#and it was doomed to fail from the start because neither of us knew what the fuck we we’re doing or who we were

[lycan-subscribe]

it’s interesting because like. i don’t Yearn for a relationship in quite the same way i used to when i was younger - back then it was about validation, about the ingrained belief that i wasn’t good enough unless i had someone around to express desire for me. but after a lot of hard work and time and maturing, i’ve gotten to this genuine place of self love where i’m no longer looking for anyone’s validation except my own. and i love being who i am. so i’m no longer painfully desperate to have someone else confirm that i’m desirable because i already desire myself and that’s what i’ve truly been wanting this whole time.

that being said, i’m in no rush at all to be in a relationship, but i do still sometimes daydream about how nice it’d be to have someone (or multiple someones…?) who i could bring into the fold of my life, and to be brought into theirs. it’s a healthier, less desperate, more meaningful type of want, where it’s about equals coming together to love each other instead of chasing a type of validation that isn’t healthy

[babybemydownfall]

things that shimmer in the dark Part II: Rhys ( Part I - Part III ) “I’m thinking that I want you. And if you drop that towel to the floor, I will have you.”  NSFW, as always. Notes under the cut. Or read on AO3.

Notes: Here you go! It was really interesting to imagine Rhys's feelings for Feyre so early in their story. And to consider how he might react post-UTM. So I hope you enjoy my interpretation. Now I feel like I might keep going through ACOMAF, making them fuck at every available opportunity...

II

Lonely.

The word cut through me like the sharpest blade.

I had been so close - so close - to rejecting her advance. It would have hurt us both, and I knew she would not be quick to forgive, but it was the right thing to do. Any kind of sexual relationship between us was a colossally bad idea. She had barely started to recover from what happened under the mountain. Neither had I, if I was truly honest with myself. And on top of that, the world was going to hell. We had a gargantuan fight ahead of us, with very few allies and a plan that was almost doomed to fail before we’d even begun.

But Feyre. Beautiful, exquisite Feyre.

She knew me better than she realised. She had sliced into my very core with that single word, leaving me shattered, my blood spilt at her feet.

I was desperately lonely. I had been for most of my life, but especially the last half-century.

And I wanted her.

I wanted her to know me, to know everything. I wanted her to see all of me, the good and the evil, the dream and the nightmare. I wanted her body, her mouth; her fingernails on my skin and her sounds collecting in the all warm, dark spaces between us. I wanted to make her come, to make her smile. To feel joy again, together: every day, for the rest of our lives.

My Feyre.

My mate.

And that was the thing - she had no idea. I couldn’t tell her, not yet. Not when she had been destroyed by Amarantha, by Tamlin; when she had lost everything she thought she’d known and been flung into my world, her mortal heart and Faerie soul destined to be entwined with mine forever. I couldn’t fuck this up. I needed her. Every living being who opposed the King of Hybern needed her.

But she was right. It would be so nice to feel something good, just a for a little while. I had spent my whole life sacrificing myself again and again, selflessly, in servitude of my people. And I would gladly go on doing so until I took my very last breath. But I had also suffered - more than enough. More than I could bear, sometimes.

I refocused on Feyre, standing in front of me in her bathroom, wearing only a towel. She was the most stunning creature I had ever laid eyes on. I had thought it the first moment I saw her, long before I knew she was my mate, and I had wanted her every day since then. And here she was, offering herself to me. Wanting me, in all my darkness and destruction.

The feel of her was still on my fingertips, imprinted there forever; the heavenly scent of her desire filled my nose, making my mouth water. I had been hard for her from the moment she asked me to stay - at the mere thought of her sitting naked just a few feet away. I should have said no, invented some excuse to disappear, but she needed a friend and I couldn’t refuse her. I would never be able to.

Like when she asked so innocently for me to wash her back.

My mistake was touching her with my hands. As soon as we connected so intimately, I was lost. And then I felt her arousal burst to life along our bond, and she moaned… And by all the gods, I nearly lost my fucking mind.

“What are you thinking?” she asked me now, and I realised I’d been silent for too long.

She was standing so close. I was desperate to touch her but I knew that, just like in the bathtub, once I did I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I had to know she was sure. Because a part of me suspected that when we’d had our first taste of each other, nothing would keep us apart.

“I’m thinking that I want you,” I told her simply, honestly. “And if you drop that towel to the floor, I will have you.” Fire blazed in her eyes. “But if we do this, things might get complicated. If the others find out…”

She shook her head. “It’s just sex, Rhys. Gods, we might all die soon. I need to feel something again. Something good.”

“Oh Feyre darling,” I sighed. “You have no idea how good I can make you feel.”

“That’s very… arrogant.” A spark: of playfulness. Of the Feyre I adored most of all.

I held her gaze, trying not to smirk. “Would you like me to prove it?”

She raised her hands, hovering them just over my biceps - as if she, too, knew that one touch would mark the beginning of the end. I waited patiently. I had yearned for her for so long, I could go another few minutes. And I needed her to make the first move, to show me that she was certain, that she wouldn’t regret this.

I watched as she took in my chest where my shirt was open, the swirls of black ink spread over tanned muscle. Cautiously, she reached out her fingers and placed them on my warm skin, tracing the Illyrian patterns. My heart beat wildly beneath them.

I didn’t know what she thought about me - if she was still in love with someone else; if she had ever considered loving me instead. But when she looked up again, I saw curiosity: about the possibility of me, of us.

I saw hope.

And then she said softly: “Rhys… I would like you to kiss me.”

And every remaining ounce of my hesitation vanished.

I reached for her waist, pulling her to me. Her eyes widened as she felt my hardness against her belly. They stayed open, fixed on mine, as I leaned down and lightly, tenderly, pressed my lips to hers. The world stilled; disappeared. I held her in that moment, the single most important one of my life so far, and saw so much in her blue-grey gaze: surprise, desire. Trust.

She trusted me not to hurt her, not to break her even further - and that meant more to me that I could put into words.

Then her eyelids fell shut and her mouth opened, claiming me. I felt her hand go to the back of my neck as her body bowed into mine, as she kissed me hungrily, her tongue sweeping over my lips and then past them as I submitted to her completely. The embers of lust in my blood roared to life again.

I walked her backwards into her bedroom, my fingers buried in her hair, cradling her head as I ravished her. She was the sweetest, sexiest thing and I already felt frenzied, desperate to have her, to make her mine. She matched me moan for moan, her nails clawing at my shoulders and arms, her teeth grazing my lips in such a way that made me want to bite her.

Outside of those years underground, I had always loved sex - in all its forms. Particularly hard, fast, untamed. I liked to be rough, to scratch and bruise, to leave my mark. Inside this perfect body was a feral animal who loved being let out to play. But only ever with permission - and I was so lost in Feyre already, I hadn’t warned her; hadn’t asked what she wanted from me, beyond feeling good. There were a thousand ways I could make that happen. But, at least this first time, I wanted to let her choose.

I managed to slow us down, to extricate myself from her frenzied kisses and draw back for air. She looked so fucking hot, dazed and aroused, her lips swollen and wet from my mouth. My hips twitched and we both groaned.

“I wear a lot of masks. As you know.” My voice was gravelly, low. “Who do you want me to be today?”

What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll gladly give it to you.

I could see she understood. She had encountered many sides of me already, from cruel to relaxed to pure, unadulterated power. I knew that I fascinated her. She had no sides at all, no masks. She was always true to herself, and I both envied and marvelled at her.

Her eyes scanned my face, back and forth. I wondered what she was looking for; if she had found it when she said quietly: “I want… the Rhys who holds my hand in the dark. Who kneels before me and calls me his salvation. Who looks at me like he cares about me.”

There was emotion there, in her voice, in the way her fists curled into my shirt, holding on. But there was also enormous strength in her vulnerability; fierceness in her honesty. It made me want her even more.

“I do,” I breathed, allowing myself to be honest in return. “I do care about you, Feyre. More than you know. More than I should.”

She continued to stare at me. I could hear, feel, her heart racing - but if she was scared by my words, she didn’t show it. Then she asked: “What about me? What do you need from me?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do? Anything that will… trigger bad memories?”

It took a second for me to realise what - who - she was referring to. I had never been asked by a partner what I wanted, or didn’t want. Oh Feyre.

“You’re talking about Amarantha?” I clarified.

“Yes… her.” Then she flushed. “Although maybe you’ve been with someone else since her, before me. Who am I to-”

“I haven’t.”

She had no idea how much she had changed my life. How much I loved her already.

“I am very good at compartmentalising - as you saw inside my mind. If I dwelt too much on things in my past, I would have been killed or captured a hundred times by now.”

“That’s why you can say her name as if it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. But I don’t give it any power over me.” I held her lovely face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks, her lips. “Thank you for asking, but I don’t think about her. Especially not with you in my arms. You are so beautiful, Feyre.”

Her fingers curled gently around my wrists and she almost, almost smiled. Suddenly it was harder to breathe. I was running out of patience for conversation, but there was one final apology I had to make.

“Until you, under the mountain,” I murmured, “I hadn’t kissed anyone for more than fifty years.”

Feyre looked stunned.

“Not once,” I confirmed. “And I am sorry for the way I kissed you down there. I was jealous and pissed off.” My gaze fell to her mouth. “Please allow me to make it up to you.”

There was a pause: the last deep inhale before the dive. Then we reached for each other at the same time. The first kiss was soft and tender, because I loved her. I couldn’t say it so I had to show her, just once.

The second was our surrender.

Her hands pulled at my clothes as our passion flared again, as her tongue fought mine, as the bond between us melted into pure fire. I helped her rip off my shirt, buttons flying; felt her palms on my skin and growled into her mouth. She reached down, her fingers snaking along my length and then around, gripping me through my pants, and I had to break away from her, to cry out to the ceiling as I hardened even further.

“Fuck, Feyre.”

She looked at me; looked down at my bare torso, at my huge erection tenting the fabric, her eyes widening as she took me in. Clearly she hadn’t quite been expecting this. I couldn’t help but smile, even as she continued to gently stroke my cock. I loved seeing her want me so obviously. I loved being desired by her.

I let my hands glide down the sides of her neck to her chest; leaned forward and followed them with my mouth. I kissed all the way along the line where her towel sat; lifted her arms up above her head - partly because I couldn’t focus with her attention below my waist - and held her gaze as I slowly unwrapped her.

I swore again as her incredible body was revealed to me. No paint this time; no sheer fabric, no wine, no shame. Just acres of her soft skin and the black tattoos snaking down her left arm, onto her hand. Tying her to me. Making her mine.

Her perfect breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing; her rosebud pink nipples were hard and begging to be sucked. And so I did, swirling my tongue over the right first, then the left. The sound she made was so erotic and I felt her entire being, including our bond, tremble. She was exquisitely sensitive here. I stored that piece of knowledge away, hoping I would get the chance to use it again in future.

I trailed my lips lower, moving to my knees before her - the second time in the space of a few hours. I had never knelt to anyone before and now I was making a habit of it. Feyre Archeron was very, very dangerous - and I didn’t care at all. She had curves now, flesh on her bones, her waist and hips and thighs, and I kissed and licked every inch of her as her fingers tangled in my hair, as she continued to whimper and shake. I could smell her arousal as I moved ever closer, and I knew she was soaking wet for me. Gods, I felt like I had been starving and she was the feast. The only meal I would ever want again.

And, like a feast, I wanted her spread out before me.

I stood suddenly and picked her up, carrying her the few steps to her bed. When I lay over her and kissed her again, I was amazed at how seamlessly our bodies fit together, as if they had been made this way. Perhaps her Fae form really had been Made just for me. It certainly seemed like it. Her breasts fit just right in my hands; her legs wrapped around mine and she shifted her hips and the length of my cock sat perfectly along the apex of her thighs, my base pressing right up against her clit. The noise she made into my mouth as she ground helplessly against me came from deep, deep inside her.

Just where I wanted to be.

But not yet. The temptation to vanish my pants and slide straight into her was almost too much, but there was one thing I needed first: a taste.

“Feyre,” I breathed, kissing her jaw, her throat, moving down her body. “You are so…” I sucked on her nipples again; grazed them with my teeth and her back arched off the bed. “Fucking…” I delved my tongue into her belly button, my fingers rolling her nipples now. “Sexy.”

I pushed her legs apart and knelt between them, letting my gaze roam greedily over every part of her. Her eyelids were heavy, her pupils dilated, her skin flushed the most delicious shade of pink. I could feel her throbbing, aching for release - just as I was.

“Rhys… please.”

I traced her entrance with the tip of my finger, so smooth and glistening beneath her neat strip of light brown hair. Her whole body tensed and she became wetter before my eyes. Mother above. I had never been so turned on.

“What do you want, Feyre darling?”

She couldn’t speak. I slowly pushed my finger inside her, all the way - she clenched around me and writhed and cried out. Fuck me, she felt unbelievable. My cock twitched, desperate to feel her, to be buried deep inside her heat.

I added another finger, sliding in and out a few times before circling her clit, slick with her own fluid.

“Rhys!” she gasped, and I had to hold her down with my other hand to stop her climbing off the bed.

“Does this feel good, beautiful? Do you want to come like this?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Part of me wanted to take my time, to tease her some more - but we were both nearing the edge of our sanity. So instead I slid my arms beneath her thighs, gripped her ass in my hands and lifted her pussy into my face. Our shared groan as we connected was utterly indecent.

I kissed her cunt like I kissed her mouth, sliding my tongue over her again and again, sucking on her softly. Her hips and breathless moans were rhythmic and I matched them, feeling her orgasm building, her pleasure hurtling towards me along the bond, her shield non-existent. Selfishly I did take a moment to really taste her, trailing my tongue down her folds and plunging it inside her, devouring every sweet drop. I knew she would be incredible but I didn’t expect to be this overwhelmed. I wanted this, wanted her, every day. Forever.

She groaned my name again and I returned my attention to her clit, licking and sucking in time with the thrusting of my two fingers into her. She was so taut, so close to the edge. I blindly reached up my free hand and found her breast, brushing my thumb over her nipple, pinching it. My pace never faltered.

She came barely a minute later. I felt the moment she hit her peak; the moment she started to fall down, weightless, over the other side. Her pleasure became mine, crashing over me like a tidal wave as she exploded into nothing but pure sensation. The whole of Velaris must have heard her cries. My cock ached like never before and I would have come too had I had any kind of friction there.

It took a while for her to quieten, to finally still. I kissed her thighs, her abdomen; rose over her and waited for her eyes to open, completely in awe of how stunning she was, of how much I loved taking her to such a blissful, otherworldly place. Of how much I loved her, full stop.

“Feyre,” I breathed. “Look at me.”

She did, and my heart constricted. Whatever was blossoming between us, she felt it too. I could see it right there, in the hazy blue-grey of her gaze.

“That was… You were…” Her hands cupped my face. “I can’t even-”

“It’s okay,” I said, unable to hold back my smile. “Your shield disappeared. I felt everything.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was… very enjoyable.”

She glanced at my lips. She hadn’t even tried to restore her mind’s protection, so I knew exactly what she wanted.

More.

“Fuck,” I growled, and claimed her in a fiery kiss.

Our bodies moved together now like they’d been lovers for years. Her limbs encircled me; I let her roll us so she was on top, straddling my waist, our mouths still joined in messy, tongue-filled kisses. Her breasts pressed against me and I could feel the wetness of her pussy on me through my cotton pants.

With a single thought, they were gone. Feyre paused, looking at me in surprise as she suddenly felt the warmth of my skin against hers. Then her eyes darkened even further as she sat up. She took my cock in her hand, circling her thumb over the tip, spreading my fluid around before she began to stroke me up and down. I wanted to look at her as she did, to let her see how absolutely she had bewitched me, but it was impossible. It felt too fucking good.

“Stop,” I hissed just seconds later. “I’m too close. I need to be inside you.”

“Rhys,” she sighed. I managed to watch again as she rose up, positioning herself above me. When she sank down slowly, allowing herself to accommodate me inch by inch, my breath came out in a gasp and my muscles actually trembled.

“Holy Mother, Feyre.”

She braced her palms on my chest and began to move on me. She was drenched, and so fucking soft and tight. I let her continue for a few moments, let her adjust to my size, before saying: “I need to fuck you. Are you ready?”

She bit her lip and nodded. I braced my feet on the bed and gripped her hips as I began to pound up into her. I was big, and her body was tense as I stretched her open. “Relax,” I breathed, and then I felt her do just that, felt her gush even more wetness over me, and every rapid thrust took me deeper and deeper - and Feyre screamed like I’d never heard before as she came again.

It surprised us both. It also brought me so close to orgasm that I couldn’t hold on much longer. I briefly extricated myself so I could lay her on her back and kneel up before her, lifting her hips and wrapping her legs around my waist. I leaned down to kiss her as I buried myself in her again. I could feel everything slipping away - my grip on my power, my glamour, my mind. There wasn’t enough air inside her mouth so I drew back, drowning in her eyes instead as I fucked her. I could sense darkness and night seeping out of me; knew she saw it too, although she didn’t look away from me.

And then I felt my wings fighting to materialise, their heavy weight pushing at my back, and out of nowhere I was thinking about Amarantha, about how I had always kept them hidden from her, and suddenly everything inside me went very still.

Feyre looked alarmed when I stopped moving. But then her face changed, and I realised that for the first time in my life, my shield had slipped - and she knew exactly what horror had just unfurled inside my head. I slammed it back into place but not before she saw the red hair, the naked curves spread out on black silk sheets. Not before she felt the cruelty and control; the hatred I had for my captor, for myself.

Fingertips brushed lightly over my forehead, along my cheekbones, my jaw. “It’s me. Feyre.” There was so much tenderness in her voice, her expression. My eyes refocused on hers. “It’s just us here,” she whispered. “Feyre and Rhys. Just us. Okay?”

She caressed the walls of my mind too, gentle and soothing. I wanted to lean into her, to purr. Before I knew it, the memories had disappeared into the abyss and all that was left was Feyre. She was everywhere, surrounding me, consuming me. And I was okay.

More than okay.

She kissed me with her eyes open, keeping me with her in the present. And then we started to move together once more, so perfectly matched in every way, and we didn’t stop until I roared, until my final thrusts pushed her over the edge again too.

Coming inside Feyre, with Feyre… there were no words. I was nothing but pure feeling. It was a high unparalleled: better than soaring through the sky on a cloudless day; better than all of my power channelled at once.

And it seemed to last an eternity.

Eventually, I moved to her side and drew her with me, our bodies still curled around each other as we slowly returned to earth together, unwilling and unable to be parted. The room was still and silent except for our heavy breathing; pale, mid-morning sunlight filtered through the windows, the world outside oblivious to the incredible thing that had just occurred.

The words came to me as I looked at Feyre’s gorgeous face: I felt at peace. Totally and utterly fulfilled. With any of my past lovers, the pleasure I’d found was purely in my body. But with her, it pervaded my mind, my heart. It filled up my soul, all the way to the brim, threatening to overflow.

And for the first time ever, I wanted to take down my shield. To let her see me. To see the truth.

But I didn’t. There were too many bright and dangerous things shimmering inside me: other words like mate and love. The image of her wearing my mother’s ring on her finger. The fact that I wanted to hold her, to cherish her, forever.

Feyre was first to speak, her voice barely there after all the noise she’d made. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes,” I said truthfully. “I am so much more than alright, Feyre darling.” I lifted my fingers to her damp hair, pushing it back behind the point of her ear. “But I am sorry, for what happened there at the end. You were… so sensational, I lost control of myself. She suddenly appeared in my mind and I froze.”

“You don’t have to apologise, Rhys.” She looked down, once again lightly tracing my tattoos. It seemed like an age since she’d done so before. As far as I was concerned, everything had changed since then.

“I was worried I’d be distracted by Tamlin,” she confessed quietly.

“And were you?” Even though I had no right to, I felt sick at the very thought.

She was still staring at my chest, but I noticed her lips lift slightly at the corners. “Not at all,” she said softly. And then she looked into my eyes again and I could see she was starting to fall, like a star descending from the heavens. “You are… all-consuming, Rhys. I didn’t know I could feel so much. That was… so good.”

