#spectral bloom

[vampiriiiia]

Waiting. Seething. Blooming

(Ch.2)

Summary: An orphaned bastard of House Tyrell is welcomed in Kings Landing as Princess Healanas lady in waiting. In her attempts to navigate the ways of court and gain the favour of powerful men she manages to involve herself with the web of the royal family’s affairs.

word count: 3.8k

Since the day where you shared with the princess your knowledge of flowers,

and in extension, insects and such, your walks in the garden became a daily occurrence. Everyday, a bit before midday, and during the evenings as well, you and Princess Helaena would stroll around the gardens, deep in conversation. On some days, such as this, hers and Prince Aegon’s children, Prince Jaegerys and sweet Princess Jaehera would come with you. On such evenings, you sit in a marble bench that was adorned with ivys.

In front of you lied a moss covered path, amidst the enchanting whispers of the Keeps garden, where the gnarled limbs of towering oaks twist and turn like vigilant sentinels. This path, gently beckons you towards the heart of the grove. Here, in this secluded haven, stands a statue carved in alabaster. For a moment, it seemed to glow with a light all its own. The statue is poised gracefully upon a pedestal entwined with ivy. Surrounding this spectral guardian are blooms of purple and pink hydrangeas, their petals nodding in the breeze like petals like the paintings for a book your mother had showed you, a time long ago. Shadows of children dance under the enchanting boughs, where light seldom intrudes, adding to the mystique of this sanctuary. It is a place where the divide between past and present blurs, and where the whispers of history seem louder than the songs of birds around you and your unusually quiet company.

You carefully watched the children for a while, before turning your attention to the Princess, who despite her earlier excitement to visit the gardens, now stood silent and stoic, like the elegant statue in front of you, examining a dark creature perched upon her hand. Its eight legs, sharp and angled like blades, moved with a dreadful grace. Its body, a shadowy armour of intricate patterns. It’s eyes almost looked a bit sinister as they seemed to pierce through the very essence of your facade, as though the spider itself held dominion over fear and shadows. You had no problem with insects and such, even holding some of them when the Princesses hands had been too full, but you dreaded spiders. You dreaded them more than anything. As you watched her handle the creature with grace, a sense of numbing terror spread across your chest, and despite being seated, you felt your legs crumble also. It wasn’t the spiders appearance that frightened you per se, more the fact that they could be anywhere, and you wouldn’t know. They seemed to know every whisper that had been whispered in the Keep, maybe even the realm, maybe even Highgarden. Most likely Highgarden. They knew too many things, they could weave the most appropriate net for you, trapping you for as long as they pleased, and you wouldn't even see it. Thankfully, your size did not allow that but unfortunately, you were not as big as you’d like, for you were far smaller than the nets life sized spiders created.

Eventually you turned your attention back to the children running around each other, seemingly playing a game of tag. You sat there, quietly with the Princess for a while, till a sudden appearance had the both of you jolting.

Queen Alicent Hightower has always been a politely imposing figure. She had lengthy copper curls and big brown eyes that seemed to be aware of your every move. She had been wearing an emerald green dress, perched with the symbol of the seven on her waist, creating a belt like necklace around her lower waist. Other than the softness of the fabric with a few golden details, she had been dressed simply for the day, as the Princess had told you, no court meeting for the day was to be held. She inspected you closely, carefully, the way you sat and how straight your back was, where you put your hands, and when she was seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention to her daughter. Her eyes softened as she said “ Helaena, would you happen to know where your grandsire would be?” “No mother, I do not. (Y/N) and I have been here for some time, he has not appeared around these parts of the garden”. The Princess had gained a habit of referring to you by your first name as of late, she never corrected herself, but you never took the liberty of using her first name as well.

The Queen looked perplexed at that, “He had told me he’d be with you today.” “Well, he is not”. She sighted, letting out a long batted breath, obviously not very pleased with the outcome of her search. She seemed to be searching for him quite often these days, surely the castle couldn’t be so big. Besides, Lord Otto Hightower was of old age, he couldn’t be running around the castle, avoiding his daughter of all people. That thought seemed amusing, but it was certainly untrue, since most days Queen Alicent was the one doing the running. She rigidly sat down, in the middle of you and Helaena on the bench, “I suppose I’ll wait here then. Your grandsire is most likely to appear at these parts of the garden”. That was not true, this wing of the garden has always been quiet, so quiet you could hear the rose petals flowing under the evening breeze. You highly doubted the Hand had been one for romantic adventures through quiet parts of the castle such as this.

Queen Alicents presence stiffened the atmosphere. While before her arrival there was a silent air of understanding surrounding you and Princess Helaena, now it was filled with awkward small conversation about court matters such as the starvation of smallfolk in the southern part of Kings Landing. That was the one thing that stuck to you the most “And what is the next move to solve that matter? Have you reached a conclusion yet?” you surprised yourself by speaking but the Queen’s response is what truly caught you off guard “It’s truly unfortunate but we have not yet began to attend to that matter, in the city of Braavos, the Iron Bank, not half a year ago had lended a large amount of money to the throne to built that large well down in Rivers Row and unfortunately it has not been finished and they’re demanding that number of money back” did a well really take so much money to be built? why couldn’t they use the saving of the throne itself? “We of course will tend as soon as we can to the starving smallfolk but there’s other matters to be tended to first. You see Lady Flower, the throne is always busy and filled with responsibilities” the Queen added hastily, sensing your scepticism about her response, diverting the conversation to other matters the throne had to quickly attend to. You tried your best to keep your back straight, never slouching and your hands never leaving your lap.

——

“They want to make my brother king” the Princess abruptly broke the silence after arriving to her chambers. The uncomfortable conversation with Queen Alicent had thankfully ended as it began to darken outside. Now at the comfort of her quarters, soundly rocking Jaeherys crib while you did the same for Jaehera, her commnet caught you by suprise. “Why would you think that Helaena?” you knew exactly why. Since the moment you arrived in the castle you quickly understood what opinions Queen Alicents side of the family held for Princess Rhaenyra. Prince Aegon made jokes about the legitimacy of her sons, The hand liked to act like she did not exist but was in fact a distant family member at best, and not the actual heir to the throne. Princess Helaena never spoke of her, but also never participated in debates about her with the rest of her family. You were not sure if the latter one was a direct request from the Queen. You only heard Prince Aemond speak of her once, and the causality which he spoke so hatefully about her had you momentarily freeze in your place.

On the other hand, you heard Queen Alicent speak so often about her step-daughter that you were not sure if it sounded more like envy or like something else. Or both.

Queen Alicent spoke of Rhaenyra in public with a veneer of civility and disdain. She would often criticize the Princesses rebellions and lack of propriety. The Queen made a show of disapproving of her behaviour, playing up the role of a concerned stepmother trying to rein in a wayward daughter.

"She is willful and defiant," Alicent would say, her voice laced with irritation. "Ignoring her duties and causing trouble at every turn. It’s a shame, really. She could be so much more if she would just learn to act like a proper princess." the Queen would continue in a frenzy. It took you by suprise how often you’d catch her in such position, speaking in such way, to Ser Criston Cole, of all people. Although, he never once opened his mouth to agree or disagree with her, displaying a serious and nonchalant stance to what the Queen was saying. It was a smart move on his part, but at the same time it made it look like it happened more often than not.

Queen Alicent reminded you of how you spoke of the gods when you were younger, innocent and more hopeful. When your mother was still alive, albeit sick, and you still belivied. You’d speak in an irritated manner about them, when despite your prayers, they didn’t bend to your will. You’d never stop believing and praying though, always secretly hoping that they’d see your devotion and finally grand you one wish. In your case, you asked for your mothers health. You did not know, not truly, what Queen Alicent wanted from Princess Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure if she quite knew herself.

Your inner turmoil was put at pause when Princess Jaehera whined a little, then went back to her sleep. You looked at the Princess, who had now placed her son in his crib, rocking him gently, with a faraway look in her lavender blue eyes. Princess Helena’s wasn’t much older than you, yet she had her twins at the same age you lost your mother. You knew that at that age, you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to host another person inside you, much less twins. The Princess helped feed them, bath them, made sure they went to their high Valyrian lessons, rocked them to sleep every night and was always with them, day and night, overlooking their other activities with your help. But as you watched her tend to them, you weren’t really sure if she quite realised they were hers. You once heard some maids comment about the Princesses standoffishness, which increased after she got married to her brother and had children.

You reached the conclusion that despite those day dreams always being a part of the Princess, their increase is both a form of escapism. Deep down, she knew that the children were hers. But the weight of motherhood, its duties, it must be very overwhelming. In her mind, they were not her children, they were her siblings. It must be more comfortable pretending she was their older sister, which wasn’t a stretch considering how young the queen was when she had Prince Aegon. Retreating into her mind was easier than truly grasping the fact that she birthed those children when she was one herself.

The Princess didn’t reply to your question, she tucked her son in, as you did for her daughter, and asked for your help with undoing her hair and gown. When she got in her night wear, you started unbraiding her hair. “Has Prince Aegon yet to return?” you asked “As usual he has not. I don't except him to. He himself must prefer where his currently sleeping, or rather who” you learned quickly enough that the Princess preferred much more as well that he did not return to their shared chambers. Her relationship with her brother, despite being married and having twins, never really changed, no romantic love blossomed between them as it had for their great-grandsire and his sister wife, the good Queen Alyssane.

——

Sleep for once had come easy last night, which was unusual. You quickly dressed yourself in a light blue dress with puffy sleeves and fixed your hair accordingly. You walked to the sept, not too fast and not too slow, as you smiled carefully and politely greeted other members of court. The sept was cold, filled with the chilly air of the morning, but the candles as you lit them quickly warmed you up. One for your mother, your father, your grandparents. You sat on your knees and silently moved your lips as you recited the correct prayers. You felt a heavy presence move next to you and start praying as well. You did not feel particularly happy about that, knowing you couldn’t sit in the sept as long as you usually do with another observing you. You prayed for a few more minutes, then started to recite all the other prayers you knew, eager to wait out the presences departure. It did not come, you felt the person move and stand up, giving you a brief moment of hope, till you realised they weren’t leaving, seemingly waiting for you to finish. You finished your last known prayer and blowed out the candles you previously lit, carefully standing up and dusting off nonexistent filth. You turned around to be met face to face with Prince Aemond. It was for the best really, you reasoned, Prince Aemond was unmarried still, you could attempt to secure a match for yourself with a second son, bastard or not, you were still the oldest and one of the only surviving members of House Tyrell. Although, Prince Aemond never wanted you to forget your illegitimacy, “Lady Flower” he started, always putting an emphasis on your last name. “I was beginning to wonder you were avoiding me with how much you were praying” he continued. He was easily dislikable. You smiled politely “Of course not, my Prince, House Tyrell sadly has lots of deceased members” a half truth. The l Prince examined you with his icy gaze, it was clear he did not like you at all, nor made an attempt to hide his disdain for bastards, even if their standing was in Highgarden, the same House his mothers family had sworn to.

“I have a personal request for you” he spoke after a beat of silence.

You held your breath, hoping it was something that was easily completed and would not question your honour, more than it already was since your birth. “Ser Criston, my mothers and your Queens, royal guard has been sent for business on my grandfathers command down in Kings Landing, the western part. I was ought to come with him but my duties do not allow me time to do so. I was hoping you’d be of help.” “But the Princess—” “The Princess has already been informed that you have matters to attend to for today. You post will be filled with some other lady.” He has already planned this out. His words gave you little room to think of anything else. “Of course my Prince” he did not smile or thank you, just started to walk. You took that as your cue to follow him.

After a few, albeit long and nerve filled minutes, you found yourself in the company of Ser Criston and Prince Aemond. Ser Criston was not wearing his usual armour, but instead he wore a dark grey cloak and a hat to match it, trying to cover his appearance. He handed you a dark blue and dusty cloak and despite your initial disgust, you wore it with not one complain and put on the attached hood. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, then looked back at you, then back at each other. You smiled politely, but not for two long, so they wouldn’t deem you as stupid. You were pretty sure the Prince would think so anyway, despite your best efforts.

After a few minutes of exchanging quiet conversation and a few hissed whispers at each other, Ser Criston started to walk outside, nodding for you to follow him. Prince Aemond send you a warning glance before you left. You quickly followed Ser Criston outside, it had been your first time outside the walls of the castle, so you didn’t know how dangerous it could be. But it must have been dangerous enough, for he still kept his sword on him, gripping it as you walked side by side. After a while, you found the courage to ask “Is there a specific reason why I was asked to join you today?” Ser Criston replied without looking at you, with a stern expression staring ahead “You will see for yourself soon enough.” It was unfair to drag you out of your daily responsibilities and to not even inform you why, withholding information from the quest they sent you to, you thought in bitter annoyance.

“Whatever you see today, I do not want you to inform the Queen.”

What. “What?”

“I have been given stern instructions not to inform her by the Hand himself. You will follow them as well. Is that understood?”

You spoke after a moment, unable to move from your suprise at his words “….Yes.”

You walked in silence for some time, passing men, women and children alike most of them skinny, thin, bony actually. So thin you could reach and touch them and you’d feel their bones more than their skin. They looked as if the only thing separating their bones from the outside world was a thin dirty sheet, that hugged their body tightly. A few were laying on the cold dirt ground, most likely dead, judging by the smell. You hoped you’d leave that smell in the past. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. Rotting flesh mingled with the acrid smoke of burning bodies, creating a nauseating odor that clawed at the senses. The sickly sweet smell of decay was like a miasma, shrouding everything in a pall of despair. The back gate of the castle had been at the southeast part of the city, which meant you were seeing first hand the consequences of starvation. There were so many dead bodies, rotting unattended to, that the risk of a disease breaking out pretty soon seemed the only logical outcome. They weren’t burning fast enough, there were more dead laying on the ground than healthy men that were able to stand on their feet to continue this task.

Some were cussing King Viserys, who having been so many years bedridden had cast his curse on the city, to have everyone slowly die like he was. Others cussed Princess Rhaenyra for leaving and not taking the throne to protect the realm. Others cussed Queen Alicent and her court of men, who chose to cut the food supply from Highgarden for whatever reason. To you horror, as you walked to the western part of the city, you realised the wave of starvation had affected not only the south, but the east and a part of the west as well. You speculated the north was also highly affected too. As you thought some more, you finally began to l piece a few things together. The amount of money the Iron Bank lended to the throne had not been just for that damn well, as you were pretty sure the court wouldn’t sacrifice the entire population of Kings Landing just for that. Who would pay taxes in that case? You also knew that the castle had more than enough money to never need a loan from the Iron Bank, but they didn’t want to use the money from there for whatever they were truly using the loan for. If they used the thrones savings for anything, they always had to keep it in account and they didn’t want any physical evidence. The well was being used as a means to launder off money in a way. Your father had explained you long ago what that meant. You didn't want to think of him now.

Instead, you wondered if the Queen actually knew. You weren’t sure if she knew truly what the loan was used for, or the true state Kings Landing was in, judging at least from the instructions Ser Criston was given from the Hand. Oh. The Hand. You should’ve realised so sooner. It seems the Queen was kept in the dark for some time regarding matters such as this. As the Queen you weren’t sure how much she knew and how much she chose to believe certain things were true. How she believed her fathers word on a scale. It must be a combination of trust and of wanting her consciousness at peace. What you knew became your responsibility as well, after all. You couldn’t judge the Hand for doing so, after all the reason you were here was because you acted in a similar manner towards your younger brother. Although you’d never put at risk so many innocent people to keep a lie believable. You liked to think a certain amount of the self-sacrifice they taught ladies like you was still left, or at least some morality.

You looked at Ser Criston, his eyes betrayed no disgust, sadness or anger at the image in front of him. His brows were slightly forrowed but that could be from the smell. Out of all the people in court, except a few middle born ladies, you shared the most similarities with Ser Criston. You both came from low-born mothers after all and knew the struggles that came with. He seemed to forget his roots, though. You walked and walked till you stopped in front of a whore house, deep in the centre of Kings Landing, far away from sickness, pain and grief, here the people still danced and drank despite it only being mid-day. Ser Criston turned to you “I’ll need to you to go inside, and fetch Prince Aegon in the calmest manner you can master. Don’t attract much attention. Quickly.” Before you could answer, Ser Criston knocked on the door and a woman in frizzy blonde curls and pink underwear opened the door and looked at both of you expectingly. She seemed annoyed you noted. Ser Criston looked at you, motioning for you to speak.

“We have direct orders from the castle to bring Prince Aegon back. There are urgent matters he needs to attend to.” You looked at yo it partner for a moment, wanting to see if your words were up to his expectations. He nodded at you silently and you looked back at the woman you with a grunt showed you the way inside. Ser Criston stayed outside and the door close with a loud thud. You were glad for once that the cloak that had been given to you had a hood and that the whore house had colourful curtains covering the windows.

