes well :'D
WARNINGS: manipulation, plotting a murder, paranoia description, blunt force trauma, assault, amnesia, blood, graphic description of violence — this chapter’s the first doozy! if i missed anything, please let me know!
Words: 4378
AO3 link!
enjoy!! <3
“Now, this might be a controversial opinion, but the second Little Mermaid movie is a top-tier Disney sequel,” the Director said, idly mixing a teaspoon around in his hot chocolate.
Roman scoffed. He was sitting on the Director’s couch, wrapped in a blanket while they watched 2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon. The Director had suggested they watch something from Disney, but while Roman loved the whole library of Disney movies lining his shelf, he couldn’t choose which one he wanted. To his surprise, the Director didn’t have a favorite, either. He’d said he was fond of the cookie-cutter damsel in distress narrative of older Disney stories, which Roman tried (and failed) to take offense to, but did agree that many modern movies like Big Hero 6 had interestingly complex and developed stories.
“I just prefer the expansion on oceanic lore. And I’m a sucker for a good parental storyline, when the former protag takes on the motherly role.” The Director took a sip of his coffee.
“And here I thought you weren’t one of my creative advisors,” Roman said with a smirk, crossing his arms upon his pillowy throne.
The Director scoffed, and as he rolled his eyes Roman could have sworn that he was blushing. Maybe he was embarrassed. “Just because I’m not David doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on works of art,” he sounded dejected—Roman guessed that was fair. The Dragon and Damsel and Child, most obviously, had strong opinions on art yet no artistic inclinations.
It was still up in the air if the Thief did. It didn’t seem like he had many opinions on things that weren’t consequential to Roman’s direct safety, but he was very quiet. Roman didn’t rule out the possibility of the Thief just not wanting to share that information with him, which was….well. Unfortunate.
Roman wished he got to know his advisors better. Ever since they were separated from him, Roman feels like he’s been at the grinding stone with them all. The Thief had spent the whole wedding either swearing or screaming suggestions angrily, and when he wasn’t, he was comforting an incredibly distraught Bard. The Damsel and Playwright tried to help the most but... He had barely even seen the Artist outside of their creative sessions. He had barely seen the Dragon or Child, period.
The Director was an interesting one. Roman had everyone’s phone numbers, because, well, he wasn’t about to use carrier pigeons. Though that might be super cool to try one day. But the Director was just about the only advisor to casually reach out to him. He would send Roman memes. How did he even get memes? Roman and Remus had created an Imagination-version of the internet, so it was likely from their co-sponsored Imagination Tumblr or something. The Director putting in the effort and time to think of Roman during such small instances was what made Roman feel more comfortable here, though. That’s what made him trust the Director with these sorts of situations. Almost made them closer...
Was that selfish? To favor one part of oneself over others? Surely not. It was similar to recognizing flaws, or pimples and blemishes. Not to say any of the others were blemishes. Drats, even Roman’s internal monologue was demeaning to himself.
“Do you want any more coffee? I’m going to go refill,” the Director’s voice jolted Roman out of his stupor, and he looked up with wide eyes.
“No, I’m okay,” and after a small beat, he added, “Thank you again for housing me. I can’t imagine what Phillip would want to say after yesterday’s debacle.”
The Director scoffed. Roman snuggled into his blanket more, listening to the Director pour himself another mug and reply. “Anytime, Roman,” he chuckled, then put on one of the most outlandishly fake accents Roman’s ever heard. “I live to serve~”
“Sto-op,” Roman groaned, throwing his head back and shooting the Director a glare—well, glaring at the kitchen door. There were walls around all of the rooms here, unlike the Mind Palace.
The Director laughed even more when he returned, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed on the cushion. He held his mug in his hands for a few seconds before talking, tone much more sober.
“I do have to say. I’m surprised I was the one you came to.” The Director’s voice is a little more quiet. “I thought for sure you would have sought comfort with Cadence or Gavin before me.”
Roman blinks. “I guess….I didn’t want to be judged again.” He looked back down at his lap, at the blankets piled up there and his own coziness. “Every time I come back after an argument, or after making a fool of myself, it seems everyone has an opinion on how poorly I handled a situation. None of them really acknowledge….It must have been….”
He’d been a little confused about it, too. The trust issue.
“Janus has strung my emotions along enough for it to be fair that I don’t trust him,” Roman said, voice soft as he tried to put how he’d been feeling into words. “Right?”
