Goodness, Truth, and Beauty

Restoring and teaching the place of orthodox Christianity in the medium of Creative Writing :) Also Known as Dustine Skywalker and the Christianfanauthoress

[meadow-roses]

I found these Percy doodles from last year that I never posted!

[the-chaotic-christian]

i love this :)

[francesderwent]

[the-chaotic-christian]

I just wrote my final essay on the Christian influences in Star Wars :)

[the-chaotic-christian]

Disclaimer; these are just my opinions. I'm not looking to start a fight.

I'm getting concerned about Katara's character in Netflix's show.

In almost every trailer, advertisement, interview-at least the ones I've seen-they've been really trying to drive home the point that she's a warrior. Which she is; there's no disputing that. By the second half of the first season she's a force to be reckoned with.

But that's not what I think of when I think about her.

It's not her defining character trait. Her main goal isn't to become a warrior; at least, she doesn't want to be a warrior just because. It happens out of necessity, because she has talents and abilities that are huge assets when fighting.

But at her core, she's a caretaker. She's a girl who sacrificed her dreams and own desires for people who needed her at the age of eleven.

Having her openly pursue and argue with Sokka over the whole 'warrior' business almost seems to discount that. It adds a touch of immaturity and naivety to her character that just feels shallow. Katara has always understood sacrifice; what it means to give up your own wants for another's-she does this all the time.

It's one of the things I find most admirable about her character.

From episode one it's established that she's the person that makes sure everyone has everything together; she's not, primarily, a fighter. She can fight-and she does-but she's more than that. Katara holds the gaang together, both physically-cooking, repairing clothes, making sure everyone's healthy-and emotionally-calming Aang out of the Avatar State, encouraging Sokka, attempting, albeit unsuccessfully and overbearingly, to curb Toph's reckless antics. Even in season 3, when Zuko shows up, her mistrust and dislike of him is because she's trying to protect everyone else.

When I think of Katara, the first word I think of is 'motherly'. I don't want Netflix to box her into the Marvel-girlboss-power stereotype, scrubbing her of any depth and femininity in the name of making her a warrior. Being motherly doesn't make her weak; being the one who cooks, cleans, and makes sure people are, i don't know, sleeping, doesn't make her weak.

It makes her incredibly strong.

She's a warrior, but that's not her first characteristic. She's one of the few people in the series who truly understands how consequential their actions are. She understands that sacrifices need to be made; she's seen them made first hand. Katara's motherliness is an outward sign of the way that she sacrifices for others; she gives them her time, her energy, and her love. That's different than how her brother sacrifices, how Aang sacrifices, how everyone else in the series sacrifices; but that's okay.

I don't want Katara to be just a warrior. I don't want her arc to be purely about 'fighting sexism' or whatever. She's deeper than that. I'm sick of these copy-and-past boss girls hollywood keeps churning out. A;tla is full of so many complex female characters, they don't need to be changed to be 'strong' or something along those lines.

The greatest thing about Katara is that she was a strong female character before she had the ability to throw grown men across the battlefield; and her arc in the first season was so much more about her growing into her abilities than all oh 'woe is me, a female in a patriarchal society!' and I love that. She didn't just complain; she changed the status quo and proved that the Northerners were just plain wrong.

Her magic abilities aren't what make her strong; her ability to fight isn't what makes her strong; her proving that women can and will fight if necessary isn't what makes her strong;

Her passion, hope, love, motherliness, compassion, desire to impact the world in a positive way, and arc about learning to let go and forgive are the things that make her strong.

C'mon Netflix, don't scrub that for some Marvel copy-and-past.

[valhalla-awaitsfor-us]

The core of Sokkas character is that he is a 16-year-old boy who grew up trying to be a man because that is what his tribe needed after his father left for war. In that attempt, as someone immature and unguided, he had sexist attitudes, only to later mature and become a real man.

His character development is very special because it teaches little boys the true meaning of being a man. The fact that they remove his sexism in the live action speaks to the fact that they did not understand his character

With no flaws there can't be any grow

[the-chaotic-christian]

Yes! Exactly! He's a complex character with a complex backstory; his sexism was largely because of the fact that his formative pre-teen years were spent taking care of an entire village with no father-figure to rely on. Taking that out because it's 'offensive' shoots his character arc in the foot and really hurts the point of his story; what it means for a boy to become a man.