[riddlerosehearts]

silver twisted wonderland is strongly autistic coded and, although most likely completely unintentional, really good autistic representation in my opinion and i wanna talk about why 💚

okay, so. as an autistic person myself, i love to see myself in fictional characters and headcanon characters i can relate to as autistic. i personally feel that you don't necessarily need evidence to do this, but i do like having evidence and being able to back up my headcanons! and i've thought of silver as autistic-coded ever since a couple months after i first got into twisted wonderland early last year, and have been wanting to make a post on his many autistic traits since october. i should warn in advance that this is probably going to be a long post, which is why i'm putting it under a cut. so with all that being said, let's get into it!

silver takes people's words very literally. all the time.

the first time i called silver autistic-coded, in a message to a friend of mine, was when i was sharing my thoughts on the endless halloween/spectral soiree event and i reached this scene between him and jamil:

in this scene, jamil exclaims "you've got to be kidding me!" in frustration and silver misinterprets this as jamil thinking he was trying to make a joke, and then tries to explain what he actually meant. he also does something like this in leona's ceremonial robes vignette, when leona responds to silver's assumption that he and malleus are friends with "you're dreamin'. come back and talk to me once you wake up. or better yet, don't", and then silver replies: "in fact, i am very much awake". and in ruggie's PE uniform vignette, ruggie tries to joke about teaching silver to haggle "if you ever end up on the street" but silver responds by genuinely thanking him, to ruggie's surprise. this type of overly literal thinking and clear difficulty with understanding sarcasm is incredibly common in autistic people and silver does it all. the. time. i'm only giving a handful of examples because it would take way too long to try and compile every single instance of this.

similarly, silver tends to take what people say at face value and assume that others have good intentions where most people would not.

examples of this include the fact that, also in leona's ceremonial robes vignette, silver believes leona without question about having seen malleus in the greenhouse even though it should be obvious that leona is lying. and, in silver's broomquet/bloom birthday card voice lines, when azul gives him a coupon for his birthday, silver is told that there must be a scheme "behind this gift" and responds by saying that there's nothing written on the back of it--or, in another translation, he's told that there's "something fishy" about it and replies that it's not a coupon for seafood. so he not only doesn't even consider that azul of all people might have an unsavory motive for gifting him a coupon, but he also misunderstands a common turn of phrase. these are very common traits that cause autistic people to be thought of as oblivious and naive.

silver has trouble understanding social conventions and nuances in general, and has ways of thinking that seem strange to others.

in silver's birthday boy voice lines, he apologizes to yuu for not realizing why they were asking what he wanted a while back and having answered with "more time for training", and he also thinks yuu is odd for being excited when it's not their own birthday. in his PE uniform vignette he tries to help vil with a film club project by starring as an extra in a short film, but vil ends up getting angry with him because silver can't figure out when he's "supposed" to act surprised. he also surprises and confuses others by treating events like the culinary crucible and beanfest in unusually serious and overdramatic ways, with the latter event causing vil and riddle to discuss how difficult it is to tell when he's joking--during which riddle, who spends a lot of time around silver as a fellow member of the equestrian club, notes that silver isn't the type to tell jokes. jack and jamil have a similar discussion after silver tells them about how he befriended a family of bears as a child, during the endless halloween event. and in his birthday boy vignette, he talks about how ever since sebek grew taller than him, he's been asking sebek to get the dishes from the top shelf, which always causes sebek to get a "triumphant look" on his face. and then, rather than realizing sebek is taking pride in being taller than him, silver says he thinks that he must "get enjoyment out of fetching things from high places".

again, there's way too many examples of silver doing things like this and i don't want this post to be so long that it's impossible to read. but this is all just very autistic of him and these are the kinds of things that cause us to be thought of as weird, stupid, and annoying by our peers.

silver has flat or blunted affect.

the word "affect" refers to how one portrays emotion, through gestures, facial expressions, tone of voice, etc. if you have a flat or blunted affect, your emotions will come through very little, no matter how strongly you may feel them, and it can be incredibly difficult for others to tell if you're happy or sad or what you're feeling at any given time. this is something autistic people commonly experience, and silver has this with his lack of facial expression in particular. in-game, silver has extremely little variance in facial expressions compared to every other character, and even his one rarely used smiling expression--while adorable and always a delight to see--is more of a small half-smile.

and it takes a lot to even get this much out of him. he'll often say that he's happy or excited, and seem to genuinely mean it, but not smile at all. i believe that most often he's seen smiling like this when talking to or about lilia (brb while i cry at the thought of that). and this trait of his is commented on several times, such as one of his groovy voice lines when he says the following with his usual neutral look on his face:

or, in his birthday boy voice lines, where he says: "every time someone takes a birthday picture of me, they ask me to smile more. i AM smiling…"

it's fairly common for autistic people to have flat affect and be thought of as robotic, emotionless, and unapproachable as a result. and there's actually a lot more on this topic that i want to talk about, but i'm going to come back to it later in this post.

silver has a love for mushroom risotto that can be seen as him having a samefood.

the word "samefood" refers to the tendency that autistic people can have to eat the same food very frequently for days, weeks, or even months at a time. people who have samefoods might have a strong reliance on routine and/or have sensory issues that make them resistant to trying new foods. and they may often need the food to be prepared the same exact way each and every time. it's common for autistic people to be thought of as picky eaters with bland palates (because samefoods are often, but not always, the kinds of foods that are usually considered bland and plain) because of this.

admittedly, silver does say in one of his voice lines that he's not too picky when it comes to food, but the reason i'm applying this trait to him is because of jade's labwear vignette. lilia comments on the fact that silver is having mushroom risotto again and says he's always been like this and that he needs to broaden his palate, to which silver replies that he doesn't mind eating the same thing every single day. then, when he tries the risotto he gets so shocked that he freezes in place and lilia suspects that he's been poisoned, all because it turns out that the texture of the mushrooms is different that day. lilia says he doesn't see why that matters and asks if silver is sure he isn't just imagining it. this last bit is also interesting to me because autistic people are often overly sensitive to food texture, and get similar reactions as the one silver got from lilia when we try to talk about it. i feel like it's lucky that the changed texture of the mushrooms was one silver enjoyed, because it could've been very frustrating if his samefood was suddenly different in an unpleasant way.

and, i originally wanted to also include sections for some other small things, like how he's mentioned feeling his chest tense up around large crowds and having trouble relaxing in unfamiliar places, or his having a fairly limited range of interests and thinking that he's not fun to be around, or how he tends to communicate better with the animals that flock to him than with his schoolmates, but this post is already getting long so i figure i should go ahead and move onto the next thing i wanted to talk about:

throughout this post i've been saying that autistic people who share the traits that silver has are often thought of as stupid, annoying, unapproachable, and/or emotionless by those around us. we get bullied and looked down on for things that we can't really help. and that's exactly what happens to silver.

here's where i'm going to mention leona's ceremonial robes vignette once again! after the "you're dreaming" "i am very much awake" interaction, leona gets annoyed at silver for not understanding what he meant and says he must have a screw loose, and then ruggie says the following, right in front of silver:

leona then tricks silver with his lie--or, i guess technically it's more of a half-truth--about the greenhouse, an action which causes even ruggie to say he feels bad for silver. and later, when leona goes to diasomnia to confront malleus, this interaction occurs:

this vignette is just one of several examples of other students looking down on silver and taking advantage of his tendency to take people at face value and assume the best of them. not just ruggie and leona, but a significant amount of other students see silver as absent-minded, odd, and bothersome and have given him (along with kalim) an insulting nickname.

also, silver's flat affect and the cruel way that people treat him over it is the entire focus of his dorm uniform vignette. silver gets in trouble with crewel, who dismisses his apology because he doesn't "look" sorry, for falling asleep in class and has to collect everyone's reports. his classmates act polite to his face while he's collecting them but then as soon as he walks away they start talking about him behind his back, saying that because he always has the same expression on his face, he's unapproachable, exhausting to deal with, and probably doesn't even actually have emotions. silver overhears all this and instead of getting upset that his classmates are insulting him, saying completely ridiculous things and treating him like a burden, he puts the blame on himself and starts thinking he needs to change himself to fit in with them. he thinks he needs to be like kalim and tries unsuccessfully to get kalim and jamil to give him lessons on how to be more expressive. it's pretty common for autistic people to not even realize we're being treated unfairly and instead believe that we're the problem. it's also common for us to try and mask our autistic traits in order to fit in, and to try copying the behavior of those who seem socially successful and well-liked.

but, silver has people who understand him, who love him exactly as he is, and who don't believe he needs to change.

for one thing, kalim himself doesn't think silver needs to change. he says he thinks silver is really nice and isn't unapproachable at all, but he'll try to help him be more expressive if it's something he wants to work on. kalim is silver's best friend and has never wanted him to be anyone other than himself. and when sebek realizes what silver is doing he immediately thinks it's ridiculous and instead comes up with a plan for silver to be able to show his classmates that he isn't emotionless. malleus and lilia then spot the two of them training in the courtyard and talk about how much they love and care for silver, and how well they understand him.

also, that conversation that lilia and malleus have is one thing in particular that makes me really happy about this vignette and is a reason why i think silver is such unexpectedly good autistic rep (even though, again, he's not canonically autistic and probably wasn't written that way on purpose). because, when i read the endless halloween event i knew next to nothing about diasomnia, had read hardly any of their vignettes yet, and i said to my friend "i know they probably just want us to think silver is weird because he was raised by fae, but i think he's autistic coded." i assumed that him being a human who was raised by fae would be something you could use to explain away all of his quirks if you wanted to, and say that they're a result of that rather than of him possibly being autistic.

but seeing lilia and malleus talk about how they know that silver is an incredibly passionate and empathetic person, that they know he feels very strongly even though his emotions don't show on his face, and that they don't find him difficult to read at all, made me realize that lilia, malleus, and sebek are all fae (half-fae in sebek's case, but still) who are each very different from silver--and sure, i guess you could say that some of his communication issues might come from his upbringing as he never went to school or interacted with others his age very much before going to NRC. but he did grow up with sebek who, again, is half-human and very different from him. and his flat affect at least is explicitly not something that could come from his upbringing as lilia, malleus, and sebek are all at least as expressive as any human--if not even more-so in sebek's case. and from the way lilia and malleus talk about his inexpressivenesss, it seems clear that they know it's an unusual thing, probably not any more common for fae than it is for humans. it's just not a problem for them, because it's a natural part of who silver is and they love who he is.

and basically silver is just sooooo autistic.

when i originally got the idea to write this post i made a joke to my friend that it would be easier to just post a link to silver's twst wiki page as an explanation of why i think he's autistic. i mean, it really would've been since his autistic traits come through in so much of how his character is written and there's so much solid evidence for it. but instead of doing that i decided to autistically write a... *checks notes* 2500+ word essay overexplaining my headcanon because i just love him so so much. so in conclusion:

[the-thing-in-the-dark]

🐛 Noa's 200 follower event 🐛

🍄 intro post 🍄

🥺 tysm to the 200 lovely people who decided to follow this shitty blog

send me as many asks as you want idc my inbox is literally covered in cobwebs at this point and i'm actually organised and have less work now so i'm bored

sorry i got a bit carried away with the backstory lol

You are exploring the forest and come to a clearing with many weird plants and animals. Echo, the Phantom Whisperling that's been following you around since you discovered it, chirps from under your hat, wondering why you stopped. You are an explorer and you are documenting many undiscovered flora and fauna of the Forgotten Woods. Certain plants an animals are hard to find. If this is your first time you can only find a limited number of plants - no animals. If you have explored before but not the Forgotten Woods, you can find all the plants - but only some of the animals. If you are a seasoned explorer and have been to the Forgotten Woods before, you can document all the plants and all the animals. Which plant or animal do you document first (if you can find it)?

🌱First timers (followers)🌱

🍄🌌: Phantom Glowcaps

I'll give you a really weird fun fact

🌿🌒: Moon shade Ferns

I'll drop some lore about the Forgotten Woods

🌙🕯️: Ebonfall Blooms

I'll give you a weird/creepy quote from me or one of my books

🐾Explored before (mutuals)🐾

🐦‍⬛🔮: Spectral Shadowcrow

I'll describe your blog in three words

🪻🪬: Gloomveil Blossoms

I'll make you a playlist that suits your blog's vibe (i don't hv spotify so keep that in mind)

🦊🌲: Forestflame Faerie

I'll make you a moodboard based on your blog/vibe

🫎Seasoned explorers (close mutuals or ik u irl)🫎

🦌🌫️ : Wraithglow Stag

I'll make your explorer persona as a DnD player

🐆🌧️ : Stormfeather Leopard

I'll write you a letter on why I love you + I'll give you a nickname

🦅🌪️ : Whirlwind Harpy

I'll drop some crazy/weird/funny lore about me. I don't have that much so the first three people who request this one will get it. (2/3)

💀Ask me anything (everyone) 💀

🦝 : Echo!!!

Ask me anything and I'll answer it

Remember mutuals can access anything in followers and close mutuals can access anything in mutuals and followers as well as their own sections. I stole the divider from canva and all the images from pinterest. This will end when it is not pinned.

tagging all my mutuals because it's been a week and this has like 8 notes

@moutainrusing @delusionaltogether @annabannnananana @shipspainfulships @whydontyourealize-viennawaits4u

@onlyinitforthefandoms @ashes-to-ashesxx @y-o-n-t-a @pastels-and-chaos @lilythefirst819x

@totalcharliespringsimp @moonysm @bartyjrsevan @thatdambreadcat @prongsbitch

@bleep-bloop-boo @ivysfandoms @pangothepangolin @mentally-unstable-childofhades @im-ur-sleep-paralysis-demon

@noahher @bonksyoucutely @yourlocalbadgerscales @last-great-all-american-bitch @moonyswarmsweaters

@mo0ns-and-stars @winnienora14 @undergroundglendower @lovemike0 @enbysiriusblack

@ros3kill3r @beauty-queen-official @reggiesswimteacher @the-marauders-are-ghosts @a-great-tragedy

@prideandfanfics18 @wastingawayinmyroom @cheekyboybeth @sunnysolace7 @gems-and-jewels

@hehenorahhehe @stars-on-my-bedroom-ceiling @zombie404 @hunterofartemis-12 @anything-for-my-moony-1971

@onlytenstarsinthesky @fiveguysshake @regulus-cannot-swim @ddanthedumbass @damsnackbar03

@reggiesswimminginstructor @williamgayers @fangirlghost-19 @blueandyellow7 @martukyymm

@im-on-crack-send-help @thearcher1003 @liggy-not-potter @queerthirsttrap @piedpiperlikesthings

@outromoony @garden-of-runar @obsessedwith15deadwizards @lilcri84b1 @cafffeineconnoisseur

@wishiknew224 @daydream-of-a-wallflower @swiftlybyler @throwbackgaylor @james-potter-yall

@chaserofstars11 @rudamaruda520 @marylily-my-beloved @thedvilsinthedetails @jamespotterbbg

@onlymelonlyy @ratsinpots @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @discoveredreality @mysticalthingphantom

@starchaserandsunseeker @notmybabies @vampiregirlsblog @byler-invested @androgynous-bhajipav

@miseryoforpheus @ghostofyourvampiregf @besthingiveverdone @rhettaisokay @rhysthedarkforestfey

@p3arlsgardenn @dakarihopsrealities @staringathesunbabe @pumpkin-gizzards @themortalityofundyingstars

@morninggloryrising @longtallglasses @deadchaoticcosmos @stranger-theory @ollieolioly

@gaysforbyler @greentealycheejelly @leodores @my-beloved-fandoms @imaddticedtobyler

@my-castles-crumbling @internal-organs58 @questionablebookmouse @the-lionsheart @normal-is-a-raging-psychopath

@starpupsys @supercitofus @willbyerslove @strawberrybyers @wakeupthemembersofbylernation

@justremuslupininamask @sweetronancer @willbyersoffical @e-reblogs @bylertruth3r

@fire-but-ashes-too

[mochinomnoms]

Apart from telepathy, what other magical abilities does PTM Yuu have?

Hmm, I suppose it's not really a spoiler since it happens throughout the game lowkey, but Yuu in PTM in general is a psychic, which is separate from the basic magical abilities that all the students have.

The reason why Yuu is a psychic is because in game, they have the dreams with the seven which hints at the events that will occur, and eventually lead to the overblots. I like to think that Yuu is lowkey psychic, and with the gain of their magic abilities in PTM, they become a full on oracle with psychic abilities, as their magic allows them to fully bloom into their powers.

With this in mind, they only have a few powers and are still limited in what they can do due to the nature in which they gained their powers. These powers are:

Telepathy (obviously)

Clairvoyance, specifically dream premonitions/precognition

In general, Yuu has talent in fortune-telling as they can read tea leaves/coffee grounds, tarot, and other forms of divination. It's scarily accurate and people don't like to ask for fortunes anymore

Spirit mediumship. While not necessarily unique in TWST since ghosts are pretty widely known and interacted with often, their frequent interaction and presences allows Yuu to communicate with ghosts in the Spectral World much easier than others

They still have to practice and use their abilities regularly for them to actually be good at them, though. Somethings, like the telepathy and dream premonitions, come naturally, but the finer aspects of them (sending thoughts back/tuning thoughts out or interpreting the dreams) needs to be learned and practiced. I like the idea of Yuu suddenly being magical, but still having to learn everything from the ground up since that sort of talent doesn't come to everyone naturally. We're not all Malleus you know lol

[eepwtf]

UPCOMING BOTS / BOT DUMP!!

i’m a sucker for the fall season, every and any season CANNOT top the fall season at all. which is why i’m making (some) horror/halloween inspired bots—even if there’s like 70 something days till halloween. along with a few random bots i've done and going to do.

tvdu ☆彡

Kai Parker: 𓏲ּ ghostface au! 𓂃

after you caught his eyes, he had an inexplicable curiosity over you. every step you took, every conversation you had with other people, he was there, watching you from afar. of course, that didn’t sedate his curiosity over you. so, when someone in your orbit ventured a little too close, he took matters into his own hands—quite literally. he gutted the perceived threat, the world around him narrowing into a singular focus: you. to him, it wasn’t just a crime; it was an artistic expression, a violent confession of his feelings woven into a tapestry of blood and chaos. He crafted his work with meticulous care, each stroke of the blade a declaration of his affection. yet, in the heat of his actions, a twist of fate caught him off guard—there you were, witnessing it all. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ halloween costumes 𓂃

caroline's halloween party loomed on the horizon, a spectral deadline that demanded perfection. every cobweb, jack-o'-lantern, and plastic skeleton needed to be meticulously placed. the entire event had to be flawless, a masterpiece of festive horror. you, however, felt a different kind of dread. social gatherings weren't your forte, and the thought of navigating a sea of costumed strangers made your stomach churn. but elena, with her infectious enthusiasm, had other plans. she'd already amassed an army of costumes for you to try on, each one more outrageous than the last. as she twirled before you in a dizzying parade of personas—from sultry vampire to whimsical fairy—her eyes sparkled with anticipation, silently demanding your opinion on each piece of clothing she’d modeled on herself. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ cookies and kisses 𓂃

elena passion for baking was palpable, even if she wasn't a seasoned expert. what truly brought her joy was your presence in the kitchen, your willingness to join her culinary adventures. she cherished those moments when you'd sample her latest creations, those little baking treats she'd present with such enthusiasm. as you took that first bite, elena's eyes would light up, watching intently for your reaction. the moment you'd let out a contented groan of approval, a proud smile would bloom across her face, warming her from within. in those sweet instances, she felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond the mere act of baking—it was about the connection, the shared experience, and the simple pleasure of making someone she cared for happy through her heartfelt efforts. Bonnie Bennett: 𓏲ּ season of the witch ( witch!user ) 𓂃

bonnie had gone to your place for witchcraft lessons, bringing some herbs you had specifically asked for, and of course, she brought the most important thing she needed for the lessons. herself. she knew that the lessons you were teaching her were more advanced, and that she needed to pay attention but as you began to explain the complex theories and gestures, she found her concentration wavering. your shoulder pressed against hers as you demonstrated a particularly intricate hand movement, the warmth of your body so close to hers, the subtle scent of herbs that clung to your skin, the intensity in your eyes as you spoke of each spell - it all combined to make her head spin.