“It was,” I agreed. I nuzzled my nose against hers; held her gaze as I kissed her. “It was unbelievable."

When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. “I do feel like a betrayer, though.”

And I filled with rage on her behalf, because she was so extraordinary and he - he was nothing in comparison.

“Feyre,” I said sternly, willing her to believe my words. “You can do whatever you want. I don’t think you owe him anything. You don’t owe anyone. Even me.”

“I’m pretty sure I owe you two orgasms.”

I laughed again, loudly and unexpectedly. She rolled onto her back, covering her face with her arm. “Fuck. I am such a bad person.”

“You’re not.” I couldn’t help myself: I ran my fingertip all the way down the middle of her body, from her chin to her centre, watching as she shivered in my wake. “And if even if you were… I’m bad too. The baddest of them all.”

She looked at me very seriously and I had never before felt so bare, so completely exposed.

“Liar,” she murmured. “You are good, Rhys. Underneath it all. I know you pretend otherwise, and I understand why. But I see you.”

I could barely breathe. “And do you… like what you see?”

She laced her fingers through mine.

“Yes. I do.”

And then she smiled at me - a truly beautiful smile, all the way from her heart - and I knew I was fucked.

II

[saphirered]

A vox machina oneshot

Vax x reader.

The reader has a card that allows them to swap places with the intended target depending on the intention behind it. They use it on vax and take his place as the raven queens champion just as she is about to take him away. They tell vax to go be with keyleth and live a full and happy life with her Unknown to the reader vax was in love with them the whole time. The last thing they say to him is a heart felt confession on their love for him before they dissapear. I know it's an angst one but if you want to make a fluffy ending it's up to you

Enjoy! 😘

They tried. Everyone tried. Every loophole, every possible way to weasel out of this deal with the goddess of death was exploited. All of them failed. They tried and they failed. At least they tried. The only regret Vax has is they wasted plenty of time on this unsolvable problem. He knew his time was running out. Even before he realised it. He knew that time would come where she’d pull his tether and he’d have to leave everyone being. She sent him out with a purpose and that’s now completed. Not even the greatest wish could change that. Especially not now. The deal is done. Vax accepts this. It took him a while but he does. It doesn’t make it any easier though. She gave him time to say goodbye. She didn’t have to. There is yet some mercy left in the cold dead heart of the Raven Queen, some compassion still beyond that broken mask. He got to say goodbye to you. 

This can’t be the end. This is not the way. You refuse to accept this fate. For all the love in your heart, for the bleeding hearts of your friends. They need him. You need him. He cannot just slip into oblivion to serve the goddess of death for eternity because of some cruel mistake. It’s neither just nor fair. This fate is a cruel one. Fate is cruel. You know it all too well. Life deals you a hand of cards when you are born. Some are born lucky. Others are lucky to be born. Some are destined for greatness. Others are doomed from the start. For entities that pretend to be benevolent and kind, they are not far off from the tyrant claiming themself king, or the evil mage enslaving the many. It all comes down to that hand of cards. You got lucky. For all the bullshit in your life you got your hand on one of those cards and you just happen to be good at that ethereal game of sleight of hand. It’s not cheating if there’s no rules. You drew from the deck of fate and you got lucky. That luck came with a curse though because you’d always know what the gravity of that decision would mean. 

You got your hands on a card that could change fate; your fate to be specific. You may have thought about it many times but by using that twist of fate you condemn another to yours. Could you live with yourself knowing that you took something from another for your own gain? Equally, would you sacrifice yourself for anyone down on their luck and willing to take their suffering instead? You know damn well why you didn’t use this cruel trinket. But now, it resurfaces again, it burns in your palm as you walk by Vex trying to hold herself together as she pats her brother on the shoulder with some witty remark. You nearly break when he pulls her into a hug and you see her tears spill. She wipes them away before he pulls back. Vax noticed either way. You notice all of them heartbroken. You’re heartbroken too. You don’t want him to go. He holds part of your heart after all. You’ve never told him so blatantly but it’s true no less. 

You see Keyleth falling apart at the seams. Vax tries to console her but he can’t. She holds his heart. He holds hers and he’ll be taking it with him whether he intends to or not. It hurts him to know he’ll leave his friends, his family, his love so hurt with his departure. You see the effect Vax has had on their lives, all of them, on yours. You know how much he means to them and that card of fate starts to become more and more appealing. You have a chance to save someone you love. You can make a change in order for him to change the world. You can give him a chance of life by throwing away your own to the service of some god and you’d do it without a second thought. You will. You’ve already made up your mind. The only reason why you haven’t yet is because you struggle to find the right words to tell him. You don’t think you can face him with this. What would he think of you to know you could have changed a fate so easily and never did. Are you truly so selfish? Were you truly not ready to until it came down to your own pain? You can’t keep avoiding this anymore and so you slip away.

Vax notices you retreating ever so slowly. How could he not? He might be light on his feet and it takes one to know one but he’d always notice your presence or lack thereof. The air changes and so does that strange coiling feeling within him whenever you’re near. It’s quite pleasant. He’s known it for a while now but with his impending doom, he could not bring himself to give into it, to give into you knowing he’d only break you. He made that choice for you he supposes but equally so for himself. He can’t look you in the eye while he’s torn away from you. He can’t face your tears. The others, it’s already hell on Exandria facing them but were he to face you, he’d be falling apart. You’ve been strong so long. He wishes he could be as strong as you. He doesn’t have the heart for it but he too has begun to see the cracks in your armour. Something’s amiss and when he sees you slowly retreat to the back of the room, away from the conversation, away from the people until you slip outside entirely, he feels that tether pull taut and he cannot but follow. 

Vax finds you out front. There’s something in your palm, a card he realises. Just the one. It’s got a golden sheen to it and you reach out to touch it. He sees your shoulders shaking and tense. You bite your lip. That’s when you let out a muffled sob. You’re not aware he’s there. You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill. He takes a step closer to you. 

“If you had the power to change this fate, would you?” So you had noticed his approach. He couldn’t care less. You’re hurt. Not physically but you’re hurt either way and it breaks his heart. It’s yours after all, even if you don’t know it. You quickly put that golden card back in your pocket. You wipe away your tears and let out a shaky breath. 

“What do you mean?” He questions but the look you give him implies no humour and comes with a sense of urgency. “I don’t want to go. I’d much rather stay here with you, with them but I can’t. It was a worthy sacrifice and I’d make the choice a thousand times over.

“If-uh-“ You try to find the right words but can’t even look him in the eye. “If another could take that place and you could stay, would you stay?” He thinks for a second and then grows suspicious. 

“At what cost?” You shake your head.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. You shouldn’t be spending this valuable time out here with me talking about this stupid-“ 

“Hey, hey- time spent with you is never wasted. I want you here with me, for as long as I have, for as long as you’ll have me.” You feel his palm agains your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his. You see that pained but kind smile. It only solidifies your choice. You know what to do. 

“Okay.” You squeak not able to keep your voice stable and Vax just simply pulls you into his embrace. That’s the last conversation you’d have with him until that fated moment, until the true goodbye. 

The goddess had come to lay claim to her champion, to the life she’s to call hers and the servitude she’s owed. The goodbye is a harrowed one but it’s not his goodbye. You look at Keyleth holding onto Percy who does his best to console her, Vex attempting to stay strong and stoic despite the tears running down her face and noticeable the death grip she has on Pike’s hand. Scanlan’s even struggling and so is Grog. The Raven Queen holds out her hand and beckons. Vax says goodbye to you last. He holds onto your hand, brings it to his chest. There’s no words he speaks but his eyes say it all. You take a step towards him and turn so you’re interposing between himself and the goddess. The others go alert, contemplating the prospects of killing the goddess and freeing the resident rogue form this cruel pact if you make the first move. Vax holds onto your hand still as if to keep you from doing something stupid or reckless against a literal god. Little does he know. 

“I invoke the blessing I have been given. I invoke the fate that was never mine and will share the burden of it. I trade my place for his as it is the right of the hand that was dealt to me. Fate wills it so, and so it shall be.” You remember the words well. Though you have never spoken them out loud. They are like a practiced speech. You’ve played them over in your mind; the script upon that  fated golden card and when it appears in your palm it glows that bright golden like the tethers of fate and memory the Raven Queen holds so dear. It certainly peaks her interest. 

“What are you doing?” Vax asks looking between you and the goddess. You glance back over your shoulder. 

“What I should have done the very moment this curse befell you. I’m sorry I could not do it before. I hope you can forgive me. You’ll be free.” 

“You can’t do this!” Desperation and despair are the ways of the mortal worlds, of those consumed by time and whims of circumstance. They are the ways of you and him and everyone around you. 

“It’s okay, Vax. It’s okay. I’ve made my choice. They need you more than they need me. I wish you a happy life. Even if I can’t be part of it.” 

“I need you.” He sounds so small, so broken and that alone makes you almost regret. Almost. But you wouldn’t reverse it. Even if you could. 

“Your heart belongs here. With Them. With your sister. With Keyleth. My heart belongs with you but you do not need it, not like they need you. It’s a worthy sacrifice.” You take a step closer towards the goddess but Vax does not let go of your hand. He holds on. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I love them. I love my sister, my friends, Keyleth. I love them. But I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I can’t let you do this.” Your heart stops right there in your chest. Your world comes apart. To have those words be spoken… You don’t even know what to do with them. You can’t breathe or speak or think for some moments. He loves you. He’s in love with you. Vax is in love with you and you’re about to leave him behind. You’ve made the right choice either way but it’s become a far more painful one now and you come to realise that’s exactly what he tried to protect you from by not mentioning before. You hate and love him for it. 

“It’s already done.” That stupid card dematerialises in a golden dust. and invisible breeze lets the dust weave into a tether to wrap around your free arm. You feel it burn and pull painfully so. You pull against the strain, toe to toe with Vax and softly place your lips against his. A final parting gift, for whom you’re unsure. “My fate is sealed. May you live a good life, Vax’ildan. May it be a long and merry one filled with love.” And that’s when you step away, in that brief moment where he lowers his guard and is forced to let you go. The golden tether pulls you in and away from him. The Raven Queen beckons you and you follow with one last glance over your shoulder, one last look at him. 

“I love you.” The final words he’ll ever hear from your lips. He’s too late to respond. You’re gone. The goddess of death is gone. His heart is gone and he’s left on Exandria broken and surrounded by his loved ones. He feels empty despite it. He doesn’t know what to do or say or think. It’s a whirlwind. 

[ronancexists]

Hi everyone! I'm sorry I haven't posted anything for Ronancetober in a little while, but I've kinda been in a depressive state lately because it's coming up on one year since we put our dog down 🥺. Anyways, I just wanted to apologize and explain why I haven't posted anything. I'll be posting Day 7 and Day 8 today so I'll be back on track for Day 9 tomorrow, so keep an eye out for those! Without further ado, here's day 7 of Ronancetober!

Day 7: Under the Sea

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Robin murmured to Steve, arms crossed over her chest defensively.

“It's too late to turn back now,” he argued in a low tone so no passerby could hear.

“Remind me why we agreed to this?” she asked, eyes swiveling every which way, looking for anyone who might cause them trouble.

“We didn't. King’s orders.”

“And we always follow the King’s orders, right?” Robin inquired sarcastically, disdain clear as day in her voice.

Steve sighed in exasperation, looking over at his friend with a frown prominent on his face. “You know that I don't like this anymore than you do.”

“I know,” Robin said, also lowering her voice so they wouldn't be overheard lest they attract unwanted attention. “I just…I don't want to live this way anymore. I want to be free to be myself and go wherever I please.”

“Me too, Robbie. More than anything,” Steve whispered, reaching over to tangle their fingers together, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robin said, having softened a bit after Steve had locked hands with her.

With an exchanged nod, the two of them cautiously approached the surface of the sea by the docks in Hawkins. Their heads were barely visible underneath the cover of the night as they quietly swam below the docks, their tails not even making a peep as they cut through the currents that were under the sea with ease. They lifted themselves up to peek in on the people who were at the docks through the slats in the wood that made up the pier.

Their assignment was to observe the humans up above and report back once they had figured out how exactly they were managing to get so close to the discovery of their underwater kingdom. It was a mission that required the utmost stealth, which is something Steve and Robin only possessed in spades. They knew it was doomed to fail from the start, but they had no choice in the matter as they had disobeyed the king’s orders to remain in the palace until they could decipher what the humans were up to and why they wanted to get to their kingdom.

Robin and Steve ducked under the surface just in time for a pair of eyes as blue as the very sea they were in to peer through the slats of the boardwalk. Despite not needing to, Robin held her breath, swearing those eyes were staring directly at the spot she was currently hiding in. They seemingly stared at Robin’s spot for a few more moments before they disappeared. Robin and Steve waited for a few seconds to be safe, and when they were sure the human was gone, they resurfaced.

“We’re totally dead meat out here,” Steve whispered frantically as more and more people began walking above them, the wood creaking under the force and the chatter rising to an almost unbearable volume.

“No, we aren't,” Robin said, reaching for the egg-shaped necklace that laid against her chest.

“Absolutely not. Nope, don't want to hear it. We’re not using it,” Steve protested sternly, worry filling his eyes at the prospect. “You know that magic is the only thing keeping you here, right? The more you deplete it, the less likely chance there is of you surviving that curse.”

“I know my curse,” Robin scolded. “But what does it say about me if I kept it for selfish reasons rather than using it to help protect the kingdom? Rather than using it to help you and Max and Dustin and Lucas and Erica?”

Steve ran a hand over his face in resignation. “I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. It’s like you said. We don’t have much of a choice.”

“Alright. But If there's any sign of you changing, I'm getting us out of there. Understood?”

“Understood,” she echoed, the two of them diving under once more to head to a secluded cave near the shore they used to change to their human form. It was something only the two of them did and only when they were absolutely sure they could do so without the king’s knowledge. If he were to ever hear of it, they would be banished from the merkingdom for good.

“Ready?” Steve asked after they had gotten dressed, looking mildly uncomfortable that Robin was using her magic to transform them into humans.

“Ready.”

With that, the two of them set off for the shore, extremely wary of the fact that any one of the humans could spot them emerging from the ocean at any second. They shared a look of tentative triumph when they reached the beach, quickly shucking on their sandals so they didn’t stand out by not wearing shoes. After all, they had done this multiple times before, so they were quite familiar with the ways humans dressed and interacted.

“That pub is probably our best bet,” Robin said, ignoring the urge to gag as people kept complimenting her and Steve on being such a cute couple as their hands were interlocked with one another. It was their cover whenever they were traipsing alongside humans. They were a couple who had been together for years and were on their honeymoon which consisted of taking a road trip around the world.

“That pub is filled to the brim with pirates. You sure you want to risk being in there?”

“Nope,” Robin replied definitively, pushing the door open and gesturing for Steve to go in, causing the smell of ale and the loud chatter to spill through. “But we’re going in anyways.”

They shared a look of uncertainty as they wove their way through the crowd, sidestepping servers and brushing past drunken pirates. Robin froze as a hand shot out and gripped her wrist tightly, pulling her towards him.

“Such a pretty thing. Would ya be interested in coming te me ship with me? I can make it worth yer while.” He said, a dangerous smile combined with a lustful look in his eyes. His crew was cheering him on, hooting and hollering and causing a ruckus.

“No thank you,” Robin said, tugging to try and free herself from his grasp. Even if she was interested in men, he would be the last on her list. His beard was scraggly and fell down to his chest, his hair was entirely too greasy, and he was quite the unattractive figure with yellow teeth and a pot belly. Not to mention the way he reeked of ale.

His eyes darkened as he stood up, towering at least a good few inches above her. “I asked if ye would be interested in coming te me ship with me.”

“And I said no,” Robin repeated, staring at him defiantly, ignoring the pang of fear that shot through her as Steve was nowhere in sight. He’d probably gone ahead to scout an empty table for them.

“So yer a feisty one, eh? I love me a feisty woman,” he said, licking his lips.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“No. Yer coming with me,” he growled, beginning to tug her out of the pub.

“Let me go!” Robin screeched, eyes looking around desperately for anyone who would help.

“You heard the lady. Let her go,” a voice from the back of the pub stated.

Robin noticed how the entire pub seemed to come to a stop at the stranger’s voice. She turned to see where it had come from, tilting her head in curiosity as the figure began approaching the two of them.

“Stay outta this, you wench,” the man sneered, eyes widening fearfully as the mysterious woman finally looked up from underneath the brim of her hat.

“I won’t repeat myself again,” the woman said, anger dancing in her beautiful blue eyes that were illuminated by the fire roaring nearby. “Let. Her. Go.”

Robin’s breath hitched in her throat. The mysterious woman was gorgeous. She cut a lean, intimidating figure in her outfit, which consisted of brown trousers, a white linen shirt that cut off at her elbows, displaying her taut muscles and showed a hint of cleavage, a brown belt with a sheath which the handle of a sword was visible (which one of her hands was resting on) attached, a classic black pirate hat resting atop her head, the brim of which was red and the front held an insignia Robin didn’t recognize. A dark red cloak with a gold chain that fastened across her chest tied the outfit together.

Curly brown tresses framed her face perfectly, showing off the sharp lines of her cheekbones. Brilliant blue eyes which sparkled as fierce as the sea on a stormy day, danger lurking within. Freckles were lightly scattered across her cheeks, seeming to shine against her fair colored skin. Thin lips that looked as though they would be as soft as a flower petal if a kiss were to be placed upon them.

It was safe to say Robin was instantly enchanted with her rescuer.

“C-Captain Wh-Wheeler, it’s such a pleasure to see ya. I wasn’t expectin to run into ye today,” the pirate stammered, loosening his grip on Robin significantly.

“Then I suppose today is your lucky day,” Captain Wheeler said, a satisfied smirk tugging on her lips. “Release the lady at once. That is, unless you’d like to challenge me for her.”

“Sh-she’s all yours,” he said hastily, practically shoving Robin into Captain Wheeler’s arms, who easily caught her with one hand around her waist as the other continued pointing her sword directly at the pirate.

Robin swallowed heavily at the feeling of the captain’s hand resting on her hip in a protective manner, a tingling sensation shooting from the other woman’s fingers all over Robin’s body.

“Now, apologize to the lady and leave this place at once. And please, refrain yourself from harassing any other women, regardless of my presence.”

“Y-y-yes Cap’n. I apologize deeply m-ma’am,” he stuttered, bowing deeply before running out the door with his tail tucked between his legs, his crew hot on his heels.

“Are you alright?” Captain Wheeler asked once she had sheathed her sword, turning her attention to the rather attractive woman in her arms. She couldn’t help but to let her eyes briefly travel down the young lady’s body in admiration. She looked up to meet a pair of striking blue eyes. They were duller than her own but still managed to sparkle within the dim glow of the pub.

“Yeah, I am. Thank you,” Robin said, internally celebrating as she hadn’t stuttered or rambled in front of the very pretty pirate captain.

“You’re quite welcome. I’m sorry to say I never caught your name.”

“Robin Buckley. And you’re Captain Wheeler. You seem to have quite the reputation around here.”

The captain smirked. “Indeed I do, but you may call me Nancy. Tell me, what’s a ravishing lady like yourself doing alone in a roguish place like this?”

The mermaid cursed the insanely attractive pirate in her head as she blushed so fiercely the tips of her ears turned red. “I’m not alone, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere.”

“Robin!”

Nancy let go of the hold she had maintained around Robin’s waist the entire time as Steve reached them and practically tackled Robin into a hug. Both women felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of being pressed so close to one another, though they didn’t show it.

“Are you alright? You aren’t hurt, are you? I ought to beat the living daylights out of that nasty, good for nothing—”

“Steve,” Robin interrupted, placing her hands on his shoulders to calm him down. “I’d like to introduce you to Captain Nancy Wheeler. She’s the one that stopped him.”

Nancy tipped her hat in greeting. “You must be the best friend.”

Steve nodded. “I’m Steve Harrington. Thank you so much for helping her. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he had managed to get away with her.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Though, if you don’t mind my saying so, you two don’t look like pirates. What business do you have here?”

Robin and Steve hesitated, exchanging looks with one another that only they could read. “We—uh—well you see—the thing is—umm—”

“We need an escort,” Robin blurted out.