That's such an important message, one that just isn't seen enough in modern media because it's taboo to talk about.

[the-chaotic-christian]

Smalls really is just out here running on coffee and his desire to fight death itself before admitting his feelings for Heather, isn't he, and no one's gonna stop him

[the-chaotic-christian]

Ember's Blood: Chapter 1, The Capital

Part 2

There are tunnels underneath the Black Gap, though nearly all are blocked or discovered now. This last one would put them out about four miles from Half-moon ridge, a system of caves and tunnels used frequently by travelers.

It’s the melting season, and many areas would become flooded as snow melts from the mountains and sends a surge of water rippling through the river system. Most put off their traveling until afterwards, but Smalls and Wilfred go right through it. Ironically, travel is safer now because no one else will.

The tunnels are cramped, dark, and wet, a combination Smalls decides is never pleasant no matter the context.

Smalls knows it’s odd, but he’s never liked being underground. It’s a dislike that’s a borderline fear- an extremely strange fear for a rabbit. He hates feeling trapped or stuck. He doesn’t even like being indoors. Too much like suffocating. But it’s necessary to cross the black gap.

The Black Gap is a dangerous stretch of burned land. Morbin Blackhawk had decimated the capital and then humiliated Smalls’ people further by tearing down their greatest strength; he’d burned the wood. Just thinking about it infuriates Smalls. Even as a child, he’d seethed and chafed underneath Morbin’s authority, muttering threats of poisoning and death that Wilfred had silenced in order to keep him alive. Most twelve-year-olds were interested in baseball or fairytales. Smalls had been interested in learning every way possible to kill a person.

His dedication to his training is what got him through Daggler’s insane training programs, through the nightmarish court, through losing brother after brother and sister after sister. Learning to turn off his feelings has saved his life on more than one occasion. It scares him, sometimes, how easily and unemotionally he can do incredibly hard things-how easy it is for him to fight and kill, now. It’s made him a good soldier, though. An even better assassin.

Feeling things is dangerous during a war.

But a part of him is tired of only feeling anger and emptiness.

Part of him wants a real reason to keep going-not just fable phantoms he’s half convinced don’t exist. Part of him doesn’t want to keep going anyways.

But…..he will. Because he doesn’t know how to stop.

“What time is it?” Smalls asks after a while.

Wilfred pauses a moment, then sighs, “I don’t have the foggiest clue. My best guess is somewhere in-between one and two in the morning.”

Smalls nods. Then hears a distinct, sudden boom.

[meadow-roses]

Just thinking about what they might have been talking about on their way up to Cloud Mountain that Picket couldn't hear. And Heather's latent magic powers....

[the-chaotic-christian]

I cracked up reading this. Not for the comic, but because Smalls just looks perpetually done/exhausted throughout the entire thing XD

Love it, tho. Big fan of Heather's magic powers.

[the-chaotic-christian]

Ember's Blood, Chapter 1: The Capital

Part 1

“Wait here.”

Smalls looks up, surprised out of his bad mood. He doesn’t want to be here, in this overcrowded, dirty city, devoid of any sort of happiness. They had passed two corpses on their way in, and the main square (which they had barely peeked at, they’re not trying to get killed) still smelled of soot and burnt flesh from the day’s executions. No one is out; it’s far past curfew. It makes Smalls uneasy.

“How come?” He asks.

“Because Mr. Jemison won’t appreciate you knocking any of his glasswork over.” Wilfred replies, tone light but hand on his sword. His eyes flick briefly towards Smalls, then back to the shop they’re standing in front of. It’s decrepit and illy cared for, like most buildings in the First Warren. It offers little to look at; Smalls doubts anyone would choose it for a networking base on purpose.

“I wouldn’t knock it over.” Smalls protests, rolling his eyes. Unlike most rabbits of fifteen years, Smalls has the capability to stay quiet and unnoticeable, only making himself known when necessary and slipping into the shadows when it’s not. He’d been trained to do so.

So it’s odd when Wilfred forgets that.

But this isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this, and it’s growing increasingly annoying. Wilfred’s been acting absurd for weeks now. After the arrival of a letter that had visibly upset him, Wilfred became strangely withdrawn and increasingly quiet. Smalls had even gone so far as sneaking to discover what was in the note; but had been caught to his chagrin. Wilfred hadn’t even lectured him much; not like he usually did.

“We have to go to the capital.” He’d said.