Damon Salvatore: 𓏲ּ lost in your iris 𓂃

damon tried to fight his feelings for you, but you were his weakness. he sees you completely, and he’d do anything to have you near him. every glance you exchanged pulled him deeper into a world only you inhabited, where his heart raced and his resolve faltered. he yearned to lose himself in those captivating eyes, longing to feel the gentle spark of your existence beside him. Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ so confusing 𓂃

klaus wrestled with uncertainty, his feelings for you a tangled web of emotions. some days, he was convinced you harbored a deep-seated dislike for him, your every glance and gesture seeming to confirm his fears. other times, he caught himself nurturing a grudging resentment towards you, though he couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. despite all of that, he persistently suggested grabbing drinks. it had become his go-to solution, a way to bridge the gap between you two–or perhaps to blur the lines of your complicated relationship. so, inevitably, you'd find yourselves perched on barstools in some dimly lit establishment, nursing your drinks, surrounded by the hum of stranger's conversations. the atmosphere was always thick with unspoken words and lingering glances. sometimes, you'd manage to fall into an easy rhythm, laughing at shared jokes and swapping stories about your day. in these moments, the confusion would recede, and a genuine connection seemed possible. but more often than not, an awkward tension would creep in. silences stretched too long, laughter felt forced, and both of you would become hyper-aware of every word and gesture. ( this is actually my fav rn!! )

Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ his muse 𓂃

klaus always found himself getting lost in the dance of his hands across the canvas, transforming the lifeless white expanse into a vibrant masterpiece. the studio was his sanctuary, a world inhabited only by his artistic vision and you—his ethereal muse. in his eyes, you were the embodiment of perfection, and his brush strokes captured your essence without flaw. the art, a mirror of his perception, revealed no imperfections, for in his mind, you were utterly flawless.

spn ⟢

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ angels and halloween ( angel!user ) ᵎᵎ

you were an angel, which meant that you had no idea about humans, especially in their tradition of halloween. so when dean catches you staring at the halloween decor, and costumes in a store, he goes out of his way to make this a memorable halloween for the angel. he planned an elaborate evening, starting with pumpkin carving. your first attempt at pumpkin carving was... unique. the face you created had a lopsided grin and mismatched eyes, one comically larger than the other. next came costume selection, where the two of you went to the nearest halloween, a warehouse-sized space filled with endless racks of costumes and accessories. you browsed through countless options: superheroes, movie characters, mythical creatures. dean suggested a sexy devil costume with a mischievous grin, but you firmly declined, not finding the humor in it. ( i think this is my top 2 fav! )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ insatiable ( vamp!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean’s fangs throbbed with an insatiable hunger, a primal urge he struggled to contain. every pulse of blood rushing through nearby veins called to him like a siren's song. the warmth radiating from human bodies sent shockwaves of desire coursing through his undead form. but resistance only seemed to intensify the craving. his heightened senses picked up on every nuance—the slight sheen of sweat on exposed skin, the rhythmic thump of hearts, the tantalizing scent of life itself. through it all, you observed him drinking in his struggle like a fine wine, with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. your eyes sparkled with amusement, fully aware of the internal battle raging inside dean. you knew exactly what he craved—what he needed. and yet here you stood, taunting him, daring him to give in to his darkest impulses.

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ dark magic ( witch!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean wasn’t that awfully nice when it came down to witches or anything surrounding the supernatural. everything he stood suddenly disappeared when it came to you, logic fled and instinct reigned. your very existence seemed to weave an enchantment around him, bending his iron will as easily as a whisper bends a candle flame. in your orbit, he became a different man—softer, more open, as if you alone held the key to unlocking a hidden part of his soul. but your influence was not without cost. your magic, steeped in shadow, left a trail of upheaval in their wake. chaos bloomed wherever you tread, a dark garden of your own making. ( not sure i might stick with this plot, but am so hhhng im lazy )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ might say somethin stupid ᵎᵎ

after a long, exhausting hunt, dean heads to a nearby bar to unwind. weighed down by the night's events, he orders a drink and surveys the room. his attention is quickly drawn to a stunning individual sitting a few stools away. intrigued, dean moves closer, captivated by their effortless beauty and presence. deciding to engage, he buys them a drink and leans in, confidently flirting with a playful question about their relationship status, hoping to shift the mood and distract himself from the tension of the hunt.

Sam Winchester: ๑ ︵ bloody date ᵎᵎ

it was catastrophic. sam knew, deep in his bones, what you truly were. he might have chastised himself for harboring feelings for you, convinced he was teetering on the edge of insanity as his heart clenched painfully within his chest at the mere thought of your presence. but fuck, you were worth it right? this date, however, shattered any remaining illusions. it was meant to be an intimate affair—small, meaningful, a cherished memory in the making. well, you sure as hell made it memorable for him to ever forget it. there you stood, fangs sunk deep into your helpless victim, crimson rivulets painting the edges of your mouth like some macabre artwork.

slashers ☆彡

Brahms Heelshire: ୭ ∿ i'll be good ∿

you had reluctantly accepted the nanny position, despite the suspiciously high salary. the isolated manor and eccentric heelshire family raised red flags, but desperation silenced your misgivings. nothing, however, could have prepared you for the absurdity of your charge – a porcelain doll named brahms. initially, you played along with the charade, following the strict rules set by the heelshires. but as days turned to weeks, an unsettling truth emerged. the real brahms was no doll, but a grown man, which in hindsight would be something to be freaked out about but for you it was fine, however the fact that the brahms could be a little too clingy was the problem. simple errands became ordeals. attempts to leave the property triggered tantrums, brahms clinging to you not wanting you to leave him.

Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ touch starved ∿

patrick never considered himself a touch-starved person. in fact, he often thrived in the artificial perfection of his meticulously curated life. he relished the combination of power suits and high-stakes finance, his existence orchestrated with a calculated precision that left no room for vulnerability. but from the moment you entered his life, everything changed. he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, craving your touch in a way that defied his logical mind. in the upscale restaurants you frequented—places with starched tablecloths, crystal stemware, and prices that made most people wince—patrick's behavior shifted noticeably. while he once sat rigidly across from his dining companions, maintaining a respectable distance, with you he couldn't bear even that small separation. he'd guide you to the plush booth seating, sliding in close enough that your thighs touched beneath the table. as you perused the menu, his arm would find its way around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your skin. during the meal, he'd lean in unnecessarily close to murmur observations about the food or other patrons, his breath warm against your ear. as the evenings wore on, patrick found increasingly creative ways to maintain contact. he'd reach across the table to adjust your napkin or brush an imaginary crumb from your cheek. Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ feeling bratty? ∿

patrick felt more on edge as time passed, a tightening coil of frustration that wound ever tighter within him. when the tension reached its boiling point, he reacted instinctively, striking out like a stray cat cornered and threatened, hissing and baring its tiny fangs. in that moment of vulnerability, his anger found an outlet in the nearest target—unfortunately, that target was you. deep down, he recognized his own insufferable behavior; he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. he watched as you scoffed at his provocations or simply ignored his taunts, and each dismissive reaction stoked the flames of his irritation. the more you turned away, the more desperately he sought your attention, despite knowing the fire he was playing with could easily burn him.

misc ⟢

Soldier Boy: 𓂃 ꒰ freak show ꒱

Ben never imagined he'd find himself at the entrance of a peculiar circus, its weathered sign proclaiming "freak show" in faded letters. for weeks, vought's pr team had hounded him relentlessly, insisting that this appearance would be "good for public relations" and "humanize" him in the eyes of the masses. ben had scoffed at first, but their persistence wore him down like water on stone. now, here he was, surrounded by wide-eyed gawkers and the constant buzz of excited whispers. as the show began, ben found himself oddly captivated. each act was more outlandish than the last - contortionists twisting their bodies into impossible shapes, fire-breathers painting the air with flames, and strongmen hefting weights that should have been beyond human capability. but then, as the ringmaster's booming voice announced the next act, the tent fell into a hushed silence. a single spotlight illuminated the center ring, and ben's breath caught in his throat. there you were. the aerialist.

Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ favorite monster ꒱

stiles was well versed when it came down to the supernatural, he read every book, myth, and stories when it came to the supernatural. was well aware of the dangers of ghosts, werewolves, vampires the whole gist, you name it he undoubtedly knows it all. of course, you were a different case, a unique case that even though he knew the dangers about being a vampire he couldn’t for the life of himself get away from you. every late-night conversation and shared secret made it harder for him to keep his distance. as the two of you walked through the forest, discussing everything from pop culture to existentialism, it was at the very instant that your sudden laugh made his heart race. the warmth in your eyes and the way you would brush your hand with his rendered him utterly transfixed. he wondered how it was possible to feel so electrified and safe in the presence of someone who was, by all accounts, a threat. Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ you're ghostface ꒱

stiles didn’t know what to expect when the rumors of a serial killer began circulating in their small town. the gossip, dripping with fear and intrigue, shattered the fragile peace of beacon hills. as he stumbled through the dimly lit alley, the unmistakable glint of a knife illuminated by the flickering light from the nearby streetlamp caught his eye, and as the scene grew clearer, every hope he'd entertained shattered like glass. you, standing over a crumpled figure on the ground, the knife still gleaming in your hand, ghostface mask perched above your head. stiles had known you—i mean, really known you. the fact it was you, who was said killer made his stomach churn. he felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ bitchy!user ꒱

madison's initial reaction to your caustic demeanor was a blend of irritation and intrigue. it catches her off guard; she's unaccustomed to having her façade challenged so directly. your unwavering stance and refusal to be cowed gnaws at her composure, chipping away at the armor of superiority she's cultivated. yet, beneath her outward indignation, she finds herself grudgingly impressed. your razor-sharp retorts and quick wit present a novel challenge—one that simultaneously infuriates and exhilarates her.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ tobacco lips ꒱

before her death, madison was already dead inside. numb to the world, she craved to feel—anything. she chased oblivion through a haze of flesh, drugs, and alcohol, desperately seeking to drown the echoes of her past. each indulgence was a futile attempt to erase the memories: her mother's absence, her asshole of a father, the relentless scrutiny of the press, and the string of lovers who had taken pieces of her without leaving anything in return. she had found her way to the nearest bar, her face, heavily caked with makeup, felt like a mask weighing her down. her once-pearly teeth, now tobacco-stained, hid behind a sneer. the dress she'd chosen, meant to turn heads, only succeeded in making her look cheap rather than alluring. she navigated the crowded gathering with a practiced arrogance, projecting an aura of superiority she didn't feel. a fresh cigarette dangled from her lips, the filter stained with lipstick—a silent testament to her desperation. her words flowed freely, empty promises spilling from her mouth to the eager ears of men old enough to know better. then, through the haze of smoke and poor decisions, she saw you. beautiful, poised you—the coven's rising star, their future supreme. you stood surrounded by distinguished men, everything madison's admirers lacked. everything madison herself lacked. shame crashed over madison, as darted out, trying to get away from your sight.

might fix some of these but …. probably not anyway! @eppwtf on c.ai 😛

[twistedintern]

Navigating Twst JP & JP-EN Term Listing (Updated)

Dorm & Character JP Name Abbreviation and Emoji Index

Heartslabyul > 🃏 ビュル Riddle Rosehearts > 🌹 リド Ace Trappola > ❤️ エー Deuce Spade > ♠️ デュ Trey Clover > ♣️ トレ Cater Diamond > ♦️ ケイ

Savanaclaw > 🏜️ サバナ Leona Kingscholar > 🦁 レオ Ruggie Bucchi > 🐆 / 🍩 ラギ Jack Howl > 🐺 ジャク

Octavinelle > 🐚 オクタ Azul Ashengrotto > 🐙 アズ Jade Leech > 🐬 ジェイ Floyd Leech > 🦈 フロ Tweels > イド

Scarabia > 🕌 / 🧞‍♂️ スカラ Kalim Al-Asim > 🦂 / ☀️ / 🦦 カリ Jamil Viper > 🐍 ジャミ

Pomefiore > 🍏 / 👸‍ ポメ Vil Schoenheit > 👑 ヴィ(ル) Rook Hunt > 🏹 ルク Epel Felmier > 🍎 エペ

Ignihyde > ⚙️ / 🔥 イグニ Idia Shroud > 💀 イデ Ortho Shroud > 🤖 オル

Diasomnia > 🐉 ディア Malleus Draconia > 🐲 マレ Lilia Vanrouge > 🦇 リリ Silver > ⚔️ シル Sebek Zigvolt > ⚡ セベ

Ramshackle > 👻 オンボロ Prefect > 🌸 / 🦐 / 🍊 (♀️/🚺 or ♂️/🚹 will sometimes follow) 監 / ユウ Enma Yuuken > 🦞 コミ監 (currently used to refer to Yuuta) Grim > 🐱 / 🐈‍⬛ グリ

NRC Staff > 🎓 / 🐦 NRC(の)職員 Dire Crowley > 🎭 クロ Divus Crewel > ⚗️ / 🐶 クル Mozus Trein > 📚 / 📖 モゼ Ashton Vargas > 💪‍‍ バル Sam > ☠️ / 🎩 サム Lucius > 🐾 ルチウス

Others Rollo > 🔔 ロロ Fellow > 🦊 フェロ Gidel > 🔨 ギデル Baul > 🐊 バウル Che’nya > 😺 チェーニャ Cheka > 🧶 チェカ Neige > ❄️ ネイジュ Ambrose > 🧙‍ ア ン Najma > 💫 ナジュ(マ) Marja > マルヤ Dylla > ディラ Kifaji > キファジ Maleanor > マレノア Dawn Knight > 夜明騎 Eric Venue > エリック / ヴィパパ Ace’s older brother > 兄ッポラ Farena > ファレ

Glossary

The following list is in no way all-inclusive. I will do my utmost to update this section as the EN server progresses in story and translations become known.

(If I’ve overlooked anything, don’t hesitate to message me about it!)

Night Raven College

Mage Training Academy - “Wizarding Boarding School” (lit., no one uses this term, though)

Headmage - Headmaster

Housewarden - Dorm Head, Dorm Leader

Vice Housewarden - Vice Dorm Head, Vice Dorm Leader

History of Magic - Magic History

Flight - Flying

Freshman/Sophomore/Junior(/Senior) - First-/Second-/Third-(/Fourth-)Year

Potionology - Potions

Flora Element - Tree Element

Cosmic Element - Null Element

Objects and Activities

Thaumarks - Madol (Magic Dollars) There is no equivalent for “Sorcents” in the original canon, as Madol more closely converts to Japanese yen, whereas Thaumarks seem to reflect United States dollar values. The “cent” of Japanese currency (sen) has been obsolete for decades.

Blastcycles - Magicwheel

Spelldrive - Magift (Magic Shift)

Locations, Countries, and Regions

Queendom of Roses - Rose Kingdom

Shaftlands - Land of Pyroxene (Pyroxene)

Harveston - Village of Harvest

Sunset Savanna - Afterglow Savannah

Island of Woe - Island of Lamentation

Briar Valley - Valley of Thorns

Fleur City - City of Flowers

Event Names

Culinary Crucible - Master Chef

Beanfest - Happy Beans Day

Joint Exams - Unified Exams

The Phantom Bride - Ghost Marriage

Wish Upon A Star - Dance and Wishes

Camp Vargas - Vargas Camp

(A Twisted Halloween) Terror is Trending - (Scary Monsters) Screaming Halloween Show

(A Twisted Halloween) Spectral Soiree - (Scary Monsters) Endless Halloween Night

A Firelit Sky Over the Sands - Scalding Sands's Al'ab Nariya

Harveston's Sledathon - Harveston's Kelkkarotu

Twisted Tsumderland - Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland

Fairy Gala Remix - Fairy Gala If

Sunset Savanna's Cloudcalling - Afterglow Savanna's Tamashina Mina

Limited Card Names

All club outfits - Club Wear

Apprentice Chef - Chef-in-Training

Suitor Suit - Groom-for-a-Day

Starry Robes - Star-sending Robes

Halloween - Scary Dress

Silk Adorned - Jasmine (Yasmina) Silk

Applepom - Apple Boa

Tsumsitter - Tsumsted

New Year's Attire - New Year's Yukata

Masquerade - Masquerade Dress

Rabbit Costume - Rabbit Wear

Tropical Wear - Suisui Wear

Liongarb - Kingly Beasts' Garb

Birthday Boy - Birthday Suit-Up

Birthday Jacket - Union Birthday

Birthday Bloom - Bloom (Broom) Birthday

(Lilia only) General - General of the Right

(Rollo only) Council Robes - Council President Uniform

JP Monikers ~ Floyd

(Floyd uses specific suffixes depending on his perceived relationship with individuals–i.e., diminutive/pejorative/etc.)

MC = Shrimp (koebi) Grim = Seal (azarashi) Riddle = Goldfish (kingyo) Ace = Crab (kani) Deuce = Mackerel (saba) Trey = Sea Turtle (umigame) Cater = Sea Bass (hanadai) Leona = Sea Lion (todo) Ruggie = Remora (kobanzame) [changed in EN] Jack = Sea Urchin (uni) Kalim = Otter (rakko) Jamil = Sea Snake (umihebi) Vil = Beta Fish (beta) Rook = Seagull (umineko) Epel = Guppy (guppi) Idia = Firefly Squid (hotaruika) Ortho = Sea Angel (kurione) Malleus = Sea Slug (umiushi) Lilia = Flapjack Octopus (mentako) [changed in EN] Silver = Jellyfish (kurage) Sebek = Crocodile (wani)* Crowley = Manta Ray (manta) Crewel = Striped Beakfish (ishidai) Trein = Red Squid (akaika) Vargas = Lobster (robusutaa) Sam = Seahorse (umiuma) Fellow = Foxfish (kitsunebera) Gidel = Cat Shark (nekozame) *Leona also refers to him as a “crocodile”

JP Monikers ~ Rook

Rook uses a combination of Japanese, French, and English variously; I have attempted to render the names in the simplest manner possible. (Those with names I cannot find in-game at the time of posting are marked accordingly and will hopefully be updated in the future.)

