#lyris real life

[lyrishadow]

Tentatively platying SWTOR. Want to get into writing fan fiction in my off times. I a. Playing WOW with hubs [ and without hi. too].

So in the time I've been off tumblr I have:

Discovered I'm neurodivergent. [ just how Nd I am is still a question. Truth is my budget does not stretch to finding out fir sure and this guess comes from my psychologist who treats my depression cptsd etc. ] best guesses right now is possibly autistic? It explains a lot. Add to that the rest of it and I get labked " high functioning" . Explains my issues with people/making and keeping friends, and a bunch of smaller things that I thought were just me being weird so I never complained.

Um I've also discovered I'm queer. More genderfluid than anything. It makes a lot .ore sense of my brain and honestly removes that pressure to *be* a girl constantly.

Anyhow that's my update.. oh and I turned 45. I'm still old.

Went back to uni too to study creative writing degree. 63% on first major assignment.

[thinkinglyri]

Hm the first thing I have to say is one pkt of Oreo cookies is very tasty. Way. Too. Easy. To eat. Will chalk it down to birthday eating and uh not do that often.

Im ok today. Bit sore waiting for hubby to get back. Wracking my mind for ways to get a little extra cash in so I can buy my game... whinge below the line

Next is me complaining below the line.

So looking at ff14 to buy it straight away it's in Euro so.. ugh maths. Google.

Looks easy enough. $36Euro... can't be...

Nearly 60au$$ sigh 😕 I mean I knew it wasn't free but... owie. So I'm doing surveys etc... $10Au so far...

I have a few ideas for books.

A self care journal. [ it would be a pdf that you print] qnd of course poetry. I don't know if anyo ever would even be remotely interested.

[definitelyimportantpost]

Actually, it's pretty funny that I used a Forest Wolf as the example for her Warrior Song equivalent, since she's a huge cynophobe and as such, dogs and other canine creatures scare her shitless

Now THIS is more like it! My Etrian Odyssey Untold Troubadour, Lyris Harper.

[dee-writes-angst]

FALL (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY after falling down a flight of stairs, you are forced to realize that you aren't alone and that it's time to start healing.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, nosy Rhys, Amren (she's a warning), and injuries

AUTHORS NOTE I kind of hate this a lot, but here is the third part of the Season's series, Fall. Hope you enjoy! <3

Autumn descends upon the world like a tender-hearted healer, enveloping all in its embrace of warmth and renewal. The air takes on a crisp clarity, carrying with it the subtle scent of earth and fallen leaves, a fragrance that whispers of new beginnings. Trees, once adorned in the lush greens of summer, now don their autumnal attire, each leaf a masterpiece of vibrant hues—amber, crimson, and gold—painting the landscape in a tapestry of healing colors.

As daylight wanes, the sun bathes the world in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows that dance gracefully upon the earth. The breeze, gentle yet invigorating, rustles through the trees, a comforting melody that speaks of resilience and growth. With each step, fallen leaves crinkle beneath our feet, a soothing reminder of the cycle of life and the beauty found in letting go.

In the fall, nature herself undergoes a profound transformation, shedding the old to make way for the new. Trees release their leaves in a graceful dance of surrender, preparing for a period of rest and rejuvenation. Yet, even in this quietude, there is a vibrant energy that pulses through the air, a reminder that healing is not a passive act, but a journey of growth and renewal.

As I found myself immersing in the healing embrace of autumn, I was invited to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the beauty of transformation. Like the earth itself, I was reminded of my innate capacity to heal, to grow, and to emerge stronger and more vibrant than before. In the gentle caress of the autumn breeze, I found solace, strength, and the promise of new beginnings.

(Early September, House of Wind)

Morning light spilled through the windows of the House of Wind, painting the stairwell in hues of gold and amber. Each step I took down the winding staircase echoed softly, the sound muffled by the quiet of the early hour. Shadows danced along the walls, elongated and wavering, as if unsure of their own existence in the gentle glow of dawn.

As I descended, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a subtle shift in the darkness that should not have been there. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look, dread coiling in the pit of my stomach. The shadows seemed to solidify, taking shape in the form of a figure I knew all too well. It was Lyris, his smirk cruel and taunting, his blade gleaming with malice in the dim light.

Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn't real, I told myself, but the terror it invoked was. Before I could react, before I could rationalize, my foot missed the next step. There was no time to regain my balance, no wings to unfurl and catch me. I reached out desperately, fingers grasping for the banister, but it was too late.

The world tilted violently as I fell, the sharp pain of impact shooting up my spine as I collided with the unforgiving stairs. Each jolt sent waves of agony coursing through me, my body bouncing helplessly until I finally came to a crumpled stop at the bottom of the staircase. Dazed and disoriented, I tried to gather my bearings, the pain a sharp, throbbing ache in every limb.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, growing louder with each passing second. Then, Azriel was there, his face a mask of concern as he knelt beside me. "Don't move," he said softly, his hands hovering over me with a hesitant touch. "We need to get you to the healer."

"I'm okay," I lied, attempting to push myself up despite the searing pain that shot through me. The room spun sickeningly, and I winced, sinking back down with a pained gasp.

"No, you're not," Azriel insisted, his voice firm but gentle. He assessed me quickly, his expression grave. "We need to get you off these stairs. Can you stand?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, frustration and pain mingling into a bitter concoction. "I don't… I can't…" I faltered, unable to voice the depth of my vulnerability.

"It's okay. I've got you." Azriel's arms enveloped me, lifting me gently from the cold, hard floor. I buried my face against his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of my own.

As we moved, the memory of the fall replayed in my mind—the hallucination of Lyris, the terror of losing my footing. I had lost more than just my wings that day; I had lost a piece of myself. How was I supposed to heal when my own mind betrayed me with such vivid, haunting illusions?

Azriel's presence was a silent promise of protection, his concern a soothing balm to my fractured psyche. I clung to it, to him, as we made our way to the healer's chambers, the shadows of the stairwell receding into the background as we stepped into the light of a new day. I would allow myself to let him seep in my darkness for a moment. I would be selfish for just this moment and then it would be back to struggling alone, to protecting them, him.

Madja's room was filled with the subtle scent of lavender and sage, a calming ambiance that did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The healer's hands were warm and gentle as she applied salves to the bruises that marbled my skin, her touch careful around the tender areas where my wings once were.

"You're healing well physically," Madja said softly, her voice soothing. "But healing the mind… that takes time, and often more than just my skills." She offered me a small, understanding smile, though her eyes were stern, hinting at the depth of her concern.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, shadows swirling slightly at his feet—a sure sign of his inner turmoil. Madja excused herself with a knowing look, leaving us alone.

I shifted on the cot, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I faced him. "Azriel," I began, but my voice cracked, betraying my nervousness.

He moved closer, his movements graceful and deliberate. Stopping at the edge of the cot, he knelt so he was eye level with me, his gaze intense. "I've been patient," he said, his voice low and strained. "I've given you space, but we can't keep avoiding this conversation."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I don't know if I'm ready," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before gently brushing a stray hair back from my face. "I know you're hurting. And I know I can't understand everything you're going through. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to go through this alone."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. "It's not just the pain, Azriel. It's the fear," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "Every shadow, every noise—it takes me back to that moment. And I feel so powerless."

His expression softened, the shadows receding slightly as if in response to my distress. "I wish I could take that fear away," he murmured. "But since I can't, I'll stand with you against it. Every step of the way, until you feel strong again."

"How do you do it?" I asked, searching his face. "How do you live with your own shadows?"

A sad smile tugged at his lips. "By knowing which shadows are mine to control, and which are simply part of the world. And by having people I love to light the way when it gets too dark."

"What if I'm not strong enough?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. Despite my efforts to steel myself against the pain, I couldn't help but curl into myself, feeling small and vulnerable in the face of my own fears. "What if I never get over this and—" I choked back my tears once more, the fear gnawing at my insides too overwhelming to voice aloud.

Azriel's heart clenched at my words, the rawness of my pain mirroring his own. With aching tenderness, he reached out, his hand hovering over mine, a silent beacon of comfort in the darkness. "You are strong," he said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. "Stronger than you realize. But even the strongest among us have moments of doubt, moments when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear."

My eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, sought solace in his unwavering gaze. "And if you never get over this… if the shadows linger longer than you'd like, know that you are not alone. We'll face them together, every step of the way."

The weight of my fear trembled through my shoulders; the depth of my anguish palpable in the air. "But what if I pull you all into it too?" I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "What if my darkness becomes yours?"

Azriel's heart ached at the thought, but he refused to let me drown in my despair. "Your darkness is not a burden," he said, his voice steady, unwavering. "It's a part of you, just as much as your light. And I would walk through the darkest of nights if it meant I could stand beside you."

He reached for my hand, his touch gentle yet firm, anchoring me to the present moment. "Let me help you carry this weight," he urged, his eyes locking with mine. "Let us carry it together."

For a moment, there was only silence—a heavy, pregnant pause that hung between us, charged with unspoken emotions. And then, with a shaky breath, I nodded, my grip tightening around his hand as if anchoring myself to his steadfast presence.

In that moment, as we sat together in the quiet sanctuary of Madja's room, surrounded by the gentle scent of herbs and healing, Azriel felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. No matter how dark the path ahead, no matter how daunting the shadows that loomed on the horizon, we would face them together. And with love as our guiding light, we would find our way back to the warmth of the sun.

(Mid-October, River House)

The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as I gathered the courage to speak, surrounded by the Inner Circle whose presence felt both comforting and daunting. Cassian's warm gaze, Nesta's softened expression, Rhys and Feyre's silent solidarity, Amren's unreadable yet somehow reassuring presence, and Mor's gentle smile—all of them were a testament to the depth of their care.

With Azriel standing at my side, his silent support a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, I began to speak. My voice, though laced with uncertainty, carried the weight of my sincerity as I addressed them.

"I want to apologize," I began, each word heavy with meaning as I met their eyes, one by one. "For the distance I've kept, for the walls I've built around myself. I've been… cold, and for that, I'm truly sorry.

A hushed tension hung in the air, anticipation mingling with apprehension as they waited for me to continue. But instead of judgment or reproach, I found only understanding in their expressions—compassion and empathy reflected in their unwavering gazes.

"I'm ready to try," I confessed, the admission a revelation in itself. "To try again.. To heal."

Cassian's hand found mine, his touch grounding and reassuring as he squeezed gently. "We're here for you," he declared, his voice a solemn vow. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Nesta's usually sharp gaze softened, her features etched with genuine concern. "We've missed you," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability. "But we understand. And we'll stand by you, no matter what."

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a silent glance, their unity a beacon of strength amidst the uncertainty. "You're not alone," Rhys affirmed, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll face this together, as a family."

