#i fear this may take on a life of it's own...

[itsalwayslearning]

One thousand years. That was how long they said it had been since anyone had written about these sunken halls of igneous rock, hidden deep underground. The historian who had ventured here alone didn't expect to find anything much; just something - anything that could provide them the building blocks to help them uncover the secrets of the past. If they'd found nothing but the halls, that would have been fine. If they'd found some artefacts or records, as aged as they may be, that would be great. However, in the deepest room, walls of obsidian reflecting their torch light back as a shadow of itself, the historian found something far greater. They found a lingering soul.

A thousand years since anyone alive had been here. More, and you would have the day I first stepped foot in these halls, bound already by fate to remain for eternity. They asked me, so earnestly, what was the world like when I was alive? With eyes as innocent yet as seeking as a child, they pleaded with nothing much to offer except their limited experience. Knowledge of a way in. And out.

Over a thousand years ago, Destruction reigned. He had done so for centuries before, since the first tear in the sky appeared. We thought he would rule for centuries more until the sun faded to nothingness. Back in a time when soldiers were more plentiful than civilians, generals rode roughshod over fertile land, churning them into battlefields. Reasons for battles fell into distant memory, laid to rest with the bones who fell for a cause they once believed was righteous. Regardless, it became war for War's sake. Those who fell did not enrich the land, but were swallowed by it. Twisted and mangled, the land leeched the life from them, the very life they stole from it with blades and axes. Neither ended up more alive than the other.

Mages grasped and strangled the Radiance, the light of the world, and bent it to their will. With the excuse of "the pursuit of knowledge," they broke the light inside each other until only Dark remained. Arcane pursuit excused all manner of atrocities, rendered useless when no one was left amongst the ashes to make use of their knowledge; only onlookers who either feared Light more, or those whose curiosity would inevitably bring their own end.

Magic wielders were not the only ones overcome with Greed. As common folk starved and the idea of nothing grew closer, they scrambled and scratched and pinched and stole. Anything to avoid the idea of nothing, despite the fact they took from their fellows who would succumb to the very thing they feared. In that time, it did not matter. As long as One had something, there was no room for concern if others had nothing.

Power did not satisfy, no matter how much the people indulged. Always eating, never full. Always taking, never full. Always discovering, never learning. In a world made by Creation, Her ideals would would be her undoing.

Boundless creation was a problem that had always existed. A neverending tide approaching with more people, more problems, more suffering than a single world should take. In shame, She stepped away, leaving Destruction to right the balance, unaware it was the part of Her that was Him, the inevitable end to Creation, which set the events in motion. It was the part of Him that was Her, the little Creation he harboured, that kept the world suffering.

He had ruled for centuries. We believed he would rule for centuries more. From the state of the historian, I could tell it did not last. Hopeful. Horrified by the past, its acts so distant. There was something that gave them hope. "What about the gods?" They asked. "They couldn't have just stood by. They wouldn't."

They didn't, I reassured them. In the earliest of days, when souls were young and innocent, there were The Children. Kissed by Creation, they did not die. They did not falter in their ideals when faced with mortal dangers. That all changed with the Rise of Destruction. Facing their own corruption was Joy, Justice, Nature, and Knowledge. When He first rose into power, they tried to fight it. Joy brought Light where they could, standing by Justice's side to illuminate the righteous path. When She Who Knows fled, it all began to fall. The roots deep in the earth had already rotted, tainted by His touch. With a world harsh and unforgiving, there was no home for Joy. With a word and a curse, they were lost. As Justice lost his illumination, his targets became unclear. No colour, only black and white. There was still darkness to be culled, anything darker than the blinding light.

There were others, thought to be saviours as first. They stepped in, granted a Radiant aura people had only seen in the blessings from above. As above, so below, as the saying goes. Whether in plain sight or in the shadows, they were always here. They always would be, in one form or another.

Something to bring the young soul before me hope: there was always an end to Destruction. It was inevitable. Corruption would end or heal, fallen seas would rise again. The gods people knew became devoted to the good they craved to see. Gathered again, ideals one and the same, they turned their focus to the centre of our continent, where His throne stood tall as the day the magma spewed from the earth. Weapons drawn, Radiance gathered, the fight of generations followed.

The historian said they knew what happened next. Destruction fell but at a cost. In his fury, Justice was poised to strike the Elder God down in the name of his ideal, forgetting about his own safety. It would be his downfall. It was the sight of her Child being struck down that spurred Creation into action. A Light so bright, so strong, it drove Her counterpart deep within his own throne, smothered by the molten rock that spewed from its peak. As the heat fled with Her leaving, the dust cleared. Destruction was gone.

I had enlightened the historian. I held up my end of the deal. As they settled, trying to commit everything to memory, they relaxed. Occupied. Unaware.

I was not blessed with a kiss from Creation. I did not exude Radiance like Her Children, but I had been granted a gift. True insight into others minds, and how they turn. How they can be turned. The inevitable and the impossible were laid plain before me, the strings of fate to be pulled by me alone. The historian never asked how I came to be down here. I told them it was a sentence, in truth, but not entirely metaphorical. After all, who would They be if the Killer of Justice did not face God-made consequences? It was humorously mortal of them to seek revenge against the one who turned and corrupted them, too. It was the godly part of them that decided my fate, sealed by the seat of My Lord.

