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mostlydeadallday · 11 months

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Lost Kin | Chapter XXXII | To Be of Use

Fandom: Hollow Knight

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen

Content Warnings: mentions of cannibalism, body horror, referenced abuse

AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXII | To Be of Use

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Chronological

Notes: Quirrel begins a conversation. Hornet revisits the past. Some important things being established here, and we may have a little bit of a bond forming, though Quirrel has a long way to go before he fully earns her trust. I've been pretty productive this month, so I may be able to upload the next chapter early—it's a direct continuation of this one, but I had to split it at this point so it didn't stretch to ridiculous lengths. They have a lot to talk about.

○

Quirrel had not found any tea.

He strongly suspected he had not been meant to. In fact, he was all but certain that Hornet’s request was some attempt at a code phrase, given his prior joking reference to tea just after his arrival, and her wordless plea for him to remove himself from the room for her sibling’s sake.

That, and the glaring lack of anything resembling tea in the cabinets.

He was aware that combing through your host’s kitchen storage while they were in the other room was outside the normal bounds of etiquette, but these cabinets hadn’t been used in years. He certainly didn’t find anything that looked like it belonged to Hornet. Only an assortment of dishes and flatware and some murky containers of preserves, dusty and untouched. One drawer contained a rather impressive array of spices and a jar of crystallized honey, though the lid was sealed too tightly to get open without an unacceptable amount of noise. The discovery was a welcome surprise, though. Perhaps he could pull together a decent meal—it looked like some time since Hornet had had one, given the room’s state of disuse.

Having made a full circuit of the kitchen without discovering what he had allegedly been sent for, he dusted off one of the stools and then the countertop, pausing when he noticed fresh scratches in the marble.

He glanced over his shoulder at the darkened doorway. No sound reached him from the adjoining room.

He did not envy Hornet’s attempt to calm her sibling. She seemed frayed, exhausted, and only half-aware of it. These last two times he had met her, she had looked more hunted than hunter.

Quirrel sat down and pulled his satchel off his shoulder, upending it to reorganize its contents. The items he had brought for Hornet he set off to one side, then sorted through his own belongings, placing his shell file and brush back in the bag, followed by his knife and little ball of waxed string. He picked out his whetstone, bottle of oil and cleaning cloth, then reached for his nail hilt.

Ah.

He almost smiled at himself before the impulse abruptly faded.

Placing the cleaning supplies back into the bag as well, he removed his bandana to let it dry, then cleared the countertop and laid out what he’d brought for her. It wasn’t much—especially now that he understood the situation a little.

Well. Now that the situation had been firmly impressed upon him, in the form of an extremely large, extremely wounded vessel, who was, by all appearances, terrified of him.

Or perhaps merely terrified. Whatever they had been through, whatever their captivity in the temple had been like for them, it had clearly left its mark.

He knew now, in a vague way, that they were meant to be emotionless. Terrified was not a word one would ascribe to an emotionless being, but it was the one his instincts chose, regardless.

He could not rule out his own bias, plain as the matter seemed. He had grown attached to the little vessel that dogged his footsteps through Hallownest. Would have been hard-pressed not to—they were some of the only friendly company he encountered, and he had been thoroughly charmed even before they squirmed onto a bench next to him and dozed off, their little horns tipping forward and their breathing slowing almost to a stop. They had been cool, almost chilled, their shell soft and leathery, as if not yet fully formed, and he had watched them as they slept with wonder equal to that with which he regarded the vast, silent ruin of Hallownest, somehow knowing even in his ignorance that here beside him was a mystery deeper than the lowest reaches of the kingdom.

They had never spoken to him, of course, and now he knew why. But neither had they seemed as blank or as passive as he now knew they should have been.

They were the first living vessel he had met, and they seemed to truly live, despite every influence that should have stolen that away from them.

He glanced up at the doorway once again and nearly startled. Hornet had appeared there, chin tucked into her cloak ruff, the string of tiktiks in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.

Quirrel cleared his throat. “They’re asleep?”

“They are.” Her voice was low, and rough, as if she’d been breathing smoke. She cleared her own throat, proffered the tiktiks. “Have you eaten?”

He nodded, flicking his antennae casually. “I ate my fill while I hunted. I should not need to eat again for some time.”

“How long?” she insisted, and he could see tired calculations running behind her eyes, supplies added and subtracted, time gained and lost.

“Comfortably, I can wait a day, perhaps two. And I believe my diet will include more plant matter than yours, by necessity. That catch was intended for you.” And then, when she still seemed to hesitate, he reconsidered. “Although I did not factor in your sibling, or what they may require.”

“They have told me they do not eat.” She picked the seat nearest the doorway, setting the papers aside and immediately slicing one tiktik free from the string.

Any questions Quirrel might have had about this development vanished as she slipped her claws beneath the animal’s shell, expertly prying the sections open and sinking her fangs into the flesh beneath.