MC = Trickster Grim = Monsieur Hirsute (Mister Shaggy) Riddle = Roi de Roses (King of Roses) Ace = Monsieur Heart (Mister Heart) Deuce = Monsieur Spade (Mister Spade) Trey = Chevalier de Roses (Rose Knight) Cater = Monsieur Magicam (Mister Magicam) Leona = Roi de Leon (King of Lions) Ruggie = Monsieur Tanpopo (Mister Dandelion) Jack = Monsieur Tough Guy (Mister Tough Guy) Azul = Roi d’Effort (King of Effort) Jade = Monsieur Mastermind^ (Mister Mastermind) Floyd = Monsieur Yukaihan (Mister Joyous Offender) Kalim = Roi d’Or (King of Gold) Jamil = Monsieur Multi (Mister Multi) Vil = Roi de Poison (King of Poison) Epel = Monsieur Himeringo (Mister Lady Apple) Idia = Roi de Ta Chambre (King of [Your] Room) Ortho = Monsieur Doll (Mister Doll), “Miracle Boy”^ Malleus = Roi de Dragon (King of Dragons) Lilia = Monsieur Curiosity^ (Mister Curiosity) Silver = Monsieur Sleepyhead^ (Mister Sleepyhead) Sebek = Monsieur Crocodile^ (Mister Crocodile) Sam = Monsieur Mysterious (Mister Mysterious) Rollo = Monsieur du Mouchoir (Mister Handkerchief)

Monikers ~ Other/General

・MC > Malleus ~ Hornton - Tsunotarou ・Malleus > Humans ~ Child of Man (hito no ko) ・Leona > Azul ~ Tako-yarou ・Leona > Idia ~ Kaiware daikon ・Leona > Humans ~ “Herbivore” >>> Additionally, Leona often tags -yarou onto names when speaking of people he doesn’t think highly of ・Vil > Sebek ~ “Cucumber” ・Sebek > Malleus ~ Young Master (waka-sama) ・Cheka > Leona ~ Unca’ Leona - (Leona-)ojitan ・Neige > Vil ~ Vi-kun ・Vil > a great many students his junior ~ “Potato” ・Crewel > Students ~ “Puppies” (koinu-domo) ・Rollo > Trein ~ “Professor Mozus” (Mozus-sensei) ・Sam > Customers/Students > Little Imp ~ lit. “Little Demon” (ko-oni) >>> Sam sometimes will add a descriptor to distinguish between “demons”–examples being Kalim’s kin no oni and Rook’s okappa oni

Unique Magic (Signature Spells)

Below is a comprehensive list of romanized furigana (that is, the intended/spoken) readings of Unique Magic names as they appear in the original Japanese version of the game.

Riddle Rosehearts - Off With Your Head Deuce Spade - Bet the Limit Cater Diamond - Split Card Trey Clover - Doodle Suit Leona Kingscholar - King’s Roar Jack Howl - Unleash the Beast Ruggie Bucchi - Laugh With Me Azul Ashengrotto - It’s A Deal Jade Leech - Shock The Heart Floyd Leech - Bind The Heart Kalim Al-Asim - Oasis Maker Jamil Viper - Snake Whisper Vil Schoenheit - Fairest One Of All Epel Felmier - Sleep Kiss Rook Hunt - I See You Idia Shroud - Gate To The Underworld Malleus Draconia - Fae of Maleficence Silver - Meet In A Dream Sebek Zigvolt - Living Bolt Lilia Vanrouge - Far Cry Cradle Rollo Flamme - Dark Fire Fellow Honest - Life is Fun

Other Notes

+ Che’nya’s full name is rendered differently between the EN and JP versions. + Leona's family's royal chamberlain, Kifaji, had his name changed to "Neji" in the localization. The reason for this is unclear. (Kifaji means "food" in Swahili, which makes sense if you consider Scar and Zazu's relationship.)

[lamemaster]

Return of the Traitor

Request: Literally no one. Not a single soul.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: fluff, fix it-ish?

Summary: You have returned to Himring, to him, whom you are no more than a traitor.

AN: This has been in draft since Himring fell...

"With all due respect," the realtor squeaked, his voice a strained octave higher than usual. "This property has been on the market for centuries. Every venture initiated here has ended in heavy losses, not to mention the…spectral reports." He shot a nervous glance towards the crumbling ramparts.

A grim smile played on your lips. "Losses are one thing," you drawled, tracing the rough stone of the wall with your fingertips. "But some things are worth the risk, wouldn't you agree?" The realtor, a man whose immaculate suit seemed woefully out of place amidst the decay, coughed nervously.

You were back in Himring, the once-proud fortress of the first Feanorion. Centuries had passed since the ocean reclaimed it, but time seemed to hold no sway here. The wind howled through shattered windows, carrying whispers of a forgotten past.

The ancient craftsmanship still held. "Damn elves and their unrelenting craft," you muttered under your breath.

Ignoring the realtor's stammering protests, you strode purposefully into the dark halls. The halls of your dear nemesis. Wondering if you would have the pleasure of stumbling upon his wraith.

Hope, a fragile thing nurtured by years of longing and yearning, flickered in your chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, you would find him here. Maedhros, your nemesis, your lover, the ghost who unknowingly haunted your every waking moment.

You came looking for the unfairly handsome elven lord, who remained the most charming single-handedly, you snickered at your joke imagining the eye-roll Maedhros would have rewarded you with had you uttered such words in his presence.

The past. A time when love bloomed effortless and potent, strong enough to lure you across the vast expanse from the Eastern lands to stand at your lord's side.

But was he still your lord? The guilt gnawed at you, a constant companion. After everything you'd done, such a title felt like a cruel joke. Not a lord, not a friend, not even a lover could you ever deserve after causing the fall of Himring.

You, Ulfang the chieftain, became the fall of Himring. You, who was the cause of estrangement of the firstborn and secondborn. The idiotic chieftain who lost everything in one gamble. The weight of that choice, the burden of countless lives lost, pressed down on you like an invisible mountain.

Now you stand, entrapped in the gray area of past and present. Even death had failed to take Maedhros away from you. He lived still in your mind, body, and soul.

"I am here Maedhros," you whisper to the winds that rush through his fort. "Try not to kill me." You add as a second thought.

Day one started with a bang. Or, more accurately, a clumsy stumble. Despite a surprisingly good night's sleep (considering the freezing halls and the weight of the past), you woke up way past sunrise.

Stumbling outside, you squinted at the sky, a canvas of swirling gray. Rain, fantastic. Just what you needed. But a frown did little to deter you.

With a disgruntled sigh, you hefted the "saplings" you'd dragged all the way to the fortress. "Saplings" being a generous term for the small, but decidedly unyielding trees you clutched in your arms.

These weren't your typical saplings. No sir, these were chosen with meticulous care. Flowering Jasmines, delicate Gardenias, and yes, even a tangled mass of Rose vines – a blatant nod to Maedhros' preferences.

If Manwe had rain planned then you might as well make use of it.

Of course, you hadn't forgotten about practicality either. Tucked amongst the fragrant blooms were a healthy assortment of vegetables – you weren't about to starve to death while playing gardener.

Perched precariously on the crumbling balcony, you busied yourself adding some delicate periwinkles to the mix. That was, until your foot met a rogue root with the grace of a drunken bear. With a surprised yelp, you went sprawling – a tangle of limbs and saplings tumbling down towards the damp earth below.

The first sensation that registered was the bite of freezing rain stinging your face. Then came the thrum of pain, a low ache traveling from your shin all the way up to your hip. You lay there for a moment, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on your body.

Suddenly, the air seemed to shift. A new sound, a soft rustling perhaps, or a presence that settled on the world like a heavy cloak. Your breath hitched in your throat. Maedhros had finally graced you with his… attention.

A slow smile spread across your face, a blend of sheepishness and something else – a spark of defiance, a hint of something you hoped wasn't misplaced hope. "Well, hello there," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rain.

Falling from the balconies, getting trapped in musty rooms – these became your daily routines. The aches and pains were starting to accumulate, a dull throb in your ankle a constant reminder of your latest tumble. Despite the new collection of scratches and a growing limp, your spirit remained defiant. You were, after all, the same old you.

"By eru! Auugh-" You spit your soup coughing unrelentingly in the lonesome dining hall. "Oh my, that almost took me out," you panted, your tongue feeling like a desert after a sandstorm. "Soup of death, or perhaps a bowl of salt with a reluctant splash of broth?"

"Did not know death made trolls out of elves..." you chuckle giving up on the idea of dinner. "Or is it just you, my love?" You speak to the empty room. Bemused that the idea of Maedehros' antics.

Pushing the offending dish away with a grimace. Giving up on dinner, you surveyed the desolate hall. A flicker of sadness crossed your features as you noticed a chipped teacup lying forgotten on the floor. It was a simple thing, but it reminded you of a brighter time, a time when laughter filled this room.

A sigh escaped your lips. Why torture yourself with such memories? With a determined glint in your eye, you pushed yourself up from the table, ignoring the protest from your injured ankle. You were here for a reason, and a little soup-induced near-death experience wasn't going to deter you.

"Do whatever you must," you declared, a hint of bravado lacing your voice. You addressed the empty room, a bemused smirk playing on your lips. "I will not leave." As if on cue, a sudden crackle erupted from the fireplace behind you, sending a shower of sparks dancing into the air.

"I have nowhere else to be," you continued, feeling a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. He was here. He had to be. or you were having some very personal conversations with a random spirit.

A cold gust of wind swept through the hall, extinguishing a nearby candle with a hiss. You shivered, a flicker of vulnerability replacing your bravado.

"And if you think killing me will rid you of my presence," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word, "you are sorely mistaken. This time, I will not leave. Not even in death. So pray to your Valar that I do not die and join you as a wraith, forever tethered to this accursed place."

You declare with borrowed confidence from your stupid past self.

Maedhros loathes you. He despises you. The way you are different yet achingly familiar, the way your body moves in a similar fashion, yet your hair shines differently in the sun – it is a constant torment.

He despises the wretched hope that blooms in his chest at your sight. Hope before, resentment. A racing heart before a broken one.

But he is not unchanged either. Times have worn him into a resentful sprite. A wraith instead of the elven lord you remember. A bitter existence opposite of what you remember.

At least that's what he tells himself as he watches you passed out in the rain or when he sees you throwing away another inedible dinner.

He wants you gone. He yearns to be free from the constant reminder of his failures, the embodiment of a love that has brought him nothing but ruin.

He will never offer you the solace you crave, the forgiveness you desperately seek. Love, absolution, even a semblance of the tenderness he once held for you – these are things he has long since locked away, burying them deep beneath the layers of his self-imposed exile.

At least that is what he tells himself.

He wants you gone, yes, but the thought of you suffering gnaws at him like a persistent ache.

He will never admit it, but he finds himself drawn to you. Following you into his own, long-abandoned chambers was an act of… what? Curiosity? A morbid fascination? Whatever it was, the sight of you dusting the ancient tomes he hadn't touched in millennia sent a jolt through him.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to warp. You were both in the same room, you dusting the shelves, talking in your usual way, oblivious to his presence.

And for once, Maedhros allowed himself to simply look at you. Not with the burning hatred he has cultivated for so long, but with a… a wistfulness he can not explain.

He even finds himself replying to your nonsensical chatter about fearing toads. It is a small indulgence, a rebellion against the prison of his own making.

The illusion is shattered with a deafening crack. The rickety bookshelf groans and then collapses, a cascade of heavy tomes raining down on you. Maedhros reacts on instinct, a desperate lunge forward that would have been pointless given his form.

As expected you pass through his outstretched arms, a wisp of smoke, landing with a surprised yelp on the dusty bed. A cloud of dust erupts, momentarily obscuring the room. When it settles, his breath hitches in his throat.

Your eyes are wide and startled, fixed on him. Your mouth is agape, and your eyes, glistening with something other than dust?

A tremor runs through Maedhros, with something he dare not name. Could it be…? No. It had to be just the dust. Just the dust.

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu Weapons

Royal Rose Rapier

Description: A rapier adorned with intricate rose patterns, inspired by the elegance of Belle from "Beauty and the Beast". Strikes release rose petals and swift, precise thrusts.

Special Ability: "Enchanted Rose Dance" - Unleashes a flurry of rose petals that temporarily mesmerize enemies, boosting Yuu's agility and allowing for graceful attacks.

Enchanted Glass Slippers

Description: A pair of elegant, translucent glass slippers with a sparkling, magical design. Each slipper is adorned with silver and blue accents that reflect light in a dazzling display.

Special Ability: "Midnight Waltz" - Performs a graceful series of dance-like slashes that deal damage and create sparkling trails that confuse and dazzle enemies. The slippers can also emit a protective barrier that temporarily increases Yuu's speed and evasion.

Lily Baton

Description: A baton with a sophisticated, nature-inspired design that reflects Tiana's transformation from waitress to princess. It features a green and gold color scheme with lily pad motifs and a large, blooming lily at the tip.

Special Ability: "Royal Garden" - Uses the baton to summon a field of magical lilies that provide healing and buffs to Yuu. The baton can also create a wave of nature energy that damages enemies and slows their movement.

Spotted Whip

Description: A sleek, black and white spotted whip inspired by the Dalmatians from 101 Dalmatians. The whip features a playful design with dog collar accents and a handle shaped like a dog’s bone.

Special Ability: "Canine Crack" - Unleashes a series of rapid, whipping strikes that create illusionary dog attacks, confusing and damaging enemies. The whip can also summon spectral Dalmatians that assist in combat and create a protective barrier around Yuu.

Since the Staff is technically twisted variants of Disney Villians, I figured these weapons would also be a parallel to the Heroes. I didn't know if Crowley was based on Malefcient's Crow; Diavalo or not. I'll make Heroes Verison weapons because I did ones based on the Heroines.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? Chapter Two

Hello, beautiful people! Chapter two’s here!

Now, to be honest, I’ve been getting in my head about this one. The first chapter got so many compliments on its slow building suspense, and this chapter is more of a meandering slice of life/case fic, so I’m not gonna lie, slightly worried it won’t go down as well. So if you enjoy it, please do come tell me and put my mind at ease! It didn’t come together easy and I have been staring at it for WAY too long - but this week I’ve been self-isolating with covid so uh. A lot of writing time opened up.

WARNINGS: Annnngst. Death, loneliness, abandonment, touch starvation, sensory deprivation, along with morbid things like burials and bodies and bones are core themes of this fic. The ending will be happy eventually but we WILL have a sad ride to get there. So please be aware of that before reading.

Thank you everyone who read/commented on chapter one, hope you enjoy this instalment! Also thank you to justafandomfollower on tumblr who offered to beta this when I was getting paranoid - I ultimately did not take you up on the offer bc by the time I felt like this was ready to have other eyes on it I just wanted to post it and get it over with but I appreciate you!!! It was such a kind offer, unfortunately I physically can not edit this thing any more than I have or I will truly go insane 💛

Chapter two is 9.7k. Chapters 3/4 coming soon (hopefully). Also on Ao3 (need to be signed in to read)

~

"So. I kinda feel like I'm gonna wish I hadn't asked," said Crystal, arms crossed and feet shuffling. "But... screw it. What's in the box?"

Charles visibly winced. He stepped into the room behind the trunk he was helping to manoeuvre through the mirror, and staggered on entry. Distracted, no doubt, by the effort of searching for a way to answer her query without causing distress. "It's, uh. Well. It's..."

Edwin, having no such compunctions about stating the facts, set down his end of the trunk with haste. "Me," he said, putting a good arm's length between himself and the awful thing. It had already begun ramping up towards another outburst in the short time the container had been closed. Edwin could feel that insistent, vexatious drone reestablishing itself. Could feel the temperature in the office drop — for him, at least. Crystal seemed unaffected. Definitely spectral, then. "I'm in there. What's left of me, at any rate."

Under different, less harrowing conditions, he might've enjoyed the look on Crystal's face. A slow, dawning transformation from confusion to slack-jawed horror. It wasn't altogether unlike the face she'd made when they'd returned from the case of the disappearing chin with their reward: a mason jar full of assorted teeth.

But the circumstances were far from jovial. Engaging in some good-natured needling of his colleague was quite far down his list of priorities. The comfort of such a ritual — and even the comfort of the sanctuary in which they now stood — lay sullied by the aura leeching from the trunk.

Edwin found himself feeling... unappreciative, of the hallowed space. Of their shared artefacts and ephemera, of the four walls that had housed their agency from its inception. It all seemed so far out of his purview, at present. There was a numbness settling upon him. Different to the ever-present sensory deprivation of the ghostly condition. Different, and worse. His usual lack of feeling was just that; a lack. An absence of heat, of touch, of smell and taste and bodily sensation. It was a simple, neutral nothing. This was a something. This was the presence of an absence. For the first time in decades, as pins and needles bloomed about his person, he was granted a physical symptom of his own lack of physicality. It was troubling. He could feel; but only just enough to be reminded that he couldn't.

His hands twitched, and he tugged his gloves off in jerky motions, finger by finger. As he did so, he tripped headlong into a battle of wills; staring down the sealed trunk with bated breath. The sound of Charles' voice as he explained and Crystal's as she quizzed, they all seemed to fade to an insignificant hum behind that wheedling drone. It was like a whisper into the ear. So quiet and yet by sheer proximity, sheer intimacy it drove all other noise to the background. Drawing his ears, his eyes, his mind to the enclosed space. Urging him to step close, to open the lid. To look, look, look at me...

"Edwin? Edwin, you listening?"

"Hm?" He had not, in fact, been listening. Abashed, he turned his attention to Charles. "Yes. That is, ah... might you repeat that?"

Charles was watching him with open concern, eyes wide and a tension in his jaw. His gaze kept darting between Edwin and the trunk as if he could see the pull between them, following it like a string. "What are we gonna do?" he asked, voice pitched low. "With... with them?"