That was as close an explanation as he could get to. Because it all boiled down to the trust issue, in his understanding of the situation. As much as Patton wanted him to let go of the situation, Patton was focusing on the mustache quip rather than the whole trust thing. Janus knew Roman had wanted to go to the callback. But Roman also wanted to be a good person, if that’s what Thomas wanted. Thomas wanted to be a good person so Roman also wanted to be a good person.
But when being a good person directly went against Thomas’ dreams, Janus stepped in. And sure, he argued that they weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificial, but wasn’t that a hero’s job? When did a hero ever get to keep anything before sacrificing everything? Isn’t that what made sense?
Janus didn’t even do a good job at explaining it, not until all the damage had already been done. This was different from just giving Roman the perfect set up for a theater display, this was Janus pretending that he wanted what Roman wanted. This was Janus pretending to be his friend but wanting Thomas to...be a bad person?
He didn’t understand. Maybe Patton was right. Maybe Roman just didn’t understand. And that’s what made his disgruntlement so confusing, because in his heart, Roman knew Janus was trying to help, he knew that, he understood. But then why did it hurt so much?
“Oh, honey, he’s gone way past that. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking he’s been helpful,” Macbeth’s icy voice cut through the thoughts wrangling Roman’s mind.
The Director was so self-assured. It was comforting. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he explained.
“And Patton, Logan, turning around just to say you should let it go and listen to him after he’s lied nine times out of ten?” the Director threw his head back and let out a sharp “Hah! No, your anger is rational. And defensible.”
“Why won’t any of the others agree with that?”
The Director starred at Roman for a minute. Just a little too long. His eyes seemed to press Roman into a corner, under a box. Scrutinized.
They both knew that “others” wasn’t a reference to the other Sides. The Director kept his distance from Roman’s other advisors, he knew that, but Roman didn’t know how far. The Director wasn’t the kind to just watch them, was he?
“They all have their opinions. About Disney and otherwise.” He took another drink of his coffee then shook his head, standing up, motioning for Roman to follow, “May I show you….something. Without you thinking I’m crazy?”
Now, that’s always a fairly worrying question to hear. “No, no, I trust you,” Roman said with a slight grin.
The Director must have been able to see how it waned, because he chuckled, smiled back. “I think we’re all a little zany. But that’s the charm. Phillip is undoubtedly the scariest, as much as Draco tries. The Prince, Damsel, whichever you want, has a noticeable villain complex.”
Wait, what?
The Director raised his hands in mock defeat. Showing his hands, like he were trying to assure Roman that he wasn’t being suspicious. But the hairs on Roman’s neck rose. He led Roman to the door just besides Roman’s room. When he first started visiting the Director, he explained that this was his study. Roman had never gone in. Because, you know, when you respect someone you also respect their privacy.
“I’ve only ever spoken to Marlowe, but, you know. I’m the Director of players I can never meet. I had to take notes,” he added the final part quietly.
He glanced over the combination button pad on the door. Roman hadn’t noticed that. What room would require a combination lock? And who would be….Was it to keep him out? Or someone else? Maybe the Playwright, the Director mentioned he’d been over before. Keep anyone out, it seemed.
“I….notes?” he was flabbergasted. What the fuck was happening?
“Yeah.” The Director opened the door slowly and motioned for Roman to follow.
Inside were papers. One wall was a large tackboard, photos and sticky notes and papers pinned up, connected with lines of colored yarn. Roman felt his mouth fall open as he inspected it. There were notes on all of his advisors, all seven of the others, even some of people Roman didn’t know. There was someone with four eyes. Someone with antlers. Who were they? How did this all fit together?
Why in Athena’s name did the Director have corkboard notes on the other advisors? That was a lot more than a little weird.
“I...You’re wonderful, Roman. So productive and pristine and princely, as you deserve to be. But there are some areas where you can stand to improve.” Roman was probably only processing some of the Director’s words as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a metal stick, one that looked oddly like a wand.
He held it in one hand, and suddenly it extended, until it was a pointer. The Director held both ends of it and watched Roman for a reaction, a response, something.
“I would have to agree,” Roman stumbled over his words a little, eyes still glued to the notes—there were some by the Child that read ‘Naive/Trusting/Problem?’—before he slowly turned back to the Director with a weak grin once again. “I mean, I might be pristinely princely, but those P alliterations don’t include perfect. No one’s perfect.”