He was not unacquainted with spiders, having encountered several varieties in his travels, across a range of environments that provoked vast differences in culture and habit. Most predator species in general shared Hallownest’s principles about restricting sapient species from their diet, allowing for cases of ritual capture and consumption as an aspect of warfare, periods of extreme hunger, or the occasional crime of opportunity, often punished harshly. Therefore, he rarely had cause to fear for his shell as a prey species, only needing to defend himself against the more mundane offenses common to travelers.

Instincts, however, were another matter.

He felt his antennae shrink down slowly at the sight of Hornet’s pale fangs emerging in full from beneath her mask, attached to a robust set of chelicerae as black and glossy as her shell. He jolted faintly in surprise as she extended her lower jaw to hold the tiktik in place until her venom took effect, weakening the muscle structure enough for her to tear off and fold a sizable chunk into her mouth, leaving smears of rich blue across her fangs.

He counted himself lucky that she appeared too hungry to notice his discomfiture, tearing back into the tiktik with a singleminded focus that made him reassess his estimate of her last decent meal. Curiosity overtook his immediate unease, especially when he noticed what seemed to be a tongue darting between her fangs to catch the drops of hemolymph—not a feature he had ever expected to see on a spider.

She would likely not be comfortable if he asked for a closer look, so he restrained that impulse, too.

By the time she started on the second tiktik, mere moments after finishing the first, he felt he had wrestled his expression into appropriate neutrality. He refused to fault her on her manners, not when she ate like she was half-starved, or like he might reach out and snatch her dinner from her if she paused to breathe.

She made quick work of it, leaving a second empty shell rocking on the countertop and pausing to lick the blue from her claws. Then she glanced up, seeming to remember he was there.

Rather than ducking her head or turning away, she stared at him flatly. “You act like you’ve never seen a spiderwyrm feed before.”

Quirrel choked on a laugh, recalling at the last moment that her sibling was asleep in the next room. “Indeed, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

Hornet huffed and went back to cleaning her jaws, tucking her fangs back under her mask, leaving the third tiktik untouched. He wondered if she was sated or if it was survivor’s instinct, to store away anything you did not immediately need. Her experience was drastically different than his—she had had relative stability, the ability to return to the same places again and again, to build up resources and form alliances. Whereas he had been constantly moving, foraging, seeking out shelter in new places, never settling long enough to gather supplies, taking with him only what he could carry—

Hornet was speaking. He shook himself. “Pardon?”

The flat stare was back. Or maybe it had never left, and he had just lost his grip on reality for a moment. That grip wasn’t the strongest these days.

“I said,” she repeated, slowly, “I was glad that you recognized what I was asking. I did not expect my sibling to be so… wary of you.”

He cocked his head, lost for a moment until he remembered what she referred to. “Ah.” Glancing round at the kitchen, he raised a hand to indicate the empty shelves and cold stove. “I am rather disappointed that there’s no tea to be had.”

“I haven’t bothered foraging any. I never gained a taste for it.”

“Carnivores rarely do.” He leaned forward, resting both forearms on the counter. “As for your sibling… I regret having frightened them so.”

When she said nothing in response, merely gazing at the speckled marble between them, he spoke again, softer. “They have endured much, it seems.”

“Too much.” A tremor crept into her voice, before she inhaled and steadied it. “Entirely too much.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a weight of grief hanging behind her own, something he had glimpsed the barest edges of in their encounter on the lakeshore, something he was beginning to fully understand now. Something he sensed that she would have hidden from him, if she’d been able to.

A desperate, wrenching, long-delayed grief, heavy and overwhelming, much like his own, perhaps, pushed away until it could be avoided no longer.

He did not know what he could do to lighten it, not when his own weighed on him just as heavily, but he couldn’t bear not to try.

With a sigh, he leaned back slightly and gestured to the supplies he had piled to one side. “Perhaps this will compensate in some way for my lateness. I made a few stops on the road, partly for myself, and partly for you.” As she leaned forward for a better look, he hastened to say, “Some of this will not be helpful, I see now—I knew only that you were caring for someone injured, not how badly, or…”

“Or how large?” she suggested, reaching to pick up a bottle of resin, intended as part of a kit to patch cracked chitin. It would have sufficed for a major wound on a bug his size. On the Hollow Knight, it might fill a single one of the gaping holes in their chest, but not much more. Their statue in the City below had no indication that it was true to height.

How they were still breathing with damage that severe, he did not care to ask at the moment.

“Or how large,” he conceded. He pushed aside the rest of the kit, handing her instead a cracked shellwood case with tarnished buckles. “These may still be of use, however.”

Hornet took the case and turned it over in her hands before setting it on the counter, flipping the latches, and lifting the lid.

She went still.

Suddenly. And entirely. There was no twitch of surprise, no intake of breath, not a single clue what she was feeling, only that something about the contents of that case had made her briefly cease—well, everything. He did not even think she was breathing.