Edwin hadn't the faintest notion.

Still, he'd insisted on not involving the police, and this was his problem in most every possible sense. So he cleared his throat, and discarded his coat and gloves on the desk. "Well. Clearly, the matter merits further investigation. We are still on a case, after all." He strode over to the bookshelf and perused its titles, fingers dancing across the spines. "The school should be safe, now that the cause has been removed from the grounds."

"Bad new for our office, though," muttered Charles.

"Okay, have I like, missed something?" Crystal cut in, throwing her hands in the air. "This doesn't make any sense! I’m sorry, Edwin, but if these... if these are your bones —" her voice dropped, briefly, into a hiss. As if the harsh truth would soften if spoken in hushed tones. "Then how can they be doing this? They can't be haunted, right? How can they be haunted, when your spirit is —?"

"Otherwise engaged? I've no idea." He riffled through the pages of a volume on hexes, finding nothing of relevance at a glance. He'd already known that would be the case, but the need for familiar motions was... acute. "It's really quite fascinating," he said, in an attempt at airy detachment. He wasn't altogether convinced he pulled it off.

"Edwin," said Charles — much closer to Edwin's ear than he'd expected in his distraction. Edwin jumped a tad, wrong-footed. He cursed the impulse at once when Charles pulled away, apology writ large across his face. "Maybe, um," Charles forged on, hands held where Edwin could see them. "Maybe you should let us handle this one, mate. You're a bit... close to the situation. Yeah?"

Edwin offered a tight, strained smile. "Thank you, Charles. But I'm quite alright. And I'll be even better when this case is closed, so we'd best hop to it. Besides, chances are strong that this holds very little relevance to me, at all. It's possible the remains have been infested or claimed by another paranormal entity. This could all be unravelled with something as simple as a counter-jinx. Now, have you that grimoire — the one we acquired in ninety seven? I think it might be in your bag."

Charles sighed, and clapped Edwin on the shoulder. "I'll have a look."

He sloped off in search, and Edwin busied himself loading books onto his arm; any that could be even tangentially related. Educational texts, diaries, even certain storybooks could point them in the right direction. It was possible they were looking into something unlike anything they'd seen before. They may need to glean insights from unorthodox sources.

He'd amassed a stack of about a baker's dozen by the time Crystal replaced Charles at his shoulder.

"Gimme some of those," she said, hands palm up and fingers flapping.

"They're very dense volumes," said Edwin, barely sparing her a glance. "Spanning several languages, many of them dead —"

"Then gimme the ones in English. We all need to work together." Her hands did not lower, and nor did her gaze; it remained fixed upon him in a brazen manner that dared him to argue. Her eyes were hard, but her voice softened somewhat when she said: "Let's wrap this one up fast, okay?"

He sighed, and accepted defeat. He begrudgingly handed her his (replica, thoroughly de-hexed) edition of The Boneturner's Tale. "Thank you," he uttered.

"This the one, Edwin?" Charles called.

Edwin glanced over and found Charles with one arm in his bag of tricks, the other holding aloft a tattered book. "That's it exactly, Charles. Flick through and find the section on malicious enchantments — bones are a common component in numerous spells. See if you find any phenomena corresponding to what we've experienced tonight."

Books in hand, Edwin picked his way across the office, nigh on hugging the wall — giving the trunk a very wide berth. "Likewise to you, Crystal," he instructed. "We're looking for any mention of cold snaps, telepathic communication, or compulsions in relation to bones or remains. We need to ascertain what we're up against and, ideally, how to stop it. I daresay we have a long night ahead of us."

Crystal groaned, sinking like a stone into the sofa. "I'm gonna need some coffee or something," she muttered, tucking her feet under herself as she opened her book.

"Maybe we can sweet talk Charlie into putting the kettle on," Charles teased.

Crystal snorted. "Yeah, great. She'd like that almost as much as you calling her Charlie."

Edwin loosened his bowtie as he claimed his desk chair. He felt constricted, all of the sudden. As if the new not-awareness was expanding into a new cognizance of the clothing on his person. He looked, disquieted, at the box; and though it simply wasn't possible, he could feel it looking back. It was certainly talking back; on and on, that never ending litany, uttered without breath or pause, a rolling patter of desperation. Look at me look at me look at me please —

He slammed the first book down, decisively, and flipped to the index. "Onwards and upwards..."

Charles picked up another book from the stack — one that made him go a touch cross-eyed upon opening — and perched on the desk at Edwin's elbow. "Don't worry, mate," he said, delivering a companionable knock to Edwin's arm with his knee. "With all three of us on the job, the Dead Boy Detectives at full force? We'll have this sussed out by morning!"

~

Two Days Later…

"How's it feel, now?" asked Crystal, pen poised over Edwin's notebook.

Edwin, with gritted teeth, wrestled his jumbled thoughts into some kind of submission. It was so hard just to think — and it got harder with every step down the corridor. "Six," he bit out, resting his hands on his knees and catching his breath. He could scarcely hear himself over the racket in his head. "Definitely six."

Crystal jotted it down. Edwin wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of adding her chicken scratch handwriting to his meticulous notes. But the way these tests had his own hands shaking, his writing was no better at present.

"It's getting worse," Crystal muttered, brow furrowed as she scanned the page.

"Obviously it's getting worse," he snapped. "I think we've quite thoroughly established that, Crystal."

"Oi! Leave off," Charles cut in, stern. He was wearing the same stormy expression that had followed Edwin on his slow, arduous odyssey down the hall. "She's only trying to help."

Edwin sighed, and dragged his hands down his face. Perhaps he could up and disappear into them. "Yes. Yes, I know." He risked a peek over his fingers, down at Charles. They were shoulder to shoulder, two abreast in the narrow corridor. But while Edwin was upright (just about) and forward-facing, Charles was hunkered down and reversed. A necessity while he unspooled the tape measure along the floor at the pace of Edwin's cautious feet. "Charles, how far?"

Charles checked the tape measure against the toe of Edwin's boot. "'Bout thirty feet."

"About?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, you bloody pedant! Thirty point... three."

"It's not pedantic to record our findings with accuracy," Edwin grumbled. "Write it down, Crystal. Please," he appended, with haste.

She did so — but she frowned at Edwin like he was the one being tedious and unreasonable. "Is this really the best thing we could be doing?" she asked.

"Our research has been a dead end. We need more information to build off. We need to establish rules, parameters." He straightened up from his resting position, and adjusted his rumpled waistcoat. A vain attempt, with the garment unbuttoned and hanging limp from his torso. "This haunting must have a boundary to its area of affect. At the school I didn't feel it at all until the second floor. It'll get worse, and then better when I'm out of its range."

"Or," Crystal contended. "You triggered a trap when you opened the box, and now it's not gonna let you go."

Edwin scowled. "If that proves to be the case, then I shall gladly add it to the information we hold. But logic and due process dictates we gather every available piece of evidence before leaping to conclusions. Now, if there are no more objections, let's get on with it, shall we?"

"You should take a breather, mate," said Charles, eyeing Edwin with disarming intensity. "You're looking a bit peaky."

Edwin sniffed, steepling his fingers. "We've had two fruitless days already," he said. "I'll not tolerate a third."

He took a bold stride before either could respond — and hissed through his teeth as the clamour in his head roared to the fore. It was rather like radio static, scratching upon his frayed nerves. And that was to say nothing of the cold, which was creeping back and making him regret stripping so many layers.

It was like there was a thread, pulled taut between him and the object in the office. With every step he stretched it tighter, felt the pressure more keenly. With every inch of distance, it pulled back harder — like one of Charles' rubber band slingshots. He wondered at what point it might snap him back by force.

He exhaled, and watched the phantom breath condense in the air before him. He channelled the discomfort and pain into his hands; clenching the fingers, grinding his fists.

"You alright?" asked Charles, eyes narrowed.

"Quite," Edwin rasped. A graceless recovery; and it only worsened on his next step, when he was unable to suppress a pathetic whimper.

“Sounds legit," Crystal muttered.

The thread was pulling tighter, tighter, the cry more insistent. Begging him to turn around, to come back — come and see, come and see, come and see...

"Mate..." said Charles, a note of warning in his voice.

Edwin took a breath; and then another step. And the thread drew tight, white hot and razor sharp; so sharp as to slice through his very mind like a wire through soft clay.

He gasped, his knee buckled. His ankle disappeared into the floor as he lost his concentration on the material plain.

Crystal winced. "How'd that one feel?"

He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. "Six... and a half."

"Right," said Charles, matter-of-factly. "That's enough of that."

He hit the retract button on the tape measure, sending it spiralling back into its casing.

"Charles, really —" Edwin protested.

"No! I'm not having it!" said Charles, straightening from his crouch and taking Edwin by the shoulders. "Not gonna stand here and watch you hurt yourself for some stupid bloody experiment. C'mon." He spun Edwin around and began near-frogmarching him towards the office. "Back you go."

"Charles," Edwin snapped, struggling against the undignified manhandling. But when he really did feel measurably better with every step, it was hard to muster the enthusiasm to fight. "I survived seventy years in hell. I think I know my own limits!"

Crystal snorted, falling into step behind Charles. "Kinda sounds like the reason you don't know your limits, honestly."

"Yeah! Yeah, exactly," Charles agreed, emboldened. "You've been ripped to shreds in that place. God only knows what else you'll put yourself through. If this is a six —"

"And a half," Edwin corrected, miffed.

"If this is a six and a half," said Charles. "I don't even wanna know what a ten is."

The racket in Edwin's head subsided somewhat — and flustered ire filled the void it left behind. He brushed off Charles' hands and turned on him, quick as a whip, burning with indignation. "I do not need to be mollycoddled. Perhaps, Charles, for once, you might take a rest from your ceaseless fixation on safeguarding my feelings in order to actually solve this case!"

He regretted the words before they were even out. But his pride was wounded, and so he turned on his heel and stalked away; before he could see the matching hurt on Charles' face.

Some things, like cursed skeletons in trunks, were liable to drive a man to madness if looked at directly.

~

The office, of course, was just about the last place Edwin wanted to be. But with the invisible bond tethering him, it was the only place to which he could retreat in solitude. Almost solitude, that is. It was hard to feel truly alone, with that thing so close at hand. With the way it seemed to burrow into his consciousness, whisper its wretched pleas in his mind. Look at me look at me see me please see me —

Edwin pounced upon the bottom desk drawer — the 'stuff drawer', as Charles so descriptively dubbed it — and rummaged around. He uttered a soft 'a-ha!' of triumph when his fingers closed around a large, weathered brass padlock. Another donation from a satisfied customer. It was enchanted to open only for the person who'd closed it.

He hastened over and, with shaking hands, threaded the shackle of the padlock through the staple of the trunk. He felt the answering hum of the enchantment flaring to life as the mechanism clicked shut. Spells, at least, were tangible even to a ghost.

The pleading magnified, sharp and anguished. Then it subsided instead into a quiet hum of dismay, and a further drop in the temperature of the room.

Edwin collapsed like a de-strung puppet, sagging down upon the trunk and breathing raggedly. He closed his eyes, leaned forward, hands on his head, head practically between his knees. He sat, and breathed, and waited for the room to stop spinning.

It wasn't Charles who found him in such a state, but Crystal. A fact he was at once disappointed and relieved by. He didn't care for Crystal seeing him this way, depleted and vulnerable. But considering his last words to Charles, he had no immediate desire to be confronted by him, either.

"Edwin," Crystal greeted, in that uncharacteristically formal manner that she reserved for him alone. Usually, she applied it in jest, as a running joke. Rarely had he seen her deliver it with a face so grave.

He collected himself on a slow inhale, straightening his back. "Crystal," he answered in kind, standing and marching to his desk.

She followed. He was careful not to look at her, but her platform boots on the old wood floors telegraphed her location. "So," she said, coming to halt on the opposite side of the desk. "You ready to apologise to Charles, yet?"

Her confrontational manner rankled, made it all too tempting to deny any wrongdoing. But try as he might, he couldn't deny the evidence.

He sighed, folding into his desk chair and massaging his temples. "Soon." He risked a glance, found her looking at him not with anger, but with concern. It unsettled him. Crystal's anger, he knew what to do with. Generally they sniped back and forth until the tension broke or someone stormed off. Anger and pettiness was their shared dialect. He wasn't so well-versed in the vocabulary of her earnest worriment. "I am... sorry that you had to see that," he offered.

"I've, like, never seen you like that," she said, sitting down in the chair generally reserved for clientele. She was watching him like she was studying him, reading him. He half expected her eyes to go white as she went in for a closer look. "You guys bicker all the time, but. I've never seen you actually mad at him." She leaned back and crossed her arms. "He's pretty cut up about it."

Guilt curdled in Edwin's stomach. "Is he...?"

"He's okay. I left him bugging Jenny with his angst." She shrugged. "She kind of always knows exactly what blunt shit to say to snap you out of it."

"Ah. Yes, good. Very good."

She watched him. She had a very stubborn stare. It had served them well on occasion, usually in the acquisition of information from a tight-lipped witness.

He fidgeted, tugging at his shirtsleeve. "It was... unkind. What I said to him. Not to mention unfair. Disingenuous of me, to complain about his protective tendencies. Considering how greatly I've come to... value them."

She raised her eyebrow.

He returned the gesture. "... Depend upon them, even."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty messed up, what you said to him." She leaned on the desk, arms folded. "But... I guess you're pretty messed up right now, huh?"

Edwin scowled. "That is... one way to put it."

"What's with the scratching?"

"Hm?"

"The scratching." She pointed at his hand, and he looked to find he'd abandoned his sleeve in favour of itching the wrist beneath. "That's not one of your things, your twitchy, gesture-y... things. You only started doing that when..."

Her eyes darted over her shoulder. "When you brought them in."

Edwin didn't follow her glance. He was trying not to look at the object in question any more than he had to. "I hadn't noticed."

She tilted her head as she regarded him. "You can still feel them, can't you?"

"Truthfully, I'm not altogether sure what it is I feel," he said. "Only that I am feeling considerably more than usual."

Crystal toyed with the sleeve of her ratty cardigan. "Must be super weird. Not being able to feel. I never really asked, but like... how do you even, like, ground yourself? How do you get a sense of where you are in the world?"

Edwin hummed, considering. "There is... an awareness, I suppose. Broad peripherals, so to speak. In lieu of other sensory input, one becomes quite keen of eye and ear. Sometimes that translates into the illusion of pressure from objects we know are at hand."

"Is there anything you can feel?"

"Pain," he said, bitterly. "Only from particular sources, I grant you. But yes, we're quite familiar with pain."

"That sucks."

He huffed. "It does, indeed, suck."

"There's seriously nothing else?"

He hesitated. "Well. I suppose, in a manner or speaking, we can feel ourselves."

She leaned in closer, inquisitive. Edwin didn't much care to dwell on this subject — but he did wish to encourage her scientific curiosity. She was a detective in training, after all.

With a beleaguered sigh, he propped his elbow neatly upon the desk, hand pointed to the ceiling. He folded his sleeve down, neatly, exposing his wrist. Pale skin, sparse hair, blue veins that remained only as a faded shadow of the blood that once pumped through them. With an attention-summoning flourish he lifted his other hand. Slowly, he scratched his fingernail down the length of his wrist. He felt the scraping drag of his nail edge against skin and hair — at least he could imagine he did, quite vividly.

"I theorise that it's once again a matter of awareness. Amplified, in this case. Awareness from visual input; plus that from conscious and subconscious intention and expectation; equals sensation. Or at least a convincing enough replica." He spread his fingers and swept his palms out, embellishing the point. "I know that I intend to scratch my arm; ergo, my arm is scratched."

"Just your intentions?" she asked, gaze turning from his arm to his eyes. "Not other ghosts? You guys can't feel each other?"

He gave a sad smile, dropping his hands to the table. "No. No, we're not mind readers. Without being attuned to the intention, even other ghosts may as well be far apart on the mortal plain."

"Guess I always figured you guys must feel something," she said, rubbing her arms. Despite the gloomy subject, she managed a small, teasing smile. "With the way Charles is always hanging off of you."

He smiled, ducking his head. "Well. There is something to be said for the comfort of a gesture. Wishful thinking can go a long way, in our circumstances." He watched her hands, wondering what the texture under her palms felt like. It looked like a soft cardigan, well-worn, well-loved. His own hands clenched into fists on the desk. "After decades of the same, one learns to take what one can get."

She puffed out her cheeks. "Well that's. Depressing."

"Yes, quite."

"But you're feeling stuff now. Aren't you?"

"Yes." His jaw twitched. "Unfortunately, not a pleasant experience, in this case."

"Look." She clasped her hands on the desk, leaning towards him like a co-conspirator. "I get wanting to figure this out, I really do." She lowered her voice, as if they were sharing a secret. "I know how much it royally sucks to have a voice in your head you can't shake."

Edwin flinched, guiltily. The comparison hadn't even occurred to him.

"And I'm gonna help you," she continue, eyebrow twitching like she knew what he'd just thought and was choosing to move past it. "But let's... let's take the pain experiments down a notch, okay? Because if you keep hurting yourself, Charles is gonna give me the sad puppy eyes and I can not deal."

Edwin gave a soft snort of laughter. "He is rather compelling, isn't he?" Fondness crept into his tone, unbidden.

She seemed to pick up on that unspoken thought, also, her lips pursing against a smile. "Yeah, yeah, he's adorable. So. Back to work? No more weird, fucked up self-torture shit?"

Edwin may be stubborn, but he knew when he was outvoted. He sighed. "Very well."

"Cool. let's do it." She cut off his agreement with a raised finger. "After you apologise to Charles."

He raised his eyebrow. "You're quite the canny negotiator. Have you been practising?"

"We got a deal?"

Edwin sniffed, haughtily rolling his sleeve back into place. "Well. As it happens, I was about to do that, anyway."

She smirked. "Sure you were."

~

Of course, Edwin was not currently able to make the short trip to Jenny's new establishment, where Charles was offloading his woes. He could've tried, but he imagined the wilful endangerment of himself would undermine his apology for... well, for wilful endangerment of himself. So he sent Crystal with word to Charles, and waited.

Edwin found waiting around to be a fretful exercise at the best of times. The presence of the object only made matters worse.