Amren nodded curtly, her demeanor as inscrutable as ever, yet there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. "Don't make a habit of apologizing," she quipped dryly, a subtle reassurance in her words.

Mor's smile was gentle, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me. "We love you," she said simply, her words a promise of unwavering support.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I absorbed their words, the weight of their acceptance washing over me like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the love and understanding of my chosen family, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me yet.

With Azriel's hand firmly clasped in mine, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the arduous journey ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road to recovery would be fraught with challenges. But with the unwavering support of those who loved me, I knew I could face whatever lay ahead.

Night after night, the nightmares clawed their way into my sleep, tearing through the fragile fabric of my dreams with merciless intensity. Each time, I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding in my chest, lungs gasping for air as if I'd been drowning in the darkness of my own mind.

Azriel had been there from the beginning, his quiet presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of my nightmares. At first, he would come at the sound of my screams, offering comfort and reassurance until the tremors subsided and sleep reclaimed me once more. But as the nights stretched on and the nightmares showed no signs of abating, his visits became more frequent, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-shifting landscape of my dreams.

I would wake to find him sitting beside my bed, his gaze watchful and protective as he kept vigil over my troubled sleep. His presence was a balm to my fractured mind, a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume me.

At first, I protested his presence, insisting that he had better things to do than waste his nights sitting by my bedside. But he brushed off my protests with a quiet determination, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that spoke volumes. He didn't need words to convey the truth—that he would stay for as long as I needed him, no matter the cost.

And so, night after night, I would wake to find him there, his presence a silent reassurance that I was not alone in my suffering. With each passing night, his visits became longer, his presence more palpable until it felt as though he had practically moved into my room.

I would wake to the soft sound of his breathing, the warmth of his presence a comforting weight beside me. His steady heartbeat echoed in the silence of the night, a rhythmic cadence that anchored me to the present moment.

In those quiet hours before dawn, with the weight of his presence beside me, I found solace in the knowledge that I was not alone. No matter how dark the night, no matter how terrifying the nightmares that plagued my sleep, Azriel was there, a silent guardian watching over me until the first light of dawn chased the shadows away. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

(Late October, River House)

As Azriel sat across from Rhysand, the weight of the conversation about you felt even heavier upon his shoulders. His mind flickered back to the recent events—the trauma you had endured, the pain etched into your every expression, and the way you had leaned on him for support during your darkest moments.

"I've noticed the way you look at her, Az," Rhys's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "And I can't help but wonder… Are you two… a thing?"

Azriel's gaze softened with a mix of fondness and concern as he thought of you. "I… I care about her deeply," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. "Especially now, after everything she's been through."

Rhys nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I know you've been by her side through it all, Az. And I'm grateful for that. How is she holding up?"

The concern in Rhys's voice mirrored Azriel's own worries. Your recovery had been slow and arduous, marked by moments of progress followed by setbacks. Azriel had been there every step of the way, offering his support and comfort whenever you needed it most.

"She's… she's trying her best," Azriel replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But the kidnapping still weighs heavily on her. Some days are better than others."

Rhys reached out a hand, placing it reassuringly on Azriel's shoulder. "You're doing everything you can for her, Az. And she knows that. Just keep being there for her, okay?"

Azriel nodded, gratitude swelling within him for Rhys's words of encouragement. Despite the challenges they faced, he was determined to stand by your side, offering you whatever solace and support he could provide.

As they parted ways, Azriel's thoughts remained with you—the strength you had shown in the face of adversity, the resilience that burned bright within you. And though he knew that your path to recovery would be a long and difficult one, he vowed to walk it with you every step of the way, for you had become more than just someone he cared about—you were his guiding light in the darkness, his reason to hope for a brighter tomorrow.

(Late November, Velaris)

Stepping beyond the familiar walls of the House of Wind felt like a liberation, a triumph over the shadows that had threatened to consume me. As I walked alongside Feyre and Mor, the streets of Velaris buzzed with life, each step forward a testament to the strength I had found within myself.

Beside me, Azriel's concern was evident, his worry etched in the furrow of his brow and the gentle pressure of his hand in mine. But this time, I was determined to show him—and myself—that I was stronger than the nightmares that haunted me.

"Don't worry, Az," I said with a reassuring smile, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for this. Feyre and Mor are with me."

Feyre and Mor nodded in agreement; their expressions filled with confidence. "We've got your back," Feyre said with a reassuring smile. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Their words filled me with a sense of reassurance, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this journey. With their support, I felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As we walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through me. The sun warmed my skin, the wind tousled my hair, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt truly alive.

But amidst the excitement, a part of me couldn't shake the worry that lingered in Azriel's eyes. I knew he cared about me deeply, and the thought of causing him any more pain weighed heavily on my heart.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly, his concern palpable. "We can turn back if you're not feeling well."

I met his gaze with determination, my resolve unwavering. "I'm more than ready, Az," I replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I've spent too long hiding away. It's time for me to start living again."

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[mojo-bro-tho]

Blood Sugar… Ch.5

~Well this sure took a long time and wasn’t the chapter I wanted to write but it was unfortunately necessary. Still, I hope you enjoy it! The next chapter will be out much sooner to make up for this… well endowed and regular ass plot~

Tags: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

Word count: 6.9k

Content warnings for this chapter: Discussions of death and suicide (mildly but still present), gore related descriptions

AO3 link here!

Previous!

Entelechy Not Lechery

It was 4:15pm before their first Friday session, and Emmrich’s early arrival had nothing to do with Rook. He had intended to pop inside Blackthorn for a moment to return a book for Manfred. Usually, they would do tasks like that together, to help instill some level of independence in the boy. However there would be little opportunity to do it this weekend, and Manfred apparently had a busy schedule with Harmony and Sunny for this afternoon so he had to be there as early as possible. Emmrich would do the task for him, just this once. Manfred could be very persuasive in his own way. His ways included big, green, puppy eyes more often than not.

However, he hadn’t anticipated Rook to be here this early. Well, at this point he always expected her to be there before him. But still that was usually only by a handful of minutes. And she was never quite like this. Sat at the end of the middle step, languishing her head against her knees with closed eyes. Emmrich already found himself on the steps but hugging the opposite side to where she occupied. Nearby enough to take in the scene but not close enough to immediately appear associated. Some level of self-conscious self-preservation.

The messenger bag was tucked between the backs of her knees and the next lower step. Today she wore black jeans again, although these ones flared at the bottom in a bell shape to hide the majority of her boots. He was also pleasantly surprised to see that she had on a real jacket today. Granted, it was still cropped slightly but it was far more appropriate for the chill in the air than some of the other attire he had seen her in. Youth and its resilience, he supposed, was the reason she had yet to catch a cold. The jacket was black as well, slightly shiny, in a bomber style. And if he leaned himself to the right he could find light purple letters decorating the back. ‘Disgrazia’. Was that Antivan?

Yet something more pressing drew his gaze. No candy… If it weren’t for the fact that her hands were active, he might have been worried that she was either asleep or in need of medical intervention. It wasn’t as though they had known each other for an impressive amount of time but if you were to see someone repeatedly nursing a blue-raspberry Lyri-Yum, no other flavor, every single day without fail then you might also find the lack of it odd. In fact, he had yet to see Rook in a state like this all together. In the past, she’d be writing something in her journal, or looking at something on her phone or watch.

Never without the sucker though. It was like she needed something to occupy every sense she had at all times. Busy hands, busy eyes, a busy mouth. And that was an integral one that seemed to anchor her preferred state of existence. A tethering that she only hesitantly allowed him to confiscate while studying. He did recall her saying that they kept her focused, so was this her while unfocused?

The idleness made her appear strangely tranquil without the sugar to keep her anchored. No, tranquil wasn’t it. Tranquility implied a stillness like a pond lacking life to move it. Rook was alive, maybe he had never seen her truly breathing before this moment. Seeing this spurred on a rolling, slow approach and now he was close enough to catch the finer details. The errand sitting in his satchel was swiftly forgotten. A smile dangled off the corner of her mouth with teeth subtly catching her bottom lip. Brows softly knitting in tandem to whatever was playing through her headphones but most certainly was a climb to a crescendo.

It was something he intrinsically understood despite the details and knowledge being beyond him. Something about it reminded him of the way he’d look while he read, or rather the face past lovers would describe he’d have as a hint to a deeper sort of intimacy than skin. A look he may have tried to catch in his own reflection but always eluded him with the creep of his awareness. Emmrich could guess why he did it and seeing it on Rook made him unfathomably curious.

What could she possibly be listening to? What about it captured the full expanse of her attention that she was unaware of his presence? More accurately, willfully ignorant to all else around her, as its embrace gave her something so immaterial that it could only be felt in the gaps of consciousness with reality. Rook hummed something quietly to herself, of the nostalgic sort. The sound thankfully pulled his attention back to the fact that he had no idea how much time had passed since he’d started observing her. Emmrich checked his watch. 4:18.

“Miss Rook?” He called to her. When she didn’t respond, Emmrich took in his surroundings before allowing himself a further step. “Miss Rook.” He continued a little louder this time. Still, only silence greeted him.

There were a few options he could take, none of which seemed particularly desirably. He could leave and return again for their real appointment time but that then opened up the question of if he should tell her he saw her like this. That and it didn’t seem entirely responsible to let her be out here by herself while so… vulnerable? Emmrich hadn’t forgotten that she made it clear he didn’t need to worry about that but it wasn’t like that was an instinct he could just turn off. He didn’t want to startle her either by tapping on her shoulder.

Should he just wait? No, that felt even worse. Imagine relaxing only to find someone staring at you. Ghastly. The man quirked his head to the side, utterly perplexed. Then came the other side of the anxiety. If he stood here for too long, someone may think he’s leering. Oh no, this problem was being accompanied by his worst enemy, a timer. As he turned his head to either side, silently observing once more how many people may be around, the sunlight flared into his pupils. Then he looks back down to Rook. Even with her eyes closed, that must not be comfortable.

So, he shifts, thoughtlessly rising up two of the steps. He watched his shadow carefully and shuffled his feet to the side so that it would land across her frame. Almost instantly, Rook stirred. Panic snapped at the outer corners of his eyes and his body froze. The darkness played at her features, making the first sight of her purple eyes give an illusory glow. Haunting. They widened in surprise just before she tugged her earbuds out.

“Emmrich! Ah-” Music bled from the metal as Rook’s hand shot towards her stomach to pry the chunky phone from its hiding place in her lap. Funnily enough, Emmrich recognized the tune almost instantly. Masquerade Suite: Waltz. “Fancy meeting you here. Shit, what time is it?”