Captain Wheeler arched an eyebrow. “An escort?”

“Yes,” Robin said, nodding rapidly. “You see, we’ve heard that the king is searching for the merkingdom and is offering a hefty amount to those who bring the discovery to him.”

“Yes, and we wish to be the ones to bring that discovery to him,” Steve added, putting on his brightest this-is-total-bullshit-but-I-can’t-do-anything-except-go-along-with-it-so-I-need-to-be-convincing smile.

“You two wish to find the long lost underwater Kingdom of Hawkins?” Nancy inquired, looking between the two of them disbelievingly.

“Exactly.”

Captain Wheeler grinned a rather dangerous grin, one that made Robin want to swoon and collapse into her well-defined arms. “Sounds like quite the adventure. When shall we set sail?”

[elenarodriiguez]

running | c.s. & d.o.

summary: charlie runs to quiet the noise in his head. darcy runs because there's nowhere else to go.

pairing: darcy olsson & charlie spring

cw: child abuse, mental illness, low self-worth, poor parenting, angst

word count: 1251

read it on ao3

Running was a new development in Charlie’s routine. For as long as he could remember, the routine was just there; something that if he followed, his day would be extra great. And for eight-year-old Charlie, who was just coming down from the disappointment of his Mum & Dad’s big announcement being a younger sibling and not a puppy, an extra great day was just what he needed.

But for fifteen-year-old Charlie, the routine was a necessity that, were he unable to follow it, his mind would be plagued with vile images and never-ending thoughts explaining in graphic detail how all of his loved ones would die, leaving him alone in this miserable world. It wasn’t a daily routine as such, some parts he could go days without completing, but then there were others that he had to do multiple times a day, sometimes even multiple times in one sitting.

He never could quite wrap his head around it, but then again, there was never really any need to try to, not when he already knew the consequences of not fulfilling the routine satisfactorily for his brain.

A more recent addition to the routine, one that had picked up in demand since his parents had grounded him, was him going on runs. Runs that left him unsteady as he made the miles-long return back home, with floaters dancing across his vision and sharp pains shooting up his legs. It didn’t matter the time of day, if Charlie’s brain recognised he was alone, he had to run until he was weak at the knees.

Which was the only reason he was running around Copperfield Park at four in the morning on the day of prom. He had been on the precipice of passing out, far enough from home that going to sleep on a bench for a few hours seemed highly enticing when he saw a figure despondently swinging on the kids’ swings. Initially, he planned to ignore the person, however, when he saw the box-dyed hair and the suit which had complemented Darcy so well in the charity shop, now dishevelled and downtrodden, he couldn’t ignore them.

Jogging over towards them, Charlie’s brain started to go into overdrive in a vain attempt to make up a story that would be somewhat believable, he noticed how they were being weighed down by their backpack and a tote bag, and how tightly they clung to their phone, as though it would disappear if they eased up their grip any.

“Darcy? What are you doing out this late?”

“Charlie!” Darcy shouted, clumsily trying to throw on their happy-go-lucky mask to no avail. “I could ask you the same exact thing, this isn’t exactly your neck of the woods.”

“You’re right, but it’s not really yours either, is it Darcy?”

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly go home right now so it’s either this or nothing.” They huffed, eyes fixed firmly on the grotty Converse that Charlie used as his late-night running shoes.

“Well,” Charlie stated, bending down to pick up the meagre belongings that Darcy had managed to grab before fleeing their home, “that’s not entirely true. You can stay at mine for tonight at the very least. We can sort the rest out at a more humane time of day.”

It took Charlie nine attempts to settle the bags on his shoulder correctly, that feeling of doom climbing up his spine with each failed attempt, however Darcy was too preoccupied with gathering their composure to take any notice. They fell into step pretty easily, neither of them knowing quite how to broach the inevitably uncomfortable conversations, and both of them decided to remain silent instead.

As the first hints of sunrise began to peak through the clouds, Charlie decided to be the one to break the silence by going over how he would sneak Darcy into his house, stressing to them how even the softest of sounds could be enough to wake his mother up, which would not bode well for either of them. It was oddly comforting, the way that Darcy nodded along to Charlie’s explanation without a moment’s hesitation, even repeating the instructions back to him so that they wouldn’t make a mistake.

Not even Tao, who was Charlie’s oldest friend, truly understood the way that Charlie always walked silently along the hallway landing no matter whose house he was at: be it at the Xu’s, the Hendersons’ or the Argents’. Nor did Nick, who despite his best efforts, always thundered up and down the stairs even when he tried to tiptoe.

Far sooner than he would have wished to return home, Charlie was opening his front door, clinging to the doorknob in case an errant gust of wind blew and slammed the door shut - he would never forget the words his mother had hissed at him during her berating of him, and Charlie certainly didn’t fancy round two of that. The teens moved swiftly and silently, simultaneously praying that none of the mud from the park was being tracked into the pristine white carpet.

Within less than a minute, the pair of them were safely closed in Charlie’s room, which all of a sudden seemed too small for the both of them. While Darcy hovered awkwardly around Charlie’s bed, Charlie clung to the space by his wardrobe, both of them thrown off kilter and scrambling to try and right the wrongness of the situation before them.

“You should get some sleep Darce. I know you promised Tara you’d be there to set up for prom pretty early.”

“No, Charlie, I can’t-”

“You can, and you will. You’ve had a shit night, I wasn’t planning on going back to sleep after my run anyway so I’ll just stay awake and wake you up later.”

Without allowing them a chance to argue with him any further, Charlie handed Darcy their things before getting them some of his joggers and one of Nick’s old hoodies to sleep in. Promising to be back in a few minutes, he grabbed some pyjamas for himself before heading off to the bathroom, submerging himself under icy water in an effort to keep himself awake.

When he walked back into his room, Darcy had changed into his clothes, looking more at peace with themself than they had all night as they sat on the end of his bed.

“Am I okay to text Tara and let her know you’re with me? Just in case she starts worrying.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to ruin her prom.”

Charlie waited a moment to respond, trying to formulate his thoughts in a more coherent way before accidentally managing to say the wrong thing.

“I honestly don’t think you could, I think she’d want to know what’s going on with you.”

After a moment of silent looks between the two of them, Darcy nestled themself under Charlie’s bedsheets, quietly asking him to put their phone on charge, promising to text Tara in the morning. He quickly obliged, showing the phone to Darcy who let out a quiet sigh as they snuggled with Kitty, Charlie failed to find any embarrassment in his childhood teddy being found when it soothed Darcy to sleep almost immediately.

If only Darcy’s sleeping presence could quiet the voice in his head berating him for failing his run like their awake self had. At least he only had five hours to contend with it before Nick would wake up and serve as an incredibly welcome distraction. Who said prom wasn’t fun?

[vnikat]

Yay! I’m back! Honestly I thought that after valkyrie event I will be creating new acc but here I am! I saw how you and yachafe send me good luck, and it’s so cute!!! Thank you!!! QvQ

Anyway. When I was recovering from intense farming I was searching for more songs that I can connect to S-Class Perks and…

Mortal With You - Mili “You locked me in to the dark. I’m you preserved flower. The world is too slow to understand…spikes may be sharp. They want to see just the beautiful parts.” - as Strict Order made Terry infinite regressor but in 100th he said screw you, I’m rebelling! “I’m counting the hours. Hours that stood between us like a river. Once I crawled through the water. All I ever knew become distant past.” - Idk, but I think thousands years are kinda distant (/j). Terry also lost his memory… “The tears spill onto your arms” - Im reminded about scene when he cried when he woke up q-q “You never fail to find me where I was hidden” - AAAAAAAH it hits even more after last published chapters in novel. But anyway. You know that Ai will find Terry anytime. Not just because she has map, but because he is her priority too!

Zamuza - Teniwoha (I personally like x6 vocaloid cover). “I daringly wield that kitsch rubi on my own worn-out name. I could deafest nobility as I have become so terrifying down to my core” - in analysis about Mafuyu (this is commissioned song for Project Sekai) it talks about how Mafuyu use her “good girl” persona while she is rotting and dying inside. It reminds me how Terry is more Netral Good than Lawful Good, and it even suprised Ai once. BUUUT now that’s translated and I can talk! Yay! Its 117 Terry wearing dead 17’s body. “If it all works out, everybody wins. Neither sweet words nor a smile will work; if I start to run, I’ve become a beast” - screw Strict Order Church. “Someday it’ll become a lovely song” - It will, Terry q-q “Hey, fly away on the count of three. Kick away every last single thing. If you run away at this point, these days truly won’t be mentioned in the postscript.” - Reed go brrrr. Tho ironic that his rebellion was mentioned in the book, but not his entire punishment. “Even if I’m poisoned by fringed iris” - that’s poisonous flower and for Mafuyu it means her helicopter mom’s love that hurts Mafuyu. Terry is receiving Strict Order’s sadistic love, so fits. “So don’t say that you’ve given up on reality! Okay?” - Don’t give up on this timeline, you stupid potato! q-q

Kanade tomosu Sora - Sasanomaly feat 25ji “There’s no place I can take refuge in,” - Terry is mentally homeless. I can’t write a lot on this songs cuz it’s already obviously painful. It’s about having depressing past thats so terrible you are distancing yourself from the world…but then find something that gives you a will to continue living, cherish your wish. That song reminds me so much of one particular scene, thats not even translated, argh! But I think you can understand how it fits even know. And middle parts remind me of sea, so I think of this song as the that scene’s bgm. And to add. If “Terry and Ai”’s appearances are like winter and spring, than “Reed and Ai”’s are like night and dawn (thanks to korean reader for pointing this out!). (Its as if Ai brings warmth to Terry in anyway qvq) The eng translation of the song is Music Illuminating the Sky, so Im reminded of this comparison uwu

Bug - Kaikiri Bear (I like Mafuyu cover, cuz she sounds so fed up) Wasnt sure if to include this but lets try. “Paranoia” - Terry expects only the worst from the world. “I raise my drowned-out voice and go round and round. Well! It’s a despirate situation, I’m doomed to fall no matter what I do!” - regressions and pessimism. “Going madder, madder. … Endless pain” and etc. Oh. And I think “Advocate of Confidentiality” will like the name of the song.

“Nightcore at 25” song fit so nicely… Well, they are group of depressed kids and one of them have helicopter parent…another one have saviour complex…ehh…

In Hell We Live, Lament - Mili feat KIHOW I thought I will write down this song with Non breath oblige, but you beat me to it! Poor pure Terry living in hypocritical world.

Vicious Heroism -Traitor Version- Kobayo It has no lyrics lol. But it is so edgy and the first half and then is somehow relaxing(???) and beautiful. Im reminded that Reed is such a potato. Oh and the name of the song.

Victim - Mili Not much to say. And I’m not sure it fits. Just Reed vibes. Especially failed 100 world destruction attempt.

I wanted to find some Ai songs, not only Terry. So here is my attempt

88☆彡 - kemu feat Wonderlands x Showtime i feel I will be roasted for this “it has nothing to do with Ai”… But its goving me Ai’s vibes!!! So upbeat, cheerful and going forward!!!

Journey - Deco*27 Terry is too far from asking for help… but now there is Ai to help him nonetheless! So I think it fits. And “It’s of if you’re not sure, it’s ok even to stop and pause. We can still keep walking forward from here.” - if you tell me that it isnt something that Ai can tell Terry, you are LYING

Gone Angels - Mili “One by one the pages remind me you’ll alway be a villain. For you, angels have fallen” “Brewing all this hatred so I have a reason, reason to see you dead” - Just like how after Reed’s massacres Ai counts down how many people he killed. And its easy to know why she do so. Because without this she can’t justify that she has to kill Final Boss q-q “Stop now! One by one your desires convince me you’ve always been a human” - BUT HE IS STILL TERRY ARGH “Forever gone from the hell that served as my one and only home” - this world is hard and so terrible to Terry, but… Hu… This song can be used as bgm too.

World’s end, Girl’s rondo - Kanon Wakeshima (there are cool Asterisk remix!) At first I wasnt sure if it’s Ai, [spoiler] or Reed’s POV. But I think its Ai’s no matter how confusing “My wish is that you end this world” can be confusing. Ai really cherish Terry.

And lastly…

L.L.L. - Myth & ROID WAHAHA. Well… I think you can’t understand how this can fit Terry, since its so passionate. But… maybe at 331+ chapters you will understand. 👀 Edit: oh wait, Reed is right here already, I forgor

ok guys i'm trying to put the playlist songs in order, here's the tentative order + reasons, lmk what you think!!

(major major spoilers for webtoon readers about the rounds that Tesilid went through before reuniting with Ailette)

The concept I'm taking w this playlist is for it to mostly follow Tesilid's chronological POV, not Ailette/the reader's.

(playlist link)

1. It's You: Pre-regression Tesilid, about Ailette. (tbh i think it also works near the end once the '17th' loop starts, but it lowkey feels a little too cheerful for Tesilid's POV at that point in time?)

I also kind of feel like there needs to be at least one song before It's You, for Tesilid before he first meets Ailette. But it needs to have super specific vibes??? Like, less depressing compared to the later ones, and more petulant and complain-y. The "why am I the only one with these duties..." and being too shy to accept food kind of vibes, the Tesilid doesn't have depression yet kind of vibes. but idk rn I can only think of angsty songs bc [spoiler] grabbed my whole brain.

2. Tell Me: idk i'm putting this song here just according to the vibes. It doesn't feel depressing enough to be late-regression Tesilid.

3. Theatre: Round 85-99 Tesilid (when he manages to save the world) or maybe even slightly before. He wishes he can just be himself and pleads with god, he just wants to stop acting his role. But he hasn't completely given up hope. He is still waiting for 'that someone out there' to hear his voice. The song feels like a cry of help and an expression of what he desperately wants, rather than a requiem or mourning of his old self and dreams. (tbh this can also work for current timeline Tesilid? for when he starts to see hope or a path forward again. This song is a little Too Tesilid it feels like it can fit most points of his very long life)

4. Show Me What I'm Looking For: Round 99 Tesilid, when he visits the Bible of Truth. "Ailette, I'm here... but where are you?" "Show me what i'm looking for" and he gets the truth of the world and. hahaha. he acts accordingly.

5. I am the Strongest: Reed. I used the instrumental instead of the lyric cover in the playlist bc i... don't really like the vocals and i can't find a cover of that cover... sorry. the lyrics really slap and fit perfectly though, 100% recommend going through it too.

Songs 3-5 (Theatre - I am the strongest) need to go in this specific order for maximum impact. It's the expression of what he actually wants > please just throw me a rope, i'll pay any cost, save me from being confused; show me a path and i'll follow it > ok i was shown one (1) path, time to destroy the world so i can no longer be hurt

6. Lower One's Eyes: i'm trusting vnikat on this being reed x Ailette for reasons that are spoilers to me as well. Chronogically it goes here because Ailette exists.

7. Flos: Current timeline Tesilid. Melancholic and tired and defeated and reminiscing about his old hopes and dreams and wondering if he can still have them. (I considered putting it at the front, pre-Theatre, but idk i feel like that pre-85 Tesilid wouldn't be this downtrodden and defeated because he was still diligently working towards what he thought was salvation)

8. 1/6 -out of gravity-: Ailette re-entering the scene and being super ready to do everything she can to relieve Tesilid's pain and burden by even just a little. I think this song really matches the tone of the first 2 seasons of the webtoon.

9. Endless Struggle: Tesilid feeling like he's sinned and that he doesn't deserve kindness, but he's doing his best to repent and become stronger

I think 1/6 out of gravity and Endless Struggle need to go as a pair. It's the juxtaposition of cute anime girl trying to cheer you up followed immediately by the emotional fallout of [spoiler]. I think the tonal change really replicates what we readers feel hahahahaha 🤗🥲

The rest of the songs are, i think, mostly just wishful thinking about what we hope/think the rest of the series might have. The tonal shifts here are more abrupt because they're kind of disjointed guesses.

11. Jiwa yang bersedih: Us coping and hoping that Tesilid will get to hear these words and internalise them lol. Putting this after I want to become your god, because I think even if Ailette can't completely undo all the pain that Tesilid has gone through, she can still soothe his pain in a way that few others can give him. and also eventually solve the whole godless world problem.

10. I want to become your god: Not too sure about its inclusion. Saviour complex things. But the lyrics sound a little too hopeless & powerless to fit either Ailette or Tesilid's vibes at the current point of the webnovel translation. Ailette is powerful enough that she has a reasonable chance of saving the world and Tesilid. On the other hand, Tesilid kind of doesn't really care about saving anyone at this point, and I feel like even back when he did, it wasn't really out of a desperate need for self-validation like in this song. But I think this song definitely goes after 1/6 -> Endless Struggle! For maximum devastation.

If life was like when we first met: just listen to the devastation. Put after I wanted to become your god to smooth out the tranaition to Jiwa yang bersedih.

12. To Be Me: I'm just coping with the inclusion of this song. I just hope that Tesilid reaches a point where he starts to forgive himself and starts to live because even if it hurts, he genuinely believes that there's light at the end of the tunnel and that he can finally breathe and live as himself and discover himself so long as he keeps actively choosing to live. Anyway the lyrics for this song are beautiful and I think you guys should also listen to it even as a not-Tesilid song. Lines like "going forward, going forward, going forward but going back again" read completely different and hit really hard when it's about someone with a normal mortal lifespan and not a regressor doing introspection lol.

tldr; Feels like there's a missing song for pre-regression Tesilid's frustrations

i'll probably create another post for the final order to be put on my pinned post, and which is spoiler free so that any webtoon reader that comes across my blog or playlist can read it too

[the-arctic-commune]

DSMP and Old English Poetry: An Exercise in Creating Tenuous Connections

This is a post we’ve thought about making for a while, but we were pushed to by a trade offer with @yb-cringe for Greek tragedy. We’ll link his post if / when he makes it!

Ok, background: most of our (there’s two people running this blog) recent experiences with Literature have been with Old English. That means the vicinity of England circa 700 - 1100 CE; Beowulf. This stuff:

Hwæt!   Wé Gárdena      in géardagum þéodcyninga      þrym gefrúnon hú ðá æþelingas      ellen fremedon.

(the extra spaces in the middle of the lines are for poetry reasons)

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When you spend a lot of time with a particular style of literature, its conceits become something of a lens through which you can choose to look at other stories, and sometimes that’s fun!

If you’re used to seeing us produce more anarchist readings of the DSMP story, though, you might need to leave that aside for this one. Old English culture was heavily based on the king’s leadership; these poems don’t lend themselves well to an anarchist reading.

Disclaimer, though, neither of us are experts on this category; we may be missing or misunderstanding some nuances.

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There’s two parts to the following:

First, a semi-serious discussion of Old English (and, more broadly, northwestern European) (”““viking”““) literary conventions, particularly the cycle of revenge-based violence, and how some of the stories of the Dream SMP can be interpreted using these conventions.

(I’m using the scare quotes because “viking” is not the correct term here, but it is the term that will get most of you knowing approximately what I’m talking about.)

Second, a semi-silly discussion of some of our favorite poems or motifs, and their relations to particular characters on the server.

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The Serious Part

So, in the culture of England, there was a concept called “weregild,” literaly “man-gold.” If you kill someone, weregild is the price you pay to their family in return. If you fail to pay, they are obligated to revenge the death by killing you. Then, with you dead, your family becomes obligated by their own honor to revenge you... and you can see how this cycle repeats. Weregild was, very conciously, what you had to pay to prevent the revenge cycle from ruining both families.

This concept of “revenge cycles” permeates Old English and Norse narratives. Families were caught in a permanent struggle: they had to go to war for their honor, with the full knowledge that doing so would only invoke their foe’s obligation to retaliate. There was a sense of futility to this: that they knew they were caught in this cycle but the nature of the world made it impossible to escape.

Revenge cycles are foundational to the Dream SMP. Technoblade attacked Tommy during the Revolution, so New L’Manburg must respond by bringing him to trial, so Technoblade plots their downfall and eventually participates in Doomsday, for which even the shattered remnants of L’Manburg try to start plotting their strike back... it never ends. Even the most light-hearted aspects of server often revolve around “prank wars,” in which participants repeatedly up the ante in response to each other’s antics. They are never able to accept enough for enough; every injury must be returned in kind (even if the injury is putting cakes all over their house).