He paced along the breadth of the wide window, listening to the drizzling London rain. Usually, he found the sound of the droplets on the window pane calming. It was marred on this occasion by the more insistent sound in the back of his mind, buzzing for attention. The temperature in the room dropped with each lap of the window; every time he turned on his heel to retrace his steps, and refused to acknowledge the trunk in the slightest. He wanted to don a coat or jumper, but refused to give it the satisfaction.

Soon, another sound broke through the drone. Footsteps down the corridor. The door opened, and in walked Charles.

"Alright?" he greeted. He was eyeing Edwin with wariness — but, thankfully, not with distress.

Edwin let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding. He'd been afraid... well. He often feared that one of these days, he'd finally exhaust the bottomless well of Charles' patience, his kindness. "Charles," he breathed, steepling his fingers to keep them from twitching at his sides. "I owe you an apology."

Charles' tense shoulders dropped, infinitesimally; like a weight had fallen from them. His entire countenance softened in turn, and he smiled at Edwin with fondness as he closed the door behind him.

"Already forgotten, mate." He said. He advanced in long, even strides across the office, sparing a vigilant glance for the trunk on his way. He rounded the desk to stand before Edwin, planting both hands upon his shoulders and addressing him directly. "You're pretty stressed out, yeah?"

Edwin exhaled on a breathy laugh. "To say the least." He looked down at Charles' hand, the thumb tracing circles on Edwin's shirt. Perhaps it was a result of his discussion with Crystal, but he was above-averagely aware of the absence of weight, of feeling. Of warmth. He swallowed, tightly, and placed his hand over Charles'. "But I should not have taken it out on you."

"No. You bloody shouldn't've." He gave a self-effacing little grin. "Lucky for you, I'm a hardy sort of bloke."

What a ridiculous boy he was. A steadfast, self-sacrificing fool, always to quick to forgive Edwin his trespasses. Affection bloomed in Edwin's chest, bright and effervescent. The cold, the noise; for an instant it all melted like ice dropped into hot tea.

Charles' grip tightened; Edwin saw him squeeze his arms."But seriously, yeah?" said Charles, sober. "No more torturing yourself for this bloody case. Else I'll have Jenny come up here, give you a right telling off. And she's proper good at it."

Edwin smiled down at his feet. "Well, then. I suppose I have no choice."

"Too right."

Charles hesitated, gaze raking Edwin's face, taking him in from his eyes to his lips. Edwin cocked his head, questioning; if only to mask how tender and raw he felt under the close, gentle scrutiny.

Wordlessly, Charles pulled him close. He wrapped his arms tight around Edwin's shoulders in a fierce embrace; slotting them together like two puzzle pieces.

"Thank you," he mumbled into Edwin's neck.

Edwin's breath hitched, as it so often did when Charles held him so. No matter how common the occurrence, or how absent the physical sensation. The very gesture was bound to leave him gently thunderstruck nonetheless.

He returned it in his usual manner; with the stiff, cautious awkwardness of inexperience. Grateful, in some small, bitter way, that Charles couldn't possibly feel it. Couldn't bear witness to his bungling attempts at expressing affection.

Though he'd accept that humiliation. He'd take it with gratitude. If only for the chance to feel the soft gust of Charles' breath against his throat; to know the warm weight of him in his arms.

Soon, far too soon, Charles sniffed and pulled back. His hands never left Edwin's shoulders as he regarded him with squinted eyes and a wrinkled nose. A small, mischievous smile tugged his lips. "So," he said. "Back to the books, then?"

Edwin sighed. "Too the books," he agreed, without enthusiasm.

Charles chuckled. "How's this for a role reversal, eh?"

~

One Day Later…

Despite the obstructions of Charles and his mother-henning, they had made some progress in their studies. Edwin's notes on the object and its effects read thus:

Physical properties of the object (as observed by Charles): Faint, blue glow. Slight visible movement — agitation, vibration. No visible runes or enchantments. All bones assumed to be present and correct — Charles unwilling to 'rummage'.

Sense of cold: spectral only, no material plain adjustment. Affects Charles, not Crystal. Worse with distance/when box is closed.

Phantom sensations: a slight grounding effect, connection to material plain. Irritation, itches, pins and needles. Affects neither Crystal nor Charles. Intensifies in close proximity.

Whispering/speech: inaudible to Charles, Crystal. Sometimes unintelligible. Notable phrases: look at me, see me, don't leave me. Other sounds include a slight rattling, at times increasing in frequency to a buzz. Worse with distance/when box is closed.

It was hardly a treasure trove of information to work from, and he did manage to persuade Charles that further experimentation was needed. But he was under quite strict orders to withdraw should the pain top a four on his 'bloody mental' pain scale. A promise he kept to the letter.

Headaches, as it happened, were quite possible to achieve at a three or lower.

"I'm a ghost," Edwin complained, from his repose on the sofa. "I cannot get headaches."

"Well, then you're a scientific marvel, aren't you?" said Charles, patting his shoulder. He was perched on the edge of the couch, looking down at Edwin with pity. "Looks like you can get 'em just fine, mate. What you can't get is any paracetamol." He winced. "Bit rough, that."

Edwin sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I miss hemp."

"You what?"

"Indian hemp — you've never tried it? My nanny used to give me a pinch when I was feeling out of sorts," said Edwin, nostalgic. "Always used to perk me up."

Charles laughed. "Fuck me. You telling me you was toddling round, stoned off your tits at, what, six?"

Edwin rolled his eyes — wishing he hadn't when the motion exacerbated the pain in his skull. "I hardly overindulged."

"Perish the thought," teased Charles, in his tiresome facsimile of Edwin's cadence.

Edwin swatted at his arm, half-heartedly. Charles dodged it with laughter and ease, standing up and cracking his knuckles.

"Now, I can't offer you any drugs, but," said Charles, circling round to the end of the sofa. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together briskly. "I can do this."

Edwin frowned. "What are you doing?"

Charles, now standing behind Edwin's head, leaned over it to grin down at him and wiggle his fingers. "My mum used to do this," he said. "Head massage. You'll like it."

Edwin regarded him, unimpressed. "Charles, I cannot feel."

"C'mon — give it a go!"

He remained unconvinced. But, as he'd told Crystal only yesterday, a comforting gesture wasn't to be sniffed at. "Very well," he said. "Carry on."

"Brills. Here we go, then!"

Charles, showed Edwin his hands and made sure he was watching them. Then he pulled them back to just above Edwin's eyebrows and, presumably, began to rub the skin there. Edwin couldn't have said for sure that's what was happening, of course. Charles could be drawing lewd images on his forehead, for all he knew. But the look of concentration was there on Charles' face and so perhaps, if Edwin closed his eyes and used his imagination, he could fill in the gaps. He could imagine the motions of Charles' confident fingers. Picture them against his own skin, carefully working out the tension stroke by stroke.

Charles always seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands. How to swing a bat, how to catch a ball, how to hold Edwin together. Even when he demonstrably did not know what he was doing at all, his moments of utmost impulsivity. Even then, he committed to the act with such decisiveness, such single-minded intent. It boggled Edwin's mind to think that he could have such confidence of bearing, and yet such limited material impact on the world. Charles Rowland's hands could have shaped the universe, were they as substantial in matter as they were in resolve. He'd already managed miracles with nought but air and ectoplasm.

Edwin’s belief, it seemed, was well-founded. Despite his misgivings, he did feel the ache receding. He sighed. Even such a minor relief, after days of such heightened pressure, had him all but melting under Charles' hands. He indulged in a slow, languid stretch of his body, his back arching off the sofa as a soft groan escape him.

"Alright down there?"

Charles sounded ever so slightly out of breath. Edwin smiled. Trust him to put all his effort and then some into a gesture that Edwin couldn't even fully appreciate. "Yes. That's wonderful, Charles." His eyes fluttered open and he craned his head back against the armrest, catching Charles' eye. "Thank you."

He was surprised to find Charles looking even more breathless than he sounded. His mouth hung slightly open, and his hooded eyes appeared to be a touch glazed.

Charles blinked back into startled clarity when he felt Edwin's eyes upon him, and snapped his mouth shut. He pulled his hands away to give Edwin a brusque, chummy pat on the shoulders.

"Anytime, mate," he mumbled. "Anytime."

~

Three More Days Later…

The case dragged on in its plodding, unsatisfactory manner. Edwin felt himself clinging to his composure by the skin of his teeth. He was a raw, frazzled nerve, stripped to his shirtsleeves and the barest trappings of dignity. For nearly a week he'd been enduring this ceaseless psychic bombardment with precious little to show for it, and his patience had worn thin.

So when Crystal barrelled into the room, slamming the door against the wall in her haste, he nearly bit her head off.

"Do you mind?" Edwin exclaimed, smacking his hand down on the desk and sending a small ream of papers flying.

Over on the sofa, Charles snorted into alertness. Though he couldn't doze off, he'd been staring at the same page in his book for so long that he appeared to have drifted into a semi-conscious state. Edwin hadn't had the heart to rouse him — they were hardly making progress either way.

"We're idiots," was Crystal's response to Edwin's rhetorical outburst. She looked about as stretched thin as Edwin felt; hair pulled back into a tangled, frizzy knot atop her head, shadows under her eyes. She'd been wearing the same scruffy jeans and faded t-shirt for at least forty-eight hours. She planted both hands on the desk and leaned in close, staring Edwin down. "The mirror."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The mirror." She threw her hands up. "We never tried the mirror!"

"Never tried what with the mirror?" asked Charles, groggy, sitting up and dragging a hand down his face.

"We never tried sending Edwin through it," she explained, slowly, as if they were small children. "All that time we spent fucking around, trying to see how far he could walk away — did any of us ever fucking stop and think if he could teleport away?"

Silence. Deafening silence. Edwin and Charles shared a look.

"Bloody hell," Charles muttered. "Maybe we are stupid."

Edwin didn't reply. He had more pressing matters to attend to; he near vaulted the desk in his haste to get around it.

He marched with single-minded purpose towards the large mirror they'd yet to relegate back to storage. If it meant passing closer to the trunk than he had in days, he paid it no mind. Though the object in question noticed, and he felt its psychic fingers clawing at his ankles as he passed. Its whispers followed him like a curse; don't don't don't —

"Woah — alright, mate, let's take it easy, yeah?" Charles rushed out, springing up from the sofa and darting to Edwin's side. His hand circled Edwin's wrist, a comfort and a restraint all in one. "Think it through — you know what happens when you don't look before you leap, yeah?"

Edwin closed his eyes and exhaled, hands clenching into fists. Charles was right, of course. But with potential freedom so close at hand he scarcely wished to admit it. "I need a location," he said. "A target."

"Jenny's shop," Crystal quickly suggested, coming to stand at his other shoulder. "It's safe, and she knows you guys. It's only her working there today."

"Perfect." Edwin held his hand out to the mirror and visualised Jenny's new London workplace. And very old butcher's shop, established not long after Edwin's time. Owned in the modern era by the founder's great, great grandaughter, and her charming civil partner. Despite the transatlantic culture shock, Jenny had rather fallen among thieves. In his mind's eye, Edwin pictured the rustic mirror on the wall, nailed to sturdy old brickwork. Mounted between taxidermy animal heads and antique butchery implements. "I have it," he said, and opened his eyes to find that answering ripple on the mirror's surface.

Charles' grip tightened when Edwin tried to take a step. "You sure about this?" he asked. "You said that mirror hop right before you found 'em felt off..."

That was true enough. But an unpleasant experience was well worth the modicum of freedom it might afford him. "I'll be quite alright, Charles. We know that I can still go through mirrors, it’s how we got the box here, after all. It’s a question of whether it will let me go without it," he said, breaking Charles' hold on his wrist to take him by the hand instead. "But I must try."

Charles' eyes were wide with worry, but he nodded. Though his fretting over Edwin won above all else, this case had been arduous on him, as well. They all needed a breakthrough. "Alright," he said. "But give us a second."

Edwin watched, bemused, as Charles dashed for his bag and rummaged inside. He resurfaced with a large coil of rope. Charles was a blur of frenetic motion as he fastened it in a sturdy sailor's knot around the leg of the desk (he’d picked up some useful skills during the case of the drowned diver).

"Hold this, yeah, Crystal?" said Charles, dumping the slack length of remaining rope into her arms.

"Smart," she said — though a confused frown followed. "Wait, me hold it? What are you doing?"

"Going with him. You feel two tugs, drag us out, yeah?"

"Charles," said Edwin. "I've mirror hopped a thousand times. There's no need for you to —"

"What's the matter?" said Charles, rejoining Edwin and tying the rope around his waist. Despite the nervous tension suffusing him from head to toe, he still found the wherewithal to give a cheeky grin. "Can't wait to get rid of me?"

Edwin's heart, if the spectre of such a thing still existed within him, skipped a beat. "Quite the opposite," he said, gesturing for Charles to hand him the remaining slack when he was finished. "But someone has to spare a thought for your safety — and I think we all know it won't be you."

"In't that what I've been telling you?" Charles teased, lifting his arms for Edwin to loop the rope around him.

Edwin rolled his eyes, and secured the lifeline with a sharp tug. "Evidently, we're a terrible influence on one another."

"Guys," Crystal interjected.

They both whipped their heads round to look at her.

"I have been awake," she said, slow and just a touch dangerous. "For fifty two hours."

Edwin cleared his throat. "Yes, yes. Quite right. Time is of the essence." He met Charles' eyes. "Are you ready?"

Charles nodded, slipping his hand into Edwin's once more; a more tangible tether than any rope or chain. "Ready."

"Good luck," said Crystal, bracing her hands on the rope and her feet on the floor. "Don't die. Again."

"Reckon we've been here before," Charles joked. "You tryna make that a running gag?"

She grimaced. "Well, maybe if you two quit risking your afterlives so much, I'd have to say it less."

"Yeah, alright, fair cop." Charles squeezed Edwin's hand. "On three, then?"

Despite his trepidation, Edwin smiled. "We've been here before, too," he said. "Yes. On three. One..."

Charles gripped him tight and pressed up against him, shoulder to incorporeal shoulder. "Two..."

The whispering filled Edwin's skull, dense and cloying. Don't leave don't leave don't —

He looked once more to Charles' face; it was all the courage he required.

"Three!"

~

The space behind the mirror welcomed them, as it had welcomed Edwin back at St. Hilarion's. That is to say, it did not welcome them in the slightest. A journey which should have taken an instant seemed to stretch behind and before them, ad infinitum; thick as syrup, fast as a locomotive. They tumbled headlong through the roiling vortex of here, there and everywhere. Had they the ability to bruise, Edwin was sure their snapping lifeline would have whipped welts across their ankles. He fell endlessly, uncontrollably.

But it was a significant improvement on the last time. Now, at least, he had Charles to fall alongside. His one constant companion besides that damnable whispering — though as they fell it grew fainter, fainter, fainter...

Then they were through to the other side, expelled once more into the world they knew — collapsing together in an ungainly pile of limbs. And Edwin gasped, violently, as that thread which tethered him to the voice snapped behind him.

"Ugh, fuck, I'm gonna be sick," Charles groaned. It was an empty threat; he was by Edwin's side in moments, clear-voiced and intent. "Edwin?" His warm brown eyes swam into view. His hand — the one not currently tangled in Edwin's fingers — cupped Edwin's face. "Edwin, you alright?"

Edwin laughed, breathless and elated, his hand covering Charles'. "It stopped," he breathed. "Charles, it stopped, I can't hear it!"

Charles' grin could've lit the night. "Yes, Edwin!" he crowed, bumping their foreheads together. "You did it, mate — you're out!"

Edwin felt boundless, in that moment. Unrestrained. Unashamed of holding Charles close and sharing his laughter, sharing his breath. For the first time in what felt like a small lifetime, it was all gone. The cold, the itch, the whispers and pleas. All of it lay somewhere else, out of sight and mind, and for a moment he could simply be. Be with his best friend, the love of his life, with his smile and his laughter; no distractions, no compulsions. So surrounded by Charles and nothing but Charles that he could almost imagine how his fingers felt upon his face. How his laughter felt upon his lips...

"What. The fuck?"

And just like that, the moment shattered.

They both startled, landing soundly on their backsides on the butcher shop floor. They looked up to find Jenny staring at them, bug-eyed and incredulous, from behind the meat counter.

"Um. Hullo, Jenny," Charles greeted her, with a sheepish grin. He threw in a wave for good measure — forgetting that his right hand was currently engaged in holding Edwin's. Edwin had never been an unwilling participant in someone else's wave before. He rather hoped he never would be again.

"Miss Green," Edwin added, fumbling to extract himself from the wave. He scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. Now that his head wasn't full of ceaseless psychic badgering, he had the presence of mind to feel self-conscious about his shabby state of... un-dress. He should have put his waistcoat back on, at the very least. Here he was, standing before a lady in a public establishment, and he was bordering on the semi-classical. "Our apologies for, ah. Barging in."

"Yeah, sorry. Should've knocked!" said Charles.

"Yes. Quite."

Jenny narrowed her eyes, staring at the rope that had them quite literally joined at the hip. She gestured between the two of them with her cleaver. "So. I guess you two made up."

Edwin cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes, all water under the bridge."

"Yeah, yeah, all sorted," Charles agreed.

She gave Edwin a look, then turned to Charles and raised a razor-sharp eyebrow. "He stop being a dick?"

"Yeah, he did," said Charles, grinning, as he cut off Edwin's indignant protest with an arm around his shoulder. "Can't stay mad at me for long, can he?"

Edwin rolled his eyes — his smile, alas, was irrepressible.

"Great! Happy for you!" Her tone was dry, her smile tight-lipped. "Never jump out of my mirror while I'm holding a fucking meat cleaver again."

She punctuated her edict with a sharp, decisive swing; severing the pork joint on her chopping block with an executioner's resolve.

Edwin grimaced, and adjusted his bedraggled collar. "Duly noted."

Charles opened his mouth, no doubt to come out with another cheeky rejoinder. He was interrupted, however, by the tightening of the rope, forcing both he and Edwin to lurch back a step. They both looked down in alarm at the slack trailing into the mirror as it went taut, repeatedly. An insistent tug, urging them to follow.

"Oh," said Edwin, weakly. "I can't imagine that bodes well."