She was relieved to see that she hadn’t somehow missed an alarm. She never did but that did little to stop the worry. Lichdom was earlier than usual. The music was successfully paused, phone and headphones unceremoniously dropped into her bag with legs forced open. A yawn escaped her in the process.

”Are you alright, Miss Rook?” He finally managed to let out. He hadn’t intended on disturbing her. Looking back, she may have been enjoying how warm the sun was. An ill-informed conclusion settled that he was the reason behind the heavy expression she now wore. He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She managed to not let an involuntary ‘yes, sir’ to that, which was an accomplishment he’d not be privy to. Rook patted at the bottom of her eyes while careful to avoid her liner. The need to rub was intense but she’d sooner be uncomfortable than let anyone see her with smudged makeup for free.

“Are you certain? If you require a schedule change, then that’s perfectly understandable.” Emmrich wouldn’t say it out loud, but Rook admittedly looked… quite tired now. Not in aspects of her appearance, more so in her demeanor. Perhaps the cold was just playing tricks. But she simply smiled and gave a twinkling laugh.

“Oh, no. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Professor.” Her grin turned cat-like to match the way she stretched across the steps. Entwined fingers reaching up high enough to share the same stair as him. A sliver of skin across her abdomen briefly exposing. “I finished the book, by the way. I actually really liked it!”

“City of The Dead? You’re finished already? But we just started it.”

It wasn’t exactly the swell of a melody like she was hoping for, but it was something. The smoothing of an edge that felt more genuine. So she began to gather her things while quietly reveling in the accomplishment.

“It was too good to put down. I’ve never had a book try to teach me history like that.” Half of that was true. The book was good but she couldn’t just come out and say she read it all out of pettiness.

Emmrich had chosen City of The Dead for a couple different reasons. The author intended for the work to be able to conceptualize history that had been taught their whole life for those not as acquainted. So he thought Rook might have an easier time connecting with the material. The story itself was entirely fictitious, but it went about showing a creative and fairly accurate summary of Nevarran customs and funeral practices that will be useful for future lessons.

The tale itself follows the retelling of an entire family’s history as described to a young girl by her older aunt in the wake of her parents' recent passing. It was also not lost on Rook how it gave an additional, quiet lesson on how to generally identify when a set of remains may come from without biological processing. As she stood with her bag hanging over her shoulder, Emmrich’s expression stiffened once again.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it then.”

Lichdom was definitely hiding something, that much Rook was certain of. But why act so withdrawn? A smattering of guilt decorated her spine. Eyes narrowed on him, rocking back and forth with the thumping roll of her feet.

“I do have a couple questions though, so I’d like to get started now if you don’t mind.” The black haired woman said, already strutting past Emmrich.

As she continued to climb the steps and Emmrich followed in her wake, his eyes briefly glimpsed the lavender, heart shaped patches added to the back pockets of her jeans. Cutting through them was a jagged line of black that was either supposed to be a crack or a lightning bolt but he tried not to think about it and forced his gaze to snap back up at the letters above.

“May I ask what your jacket says?” He asked. Rook hesitated for a moment. There was an expectation that he’d follow in silence as he had the last two days.

“Disgrazia. It means ‘disgrace’. So it’s like saying something is bad luck, that sort of thing.”

The explanation plucked at something in Emmrich’s heart, or maybe it was the fact that there wasn’t some drip of salaciousness attached to it like he was used to with her. He chose not to respond to it but he thought to himself that it was a rather sad piece of clothing to wear. Made him think of cartoonishly childish forms of bullying.

The pair entered Blackthorn with once again the kind of quiet that made Rook want to jump out of her skin. After their first meeting here, she took up guiding them to their table. To Emmrich, she seemed more comfortable with leading when able to. In reality, she was just trying to stamp out the silence with the sound of her own boots and jewelry. As they passed by the front desk, Emmrich caught sight of the young man behind it. Something about the young lad was oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite place from where and chalked it up to his frequent visits with Manfred. The man waved to Rook and garnered a small nod in response. In the professor’s peripherals, he saw the beginnings of a boyish grin actively being restrained into something firmer. If Rook noticed it then she didn’t seem to care.

After making their detour to retrieve the remaining books, the two sat at their usual spot on the second floor. Stations were arranged and once again performed in a numbing silence that made Rook’s skin itch. In retaliation, she hums quietly a few measures from the music she was listening to outside. And Emmrich debated if he should play that song for Manfred on the way home. He’d likely enjoy it.

His glasses slid up the bridge of his nose once the two were set. A short list of questions appeared in front of Rook with the turn of a page, pen in hand ready to make note of his answers. It seemed she was rather eager for answers. The lesson was already beginning.

‘What was the significance behind Birgit’s burial silks being red?’ ‘The implication is that she was once married to a Pentaghast. It was mentioned that her husband left her after only giving birth to two daughters, he divorced her to remarry his mistress. So Brigit was buried with her maiden family but was allowed the color red posthumously to show her connection to the royal family.’ ‘Was there a reason some of the bodies were missing limbs?’ ‘There was a brief three hundred year period where it was believed ‘corrupted’ parts of the body should be removed for the sake of preserving the whole. A bit like pruning a plant but it was purely superstition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘A plague, the practice formed as a result that would blacken the extremities over time.’

“Okay so, near the end of the book, the three graves at the end are empty. It’s pretty obvious that the last two graves are Aunt Adelaide and Ida’s for when they die, since they’re currently the last surviving members of the family. But the grave just before there’s is also empty. The order was Ida’s mom, Ida’s dad, Aunt Adelaide, and then Ida. So, the dad’s body isn’t there.” Rook explained rather than ask the question.

“Lichdom.” Emmrich said plainly, though internally he was tinged with a bit of confusion of his own.

”I’m sorry?” Her earrings clattered with the raise and tilt of her head.

“Lichdom, Miss Rook. That was why the father’s grave was empty. He received the Rite of Lichdom.” Again, a quizzical expression met him. Rook knew about Lichdom, perhaps she was seeking historical clarification. “The Rites of Lichdom began as a spiritual practice. Predating King Verald’s reign by some years, or at least a version of it. Death can tell us many things and those who are considered exemplary could be given the Rites to contribute themselves to further that understanding.”

“I thought Lichdom was just what you guys did to study organs and skeletons? I don’t really see how that would affect being buried after.” Rook admitted. Ah.

“I see, you were aware of the results of it. In actuality, Miss Rook, Lichdom runs quite a bit deeper. There was a reverence to it. Sacrificial in nature. If you recall at the beginning of the story, Aunt Adelaide recounts the death of Ida’s parents as a result of a carriage incident. But later it is then clarified that only Ida’s mother was in the carriage at the time of the accident.” It took Rook a moment to find herself at the end of Emmrich’s response. He watched the thoughts in her mind pull in either direction until they snapped back to center and drew a few flutterings of her lashes.

“He killed himself.” Her brows drew together in something shaped like disbelief.

Lichdom was an exclusively Nevarran custom, that was part of why he was so surprised when she suggested calling him that. Rook was not from Nevarra. The mild expression of distress was reasonable, he was accustomed to it at this point. Emmrich’s face softened and he readied himself to placate her expected repulsion.

“Some may see it that way, yes. The Rites themselves were spiritually a representation of immortality. Knowledge carries the capacity to be eternal so long as it isn’t forgotten. As I said, sacrificial in nature. In exchange for one’s life and body they become a part of a greater collective.”

“So, what? Does that mean Ida doesn’t have anything to bury for her dad?” It wasn’t disgust that twinged at the edge’s of Rook’s irises. Something else. Something that slowly pressed against the bottom of Emmrich’s sternum with a pointed edge.

“Well, normally all parts of Lich are utilized.” Lich… “Blood drained, organs removed, skin separated, bones carefully stripped. It’s a very meticulous process. All parts would be preserved, displayed, and accounted for. Unless some special request was made for a memento, there would be little left to return to the families by the end of the Rites.”

Most didn’t make requests as some saw it as a faux pas. One couldn’t be eternal if something was left behind to rot, that was a common belief. At that moment, Emmrich couldn’t say for certain if he understood what he was seeing. Rook’s shoulders were meekly slumped, making her appear unusually shrunken.

A cavernous pause stretched between their bodies, stretched by the passing of each breath. Emmrich’s glasses became more burdensome under her gaze, searching endlessly for a hint of misgiving only to find nothing at all. Rook felt as small as she looked. The massless knife carved up the center of his chest and glinted off her expression. Pity?

”I’m so sorry, Emmrich.” She said, softened by sincerity.

“Whatever for, Miss Rook?” He asked with candor still notable in his hushed tone. The page full of questions and notes had its corner creased between Rook’s trepid digits.

“For calling you that! I was just trying to make a pun, I didn’t know it was something so… lonely.”

Describing it or him as ‘lonely’ was decidedly not the reaction he was anticipating. It wasn’t often Emmrich had to explain the concept of Lichdom to those not entirely familiar with the concept, but it had come up before. Under certain circumstances whenever someone got too curious with his focus of passion. The best case scenario was usually indifference combined with a drip of squeamishness. Worst case was total disgust, sometimes anger that he believed was entirely misplaced. But Rook kept her eyes on him with a sort of gentleness he hadn’t prepared himself to see. Least of all from her.

“I can have it changed in our logs, I’ll come up with something later.” She muttered, hand reaching for her watch to unlock it and send a quick message to Viago. And Emmrich’s body moved without thought.

“There’s no need for that.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist, hardly having to lean forward to do so. Yet it made him intensely aware of how close they could be even despite the unordinary defensiveness he could feel running laps in his veins. She looked back up to him with a damn near mournful pang.

The knife slipped deeper and spread open his chest cavity. Reflected now was sorrow. The man’s thumb pressed into the pulse and he momentarily ignored the fact that it quickened against him. Her lips parted slightly as he guided her hand back down to the table to rest atop the etchings in her notebook. Not unwilling to take direction, not always needing to lead. But his hand retreated just as Rook’s lips began to form words he wouldn’t allow to obstruct his judgement.

“In all honesty, I found it rather complimentary.”

“How is that a compliment?” She retorted with quick recovery from… that. “I basically told you that you’d be better off used for medical material than be with your family. That sounds pretty messed up to me.”

And there it was, the beating and bloody heart of what Emmrich had been trying to decipher from her. It had cut into him because it was something he knew, something he understood without need for her to verbalize further. His sweater was far too tight around the neck, the press of threads at the top button of his dress shirt made his throat itch. Meanwhile, Rook was committing to memory how when he held her arm in his hand, even while in a state of hurry, his rings never weighed too heavily on her.

Grief was a powerful thing, he thought to himself.

“I suppose I can see where you’d get the impression from. But you needn’t fret, Miss Rook. Lichdom was considered supremely honorable. A privilege. Only those deemed worthy were eligible for the Rites, and it had to be agreed upon. Rest assured, I was not offended in the slightest.”

