"WORMS! I AM DESPAIR!"

Still, Hubert is cautious, gouging deep into the towering tree with the dagger to mar its bark, leaving a clear path to follow lest he find himself running in circles and yet... he can just about make out a figure in the magic laden fog, no doubt another unfortunate soul that found themselves amidst the enchanted forest in the mountain valley. Yet as he approaches, Hubert can only recognise the wrongness given off, a familiar omen to the mage that so often dabbles in arts darker than most are prepared to venture into and yet it's soothing in a way, to have a sense of familiarity in a place so overwhelmingly bathed in faith.

Squinted eyes can just about see through the mist, making out the shape and almost distinct appearance of the Eagle's new Reason professor, with features caught in a scowl, were it not implausible Hubert would almost argue he was arguing with himself and yet that is no doubt a matter for another time, most definitely requiring further investigation during the academic year when the security around the records became pitifully dull.

"Professor." Sharp tongued, words that bite like a serpent through the fog even as he feels the phantom gaze fall upon his skin once more, a hand reaching to crack open the tome as incantation blooms to life in his grasp, flaring to life before Banshee darts into the treeline, doing little to dissuade the cackling menace that darts across the branches so mockingly.

"It would seem our formal introduction is to hunt the particularly bothersome beast lurking in the fog, a pity, I would have preferred it to be over coffee, I'm sure your insights into our shared magic would have been rather interesting."

A... demon? Pah.

Grima was the closest thing to.

A snap of the fingers, and a bolt of Thoron, blackened and fell, races through the trees, singing the air with the scent of ozone.

"GAH! It's annoying with the chittering. What manner of beast even... no matter. If it claims itself a demon? Let's show it our hell."

'...Way too much, Grima.'

'Well, sorry that your dramatic flair is too timid.'

His tome flickers open, darting from page to page, before a sickeningly green orb darts forth as well, attempting to pin down the abberation.

"It's... far too easy for this... thing, to hide in the shade."

Damnit. If he was still himself, and not trapped in this pitiful body, maybe he could actually see! Robin's eyesight was pitiful.

'...Maybe I should get some glasses commissioned.'

'Thoughts for later, worm! You're a tactician! Tactic this! NOW!'

Grima was a dragon of many things.

One of those things was not subtlety. Subterfuge? Yes. But combat simplicity? Not quite.

It was easier to just release a haze of corrosive breath, and watch all miserable life wither.

But there was no ill breath here, except come the morning, when Robin awoke.

But that didn't mean Grima forgot how to ruin.

"The trees. It's clinging to them as armor. Well then..."

Another orb of Miasma crashes into a tree, which corrodes away. No matter. The creature seems to jabber something, and the damage to the environ is undone.

"Damnit! It's linked to the blasted trees! It doesn't seem any more tired from the assault either."

Robin was silent. Infuriatingly so.

“no,” they reply with the determination of a true teenaged contrarian.  “i get by with wind just fine.  pick some one else.”

what's more effort, they wonder, to stay in class or to leave?  at this rate it's unlikely that they'll be able to return to the beautiful field of their dreams, but on the other hand: they'd have to stand up.

well, anything to get away from this asshat.

Grima is...

Well, feeling an emotion no Ylissean, nor Fodlani, nor any other human tongue could put to word.

And... Robin's caught in the crossfire.

'Grima. Don't blow this for us...'

"Oh, no you don't."

A snap of fingers, and dark lightning bolts from their fingers once more, crossing over the doorway, and looping back around, slamming the doors shut with a thunderous boom that rivals their display.

"You see yourself so above your classmates? They are here to learn. And I expect you to be as well, if you are to be here. Your 'noble stand' has done nothing but doom your classmates, both in education, and..."

He strides up the rows of desks, cloak billowing behind with each step taken.

Like a pair of fell wings.

"For having to see what happens when my hand is forced."

The two lock gaze for a moment. Robin's purple eyes flickering to a more pink hue, something they cannot see, nor feel... but it is likely to not go unnoticed by their students.

"Rebellion is to be expected. Little more than tolerated, but expected. But that is to be at a personal cost. You have costed your classmates. You are lucky I am a teacher who knows how to work people."