“It may be an unattainable dream, but we’re well familiar with those. We can only strive for improvement! And when improving you and yourself, that means making changes to them,” the Director gestured up at the wall of photos, of the parts of Roman’s self, and smacked the Child’s photo with his pointer. “I actually only thought I would be reading these notes, so forgive me for any, er. Sharp language.”
Roman knew that self-improvement meant adopting new mindsets, but he had no idea that putting parts of himself into characters involved changing them as well, though it did make sense. Self-insert characters had to change if you were changing the self that was being inserted. Right?
If he wanted to improve….it made sense. He had to change himself, including the facets of himself.
“That’s fair,” Roman murmured, “Okay. These….You could take these notes to the other advisors. Surely they’d accept it?”
“At this point, I don’t know who would kill me faster,” the Director scoffed, then gestured at the Damsel’s notes, a cluster of sticky notes and drawings and photos of the Damsel at a well enough distance that it was closer to stalker-ish. “Phillip wouldn’t want competition. Marlowe agrees that he can be quite standoffish when threatened, and a newcomer claiming to be one of Roman’s advisors? Someone who doesn’t have his respect in a royal manner?”
The Director pointed to the Thief now, a even more grave expression adorning his face. “And Eric. Tell me you think he would accept a newcomer of any kind. Just tell me. Especially near Gavin. And the Child himself probably wouldn’t like me.”
Well, that sounded off. Roman leaned on the wall besides the door, back against his hands as he continued to inspect the wall. There were notes on the other advisors’ behaviors, their antics.
For some reason, Roman could almost imagine Janus or Logan doing this. It was something close to weird and something else close to endearing. Was that weird?
“Why not? Gavin’s pretty trusting.” Roman didn’t look away from the wall as he replied.
“In fairness, he might like me, but I don’t know if I could ever come around to liking him. He’s the root source of all our issues, especially our present issue with Janus, Patton, Logan. Even past issues with Remus, if I’m remembering them properly. What Gavin represents allows us to be easily swayed.”
That got Roman to look away, look down at the Director. He was glaring up at the Child’s photo with something fierce, which startled Roman enough. I mean, that was a whole child there. What would inspire this much hatred?
“Really now?” Roman wanted to know.
“He gets us to let our guard down. It’s at Gavin’s behest we take chances, but it’s that same honesty that leads us to broken promises, taking in lies like they’re candy. I don’t know what I would do with him,” the Director sounded disappointed.
That was a fair analysis. All of the advisors—the Playwright, the Thief, the Child, Bard, Artist, Dragon, Damsel, Director—they all represented different parts of Roman, similar to how the Sides represented parts of Thomas. In theory, they worked together. In practice, that was far from the truth, but Roman knew for his sake that they were trying their best.
They all oversaw different parts of Roman’s psyche, too. The Playwright, for example, was most similar to Logan in that he represented Roman’s research and organization, on a creative and egotistical level. The Playwright—Marlowe—could be trusted with knowing how many liters of blood were in the human body as well as every one of the Sides’ favorite karaoke songs, even the exact time and date they met Nico.
The Child was Roman’s belief, his ability to dream. It was fair to assume that that made him the most naïve part. Perhaps it was even a fair conclusion that the debacles with Janus were caused by what the Child represented.
Roman hadn’t thought of it like that. The last time he’d talked to the Child, Gavin, about the situation, he had seem incredibly disappointed.
He’d never stopped to ask what the Child was disappointed in, though. Was he disappointed in Roman? Or in himself? Did the Child know he was the one who had pushed Roman to trust Janus? Did….There was no way that this was….the Child’s fault. Was it?
“Huh.” Roman’s voice echoed emptily to himself. A pit opened in his stomach, something difficult to grasp. The root cause of his burdens couldn’t be his ability to dream. His dreams themselves, his hopes, his beliefs. He….he was the daydreamer, the creator. That couldn’t be a flaw, could it?
The Director watched him, but Roman hardly noticed. It was only for a few seconds, too, of stoic silence before the Director interrupted his thoughts with a huff, looked across the board. “This is quite a bit of insight at once. Maybe we should finish the movie.”
“Director?”
Roman and the Director both turned to the open doorway, the later slapping a hand over his own mouth immediately. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed quietly, clicking just loud enough for the both of them to hear. They also heard the Playwright in the living room, footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.
“Director?” the Playwright called out again.
“Fuck,” the Director whispered. This must have been an unplanned visit.