“Why?” Smalls asked, not keen on the idea.

“Trust me.” Had been Wilfred’s only reply.

And a fairly stupid one, in Smalls’ opinion. But he hadn’t bothered pushing. Wilfred wouldn’t crack.

“I’m going inside.” Wilfred interrupts his thoughts, hand trained on his sword, acting as if he hadn’t heard Smalls’ earlier statement.

“Keep watch. If there’s even a hint of trouble-”

“Signal. Yes, I know. I’m not twelve anymore, Wilfred.” Smalls reminds him. I’m nearly sixteen.

Wilfred relaxes slightly, the muscles in the hand clenching tightly around the handle of his sword loosening.

“You’re right. I should trust you. But be careful. There’re wolves on the prowl.” And with that cheerful reminder, he disappears into the dark shop. The building on a whole looks very empty and abandoned to Smalls, and he grimaces, annoyed at being kept in the dark-literally. He begins to pace, hand on the hilt of his sword. The reminder of their enemy sets him on edge, and he wishes more than anything to not be where he is.

Smalls hates The First Warren. The old capital is a crumbling decay and ruined because of the violent occupation. The wall’s being reinforced and finished, and eventually all in-and-out access to the place would be nonexistent. Based on their current information, that ‘eventually’ will become a reality within the next week or so. Smalls and Wilfred need to be gone by then, long, long gone. I’ll go insane if we stay here much longer, He thinks, glaring at the cobbled ground. He sighs and directs his gaze up.

Clouds are gathering above, blocking out the pale sickle moon. Smalls can see raptors circling high up, waiting (and probably hoping) to find someone out past curfew. Smalls knows they can see immensely far and hopes the dark back-road and towering buildings around him will protect against their sight.

Smalls fiddles with his sword pommel, tempted to draw it simply to feel safer. Footsteps approach, the swing of a door and Smalls squints in the darkness to make out the form of Wilfred. His sword is drawn.

“What was that about?” He asks, hoping for a legitimate answer this time around. Wilfred has a bad habit of withholding vital information until the very last possible moment before Smalls needs to know it.

“Some intel.” Wilfred replies vaguely, swinging his pack onto his shoulders in one clean movement and re-sheathing his sword. Wilfred takes off at a fast pace, annoying Smalls. He knows I’m shorter, why can’t I get a break? He jogs to catch up with him.

“What kind of intel?” He questions.

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Are you in a rush, lad?” Wilfred’s pointed look is as-pointedly ignored by Smalls. But he does admit;

“I don’t like it here….It’s……all wrong.”

Wilfred sighs. “I agree. This place isn’t what it should be, the occupation has knarled it into something demented and evil.”

Smalls’ fists involuntarily clench.

He longs to act, longs to restore what’s been lost. But….he’s seen the results of hasty action. And he remembers watching the riots and protests as a child. His mind also unhappily supplies images of the day awful Lord Falcowit had put an end to it all.

“It won’t always be this way.” Wilfred adds.

“I hope so.” Smalls replies, trying not to sound too despondent. He’s tempted to add more, preferably some backhanded, passive-aggressive jab at Wilfred’s frustrating secrecy. But Wilfred apparently can read minds, because the look he gives Smalls is enough to sway him from acting on his inclinations.

“Where are we sleeping tonight?” He asks instead.

“Not in the city.”

“I thought we were staying on for a few more days.” Wilfred shakes his head. “No, we’ll leave tonight.” His tone shifts slightly, and Smalls glances at him, sensing the difference. What is going on? The question’s been rattling around inside his head for weeks now, and he has too little information to answer it.

“Oh, and this is for you.” Wilfred hands Smalls a thin stack of letters, bound together with twine.

“Evan?” Smalls questions, unable to read the address due to the darkness.

“That’s who I assumed.”

I haven’t got anyone else who would write to me, Smalls muses. Evan’s his older brother by a year. They’d spent much of their childhood together and had stayed in touch consistently ever since they’d been split after the massacre. Smalls slips the letters in his pack.

“Where are we going to stop?”

“Where do you think is best?”

“That depends. Which direction are we trying to go?”

“Northwest.”

Smalls considers for a moment. “We’d have to get across the black gap tonight.”

“Yes.”

“And we can’t go to the citadels, yet.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“But the tunnels aren’t completely blocked, correct?”

“Yes.” They stop walking.