“But-”

“If I saw an issue with it, I would have objected before the contract was made. I’m not so timid that I’m incapable of speaking up for myself.” Emmrich corrected with a tone licking at sternness. Rook bit at the inside of her cheek and simply took back up her pen to make a note Emmrich couldn’t see. ‘Don’t call him Lichdom anymore if you can help it.’

“It’s still kind of sad, isn’t it? I feel bad for Ida.” Curiouser and curiouser Miss Rook proved to be.

“You said so yourself, Nevarra was ahead of the rest of the world when it came to medicines and that was because of Lichdom. Who knows how much further back Thedas would be as a result of lacking it.”

Whole lot of good that advancement did for Rook, she thought to herself. A thought she instantly regretted having. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Rook sighed. Meanwhile, Emmrich was still reeling from the perplexing nature of their back and forth. He didn’t expect Rook to care so much, least of all to feel sympathy over it. His tongue pressed against his teeth as he witnessed Rook’s eyes briefly darken before straining back to normal.

“Consider this, if you would, what does having something to bury give us?” It was a more philosophical question, but he needed to understand her headspace with this if she is to imitate someone from Nevarra. At least that’s how he justified turning this session into something more personal.

“For closure? To give something back to the living.”

“Precisely. All the pageantry, all this effort, it is for us. A gift to those left behind. Lichdom, however, provides another gift. Not just to those who stayed but those who may come after as well. It’s true, Ida would have greatly felt that loss, but consider the lives her father may have saved through the knowledge gained from him. And that is exactly why it existed in the first place. Loss is a wound soothed by time, but there is much to learn from the aftermath. Perhaps even Ida’s own children, should she have had any, would have reaped those very benefits as a result of their grandfather.” He explained with his fingers laced and hands resting against the desk. Rook grew quiet again for a moment.

“A wound can’t close if it’s left open.” She breathed slowly.

This wasn’t a waltz, not even really a dance. Instead, it was the glance that preceded it. The lingering gaze across shadowed corners that said it was time to meet in the center. And certainly not one Rook was used to. No, Rook was used to the showmanship of it, the clapping, the cheering, the ratings and advancing. There were no judges in the way Emmrich looked at her. It was an empty room with just them.

The air seemed to pulse with the certainty of that fact. Doming, shrinking, and expanding as if she was locked inside her own lungs. This would be terrifying if he wasn’t sitting there so calmly. No true dissection of her words but somehow intruded on her insides and wrapped them in silks. No, it wasn’t scary. It was intimate. And her nerves screamed at her to find a sucker, library rules be damned.

“Would you care to join me on an excursion soon?”

Her lingering sense of dread, along with the bitter taste of potted coffee at the back of her throat took a heavy step back from her mind. The longing for blue tinged sugar took a smaller one. A single drag of a violin played in her head when their eyes met. There it was. A small whisper to what she had been looking to get back. And Emmrich saw the faintest bit of thread being used to sew his chest closed.

“Depends on what kind.”

“I recall you saying you haven’t lived in Nevarra for very long. Have you ever visited the Memorial Gardens?” It took Rook a moment to respond, trying to find the best way to answer.

“Sort of. That’s the place near Little Antiva, right?” She asked. If that was the case, then yes, she had been there in a manner of speaking.

”One of them, yes. The Memorial Gardens actually run throughout a large portion of the city. Some parts connect and other parts are pockets in other areas. Multiple entrances, all beautiful locations. I believe we ought to take the opportunity to try and test the depth of your knowledge and the Gardens provide ample chances for quizzing.”

“I mean, I definitely don’t mind setting up an appointment for that. But what does that have to do with us talking about Lichdom?” She questioned.

The offer had taken him unawares as well. He had told himself this whole week to keep Rook at arm’s length. It didn’t make sense, what he was doing. But Emmrich was enraptured with intrigue and poor Rook had no clue what she’d just unlocked by debating him. He had intended for them to visit the garden eventually, they made an excellent study tool. It would be fine to expedite the event, no?

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, that was probably unexpected. It just so happens that the Memorial Gardens are the perfect backdrop for these sorts of discussions. And I believe you’d make rather excellent company. You have… interesting remarks to make about my culture.” He retorts with a subtle nod to his left side. It didn’t hit her until that moment what she’d accidentally done.

“Ah, merda! Sorry. That was all kind of dickish, huh? I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It wasn’t. Well, to me it wasn’t. I imagine the Lich Lords may have some choice words for you, young lady, but you’ll get no tongue lashings from me.” He joked, knowing full well the sort of innuendo that awaited him. And without missing a beat, Rook half snorted.

“Good, because a public tongue lashing is way out of our budget for today and-” Rook held her tongue between her teeth with a sharp breath. “Hey, I was trying not to do that today and you just ruined it. That was on purpose, wasn’t it? Shame on you, Professor.”

Rook tutted, playfully flicking one of his knuckles. Her wide smile sharply contrasted the tenuous air that had been bubbling between them that Emmrich couldn’t help grinning as well. Though her final comment did pierce him with its implications. Her lack of euphemism had indeed not gone unnoticed, and originally Emmrich attributed it to the fact she seemed slightly under the weather. Still, no matter how much professionalism he expected of himself, his gut twisted at seeing what he had. He didn’t expect to prefer her teasing.

“You needn’t try to hold yourself back on my account, Miss Rook. If you’d allow me to be honest, I quite prefer you as you are.” He admitted.

“Actually, I believe our contract states that I’m meant to try and be Franziska.” She argued, leaning forward with her arms stretched across to his side of the table.

“You are only Franziska when it's required of you. I would much rather you be yourself the rest of the time. As I said, you are an interesting young woman.”

Perhaps it was foolish of him to say so. Rook had been handing him a perfect solution on a silver platter and he promptly threw said platter out the window. The guilt was still there, lingerings of shame that circled around his throat. But that look in Rook’s eyes mere moments ago was fresher and more cutting. Her smile grew familiar once more. A box of mischief only being held back by pearly white teeth. Emmrich felt immense and instant relief to see it restored.

“Thank goodness, because here I was worried I was starting to bore you. I’d never be able to take that kind of insult.”

“Certainly not. I dare say you have yet to bore me for even a single moment.” Alarm bells rang in Emmrich’s head. It was hard to stop himself once the tangle began to unwind.

“Perfect.” Rook whispered, slinking back into her chair. “So, when would you like to schedule this excursion, Emmrich?”

“Hm, well, I supposed we could meet there for our next session. Though, the Gardens are vast… could separate it out into two sessions.” Emmrich thought out loud. “Unfortunately, the only additional day I am available is Saturday next week and I assume you are already booked for then.”

“Actually, I’m not yet. Well, there is an appointment on hold for me but that technically leads into Sunday so unless you were planning on wearing me out then I could fit you in.” Rook seemed far too giddy to lay it on thick now that Emmrich gave her permission. Give someone an inch and they’ll take a mile. Or in Rook’s case, give her an inch and she’ll grab you by the hips to have the rest. Still, Emmrich was pleased with this outcome.

“Wonderful! The Memorial Gardens are beautiful in autumn, I do hope you enjoy them just as much as you can learn from them.”

“I’m sure I will, Emmrich.” Rook smiled softly. “And by the way, I prefer it when you’re acting like yourself too.”

“Pardon?”

“Like that, yeah.” She rested the side of her head against an elbow propped arm, using her pen to swirl a circle in his direction.

That didn’t exactly clear much up for Emmrich, but the back of his neck did feel warm. Rook turned to a new page in her notebook and after a few sobering blinks he took The 100 Year Reign of King Markus from the now shortened stack of books. The impression of a grin still pulled at the corners of her lips but was softened by comfortability. And again, something stirred in Emmrich that made him want to sprint down the stairs.

“I… shall try to keep that in mind, Miss Rook.” If he even understood what she really meant, and if he did have his theories then, Maker, help him and his rapid heart rate.

Once again the lesson continued without further intrusion. Well, somewhat without further intrusion. Rook had made a few more crass statements regarding the legibility of King Markus’s children given how long his rulership went on for and he seemed to miraculously still conceive offspring throughout that time. It was a good instinct for her to have, as that would become intensely relevant later. He did catch her making a small, humorous note in the margins of her notebook that read; ‘Dude was getting cucked from beyond the grave, have to tell T about that’.

Emmrich had braced himself for the guilt to return again. After all, he had promised himself to not truly indulge her provocations. But strangely enough, he felt at ease. He shouldn’t, obviously he shouldn’t. Then again, Rook herself made it rather easy. And perhaps he could afford being more friendly, as they’d be spending a lot of time together. So long as unraveling the mess of threads this problem had turned into stays at the forefront of his mind there should be little else to worry about, much less the time.

Rook could sense something still tugged at Emmrich’s focus. But after having just successfully pulled herself over to his good side again, she thought it better to leave him be for now. She could handle that later. Her fingers danced lightly across the white header of the page, but all Emmrich could see from them was the imaginings of a hand covered in old, stained silk.

When the lesson reached its end, Emmrich gathered his things, bringing satchel close and its opening always facing away from Rook’s chair. He’d made it a habit of keeping the front pocket out of sight ever since she’d given him the candy. He really needed to throw it away. While slipping his planner back inside, the colorful binding of Manfred’s borrowed book stared back up at him. Goodness, he nearly forgot about Willow The Wisp and Her Whimsical Wayfare! The professor silently tutted to himself.

“Miss Rook, would you care to leave first today? I have an errand to run close by.” At the end of every session, she was always the last to leave.

“Oh? Do you have a date, Emmrich? And without me!” The woman stood from her chair and narrowed her eyes on him with an impish glimmer.

“No, nothing of that sort.” He replied plainly, quickly closing his satchel. For a brief moment, Rook encroached. Her hip leaning against the nearest corner to him and looking down so her face wavered around his forehead.

“Good. You’re this close to being my favorite client.” She pinched her thumb and pointer finger together and held it close to her cheek. “I’d hate to start getting jealous over who you’re giving your attention to.” Her voice smoothed softly in his ear. For a moment, it felt like her fingers were running under his jaw.

“In that case, you have little to worry about, my dear girl.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Or if he did, he hadn’t meant to say it in that way. And something surprising filled his vision as a result, a sight that he knew would haunt him later that night. Rook’s coquettish expression faltered, fear struck at Emmrich’s chest. Her pupils widened, as if trying to swallow up the image of him, and the strong framing of her jaw firmed. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished again. Leaving his stomach taut with the pull of her gaze moving to her watch.