They take Linhardt's hand, and thrust a pen into it, already sopping with blackened ink.

"Write an apology to your classmates. For disrupting their lesson."

Their grip does not lighten.

The NERVE! Grima was not a feeble, weak-willed teacher like somebody he knew. If he was to teach, he would teach the Truth. His Truth.

“Reason Magic is not something to be toyed with. It carries the power to protect and destroy. To hold life close and undo it entirely. And I’m here to make sure you all don’t blow each others’ heads up with misusing it. So if you plan to sleep in my class, I should also expect you to be callous with your magicks. You signed up. You dedicated yourself. You made your choice.”

Grima shakes their head, flipping through Robin’s tome. There was material within he almost wished his devouts had properly learned. This magic was from an extremist branch of his, or something. It had the makings of the Grimleal, but none of the penchant of holding him as gospel. He was more than stiff prayers. He was Ruin. He was the End. These authors understood that. So it was fitting He awoke when Robin became their End. There was an irony he could appreciate.

‘Except I’m not as callous as you.’

‘Really? I could see yourself sinking to my level so easily… but nevermind. I have disciplining to accomplish.’

“Flip open your tome. You are going to be learning this spell by day’s end, and I will expect you to understand moderation with it. This is not optional anymore.”

He places a hand on their desk, glaring down onto them. They were small. Green. Like a dragon whelp.

And just as easy to crush under clawed grasp.

“Start us off, Hevring. What is the fundamental that defines Reason, compared to Faith’s much more… simple soruce? And how can it be compounded by a resourceful enough mind?”

He chews the tip of the brush in his hand. What could it be? If tilting the paper doesn't work, maybe tilting his head will; then, maybe he just needs a little more light? One blink. Two. Oh, oh, oh wait, he never drew their big bad supervillain in, the crazy dragon that this entire war was actually for—

And then someone knocks. It doesn't bother him, not until he hears his own name. His ears perk up at the voice, accompanying a twinkle of inexplicable joy in his eyes. Familiar, isn't it?

He swings the door open with sudden force, greeting Robin with the same grin as always. They're here! "Robin! Super good to see ya!" A step off to the side, as Henry swipes his hand through the air. "Come in, come in! Gotta make sure my professor is treated well, huh?"

How strange — that in every setting, he'll be an open ear to Robin's command. Henry chuckles at that alone. Some things never change, do they?

"Nya ha! You're always worrying about nothing, Robin." The door shuts with a click. "Gore of my classmates? Maybe a project for later. No, definitely for later on. Only if I need! But I'm allllll good for now — settled in just fine."

Ooh, they're a magic professor here? And they're teaching something new? How cool!

'I missed that eagerness.'

'If I had been a human, you would've found some quality of mine to latch onto.'

'...I resent that statement.'

Grima simply extends a hand, and a bolt of lightning darts from it to their hand resting on their hip. However, unlike their usual Thoron, the lightning is as black as night, with magenta outlining to the typical bright yellow. It reeks of dark magic. The kind Grima loved, and loved to use on the Shepherds.

"I found this spell in a tome, pillaged in an abandoned temple to Grima. There were some new cultists in there, who tried to preach his return. But they barely put up a fight. It almost felt like a trap."

'...Was it one?'

'Not one I planned. And if I did, I'd have their heads for leaving me in this... state.'

"I studied it, and managed to perfect it compared to the wild state I found it in. The spell was old, I'm lucky that it was in runes used elsewhere in the archipelago I was working in."

They softly chuckle as Henry bargain, running a hand through their white hair.

"I won't say you can be exempted, that would imply lacking backbone as a teacher but... hmm. It's scheduled around a break. What say we do some of it now, and I let you out early in the lesson as a treat?"

'You already have a lacking backbone, so I'll have to give you one.'

'Says the one who was only backbone.'

But when reading through the attendance list for his next seminar, Grima can feel the freeze of Robin inside their head. This was someone they knew. Time to pry into their-

Wait... huh. He actually remembers this one.

He was shockingly brutal, when he came up against Grima. He could get behind that, were it not aimed at himself in the past.

'Planning on giving another of the ones who killed you a visit?'

'Of course I am. He seems potent. If I could... No. If I think my plans, you'll sabotage me.'