“What? We can just go out and say hello,” Roman said back, though his demeanor and body language spoke of worry, almost fear.
The Playwright was well known to be a pacifist. And the Playwright knew about the Director, knew about Roman knowing the Director. He was a little surprised to find that the Playwright didn’t know the Director’s name was Macbeth, but Roman knew the Director to be a man of secrets.
“He doesn’t know I….He doesn’t know you’re here. He barely knows we talk,” the Director looked around the room and pressed a hand to one of the walls, “Fuck. How are we going to get him out?”
The rock beneath the Director’s hand morphs into a doorway and he opens it. The Playwright was standing in the living room, close to the front door to the home. He looked up at them both, eyes widening when he met Roman’s. Before Roman could say anything, even think of something to say, the Playwright spoke with ease.
“Roman’s here? Thank goodness. Virgil’s come looking for him,” he gave Roman a small smile, strained but caring all the same.
“Ah.” Roman stiffened. Virgil came looking for him? In the Imagination? Why? How? He didn’t have his own passage into this space yet, how’d he get here?
He didn’t want to talk to Virgil. As supportive as he’d been, especially when it came to taking care of Thomas, there were still some areas where Roman wanted to be alone, wanted to process his thoughts alone. Virgil was...vindictive. Which was a strong word to use, but an apt one. Virgil’s distaste in Janus made it hard for Roman to form his own thoughts, which was why he often tried away from Virgil as much as Patton.
He wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, and the Director must have been able to tell, because he physically looked like he didn’t want Roman to go.
“I actually didn’t expect to find you here, though I’m not entirely surprised,” the Playwright must not have been privy to these feelings, glancing between the Director and Roman, shock still gracing his features.
“Really now,” the Director said, tilting his head, “Why not?”
“I just didn’t know Roman had met you, but of course, even I’m not as omniscient as Creativity himself,” the Playwright stepped closer, reaching toward Roman. “You have to come up, though. Virgil said everyone’s worried.”
Roman starred at the Playwright’s hand, unsure of what to do with the gesture. He knew everyone would be worried, on a baseline. Closed doors didn’t do well around the Mind Palace, especially his, especially after his splitting incident, but that didn’t mean he had to cater to everyone else’s worry. He was allowed privacy.
Before he formulated a response, though, the Director placed a hand in front of Roman. His smile toward the Playwright turned sour, lips pursed in a mix of thought and anger.
“He doesn’t have to go see Virgil if he doesn’t want to.” Roman felt some of the tension in his shoulder alleviate at the Director’s statement, as basic as it was.
The Playwright, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand. He looked between Roman and the Director again, surprised even further by how familiar they seemed. There had been a fair amount of transparency in Roman’s relationships with all of the other advisors that there must be some dissonance to see him be so familiar with someone he hadn’t even expected Roman to know. Something about that surprise, the bait and switch, the lie, felt fulfilling.
“It wouldn’t be difficult to alleviate Virgil’s worried and tell him to leave again,” the Playwright explained slowly. “I’m sure, if Roman told him he wanted privacy, he would understand.”
“I’m sure, if Virgil could understand that, then he wouldn’t have tread where he shouldn’t. You can’t make him do anything.” The Director’s voice grew darker, hand unwavering.
“Make him?” the Playwright sounded so confused.
Roman was also confused where the Director’s notion came from, but it was validating to hear reminders that Roman’s decisions were his to make. But nothing in the Playwright’s tone was forceful.
For a moment, it seemed as though the Playwright would drop his confusion.
Until he took a step forward, toward the Director and Roman, with one hand outstretched. Roman didn’t know what he’d been planning, but he knew the Playwright wasn’t a sporadic man. He hated adding physicality to situations where debate and discussion could suffice. So, in hindsight, it was likely the Playwright was reaching out to make peace.
The moment passed in mere seconds.
He was taller than the Director by a noticeable few inches, so the Director bent his knees. He pushed Roman behind him with his outstretched arm, acting faster than either Roman or the Playwright could react to. The Director stuck his leg out and grabbed the Playwright by the fabric of his shirt, behind his neck. The Playwright, surprised by the sudden movements, tripped on his leg and let out a sharp gasp of surprise.
Besides them was the living room coffee table. As the Playwright fell, the Director redirected his head toward the table, shoving him away from Roman.