“Well, you’ll have to sit here for at least five minutes before leaving. Hope that’s okay.” She chuckled, throwing her bag over her shoulder and quickly retreating from their proximity. “I’ll see you on Monday, Professor. Have fun with your errand!”

Simultaneously, the two shared a sentiment. That one is dangerous for my health. Rook knew better than to get overly invested but it was hard sometimes. The dance was addictive and she told herself that’s all it was. Just something to get her fix to fill the multitude of wounds she left open. That was all there was to it. She found herself reaching for a sweet before she even made it to the stairs.

Maker’s fucking breath, what did he just do? Why did she look at him like that? Emmrich was thankful for the fact that she specifically told him to wait until she was gone or else he might’ve thoughtlessly gotten up to chase after her. Though he wasn’t sure what would come after catching up to her. Perhaps an apology for his poor choice of phrasing. He had to breathe. Why was something so innocuous getting him so riled up? The scraping sound of his pinky ring moving against the table back and forth tried to shove his thoughts aside.

His eyes flicked to his own watch, witnessing the endless ticking that normally gave him anxiety in hopes that it might put him under some form of hypnosis. Seconds took centuries but once the light thump of her boots was gone it became easier. The professor was none the wiser to the fact that Rook was speeding away out the door and to her Beetle as fast as she could without attracting suspicion, drowning her tongue in sweetness. As soon as the five minutes passed, and Emmrich knew the exact moment it did, he stood up and made his way down the stairs with an overly poised posture. Only stopping to make a small detour to put away the books before heading for the check-out desk.

The same young man was there from before, eyes fixed on a computer screen in front of him. His tongue clicked disapprovingly. “Dang, Armin forgot to sign in again-” His thought was interrupted by Emmrich’s approach. Behind squared spectacles, the man glanced up at Emmrich with some amount of scrutiny. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, I’m returning something for my son.” He replied, taking the book from his satchel and his wallet from his pocket in one go. Manfred had a library card separate to Emmrich’s so he double checked to make sure it was the right one before handing both off to the librarian. Again, he looked at Emmrich with a mild squint. Was something on his face? The professor’s face must have betrayed him, as an apologetic expression swept across the man behind the desk.

“Sorry! I promise I’m not trying to stare daggers into you, but you look crazy familiar!” He explained. Emmrich had been of a similar thought not long ago.

“Oh, well, I’m in here quite often these days.” Emmrich joked. “But perhaps you’ve seen me with my son? We try to visit every few weeks or so, usually on Saturdays.” The young man shook his head.

“Can’t be that… I don’t normally work Saturdays but it’s been bugging me all week!” As the man scanned the card, his eyes strained on the name. “Volkarin- Oh! Professor Volkarin! That’s it!” His voice picked up momentarily before quickly hushing himself. “My sister, Katja, she took your class a couple years ago! Katja Reisinger.”

Emmrich’s memory cycled, and suddenly the young man’s face heavily resembled a student’s. Katja graduated three years ago. “Miss Reisinger? Yes, you’re her brother, you picked up some worksheets for her.”

“After she broke her leg, yeah, Heiner is my name.” Heiner stretched his hand out to Emmrich and the two gave each a firm shake before he went back to scan the book. That certainly explained why Emmrich couldn’t place exactly where he’d seen the young man from.

“Pleasure to meet you again, Heiner.” He smiled.

“Yeah every time you guys came in here I was trying to figure out where I’d seen you from! I tried asking Rook about you but she just said you were helping her with some tutoring.” He knew Rook? “She’s got that whole, mysterious and cool thing going on where she only half explains things. But- ah- sorry, Miss Lavallen. Miss Lavallen was really downplaying it. It’s nice of you to help her out so she can get caught up.”

Lavallen? Who was… Heiner handed the card back to Emmrich while his own mind reeled. Miss Lavallen, Rook, Rook was Miss Lavallen. That was not information he was supposed to know. He took the card and quietly fit it back into his wallet, trying to concentrate. Rolling the pronunciation in his head a few more times to make sure the new name would sound more natural despite him having never heard it before in his life.

“Oh, no. I’m just doing my job. Miss Lavallen is the one working so hard.” The comment was meant to be vague, though the compliment was genuine. What on earth had she told him? Emmrich needlessly looked at his watch. “Forgive me, there’s a 6 year old who needs to be picked up.” He chuckled but it tasted like plastic in his mouth.

The two gave a pleasant goodbye and soon Emmrich was rushing for the exit not too dissimilarly to how Rook had left a few minutes ago. On his way out, he saw a teenager come in with a skateboard that was certainly being chastised by Heiner. The words were lost on Emmrich but the tone made it clear and somehow made him feel like he was the one being reprimanded.

By the time he reached his car, the name had repeated in his head about twenty times in between words riddled with panic. Lavallen… His hands were gripping the steering wheel even though the keys were still in his bag. His watch ticked, weight burdening against his wrist. This was fine. He could keep this to himself. Not like he was ever going to have use for that information anyways, and the only reason he found out was because it was expected of him to know. This was fine.

Emmrich decided it might be best if they limited their sessions at Blackthorn for a little while.

[thekidsarentalright]

20 dollar nose bleed analysis: fourteen carats but no clarity

so, i recently received an ask asking me to analyze 20 dollar nose bleed, and in trying to post the ask with the analysis it literally vanished lmao! so, i'm posting it instead like this <3

the song is a very interesting and complex one that was Quite daunting to analyze, so i can only hope i did it justice and that u enjoy reading this! analysis is under the cut:

So, to analyze 20 dollar nose bleed, we’re gonna start off, naturally, with the first verse and break it down lyric by lyric, with said first verse going, “Have you ever wanted to disappear? / And join a monastery, go out and preach on Manic Street? / Who will I be when I wake up next to a stranger / On a passenger plane? (Passenger plane)” 

The interesting thing about these lyrics is that we have direct confirmation from fob/pete (via genius verified annotations) that the first two lines are about Richey Edwards, who was the rhythm guitarist of rock band Manic Street Preachers, who went missing in 1995 and was presumed dead in 2009. Pete says that the first piece, “Have you ever wanted to disappear? / And join a monastery,” is a direct juxtaposition to the “go out and preach on Manic Street.” And that direct juxtaposition is absolutely the most notable thing about these lyrics, with a monastery being a holy place, typically portrayed as very quiet and simple in terms of commodities, etc., versus rockstar life which is literally the exact opposite- being constantly very chaotic and loud and complicated, not to mention not being very holy, typically speaking. What I believe is that the narrator here is questioning, maybe themselves, maybe somebody else, or just in general, if the ‘you’ have ever wanted to disappear from this life to join a monastery, to have this quiet, simple life away from everybody and everything, or if you’ve ever wanted to disappear into being a rockstar, away from yourself and everybody and everything in a completely different way. Either way, you’re losing yourself to one extreme or another. You’re disappearing into it. I could also see this in connecting back to Richey Edwards, saying have you ever wanted to disappear from the rockstar life? As common with fob songs, i honestly feel it could be meaning both things, and overall the meaning is- pick your poison onto how you wanna escape yourself and your life.

To move onto the second portion of the verse, the narrator begins to question, who will they be if they wake up next to a stranger on a passenger plane? Which is continuing this idea of disappearing, i think. i believe this is meant to be playing with the idea that, on a plane, nobody knows who you are, you’re as good as disappeared when you’re on a plane surrounded by people who don’t know you. So, truly, who will you be if you wake up next to a stranger on a passenger plane? When you could be anybody, you could make them believe you’re anybody, you can use this as an opportunity to escape yourself and your life, who will you be? 

Then, the pre-chorus kicks in, with the lyrics going, “Oh, permanent jet lag, please take me back (Please take me back) / Please take me back, I'm a stray dog / Sick, please let me in (Please let me in), the mad key's / Tripping, singing vows before we exchange smoke rings”, which is a series of some real fun, tricky lyrics lmao. The permanent jet lag, in my mind, no doubt connects to the lyric directly before it- perhaps, the narrator is now regretting all the hoping and wishing and trying to be another person, they feel permanently jet lagged now, permanently exhausted and bleary and not fully there and they just want to go back. Back to where is the imperative question and severely up to interpretation, I’ll offer a few options- back to who they were before possible fame, before they started trying to disappear, before they got dependent on drugs (this song is so about drugs), or just… back to a better time for them, in general. The stray dog lyric also has some verified annotations by fob/pete, with him saying that it’s, about that moment where you’re so desperate to come back, you’re like a stray dog, which can either be pathetic or endearing depending on your perspective. To me, this really cooberates what i’m already saying about this pre-chorus- they’re desperate to be let back to where they were before, before things went wrong. Now, the ‘mad key’ reference took a bit of looking into, but apparently a ‘key’ is sometimes used as another term for a drug dealer, which i feel could be very applicable to the themes of this song (drugs), it could also just be a reference to say they don’t have the key to get back to where they long so desperately to be. Either way, the last pre-chorus lyric’s meaning is pretty clear to me, thankfully- they’re making promises, vow-like promises, before exchanging smoke rings, which is almost positively a drug reference. it screams of unseriousness, lack of commitment, the vows are being sung and the rings are made of smoke. they’re doped up on drugs, they’re desperate and yearning and not themselves. these vows are not real and the rings are as flimsy a commitment, to whoever or whatever this specific lyric could be about, as the smoke is.

After that insane pre-chorus, we get into the possibly more insane chorus, saying, “Give me a pen, call me Mr. Benzedrine / But don't let the doctor in, I wanna blow off steam / And call me Mr. Benzedrine (Mr. Benzedrine) / But don't let the doctor, don't let the doctor in”. The first thing we need to establish here, now that we’ve gotten the core of the drug theme, is what benzedrine is- it’s a form of amphetamine used for depression, as well as PTSD and those with sleeping troubles (it’s a stimulant!), with some of the side effects possibly pertinent to the song being drowsiness and nose bleeds (snorting it is a common way of ingestion also). This starting with ‘give me a pen, call me Mr. Benzedrine’ automatically has me thinking it is just an all around drug reference with the narrator alluding to the fact they’re snorting benzedrine to try and aid them with their problems. They’ve already alluded to having depression and permanent jetlag (drowsiness/problems with sleep, perhaps?) through lyrics before this, making it perhaps no surprise that they’re going to the lengths of snorting this medication to try and help them. Help take them back to where they so desperately wanna go back to, maybe? With the second lyric of the chorus, “But don’t let the doctor in, I wanna blow off steam” saying to me that they’re basically taking these drugs, perhaps to a concerning extent, but are then going and saying they don’t want help, they don’t want a doctor, they don’t want people to show concern for them or what they have going on, they just wanna let off steam. They just wanna cope in their own way without intervention, so don’t let the doctor in.