'You seem to forget the path goes both ways. I hear every thought you have as well. A lot of the same, over and over. Death. Ruin. You should use my memories for a thesaurus at some point.'

'SILENCE, WORM! I HAVE NO USE FOR-'

...Wait. Grima smirks Robin's mouth, softly chuckling to themself as they walk the path towards the dormitories.

'I seem to be rubbing off on you. Maybe I can actually give you some spine and sass, instead of relying on your precious friends so much.'

That shuts Robin up for a while. Good. Grima doesn't want them to be listening in.

And, after a shockingly quick search of the dorms (and by that, ignore the fact the sun, which had just begun to descend, was now barely above the horizon line,) Grima places three sharp knocks on the door.

"Henry? I... came here to check on you. Make sure you settled in well and haven't made a pile of gore of your classmates yet. I saw you were in attendance for my seminar tomorrow. I would word caution, since it's new magic I recently learned that takes... more practicality than I would have previously expected from my allies, but I doubt you would much need it."

The camaraderie flies out as naturally as it would from Robin's lips, which, for a moment, makes Grima pause.

...The path really did go both ways, didn't it?

From where he's sat, he watches the various brawls unfold with only vague interest, eyes growing heavy with an exhaustion he can't shake no matter how much sleep he gets. Sin had known that this place had developed a strange reputation in the short time it apparently existed, but this is something else entirely.

...Honestly, he just came here to figure out what a waffle actually is. Peoplewatching isn't something Sin thinks of himself as having any sort of particular interest in, but it's what seems to be taking up most of his time here.

Oh, well. Better than the alternative.

The words ring out loud and low across the dimly lit room, and the fists come to a crashing halt.

"OI! WHOD'YA THINK YOU ARE, JUST WALTZING INTO HERE LIKE THIS!?"

The words come out fast, loud, boisterous. It's almost funny, with how pathetic they seem.

"Death."

A bolt of magenta and black arcs from an extended hand, blackening the wall inches from the aggressor's head, who shuts his pathetic trap just as fast as he opened it, and scurries off into some corner to rethink what life pathway led to his end so close to him. He wanted to just off the brat here and now... but setting an example so clearly would serve much better than murdering the first who opposed him. Much as he'd like to.

"Heed my words. I am Grima. I am ruin manifest."

Robin's pleas sounded in his ears, how he was going to get caught, and get them fired. Whatever. He hadn't been allowed to enjoy himself stuck in the monastery, filled to the brim with holy energies and pitiful worms he had to call students. Here, he was free to terrorize people without risk or consequence, and if there was any? The hood hid who lay beneath. He was invincible.

"I would like a plate of your waffles. As many as fits."

Wrath, pride, gluttony, he was on a roll for sinning.

As he sits at one of the filthy tables, he locks glowing, obscured eyes with one of the other guests at the establishment. The face was somewhat familiar - likely working with the Knights or some other waste.

"If you want to keep your hands, I suggest you don't act stupid. But if you wish to stay here, none will dare risk anything."

Well, the fools might.

But he was good at making example of fools.

listen, i'm back home now, i'm thinking about things, and i saw the maxton hall gifset floating around and i was like. yk what. carrying people is elite content, and gdi y'all deserve elite content! as always, DO NOT ADD OR EDIT THIS LIST! and there's a lil spicy addition under the readmore, but i left it there just in case people prefer to have a not-so-spicy version.

[ SLUMBER ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver because they're so sound asleep that they won't easily wake up.

[ INTERCEPT ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver out of the room because they're angry and on the brink of engaging in a fight with someone.

[ ASSIST ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver away for medical attention because they've been injured and can't walk easily.

[ HELP ]: sender picks up and carries the badly wounded receiver as fast as possible to the nearest hospital or the nearest place to administer urgent first-aid.

[ ELATION ]: sender scoops up the receiver and carries them away after a mutual victory, or having just received very good news (or maybe they're both just very happy for some reason!)

[ HOME ]: sender picks up the receiver to carry them over the threshold of their new home.

[ AID ]: sender finds the receiver too weak to move, and scoops them up to carry them to get some help.

[ UP ]: sender finds the receiver and picks them up to carry them a distance after learning they're unable to get up.