I had waited, knowing the day would come. People would forget their past. I would not. Through the centuries of servitude and the millennium of confinement, I held one thought. One faith. Things must end before they begin again. My time here must end, and I will raise Destruction, the natural balance to the world. The historian promised me a way out. I've waited a long while already, so I can wait a little longer, hidden in the back of my puppet's mind as I feel the sunlight on my face once again.

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

[opal-owl-flight]

GOOBLET Neo3 and her adoptive mama :]

Backstory time? BACKSTORY TIME

More abt her origins under the cut!!

She hails from a clan of salmonids that lives close to the Splatlands border. Her whole life, shes known nothing but fight, and be angry at the Inkfish that have taken over the shores of this clan's spawning grounds.

But she was originally from a village of egg harvesters. A struggling village, who fell to harvesting eggs for Grizzco to get by. Once, generations ago, they were friends and traded with the local salmonids until The Propaganda and Better Pay won them over. This generation has forgotten. But the salmonid never forgot this betrayal.

During another attempt to take their spawning grounds back, and migrate upwards to a feeding ground, they pushed into the village ala Big Run.

Neo3s parents -- her mother was incubating the eggs -- dropped the smaller egg as a distraction while she and the father bolted. They hoped the salmonid chasing them would eat the egg and spare them.

A Stinger saw this from her perch and yelled at all the salmon around her to NOT eat the egg.

"Spawn for Spawn," she hisses. "They took me sister's eggs. I teke theirs." She thought her parents were snivveling cowards and told no one to tell the hatchling about them. They do not deserve to be remembered.

The egg was due to hatch in a month. The stinger submerged it in a mix of salmon blood and synthetic ink that the clan ransacks the village for once in a while. The egg, exposed to the mixed material, took on traits of both -- water resistance but can still shapeshift, and so on.

She was raised by the Stinger, alongside lil buddy and a few other hatchlings. (Salmonid raise their young communally after spawning rituals. They are fed the flesh of the fallen, among other things.) The other salmonid didnt approve much. They insisted that its better to just eat her and be done with it -- what can an inkfish do?? And how sure are they that she wont betray them? Inkfish stick with their own, the last few generations have shown that. What would she do when she finds out the truth? Enact revenge? (The stinger is sure she wont.) Still...that Inkfish spawn is adjusting well with the others. They eventually give her a chance, after she scared the piss out of some Grizzco workers that enroached on their spawning grounds again. (It was 4. She scared 4 REAL bad enough that she never came back!!)

-------------

Neo3 never betrayed them. But she did dishonor them.

One of Neo3s closest Salmonid brethren is a horde of pirate Salmonid. (The smallfry is also among them, but he is the same age as Neo3 almost. So when she was a toddler so was he)

They like to help the Runners on their spawning journeys by stirring shit up along their path. Giving them something to fight as they journey. sometimes its Inkfish residences when its Big Runs.

This older brother of hers died on one of these runs. She was very close to this one... And he had taken that hit for her after everyone else was taken down.

And Neo3, and the smallfry??

They ran.

They cant show their faces again after that great dishonor. I know her mama would accept her still. She always does. The rest of the clan may not, though... theyd smell the cowardice on her. The fear. Same goes for the smallfry on her.

Salmonids are...when they fight, they never back down, even if they know theyre gonna die. Fight to live with all theyve got. If they die, they drag whatever theyre fighting down with them.

To keep hiding, with no intention to fight, is considered a sign of weakness (there is the whole "retreat to get to a better position" kind of deal after all. But only Elders can make the choice to fully retreat to fight another day). Theres no elders on that trip and Neo3 just kept hiding. Seeing death so absolute before her for the first time and shrinking away from it.

*Neo3 has that secret fear of dying (much more than most salmonids -- in the fish, theres a "fear" of it that keeps them fighting hard even when things are going south). She freezes instead of fights when she knows she'll lose. And while the threshold isnt low, she gives up more easily than most salmonid do. Her freezing and 3 getting shot during Biggest Run is bc of this, and her guilt after the fact is bc shes reminded of her older salmonid brother.

So she ran off. With only the clothes on her back, and the smallfry, she bolted into the Splatlandian desert. The salmonid she did encounter on the way smelled her fear and returned to the clan bearing the news. She was banished, exiled. Inkling scum, the smallfry an accomplice. The Stinger (who couldve been demoted or kept off the spawning grounds for raising the exiled salmonid, but wasnt due to her skill in routing the workers) kept the respawner they pilfered for her. Waiting for her return, one day.

**This honor was restored during the Biggest Run. She was the one in charge of directing the clans to the safest routes. She was the one drawing worker fire (bc Grizzco is after her ass for the banditry...among other reasons). She faced dangers head on without fear, esp after 3 got shot down. Neo3 doesnt know this. Not yet. She still believes shes the clan's greatest dishonor, hiding it all under the fuzzification's "yearning curse" (more on that later), and a grin.

----------

She didnt immediately end up with Cuttlefish. She spent some years as a scrap scavenger. And...she tried to return to her biological family.