It felt very spur of the moment, and it happened in a true moment. The Playwright let out a scream, sharp and fearful, before his forehead collided with the edge of the metal table. He fell beneath it unconscious. Blood pooled at the Director’s feet as he stood back up.
Roman’s hands shot to his face immediately, as soon as the Playwright started falling, and he could only stare in horror at the scene. The Director, too, seemed shocked at his own reaction. He starred at his blood-stained socks for a little while, breathing heavy enough for Roman to hear. It must be the adrenaline.
“I,” the Director’s voice caught in his throat.
Roman watched. Just watched. The Director swallowed, turning around to face Roman with a mirroring horrified expression, eyes wide with surprise. “You have to make him forget.”
“What?” Roman’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, and he cleared his throat to repeat. “Excuse me?”
What kind of request….?
“If Marlowe remembers this, we’re fucked. He knows you’re here. He’s going to think I attacked him. I-I did attack him,” The Director took a slow breath, turning to look at the body on the ground before shaking his head—unable to look. “David is going to kill me.
“Make him forget. He can stay here. For a bit. We can figure this out,” he put his hands up towards Roman. “We-The other Sides’re gonna follow Virgil. We both know that. And, uh. Only Marlowe knew I was here. So we’ve got time to figure out how to, uh. Play this off.”
Roman starred at him with wide eyes. The past two days had been such a long mess, he didn’t know what to do. Physically, he could remove the Playwright memories. He’d be a blank slate of a character, only backstory. What would that do? The Playwright’s backstory was that he was the Playwright. He didn’t have some elaborate parent-death or chosen-one-esque story that he could fall back on. Poor bastard wasn’t even the one who had Roman’s memories prior.
But the Director was right, in a way. If they wanted more time to think about everything—the other Sides were looking for him? How did Virgil get in here? Why would he be looking for Roman, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stomp away from a verbal duel, why now?—then they couldn’t have the Playwright ratting them out.
When he manipulated the Imagination directly, his powers were red. Remus’ were green. It was distinctive. So when Roman sank down, put a hand on the back of the Playwright’s head, his hand turned red.
It blended in with the blood.
Roman felt vile. He had to do this, or else the others would find him. A quiet, dull part of his mind told him that didn’t matter but….he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t.
He pulled gently, as though tugging the thoughts out, and something glistened red and gold as he did. Then, Roman let it go, and it disappeared. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore pulling his own memories out in Harry Potter. Roman didn’t feel much the chosen one, either, though.
“There,” he said quietly.
The Director let out a soft breath. It didn’t sound like either of them knew what to do, to be fair. Maybe the Director hadn’t even expected this.
“I’ll….here.” The Director looked up and pointed at the wall behind the couch.
The couch scooted forward a little, enough for there to be a walkway behind it, and the room simultaneously pulled away from the couch. Then, a door formed on the wall. It clicked once, then swung open. Another room.
Roman stood still, staring at his hands—was that magic or blood?—while the Director leaned down to pick the Playwright up. The man hadn’t moved since being bludgeoned by the table.
“Under the sink in the bathroom is a first aid kit,” the Director said, voice stoic, taking the reins on the situation, “I’ll make him a bedroom and bandage his head. Then he can stay for a day or two. We must figure out what to do, about the other Sides and about Marlowe.”
That was fair. He’d only stay a little.
Dimly, Roman remembered that this was the Imagination, he mastered this world, so he could technically get rid of the Playwright’s wound. He could get rid of his memory and the wound and send him right back to his home, right back to the Artist, good as normal and none the wiser.
But….something in the back of his head stopped him. And the Director pulled him into the other room faster than Roman could overcome whatever clouded thoughts were plaguing him.
I’ve already read Chivalry Is Dead all the way through a couple times, parts of it more, but it’s been a long while. So I’m rereading now, kinda flipping btwn here & AO3, and first off i forgot how AMAZING THIS STORY IS, and secondly it is ASTOUNDING how perfect this story feels post-SVS2!! Like, if you had only just written this then everyone would be like “this perfectly matches current mood”!! You are BRILLIANT!!
😭 anon thank you so much !!!!! i’m so glad you’re enjoying it!!! ngl i think chapter 8 is one of my favorites just because of how soft thief is with virgil and janus,.,.,,.then three chapters later he decks his future boyfriend LMAO
im so glad it holds up on a reread though!!! and that you’re still thinking of it!!! thank u so much for ur kind words i would kill and die for you 💗🥺💖💞❤️💓💝💕💞🥰