[ BAREFOOT ]: the sender picks up the receiver and carries them inside because they're not wearing any shoes.

[ WEARY ]: sender notices the receiver about to fall asleep during a task, and picks them up to carry them to bed so that they can actually sleep properly for once.

[ TWIRL ]: sender catches the receiver in their arms and spins them in a neat twirl just because they want to.

[ HERO ]: sender notices the receiver about to fall from a height, and manages to intervene just in time, catching them before they get hurt.

[ FLASH ]: the sender and receiver are part of a photoshoot, and in order to finish the last of the photos, the sender scoops up the receiver in their arms for the final pose.

[ TRAIN ]: during a training session (for a fight or a performance, dealer's choice!) the sender ends up holding the receiver in their arms during their session together.

[ URGENCY ]: sender carries the receiver away from danger after the receiver is revealed to be unable to move, either due to panic or injury.

[ OUT ]: sender grabs the receiver and lifts them into their arms after noticing them swaying and beginning to lose consciousness.

[ SCREAM ]: sender spots the receiver in a terrified or considerably panicked state, and picks them up to carry them to a less terrifying place to calm down.

[ LAZY ]: sender concedes to receiver's requests for a piggy-back ride home because they don't want to walk anymore, and carries them the rest of the distance home.

[ CAREFUL ]: sender gently lifts the receiver out of their seat and carries them carefully to bed after noticing they fell asleep and not wanting to waken them.

[ HASTE ]: in urgent need of getting to safety as fast as possible, the sender scoops up the receiver and starts running because it's quicker and easier to just carry them than expect them to keep pace.

@wyrmandtheworm

"Now listen here, bug breath," Tina holds up the frog just just managed to catch so its eyes are level with hers. She glares at the poor thing, deadly serious. Because this is deadly serious business. She would not be out here catching creatures if it wasn't for something important.

"You're going to be a handsome prince, right? Like a super handsome prince even more handsome than Prince Leif." She pauses a minute before remembering to add, "and even more single than Prince Leif, too. Got it!"

It's starting to get annoying. Like, normally she probably wouldn't even be so determined that this could even be really but she's seen it! She's seen her classmates kiss frogs and then poof! She's seen it multiple times!

But, so far, her own luck has been terrible. Sure, she's caught a number of frogs and even kissed them. But not a single one has turned into a handsome prince! Or even just a handsome regular guy! Not even an ugly prince! They were all just dumb old regular frogs!

"This time it's gonna work!"

She closes her eyes, puckers up, and leans in to give the frog a smooch.

For once, the man and the monster can agree on something.

"You... do know those turned into frogs are being kept away from the other frogs on the academy grounds to prevent this very confusion, do you not?"

He snaps the frog out of her grasp, staring at it. It seems to shrink away from his boring eyes. Good. It knows its place, which is frustratingly rare here.

"If you want to find 'true love', however, I would even then avoid those frogs. There are... connotations of this sort of thing."

He takes off Robin's glove, rubbing it clean of grime, before slipping it back on their hand, softly chuckling.

"I may not be an expert on love. But what I do know... is that you form a connection. True love, as the myths go, is seldom more than getting people to accept bridal propositions that benefit few other than the nobles who arrange it. Love cannot be found, it must be created. And something tells me you won't create it hopping around lilypads by the lake."

They smile, though he knows they are trying to make it convincing, to ease the brutishness of his words he wishes to inflict. No matter. He needs to relish this opportunity to shatter a worm's morale, anyhow.

"But who am I to stop you."

He takes off his hood, and drops the frog back into the water, where it proceeds to swim like it's life depends on it.

It might. Robin had a thunder spell, and if he needed to let off some steam...

Grima had been trying to avoid any colored language that he usually used, because Robin would not. They were timid and kind, he was anything but.

But, alas, he was now bedbound in the infirmary. And... buried under piles of flowers.

And he would give anything to just...

KILL.

Maim, massacre, anything, everything.

"NNNNNNGAHHH!"

He lets out a scream, before coughing painfully, more plants escaping their throat.

And no, it couldn't be any of the fun, pretty, useless plants humans seemed to like so much. No, it just had to be giant roses of ebon black, thorns sharp as his old fangs were.