Neo3 did NOT feel good after meeting her bio family. She thought- god she thought - that since her salmonid clan rejected her for her dishonorable cowardice with the pirates (god she was 12-13 guys she didnt even have proper fingers), maybe she can live with her bio family instead.

Nah. That aint happening. And for a while she thought it was working out. Shes with... "the family that spawned her". Her dad was talking to her (before findin oit abt the smallfry anyway). Shes getting the supposed "care" that she missed out on.

Why does it feel...wrong?

And it only felt more wrong when the family comes back day after day of work, heavy with the smell of dead salmonid and the warm scent of golden eggs.

Neo3, they sacrificed you to save their own asses. Youre not missing out any love from them. What she got was dirty looks from everyone and the family keeping her a secret (everyone thought the dad did a freaky with one of the salmonids theyre hunting.)

She ran away again. Running headfirst into Craig, who smelled like The Bear. In her mind, if she kills the bear, then maybe....

Under all that bluster, all she really wants is to be with a family again. And your clan wants to welcome you back now. Youve restored your honor a hundredfold. Only thing stopping you now is yourself.

---------

WOOH THATS A LOT. ENJOY THE COMPLETE BACKSTORY GANG! I didnt touch on Splat3s stuff yet bc that deserves a different post aiejdjd.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly @ium1naryy @wumpbean

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

Spy × Family Chapter 108: An Analysis

So, after a two month wait, we finally got a new chapter! And we were SO well fed LMAO!!!

Anyway, as always, spoilers for Spy × Family Chapter 108 under the cut!

We start off the chapter with Melinda nervously explaining to Yor her reason for being "Lunaluna Selena" in disguise: it's a fun hobby!

And, obviously, she's in disguise out of worry about the rumours that might spread if the former First Lady of Ostania dabbles in mysticism: as it might cause problems with her husband. (Though it is messed up that she has to hide her hobbies from her own husband, but we know how Donovan is).

In the middle of Melinda's monologue about why she loves this sort of thing, she drops a rather odd line:

(First of all: DANDADAN reference anyone?) Kidding, kidding, it was probably just a throw-off line, but what we're really focusing on is: Melinda's emphases on the word "Telepathy".

Now, side note, I'm not sure if the emphasis was to draw our, the readers' attentions to the fact that Melinda believes in the concept of telepathy existing, or if Melinda herself is putting emphasis on the word "telepathy", implying she knows something about the project that Anya was made for.

It is a fascinating thing to put in, though: if one's talking about the things they believe in, then putting "telepathy" in the top three seems like an odd choice, especially if more general terms like "superpowers" or whatever exist.

It does seem very intentional on Endo-sensei's part to put in, especially since, as of now, we don't know how much Melinda knows about Donovan's current plans, or even about what he's done before.

It could be a reference to Anya's past, or some sort of red herring so the reveal of Anya's past can be more shocking. I'm not sure. Yet, I choose to believe that Melinda knows something about Anya's past--- something maybe she found out on accident? Which is why she's so terrified of Donovan?

In essence, this chapter basically confirms that Melinda is suffering some sort of psychological abuse at the hands of Donovan, leading to her fear of him. What's more interesting is that Donovan is intentionally trying to drive a rift between Melinda and the boys. Possibly he's trying to isolate her by keeping them under his thumb, so that she doesn't try to "betray" him? Or maybe he's already threatened the lives of the boys in return for Melinda staying, all for the sake of keeping the "happy family man" image up to the public (though we know how messed up the family really is).

These panels. They confirm that Melinda has thoughts about standing up for herself and Damian (and Demetrius too, I guess--- I think it's implied), but the sheer terror of what Donovan might do holds her back. Half a step forward, a whole leap back. She even says, "Fortune telling [a hobby that she loves dearly] doesn't matter either. What am I doing here?"

So. yeah.

[NOTE: I skipped over the tarot reading part initially so that I could talk about Donovan and his abuse, and connect it to the first bit of the chapter. The tarot reading part comes now.

NOTE 2: All the information about the tarot cards comes from Google. I have no knowledge about tarot, so please take this with a grain of salt, and if I make any mistakes, please don't hesitate in correcting me :)]

These are the cards we see initially.

She says the card representing Anya's present is the Four of Cups. According to Google, it means:

The Four of Cups tend to appear when you are feeling discouraged and unmotivated. You may feel as if there is no solution or way forward in your situation. Life has become stagnant, and nothing seems to make you happy or passionate.

(Labyrinthos, Tarot Cards Meanings List)

Which is kind of true in reference to Anya's life as a student. A student's life is filled with studying (God knows I know it), something Anya is apathetic towards. It's also "Plan A" of Operation Strix: through studying, Anya becomes an Imperial Scholar and Twilight makes contact with Donovan Desmond.

Or, it could be an allusion to Melinda's situation: she's discouraged, and feels trapped in her marriage. Nothing makes her passionate anymore, because everything she experiences is tainted by her husband (see: the panel above where she says 'even fortune-telling doesn't matter).

Melinda says that the Death card represents the factors around Anya. There's the obvious joke about "Oh the Grim Reaper's right next to you!" with Yor next to Anya, but the Death card shouldn't be taken literally.

The Death card signals that one major phase in your life is ending, and a new one is going to start. You just need to close one door, so the new one will open. The past needs to be placed behind you, so you can focus your energy on what is ahead of you.