Near to Doomsday, there began to be the same awareness of this cycle that Old English narratives had. Maybe not everyone, but Niki and Ranboo started asking the question: why do we have to keep doing this? The cycle will not end; the only way to escape the need for revenge is to leave society entirely.

Of course, for the English, that really wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a society particular friendly to the concept of anarchy. A man without a king is doomed to a life of lone wandering, denied the joys of companionship....

Yeah, more on that later.

Anyways. It’s a fairly common motif: the fight that you know you can’t win, but that you must fight anyways. The revenge that you must take, though you know it will end in your death.

I think the narrative of L’Manburg, ultimately, is very closely a narrative of cycles and futility, and that’s very related to my experience of the motifs of Old English literature.

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While we’re on the broader themes and motifs, here’s a coincidence. Old English poetry is heavily concerned with death and battle, and there’s a really, really common motif to indicate the coming conflict. Namely, the arrival of the ravens and the wolves, the scavengers who come in the wake of battle to pick among the dead. The black birds, and the hungry wolf-pack.

Yeah. In terms of Old English symbology, the motifs associated with Philza and Technoblade around Doomsday basically made them walking omens of death.

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Another important aspect of Old English culture is the concept of kings and kinsmen. The warriors you fought with were, broadly, your kin: usually the prominent figures of a kingdom were all related, and even if they weren’t the idea of a warband as a “band of brothers” was everywhere. These warbands (my favorite word, dryhtguman) were organized around a central king. This lord was key to stability. A good king protects his clan and dispenses gold/treasure, preserving the family. His death brings ruin as old foes seize the chance to get revenge and his warriors scatter. A warrior whose king dies is the ultimate pariah, an exile: he carries his failure with him. A warrior should always die before his king.

This conception of small kin-groups organized around an all-important king links strongly to the structure of L’Manburg around the time when Wilbur was the leader.  Wilbur was strong: his charisma attracted warriors to the nation, and the fights he and Tommy won against Dream kept them together. When Wilbur was deposed, and further when he couldn’t return, the nation shattered. A succession of leaders tried to keep the people together but were unable to replicate the unity and prosperity under Wilbur, and in the end the cycle of revenge struck back with the ultimate destruction of L’Manburg.

Beowulf, the most famous Old English poem, ends with the death of the eponymous Beowulf. The last few lines depict his people mourning his death. Without their king’s protection, they know that it’s only a matter of time before the cycle of revenge destroys them. Without a strong leader to unite and defend it, L’Manburg could not long survive.

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The Silly Part

blorbo from my poems! Here we discuss in order:

1. Technoblade and The Wanderer

2. Niki and The Wife’s Lament

3. L’Manburg and The Ruin

4. Tommy and “Ofermod”

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1. The Wanderer

This is my personal favorite Old English poem, and when I am being cringe I like to pretend that it is about Technoblade’s exile arc. I mean...

The sorrowful man must travel for a long time across the waters, rowing by hand over the ice-cold sea, treading the paths of exile...

There is no one now living to whom I can speak my innermost thoughts...

I am sorrowful, often wretched, parted from my homeland and kinsmen...

(translations are my own, and are approximate)

Of course, the parallel breaks down quite a bit in that the narrator of The Wanderer is doomed to exile because his king has died, and it is the lack of a king that’s a problem. In Old English poetry, kings represent the structure of society, the gathering of kinsfolk and the communal hall in which they eat and celebrate. Better to be dead than kingless; not a very anarchist view.

Still, leaving aside the hierarchy, it is important that Techno’s exile came after the death of the person he was fighting for, and that he mourns the camaraderie he once had with his fellow warriors, just as the narrator of The Wanderer does.

Overall, the image of the lone wanderer crossing the icy seas... definitely the first thing I thought of when I was watching Techno’s first exile streams.

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2. The Wife’s Lament

This is a super interesting poem, because it’s one of few entries in the Old English corpus which is about a women. In fact, it’s so unique that some “academics” have tried to argue that all of the feminine adjectives are just a mistake by a later copyist and actually the poem is about a man. These people are hilariously wrong and you should laugh at them.

SO. The Wife’s Lament is somewhat of the female equivalent of The Wanderer. It’s the elegy spoken by a woman whose husband left her to go to war. He never came back, and though the poem is ambiguous about what exactly happened, her kingdom was shattered and she was told go live alone in a hole in the ground (or potentially a forest grove, the words are unclear).

In DSMP terms, it’s a song about Niki Nihachu. In my opinion, it’s a bit touchy to connect Niki to terms like “wife;” she’s spent years living with an internet that wants to attach her to any man she talks to. However, given that Niki and Wilbur having a close relationship is canonical to the Dream SMP, I’m willing to do it here. Because The Wife’s Lament could have been written by Niki after Wilbur’s death.

I speak this poem full of sorrow, of my own plight. I can say what misery I endured after I grew up, new and old, but never more than I endure now.

(translations again my own, and loose). Her suffering started when her lord left over the waves; she was ordered to stay behind. Wilbur fled, ordering Niki to stay in the L’Manburg, where her misery only grew. Then, when the country was destroyed, Niki couldn’t find a place in the scattered communities of survivors. Increasingly, she lived alone, feeling cast away from every home. She is the one left behind when the fighting lords bring ruin, and she can never be at peace because of other’s turmoil.

There I must sit all the summer-long day There I must weep for my exile-journey, My fullness of hardships Because I may never find rest from the sorrow of my mind, nor from all the longings inflicted on me in this life.

When Wilbur died, Niki was left behind. Near to Doomsday, this was her refrain: I’ve suffered so much. I am alone. What more suffering can be added to what is already a seemingly endless pile?

The poem ends with the Wife seemingly living her life out alone, condemned there by a society in which you are nothing without a leader. Niki similarly struggles to find friends, as does all of L’Manburg, after the loss of Wilbur’s charismatic guiding light. But Niki’s story continues beyond the poem: she finds friends, and has a chance to move on.

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In both The Wife’s Lament and The Wanderer, Wilbur and L’Manburg play the role of the lost lord and kingdom: without him the narrator is purposeless. The lord’s downfall ends not just in his death, but in the loss of his kingdom and his warriors. To lose a lord like Wilbur is ruin to the country itself.

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3. The Ruin

This beautifully melancholy poem depicts the narrator’s wonder as he visits the ruins of an old Roman city (remember, the Roman Empire was in Britain from around 0 C.E. to 400 C.E., and The Ruin is probably from around 800 C.E.! Today we think of both of these periods as equally long ago, but the narrator of this poem is likely viewing ruins that haven’t been inhabited for several hundred years - longer than the USA has existed).

Anyways, L’Manhole, anyone?

Death took all the warriors, Their battlegrounds became deserted wastes, Their city decayed, the builders perished. Therefor the buildings fell to ruin...

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In case you were wondering, no! The English were never happy!

(ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the poems we have remaining from that time are very often infused with mourning, melancholy, and defeat - though not always)

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4. Ofermod

This isn’t a poem, it’s a word, and if somehow this post has made its way to someone else who’s studied Old English, they’re probably already groaning. But please stay, I promise, I have an interesting point to make!

The word “ofermod” appears a couple times in the Old English corpus - once in a poem, The Battle of Maldon, and a few times in various prose writings. Etymologically it’s very simple, a compound word consisting of “over” and “mood,” though in Old English the word “mod” referred to one’s state of mind more generally, especially if that state was courageous, prideful, or otherwise of a “mood” befitting a warrior (German speakers may recognize the term “Mut” as pretty analogous).

It’s fairly easy to translate the basic meaning of “ofermod;” it means “very prideful.” But what is the connotation of that meaning?

You see, the word “ofermod” appears in The Battle of Maldon when the Anglo-Saxon warriors prepare to fight a group of invading vikings. They’ve trapped the Vikings across a narrow causeway, a tactically disadvantageous position for the Vikings, who won’t be able to send their full force to attack at once. But due to his ofermod the English leader agrees to let the Vikings cross to the mainland where they can fight on equal footing, and the English forces are destroyed in the battle.

So is his ofermod a bad thing or is it a good thing? We know, after all, that personal honor and bravery were highly valued by the Anglo-Saxons. Did the audience of this poem think the English leader had done the honorable thing to preserve his pride in fair battle? Or did they think that his over-inflated pride led to his downfall? Was his ofermod hubris or honor?

Academics have been weighing in on either side of this debate for a century, and most are well and truly tired of it. But we’re here to talk about the DSMP, so guess who I’m about to relate this to!

Are Tommy’s pride and courage admirable or self-destructive? When he constantly picks fights with people far more powerful than he and his allies, is it an impressive commitment to his personal ideals, or is it wanton stupidity? It really depends on who you talk to.

I think it’s amusing how this decades-long academic debate so neatly encapsulates the divided receptions of TommyInnit and his ofermod.

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I’m very impressed that you read all this way down! Congrats, and thanks! Hope you enjoyed the ride!

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Why I've Turned to You

How does an entire bus of school children go missing? Neither county’s police were offering any helpful answers. Nothing but vague statements, even while besieged by a legion of parents, all of us mad with fear.

They ruled out an accident. That only made it worse for me. And frankly, they looked like they had no clue. The chief’s face said it all: we don’t know what happened, and we don’t even know where to start, and now we have to admit to the public that we’re stumped, and your kids might be doomed. Or… there was something more sinister at work here, which is why I am documenting this all.

Some parents said the teacher and bus driver might have been involved in a child trafficking ring. But that made no sense. I knew Miss Grigg and there was no way. No way on Earth she would do that.

It had been a full day since the class’ disappearance. The longer we waited, the more I worried our kids might only be found under the worst circumstances. Or not found at all. The other parents were no help, either. That’s why I packed a video camera and a gun, then set out to find Nathan on my own.

The bus had last been seen driving into Longhorn Hills.

The only things out there were lots of trees and the old cemetery.

The police chief said that officers had already searched the Longhorn Memorial Cemetery and ruled it out as a possibility of their whereabouts.

I wasn’t convinced. Like other parents, I felt like the police were either hiding something, lying, or they had failed to do their due diligence. But to be fair and give them the benefit of the doubt, let’s just assume they may have missed something. That was the assumption I was operating under when I ventured out there.

For one, the memorial cemetery was huge—a sprawling maze of narrow pathways between centuries-old crypts and tombstones, all overgrown and swallowed by the woods. Nobody had been buried there since the gold rush days, only hikers and drunk teenagers ever visited it, and the state was doing squat to preserve it because they failed to market it as a tourist attraction.

The bad weather meant that visibility must have been poor when the copy conducted any initial searches around there. If the downpour hadn’t immediately washed away any tracks, they would have been hard to spot through the mist of rain.

This couldn’t possibly explain the absence of an entire bus, but the curator of the Longhorn Historical Society claimed it had never arrived at the museum.

For another, the Longhorn Hills were completely covered in forest. One of the largest surviving and interconnected woodland regions in the whole state, preserved from industrial logging because of all the swamps making it too costly to exploit. And you probably know better than me of all the stories in which people disappear into large bodies of woods and are never found again, not even with extensive search parties out there to look for them.

That was my reasoning. That was why I headed there first.

Alone.

I didn’t want to inform Nathan’s dad yet. That deadbeat probably hadn’t even learned from the news of the class’ disappearance, and even if he had heard of it in some bar where he can catch a football game, I doubt he would have even put two and two together and worried about his son.

The downpour had barely eased up. The rain was still coming down strong by the time I arrived in Longhorn Hills. The dirt path to the old cemetery had become so muddy that my car almost got stuck. I had to back out and park it on the last patch of pavement, then I hiked up the rest of the way.

Though I still had several hours till sunset, the sky was already a darker shade of gray, bordering on what felt like night. The cold was suffocating, even though I was geared against in the rain in a good water-repellant poncho and a solid pair of boots. I checked my camera and immediately realized that it would be difficult to record anything. Paired with the downpour, the poor lighting limited my sight and rendered any recordings all grainy and noisy.

Still, I’m glad I brought it along, otherwise the following events would be too bizarre for anybody to believe. They’re still going to be a hard sell because you only have my words to go on.

The first thing I spotted of the cemetery was the weathered iron fence. I could barely capture its outlines on video as I approached, but its gate stood wide open.

You’ll see on the recordings that the tracks in the mud look like a bus may have driven through here, but the flooding will have made it impossible to tell for sure.

Upon my arrival, it was a constant stream of water, a few feet wide, and crossing the path. Only inches deep, my boots were high enough that I didn’t worry too much about walking through it. I was too focused on getting shots of the wheel tracks. Note how deep and wide they are. I have no frame of reference, but those look like what you would expect from a big truck or bus.

The most puzzling thing was that the cemetery itself had no room for a bus to drive through. It would have had to plow through all those old gravestones and barrel through all the brush and trees, but I saw no sign of such beyond the gate.

Even through the shroud of rain, I thought I could see lights in the distance and hear faint voices. The noise is too strong on this portion of the video to back up my impressions, but I swear it sounded like a children’s choir singing, even this far out.

As I entered through the gate and walked through the cemetery, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Although I had no idea at the time what I was about to discover, a palpable sense of dread had already gripped me, shortening my every breath. I felt watched and I never felt alone.

As a result, I made sure to record everywhere I was looking, just in case I missed any clues—or in case someone jumped me. Perhaps evidence in case I went missing, too. That’s why you’ll occasionally see me pointing the gun on the recordings.

The atmosphere was so bleak that I could barely see without the light but check this next part: I turned off the camera’s light because I noticed something so strange that it belongs in science fiction.

Every gravestone was facing me. And they were covered in indecipherable symbols that glowed with a faint light. Note how I keep panning the angle down to the muddy path: I was trying to understand if I was hallucinating or not.

Because every time I looked at the gravestones, none of this was visible to the naked eye. It only looks like this through the camera and on the recording. Look! Look how the gravestones seem to move whenever I move and the perspective changes. Like some kind of messed up optical illusion. I don’t know if this was why I was feeling watched, but the video is not lying here: it was like the gravestones were watching me. Looking only through the camera was making me nauseous. It defied physics.

Even up close, the faint glow of the symbols made no sense. They looked vaguely occult, but I don’t know nearly enough about obscure esoteric subjects to recognize them, and a cursory search in the Historical Society yielded nothing. Every time I turned the light on, the symbols turned invisible, and the gravestones looked like they should to the naked eye—not constantly facing me regardless of angle or reality, which is even weirder.

Something the video doesn’t tell you, though, is that I had a terrible headache coming on. The longer I stared at these symbols through the camera screen, the worse it got. It was something between a regular headache and a full-blown migraine.

And it gets a bit hectic here, but I felt like the gravestones and their glowing symbols were trying to tell me something. Like the symbols were all part of a larger pattern that I didn’t understand. I cannot explain it, it was just a strange feeling that grew alongside the headache.

Deeper into the cemetery—yes, you can hear it now on the recording—the singing became clearer. I mean, it’s still eclipsed by the noise, but there’s clearly something like the voices of children singing here. The downpour was worsening at this point, and I could barely make out any path in front of me. With the camera’s light off, I stumbled over a root and nearly fell. But with the lights on, I couldn’t see the glowing symbols, and they seemed to be guiding me somewhere.

At the time, I worried that there may have been some kind of psycho cult out there. There are like a million movies of weird cannibal families hiding out in the countryside, too, which did not help ease my dread. That’s why I decided to keep the lights off. Even though the phenomena with the gravestones was scaring the hell out of me.

The singing was coming from a large mausoleum, growing louder with every step. The audio is bad, but it backs me up here. I’m pretty sure that an audio engineer could enhance it to make it clearer. It sounds like there are words in the singing. And look at how brightly the symbols glow on those doors! With such perfect symmetry.

I have no idea why I called out to anybody even though I expected the worst. Like, what if there was a cult out there who had abducted the children, and local police were in on it somehow? I had a tiny gun with six bullets. What the hell was I thinking?

The singing stopped. Someone whispered to me right here. The camera’s mic didn’t capture this.

It sounded like, “Come inside.”

It took all my courage to not just turn and run. But I think my instincts screamed louder inside of me, stronger than any other impulse.

I had to find my son.

My hesitation here is because I had to put the gun away to have a hand free before pulling the doors open. They were old, heavy, and a bit stuck. I didn’t have to break any locks, there was just a lot of dirt and vegetation blocking the doors, build-up from months of nobody having explored inside. Once I had gotten into the mausoleum, my gun came back out.

I couldn’t hear anything through the noise of downpour anymore. No more ghostly singing, no whispers. I’m not sure when exactly it stopped, but it must have been while I was opening the door. The rain drowns it out. It is in your head now, too, right? Like a weird echo. Again, audio engineer. Please, someone check this.

Parts of the ceiling had collapsed, rain pouring through holes in the roof. And I guarantee you that it feels a lot more claustrophobic than it may look on video. The whole place was decrepit and filthy, and I was almost more freaked out by not seeing any glowing symbols on the walls in here. That’s why I turned the camera light back on.

There was no more singing to be heard, but I felt like I heard its echo in my head. Over the noise of rain, I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me, or I was hearing more whispers… whispers, luring me deeper into this mausoleum.

I wound up in a large central hall and nearly died of a heart attack on the spot when the ground shook. Sidenote: we need to investigate if there were any seismic recordings of earthquakes that happened at the time of that timestamp right there.

You can tell from the shaky recording that the quake lasted for several seconds. It caused more chunks of ceiling to come crashing down. If I could have gotten a shot of what happened behind me, you’d see I was nearly hit and killed on the spot.

This only happened after the earthquake ended, which is why I know I’m not crazy.

The stone markers on the mausoleum niches continued to shake and tremble until some of them crumbled or exploded. Look! That’s one right there on video.

You can’t see on the video what I saw here.

Figures were clawing their way out of every niche. They looked remotely human, though more like starved husks. I could barely discern any features, so the best I can do to describe them in any way would be to call them corporeal shadows, as if they were something moving piles of muddy black slime that had taken human shapes. The strange lights you can see on the recording—those are not just motes of dust or raindrops reflecting light weirdly on camera.

Those were their eyes.

The noise here—I swear it must be enhanceable—those were a whole choir of their whispers. They addressed me by name. They knew my name.

They said, “Nathan is here.” They promised it.

But they moved with abrupt, grotesque motions. Everything about their presence suggested something far more sinister. Insatiable hunger. Filthy lies. Pure evil. I cannot explain why I felt those things, why I sensed them.

That’s why I pulled the trigger. I shot one of them. I know it doesn’t show on the video because of how chaotic the recording got here, but I know I shot one. My daddy started taking me to the firing range when I was thirteen, so I know how to shoot, and I know I hit dead center of where a torso should have been.

That did nothing but anger these things. The one I shot lurched at me in a sudden burst of speed. I panicked and ran.

They chased me. Those tiny bright dots are not visual glitches—those are their eyes, that is those things chasing after me. They went from creeping out of every mausoleum niche to hopping and climbing and running after me like a horde of hungry ghouls.

At this point, the recording is pretty much worthless. I was too afraid to die to focus on getting any footage of them. I ran for my life. I remember even thinking that there was no way I would find my way back out of the cemetery. I tripped a million times. They kept catching up to me after I thought I had gained distance on them. One of them was cackling like a hag.

Even so, against all odds, I did it. I somehow managed to navigate the meandering path all the way back to the gate while running and stumbling nonstop. Those things kept chasing me. One of them even screeched right there—that’s not a glitch.

Here, I stumbled because I nearly died of fright when I saw the flooding, though I did not stop. The stream crossing the path earlier had almost turned into a river. Brown and muddy water cut off my escape route. And those weird ghouls were not slowing down. They kept whispering all the while, but I couldn’t make out any intelligible words through the fog of my panic and the noise of rain and rushing water.

It wasn’t like my fear was going to stop my escape, as I didn’t want to know what would happen if any of those things touched me. I was more afraid of them catching up to me than I was of freezing to death or drowning or breaking every bone by having flood water smash me against every tree throughout Longhorn Hills.