"...Isn't there supposed to be one of you worms on duty to move the flowers off? I can barely move!"

Grima did not claim to be an expert on knowledge. They had someone for that (well, reluctantly for that on both ends of the exchange.) But this was pointless, fruitless, a waste of time and energy for all involved...

These people made it too easy to destroy them. It was almost sad.

"..."

Grima holds onto the large, decrepit branch he had found. It looked more a scythe or (if only,) one of his clawed wings. He missed them. That was a weird thought, but one that rang true. He was fearsome, he was despair, he was ruin, he was GRIMA.

So to be left as this? Beyond just insulting, it was -

"What you deserved?"

"Can it, worm. I'm ruminating."

Left as little more than a warden for Robin's prison in their own body. It was pathetic. They were apocalyptic. Not... this.

A stick strike to their back pulls them from his reverie, and he quickly retaliates with a sweep of his own weapon, the spindly outermost branches acting as a racking of claws, almost.

Even if he wasn't really one for the idiocy... he could teach them how pointless it was.

"Now then..."

He looks over the students piled up, and, after a quick pause, blinks several times.

...How is he holding that.

It's way too big for him.

Looks like he has a challenge ahead of him.

The duo of royal blood, a weary vessel, and a tactician — all faces he's not seen since the fall of darkness, evil, incarnate in Grima. He flips a page to check another test. He doesn't know the fate of many allies just yet, as before, his sediment position in this school is the first residence he's taken up since he left Regna Ferox months ago. If anyone wanted to write to him, he had no single abode for long on his travels to write to, a vagrant. He opens a letter from someone who seems to have found his place of work, addressing him awkwardly but from his days as a Shepard. He folds it back up, and stuffs it inside his other letters — all slowly coming in, like a trickle, but ever-growing.

He is not haughty enough to ignore them, he just has nothing to say at all to them. It's best they move on with their lives, he would say, and yet I find myself still entertaining their letters. Easy would be to send a cease letter but that was never his style, nor did he entertain the idea for long. He doesn't have much to say to anyone except those that took to the back of Grima in a series of campaigns for their very lives.

He puts down his paperwork, and he doesn't even pretend he was simply taking inventory of his inbox, before he simply shakes his head and stands from the desk. He has nothing to say further, he reiterates to himself, and yet—

—in the doorway, outside of his office, a familiar face catches his attention. You could almost say he jumped out of his skin, even if his whole body simply tensed more than fell back a few steps, when the face of many concerns of his rears itself.

"Robin! So that intake letter was you." He has never been so spirited before, but can you blame him? His face slightly perturbed, but for a second. "I didn't see your entrance. You're looking... well."

Is this how you greet fr—allies?

The words slip out as genuine as they would from their lips, and yet, the truth couldn't be further from in his own mind.

He didn't much know who this was. Robin knew him, but that wasn't saying much. They had befriended (or attempted to) almost everyone on their campaigns, leading to practically tomes of information upon their past comrades, those they would throw themselves away for. Pathetic. So while he was little more than a worm, there was still... something in Robin's recesses that could be used for his plans.

"I heard you had arrived a short bit before myself, and, since according to the scheduling, you hadn't hosted many seminars... I wanted to check on you."

Grima takes the seat across from Lon'qu's desk, taking from a flask from his belt and sipping from it. It wasn't anything really, according to Robin's memories of the drinks of their past, but to someone like Grima, even something as simple as water was foreign on his stolen tongue.

"Are you adjusting to the monastery life right? If you need... anything, let me know."

Robin would've said these things. He knows they would. It's gentle. It's kind.

It's spineless.

Just like them.

"We may have been apart for... longer than I anticipated, but for what it's worth, you are still a trusted ally in my eyes."

The words felt vile on their tongue. Surely these worms couldn't possibly be so easily persuaded.

'Stop... poking in my memories...'

'But your mind is where all the stories are. And I wouldn't want to lie about what you did on your trip to your other half, would I?'

Grima chuckles mentally, while Robin just smiles, flipping the page of their book.

It was cute. Chrom thought he had his tactician back.

And yes, they were right here.

But just out of reach.

The misery this elicited was one of a kind. They'd need to stick close to Chrom, if this was how Robin responded internally to him talking to him.