(Labyrinthos, Tarot Cards Meanings List)

This is a reference to Anya's previous life as a test subject, and orphan; and how she's left that past behind and been allowed to actually be a child, and how she's finally being loved as she deserves. How her circumstances, the factors around her are changing. It could also pertain to her physical growth, or maybe it was just there for the joke about Yor being the Grim Reaper (which is still pretty ominous. Who is Yor going to have to kill?)

And, finally, the Star in reverse.

When the Star card is reversed, it means that you are feeling as though everything has turned against you. The challenges that you would normally see as exciting seem instead to make you feel as though you cannot overcome them. You have lost faith in something, whether inside yourself or with something you normally find dear.  Without hope, without faith, we cannot find the motivation to progress forward in the challenges that we face. Where in your life are you feeling hopeless? In what ways do you already feel defeated? And how does that affect your actions? The star reversed asks us to nurture our sense of hope and positive energy to help propel our actions with joy instead of fear.

(Labyrinthos, Tarot Cards Meanings List)

Since this represents Anya's future... it doesn't look to good. It feels intentionally grey and murky, with no clear answer as to what's going to happen in Anya's future, but it still seems pretty bleak.

Overall, these readings don't seem to point to a future that seems too good for Anya.

I am very afraid what's going to happen to her (and to find out what's going to happen to her), but I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

We still don't know what exactly Anya means by "This feeling... I think I've felt it before...", especially when it's related to Melinda's fear of returning home and to Donovan. Again, it makes me very nervous for her backstory.

Anya and Yor return to where the rest of the gang is, and---

why is he like this.

After Twilight spends the whole day socializing with the other parents, "pumping them for information", Emile talks about how nice it must be to have a nice mom, which leads to this interaction:

This has a striking similarity to the chapter where Anya confesses about her mind-reading powers to Damian: the reassurance back then that Damian loves his dad, and now, the reassurance that Melinda loves him. Parallels about who he loves and idolizes, and now who loves him.

And, it's also so heartwarming that she specifically takes off her mask: showing her, perhaps, most true self to him, especially due to the fact that she comes from a family of actors, constantly putting on masks.

Speaking of masks... we can see a bit of [REDACTED] bleed through the mask of Loid, and Twilight.

It's the same, pensive expression that we see him wear in Episode 35 (Chapter 56), except it's more... tired. More weary. Less affectionate.

(The panel from Chapter 56)

We see a man imagining What Could Have Been, if the trajectory of his life hadn't changed so drastically: especially at a festival much like the one he's currently at.

We see a man tired of war.

We also see it in Episode 3 (Chapter 3)

This is when he's seeing young boys playing, and thinking of himself and his own friends.

Anya doesn't read his mind, but she does read his expression-

And so, the family man mask comes on, but not quite as properly as he'd like.

We can still see [REDACTED] shine through.

It's the same smile he gives Yor and Anya when Nightfall comes over, the smile with, which Fiona notes, "a tiny hint of real emotion seeping out from beneath it".

We jump to some time later, with Director Gorey asking Loid if he's willing to take on a VIP patient who presents a "challenging" case, which is followed by the inevitable reveal that the patient is Melinda.

I think this implies that Melinda has tried seeing psychiatrists before, but none of them worked out for her, or none of them could figure out what was wrong with her (hence the "challenging").

It's also revealed that Yor suggested Melinda sees Loid, which is greatly boosting his mission.

Gorey says that he suspects she's suffering from an intense case of Persecution Complex, so I searched that up.

People with a persecution complex suffer from the feeling that other people are trying to harm them.

(Cambridge Dictionary)

Given Gorey's diagnosis, I'm wondering if he's implying that Melinda is untrustworthy (which also implies that Melinda might have spoken of her fear of her husband--- perhaps in a roundabout way, which also led to her being classified as "challenging".) Though, for this, we'll need to wait and see next chapter.

FINAL THOUGHTS: I really loved this chapter! It definitely was worth the two month wait (and, I hope Endo-sensei is better, I think he took the break because of poor health). I'm excited for the next chapter! Tell me what your thoughts are!

[chameleonwritess]

Okay I accidentally got the flambé insanity out of my system on my enstars spam Instagram but I’m still gonna scream about ibayuzu bc I NEED TO….

Listen, I may say things about how awful they are for each other and like ‘lol ibayuzu is their bad ending’ because I love me some toxic yaoi, but hear me out: nah it’s not actually all that toxic OR bad for them, they just need to SIT DOWN AND COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THE DRAMATICS AND THE CONSTANT TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER which is probably not gonna happen because they both love the dramatics and one upping each other too much

Now here’s why: pretty much the ONLY TIME we see Yuzuru get to be himself is when he’s talking to Ibara. Can you imagine how much of a relief it must be to him that FINALLY he can drop the act and SNAP at this Guy? Knowing that a) he can take it because he’s actively encouraged it and is already well aware of exactly how ruthless Yuzuru is capable of being and b) it’s not going to ruin his reputation or leak his background to any fans or higher ups because Ibara needs to keep their history just as secret at Yuzuru. Ibara is so so important to Yuzuru because as much as he can complain about how much he despises him…. He’s not even ALLOWED to express open distaste for anyone else- this is the one person he can be a bitch towards without fear or without having to cover up the bitchiness with feigned niceties (and Yuzuru is such a bitch at heart xoxo)