Only once I had already waded halfway through the flooding water did I notice it was teeming with worms. The visual noise is so bad on this part and the camera got wet—I was bumping into trees, fighting my way through the water—so the images cut out for quite a bit, but you’re about to see the consequences of it.

Fear gave me wings. The rushing water nearly swept me away and I didn’t give a damn about submerging the camera, the only reason I tried to keep it above water here was because of the light it shed.

When I reached the other side, I had to scramble back up through the woods to find the path again. Luckily, it was wider than the path inside the cemetery grounds, so I didn’t end up lost in the woods.

I nearly threw up on the spot when I noticed that those had not been worms in the water. I plucked off several leeches before I spotted the things that had chased me.

The video camera conked out here, but I guarantee you: they were there. Waiting.

The shadows and their glowing dots of eyes. They stood on the other side, across the gushing water, separated from me by the flood. Huddled together and fidgeting with those same grotesque motions, those ghouls watched me.

It was like they were waiting for the water to subside so they could give chase.

I was shivering like crazy, and just ran. I ran the hell out of there. I only stopped to remove more leeches when I noticed where they had latched onto my skin. I wanted to tear my clothes off and scream, but I had to escape. I was freezing to death, shaking with disgust, and I didn’t want those ghouls to catch up.

I had lost sight of them, but I could still see them in my mind’s eye, waiting patiently on the other end of the rushing water. I sometimes wondered if I heard that choir of children singing again, but it was impossible to tell over how heavily I was breathing and the noise of downpour.

By the time I reached my car, my panic had given way to something almost worse. My heart was heavy with the thought of Nathan, somehow trapped in that hellish place with those ghastly figures.

I knew I had to find a way to save him, but I had no idea where to start. I started by getting the hell out of Longhorn Hills. I drove back home, and I feel like I narrowly escaped catching pneumonia. I also removed all the leeches. As far as I can tell, for now, I am physically fine, though I have not seen a doctor.

Now that I have had time to process things, and review what I saw on the footage I had captured, I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. Record everything to the best of my ability, including this writing.

I can’t shake the feeling that everything is connected. The lack of insights from the police, the glowing symbols, the ghoulish things in the cemetery. Maybe the Historical Society has something else that could shed some light on what is up with the Memorial Cemetery. And what ever happened to the bus? It’s like the cemetery just… swallowed it.

That’s why I’m here.

That’s why I’ve turned to you.

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Content note for discussions of eternal damnation, and all sorts of other shit that will trigger a lot of folks with religious trauma.

Before I get started I might as well explain where I’m coming from - unlike a lot of She-Ra fans, and a lot of queer people, I don’t have much religious trauma, or any, maybe (okay there were a number of years I was convinced I was going to hell, but that happens to everyone, right?). I was raised a liberal Christian by liberal Christian parents in the Episcopal Church, where most of my memories are overwhelmingly positive. Fuck, growing up in the 90’s, Chuch was probably the only place outside my home I didn’t have homophobia spewed at me. Because it was the 90’s and it was a fucking hellscape of bigotry where 5 year olds knew enough to taunt each other with homophobic slurs and the adults didn’t know enough to realize how fucked up that was. Anyway. This is my experience, but it is an atypical one, and I know it. Quite frankly I know that my experience of Christianity has very little at all to do with what most people experienced, or what people generally mean when they talk about Christianity as a cultural force in America today. So if you were raised Christian and you don’t recognize your theology here, congrats, neither do I, but these ideas and cultural forces are huge and powerful and dominant. And it’s this dominant Christian narrative that I’m referring to in this post. As well as, you know, a children’s cartoon about lesbian rainbow princesses. So here it goes. This is going to get batshit.

"All events whatsoever are governed by the secret counsel of God." - John Calvin

“We’re all just a bunch of wooly guys” - Noelle Stevenson

This is a post triggered by a single scene, and a single line. It’s one of the most fucked-up scenes in She-Ra, toward the end of Save the Cat. Catra, turned into a puppet by Prime, struggles with her chip, desperately trying to gain control of herself, so lost and scared and vulnerable that she flings aside her own death wish and her pride and tearfully begs Adora to rescue her. Adora reaches out , about to grab her, and then Prime takes control back, pronounces ‘disappointing’ and activates the kill switch that pitches Catra off the platform and to her death (and seriously, she dies here, guys - also Adora breaks both her legs in the fall). But before he does, he dismisses Catra with one of his most chilling lines. “Some creatures are meant only for destruction.”

And that’s when everyone watching probably had their heart broken a little bit, but some of the viewers raised in or around Christianity watching the same scene probably whispered ‘holy shit’ to themselves. Because Prime’s line - which works as a chilling and callous dismissal of Catra - is also an allusion to a passage from the Bible. In fact, it’s from one of the most fucked up passages in a book with more than its share of fucked up passages. It’s from Romans 9:22, and I’m going to quote several previous verses to give the context of the passage (if not the entire Epistle, which is more about who needs to abide by Jewish dietary restrictions but was used to construct a systematic theology in the centuries afterwards because people decided it was Eternal Truth).

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction:

The context of the allusion supports the context in the show. Prime is dismissing Catra - serial betrayer, liar, failed conqueror, former bloody-handed warlord - as worthless, as having always been worthless and fit only to be destroyed. He is speaking from a divine and authoritative perspective (because he really does think he’s God, more of this in my TL/DR Horde Prime thing). Prime is echoing not only his own haughty dismissal of Catra, and Shadow Weaver’s view of her, but also perhaps the viewer’s harshest assessment of her, and her own worst fears about herself. Catra was bad from the start, doomed to destroy and to be destroyed. A malformed pot, cracked in firing, destined to be shattered against a wall and have her shards classified by some future archaeologist 2,000 years later. And all that’s bad enough.

But the full historical and theological context of this passage shows the real depth of Noelle Stevenson’s passion and thought and care when writing this show. Noelle was raised in Evangelical or Fundamentalist Christianity. To my knowledge, he has never specified what sect or denomination, but in interviews and her memoir Noelle has shown a particular concern for questions that this passage raises, and a particular loathing for the strains of Protestant theology that take this passage and run with it - that is to say, Calvinism. So while I’m not sure if Noelle was raised as a conservative, Calvinist Presbyterian, his preoccupation with these questions mean that it’s time to talk about Calvinism.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to say that Calvinism is a systematic theology built entirely upon the Epistles of Romans and Galatians, but only -just- (and here my Catholic readers in particular will chuckle to themselves and lovingly stroke their favorite passage of the Epistle of James). The core of Calvinist Doctrine is often expressed by the very Dutch acronym TULIP:

Total Depravity - people are wholly evil, and incapable of good action or even willing good thoughts or deeds

Unconditional Election - God chooses some people to save because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, not because they did anything to deserve, trigger or accept it

Limited Atonement - Jesus died only to save the people God chose to save, not the rest of us bastards

Irresistible Grace - God chooses some people to be saved - if you didn’t want to be saved, too bad, God said so.

Perseverance of the Saints - People often forget this one and assume it’s ‘predestination’ but it’s actually this - basically, once saved by God, always saved, and if it looks like someone falls out of grace, they were never saved to begin with. Well that’s all sealed up tight I guess.

Reading through these, predestination isn’t a single doctrine in Calvinism but the entire theological underpinnings of it together with humanity’s utter powerlessness before sin. Basically God has all agency, humanity has none. Calvinism (and a lot of early modern Protestantism) is obsessed with questions of how God saves people (grace alone, AKA Sola Fides) and who God saves (the people god elects and only the people God elects, and fuck everyone else).

It’s apparent that Noelle was really taken by these questions, and repelled by the answers he heard. He’s alluded to having a tattoo refuting the Gospel passage about Sheep and Goats being sorted at the end times, affirming instead that ‘we’re all just a bunch of wooly guys’ (you can see this goat tattoo in some of his self-portraits in comics, etc). He’s also mentioned that rejecting and subverting destiny is a huge part of everything he writes as a particular rejection of the idea that some individual people are 'chosen' by God or that God has a plan for any of us. You can see that -so clearly- in Adora’s arc, where Adora embraces and then rejects destiny time and again and finally learns to live life for herself.

But for Catra, we’re much more concerned about the most negative aspect of this - the idea that some people are vessels meant for destruction. And that’s something else that Noelle is preoccupied with. In her memoir in the section about leaving the church and becoming a humanistic atheist, there is a drawing of a pot and the question ‘Am I a vessel prepared for destruction?’ Obviously this was on Noelle’s mind (And this is before he came out to himself as queer!).

To look at how this question plays out in Catra’s entire arc, let’s first talk about how ideas of damnation and salvation actually play out in society. And for that I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, Gin Lun’s Damned Nation: Hell in America from the Revolution to Reconstruction (if you can tell by now, I am a fucking blast at parties). Lun tells the long and very interesting story about, how ideas of hell and who went there changed during the Early American Republic. One of the interesting developments that she talks about is how while at first people who were repelled by Calvinism started moving toward a doctrine of universal salvation (no on goes to hell, at least not forever*), eventually they decided that hell was fine as long as only the right kind of people went there. Mostly The Other - non-Christian foreigners, Catholics, Atheists, people who were sinners in ways that were not just bad but weird and violated Victorian ideas of respectability. Really, Hell became a way of othering people, and arguably that’s how it survives today, especially as a way to other queer people (but expanding this is slated for my Montero rant). Now while a lot of people were consciously rejecting Calvinist predestination, they were still drawing the distinction between the Elect (good, saved, worthwhile) and the everyone else (bad, damned, worthless). I would argue that secularized ideas of this survive to this day even among non-Christian spaces in our society - we like to draw lines between those who Elect, and those who aren’t.

And that’s what brings us back to Catra. Because Catra’s entire arc is a refutation of the idea that some people are worthless and irredeemable, either by nature, nurture or their own actions. Catra’s actions strain the conventions of who is sympathetic in a Kid’s cartoon - I’ve half joked that she’s Walter White as a cat girl, and it’s only half a joke. She’s cruel, self-deluded, she spends 4 seasons refusing to take responsibility for anything she does and until Season 5 she just about always chooses the thing that does the most damage to herself and others. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, the show goes out of its way to demonstrate that Catra is morally culpable in every step of her descent into evil (except maybe her break with reality just before she pulls the lever). The way that Catra personally betrays everyone around her, the way she strips herself of all of her better qualities and most of what makes her human, hell even her costume changes would signal in any other show that she’s irredeemable.

It’s tempting to see this as Noelle’s version of being edgy - pushing the boundaries of what a sympathetic character is, throwing out antiheroics in favor of just making the villain a protagonist. Noelle isn’t quite Alex ‘I am in the business of traumatizing children’ Hirsch, who seems to have viewed his job as pushing the bounds of what you could show on the Disney Channel (I saw Gravity Falls as an adult and a bunch of that shit lives rent free in my nightmares forever), but Noelle has his own dark side, mostly thematically. The show’s willingness to deal with abuse, and messed up religious themes, and volatile, passionate, not particularly healthy relationships feels pretty daring. I’m not joking when I gleefully recommend this show to friends as ‘a couple from a Mountain Goats Song fights for four seasons in a cartoon intended for 9 year olds’. Noelle is in his own way pushing the boundaries of what a kids show can do. If you read Noelle’s other works like Nimona, you see an argument for Noelle being at least a bit edgy. Nimona is also angry, gleefully destructive, violent and spiteful - not unlike Catra. Given that it was a 2010s webcomic and not a kids show, Nimona is a good deal worse than Catra in some ways - Catra doesn’t kill people on screen, while Nimona laughs about it (that was just like, a webcomic thing - one of the fan favorite characters in my personal favorite, Narbonic, was a fucking sociopath, and the heroes were all amoral mad scientists, except for the superintelligent gerbil**). But unlike Nimona, whose fate is left open ended, Catra is redeemed.

And that is weird. We’ve had redemption arcs, but generally not of characters with -so- much vile stuff in their history. Going back to the comparison between her and Azula, many other shows, like Avatar, would have made Catra a semi-sympathetic villain who has a sob-story in their origin but who is beyond redemption, and in so doing would articulate a kind of psychologized Calvinism where some people are too traumatized to ever be fully and truly human. I’d argue this is the problem with Azula as a character - she’s a fun villain, but she doesn’t have moral agency, and the ultimate message of her arc - that she’s a broken person destined only to hurt people - is actually pretty fucked up. And that’s the origin story of so many serial killers and psycopaths that populate so many TV shows and movies. Beyond ‘hurt people hurt people’ they have nothing to teach us except perhaps that trauma makes you a monster and that the only possible response to people doing bad things is to cut them out of your life and out of our society (and that’s why we have prisons, right?)

And so Catra’s redemption and the depths from which she claws herself back goes back to Noelle’s desire to prove that no person is a vessel ‘fitted for destruction.’ Catra goes about as far down the path of evil as we’ve ever seen a protagonist in a kids show go, and she still has the capacity for good. Importantly, she is not subject to total depravity - she is capable of a good act, if only one at first. Catra is the one who begins her own redemption (unlike in Calvinism, where grace is unearned and even unwelcomed) - because she wants something better than what she has, even if its too late, because she realizes that she never wanted any of this anyway, because she wants to do one good thing once in her life even if it kills her.

The very extremity of Catra’s descent into villainy serves to underline the point that Noelle is trying to make - that no one can be written off completely, that everyone is capable of change, and that no human being is garbage, no matter how twisted they’ve become. Meanwhile her ability to set her own redemption in motion is a powerful statement of human agency, and healing, and a refutation of Calvinism’s idea that we are powerless before sin or pop cultural tropes about us being powerful before the traumas of our upbringing. Catra’s arc, then, is a kind of anti-Calvinist theological statement - about the nature of people and the nature of goodness.

Now, there is a darker side to this that Noelle has only hinted at, but which is suggested by other characters on the show. Because while Catra’s redemption shows that people are capable of change, even when they’ve done horrible things, been fucked up and fucked themselves up, it also illustrates the things people do to themselves that make change hard. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, two of the most sinister parts of her descent into villainy are her self-dehumanization (crushing her own compassion and desire to do good) and her rewriting of her own history in her speech and memory to make her own actions seem justified (which we see with her insistence that Adora left her, eliding Adora’s offers to have Catra join her, or her even more clearly false insistence that Entrapta had betrayed them). In Catra, these processes keep her going down the path of evil, and allow her to nearly destroy herself and everyone else. But we can see the same processes at work in two much darker figures - Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. These are both rants for another day, but the completeness of Shadow Weaver’s narcissistic self-justification and cultivated callousness and the even more complete narcissism of Prime’s god complex cut both characters off from everyone around them. Perhaps, in a theoretical sense, they are still redeemable, but for narrative purposes they might as well be damned.

This willingness to show a case where someone -isn’t- redeemed actually serves to make Catra’s redemption more believable, especially since Noelle and the writers draw the distinction between how Catra and SW/Prime can relate to reality and other people, not how broken they are by their trauma (unlike Zuko and Azula, who are differentiated by How Fucked Uolp They Are). Redemption is there, it’s an option, we can always do what is right, but someone people will choose not to, in part because doing the right thing involves opening ourselves to the world and others, and thus being vulnerable. Noelle mentions this offhandedly in an interview after Season 1 with the She-Ra Progressive of Power podcast - “I sometimes think that shades of grey, sympathetic villains are part of the escapist fantasy of shows like this.” Because in the real world, some people are just bastards, a point that was particularly clear in 2017. Prime and Shadow Weaver admit this reality, while Catra makes a philosophical point that even the bastards can change their ways (at least in theory).

*An idea first proposed in the second century by Origen, who’s a trip and a fucking half by himself, and an idea that becomes the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, which protestants vehemently denied!

**Speaking of favorite Noelle tropes

[maxwell-grant]

Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?

Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).

But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.

There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.

There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.

And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way

"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!

Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.

...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-

The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.

Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.

A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!

The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.

An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.

He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.

The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.

A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.

The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"

"Hard to say. We'll do our best."

"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."

Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.

Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.

He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!

Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!

He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.

This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.

The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.

Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.

But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.

Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.

Annabelle.

She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.

A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.

"Mommy? Mommy's here?"

Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.

"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"

It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.

"Yeah."

Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.

"'kay."

The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.

Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.

One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.

Sometimes I get cold at night.

"Even in the summer?"

Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.

She nodded.

He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.

She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.

The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.

She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.

(Art by Jill Thompson)

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 12 FINALE

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: How lovely it has been, to go on this journey with you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every person who has liked, reblogged, or left a kind comment on this story. Combined, you all have genuinely changed my life. I'm writing more than ever, more consistently, and I'm having a blast. So if you like this story, and wish it wasn't ending, well... maybe don't worry too much. There will be a sequel of sorts, same timeline but new reader, instead focusing on Cassandra. Also oops this is hella long. And mostly dialogue. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB, Pt 11: Cadence

Chapter 12: Cadence (Reprise)

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

Truth be told, she had never expected much of anything to come from this. ‘Twas not that she thought her daughter to be talentless, or that she denied the capabilities of the servant-turned-teacher, rather that she knew just how difficult it was to keep Daniela’s attention for any measure of time. Even as the weeks went by with undeniable progress, there was a part of her awaiting the collapse of it all. How long would this instructor last? How long before they were drained of blood, either for some perceived insult, or merely out of boredom? Surely, in the end, Alcina would not need to lift a single finger.

And yet here she was, at the end of a concert, pride roaring within her chest. What had she missed? What clues had eluded her, what had changed within her child’s nature? She knew that there were hints of deeper affections, fragments of a would-be love, but she had thought them miniscule. Thought that those feelings were doomed to crash and burn, unable to live up to the expectations set by decades of romance novels. Well, maybe they had failed. Maybe, somehow, Alcina had missed something else entirely.

The thought might have sent a shiver down her spine, if she weren’t so readily distracted by praising her youngest child… or by the looming shadow of a life-changing revelation.

“Mother… we need to talk. I… I have a confession to make,” Daniela explains, hesitantly slow, but with a conviction she rarely ever showed. Taken aback by the unexpected announcement, Alcina pauses, silently awaiting some form of elaboration. Instead, Daniela takes her hand, pulling her towards a set of chairs. They sit gingerly, each feeling the weight of terrifying possibilities upon their shoulders. When she at last continues speaking, she does so without a trace of showmanship or false bravado, trading it in for heartfelt sincerity. “I love them. All of this- these lessons, this concert- has been for them. For my sweet, innocent little songbird.” So here it was, the birthplace of her fears, brought forth from her mind into reality.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Alcina muses, leaning back into the chair with a deep sigh. Something itches in the back of her throat, and she yearns for her pipe, or even just a normal cigarette to distract herself. Without one, she is left to metaphorically chew on her thoughts. Realistically, there has to be some way to deal with this, some way that she can convince her daughter of the sheer foolishness of this mess. “Daniela… how can I put this in a way you will understand, hmm?… The two of you have only known each other for three months. There is no chance that you truly love them, or them you. How close can you possibly have become?”

“When have I cared about anything for three whole months? I dedicated myself to-” Daniela is cut off by the sound of the door opening, revealing the rest of her little family. It was guaranteed that they would have heard the conversation from outside, seeing as they were all inhuman, though they perhaps intended to intervene. A single hard glance from both of the room’s occupants convinces them to change their minds. “Wait, Ava, can you get us some tea, please? Something tells me I’ll need a soothing drink soon.” Hesitating in the doorway, the butler in question eyes the both of them, naturally tempted to stay and fill the role of a therapist.

“I do believe my daughter gave you an order, Ava. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the stipulations of your agreement with Mother Miranda?” Alcina interjects. With that said, the butler finally moves, exiting with an apologetic bow. An awkward silence hangs in the air once xe closes the door behind xerself, as Daniela takes a moment to recall her place.