“Half-moon would work.” Smalls decides at last. “It’s bound to be empty this time of year.”

“Five miles out.” Wilfred muses. “And at least a two-mile dead run, up and down, over debris and other obstacles. You up for that?”

For the first time since entering the city, Smalls grins. “Always.”

[ihaveonlymydreams]

A Modern Christmas

The angels descended with blazing wings

singing GLORIA in a chorus of a thousand voices

but the shepherds took for granted

the special effects and the full surround sound

and they found the Child and His Mother

in a stable

the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes

and they felt a kind of emotional pity

as when they saw photos of starving orphans

in Africa

and they said

.

Sorry but we have nothing to give

only escalating piles of debt

mortgage and insurance payments

ever-increasing taxes

and joyless jobs that we work from 9 to 5

for the rich overlords who take from us

our petty gains

.

We cannot afford anything

not even the 1.5 children who baffle us

with their strange fashions and desires

and who are baffled by us in return

who will one day grow into joyless workers

and put us away in our old age

as men put down a sick dog

.

We have nothing to offer

but the ennui of those who rush madly

from distraction to distraction

and the casual adulteries

offhand murders

the sickly sweet vices of worn-out lusts

the enthralling fascination with illusory violence

and the sleepless nights spent trying to forget

what we are and what we have become

.

And the Child looked on the shepherds

with the wise eyes of One who has seen all things

and He said

.

I accept

the debts

and the distractions

the petty sorrows that break your hearts

the sleepless nights

and misunderstandings

the false joys and mindless lusts

I ask for no other gifts

For though their weight be more than the world’s weight

My shoulders will bear the burden

.

And the shepherds asked

But if you take this away from us

what will we have?

And the Child said

.

Peace

.

But not as the world gives

Peace within chaos

and in the midst of war

Stillness at the heart of disorder

Joy that no man can take from you

with mindless violence

or cruel words

The joy of those who have nothing to lose

because they have given everything they have

.

And the eternal Child in the manger smiled

with empty wounded hands

while outside the stable the bombs exploded

and the sharp staccato of machine guns

pierced the night

.

And the angels sang

Peace on earth

to men of good will

.

But only the shepherds heard

[the-chaotic-christian]

i know it's late but man is this an important message. Besides the orthodox folks are celebrating Christmas on Sunday, it counts.

[katabasiss]

do you guys think jesus, the son of a carpenter, smelt the wood of the cross & temporarily thought of home

[rylandsgrace]

This is killing me

[scrivvle74]

@wolfythewitch

[wolfythewitch]

I've thought about this!! The reason people seemed to empathize more with that post and with my art in general is because it humanizes Jesus in a way the church just absolutely tries to stray away from. A big part of Jesus' entire story is his humanity. It's why Satan tried to tempt him. It's why he could feel hunger and thirst. It's why he loved and was loved. It's why he had to die. He was betrayed with a kiss, with a greeting. He shared meals with his disciples. He had parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins. He bled. And a big part of humanity is connection. We as humans are always looking for reflections of ourselves in others, it's how we connect and understand each other. We gravitate towards it. Of course we'll love the human side of him more. We're human

[woffles-4-waffles]

"Put those weapons down!"

[the-chaotic-christian]

haha welcome, the ninjago gremlin is back.......and bored

[favesgrave]

there r two types of people

[the-chaotic-christian]

Garmadon and Wu are fantastic. They're dynamic is wonderful lovely man do i need to go get some work done and not fall down the ninjago rabbit hole again-

(Even though i'm working on ninjago fanfic-)

[kem100]

The star-crossed lovers

[the-chaotic-christian]

I'm a jaya shipper. and a procrastinator. i should be writing.

[universesrising]

the more i see these lore drops like “jay can produce a lightning bolt’s worth of power” and “cole could split a continent in half”, the more i’m convinced that lloyd really IS a nuclear power plant condensed into a human body

i am afraid of that particular lore reveal. how fast could this man obliterate the world

[the-chaotic-christian]

.....I love ninjago guys

[the-chaotic-christian]

Ember's Blood: Prologue Part 3

“Anything the Bleaks do is suspicious.” Wilfred sighs. “Always has been. But there’s been no attacks, and Victor hasn’t mentioned any raids. Terralain is quiet. Even the Hollow has settled, at least for now. It’s not worth stirring up trouble, Jupiter.”