And now for Ibara. Yuzuru is one of the only people he can ALWAYS trust. He knows Yuzuru’s past, he knows Yuzuru’s mindset better than anyone else and he KNOWS he’s the only one who’s aware of how Yuzuru really feels and works, which gives him the comfort of knowing that Yuzuru isn’t gonna betray him. Yuzuru has nothing to gain from screwing him over and ruining his life or anything else. Sure he’s a thorn in his side when it comes to his sneaky tricks and schemes, but when it comes to being able to breathe freely and not have to battle every day of his life, afraid that everyone around him is just waiting for the opportunity to tear him down and send him right back into the battlefield, he knows that Yuzuru is safe. And I think he’s aware enough by now that Yuzuru does genuinely care about him- favourite pupil privileges and all that.

So basically, Flambé sent me insane because of the amount of mentions about their joint past and the way they instantly retort back to anything the other says. Yuzuru snarkily saying that Ibara must struggle to give gifts because he doesn’t care about anyone else (I smell resentment from the past. Why are you so convinced of that, Yuzuru? You know Ibara just wanted a safe haven- upset that wasn’t you? Upset he chose Nagisa over you???? Upset that he doesn’t care about you like you care about him??????????). We also have Ibara scheming in his own mind and WATCHING for Yuzuru’s reaction. Because Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. We just get a sprite of him narrowing his eyes. And suddenly Ibara’s like ‘haha he noticed! Just as I expected hehe! Can’t get away with anything with Yuzuru around!’… Ibara why are you watching? Why are you waiting and hoping he thwarts you????? (Lmao Perry and Doofenshmirtz ass dynamic) Ibara you don’t need to pretend to be evil just to get Yuzuru to stop you so you have an excuse to enjoy being an idol….. I mean, Yuzuru sees through it and is gonna enable that for you anyway but THERE WAS NO NEED I PROMISE!!

Ugh they make me insane. Read Flambé, y’all!!! It’s also one of my fave Rinne stories because I love love love when an all out over the top dramatic character gets to show a more subdued side and drop the mask for a bit- especially around a specific person (rinniki nation winning) (wow weird thing for the notorious wataei freak to comment on)

And I’m done byeeee

[elvister]

Mr Crawling Х reader

!BLOOD!

➺ You can't shake the feeling of being grateful for your guard dog's presence. He may look intimidating, but judging a book by its cover has long been a no-brainer. Mr. Crawling knew there was no way back, so he stood between you and the unknown shadow in front of you, as if he sensed a great threat there. The monster's heart was beating wildly, but the target stood firm and steadfast in its position. It cried out to protect you at the cost of its own life, so the man was next to you. You tried to examine something in the deep darkness, clutching a crowbar in your hands, but it was all in vain. You felt that Mr. Crawling was about to stand on his two legs, like red pandas, to scare away danger. His muscles tensed, which emphasized the truth of your words - in your opinion. But instead, the black-haired man pulled you by the fabric of your raincoat, nervously peering into your pale face, both from fear and tension. You kneel down and immediately see his strong hands cup your face, pressing it against his courageous chest. You hear a strong tension, which, fortunately, does not threaten you. You still hold the crowbar, developing additional reflexes.

Finally, the monster let out a loud roar and revealed itself. Two meters tall, but smaller than Mr. Crawling; slender and with a flexible and long neck that could soar, filling the space behind it. His silver hair fell over his forehead and shoulders, covering some of them. The ghost is old and torn junk, which can hardly be called clothes. You hear the firm voice of the cheerful Mr. Crawling cutting into your enemy's ears:

— Get out of here! Don't touch her/us!

The monsters didn't chat for long, but the tension didn't subside. Your protector only hugged you tighter, clearly showing his serious intentions.

"I'll protect her! You can't take her from me," Mr. Crawling almost shouted, while your one hand clenched his dark robe into a fist. The man's hair, like coal, fell on your figure, partially masking you under him. You understand that there is no escape from a physical fight, so you only grip the scrap iron, which sparkled beautifully, more tightly with your fragile and delicate fingers. Suddenly, Mr. Crawling lets go of you and stands on his own two feet, looking more threatening. Your enemy accepted such a challenge, giggling disgustingly, as if teasing your defender. The alien ghost stretched its neck very quickly, directing it with wavy lines at you. But, fortunately, Mr. Crawling's deft and firm hand makes the alien's face not only stop, but also bleed, scattering it with crimson splashes of blood. You were dumbfounded in a mute stupor and with wide-open eyes watched the terrible scene before you: your monster was holding your already lifeless face, continuing to destroy and break it, although the body had long since fallen to the ground. The thud echoed along the walls, drowning out the soundless and lifeless voice of the dead man. Mr. Crawling threw it away somewhere far away and quickly sat down on his knees, just to calm you down with his gentle and careful strokes on your head. His fingers carefully ran through your curls, which were a little dirty with blood splashes.

—I worry about you. He threatens us, I protect you.

He would rather kill someone than see your organs and bones in the mouths of these monsters.