“Three months is a long time for me. I put all of my energy towards both them and what they taught me, almost every single day. Even when their work kept them busy for too long, I still practiced, because I wanted to make them proud! For all my flirting, I’ve never bonded with anyone this way before now,” she says, hating the way her voice gets a little shaky. No matter how much confidence she has in her own writing, it is another thing entirely to be convincing out loud, with a truth she had been hiding for so long. All of her practice had been with lies. Now she had to contest with the hope that the strength of her emotions would be enough. “That song we played together, at the end, they wrote that for me. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Oh, my dear… I want you to be happy more than anything. But we both know that your ‘history’ is stained with a number of incidents. You have always been absorbed within those books you read, and the fantasies that they provide for you. It is one thing to enjoy these stories on the side, but another matter entirely to let them corrupt your relations with others. As your mother, it is my duty to keep you safe, first and foremost,” Alcina proclaims, sitting up straighter, trying not to let her frown evolve into a full out scowl. Beneath the table, her hands ball into fists, clutched tight to stop herself from breaking the table. In the back of her mind she could think of little other than dismembering that damned piano instructor. Focusing on the discussion at hand, she takes a deep breath before finalizing her point. “You don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like, nor what it feels like. Your books are not ideal models for reference. One- or both- of you are going to end up suffering, and that is something I cannot allow, regardless of how ‘happy’ they make you before then.”

“You’re right,” Daniela whispers in defeat… or a feigned version of it. A split second later she’s making eye contact with her mother again, lips curling up into a smile. “I didn’t want to admit it, especially not to someone as attractive, talented, and charming as my Songbird, but I didn’t have to. They understood from the very start. We talked about it, about my expectations and my shitty behavior, and we worked on it. We’re still working on it. Maybe there will be bumps along the way, just like in every relationship, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be worth it in the end. What we have is still real, and they make me want to be a better woman. I know they’ve already helped me make the change.”

Once more the door opens, making the conversation pause, as Ava near-silently brings in the requested tea. If a pin had dropped at that moment, it would have felt as ear-shattering loud as a gong. Every second that passed felt like it dragged on, stretched out by the tension in the room, as though xe was moving in slow motion. The ‘clink’ of ceramic against the table makes xer flinch, almost spilling the tea. Neither Alcina nor Daniela react, or even acknowledge xer presence with anything more than their eyes, instead remaining impassive until xe makes a hasty retreat.

“Use what you’ve learned on someone else, then. Perhaps another one of Miranda’s experiments will someday provide a suitable match. But this ‘songbird’ of yours? They’re nothing. A human, a servant, they are not worth your time, nor are they worth mine. No matter what words or songs they weave, or illusions of grandeur they show you, you will end up getting bored of them. I’m afraid it is inevitable, my dear,” Alcina says, as soon as the door is closed once more. Then she attends to her tea, with the composure of someone convinced that they had just won an argument. On the other hand, Daniela was not so quick to give in, some of her worry melting into anger.

“How can you say that? How can you be sure? We were all human, once! Even Mother Miranda was human. And my Songbird is no mere human- they are wondrous, with flowery prose and lovely melodies, with soft-lipped smiles and reassuring eyes, and don’t even get me started on how beautiful they are!” She rambles, voice getting louder with every word. All at once it is too much for Alcina, who sets down her glass a little too hard, nostrils flaring as she stares at her daughter. When Daniela speaks again, she does so with love coating her tone. “We have weathered each other’s anxieties with no signs of stopping. I promised that we would weather yours.”

“I only want you to be happy. I need you to understand where I am coming from. This may be your longest lasting infatuation so far, but you have yet to honestly convince me that this is any different from your past ‘distractions’. I’m sorry, Daniela, I simply cannot allow this to continue,” Alcina sighs, hating to break her youngest daughter’s heart like this. There was only one thing that Daniela had yet to try. Maybe two, if she was willing to resort to begging.

“Can’t you trust me enough to give us a chance? Cassandra of all people seems to understand. Bela went as far as to lie to you, for our sake! She never does anything she thinks will hurt me, or you, or any of us. Please, mother, please. How can you ever know if what I have will last, if you cut it down now? Are you going to wait forever for some ‘perfect candidate’ for me? And what if that person loves someone else? Or what if the ‘perfect’ person doesn’t exist! What if we’re stuck waiting for them like Mother Miranda waits for another child, hmm? Would you have me spend another century alone, my only memory of genuine romance being poisoned by the thought that you broke us apart?” Daniela’s words ring throughout the chamber, echoing a damning accusation, somehow more bitter than the taste they left in her mouth.

All at once, Alcina’s heart takes a hit like no other. Her hands damn-near tremble, her lungs ache, her lips purse, and her brow furrows. So be it, she thinks.

“Bring this ‘Songbird’ here. Let me talk to them.”

—————————

Goddess, you are practically vibrating at the speed of sound, palms sweaty, nervousness trashing your mind. What the hell had Daniela done? Last thing you knew, she was determined to keep your secret, even if meant being unable to celebrate with you. But now you were getting tugged along by her, while tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She had said something about “mother” and “important”. That was all the context that you had been given. When you round one last corner, pulling up in front of Lady Dimitrescu’s study, you are shown a sight that somehow makes you feel worse: Bela, Cassandra, and Ava are all resting outside of the room. They appear exhausted, and motion for you to be quiet as you approach.

“They’ve been listening in on our conversation,” Daniela admits with a whisper. Then she’s pulling you into the study, ensuring that the door doesn’t open wide enough for the eavesdroppers to get spotted. Something told you that Alcina was already well aware of their presence. “Alright, mother, here is my Songbird. What did you want to ask us?”

“Daniela… leave us. My questions are for ‘Songbird’ alone,” Alcina replies, seemingly confirming the absolute worst of your fears. This was where you would die. By her hand, without your lover by your side, after what could have been the happiest night of your life. Of course. But Daniela is not willing to go without a fight. As soon as the words leave her mother’s mouth, she is moving between the two of you, just as she had when she first called you her teacher. Before she can speak, her mother stands up and stares her down. “Don’t make me ask again- there will not be a third time.” When she still hesitates, it is your turn to be brave.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll be okay,” you promise her, reaching out to take her hand. Instantly she’s returning to your side, hand cupping your cheek, eyes filled to the brim with sadness. “Firefly… ‘Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days’. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, not now, not ever. We’ll be okay.” Maybe not now, you think, but you’ll be okay eventually. Cassandra and Bela, and Ava I suppose, will make sure of it.

“Okay. We’ll last until the end of days. I love you too,” Daniela says, swallowing the lump in her throat. With one last kiss she pulls away, wishing that her departure didn’t feel so much like a betrayal. She pauses in the doorway, meeting your gaze, unable to bring herself to move until you give her an accepting nod. The door swings into place with a click, sealing the room and your fate.

“So,” Alcina begins, returning to her seat as she does. For now you stay standing, unsure of just about every part of this situation, especially your upcoming role in it. “You have been deceiving me. That alone is a crime worthy of severe punishment, and yet you stooped so low as to do far, far more. I had hoped you had, somehow, managed to teach my daughter a real lesson, that you had inspired a love of music in her, that you had made an honest difference in the way she learns. But all this time… it has been nothing more than a ruse.” The last word comes out dipped in venom, acidic enough to make you flinch. Thankfully, your beloved was not the only person who had a gift with words. More than that, this was a topic that you had spent numerous nights thinking about, making you as prepared as you could ever hope to be.

“You know, as much as I desire to claim that I am that interesting, or that Daniela felt so strongly from the very start, I can do no such thing. The truth is this: Music is what brought us together in the first place. It was the catalyst for our first real interaction, the first time she ever looked at me as more than just another servant or bloodbag. We bonded because of it, and so when we went to play together, to learn, Daniela honestly did connect to it,” you explain, despite the fire in Alcina’s expression. To your surprise, she does not interrupt you, and you take it as permission to keep going. Which was very good, considering that being nervous only made you ramble more. “Music is something we’ve shared for the entirety of our relationship. Even if it’s not something she would do much of on her own, I know that she’s grown to care for it more than she might be willing to admit. And, well…

“Even if you decide that what I’ve done is unforgivable, even if I’m destined to die within the hour, I know in my heart that everything the two of us worked on still matters. Because, like it or not, she is capable of growth, of change, of progress. And even if I die, someone else will come afterwards. Daniela will get to use music as a way to forge connections for the rest of her life, now that she knows it works, now that she knows how it works. And every goddamn time that she plays, or Bela plays, or you play, she’s going to remember me. She’ll remember every moment we spent together, every piece we ever played. I’ll live on in the melodies we made. In the song that you can’t quite place, that gets stuck on loop in your head. In the song the maids sing to themselves between shifts. In the quiet evening when the rain against the window feels so much like a familiar rhythm that your daughters can’t help but start humming along, without even thinking, muscle memories in sync.”

“Are you trying to convince me that there’s no point in killing you? That, regardless, you will be in my life until the end of time?” Alcina’s eyes are narrowed, but there isn’t even a hint of anger in her tone. Just curiosity.

“No, not really. Guess I’m just making peace with my fate the best way I know how- by remembering the echoes I’ll leave behind,” you answer, pausing to wipe a few tears from your eyes. All you can think about is how much Daniela will miss you. How much pain you think she’ll go through. Because at this point, who are you trying to fool with your hope? Yourself, or the people listening?

“Hmm. I think I understand. Now, tell me… what was that you said to my daughter a minute ago, before she left the room? It sounded familiar, though I cannot place it,” Alcina questions, idly toying with her glass of tea. You’re not entirely sure why it matters to her, but you have no qualms delaying the inevitable by answering. Besides, it was a chance to talk about how much you loved Daniela (and you’d never skip such an opportunity).

“It’s a line from a poem she wrote for me. “Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days”. A promise. The song Daniela and I played together… I wrote it in response. My way of doing what she asked of me, I guess. Like I said, she’ll always have the music we shared,” you answer, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Damn this… I can hardly believe I am asking this, yet I feel I have no choice: Tell me, do you love my daughter? Do you honestly, with your entire being, desire a future with her? Or was this a game of survival you couldn’t afford to lose, that turned out to be more ‘fun’ than you had anticipated? Show me your heart, as it is, bare as it would be if I tore it from your chest, this very moment.” There’s no room for argument in her voice, using the very same tone she reserved for maidens who got a tad too close to refusing her.

“Alright. It was a game. At first. Daniela wanted a distraction, something to entertain her. I didn’t want to die, like I had heard so many of her ‘playmates’ did. I can’t tell you when things changed, at least not for her,” you confess, with a shaky breath. Did that make you a monster? One worthy of death? If so, you wondered if it actually made you more fit to date Daniela. “For me… I just remember her smiling wide at me, hand on my cheek, having just cracked some lame joke. Next thing I knew, well, I knew. We had a spark of something, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to make her happy, you know? All the sudden there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I just wanted to see that smile again, everyday for the rest of my life.

“To answer your question: Yes. Goddess, yes. A thousand times yes. A ‘yes’ for every smile she’s ever shown me, for every butterfly in my stomach, for every time she’s held my hand, for every breath she’s stolen from my lungs, and for every single time my heart has skipped a beat in her name. I love her. I know we haven’t been together long, but the things I feel are undeniable. I will give her every part of myself, for as long as she wants me, for as long as I am blessed to live,” you pour your heart out, weaving your heartbeat into every turn of phrase, spilling your lifeblood onto the very conversation.

“And what will you do if she does change her mind? If she grows bored of you, as she has done with a dozen others?” Alcina counters without hesitation.

“I will weep. I will fall to my knees, and mourn this beautiful thing. But I will cherish every memory she leaves to me. Every moment where I am hers is a moment worth living, worth remembering. It will be better to have loved her with all my heart for a little slice of her immortality, than to love another, lesser so, for all of my life.” With that, Alcina sets her empty glass of tea onto the table, eying you with an unreadable expression. Something seems to stir in her chest, and at last the mask crumbles. She smiles.

“I see. Daniela, you may come back in now. Do not bother pretending that you have not been eavesdropping.” Not even a full second passes before the door opens, revealing a shaking Daniela, both of her sisters quite visible behind her (though they quickly move out of frame, leaving behind Ava, who gives a cheesy thumbs up as the door closes in xer face). She rushes to your side, taking your hand, looking stunned that you were still alive. But what shocks her more is what her mother says… “Of all the women I have ever known, family or otherwise, you are, perhaps, the most determined. Normally only in… ‘spurts’. Yet here you are, defying what I have come to expect of you. It almost feels as if I have been fooling myself this whole time, falsely believing that there is more than one possible outcome. So, ‘Songbird’, I say this: Three months ago, I agreed to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of my daughter, for the sake of her happiness. Now, I suppose it is only fair that I do so once more.”

“Wait. Are you saying-” Daniela is once again cut off by her mother, who seems eager to avoid a trademark rant.

“Yes, yes I am. For the time being, the two of you have my blessing. I cannot say that I am entirely convinced of your chances at success, but, having seen the strength of your affections for one another, I sincerely hope that you will prove me wrong. Now come here, Daniela. I never got to finish telling you what I thought of your concert…”

—————————

In the glowing comfort of your girlfriend’s room, with the fireplace keeping things warm and cozy, you lay with your head against Daniela’s chest. One of her hands absentmindedly plays with your hair, and you release a sigh of bliss. Ava had assured you that xe would let Daphne know the good news, as xe thought that having one of the castle ladies visiting the servants’ quarters might cause a stir (and Daniela was far from willing to let go of you so soon). Now the two of you were just enjoying time holding each other close. Regardless of Alcina’s concerns, you knew that everything would be looking up from here. Assuming that Daniela didn’t have any more surprise confessions to involve you with.

“That was one hell of a surprise, Firefly. But I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore. I love you, and I don’t know how long I could have survived without being open with it,” you say, a light teasing to your voice. Beneath you, Daniela chuckles, but holds you just a bit tighter. Then she places the softest of kisses to your forehead. “I’m always gonna love you, Firefly.”

“Until the end of days?” She asks, in a delighted whisper, grin practically audible.

“Until the end of days.”

—————————

Elsewhere in the castle, a caring mother takes another long, hungry drink from her glass of wine, staring intently into the fireplace. By her side is a silver-haired servant, who wordlessly watches her every move.

“There’s still a chance that this will all end horribly. Only time will tell, of course… but I can’t help worrying for her, she’s my daughter,” Alcina proclaims, gripping the glass hard enough for a web of cracks to form along its bell. But it does not fully shatter. No, it remains just steady enough to still be of use to her. For now. “Of course, you knew about this all along, didn’t you, Ava?... I know that you value how close you are with my children, and I know that they trust in you as much as I do… but if there are relationships or entanglements that I am unaware of, I expect you to tell me, or there will have to be consequences, regardless of your affiliation with Mother Miranda. Do you understand?”

Sighing, the mute servant pulls a notebook from xer pocket, opening it up to pen in a fresh script. There’s much tension in the air, and it only gets worse when Alcina catches a glimpse at what the note reads. As xe hands it to her, she scowls, and the wine glass fully breaks into countless shards. Immediately, Ava gets to work, picking up the largest of fragments with xer bare hands, refusing to complain about the resulting cuts. All the while Alcina stares into the fire, thoughts racing, wondering if maybe this time she could end her daughter’s problem before it was too late. Beginning to brainstorm ideas, she sets the notebook aside. Inside, in perfectly penned cursive, is a very, very dangerous piece of knowledge. The sort that could affect not only Castle Dimitrescu, but the entire village.

“In that case… there’s something you need to know about Cassandra- and Mother Miranda’s lovely little ‘pet’.”

[fictional-men-ruin-lives]

Lonely no more

Kix x Reader

Written thanks to @hellothere-generalangsty and mine late night talks and writing different scenarios together in the DMs 🥰

Word count: 2.4k 

Tw: vague mention of injuries

Being assigned to the 501st on various missions has become a new normal to you. Over time, not only did you become close to the soldiers, but also grew a liking to a certain medic. However, being a Jedi and getting to know a world different from what the Jedi Order taught left you feeling conflicted.

____________________________

“For the fifth time, I’m alright, Kix. I can take care of it myself” you had to put all effort into smiling as realistically as possible, convincingly enough he’d leave you be. Even if it made your heart ache, you could tell him nothing. However, the stubborn medic was making it harder every time he asked. Your resolve would crumble and you with it if he didn’t leave the topic, or you didn’t close yourself off.

As a Jedi, you held the utmost respect for the troopers and how much they’re doing, how much they’re sacrificing for the Republic and its people. Still, sometimes you caught yourself observing them relaxing after battle, just joking with each other and letting off some steam and buildup stress. You could sense through the Force the connection between them, the brotherly bond they shared, and it was becoming so overwhelming you had to look away and busy yourself with work again. Not because you enjoyed it, oh no, the reports were a drag.

It was because you couldn’t stand the building sense of loneliness.

You never really felt it before the war started, the Jedi Order and its ways was all you knew, but with the troopers under your command, it all started to change. The connection they shared, comfortability around each other, openness with their emotions every now and then were things you never really experienced, not in such . The way they cared so deeply for their brothers as more than just a part of something bigger, as just… them.

They treated you as one of them, too, and you found comfort in getting closer to them. But however connected you have become, that dooming sense of being out of place was tugging at your heart at most random moments, reminding you of something you weren’t allowed to experience without breaking the Jedi code.

If you had too much time to think, it would spin out of control. And didn’t want, no, couldn’t allow that.

“With all due respect, ma’am, as the unit’s medic I’m supposed to take care of each and every person within the unit, yourself included. You got at least a couple of bruises and need to be in top shape for the next mission. We’re going to the medbay. Now.” The authoritative tone of his voice left no room for questioning, neither did his hand grabbing under your arm and pulling you towards the medical wing of the ship. However, you knew that this was not everything and he was using this excuse just to get you to come with him.

“Okay, alright, I’m going Kix.” You chuckled warmly at his stubbornness and quickened your pace so that he no longer had to drag you as you were walking at the same speed. As he kept walking in front of you, you observed the clone curiously. Little of his face could be seen, you mostly saw his back, but the small part of his features you saw was enough to pull at your heart.

The furrowed brows, the focused stare forward, the quick pace all suggested that he was worried and determined to get what he wanted. He’s always been a bit more observant not only when it comes to noticing the slight indications of possible injuries, but also of the mental struggles the others were going through. He never failed to point it out and help however he could, and you admired him for that.

“Kix?” you broke the silence after a moment.

“Yes?”

“You know, I’m not going to run away, you can let go of my hand now” you gave him a small smile even though he couldn’t see it. But instead of letting go of your arm, he slid his hand down to interlock his fingers with yours smoothly and kept walking, not saying anything more.

It was seemingly such a small, insignificant touch and yet it spoke louder than words, bringing you a sense of comfort. The warmth spread through your body; you could feel your cheeks heating up a bit as you just followed his steps.

Soon enough you entered an empty room in the medbay- only then did he let go of your hand so that you could sit down. You missed its warmth immediately, growing to enjoy that tiny bit of closeness. Plopping down on the bed obediently, you waited till he took the scanner and first aid kit from the cupboards and placed them on the table beside you.

Then, Kix did something surprising. He proceeded to take off parts of the armor resting on top of his hands and removed the gloves completely.

“Would you mind taking it off?” he said softly, pointing to the outer layer of your robes.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.” You quickly took off the cape covering you, letting it fall behind you on the bed.

“This as well.” He added in a quieter voice. You looked up to him, then to your robe, then to him again, a bit confused before understanding what he meant. Slowly, you started to take off next parts of the top of your clothes, increasingly aware of how vulnerable you were going to be. It’s not like you didn’t get treated by the medics before, or like you haven’t removed the clothes in front of them but with Kix… it felt different now. The air felt more tense. It was taking you painfully long to get done with everything, to your frustration your arm got stuck in the sleeve at one point for a moment. After a while, you were left sitting on the bed with the top of your body almost completely bare, except for the underwear.

You couldn’t help but cross arms on top of your chest, trying to cover up a bit more.

Kix went around you to stand on the other side of the bed, behind you.

“I’m going to clean up the wounds now. Lean a bit forward.” You did as he said and soon you could feel a towel damp with antiseptic softly cleaning up some of the wounds that you didn’t even realize were there before. His movements were precise but soft, softer than the quick battlefield patch ups you had experienced and soon enough he moved to your lower back. He placed a hand on your shoulder as he was working, and you couldn’t help but wonder- did you ever see the clones remove their gloves? Battlefield, mess hall, med bay, even when they were in just the blacks-you didn’t think you ever saw their bare hands.

“Why are you distancing yourself from everyone?” Kix brought you back from being deep in thought. He took a bit of bacta paste from the container and started to gently massage it into your bruises, sending a shiver down your spine at the soft touch.