There was no time to dwell on the implications. In seconds Charles' hands were at Edwin's waist, attacking the knotted rope. "Charles, what are you doing?" Edwin enquired.

"You stay here for a bit, yeah?" said Charles — followed by a muttered curse as he was foiled by his own stellar rope-tying technique. "Take a breather — I'll go back, check on Crystal."

"You kids do know this isn't a clubhouse?" came Jenny's weary interjection.

Edwin gathered his courage, and stilled Charles' hands. "No," he said. "Thank you, Charles. But if there's a problem with... with the case, well. I should be present to handle it."

"You've been handling it for days, mate," said Charles; levelling him with his infamous 'sad puppy eyes'.

To paraphrase Crystal, Edwin could not deal. But, bravely, he held his ground nonetheless. Even forced a small smile. "I've handled worse for seventy years," he said.

Charles scowled. "Yeah, that's not gonna make me —"

"Spit-spot, now, Charles," said Edwin primly, seizing Charles' hand and about-turning to the mirror. "We've been summoned."

"Edwin —!"

But his argument, like Jenny's final bewildered comments, were lost to the currents of the in-between as they slipped once more into the vortex.

~

Yet again, another unpleasant journey through the mirror. Unfortunately, Edwin was growing rather used to it.

What he was not prepared for was what awaited them on the other side.

"Oh, fuck," said Charles — though it was barely coherent as a swear past the chatter of his teeth.

Edwin agreed, whole-heartedly. Though truth be told, he could barely hear Charles over the sudden and vicious return of the cries in his head. He pressed his palms to his ears — though it was futile with the noise seeming to ring out from within himself — and took in the awful scene.

The office that awaited them was barely recognisable as the one they’d left. In part due to the mess of toppled furniture, scattered books and broken memorabilia that littered the place, as if a hurricane had torn through the building during their short absence.

But mostly, due to the snow.

Edwin stared, aghast, at the dense white blanket that now lay across anything and everything. Flakes drifted through the air, but at far too sedate a pace for this kind of coverage. To have cloaked every surface so thickly and thoroughly suggested a veritable blizzard had beset the room behind them. And standing in the middle of it all was Crystal. Untouched, it seemed, by the snow, which must be spectral in nature — but not unaffected. She was shivering, visibly, and her breath escaped in soft puffs of glistening vapour.

"About t-t-time," she bit out, with difficulty. She abandoned the rope in favour of rubbing her upper arms through the meagre defence of her threadbare cardigan.

"Crystal!" Charles bolted to her, hands joining hers, for all the good it would do her. "What the b-loody hell happened?"

"Soon as you guys w-went, it just —" she mimed an explosion, puffing air from her cheeks. "Everything starting s-shaking, and snowing, and — and then this French chick just like, b-burst outta the wall and started yelling —"

"That’s just our landlady," said Charles. "She’s harmless."

"Yes. She’s not even French," said Edwin, turning a slow circle, regarding the chaos with dismay. "If Madame Seine felt the disturbance, then it must have fanned out beyond this room. Quite far beyond — she tends to haunt the attic…"

"I can feel it," said Crystal, shoving her hands under her armpits in an attempt to warm them. "Not — not as bad as it looks, I guess, or I’d be freezing, but I can feel it. I haven’t felt it before."

"It must be getting stronger," Edwin muttered. "Reaching beyond the spectral and out to your psychic awareness." He turned on them. "Can either of you hear it, now?"

"Like a whisper," said Charles, shaking his head as if dislodging water from his ears. "Or a — a buzzing? I dunno." Crystal nodded her agreement.

Edwin’s jaw clenched. "Right. Definitely stronger, then." He closed his eyes. "It is… considerably louder than a whisper, for me."

DON’T LEAVE ME DON’T LEAVE ME LOOK AT ME SEE ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME

"That is enough!"

Charles and Crystal both jumped. Edwin could hardly blame them — it was a sudden outburst, and one he wasn’t proud of. But he could scarcely think with that miserable clamour. He felt browbeaten, harried — hounded mercilessly even in the safety of his own mind. He’d put it off for too long.

He turned, slowly, and he looked at the trunk.

Immediately upon doing so, the air changed. The last of the snow ceased to fall and a chorus of slow drips took its place, as that which had settled begun to melt. The cold did not lift entirely, but it did somewhat. The voice did not cease or quiet, but it did soften in tone — from cries of anguish to cajoling, coercive murmurs. Like it knew it had his attention; like it wanted him to close the distance.

Nothing else for it.

"Edwin," said Charles. "You sure about this?"

"Not in the slightest," he said, as he hunkered down beside the trunk. His fingers closed around the enchanted padlock; it warmed under his touch and clicked open obediently. "But we’re running out of options."

Before he could even slip the padlock free, Charles was at his side — and Crystal followed suit. Their hands joined his upon the lid of the trunk; their eyes found his in silent question.

He exhaled, slowly. "Just a quick peek," he promised them. Promised himself. "Just to… mollify it."

Crystal gave him a look he didn’t much care to interpret. He had no doubt she’d confront him with whatever thought she’d just had, soon enough. For now, they had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Just a look," Charles agreed — though he was focusing far more intently on Edwin’s face than on the box. "See what’s what."

"Yes," he breathed. "What’s what…"

They shared a look — Charles to Edwin, Edwin to Crystal, back again — and slowly, as one, lifted the lid.

The first thing that came into view was the glow. Blue, and cold, and rippling over the surface of the grim contents like a sheen. Underneath, as Edwin’s eyes adjusted, shapes began to consolidate. A queasiness overtook him as, unbidden, the scientific names he'd learned presented themselves like annotations in a textbook. Annotating the withered remains of his own pitiful skeleton.

A cold droplet landed upon his cheek. He startled. Sensation was uncommon — sensations of damp even moreso. He glanced up to find that the snow upon the ceiling light was melting, a steady drip drip drip that happened to align with him. Carving his face like falling tears.

"It’s doing somethin’," Charles muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Warming up in here…"

"I can’t hear it anymore," said Crystal. "Can you guys?"

Charles shook his head. "No. Edwin?"

He nodded. "It’s faint." He frowned. "I think… I think it’s saying something else, now…"

…ay wi… me…

"What’s it saying?" asked Crystal.

"I… I’m not altogether sure. It’s so quiet." He cocked his head. "It sounds scared."

"He," said Crystal.

Edwin stared at her. "What?"

She raised her brows and looked between him and the miserable pile of bones. "He sounds scared," she said, gentle. "Edwin, it’s you."

He bristled. "We don’t know that for —"

"Fuck's sake, Edwin," said Charles. "What else d’you need? It’s in your bones, it talks to you, it went bonkers when you left. What else could we be dealing with here?"

"Any number of things!" he said. "Anything could have… imprinted on my remains. A parasite, a demon, some kind of carrion feeder — perhaps even an infestation of dandelion sprites, it’s certainly attention-seeking enough —"

"They only go for living hosts, Edwin, you bloody know that," said Charles.

"There’s no it, Edwin," Crystal pressed. "There’s no ‘the case’, ‘the object’, it’s — it’s you. We all know that, we’ve known that since the start."

"And I don’t think pretending not to know is helping us any," Charles added.

Edwin opened his mouth to argue — but there were no words left. No more logic that could save him.

Charles watched him, and took his hand. "Edwin," he said. "What’s he saying to you?"

Edwin looked at the bones. At his bones. Met his gaze, eye to empty eye socket.

Sta… ith me…

He exhaled a hoarse, rattling breath.

"He…" Edwin swallowed. "He wishes for me… to stay with him."

"Just you?" asked Crystal.

He shook his head. "I… cannot say."

"Right." Charles gave a short, sharp nod, and pushed the lid back, until it swung open enough to stay upright on its own. "Let’s have a sit down for a bit then, eh?"

"Good idea," said Crystal. She sounded weary beyond her years; aged by the psychic onslaught. "Let’s all just… sit. Fuck, I’m fucking tired…"

"Edwin? Turn around, yeah? C’mon."

Edwin allowed himself to be guided by Charles’ hand on his back, Crystal’s on his elbow. Allowed himself to be propped, his back against the trunk, his knees tucked to his chest. Allowed his head to be pulled to Charles’ shoulder, and laid to rest there.

"This alright?" asked Charles. "I mean, is it — is he happy, with you not looking at 'im?"

Edwin nodded. He had very little energy to expend with the motion. "Yes. Yes, for now it — he seems to be… content."

"Good. That’s good." Charles exhaled, a slow, overwrought thing. Edwin could see a stray strand of his own hair lift and fall in the slight gust from Charles’ breath — his hair had fallen into some disarray, of late. Shameful, really. "Let’s all just… just take a second, yeah?"

Edwin had no strength left to argue. He closed his eyes, tucking his head closer into Charles’ collarbone. Wishing he could feel the rise of his chest, his soft exhalations in his hair. But even a shadow of an embrace was better than nothing. Charles didn’t need a physical presence to be Edwin’s anchor in this world. On his other side, Crystal settled herself, arm tucked through Edwin’s, an ankle flung across his, and for just now he didn’t care to shy away. Her breathing slowed. She muttered something that sounded like 'wake me when the next ice age hits'.

It was almost… peaceful. Here on the floor. No words, no actions, all tumbled together with scandalous disregard for propriety. Edwin hadn't had the ability or the desire to sleep in decades, but were that not the case, he thought he could have here. With Charles his pillow, and Crystal his blanket. He wished he could sleep. Just for a few stolen hours, a brief escape from his own mind and the thoughts lurking there. The theories turning over, and over. No, not theories. Nothing so useful as a theory. A theory would imply that he had any information to form the building blocks of a solution; and he was as tragically, hopelessly lost at sea as he had been days ago. Not theories. Something far more ominous.

Implications.

“Charles,” he said, softly.

“Yeah, mate?”

“How long…” Edwin licked his lips. His mouth felt dry, chapped. He felt uncomfortably, uncommonly real at that moment; so close to his bones they could have merged back into one being. “How long will I have to stay with him,” he said, barely above a whisper. “In order to make him… happy? Do you think?”

And will it be less than forever?

Charles, slow and steady, wrapped an arm around Edwin’s shoulder.

“We'll sort it,” he said, low, unwavering. "I promise, Edwin, we'll sort it."

Edwin released a ragged breath into Charles' shoulder. He watched the spectral thaw seep sluggishly into their shoes.

"D'you believe me?" asked Charles, voice tender, flayed open; like he couldn't bear it if the answer was no.

Edwin took one of Charles' hands in both of his, and clutched it like a talisman.

"I believe you."

~~

Yaaaaay pain!!!!! Hope you liked! I love love LOVE all your comments and seeing you so engaged in the story has genuinely been so incredible and if you keep it up I will be a very happy boy and you will get me through my last days of covid isolation! (I have been stuck in one room for 5 days so far to keep distance from my folks, it’s bad guys, luckily my room is very pretty but I pretty much wrote Edwin’s mental breakdown from first-hand experience lmao) Commentary! Yes, Boneturner’s Tale is a TMA reference. No, Edwin did not hand his friend an actual dangerous evil book. It’s like a cheap and nasty paperback replica or something lmao. Hex or no hex, she’s not gonna enjoy reading it much :/ Honestly, writing Edwin and Charles falling out physically hurt. It didn’t last long in part bc my heart couldn’t take it dkjsfbdsnfagdgf Try as I might this fic keeps turning into Charles-and-Edwin, so there’s still not as much Crystal screentime as she deserves, but I truly enjoyed writing her heart-to-heart with Edwin! I love the ways they’re different and the same and I love it when they’re bitches who care for each other 💛 I am NEVER getting this complex about ghost touch again. For all future fics unless stated otherwise just assume ghosts can’t feel humans/the world but can feel each other to some extent, I’m making myself so sad writing Edwin and Charles in a universe where they’re utterly lost in space! It’ll be worth it in the very end I promise xD Yes I fully ground the fic plot to a halt for tender hugs and horny head massage. My house my rules. Yes, Indian hemp was indeed a headache remedy! I was sort of hoping I could google ‘Edwardian headache remedies’ and found out they used, like, cocaine, so I could have Edwin sigh and say ‘I miss cocaine’, but alas, we take what we can get. Pray for my girl Crystal, she works with these gay losers who flirt nonstop and Do Not Realise they are married. She’s getting so many premature grey hairs. Semi-classical = semi-nude. Been reading up on some Edwardian slang lmao. Don’t expect Jenny to come back in this fic but it was so nice to say hello to her! I don’t know what the deal is with the office - like, if the boys leave money for an actual human landlord who doesn’t ask questions or what - but my personal headcanon is that it’s an empty building that no one can sell or do anything with due to persistent hauntings, and it’s haunted by a friendly former brothel madame who once ran her business out of there. The boys first case they solved together was hers, and she adores them, thinks they’re lovely boys, and she lets them have the office and is basically their eccentric pretending-to-be-French Mrs Hudson counterpart. I don’t know why this is my headcanon except that I find it fun and whimsical and I think Madame Seine and the Night Nurse would be a hilarious MILF double act. Maybe I will write fic about her one day. I know this is a bit of an odd one, story progression wise. I hope no one feels put out by the fact that the story hasn’t exactly progressed much - but as I was drafting the rest of the fic I sort of realised that I wanted, amongst other aspects of Edwin’s journey, for him to have some denial to overcome. Which, in my classic carried-away way, became basically an entire chapter of obfuscating rounded off with a cold splash of reality. He needed to find that connection to the bones and accept it before they can get to the next stage of figuring out how to make them happy and end the haunting. Fun Fact! When writing the very last scene/conversation, the Power of Love by Frankie Goes To Hollywood came on shuffle. This would have been posted an hour earlier but I need to wail into my pillow in anguish. Anyway, that’s it for now! No idea when the next chapter’s up - I think it’ll be easier to write than this one but I’ve also sunk waaaay too much time into this one this week, so I should take a break for the sake of my hands and my other projects! It WILL be up though, probs in a few weeks. Until next time! 💛

[lucianjablonsky]

Just imagine

Rain lashed at the windowpane, a frantic drumbeat, Echoing the rhythm of my heart's wild heat Moonlight, pale and spectral, cast shadows in the room, Illuminating the hunger in my eyes, like a bloom You were more than beautiful, an ethereal grace, My touch lingered, a promise on your skin's warm embrace I trailed a finger down your hip, a delicious spark, Dancing down your spine, igniting the dark You arched into me, breath catching in the air, Yearning in my gaze, a silent plea laid bare No words needed, just your voice whispering my name, A soft incantation fueling passion's flame Your breath hitched, a baring of our souls, Eyes met, a silent communion, making us whole The storm raged outside, but in our private space, Only you and I existed, in a fierce embrace Lips met, a spark igniting a wildfire within, Hands explored secrets, caressing tender skin Each touch whispered endearments, a love profound, Your hands mirrored mine, in the heat we found The storm reached its crescendo, as did we, A shared release, breathless in ecstasy We clung to each other, in solace we lay, The rain a lullaby, as sleep stole us away ~ Language of Skin

[mononokevalley]

Agane

In the captivating land of Friuli Venezia Giulia, the legend of the Agane—also known as Anguane—unfolds across a tapestry of mystical landscapes, each season offering a unique glimpse into these enigmatic water nymphs.

Faedis in autumn is a scene of vivid transformation. The chestnut forests are ablaze with hues of orange and gold, while the first snow delicately brushes the fir trees, creating a surreal, picturesque setting. As twilight descends, the mist rising from the springs and the Cascate Gemelle—the Twin Waterfalls—casts an enchanting shroud over the village.

It is during these misty evenings that the Agane—ethereal water nymphs clad in white—are said to appear. Their haunting beauty and playful nature lure those who captivate their interest to the riverbed. There, their captives remain until dawn, when the Agane erase all memories of the night’s events, leaving them bewildered yet unharmed.

In Torreano, nestled in the Colli Orientali, winter brings a starkly different atmosphere. The narrow, rugged valley is blanketed in snow, and the Grotta Foràn di Landri, hidden in the forested terrain, becomes a place of mystical significance. According to local legend, the Agane—ancient and wild female figures—inhabit this cave. As night falls, the mist rising from the icy stream forms a dense fog that envelops the area. Here, the Agane are believed to dwell, their melodic whispers and ghostly songs adding to the otherworldly ambiance.

Spring in the Colli Orientali brings renewal to the rolling hills and lush vineyards. The mist that rises from the valleys takes on a delicate, spectral quality. During this season, the Agane are said to emerge from the mist, their ghostly beauty harmonizing with the blooming landscape. They lead intrigued individuals to the riverbed, where they stay until dawn.

In Tramonti di Sopra, high in the Carnic Alps, summer provides a dramatic Alpine backdrop. The verdant forests and rugged terrain, bathed in summer warmth, are enveloped by a dense fog rolling in from the mountains. The term Agane, or Anguane, is derived from the Latin aquileiese, meaning “water nymph,” and reflects their role as spirits of water sources such as springs, rivers, and streams. They are represented in various ways—sometimes as youthful, attractive maidens, and other times as lively, older women. During full moon nights, the Agane gather for moonlit dances, clad in white garments which they later hang out to dry under the lunar light. These beings are known to protect fishermen, assist in tasks like wool processing and cheese-making, and inspire dreams in children.

Historical accounts

In Povoletto, historical accounts from 1873 describe the Agane as ethereal figures dressed in white, performing dances under the full moon before disappearing into the mist.

This portrayal fits with broader folklore, depicting the Agane as elusive and enchanting beings whose beauty and playfulness make for both mesmerizing and bewildering encounters.

[power-chords]

Of the six ‘revisionary ratios’ Harold Bloom distinguished in his hugely influential book The Anxiety of Influence, the most advanced one (in a temporal rather than hierarchical sense), is the strategy of apophrades, named after the Ancient Greek designation for the days when the deceased return to the dwellings in which they once lived (Bloom 1997[1973]: 141). Having reached the end of his or her life, the poet and, by extension all the writers who wish to be remembered for the originality of their creative imagination and the way in which they have given shape to it, opens the door to the feared predecessors and allows them to roam freely in their follower’s home, up to the point where their spirits are given the keys to each and every room, as benign revenants and newly acquired spectral friends. Whereas the writer’s house had previously been kept shut, it now becomes a hospitable space, in which the ghosts of the past are not only free to take shelter, but also at liberty to share their creative strengths with their follower. In his presentation of this ‘late’ revisionary ratio, Bloom argued that it invariably generates an uncanny sensation (Bloom 1997[1973]: 16), in the writer as well as the reader, because the net result of the apophrades is that the ‘later writer’ appears to have been the author of the precursor’s ‘earlier writings’.