—Everything is fine, thank you, my dear, — you whisper, sharply hugging your protector. You were very grateful to him for such a feat

╰┄┅┄╼۫╼۫ ุೋ𓄼🌊 ࣪˖╼۫╼۫┄┅┄─╯

┊┊⏝︶︶⏝︶┊⏝︶

┊𖥔      𝆭   𝆺𝅥  ۬݊݁࣪࣪࣪࣫۫   𝆭        𖥔 

[heylittleriotact]

The only reason Emmrich isn’t a puddle of grief on the Lighthouse floor the way he should be in his non-lich resolution is because he cheated death - this time. He has a legacy in Manfred and makes peace with the fact that with training, Manfred will be able to care for himself when he eventually dies, but he only got here in the first place by fucking around with the natural order.

The playing field is still even in this outcome between he and Rook: they’re both mortal, and they will both inevitably die, but they may choose a life together that could be prosperous and joyful and all the other sentimental shit Emmrich has yearned for.

If he “accepts” Manfred’s death and becomes a lich, he does actually mourn him. There’s the banter where Davrin remarks that he heard crying coming from Emmrich’s room, which implies that he’s privately confronting those feelings of loss. Some people read this as regret, but I honestly think it’s grief presenting itself in a complicated manner for Emmrich.

Emmrich’s grief in this case is complicated because not only is he dealing with the emotional complexity of grieving a child who isn’t *technically* his child, but we’re adding survivor’s guilt on top of that, and the fact that Manfred’s sacrifice was ultimately his ticket to immortality.

That’s a-fucking-lot to unpack.

Is it any surprise that he’s weeping alone in his room when he thinks no one is around? How could ANYONE understand? WHY would anyone understand? So he hides it away and doesn’t even talk about it to Rook, his partner, and man… that is a slippery ass slope to some wildly unhealthy coping behaviours.

In real life you might see someone stuck in complicated grief become depressed, socially withdrawn, emotionally erratic, fall into substance abuse, self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, or suicide. Complicated grief is a bitch. Because remember - grief is vital: it is personal, but it is also communal, and Emmrich starts out his journey into lichdom by slipping into complex, isolated grief over Manfred’s passing.

So now instead of a regular person, you’ve got an immortal super-mage who can never die dealing with death TERRIBLY. This forms the foundation for his approach to death for eternity. Of COURSE he’s going to be insufferable to Rook. Of COURSE he’s going to take a holier-than-thou “be more careful please” stance without any thought to the staggering power imbalance that exists between them now.

It’s the most tragic, self-destructive ending for Emmrich, framed in a way that’s almost poetically cruel. He’s fucked himself, and he can’t un-fuck himself, and he has to live with that forever. He might be in denial about it for a month, a year… a century - but he’ll get there eventually.

You finally found the love of your life that you yearned for desperately for decades? You will smother them. Burden them. Shackle them unwittingly with your own shitty, shitty insecurity because even though you’re immortal you refuse to accept the natural order.

Regardless of which outcome you go with, Emmrich is in dire need of therapy. Luckily, as a human and not an immortal undead lich, he can do a lot less damage to himself and those he claims to love. But he really does need to work through his issues around his fear of death, his denial of mortality, and his insecurities in relationships, and I think if he stays mortal it’s more likely that in time once the world is saved and he and Rook settle down, he would be open to addressing those things - or hell he might even identify and work on them himself because he’s got the support of his partner - his EQUAL - who will stand by him and help him navigate things however they can.

Lich Emmrich though? He doesn’t feel like he *needs* to. Rook is no longer an equal, they are someone to be cherished and protected like an exceedingly old and rare edition of a book. They lose their personhood in EmmLich’s eyes and eventually become a possession, which should disgust him and he’d deny it vehemently but it’s true.

This is very rambling and badly worded and I’m just spewing random disjointed thoughts without any real point, @aldisobey I really loved this and how insidiously sweet it was. It’s just perfect. Thank you for writing it 🤍

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.��� He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.

[middlingmay]

So I rewatched Elvis and have we done canon-ish era music star Gale yet?

Gale has terrible stage fright, but music was an escape for him growing up. The ethereal beauty in the voices of Billie Holiday and Eartha Kitt. The sweet crooning of the Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald (ol' blue eyes Frankie Sinatra could only dream), the visceral, soulful sounds of B. B. King that reached into a fella and just yanked at that something under the naval and made him have to move with it...

Mother told him he had a good voice all his life. But the idea of getting on a stage terrified him, that he thought it was never going to happen. Until it did.

He vomited before hand an alarming number of times. But as soon as the lights went down and the band started up Gale floated away, and King Cleven took his place.

Gale could never nearly remember any of it afterwards, no matter how often he went up there. Something just came over him whenever he got on stage.

So maybe he goes overseas to entertain the troops. He knows they prefer the female acts - the singers, dancers, comediennes and the like - but his songs had made it on the radio and everyone was having a good time. Some of the fellas had demanded that he teach them how to dance like that and all he can say is,

"Hell. I don't even know how I dance like that. How the hell am I supposed to teach you?"

He feels eyes on him. When he's on stage one of the men in particular watches him. Not his performance. Not his wild, uncouth dancing. Him.

After, when most of the fellas have crowded closer to the stage, that same fella joins him at the bar. Wide shoulders. Curly hair. Thin moustache. Thick neck to match his waist.