“What do you mean?”

“You always leave to work despite the fact you don’t have to. And your eyes suddenly become so… sad. Almost empty sometimes. Is everything alright?” He spoke gently, checking your back for further bruises as he did so.

“Oh, that. Ha, you see, funny thing, I’m just a workaholic.” You tried to brush it off. Suddenly, he applied a bit more pressure to a bruise, which made you inhale deeply in turn.

“Sorry!” Kix backed away for a second, startled, before working further. A comfortable silence fell as he was finishing up with the paste and went to pick up the bandages, this time leaning forward and reaching over your shoulder instead of walking around the bed. For a second, you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck before he pulled back and bandaged everything just right.

You were pretty happy he was behind you, otherwise he’d no doubt notice the blush creeping up on your cheeks.

“We both know it’s not true. There is something else.” He noticed as he finished up and went to pick up fresh towels and bacta patches from the stand. He eyed you up and kneeled in front of you, delicately taking your hands away from your chest to check if they’re covering up any more wounds. While he was doing that, your gaze was fixed on him attentively, studying his features. Although his voice was soft and his touch-the gentlest you’ve experienced, his face was full of worry. He was very focused on treating you for these minor injuries that honestly didn’t even need attention. And yet he did everything he could to pay attention to them.

His fingers traced over the bruise on your collarbone, lingering there for a bit longer than necessary. You were a Jedi, but seeing your body like this, bruised, and so easily injured, Kix thought of you as just a normal woman. Someone who was too young, too vulnerable to suffer through the war. He instinctively wanted to protect you and it pained him that the most he could do was treat your wounds with care. It seemed impossible that the delicate person sitting in front of him was also the strong and almost invincible warrior he looked up to ever since you were assigned to them for the first mission.

He absentmindedly went with his fingers down your arm, feeling the softness of your skin for the first time now that he had taken off the gloves. The trace of his fingertips could still be felt even after they moved on further down towards your hand.

It was nice.

A sharp inhale turned his attention to your face, noticing that you were looking away, blushing like crazy. It stopped him for a second but not for long. The medic knew you well enough to know that if this was uncomfortable for you or he was overstepping his boundaries, you’d stop him immediately. But it seemed you didn’t mind.

His hand moved away only to be placed on your cheek. You thought your face couldn’t feel any warmer than it already did but that gesture felt like your skin was set on fire. You turned to him confused and tense, this was wrong on so many levels.

However, you relaxed as his warm eyes met yours, so full of attention and compassion you’ve never felt from anyone before. It was alright, it wasn’t like he’d return the small crush you had developed on him over the time you were assigned together. He was just a kind person with no bad intent, someone you could trust. It seemed selfish to continue this, but you just couldn’t break away from the touch that was oh so comforting.

Kix’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he kept looking you deeply in the eyes, calming you down.

“Kix, I… by the Maker, it’s going to sound so stupid.” You chuckled lightly as you tried to formulate the words. There was no hurt in telling him, right? “What do you know of the Jedi?”

He took his hand off your cheek and moved to sit beside you, sensing that the topic would require his full attention.

“Keepers of peace, generals, you use the force and every now and then a Jedi takes on a Padawan to train just like general Skywalker. Why?”

“But do you know how it looks like to be a Jedi?”

“Can’t say I thought about it.” You inhaled deeply at his answer and stared blankly forward.

“We’re not allowed to form attachments, but that you know. We all grow up without family, most of us don’t even know who their parents are or where they come from. We’re a part of something bigger but it feels… lonely.” A sad smile graced your features as you fumbled with your hands to get yourself busy with something. “It doesn’t when you’re a padawan because you’re with your master and the other kids but once you’re a Jedi knight and actually get to see the world outside of temple, this feeling can grow. There are some who have no problem with that part being a Jedi, but I always struggled with it. So, you just get yourself busy with work to not have time to think about it all.” You looked back to him, trying to smile to let him know all was good but it failed to reach your eyes. That was the first time you let anyone know how you felt and immediately after saying it, you felt guilty, as if you have done something wrong. Kix’s silence was not encouraging.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that.” You stood up and quickly put the tunic on, thankful that it was sliding on so fast, and reached to grab the rest of your clothes and go. Before you could do that, you could feel Kix standing up and stopping very close to you.

“As long as we… as I’m here, you don’t have to do that.” His shy confession made you turn around to face him. “Don’t close yourself off from us. Don’t leave in the middle of having time off together with the unit.” He leaned closer, his warm hand now placed on your waist and pulling you closer a tiny bit.

“I can’t stand to see you like this.” His hot breath ghosted your skin as he was just centimeters away. His second hand made his way to behind your head. He slowly pulled you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft and reassuring kiss.

Shocked, you froze on the spot and dropped the robe you had in your hand. Just as he started to pull away, you regained your ability to think (well, not really) and react, kissing back. You put both your arms over his shoulders, making the medic pull you even closer by the waist, closing the space between you.

Kix grew more confident after a moment of sweet pecks and getting used to each other. You could feel he smiled into the kiss as he slowly deepened it by tilting his head more and guiding you with his hand on your neck. Suddenly, he bit on your lower lip delicately, earning a gasp from you. He used it to slip his tongue in your mouth, the playful fight for dominance leaving you breathless.

You could feel your legs starting to become weak and were so happy that he was supporting you with his strong hand around your waist. When you finally had to break away to breathe, you looked at him from underneath the eyelashes, hazy gaze catching his eyes full of love. He kissed you on the nose before putting his forehead against yours and staying in this position.

[beccanoodles]

Spike and Faye Pairing Analysis

March 2021

Ah the hit or miss pairing of the century! If you don’t love it, you probably hate it lol. I’m a very analytical person so I love analyzing works of art and overall enjoy deep discussions about them too. I have SO much to say when it comes to Cowboy Bebop (and oh I plan to), but I have decided to start with my very own OTP. Here, I am not really going to discuss Spike and Faye’s feelings for each other, but rather why I think people are drawn to this pairing and why I think they're totally valid. Get ready for a long read!😁

⚠️SPOILER WARNING!!! [Major Cowboy Bebop and the movie Out of the Past spoilers]⚠️

First off, let’s clear something up. I am confident most of us can agree that Spike was in love with Julia. Some people assume Spike and Faye fans are deranged and disregard Spike and Julia’s romantic relationship to try and make something of Spike and Faye that never was. While some people may have their various theories and opinions on this, generally, I don’t think anyone denies Spike’s love for Julia. As we will see, this pairing is not really driven by who loves who...let’s first look on the surface.

I don’t know your experiences with the series, but in mine, every time I show this to people it never fails for someone to say something along the lines of,

“Wait, they don’t end up together?”

“Why didn’t he kiss her!?”

“He should have stayed with her...”

and so fourth. 

Naturally, this pairing catches many eyes. 

Think about it, you are given two really cool, really hot and really deep characters that are really fun to see together! There are so many parallels between the two and they are arguably the strongest characters of the bunch. Granted, you can agree with this and still not ship them, but these aspects are part of what opens up the door for many fans of the pairing.

However, there is certainly more to this pairing than them simply looking good together right? As the years pass and I’ve now seen the show multiple times, my understanding of it has evolved in many areas, Spike and Faye included. 

Spike and Faye really couldn’t have ended up together. Sure, it’s a nice thought, but It would have been an entirely different show if they had. I don’t feel that the show should have happened any other way and I don’t think many other fans would either. 

So, what am I saying here?

What’s the point of this paring if I don’t think they should have ended up together? 

It is what's so frustrating about them, yet keeps you coming back and what honestly validates this pairing in my opinion. Spike and Faye are not driven by what is, but rather, what could be.  

I personally feel the themes of classic film Noir are not discussed enough when it comes to Cowboy Bebop! This is one of the show's major influences, especially when it comes to the plot and characters.

One of the common tropes of a film noir is that of a protagonist who is drawn back into his past and ultimate doom, usually by the “seduction” of a femme fatale. In these movies, the women are either a femme fatale [devious, dangerous, mysterious, greedy, troubled, or unreliable] or a woman of virtue [reliable, dutiful, trustworthy, conventional and loving]. 

I am going to use the 1947 classic, Out of the Past to make my comparisons from here on out.

In Out of the Past, Jeff is a former detective who gets caught up in a love triangle between a gangster and his girlfriend Kathie, sound familiar? He attempts to run away with her, but is betrayed and runs off to start a new life in a new town. Here, he meets Ann and falls in love with her, but of course, his past catches up to him and he is drawn back into the world of criminals (largely by Kathie’s involvement). This ultimately results in his and Kathie’s deaths and Ann’s heartbreak. 

Even though Kathie is the femme fatale in this movie, I found myself comparing her more to Julia’s role in the show, than to Faye’s and I found that Faye actually fit best in Ann’s role (this is a bit unusual considering Faye is typically seen as the femme fatale of this show).

Does that mean I think Julia was as ill intentioned as Kathie or that Spike fell in love with Faye? Well, not exactly, let’s look at it a bit further.

“The kind of beautiful, dangerous ordinary that you just can’t leave alone...Like an angel from the underworld or a devil from paradise.”

Most of what we get about Julia is from Spike’s point of view. From this, we learn she is at the center of Vicious and Spike’s conflict, but aside from that she is basically depicted as “The Virtuous Woman” of a noir. The colors around her are warm and she is shown caring for Spike. There is an innocence and modestly about her as well.

Yet, when we finally do meet Julia, we get a different image. We know she is tied up with dangerous men, but is she herself a dangerous woman?

She is certainly capable of betrayal. 

Suddenly she is a bad-ass-gun-toting woman in leather and black, surrounded by hues of grey and dark blue. Intentional or not, Julia is a major part of what lures Spike back into the past and ultimately to his death. In this case, Julia is the femme fatale of Spike’s story and thus, their relationship is doomed from the start.

Faye, on the other hand, is portrayed in somewhat of a contrast. When we first meet her, she is the clear cut femme fatale, appearing cunning, strong willed and seductive. However, we soon find that she has quite a bit of kindness and naivety hidden behind her facade. She uses the former tactics as a way of emotional (and probably physical) protection. Gren points this out in his conversation with her. 

Gren, 

“You’re just afraid they’d abandon you so you abandoned them. You distanced yourself from the whole thing.”

As the show progresses, we start to see less of her “femme fatale nature” and something more genuine. Think about it, between Hard Luck Woman and RFB Part 2 we don’t see much of Faye as her typical conniving or unreliable self, aside from changing the course of the Bebop maybe. Sure she takes off, but it isn’t at all for the same reasons she did in Jupiter Jazz or Speak Like a Child, for example. 

I would argue we actually see her more trustworthy and caring than ever. Since I don’t want to spend too much time talking about Faye’s character development (not here at least) I’ll give one example of this. 

When she returns to the Bebop after her encounter with Julia in RFB Part 1, she gives Spike the message, even though the outcome might hurt her (i.e. he leaves and/or dies). While she does first say “It’s gonna cost you,” she doesn’t really mean it because she tells him without hesitation only moments later.

This isn’t to say Faye good, Julia bad. Both women have their layers and even though we know way more about Faye, I don’t get the impression that Julia is selfish and cunning like Kathie was. But I do get the feeling she was enclosed in a world of crime and betrayal the way Kathie was. We really only know the basics of Spike and Julia’s situation. Who knows the details like motive or how long it lasted etc. etc. We can only speculate...

There is a scene towards the end of Out Of The Past, where Kathie tells Jeff to go away with her. This time it is her asking him, just like Julia asks Spike. During this she mentions,

“I never told you I was anything but what I am, you just wanted to imagine I was. That’s why I left you.”

This got me thinking...did Spike imagine Julia as something she wasn’t? Or something he wanted her to be that she just couldn’t be? 

It could explain why we get such contrasted images of her.

There are themes of this “dreamlike” relationship between Jeff and Kathie, similar to Spike and Julia’s “It was all a dream.”

The two of them were going to “live and be free,” probably something neither of them knew how to do and most likely wouldn’t have been able to get away with.

When Jet asks Spike if he can just forget the past, this is his answer.

Spike,

“There was a woman. For the first time in my life I saw a woman that was truly alive. At least that’s what I thought. She was the part of me I had lost, that part that was missing, that I had been longing for.”

I always wondered about this, because Spike is clearly talking about Julia, but right after is when Faye shows up. To me, that spoke volumes...

Faye is a woman who is terribly human and terribly alive.

Going back to Faye and Ann, I find their similarities shine not so much in the “Virtuous Woman,” concept, but rather in Ann’s dedication to Jeff and her optimism for the future. She is also the last person to talk to Jeff before he leaves for the final time, as if he were being presented with one last alternative. Spike spends his last moments with Faye as well, in which she basically begs him not to go and keep him in the present that she has now discovered for herself. She may be stuck, but she is definitely someone that yearns for human connection, love, and life.

The problem is, Spike and Faye are both set in opposite directions. Her’s leads to a future and Spike knows this because he points it out early on (My Funny Valentine). He also knows, his most likely does not. He has already dug himself too deep into this hole, if you will, that there is really no turning back. 

But let’s say none of that was an issue? What could be?

I sat and watched this movie (Out of the Past) with my mom. She didn’t know anything about it and didn’t know why I was watching it. I wanted her genuine reaction. The whole time she was getting mad at Jeff until the very end. I asked her why and she said that she wanted him to be able to live happily with Ann. I explained to her why he had to do what he did. She understood this, but still couldn’t help but be sad at how things turned out for him, when they could have been good.

Even though Kathie and Jeff are the “lovers,” of this movie, you don’t really want them to end up together. Forget that Kathie has a devious nature, regardless, you know where it has to end and you don’t want to see your hero die.

Like Kathie, Julia symbolizes Spike’s inevitable doom and Like Ann, Faye symbolizes his possible future. 

“I’ll be with you till the end”

                           “You’re the one still tied to the past Spike!”

                                                               “Why do you have to go? Where are you going? What are you gonna do, just throw your life away like it was nothing?!”

It’s two sides of a sad coin...

We want Spike to have a future and because we love the characters of the show, it would be really great if he could have it with them, but that is where the tragedy is. It's only an idea we can think about, a possibility presented to us as it was to Jeff and Spike before their deaths.

The bottom line is, when it comes to Spike and Faye you are really only given a taste. You are not given what you expect to see, which is why I say this ship is driven by what could be. As it is with most of the character relationships in the show, no major breakthroughs are made until the very end, when it's too late. Then it just feels like such wasted potential, but sometimes in life, that's how it is. And thus, we have been given a very classic noir here ladies and gentlemen!

So no, I don’t think people miss the mark when they ship Spike and Faye, nor do I find they invalidate the show by any means. I kind of like that Watanabe switched it up and didn’t do the expected, but left us those subtle hints. He didn’t outright give Spike another lover, but he gave us someone that represents what he could have. Kind of does that with the crew as a whole too!

UGH. I love-hate this show and I love this pairing! Thank you for reading my thoughts and I know this may not be the case or reasoning for everyone, but just based on what I have seen around the community and where this show draws inspiration, this is what I have concluded. I didn’t get into Spike and Faye’s feelings for each other because it gets a little more theoretical there, but I would like to do a post on my thoughts on that as well sometime. I also didn’t touch too much on Spike’s reasoning for choosing to face Vicious in the end, just because I know that will only lead into a whole other analysis lol. But you know I have my thoughts on that and certainly plan to share them 😎 Also, I know I basically spoiled it, but Out of the Past is such a great movie!! I think if you’re a fan of this show it's definitely worth a watch! There are so many more parallels to Cowboy Bebop that I didn’t even mention. Anyways, thanks again and talk to you soon!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 3 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

-

Lan Xichen had the strangest feeling that something was going to happen.

He wouldn’t pretend that he had a touch of foresight – life had shown him the hard way how completely he lacked any sorts of skill in that direction– and there was nothing altogether unusual about anything that had happened in the past few days of the war. Lan Xichen was helping with so much more now than he had during the Sunshot Campaign, when he’d been able to be a little above it all as a mere courtier or a single but powerful scouting force, thanks in large part to his sect’s then-existing weakness and Nie Mingjue’s utter brilliance. Nowadays he had to deal with the endless drudgery of war administration: the clean-up before and after battles, the mechanics of feeding and supplying all the cultivators in their front lines, planning their next move and the next after that…

Nie Huaisang had received a message and stormed out, looking annoyed, but that wasn’t new, either.

There were many demands on his time, after all. Nie Huaisang might not have much experience at war on a personal basis, having largely (and willingly) been sidelined during the Sunshot Campaign, but he was a sharp study and an excellent judge of people. He managed their generals – selected for merit without any attention to what sect they were from, if any – with an iron fist that rivaled his control over his own disciples, and on top of the war there was also his extensive network of spies, his constant scrutiny of their supply lines, his supervision of internecine disputes between the sects…

The divisions between us will be the first place Jin Guangshan strikes, he had said – snarled, rather – at the last meeting between sect leaders, taking to task men twice his age without so much as the blink of an eye. I want this petty bullshit between you resolved, now, and I don’t care how many generations you’ve been fighting over it. If you don’t fix it, I’ll fix it for you, and I assure you that neither of you want that.

They’d resolved it.

After all, Nie Huaisang was right: no one wanted him to step in.  

It was a little ironic, Lan Xichen thought. The entire war had started because of Jin Guangshan’s lust for power, his desire to be called Chief Cultivator – a term Nie Huaisang denounced, as Nie Mingjue had before him – and now it was Nie Huaisang to whom the cultivation world deferred without question.

People were afraid of him.

It still seemed a little ridiculous to Lan Xichen, as if at any moment someone would step in and say that it was all a joke that they’d all been taken in by. That Nie Huaisang was still the excitable little roly-poly puppy he’d always been, Lan Xichen’s good friend’s little brother: stubborn and cute and smarter than he pretended to be, interested in nothing but his art and his fans and his clothing, lazy and indolent and unabashedly happy in a way that had brightened Lan Xichen’s day to see, every time.

He wasn’t, though. And it was Lan Xichen that had helped make him into what he was now.

During his travels, he’d heard cultivators in the field referring to Nie Huaisang as the Pallbearer, obliquely calling him the virtuous mourner as if he were a death-god whose name should not be directly uttered lest it draw his attention – it wasn’t anything Nie Huaisang had accepted as a personal title, utterly inauspicious as it was, but if he didn’t take one soon, he’d be stuck with it. If he wasn’t already.

People were simply uncomfortable calling him Nie-er-gongzi the way they had before, and Lan Xichen didn’t blame them one bit – the Nie-er-gongzi of the past was unrecognizable in the man of today.

But neither could he blame Nie Huaisang for refusing the title of Sect Leader Nie as long as his brother still had a single spark of life in his body.

Nie Mingjue…

Lan Xichen missed him terribly.

He knew he didn’t have the right to – Nie Huaisang had made that clear enough – but he did. He missed his old friend, with his confidence and his kindness and his goodness. He missed having a confidant who esteemed him and who trusted him, who shared everything with him without a moment’s hesitation, who always tried his best and honored those who did the same.

He’d once, and only once, caught a brief glimpse of Nie Mingjue after everything had happened: he’d been in bed, pale as death, face quiet and slack and peaceful in a way it never was, with doctors surrounding him. At the time, they were working furiously to save his life as Nie Huaisang paced furiously outside the door, refusing food and only drinking enough water to replenish the tears that streamed endlessly down his face.

That had been early on, before they’d realized Nie Mingjue had lapsed into a deep coma from which there was no telling when or if he would awake and, even if he did, in what state he would be left in. That had been before Nie Huaisang had banned Lan Xichen from the Unclean Realm…banned everyone, really, hosting them anywhere else he could rather than allow them anywhere near his brother when he was vulnerable.

Before he’d slowly started giving up hope. Before they all had.

It’d been years, after all. Surely if Nie Mingjue’s indomitable strength could heal him, it would have done so by now?

Of course, even if Nie Mingjue did eventually wake up, it wasn’t as if Lan Xichen would get his friend back the way it had once been. Nie Mingjue had always been righteous to the point of rigidity, willing to make the hard choices to punish those who had done wrong no matter their identity, and Lan Xichen had failed him so thoroughly, so completely…

Guiltily, too, he knew that if Nie Mingjue woke up, he’d undoubtedly step up as general once more, coordinating everything the way he had during the Sunshot Campaign – and that meant they wouldn’t need to rely on Lan Xichen’s assistance anymore.