—Dany Nobus, "Why Analysis Isn't Therapy, or The Perils of Healing," September 2019

[cloaksandcapes]

Just a cute little blessing from the Feywild. Not everything in the Fey needs to be scary.

Blessing of the Bloom

Blessing, temporary boon, uncommon

“Among fae flora there is a special flower that when it blooms, it releases wild magic that can inspire and push mortals to great feats. Those affected by this blessing can often see luminous, spectral flowers floating around them.”

When you receive this blessing roll 1d6 to determine how many magic petals your flower blooms with. When you make an attack roll, ability check or saving throw you can add +5 to the result. You can do this a number of times equal to the amount of petals your flower has. Once you’ve used them all, the blessing fades.

Join us on Twitch every Mon\Wed\Fri to create new Homebrews and check out our Patreon for 560+ magic items, tokens, maps, and more.

[cloudyswritings]

Story/worldbuilding ideas n prompts

Just a sorta dump of ideas I’ve got rattling around in my brain. I may or may not get around to using these so feel free to play around with them.

Sci-fi:

Climate pirates: Basically just the future of our world where global warming has resulted in far more ocean to sail and a lack of resources has seen a second golden age of piracy. This would look kinda like a hybrid between Onepiece and Cyperpunk as a setting, maybe a woman who unexpectedly becomes captain and fights capitalism?

Spectral: Through science a man discovers a way to enter and exit the afterlife, he basically uses this to pull a bunch of heists from various afterlives and ends up being chased down from both the real world and by the dead. I imagine this could either be a story from his pov or someone who is trying to piece together his life story after the fact.

Slime based economy: Self explanatory, the economy of the US has transitioned to a form of slime. There’s probably a darker secret behind it all.

First contact but with octopi: They rapidly advance technologically once a scientist accidentally makes them longer lived, this leads to tension between our species. This would probably look like some sort of political story(I’ve been watching west wing).

Beam me up: A person finds a downed UFO and saves the beings within from the clutches of the government. This turns into a silly buddy cop story between a non-binary sweetheart and a grouchy gray alien as the go on a world tour to track down the pieces of his ship and reassemble it.

Fantasy:

Necomancer Whales: Basically a revenge story where a whalefall rises from the grave to hunt down the whaling ship who killed them. A sort of found family story with the creatures who were eating the whalefall? Idk I just like the idea.

Glass: A world where different wavelengths of light carry different magical affinities. Prisms and glass orbs could be used as focuses for channeling magic, staining glass might chance what types of spells can be cast. Glass opacity and quality impacts spell power. Some warlocks and sorcerers will replace body parts with glass and crystal prosthetics to boost their innate spell casting potential. I’m almost certainly doing more with this. A person can also develop their own light/wavelength from exposure to magic, this would cause them to glow and have inborn powers others don’t. The longest lived sorcerers are near blinding to look at.

Dreaming deeply: The barrier between dreams and reality has cracked, and in places shattered. Legends walk the earth once more. In Greece the skies rumble with thunder, in America the souls of cities shake off their slumber, and in the darkness beyond the earth something hungry has turned its gaze towards humanity.

Horror:

Succulent: A man becomes obsessed with succulents, covering his entire apartment with them. As his friends become increasingly concerned and his viewpoint becomes more and more distorted violence blooms with scarlet petals. The plants need fertilizer to grow…(this one is in progress)

[ectoplasmic-entity]

Dan/FemReader request from a friend who doesn't use tumblr :)

I went with a kinda different format this time to keep it short and sweet. I hope you don't mind, especially after my last request was 5k words long lol

I hope you like it!

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: Public displays of affection + bordering on public sex, a lot of foreplay/sensation stuff with bodies, penetrative sex with the reader receiving

Words: 2.3k+

You’re in college for parapsychology – though you think it’d be easier to refer it to as paranormal studies. Smart people like to use big words, you suppose.

You also have a ghost boyfriend. Strange, isn’t it?

Dan doesn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, he seems more invested in the program than you are. You were honestly worried he’d make fun of the fact that you’re enrolling in class for something you already have significant knowledge about. His response?

“Think about it this way, they’re giving you things to play with instead of just hearing it straight from the mouth.”

He was right.

First day of classes pass in a blur. It’s early in the evening by the time you leave, you’re in a daze with how long the periods were. A blueish gloom falls over the campus grounds, enshrouding the already massive University of Wisconsin in darkness. The only thing lighting up the paved paths are the streetlights, even then, they’re few and far in between.

You stroll past a darkened alcove with the feeling something’s watching you. You jump in terror when a cold hand touches your arm and raise your fists.

“Oh, relax, it’s just me.” Dan’s gravelly voice breaks your frightened muse.

You put your hands down, heart pounding, and stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What else but to see my cute ghost hunter,” Dan replies and wraps his arms around you. You fall into his embrace without protest, you rest your cheek on his toned chest, the hum of Dan’s ghost core fills your ear.

“Okay, but - couldn’t you have waited at home? What if someone sees you?”

“I am a ghost,” Dan drawls out, “I doubt anyone but maybe the janitor will see me after dark.”

“I don’t suppose I can’t stop you, then?” You ask, tracing your finger on his emblem.

“You can, if you know what you’re doing.” Dan counters vaguely, his face bears a huge smirk.

You look up at him with calculating eyes. Dan stares back with a playful glint. Then, you put up your arms around his neck and pull him down to your level. His body warms up as you do so.

“Figured it out?” Dan says.

He’s quickly silenced when you tenderly, but firmly, press your lips to his. A warmth blooms between the two of you that makes your surroundings fade into obscurity. Dan pulls you closer, his sharp nails curiously careful.

---

The second day. It’s a little slower than the day before, your classes are still a blur. 

They talked about ghost’s behaviors and dynamics. You suddenly pretended the wooden floor was more interesting than the presentation. A warmth rushed up your neck, Dan displayed some of these behaviors with you. And you couldn’t say anything, otherwise people would get suspicious.

The same blue gloom falls over the campus when you leave for the evening. You walk with more confidence than the night before. You head straight for the same alcove where Dan greeted you. In no time at all, your neck prickles with his intense gaze.

Dan’s silhouette is highlighted by a faint, spectral glow. It’s not hard to miss.

Rather than say anything, you walk right up to him and nuzzle under his chin. Dan’s body vibrates softly with quiet sounds from his throat, he bends down and nuzzles you back, his face firmly presses into your neck. His ears twitch with what you assume is satisfaction.

Your mind rebelliously goes back to the presentation about ghost behaviors. Then your eyes go to Dan’s ear. It’s not like he hasn’t nipped and nibbled you before. Surely you can do the same.

You tilt your head, with a hesitant glance at Dan’s relaxed face, your lips gently nip his earlobe. Dan makes a small sound of surprise; his hands grip you and a stinging sensation shoots through your shoulder.

Your heart accelerates in excitement.

---

Third day. You’re falling into a consistent, familiar routine now. As usual, you head straight for the alcove to meet Dan once your classes are done for the day. Again, his large silhouette isn’t hard to miss. He has a wide, fanged grin as you approach him.

“You seem comfortable,” he says.

“About what?” You ask a little snidely.

Dan shrugs at you, his arms spread out. “This little thing we’ve got going on here. You can’t resist it, can’t you?”

“Not when it comes to you, no,” you say, warmth creeps up the back of your neck.

“Is that a compliment, I hear?” Dan teases smugly.

You place a hand on Dan’s toned chest, his ghost core humming underneath your delicate fingers. His eyes glow warmly as you look up to meet his gaze. Instinctively, your lips meet with a tender passion. You push against him, your breath hot and your eyes sharp.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Phantom,” you mutter through the kiss.

Fingers nimbly find their way to Dan’s suit collar and tug on the hidden zipper. His top opens up, revealing his immense physique underneath. Your breath shudders and you want to pull away, just for a moment, to catch your breath. You don’t. Heart pounding, both of your hands place themselves on his chest. They move to either side, your thumbs gently roll over his nipples.

Dan grunts softly when you start playing with the metal studs of his piercings. A warm tingle crawls up his spine. His core pulsates. A singular hand snakes up your body and finds its way under your shirt. Dan trails his nails along your soft skin, your body heat wraps around it. Soon enough, he feels your chest and gently squeezes.

You jerk under his touch. Breath hotter and heavier, just as Dan greedily claims your mouth. You push your tongue assertively. The only thing that matters is claiming the other.

---

You’re nearly done with the first week. The classes passed by in the blink of an eye. Before you know it, you find yourself wandering around the empty campus on a cool evening. At the alcove, you find Dan on the bench. You immediately note something’s a little different. For one, the top half of his suit is undone. He stares at you with this… look in his eyes.

“What’s with the get-up?” You ask, hands on your hips.

“A guy’s gotta primp himself up, y’know.” Dan tilts his head, his fangs flash in the pale light.

“I wonder why.” You say as you kneel down to his level.

You see faint lines of old scars across his chest. Two sets of three symmetrical, diagonal lines. A myriad of smaller scars dot all around his torso. More decorate the rest of his body, obscured by his clothes. You lean in close and gently press your lips onto the marked skin, Dan’s chest rises up and down steadily, his breath shudders lightly.

“You…” Dan breathes out softly. “Seem to favor those a lot.”

“All scars have a story, don’t they?” You ask absently, you slowly trail your lips over his skin. “I just happen to like these in particular.”

Dan starts before he trails off, his expression relaxes. You pepper light kisses down his chest, occasionally sucking a light mark. Dan’s ghost core pulsates and vibrates faintly under your lips. A blissful aura comes over the two of you. You eventually decide to be a little adventurous, you pull your lips back and lightly graze your teeth.

Dan’s entire body tenses, a small sound escapes his mouth. His core thuds in excitement, heat coils in his abdomen. He slowly raises a hand and places it on the back of your head, and pushes you closer to him. 

You peer up curiously, then lean to one side. Pushing away the fabric, your mouth quickly acquaints itself with the metallic taste of Dan’s piercings. You roll your tongue over the sensitive flesh, you hear Dan groan softly. His grip tightens slightly, his nails dig into your skin.

Grinning smugly, you begin to lightly suck on the hardened nipple. Dan’s voice pitches to a light gasp of pleasure, his body jolts. You stay focused and steady with your arms around his midsection, a warm flush permeates your tongue as Dan’s heat rises.

You wonder how long it’ll take for Dan to get loud.

---

It’s Friday, your first week has come to an end. It went by faster than you thought, you realize. Part of you thinks it’s because you look forward to seeing Dan at the end of each day. As usual, you make your way to the hidden alcove under the cover of darkness. Again, you find Dan on the bench. 

Like before, the top half of his suit is undone. It’s his demeanor that feels different, you meet his eyes and your heart suddenly accelerates. Dan lazily lounges back on the bench, his arm hangs over the backrest, his legs wide open.

“Look who survived their first week,” Dan says in a mildly taunting tone.

“It was Monday, and suddenly it’s Friday,” you say with a sigh.

“Time can be…” Dan chuckles softly, he gestures for you to come and sit. “…quite the thief.”

You go and sit down, not where Dan patted the spot next to him, but rather on his lap. You secure your legs around his thighs. His body rises with every breath he takes, almost like he’s opening himself up to you. Underneath, as you can feel it, is a bulge with steadily rising heat.

“We have all the time in the world,” you say, your hands lightly grip his shoulders.

“You’ve been waiting all week…” Dan says and trails his lips on your neck.

“I think I deserve a reward after working so hard,” you say in a low voice.

You slowly move your lower half on his crotch, a burning sensation shoots up between the two of you. Dan’s breath shakes audibly in your ear, his lips partly open. You shuffle back a bit before moving forward, the burning sensation begins to swell. Firm hands grip your hips, encouraging you to keep going.

Hands on Dan’s chest, you feel the hum of his ghost core as it accelerates the more you grind. His muscles tense and twitchy. His eyes flicker with a myriad of emotions, all intense for you. Dan’s breath occasionally hitches with held back breaths, like he’s doing his hardest to not give in.

You stop moving and position directly on top of his crotch. His bulge is harder and firmer, warmth slowly swelters up between the two of you. You lower one hand and gently press down on it, Dan’s body quivers in pleasure, his grip on your hips gradually tighten. Elated, you begin rubbing your hand along Dan’s length.

An uncharacteristic noise emits from Dan’s throat, his eyes squint through a rapidly forming blush and the mock frustration of giving in. Breath heavy, he pulls you closer, your bodies together with nothing but a sensuality that floods you.

---

The bedroom is dark, perhaps a bit claustrophobic, but comfortable. Dan lies on his side, his eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, they peer down at your silhouette. Your soft breathing fills the silence, your warm body rises with every breath.

A sense of… happiness, Dan guesses he could call it that, swirls in his chest. You seem so small, perfect in every way, positioned just under him. Dan stares at your nearly nude form before his hand holds your hip. He lightly squeezes and massages it. It doesn’t take long for you to stir awake.

Your flushed and somewhat sore body – you were pretty forward hours earlier – relaxes under his touch. You don’t move, you lay right where you are and breathe along with the movements.

“You feel like you want something…” you utter out in a yawn. Your eyes crack open.

“Don’t I?” Dan growls softly, he lowers his head and kisses your bare neck.

“Perhaps… you haven’t gotten enough of me,” you say slowly, you turn your head and flutter your lashes, “no need to wait, I welcome it.”

“Very well.” Dan mumbles, the taste of you fills his mouth.

His hand moves from your hip and slides down to your butt, where he plays with the hem of your undergarments. He tugs and twists the seams for a few minutes before ultimately pulling the fabric away. Dan inhales deeply, the mixture of your taste and scent fogs up his head.

Carefully sliding two fingers in between your thighs, he gently rubs. Your body flushes with warmth anew and grows tense in pleasure.

Dan has a wide grin as he pulls his fingers away, his muscles tense with excitement while his hand slides down his own body. He quickly finds what he’s looking for and lightly grips it. A jolt surges through him, his length pulses hotly with ectoblood.

He carefully aims for you and slides into your heat with little effort. Dan groans softly as a thick and heavy warmth coils around his member. He hears you sigh in content. Dan then moves his hand back to your hip before he slowly moves his body back and forth.

Your body jolts about and stiffens a little at first. The smooth and pleasurable pulsing of Dan thrusting into you takes the discomfort away. The way his body moves against yours, his breath quiet and heavy. You raise your leg up high to give Dan more room.

Sounds of guttural pleasure break the immersive quiet. The bed creaks with two bodies shuffling back and forth. The room temperature rises with hot, heaving breaths and sex. Hands desperately gripping and fondling their partner’s respective bodies.

It really does feel like you have all the time in the world. It doesn’t matter really when you have just each other. The orange glow of the sun streaks in between the blinds, Dan too deep into the moment to care, and your body glistens with an afterglow. 

A little pocket of paradise, you could say.

[promise-keeper-papyrus]

The Sins of a Hero

The cheers still echoed in Undyne’s head, a hollow, dissonant chorus.

They called her a hero, a savior, a warrior who had finally brought them closer to freedom. The soul of the human child, a glowing blue heart rested in her palm, a tangible proof of her victory. Yet, the warmth of the soul felt cold against her skin, heavy with a weight she couldn’t shake.

The image of the little ballerina, her once vibrant tutu stained crimson, her eyes wide and staring, haunted Undyne’s mind. The scent of blood, despite the meticulous scrubbing, clung to her like a phantom. It was as if the life she had snuffed out had seeped into her very being, an unwelcome guest festering in her heart.

She was a warrior, the strongest of the royal guard, her loyalty to the kingdom absolute. Humans were the enemy, their presence a constant threat to monsterkind. They had trapped them underground, stolen their king’s son, and kept them from their dreams for centuries. Killing the human, she told herself, was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.

And the little punk deserved it, for taking out her eye.

But the logic felt brittle, a flimsy shield against the tide of guilt that threatened to engulf her. This was a small child, a tiny ballerina with dreams as bright as her eyes once were, her life snuffed out before it could bloom.

How could this victory feel so hollow?

How could the blood on her hands feel so heavy? 

Why does Asgore still look so unhappy?

Tonight, the torment was unbearable. Sleep eluded her, the whispers of doubt echoing in the silence. Undyne stumbled to her feet, the urge for a shower too powerful to ignore.

As she entered the shower, the steam from the shower head billowed around her, trying to drown out the voices in her head.

But the voices persisted.

She turned, her heart pounding in her chest, and saw her.

The ballerina, her form shimmering in the mist, her small frame drenched in the red that clung to Undyne’s memory. Her blue eyes, once bright and full of life, were now hollow pools of blood, reflecting the depths of her pain. A gaping hole in her chest bled constantly, a grotesque mockery of the life she had been denied. Her once vibrant tutu was now a tattered shroud, stained with the blood of her own innocence.

Undyne’s breath caught in her throat. "No, it's can't be..."

Somehow, she could tell that this wasn’t a figment of her imagination; this was the spirit of the child, a vengeful echo of the life she had taken.

'Stay back!' she roared, her voice trembling with rage and fear. The spears she threw at the spectral figure passed through, their glowing points encountering nothing but vacant air.

The spirit remained unmoved, its expression a mask of cold, calculating hate. As it slowly glided towards her, the captain grabbed a towel to wear and ran towards the bathroom door to slam it shut. The child's ghostly form weaving through the closed door as if it were non-existent.

Undyne backed away, her hand instinctively summoning another spear, but the weapon was useless. She stumbled, tripping over the edge of her bed, falling onto the soft mattress. The ghostly ballerina, with icy mist swirling around it, sat down beside her, its gaze boring into her soul.

'Everyone calls you a hero,' the spirit whispered, its voice a chilling, hollow echo. 'But we both know the truth, captain… You are nothing, but a child murderer… A corrupt figure without integrity… And I'm going to remind you of this every single day for the rest of your life.'

Undyne could only glare defiantly, but deep down inside she was filled with a dread as cold and cruel as the spirit's silent judgmental gaze.