A Major, his uniform betrays him.

He looks at Gale. In a way he'll never become accustomed to getting looked at. It always makes him uncomfortable and defensive and peevish.

But for once, he wants to look back, at this man who slowly grins and spreads his legs cocky like when he takes the stool next to Gale.

Or! Maybe it's post-war and John is feeling listless after the army. He seeks out every good time he can possibly find and none of it does anything to quieten his head, help him sleep, calm his heart, or fill the rotting, crumbling core of him.

He hears of a show for this new up and comer making all kinds of waves, good and bad. Dancing in ways that offends folks but singing like he has both heaven and hell in him. John can't resist seeing it for himself. Music is his biggest joy and is the one thing the war didn't take from him.

A friend points the fella out when they're buying drinks. John watches him smile at the people vying for his attention and can see the sharpness. He tosses a frankly terrible wink that people seem to love, but John can read the darkness swirl behind his eyes - that of a cornered man. He looks calm and suave and composed, but John can see the tremor in his leg and the nervous twitch of his hand.

What a strange mix of contradictions is Gale "King" Cleven.

On stage, he transforms into something else entirely. He's all soft melody and belting vocals, rasping and crooning in turn. He's wild hip swings and loose hands and feet that can't stop moving.

He's hypnotic. Erotic. And every person man or woman at that show wants at least some small piece of him after watching him perform.

But it's John he sends that shitty wink to every time he catches him looking.

John has to go for a smoke afterwards. He feels like he's just experienced something transformative. Like there was John before this and John after this.

Except, fuck him and his life, because Gale Cleven pours himself out into the alley after him, shaking and laughing lowly to himself, until he catches sight of John and freezes.

John winks at him this time. And Christ Almighty a man who has spent most of his night feeding the fantasies of the masses with his gyrating, blushes. Cute as a button. Demures, even. And John is in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.

[clowndensation]

there’s a question to be asked i think about to what extent “getting out” can be conflated with “being saved” in this show, and what freedom actually means to any of these characters.

like you can argue that shiv saved ken by voting against him on gojo, but what if your intent behind saving someone is to inflict a worse punishment than if you’d just left them trapped? can a child weaned on poison survive on milk, or are you just sentencing them to a death by inches, starved of the only thing they know? and if you save someone specifically because you know that being saved is the worst thing that can happen to them, is that kindness or cruelty? at what point does a good thing become a malicious act?

and you can say that roman is finally free, but what exactly is he free from? the company? his father? does unlocking a cage mean saving a dog, or are you allowing him out on the street knowing there’s a kill shelter nearby? if the driving anxiety behind roman is that he’s an idiot and a failure—that he’ll never amount to anything, and trying will only lead to pain—and he’s finally cut loose once all of those anxieties have crystallized into cold hard fact in his mind, what has he actually escaped from? if the cage is in your mind, is it even possible for somebody else to unlock it?

the fundamental truth of a tragedy is that even being saved can be a death sentence, if the characters are incapable of escaping the thing doing them the most harm (themselves and their childhoods)

[inkykeiji]

>.<

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

“I’m sorry, Marianne,” said Enya, convinced that her feelings will get to Marianne, only to make Marianne furious even further. Marianne send in another attack on her cousin. Enya could feels the wind blowing through her face in a circling motion. Her hair dancing around. Enya felt the air from her lungs remove. There is a sinister smile on Dark Marianne’s face, gleaming at her. At the last seconds, Enya form a ball of magical energy and blast a portal, sucking Dark Marianne inside to a prison for the worse criminals than those of the Omega Dimension, Oblivion. Once Enya is free from the suffocation and air comes back into her lungs, she looks at her cousin one last time with a heavy heart.

“I’m sorry Marianne,” said Enya, her eyes are burning and a tear streaming down her face. She watch the portal close, and listen to the dark nymph’s outburst of anger one last time. “I am going to miss you.”

Enya close her eyes, the energy she have in her left as a toll for casting this dark magic spell. The Fairy of Blue Fireworks begins to fall downward and into the water with a heavy splash.

Bloom gasped and see Enya sinking into the water, Daphne and Bloom swim up and grabs Enya, pulling her back up to the water.

“Bloom, what did Enya do to my daughter this time?” Daphne said out of fear and heartbreaking look.

~~

This is powerful dark spell require a young ruler to creates this portal to Oblivion. Since Marianne went rouge, it makes sense for Enya to become next-in-line. How Enya obtain is a mystery to both Daphne and Bloom. They questioned Enya where she learned this spell. After Enya recover from her battle with Marianne, they start the conversation off with a question.

“Who taught you this spell, Enya?” Bloom demanded, her concern for her daughter wavered as she wonders who is responsible for teaching. Enya is quiet and refused to answer her mother by turning them away. Enya start crying again. Bloom frown even further and then, Bloom tightens her fists and list the possible suspects who know. Because Enya is unable to collaborate. While Daphne frowns at Enya, disappointed in her niece that she choose to take an easy route instead of taking her journey to becomes a Believix Fairy, then a Harmonix Fairy, and finally a Sirenix Fairy. That way she can understand the struggles of being a fairy and the sacrifices they made. To learns what being a fairy means on her own. Without Marianne’s help. That way she will become mature enough to confront Marianne and save her. She was unable to convince Marianne to fight in her current state.