After the chorus, we have the second verse, which states, “It feels like fourteen carats, but no clarity, when I look at the / Man who would be king, the man who would be king / Goes to the desert, the same war his dad rehearsed / Came back with flags on coffins and said, "We won, oh, we won"”. This is an interesting break from the themes we’ve already had in this song, as before we’ve had the narrator talking only of their disillusionment with their own personal life and reality and the troubles they’re going through to cope with those feelings. However, here, it seems they’ve shifted from speaking on their disillusionment with their own life to their disillusionment with the world. The very first line is essentially saying that not everything is as it seems- a diamond can be hyped up as being so big and expensive, but end up being horrible quality. This allusion could be made about anything- what you’re told is not always reality. What you want to be reality isn’t always reality. This almost feels the thesis statement for the song, honestly (there is a reason i titled this analysis with this!). And if not for the whole song, definitely for this verse, as the rest of the verse is a direct commentary on George W. Bush (former President of the United States) and the wars he launched in the Middle East (specifically Iraq and Afghanistan). Many protested the wars as being incredibly destructive and terrorizing on the countries impacted by them, not to mention not being fair fights and being possible fronts for America to enter the Middle East for oil and exploit them. This stance is the one being taken with these lyrics, as the lyrics are essentially saying that the “man who would be king” (Bush), goes to the desert (Middle East) to terrorize the Middle East just like his father (also a former horrible president) did, only to come back claiming he won with thousands of soldiers dead due to his actions, bitingly calling out the celebration of victory when so much life was lost so tragically for virtually no reason.

Before the spoken word piece at the end of the song, there is only two other lines that are deviating from the pre-chorus and chorus we’ve already discussed, with those lines being, “Only one book really matters, the rest / Of the proof is on the television, on the,” I feel as though these lyrics really summarize a lot of what we’ve already talked about in a way, that way being that it really conveys further disillusionment for the state of things and is a biting commentary of that. The narrator is saying, what a lot of people truly believe, that the only book in the world that matters is the Bible, with nothing else being worth reading or trusting, while the rest of the ‘proof’ (proof of what is laid out in the bible, beliefs and morals that people blindly follow) is on the television. People will so often just blindly follow religion or what they see on the news and never dare to look deeper into things, keeping so much of the world cut off (sort of like the lyric is cut off at the end of it) or censored from themselves.

The spoken word part is as follows, and is a lot to unpack so we’re gonna try to do it lyric chunk by lyric chunk, “It's not me, it's you / Actually, it's the taxidermy of you and me / Untie the balloons from around my neck / And ground me / I'm just a racehorse on the track / Send me back to the glue factory / Always thought I'd float away / And never come back / But I've got enough miles on my card / To fly the boys home on my own / But you know me, I like being all alone / And keeping you all alone / And the charts are boring, and the kids are snoring / And my ego's in a sling / You say you're not listening and I said I'm wishing / And I said…I said!”

To start dissecting this, we’ll look at the section, “It’s not me, it’s you / Actually, it’s the taxidermy of you and me / Unite the balloons from around my neck / And ground me / I’m just a racehorse on the track / Send me back to the glue factory / Always thought I’d float away / And never come back”. Though this seems like a lot to look at at once, it’s relatively easy to boil it down to the fact the narrator is back to speaking about their disillusionment with their own life and problems, speaking to a possible romantic partner in saying the classic breakup line of, it’s not you, it’s me, except turned on its head to directly blame the other person instead of taking blame. They’re also saying, though, that the blame isn’t exactly on the other person directly but is more on the fact that the relationship was already dead (taxidermy of you and me). They’re then asking this person, symbolically, to untie balloons from around their neck and let them be grounded. This could be saying their partner was putting them up on a sort of pedestal, putting them above others, but with the line ‘I’d always thought I’d float away / And never come back’ working with this, I definitely believe this position of floating above others was a point of stress for our narrator as they felt they’d never be able to get away from this situation and could never come back from it, perhaps even choking them and being disorienting, causing them to need to be grounded. They then go on to say they’re like a racehorse on the track that needs to be sent to the glue factory, essentially saying they’re past their prime and needs to be killed and turned into something that can be useful again (old horses used to literally be made into glue. This is also referencing that). 

The spoken word continues, with the narrator once again shifting focus from themself to the world/politics and their disillusionment with those things, saying, “But I've got enough miles on my card / To fly the boys home on my own”, where pete, once again verified on genius, said, “the idea that in some capacity that the i could fly the boys in iraq & afghanistan home on my miles if the gov wouldnt fly them back :(“

To end the spoken word section, and the song analysis as a whole, it ends with, “But you know me, I like being all alone / And keeping you all alone / And the charts are boring, and the kids are snoring / And my ego's in a sling / You say you're not listening and I said I'm wishing / And I said…I said!” with our narrator essentially saying that find comfort in loneliness and being alone, and finds satisfaction in making others feel his loneliness as well (I want to keep you as lonely as me so you can get addicted to this vibes, showing this is a sentiment shared in fob songs previously). The line about charts is a bit of a stand out, as being one of the most obvious ones about fame and pop culture, continuing to show the narrator is just generally sharing their displeasure with things of the world, here stating a fact that the charts, the popular songs perhaps made with less heart, with the kids in mind less, are boring and causing ‘the kids’ to snore, to lose interest in music and art and fall out of touch with it, causing the narrator’s ego to hurt because well… i keep saying ‘narrator’ because that’s just how i do these things but this is about pete, and it is no question that kids falling out of love with music would be detrimental to his ego- sorry to get out of my analyzing persona here but it’s the only way i could think to put this part lmao. Anyways! The song ends with the narrator being not listened to, and them then trying to scream how they’re feeling and what they’re saying to be seen and heard like they want to be.

This song is a very very complex, interesting one, detailing all of the troubles and complaints and gripes of a person struggling with mental illness and perhaps even losing their grip on reality some, or at least on the reality they want to be in. it’s a depressing thing to want to be a different person, only to realize you don’t like who you ended up changing into, or realize that no matter how much you change you can never go back to when you were truly happy. And turning to unhealthy coping mechanisms like drugs don’t help either, especially when it feels like the world around you is dashing your spirits and hope constantly as well. Where is there to escape when even your escape is riddled with problems? As the title of this analysis says, and as i stated earlier as well, everything truly can feel like fourteen carats but have no clarity.

[nightingaletrash]

1 for the DA ask game. Gotta know what your characters think about Orlais

Hehehehehe

Seraeda Aeducan - no real opinion; she spent her whole life in Orzammar before being exiled, and Orlais never really meant anything to her beyond the name. She knows the history, but she has no stake in it, and couldn't really comprehend why Loghain viewed them as being worse than the literal Blight. The Darkspawn will always be the biggest threat in her mind.

Marian and Garrett Hawke - they were born in a freed Ferelden and their family didn't have firsthand experience with the Orlesian Occupation, so they didn't grow up with a family personally traumatised in that way... but they were very much exposed to the national attitude and disdain for Orlais and grew up seeing the aftermath of the rebellion. Neither of them are fond of Orlais, and while Garrett will generally be polite in polite company, he has no fondness for Orlais and some scathing criticisms. Get him ranting after a drink or two, he's so much more honest about his feelings. Marian makes jokes and mocks them with her 'Orlesian accent'.

Lyris Lavellan - oh she really does not like Orlais, considering the whole being Dalish thing. She knows how to be diplomatic and polite when her duties require her to be (thank you Keeper training for teaching her to compartmentalise) but ooooooh she was definitely taking her frustrations out on the Venatori during WEWH. Hakkon could destroy Orlais? Definitely asked why that was a problem. Maybe they should ally with the Avvar God Dragon. She puts up with Orlais during her tenure as Inquisitor; she enjoys the tiny cakes and the show Josephine took her to see, but there was genuine spite for Orlais when she dissolved the Inquisition, and it was an influencing factor in her decision to keep her Vallaslin. She knows how Shartan was censured by the Chantry, she'd see how the same thing happened to Ameridan. She'll never let Orlais (and humans in general) look at her and see her as anything but a Dalish Elf. Fuck Orlais.

[tc-doherty]

You reblogged that Fantasy Ask Game, right? I'm assuming, because you sent me one.

I saw your post about Silverwood and you threatening to never shut up. I am calling your bluff. For Silverwood: I know the answer to Hero will be insane. And I'm also going to Wizard you.

Have fun!

@unclear-contributions

I did indeed reblog it and, the consequences of this are entirely on your shoulders.

Before I get started I just want to say that there is nothing metaphorical, allegorical, symbolic, or referential in Silverwood to connect it to any events, people, cultures, or what have you on earth. Certain actions are the same as certain actions taken in real world history but my characters use them for the same reason the people in our history used them, because they work. It doesn't mean one side is representing any specific people.

I am also leaving out a lot of background and explanation but this is already plenty long enough. If you want more information about anything, feel free to ask because as I said, I truly am capable of never shutting up about this.

That being said, here we go!

HERO - What makes someone a hero in this world?

In order to understand what can make someone a hero in this world, I need to set the context a little bit. In brief, a few hundred years before the start of the story the Emperor of Sanirra (Human) desired the wife of Lord Sereman (Drezhein) and sent people to kidnap her. This sparked off a brutal and bloody war between the two races which ultimately ended in a humiliating defeat for Sanirra. However, although the war technically ended, the conflict between the two races never stopped.

So, then, who's a hero in this context?

The cool and calculating Empress Lyris is a hero to her people even though after the death of her first husband she formed an alliance marriage with the current First Lord of the Drezhein, Seilez. She had three children with him, but none of them ever saw the throne as two of them died in ~tragic accidents~ and the third vanished under mysterious circumstances. Her marriage did usher in a brief era of peace, mostly, between the two races and she encouraged Drezhein to move to Sanirra…while at the same time passing restrictive policies that controlled their behavior.

Lord Seilez is a hero to most of the Drezhein who practically worship him because he is incredibly charismatic and they think that he's about to usher them into a new era of prosperity and civility. They are willing to follow his lead when it comes to relations with Sanirra and with his prompting, many of them do move there, despite the increasingly more restrictive laws.

This notably does not work on Ithea because she was basically raised in a cult so she recognizes bullshit when she sees it, and was the only person who was even curious as to why he was working with Lyris on these obviously harmful policies. Unfortunately she is not a hero to anyone because although she did initially have the support of some of the oldest Drezhein who hate Seilez, her actions are erratic and baffling. Before her death she is the most hated person in both countries. It's only much, much later that people begin to understand what she was doing and why.

The human descendants of Empress Lyris are also heroes to their people as they continuously flexed control over Sanirra AND Cylli (with Seilez's help) creating policies designed to drive the Drezhein into extinction. They can't do it with military might but they can by disrupting their culture, separating them from their families and allies, suppressing their language, interfering with their reproduction, so on and so on.