Nie Huaisang had made that clear, too.

Whoever had raised his ire by sending him that message that had pulled him away from their work together…well, they’d better have a very good excuse. Nie Huaisang hated to be interrupted, his temper as short as anyone in his family’s had ever been, and his tongue was more poisonous than Jiang Cheng’s.

Lan Xichen would know, being its most frequent target.

Nie Huaisang had never forgiven Lan Xichen in his part in preserving Jin Guangyao’s life, and lacking the actual assassin to rend to bits, he had grimly decided to make do with the accomplice. He needled Lan Xichen at every instance, taunting him with his failures and deficiencies, making nasty jibes and underhanded remarks that cut deep – and Lan Xichen deserved every single one of them.

Back then, it had been Lan Xichen who had hesitated, refusing to believe the truth. Refusing to believe that his then (and, perhaps, still) beloved A-Yao could ever do such terrible things of which he had been accused, either at his time in the Nightless City or the assassination of Nie Mingjue – he had pushed back, prevaricated, insisted on investigating more, finding out more…in the end the truth had come out in all its ugly wretched filthy glory and the only thing his foot-dragging and indecisiveness that he’d pretended was a devotion to justice had gotten him was Nie Huaisang’s endless disdain.

The worst of it, though, wasn’t the humiliation or the insults, nor his feelings of failure and guilt.

No, it was the way his foolish heart raced at how Nie Huaisang looked now, with all restraint a distant memory – the sharp Nie features on his delicate face turning from blurred to clear as the childhood fat on his cheeks melted away; the intelligence that flashed in his eyes, now unhidden by any pretense or indifference; the utter brilliance in the casual way he rattled off orders, effortlessly taking command without permitting any backtalk; the way he moved, a mixture of the martial general and a dancer’s grace; the way everything about him perfectly fit to Lan Xichen’s taste –

He really was a fool.

He had a crush on you for years, Lan Xichen reminded himself. Nie Mingjue even told you about it, he’d even approved of it back then if only you were interested, and yet you pretended you knew nothing. But now, now when he hates you, despises you, sees you as little better than a worm to crush beneath his heel, now is when you finally choose to see what’s always been there?

He hadn’t said anything to Nie Huaisang about it, of course. There wasn’t any point when Nie Huaisang already thought of him in the worst possible terms – weakling, willfully blind, murderer – and he could easily imagine how it might go, if he ever tried anything.

(“I heard some soldiers say that I resemble Jin Guangyao,” Nie Huaisang had mused one day, his hands locked behind his back as he looked down at their troops training in the field. His voice was cold as ice and sharp as a blade. “Though there’s some disagreement as to whether it’s my face or the devious turns of my mind that bring up the comparison. I thought I’d ask you, Zewu-jun, you being the expert and all – am I a good replacement? A suitable stand-in? If I smile at you enough times, will you do whatever I say without question, the way you did for him?”

I would already do anything for you, Lan Xichen had thought at the time, full of sorrow. In a way that goes well beyond what I felt for him. But even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?)

No, it was clear enough to Lan Xichen that his father’s blood ran strong in him, dooming him to only love where he was not loved in return, and to finally realize the strength of that love only when it was too late.  At least it seemed that Lan Wangji had escaped that fate with Wei Wuxian, their earlier misunderstandings aside.

A moment later, as if summoned by his thoughts, the man himself appeared.

“Oh, Zewu-jun, there you are! Have you seen Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asked, popping his head in through the door. Lan Wangji was a few steps behind him, waiting patiently as he always did – he was always patient with Wei Wuxian, gentle in a manner that reminded Lan Xichen of the way he sometimes cared for the wild rabbits back at the Cloud Recesses.

They hadn’t spoken much, of late. Lan Wangji had understood Lan Xichen’s weakness and had not held it against him, but that didn’t mean Lan Xichen had forgiven himself, nor did it lessen the sting of shame he felt over events he felt must have lost him the respect of his younger brother, no matter how Lan Wangji denied it – it was easier to focus on matters of war.

“He was called away suddenly, I’m afraid,” Lan Xichen said. “He left a few shichen ago, but he said he’d be back in time for dinner.”

“Dinner has already passed,” Lan Wangji said, his voice neutral – an obvious reprimand for Lan Xichen for having not noticed, shaded with concern over the way Lan Xichen didn’t always eat the way he should. He wouldn’t be hurt by it, he practiced inedia the way they all did, of course, but that didn’t mean he should miss meals if he didn’t have to. “He has not yet returned?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. But if it’s that late, he should be back soon. Do you need him for something urgent?”

“As urgent as anything else in this war,” Wei Wuxian said with a shrug. “If you see him, let us know.”

“Why do you assume I’ll see him first?” Lan Xichen asked, a little amused, but Wei Wuxian blinked at him as if he’d said something foolish.

“He always comes to you first,” he said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

Lan Xichen’s breath caught briefly – no, he hadn’t noticed, and his mind immediately started to race, his heart growing warm…but no. He only was being foolish again. As the army’s courier, its administrator, Lan Xichen was the obvious person for Nie Huaisang to contact if he wanted to get his plans spread out to everyone as soon as possible.

There didn’t have to be anything more to it than that.

“So when he arrives, if you could just tell him –”

“No need,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “He is approaching.”

A few moments later, and it was clear from the footsteps that Lan Wangji was right, as always – when Lan Wangji was younger, Lan Xichen used to tease him about having the ears of a bat, capable of detecting everything, and sometimes he really thought it might be true.

They waited, and the door opened, and Lan Xichen instinctively turned away as Nie Huaisang let himself in, not wanting to see those hard eyes turn even harder, the instinctive sneer that rose to Nie Huaisang’s lips at the sight of him that it always took him an extra moment to suppress.

“Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice rising a register in his shock. “What happened?”

Lan Xichen turned back at once, suddenly cold all over in terror. Had Nie Huaisang been injured? Some ambush, some attack, or worst of all a garrote made of guqin string the way he’d so foolishly taught A-Yao – but no, when he examined him with his eyes, Nie Huaisang looked hale as always, but for the redness and swelling around his eyes.

He looked for all the world as if he’d been –

Crying?

And yet Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang hadn’t wept in years. One could probably accurately say that Nie Huaisang hadn’t had any expression in years, nothing that wasn’t a sneer or a grimace, maybe at best a smirk. What could have caused him to do so now…?

Nie Huaisang shook his head and unexpectedly – smiled.

A real true smile, his eyes curving into crescents and wrinkling at the corners, his cheeks glowing pink and his teeth flashing just like when he was younger and more innocent and smiled like that all the time. A smile of the sort that Lan Xichen hadn’t appreciated when he had it, the sort he’d thought was lost forever.

Lan Xichen’s heart stopped in his chest.

He wished he could stop this moment, too, to keep it with him for the rest of time.

“It’s da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, beaming. “He woke up.”

Oh, Lan Xichen thought. Oh.

Oh no.

[wewinbees]

“you only saw me as a weapon!” an in-depth analysis of tommy and techno’s relationship /rp

a mild focus on techno’s thoughts since it’s his speech, but not one or the other is in the right here. a lot of this might have been said, but this is a BIG collection from pogtopia to doomsday to address as many angles as possible. to preface, i don’t think tommy sees techno as a weapon and nothing else, but the point remains that techno feels like he does, and that’s important.

this is from like january btw lol

we’ll start with “the blade” tommy’s nickname for techno, which got adopted by a lot of the server (as tommy’s nicknames tend to be). most other people have the Big [X] format, but techno gets this specialised nickname. i think the reason he developed a negative association with it was because of when it was used; when they need him for fights. the most important would be the vault reveal, with wilbur getting everyone to victoriously chant “we have the blade!” to boister morale. this would have been fine in and of itself, if it weren’t for the events of the rest of the day and what that name would come to represent. it ends up becoming a taunt to him, because that’s what people get close to him for. his use to them as the blade rather than his friendship to them as technoblade

tommy’s always very happy to call in techno for help, and techno usualy sorts it out with... minimal effort required. i do see this more as a blend of tommy’s pride in knowing techno and smugness at having that kind of upperhand in a fight over him viewing techno solely as a weapon to use, but this still ends up being detrimental to their friendship because of how much it happens. remember, the entire reason techno joined the server was to help wilbur and techno form pogtopia. techno doesn’t mind helping tommy out, but at some point it’s going to be frustrating, being called in for any and all minor struggles. but in the end of the day, it’s fine, because they’re brothers under the same cause. destroying manberg. Oh Wait.

the main issue came after the festival, with that faith and trust tommy had in techno being shattered; rightfully so, because watching tubbo get murdered was traumatic for him, because for tommy the pit was no way to settle that conflict (which reminded, wasn’t techno’s suggestion, it was proposed and pushed onto them by wilbur). since tommy sees technoblade as unbeatable, he couldn’t understand why techno was so easily peer-pressured by manberg. he was threatened by how many people were against him, he was stressed dealing with the voices telling him to do it, he didn’t see any other way out, he wasn’t getting any support from his only other allies even though he was looking right at them and they still did nothing.

but tommy didn’t understand because he thought techno could have won. techno did try to stall as well, but without orders from his friends he ended up following schatt’s, and once he realised he had the power to kill everyone on stage, he just gave into that power. the miscommunication during the pogtopia arc was why techno felt as betrayed as he did, and why the victim complex argument annoys me so much, since he was kept in the dark for that long while grinding resources for the army. also, since techno wasn’t there for l’manberg’s peaceful days or the start of the disc saga he would never understand how important those attachments were to people, so he’d feel little remorse blowing them all up (especially since he knew that was the backup plan for pogtopia anyway, and just because people were unhappy about it didn’t change the fact that it was a plan)

a lot of people say that techno should have known that pogtopia’s goal was to form a new government, that at some point he should have overheard the real plan. everyone agreed to ‘destroy manberg’ (as in the government not the land) but somehow techno never found out about the ‘restoring l’manberg’ part of the plan. how that happened, who knows, but in the end of the day, the writers chose for that miscommunication to happen for the story. it’s not a how or a why, it’s just a fact that was written in. he didn’t find out until it was right in front of him, and he was bound to feel betrayed by that, enough that he was driven to do something irrational. my personal theory is that techno was mainly following wilbur’s orders, and because wilbur was the real traitor, chances are he never mentioned any forming of a new government since he knew that would lose techno’s support. wilbur was probably using techno as a weapon, that was his mentality for a lot of people back then, but since he was the leader of pogtopia then that negative transference carried on to the rest of the members for techno, most of all tommy as he was the other key founder, and not as underhanded about getting techno’s help. i’d say wilbur’s address of techno during the final speech was the a key reason as to why techno doesn’t feel as used by him than he is with tommy, solidifying the anarchy bros before dying, meaning anything else could be revealed.

after the war, the bedrock bros were completely alienated from eachother. tommy started to blame everything about l’manberg’s destruction on techno, since wilbur died and ghostbur isn’t really at fault for anything. techno distanced himself from everything, going into retirement for the unforeseeable future because he felt like his violent anarchist tactics were futile and grew tired of constant conflict. he talked to tommy a few times during retirement, and every single time, he asks tommy how the government was working out for him. when he was at risk of being exiled, just before being exiled and immediately after exile. he wanted tommy to see the government in the same light as he did, because when l’manberg sold him out he realised they were the same. they’d both been betrayed by the government and from that point on he fully believed tommy would be better off away from l’manberg. but every time tommy said no, because he believed in the original dream wilbur had for l’manberg and because he trusted tubbo’s leadership. techno was smug when he was proved right because of course he was he’s technoblade. plus, they did view eachother as enemies at this point, so it’s not unacceptable for them to argue with eachother right now.

that brings us to the execution. traumatising! the refusal to run a fair trial and the dehumanising treatment from his old allies in pogtopia hammer this home, but importantly they rope philza into the chaos this time. ALSO it’s important to mention that techno was killed; he just got an extra life from the totem. he was actually killed and his character experienced that pain as punishment. he was pushed out of retirement, which was unjust in his eyes, since he believed he had genuinely changed. it didn’t help that quackity explicitly told him it wasn’t actually punishment for the withers, but instead a move to consolidate power, furthering his view of the cabinet as corrupt. from that point on he left retirement. he’d been doing well without violence, building connections with new people like vikk and lazar and finding a fragile form of peace, but in the end this shattered it. he’s back to being the blade, speaking with violence, because l’manberg made it clear there was no other way for him to be heard at this point. so he’s going to destroy them, even if he has to do it alone.

enter stage raccooninnit.

tommy taking refuge in techno’s house because he knew techno was rich enough for him to steal his resources and strong enough to defend him from dream is... interesting. he couldn’t go back to l’manberg, but he took refuge with a man who he viewed as a villain. this probably doesn’t help techno’s opinion of him, since he is quite literally using him for his resources, but in the end of the day tommy was desperate and quite literally on the verge of death, so he seemed to take some kind of pity on him. the exile period of their relationship is definitely the most important part of this argument, because it was just the two of them: no wilbur or pogtopia as an external force (though the pressure of dream and l’manberg still affected things) but in the same way ultimately doomed to fail. they fight for a moment, but ultimately settle as ‘business partners’. which quickly evolves back into a friendship like the one they had before the festival.

my least favourite take is that either one of them never valued the other at this point because this is just.... violently not true. they started off working for mutual benefit; tommy explicitly agreed to do minor terrorism in l’manberg and to help techno get his weapons back in return for techno’s help getting the discs back and taking refuge in his house. from the start both of them stated their limits:

techno was always planning on getting revenge on l’manberg for what happened on the day of his execution

tommy never wanted to upset tubbo, and wanted to put getting his discs back first

should note that tommy changes his mind on the disc’s priority later on, but at the point of their alliance he does make it clear that’s what he wants out of the partnership. the issue is that from the start both of them went in with blind optimism. neither of them lied to eachother or forced them to change their viewpoints but in the end of the day they could never be on the same side as long as l’manberg was involved. (note, i think some people think he wasn’t but techno was actually planning on helping tommy getting the discs back, with him getting annoyed at tommy letting tubbo give dream the disc because that made both of their jobs so much harder, but it was more of a long term goal bc he knew dream was hard to beat. plus before his execution, he visited tommy and strongly implied he would be willing to help with the discs, and that he would be a better ally in those personal aims than NLM were)

i don’t understand the ‘techno was only using tommy’ accusation here because like... how? what would he have to gain by having tommy on his side? he could definitely have blown up l’manberg without his help, so why bring him in at all? it was a very mutual agreement of ‘we’re using eachother’ that developed into genuine friendship. i’ve always seen it as a teaching experience: techno knows tommy had been wronged by NLM, and by extension tubbo, and by taking him on these minor terrorism trips, he’s showing tommy the worst of l’manberg. look, look at this execution stand, look at what they’ve done. and in doing this, he’s trying to prove to tommy that what he’s going to do to l’manberg is right. and in showing him the worst of NLM, he’s neglecting all of its good parts, but again, techno cant see any positives in l’manberg, and is trying to show tommy that everyone, especially tommy, would be better off without it. and tommy had criticisms of l’manberg before he was exiled, especially in regards to tubbo. he told ranboo the reason he chose wilbur to be president instead of tubbo was because he was worried the presidency would ruin their friendship, and Look At Exactly What Happened. techno highlighting the flaws of the country to tommy was easy because it WAS flawed and it hurt both of them. and techno’s hope was that tommy would join him in the eventual destruction of it, because he wanted to share his revenge with tommy and for him to get his own justice against l’manberg. but it... didn’t quite work out that way.

they both tried to make it easier for the other; techno told tommy he didn’t need to fight against l’manberg if he didn’t want to, but tommy came with him to the festival anyway to confront dream, despite techno’s mission being against the government in that situation. tommy started to view tubbo’s cabinet as corrupt for the execution and neglecting him during exile, and ended up helping techno out around the base and even toning down the purposeful annoyance (per techno’s ooc request). and the day before the green festival, he told techno he would help to destroy l’manberg (not knowing how quickly things would escalate the next day, since doomsday was fairly spontaneous) but in the end they would never be able to find a full compromise: techno would always be an anarchist and tommy could never hurt tubbo.

people accuse techno of not caring for tommy, which really annoys me because it’s not?? true??? if anything he shows more outward affection than tommy did. he didn’t have any benefit from taking in tommy, but he still did it. it’s not really basic decency either, given that they were technically enemies beforehand. he picked up on tommy’s fragile state around dream and defended, hid him despite the fact that he owed dream, he kept him away from logsted and the final control room after realising how upsetting they were. he exchanged the christmas presents, he jumped in to defend him against the rest of the server and when tommy betrayed techno, he was genuinely hurt! he was wrecklessly impulsive in a way the calculated blade usually wasn’t, almost blowing up half his house (including almost killing his villagers) because of the negative association with dnret.

that’s not to say tommy doesn’t also get absolutely crucified for betraying techno because of all of techno did for him. again it was somewhat inevitable. tommy said it himself, he was turning into someone he didn’t want to be, he was hurting people, and it was somewhat because he was living with technoblade. he was so powerless under dream, and he liked the feeling of power he got from teaming with techno, so much so that it drove him to cruelty, with even techno telling him he went too far with fundy. in the end, it’s probably for the best that he set that boundary and left to go back to l’manberg, but ultimately it was upsetting to both of them. techno felt betrayed because he genuinely thought tommy was his friend, only to be turned on last minute once again, now surrounded alone by enemies he was trying to protect tommy from. to him, allying with dream was just as bad as tommy allying with l’manberg. a betrayal for a betrayal, absolute reciprocity.

we all know the doomsday speech, with techno’s arguments being consistently stronger than tommy’s and much easier to defend, but we can’t just dismiss him. tommy had a lot of emotional input that day, and was angry at techno for a Lot of reasons, so he was more focused on shouting than making sense. he was more accusatory, while techno had fairly focused rebuttals (which, fair, i’m pretty sure that was techno’s first big addressal of most of that with other characters). it ended with tommy calling techno selfish for destroying l’manberg and techno coldly shutting tommy out for the betrayal.

betrayal was the driving force for techno’s “weapon” speech. tommy used him in pogtopia, tried to use him to stop dream exiling him and terrorising NLM) which he laughed at when told in character) and used him for getting the discs back. tommy wasn’t just using him, he genuinely felt like they had built a relationship beyond that, but when techno acted under his own ideals that went against his, then it was over. because tommy doesn’t value techno’s ideals, because they’re ‘selfish’ to him since he’s one of the only ones who believes in them. in turn techno sees that as making tommy selfish and as such they’re unable to compromise.

living with techno was an important part of tommy’s recovery process, which is still ongoing now. he saw immediate changes from his time with dream, claiming he felt “more me-ey” around techno and genuinely valuing his company. but he viewed techno’s alliance with dream as a betrayal, and he viewed the nov 16th incident as a betrayal. because he see’s techno’s belief in anarchy as selfish. something i never hear people point out is that tommy ADMITS he betrayed techno. after doomsday*, he says “all this time, technoblade told me i was betraying him. and you know what? (whispered) i was.” he’s guilty about it, and he understands that techno’s hurt. but he still can’t see him as being in the right, because techno took l’manberg forcefully and violently, and because tommy was hurt by their separation too. techno was powered by revenge more than anarchy during doomsday, which i think is important to point out. tommy had focused in on the threat of dream, and forgotten all the trauma techno went through with l’manberg, and left techno to rejoin l’manberg.

BOTH of them have explicitly stated “i viewed him as a friend but he never viewed me as one” and that’s just... devastating. at one point we can only hope that they have an in-canon conversation to actually settle all of this, but for now their storylines are separate and we’ll just have to live with that.

if anyone has anything they’d like to ask/clarify, or additions from any side i’d love to see it bc character analysis of dsmp characters is what’s keeping me going rn lmao. i said betrayal so many times here i am very sorry for clogging up the tag bc my readmore isn’t working yet (edit SAVED)

*i actually think this speech from tommy is very important, and not looked at as much as other stuff so im gonna link it here [55:52].