While she is not too angry for Enya casting the spell because she did it as an act of self defence…. The Queen of Domino is upset that Enya put the current wielder of the Dragon’s Flame into a prison for the worse criminal because in reality, Marianne is corrupted by the growing darkness in the Dragon’s Flame.

So Daphne decides that since Marianne is gone and Enya refuse to collaborate, she have her set up for her a solution that may be seen as blessing, but it is a challenge.

“Since you have dedicated in your quick thinking of striking justice down, before more disasters occur, I hereby declare that Marianne is annulled to her titles and pass it onto you,” said Daphne, causing Enya to stop crying for a moment. “Therefore, you are hereby Enya of Domino! Official Guardian Protector of Domino AND Crown Princess of Domino, my heiress, your fairy journey is over and begins a new chapter of your life as a fairy princess!”

Enya gasped in horror, that means she will not be an active hero in Townsville, and she won’t be able to get to have free time to play games or go to school like a normal kid anymore. Only to be replace with diplomacy and politics.

“NO!” Enya shouted, resume to her crying state and refute, but no matter what she said, it is a fool’s errand. She has stopped Marianne at the cost of gaining new responsibilities at 16.

Very soon, the guilt stricken Enya is now sitting in her own desk in her own quarter, once belong to Marianne’s doing paperworks, Enya looking at the photo frame of a young Marianne, holding a newborn Enya on her desk. “I’m sorry Marianne,” Enya apologized. “I really am.”.

Everyone start calling her a good fairy just like her mom, and praise her for defeating Marianne, and label her as a nymph, whose jealousy towards the Princess Enya, turns her into evil. Enya listens to their praises. While she likes them, but this is not how she imagined her capability to do good and everyone being so proud of her. Because to her, deep down, she is a thief for stole The Dragon’s Flame from Marianne for six years, and now Marianne’s other birthright, the throne.

Enya belongs to @gloriousdreamunknown

Marianne belongs to me

Tie-in to:

Write a piece about someone who takes someone else's place

[kakusu-shipping]

I need everyone to see I finally, FINALLY made a decent looking cake, and then proceeded to throw it on the damn floor before anyone got to taste it.

[eimearkuopio]

Schrödinger's Messiah. He is both dead and alive until we open the box. If we have had enough faith, He will be alive.

I'm not ready to open the box yet. It's been too long. I believe, but I am afraid. So if you want to open it, do it yourself. I'm going to go set up the Resurrection Feast and hope it won't be a funeral.

[anthromimicry]

forever thinking about how, according to maslow's hierarchy of needs (or simply the self-actualization pyramid) that is basically this motivational theory in psychology that's made up of a five-tier model of human needs, that misao went from being on the third tier in her childhood to reverting back to the first tier currently which is food, water, warmth, and rest.

[ here's a picture of it for reference, y'all ]

so, in other words... she is just trying to survive SO badly right now at this point in her life, that she can not even worry about things like safety or security and especially not friends. and that is UHH... i might, or might not be sobbing right now

[livroni]

I hold them as close to me as possible. I knew this had to come eventually, but did it have to be so damn soon? How am I supposed to tell them that everyone they know will come to pass long before they even mature? How am I supposed to tell them that I wont be by there side every step of the way. I hold them closer still.

We stay like that for what feels like hours. I dont think either of us want to let go, as if doing so the other will fade out of reality like a dream.

Dreams. I always dreamed of being a parent. I always dreamed to teach a little creature to walk, to talk, to learn to experience the joys and hold their hand through the pains. But. I cant do that, can I? I take a deep breath, Sorting out emotion and logic, rational. My child needs a parent right now. They need that hand to guide them through the uncertainty so they can learn to pass the brambles on their own.

“I love you. I will always love you. Beyond this plane and further, even the gods know my love for you.“

“If you love me so, how could you leave me alone?” She looked up at me. Those wide, wide icy gray eyes. How I remember them peering the world with wild curiosity, the way they lit up when i taught them how to eat Honeysuckles, the way they shone when reading of myths and monsters, the way they focused when helping another being. Now? They looked to me with longing.

“My child, I have many more years left with you. And yes, you will have to walk this path alone one day. It is just the way the world works.”

“Thats stupid.”

“It is. It is very stupid. But nothing physical lives forever. You will die one day too.” I pause, and hope the words resonate with them. Im so terrified to put more fear into her gentle heart. They are quite delicate, children. Bluntness is required, but painful. And I would never lie to them.

“But even then, my love for you for you transcends the planes. Including the planes which separate life and death. While I may very well die one day, my love for you wont. My hand will always be in yours, my child. I will always, always be there for you.”

She sobs again, but its not as pained before. We cry together a bit more. I sing them a lullaby (their favourite). And my child, my sweet strong gentle loving child, falls asleep. Tomorrow will be a day full of fun and joy, I promise them that.

You're a single human parent of a Elf child, today has you ready yourself for bed you hear them burst open the door with tears in their eye as they jump into bed with you and hold onto you tight, has you comfort them you hear them say through their whimpering and sobs "i don't want you to die".

[gurorori]

umm re: prev post i will say it anyway since this is a safe space...