“I know.” Jupiter nods. “Yet……I can’t shake it. This feeling that something’s about to go wrong.”

Wilfred ignores his gut reaction of agreement. Instead, he exhales softly and turns to gaze out over the city, which, even this late, is still glowing warmly with nightlife. “We’ve been at war a long time, Jupiter. You and I since we were fourteen. I wouldn’t expect those instincts to go away any time soon. Or ever.”

“I know……but this is on a different level. I can’t sleep, and when I do…….it’s strange dreams. Very strange dreams.”

“Like the ones that came before you chose an heir?”

“Worse. Fire and blood. That’s what they’re full of. Fire and blood.” Jupiter stills, gazing out at Merle again.

Wilfred doesn’t have a response to that. He’s heard some of the other Visionaries say that they’re seeing the same thing. We haven’t had an en mass Seeing in decades, Wilfred thinks, If Fay is trying to tell us something, why can’t she do it plainly? Maybe it isn’t her, though. Maybe it’s something else entirely……

“You’re having them too, aren’t you.” Jupiter says quietly.

Wilfred nods. “True Blue,” He begins at last, “That’s the only thing I can think of. It must have something to do with True Blue.”

Jupiter shakes his head, shifting. “It can’t be. We know…..well we know next to nothing about it. Just old children’s tales and The Hollow’s ramblings.”

“It’s dangerous.” Wilfred insists.

“Why do you think that?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I, unlike you, am not afraid of the unknown.” Jupiter’s tone heats, fist slamming onto the railing in passion.

First Flower always sets him off, Wilfred observes. “And that is why one of us is the voice of common sense, and it’s not you.” Wilfred replies flatly. “Think about it, Jupiter. A strange plant that’s been missing for who knows how long suddenly resurfaces only for several of our scientists to mysteriously die while working with it? That sounds sinister.”

“You sound superstitious.”

“And you sound arrogant.” Wilfred snaps. “Bad things happen around the plant, Jupiter, you can’t deny that. Who says it can’t mess with our seers and visionaries too?”

Jupiter looks away, tense and irritated. He hates being called arrogant. He doesn’t want to be like his brother, Wilfred sighs. Regardless, Jupiter’s pride is getting in his way here, and he doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong. He never has.

“I don’t think it’s the plant.” Jupiter says quietly. “I…..think it’s more than that. It’s why I can’t stop thinking about what will happen if I die.”

“Sounds like you need a talk with Maggie.” Wilfred remarks. “If you’re spending all of your time thinking about death.”

“Hilarious.” Jupiter replies dryly, “And no. What I need is to make sure my affairs are in order. My heir is the most important part of that.” “A three-year-old heir is hardly going to do the country any favors if you suddenly drop dead on us.” Wilfred replies.

Jupiter shrugs. “Having one is better than not.”

True. But why is he so concerned?

“I’m leaving tomorrow to join the army.” Jupiter says tiredly. “Maybe then the Hollowers will rally to help fight off these raiding bands. It’s becoming a bigger problem than we anticipated, and the Hollowers are just sitting there.”

“You don’t want to send Whittel up there?”

“Not after Sween just gave birth. Hardly seems fair, does it?” Wilfred shrugs. “Send Garten then.” It’ll get him to shut up for five minutes.

Jupiter shakes his head. “I’m taking him with me. But I’m going.” Still trying to win the Hollowers loyalty, Wilfred thinks, I doubt it will ever happen.

“Alright.” Wilfred says at last. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

Jupiter nods. He heads for the door. Then he pauses, turning back to Wilfred with a strange, pensive expression. “Everything’s going to be okay, Wilfred. You’ll see.” He says, an almost excited tone to his voice. Wilfred gazes at him, puzzled. Right now, Jupiter seems much less of the powerful, wise king he is and much more the wonder-struck dreaming kid Wilfred’s known since childhood. Like the kid Wilfred used to protect from bullies on the playground, the kid who brought frogs to school and put firecrackers in the teachers’ desks. The kid who spent more time with his head in the clouds than his head in his studies.

Slowly, Wilfred asks, “What will be okay, Jupe?”

“You’ll see.” Jupiter repeats. “First Flower isn’t the problem, Wilfred, it’s the solution.” And he leaves without saying another word, and Wilfred stands there, one hand on the balustrade, holding an empty coffee mug.