"Ran into a fanatic who claimed that Grima still lived, or something like that. Made sure he was taken down fast when he drew arms against me."

Each word that leaves their own mouth makes Robin writhe within, and each time, it only makes the soundless laughs of the fell one louder.

"But most of my journeying ended up much more uneventful than it ever was with you all. I missed that, and all those letters you, and everyone else from Ylisse here sent, helped convince me I needed to see you all again."

'He's lapping it all up like a dog. Funny. I always saw you more his hound at the heel than him yours.'

'Neither of us are. We're comrades, not-'

'Oh, shut up. I have a new toy to play with.'

Robin leans in, hair floofing out from under their hood.

"How about yours? Your journey may have been safe, but hopefully not just the boring rides like mine were for the most part."

It was always like this on rides. Silent, brooding. Boring, almost.

“We’re here.”

The door is quickly thrown open, falling off of its hinges, with the carriageman only providing a quivering groan of thanks in response. Music to his ears.

The floor falls beneath him, just above touching the soil. Of course, he should at least put on the veneer of being something less…

And just as he touches down, he shoots back up airborne, scowling.

“This place is a damn fountain of holy energy. You really wanted to go here, huh…”

Robin did. It was a place they had in the recesses of their mind, after all of this. The fool thought that they could kill him, leave him to disintegrate and just act like nothing would happen. He was created to be undying. And even if his physical form was gone now (which was really infuriating…) Robin was caught unawares when he reappeared in his mind.

“Stay… out…”

The murmurs force Robin to slap his cheek, scowling.

“Quiet, worm. You want the job? I'll handle it. Your talking will throw off any chances of you seeing your friends.”

Robin had gone out on a solo adventure a while, trying to find their place without Grima looming overhead. Unfortunately, that meant they were away from everyone close when the claws came down on their mind. And now, with the letters that they had been sent, Grima held that as leverage over them. If they wanted their friends again, they had to follow what Grima said.

“Now. Let’s get this over with.”

Robin floats up the stairs, landing with a huff in front of the (seemingly caught off guard) interviewer.

“Y-you are…”

“Robin.”

The name feels so wrong on their tongue… pitiful. But it would be how they would be known, so he had to follow.

“Alright then… we have three questions for you, then. Number one, what brought you to where you are today…?”

“Resistance. Resisting against those who thought they could dare control me. I’m better than them there. My… father-”

Is that even the right term for that traitor? Eh, didn’t matter. He made a good snack.

“Thought I got too powerful, and tried to shut me down. Proved him wrong. Then, some former allies tried to turn on me. I proved them wrong as well. Fought a lot of people who thought they knew better than I did. They were all wrong.”

Including the meatbag he now inhabited…

“Alright then… question two. What are your strengths and weaknesses?”

“Easy. My cunning has created many advantageous situations, and my magic, just as many. As for weaknesses…”

None. But, of course, that wasn’t true of Robin…

“My form is nowhere near as keen as my mind. Physically frail… the strong around me are good protection, however. And I have a tendency to bring the strong… to my side.”

He smirks, watching the fool before him attempt to parse through his words. Idiot. It was almost as amusing as the feeling of Robin shirking away mentally. They wouldn’t say most of this stuff. Which is why Grima would. Not only because it was who he was… but it made them seem so much more callous than they were. It was enjoyable, seeing them try to fight back, without any of the power to do so.

“O…kay then, last question. If your life was a story… what role would you play?”

“Hero. Take the wrong in the world, the hypocrites and egotists, and make them kneel. Make a rigid world bend its rules, so that it goes the way it should.”

Robin’s abject horror to his response in his head was like the symphony of a hundred screams. Oh, he never tired of bothering them.

“And, if that is all, I will be going. Thank you for hiring me.”

“But… we didn’t-”

Grima steps forward (wincing internally at the sensation of such holy marble at his foot,) and places a hand on the holy man’s shoulder, dark lightning crackling in his eyes.

“Thank you for hiring me.”

And with that, he heads out of the room, leaning against the wall.

“...What… the hell… are you doing, Grima?”

“Getting you the job you wanted. Now, I promised you we’d meet with your friends.”

The dawning horror was so delectable, Grima couldn’t help but chuckle.