Ro, who lived a quiet life during generations two and three, is considered a hero in generation four because she is the person who figured out how to break and modify the magical trackers that the Sanirran government was putting on the Drezhein to facilitate their control. (Her siblings are so proud of her, she finally became a true Silverwood by breaking the law. Ro is irritated by this, but like her adoptive mother Ithea before her, she was driven to act in order to protect her grandchildren).

And Rona is considered a hero for inciting the Drezhein to result and ultimately leading the charge to toppling the governments of both Sanirra and Cylli!

Taking a break from that conflict for just a second, Empress Tristira is also considered a hero to her people for killing her tyrannical father and restoring order to their country of Daemirra, but that's a whole other kettle of fish with a whole other multi-generational history.

So there's lots of conflict, and there are lots of heroes and villains on both sides!

WIZARD - Who is your favourite character in this WIP? Describe them!

Ithea is turning 20 this year! She's one of my favorite characters I've ever created, and has also been with me through the worst periods of my life. Even aside from that, she's just so much fun. She's complicated. She's arrogant, and she's violent, but she's also cunning and eloquent. She wants what she wants and she does everything to get it, but the things that she chooses to focus on make no sense to anyone else, and that's the way she likes it. She's incredibly glamorous, and also brutal and manipulative and unpredictable. I love her!

Aside from the obvious, I really do have a lot of feelings about Cyan Silverwood who, compared to the rest of her siblings, is not a particularly important character. She has intensely public persona styled somewhat after the glamour of her adopted mother, but she's a very private person and even her siblings don't know much about what she thinks about anything. Anthem and Ithea, one might say, were not particularly good parents. All of the other kids managed to move on and became well-adjusted and had families of their own. But Cyan ended up being put in a position in the past that she has never been able to move on from. After Ithea died, Anthem became increasingly violent and erratic. Cyan asked for help from other adults in their life but didn't end up receiving it and ultimately had to kill her father to protect her siblings. They don't know about that. No one knows about that. But Cyan was incredibly close to her father and although she did what she had to do, it's very difficult for her to live with it. We don't talk about her much but it doesn't mean I don't think about her a lot.

I also really love Ro because honestly she's just hilarious. She dropped out of school and ran away at 14, got married at 19, and lived her perfect little life with her farm and her community and her loving husband and their 10 kids, only to pick up the Silverwood mantle and commit treason much, much later in life. She honestly hates being connected to the Silverwoods. Although she likes her family, the fact that people always call her Ro Silverwood is a source of constant irritation. She just wants to leave her past behind her and be evaluated as her own person!

~Fantasy Ask Game~

[arledrone]

I am very normal about Columbina and Sandrone, but for the sake of avoiding anything outside solid evidence this'll just focus on Sandrone, since Columbina's whole deal is pretty vague so far.

For people who'd rather read directly from the sour

Spoilers for the Fontaine World Quest chains below. Links to the wiki are provided for extra context because reading and drawing one's own conclusions is a good life skill even outside of school.

For the time being, it's assumed Sandrone is a "bionic puppet" (android, frankly speaking) created and programmed by Alain Guillotin in the image/memory of Mary-Ann Guillotin, his younger sister, some time after she died in a clash against the Narzissenkreuz Ordo inside Elynas.

Mary-Ann's consciousness was absorbed into the Oceanid Lyris. So Mary-Ann as a person is, ultimately, a different entity altogether. But Alain wouldn't be aware of this knowledge himself, and everything to do with the Ordo, Renee and Jakob specifically, took a huge toll on him. His friends went batshit with experiments, his assistant got caught up in them and ended up an amorphous blob, and his younger sister was killed in the clash against his friends' secret society. The latter likely devastated him. There is literally a memorial park dedicated to his sister that was tragically destroyed when the Research Institute had the explosion.

All in all, he was likely deeply unwell by the time all this got wrapped up. There's an artifact story that claims Alain retired and basically became a recluse. The research he undertook during his isolation was never published and left unknown to the public. And by the time of his either passing or disappearance, people could only infer he was indeed building something in his personal workshop.

With how Alain managed to create AI as advanced as Seymour's, it wouldn't be that far-fetched for Alain to manage to have Sandrone in Mary-Ann's image.

The things up in the air fall into how Sandrone's been characterised so far in voicelines and the tail-end of the Melusine quest, where she literally cuts a man's tongue out and either lobotomised him or just left him so traumatised he was left in a catatonic state after her punishment. Which is a stark contrast to how the real Mary-Ann was. So if she's indeed made in Mary-Ann's image, it's a question of why she's like that when Mary-Ann was so kind.

You also have Sandrone's ruin guard attendant. Which is where we get different assumptions (emphasis on assumption because this isn't TikTok and we're not going to treat every little thing said as canon without full context just because it sounds vaguely convincing). Like how the "true" Sandrone is Alain himself programmed into the Ruin Guard or something.

Rene, however, claims that Alain has a few screws loose himself. And with how Mary-Ann's death could've easily pushed Alain over the edge, any insane artificial intelligence programming for Sandrone is not entirely off the table.

can you explain columbina's whole deal? abt the like biblically accurate stuff

or even just like point me at where people seem to get their information abt the harbringers that have yet to appear, cuz i feel like i keep up with the lore pretty decently but then people talk abt sandrone or columbina and im like where is this info from...

this might just be a skill issue on my part tho

For Columbina, you're not missing too much. As far as I know, the only direct canon mentions of her are voice lines from other Harbingers, plus the Winter Night's Lazzo trailer.

So what we know about Columbina mostly comes down to:

she's named after a commedia dell'arte stock character — but after seeing harbingers 4+6+8+11 I'd say this doesn't tell us very much about her beyond the "dove" theming

she has dove + angel wing imagery

she spends Lazzo singing in a slightly fourth wall breaking way, and otherwise says nothing

her eyes are covered

Arlecchino says she's interesting to talk to. Wanderer says she seems very detached from whatever situation she's in... and that the Traveller might feel bad about fighting her.

Tartaglia says (correctly?) that the Harbingers are ranked by strength but he has no idea why she's ranked above Arlecchino.

A lot of fanon has synthesised these hints into "scary, alien, and/or eldritch 'angel'". But who knows...

====

For Sandrone, we got a lot of hints during the 4.x patches.

(though if you want to hc Sandrone as a Guizhong reincarnation or just a generic mad scientist then be my guest 😇 )

The most relevant bit of characterisation happens in the Steambird questline (Questioning Melusine and Answering Machine), which implies a little bit of Sandrone involvement at the end.

the second most relevant bit is *checks notes, sighs* the entire Narzissenkreuz Ordo world series (e.g. starting from Mamere or Ann or Lanoire), but particularly the 'unlocked "Treasure"' quest item, which depicts a character who looks a lot like Sandrone.

I'm not the best person to summarise these quests— could someone else help?

[lyrishadow]

well poop

Below this line is some personal update stuff. I wont force everyone to read it, but if you do just know its bad.

ok so i know a few people here still who know me from SWTOR and who well know me from writing stuff. Hubby has been dx with a form of blood cancer. We wont know how serious it is for another 4 (3?) weeks, I am... so sigh. I want more than anything to just wish it all away and make him well. Even if it isnt the death sentence it seems right now (and it might be okish) it does mean he will never be free of having dialysis. Never qualify for a kidney. It could turn into killing him at any point and I am stunned. I don't want this - it wasnt on my bucket list. Wasnt on my to do list and .. Im just.. On top of that.. I cut down on what I eat and I seem to just gain weight :/ I feel like im a balloon... and Im sore and achey and grumpy as hell (perimenopause) and I just dont even know what to do with that either. So yeah.

[oopsallmabari]

i always wished we got to see a little of the conclave before it ended so horrifically, since it's such a huge event but it feels diminished... what kinds of origins specific stuff are you thinking of? 👀

YEAH like the game focuses hard on the conclave issue being the death of the divine which like. fine, it's because of corypheus, but like. that's not what I care about nearly as much.

GRANTED I have mostly thought about this in the context of my own inquisitors (adaar, mage trevelyan, cadash) but like. the stakes are different!!! to me, narratively, there's a huge difference between the conclave as a business venture vs as a diplomatic mission vs as a above-average merc job.

a mage trevelyan enters the conclave and it is perhaps the most important experience of their lives. this could determine the fate if mages in thedas. you should get some actual context for the mage templar war, sew the seeds of different viewpoints of circle mages!! we know from origins there are different schools of mage political thought-you can't tell me the conclave for mages isn't filled with RICH political discourse. give Fiona a chance to seem like a figure with real power! hell, you can foreshadow vivienne's appearance in game, give us some idea of what it means to be a loyal circle post-rebellion. GIVE US TENSE INTERACTIONS BETWEEN MAGES AND TEMPLARS. THEY ARE TRYING TO BROKER A PEACE WITH A GROUP THAT IS CAPABLE OF USING DEADLY FORCE TOWARDS THEM (it's CUSTOMARY, even). a mage trevelyan enters the conclave presumably with some of the only friends they have in their life, and then everyone but them dies. how does that feel? how does that color the inquisition's response to their survival, this apostate who is the prime suspect for the divine's murder, the murder of hundreds of others?

even a non-mage trevelyan is on an important mission. give us the outsider perspective on the mage-templar conflict. give us more insight into the chantry's role and power since the trevelyan family is so devout. how are the free marches faring, since all of inquisition takes place in southern thedas? it's still a critical experience for a non mage trevelyan, but maybe this isn't so life and death for them. maybe their family members joined them to help negotiate. are the trevelyans trying to steer the proceedings any particular way? do some disagree on what should be done?

lavellans are LITERALLY SENT TO SPY ON THE PROCEEDINGS CAN YOU IMAGINE AN ORIGIN ESPIONAGE MISSION. we could have shown the dalish some fucking respect early on and displayed their cunning! their ability to seem unassuming and on the fringes while keeping the clan safe! is lavellan going to the conclave solo? how close were they hoping to get to the proceedings-how close to the divine? are there city elf servants, perhaps, that they intend to disguise themselves as? lavellans are one of the origins that explicitly aren't supposed to be there, so again, how does the Inquisition-the Chantry-respond to a dalish elf as their prime suspect for the divine's murder? tbh I feel like that is a hugely dangerous spot for a lavellan to be in.

an adaar was probably expecting some conflict as part of the conclave, but nothing so serious as what ended up happening. there's a huge opportunity here to delve into some of adaar's personal/family dynamics. are the valo-kas kindred to them,or just coworkers? who in the company stayed behind and out of the temple of sacred ashes? what's their take on the mage-templar war? THEYRE SECURITY, HOW DID CORYPHEUS EVADE THEIR DEFENSES? what did the valo-kas miss? were there other people up to mischief during the conclave that got ferreted out? were there other hired security groups that they worked together/clashed with???

cadashes are also spies, but with a much clearer bend to shape proceedings. what's been happening with lyrium as the circles disband? are there any signs of red lyrium at the conclave pre-breach? are the dwarves more inclined to see one group access lyrium over the other? how do they attempt to sway minds? the merchant's guild is probably also implicated in the conclave proceedings, how do they navigate?

idk ultimately, the way the conclave ends up for me in game is disappointing-we don't get to really feel how politically altering it is, we miss out on a chance to set up the big players in inquisition (rebel mages and the templar order, obviously, but arguably you miss out on a chance to distinguish orlais and ferelden even, especially for folks that are coming in to inquisition as their first DA game). you have no people connection to the conclave, no idea of the size of the event. everyone else at the conclave died but all anyone else cares about is divine Justinia. is there NOBODY the inquisitor loses at the conclave? no other important dignitaries whose absence could shake up thedas? when the inquisitor enters the Fade and the Nightmare dimension, you're supposed to be getting back memories of the conclave that were terrifying, but there's no real horror. no disgust at what's happened, no reminder besides corypheus, who at that point we have already seen, so there's not much new or poignant to emotionally tie me to.

idk, the conclave explosion is fucked up. and I want more of it.