[the-chaotic-christian]

Ember's Blood: Prologue Part 2

Wilfred’s eyebrows draw together, and he turns. Jupiter looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, blood-shot eyes and a pale complexion evidence enough. He’s pacing, a sure-fire sign that something is bothering him. His face is scrunched in concern and concentration, and he frowns.

“Everything is about to change.” He continues, stopping at the balcony and drumming his fingers along the railing, gazing out past the gardens and towards Lake Merle. Mist covers the islands in the center, and Wilfred eyes it warily. It’s superstition, he knows, but the old tales have some truth to them, and he doesn’t trust Merle. “I don’t know how or when, but something is changing. I can sense it in the wind.”

Wilfred pauses.

“You’ve felt it too.” Jupiter states, glancing over at his friend, some strange hint of his I-told-you-so tone in his voice. But it’s more ominous.

“I have.” Wilfred agrees, mind flashing to the strange dreams he’s been having lately, dreams of fire and blood, violence. He’s written many of them off as visions from his childhood, but that doesn’t feel quite right. There’s something more going on. It’s why he’s felt so….off lately. “But it’s foggy. It feels far off.”

Jupiter shakes his head, posture tensing. “I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s what’s bothering me, the fact that I can’t figure it out.” He grips the railing, glaring down at his hands.

“Some things remain mysteries even to kings.” Wilfred remarks, yawning. He glances down at the coffee mug, finding it upsettingly empty.

“No!” Jupiter retorts forcefully, turning on Wilfred. “This-this is different. I can tell.”

“In what way?” Wilfred asks calmly. (He’s always been the voice of reason, that’s certainly never changed)

Jupiter ignores Wilfred’s question, steamrolling right through. “If something happens to me, I need you to promise you’ll protect my son and heir.”

Wilfred sighs. They’ve been over this a million times. “Jupiter, as much as I understand your concern, you’re being dramatic. You are the king of the most powerful state in six thousand miles. The likelihood of something happening to you is extremely low.”

“Dramatic?” Jupiter scoffs, “Me?”

Wilfred rolls his eyes. “Yes. And we’ve had this conversation at least three times this week alone. You’ve already named me the Chief Protector, there’s no need for this. If you need more reassurance, just go look at your army.” Wilfred shoots a disapproving look at the on-duty guards, one of whom is definitely now asleep. “Just maybe not the palace soldiers.”

Jupiter glances down, lets out a long sigh, and rubs his face. “The army’s north near the Hollow.” He mutters through his hands, leaning his elbows on the balustrade.

“My point stands.” Wilfred argues, setting his mug on the railing with a soft plink, “Natalia is secure, save for those who choose not to be. You have nothing to be concerned about. Morbin’s been silent for years.”

Jupiter looks back at him, exhaustion and frustration settling on his face. “And that’s not suspicious?”

[the-chaotic-christian]

Ember's Blood: Prologue, Part 1

Wilfred leans against the balustrade of the balcony, mug of black coffee in his hand. He swirls it absently, gazing out at the palace grounds. They’re mostly empty, considering how late it is. Only a few guards stand at the two exit points Wilfred can see, lounging against the wall and looking in a right state to nod off on duty. The soldier in Wilfred twitches at that, hand tightening slightly around his cup. Somehow……four years of peace and he still can’t shake the foreboding feeling that sits in his stomach, a constant reminder of how much of his life he’s spent on edge. Which is fair, considering what a trouble magnet his best friend is.

He recognizes Jupiter’s footsteps in the hallway outside Wilfred’s office. Wilfred shakes his head, glancing up at the clear, starry sky. Jupiter would never have made it as an assassin, Wilfred muses, sipping his coffee. First of all, his conscience would never allow him. Second, he would trip in the dark and clomp around so loudly he would have the entire army on him in minutes.

“Wilfred?” Jupiter calls from inside.

“Balcony.” Wilfred replies. Jupiter nosily makes his way towards the door. Wilfred thinks he hears him curse the dark. It’s amusing. He comes out and immediately blurts, “Wilfred, I need you to promise me something.”

“I don’t know, Jupiter, I’ve made you a lot of promises.” Wilfred says good-naturedly, taking a sip of his coffee. And wondering what it’ll be this time. Jupiter’s absurd requests and ideas have certainly decreased the older he’s gotten, but……there’s always something. Jupiter always has something up his sleeve, and Wilfred either must make it work or talk him out of it before someone ends up in the hospital. Again.

“This is different.”