[ja-lin]

More trivia stuff now that Night of Sin episode 3 is release! List of Lovestruck characters or series I mentioned (not by name, but by description only) in episode 3 of my story.

Gangsters in Love and Queen of Thieves series are mentioned.

Sweet Enchantments is a fantasy novel in my story.

Zain and Liora are mentioned.

Turnips are mentioned.

Reigning Passions is a real life TV series drama in my story.

The main plot of the show follows Sevastian’s story as the winter prince.

Lyris is mentioned.

Havenfall is for Lovers characters are mentioned if you select certain choices.

Lilliane is mentioned.

DSD Corps and Antonio is mentioned.

Mac is mentioned.

Rahim is mentioned as the ritual specialist, but I think that was already canon in the original Sin w/ Me.

Thew, that was a lot! Just trying to pay homages to as many characters as I can from Lovestruck lol...

[inkandichxr]

"I'm gonna run out of quarters real fast." Dimitri couldn't help the grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. He'd have to carry around a pocket full of change just to fuck with her. She probably wasn't serious but he'd do it just for fun.

"Alright, alright. Fair. I'll come to whatever family function you want to drag me to. In our family that's how you get dates anyway." He was only joking, honestly, but it wasn't completely untrue. Lyri was right, he needed to get to know a lot of the family that had come to be in his time away. "I appreciate it. Right now my life, and my house, is a mess." He'd done it to himself though so there was no room for him to complain too much.

"That's true. You've always been soft." He reached over to poke at her ribs as if this would prove his point. She had a good soul, that was for sure. "That's crazy. I mean, not in a bad way. I think it's kind of cool actually? I mean, it probably hurts to be the one being fed on but still really interesting. I'm never going to remember all these names. I'm gonna buy a stack of name tags and hand them out."

“If you don’t stop thanking me, I’m going to start a jar and you’ll have to put a quarter in it every time you say thank you for things you don’t need to. Like a swear jar but less cool.” It was an idle threat, he probably knew it, but it had never stopped her from making one before.

She shook her head at that and resisted the urge to flick him like Britt would have. “Just because you’re a stranger to the kids and grandkids and so on down the line doesn’t mean you’re a stranger to all of us. And it’s a good way to get to know everyone.” At least, that was how Lyri saw it. “I’ll get with Britt and get copies of pictures for you. I think auntie moved a lot of stuff into online albums so I should be able to get you access to those as well.”

“When have I ever been able to say no to someone in need? Especially a kid?” she pointed out, a soft, warm smile set firmly on her lips. “Mmm, any kind of talent, really. Writing, art, singing, dance. It wasn’t exactly easy at first because she definitely tried to snack on me but I think Rafe was the one that put an end to that. Eireen showed up on our doorstep right after we took him in.” Rafe, at the very least, had presented no problems and was an all-around good kid.

[megatraven]

Still not over the fact that Lyris wrote a play about his and MC's life together while he was under the Fetch's memory loss spell and says that MC is forbidden fruit cause he's falling for her all over again and then when his memories come flooding back he screams in anger and pain and he screams her name and Lyris, real Lyris comes back for a minute or two to say that he's fighting every second of every day and then when the spell takes over again and he realises that he's practically in MC's lap he blushes and becomes flustered-

[badass-at-fandoming]

My Favorite Betrayal: Sevastian of the Winter

As one of the starter love interests for Lovestruck's popular Reigning Passions series, Sevastian of the Winter is a tumblr favorite. When I finally got around to reading his route, I enjoyed the stunning art and intricate writing--but this one moment really knocked me off my feet. I gotta post about it. Major spoilers ahoy.

One of the major themes in Sevastian's route is betrayal (which works so well in conversation with the theme of duty in Amara's route. The two routes are truly two sides of the same coin. But that's another post). From the plot to the art, betrayal, and its consequences, are everywhere. The decapitated statue in the Winter Quarter. Sevastian's nickname as "The Betrayer Prince." Heck, the Mark of the Betrayer Sevastian receives is mirrored on MC's sword-esque wedding dress.

[[Image ID 1, Sevastian pulls back his shirt to reveal a gleaming blue sword tattoo. The text reads, "Lines of twisting flame trace the shape of a stylized sword."]]

[[Image ID 2, MC and Sevastian stand side-by-side in their wedding clothes. MC's white dress has an incredibly deep and narrow neckline, with silver chain keeping it in the shape of sword. MC says, "Today marks the beginning of our life together."]]

As the plot goes on, Sevastian betrays, or contemplates betraying, various people and causes. Under the Silver Dagger persona, Sevastian betrays the other nobles by stealing their wealth. He betrays Lyris' trust and friendship by not talking to him after the wing debacle. He thinks about betraying his morals by murdering his father. You get the picture.

But there's one that stood out to me by a mile. It's this scene in s5:

[[Image ID 3, With weeping willows and fireflies behind them, Sevastian and MC stand distressed. MC has hold of Sevastian's forearm, while he leans slightly away from her. They both have anguished expressions on their faces]]

Let's re-orient. MC figures out she's the lost heir to Altadellys' throne. Lord Ubel, Sevastian's father, is salty about it, and MC and Sevastian flee his wrath and the capitol city. They hook up with the rebels, who oppose Ubel because he's an uber-rich dillweed. Led by General Nisse, the rebels task MC and Sevastian to convince the neighboring nation of Rovdyr to send troops and supplies. Our duo is on their way, but an ally betrays them. The situation devolves into a fight. A poisoned blade stabs Sevastian. Only MC's great-grandmother Edera pulling Sevastian into the hidden land of Fortrylle saves him. In this land infused with magical energy, time "stops" for Sevastian, and there's time to find the antidote for his ailment. Which is great, except the rebel cause is pressed for time. They need those Rovdyr allies. As illustrated in the above CG, Sevastian has the brilliant plan of leaving Fortrylle, letting himself die, and thereby forcing MC to get on with her royal future.

And I saw red.

My reaction was as searing as it was visceral. As a queer person, it's a very special experience to feel seen and represented in a work, but this was the first time I felt seen and absolutely hated it. This time, Sevastian was betraying MC and all they had fought for to be together. By throwing away his life, he was throwing all the choices MC had made to be with him right back in her face.

Part of the strength of my reaction stemmed from the fact that I had the 1980s AIDS epidemic on the brain. I'd recently watched Netflix's Circus of Books documentary. In it, a monogamous cishet couple recalled the epidemic and how it affected their lives and bookstore, which was a gay hot spot. Overnight, it seemed, their employees and customers started dying. They added hospital runs to their weekly errands. They called homophobic parents to inform them of their son's death.

And here, in the distorted mirror of fiction, was another queer man dying. No, not dying, but killing himself, so his partner "didn't have to suffer." So they "wouldn't be held back." So she could "move on" with her life and her queenly destiny. I'd heard those reasons before. I spiraled into the hundreds of stories of queer people killing themselves so their straight-passing partner could integrate into the heteronormative; into what others wanted them to be. The parallels drove me mad. Like these other deaths, his suicide felt so needless. Sevastian went on and on about how the rebels needed their queen, their rallying point.

The real kicker is: they don't. Like, no gamer wants to hear that their character is unnecessary to the story, but it's true in this case. MC and Sevastian don't bring anything particularly special to the rebel cause. They don't know military strategy or secret supply routes or a hitherto unknown access point to Altadellys. We learn later that Captain Amara and Queen Safir are around. With Amara's long history of service and Safir being the literal lost queen, they lend an equal, if not greater, sense of legitimacy to the revolt, and are excellent rallying points. Even securing Rovdyr forces don't require MC: General Nisse makes a war treaty with them on her own in Amara's route. The most MC and Sevastian contribute is Ubel's stolen funds. But once those are handed over, they're superfluous.

Just to nail this point home, MC has repeatedly said she doesn't have any particular inclination to be queen. It's more that the other options are terrible. Any destiny to be queen, any ultimate desire to wear the crown, is all in Sevastian's head. He's ignoring what she most wants, which is him, alive and by her side and loving her. I wanted to throttle him. In the midst of sickness and death, they had a chance to live in peace.

So, my God, was I impressed by this writing. For the low, low price of $0, I was absolutely knocked on my ass. Shit's GOOD, bro. I had to gush about it. Thank goodness the next scene gave us an affirming cuddle as a breather.

[[Image ID 4, MC and Sevastian stand close together in a grove of weeping willows. MC's eyes are closed. The text reads, "I lean into his chest as he curls his arms around me, half wishing I could crawl under his shirt and hide there."]]

This post is mega-long and has not real point besides LOOK AT THIS PRETTY, but ya know. Binge read Reigning Passions and you'll see what I mean. Thanks for reading!

[aquagirl1978]

First - how dare you make me not like Lyris! even if it's only for a moment

I know it's not actually real - we are floating through Sevastian's memories here - the events likely happened, it's just the interpretation of what was said that's changed. The reader might not have caught on to that fact just yet, so this scene really stings the first time. The pain and guilt that weighed on Sevastian was immense for him to see Lyris, someone full of life and love and I don't think ever hated Sevastian, in that light. Was Lyris a bit cold or standoffs to Sevastian after the incident? Absolutely! Their friendship was severed then. Lyris also stayed away because Sevastian was so chilly to him, something he did to protect Lyris from further pain. Sevastian projected his guilt onto Lyris, so much so, he could only see Lyris as hating him. There was no other way for him to view Lyris but as someone who despised him.