He leaned to the side, attempting to get a better look at her face, or to meet her eyes. She didn’t respond. Or seem to notice him at all.

“...Hornet?”

○

Quirrel said something. It might have been her name.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

She didn’t know if she was feeling everything, or nothing, or perhaps one very strong thing, but something had taken hold of her as she looked down into the case full of gleaming metal implements, something that would not let her go.

They were pristine, set in a short black velvet, untouched by rust or tarnish, brighter even than her own needle. At a glance, she could not even name all of the tools shining at her fingertips, but their collective purpose was clear.

Surgical instruments. Forceps, scalpels, needles, nimble shears of the kind used for cutting shell. The sort of kit a traveling medic would use, all of their most vital tools at the ready, somehow still well cared-for even though the owner had surely long vanished. For removing stuck molts, or embedded objects, or damaged limbs that would need regrown.

Or for draining burning light from beneath her sibling’s shell, and reshaping what remained. Making their body their own again, even if she had to stain her hands once more to do so.

The meal turned over in her stomach.

Perhaps she should not have eaten so much, or so fast.

As if breaking free from stone, she reached into the case with one claw, brushing the handle of a silver syringe. The scalpels were still sharp when she lifted one to test its edge, the forceps opening and closing smoothly, as if their hinges were oiled only yesterday.

Her work with the shelling knife seemed suddenly more crude, more cruel, than ever, though she knew—she knew—she’d had no choice. She’d nearly thrown the knife away when she found it on the floor while she was cleaning; only the looming task of reopening the remaining wounds had prevented her from doing so. It had still been the best tool she had for the job, even if it made her hand shake to hold it. Stashing it out of sight in a drawer was all she could manage.

And now—

She closed the case, pushing everything she was feeling inside of it as she did so, snapping the latches shut on the sharp edges of her grief and guilt and revulsion. She had to resist pressing it close to her, holding the lid shut, as if Quirrel might glimpse the emotions she was hiding from him.

“Yes,” she murmured, setting it on the counter instead. Her voice was as cold and steady as her hands. “They will, indeed, be of use.”

“I’d hoped so,” Quirrel said, and his tone left room for her to fill in the gaps, to answer the questions he had not asked.

She did not.

He rubbed his fingertips together, clearly uncomfortable but not willing to pry. She thanked the stars unseen that he was the kind of polite she had once thought foolish, the kind that hid behind niceties and circled the point of every interaction. If she imagined having this conversation with someone more like herself, the only emotion she could muster was exhaustion.

“Ah.” The cricket shook himself, reached for another item. “I brought this as well.” He set a tarnished metal cannister in the center of the table, then slid open a panel to reveal a cool, steady glow and several lumaflies dancing within. A hooded lantern.

“This is heavier than anything I would normally carry, and I suspect your eyesight in the dark is quite good, but the City does get dim during the night cycle.” He left the lantern open, casting a wide swath of bluish light across the dusty kitchen, and placed two more items before it—a stoppered bottle and two rolls of white linen. “I also happened across some disinfectant and bandages, although, once again, I suspect there is less here than would be truly useful.

“Although…” He tapped the bottle’s cork with one finger. “I do seem to recall that void was resistant to all forms of infection, not only dream-borne. In which case, perhaps it would be better to reserve this for any potential injuries you or I might incur.”

Hornet said nothing once he finished rambling, wondering if he would again attempt to fill the silence. When he only flicked his antennae and leaned back in his chair, she regarded him—and the rather remarkable array of things he had looted for her—with distant disbelief.

She hadn’t quite made herself realize that he was here, that he hadn’t simply changed his mind and struck out for the Wastes. What she offered him was only another duty unasked for, an exhausting, unglamorous task that she should not have burdened anyone with but herself.

She owed a debt. Quirrel did not. And yet he was sitting at her counter in the cool, lively light of the lumaflies, having brought her a meal, and another set of willing hands, and the very tools she needed to do the job that she’d been dreading.

Another piece of evidence that he wasn’t real, but she doubted she was dreaming. Her dreams were never so agreeable.

She prodded at the thought that this was an illusion sent by the Radiance, meant to seize her mind and warp it into servitude, but could not truly consider it. She doubted anything aimed at infecting her would make her so… uncomfortable.

Aware that she had sat in silence for far longer than was polite, she took a breath, and nodded, and made herself say something.

“I… did not expect all this.” Awkward. And revealing. She sat up straighter. “This will, in fact, make amends for your lateness.”

Quirrel huffed a laugh, half amused, half disbelieving. He relaxed into the chair a little more and bowed his head. “You’re most gracious, your Highness.”

She stiffened, but let it pass, sure that if she remarked on it he would make a point to do it again. He had so far refrained from calling her a princess, but the occasional remark was fair game, especially if she insisted on acting like one.

He seemed to notice, but only sat and watched her, his mandibles twitching as if holding back a smile. Thankfully, he let the matter drop, reaching forward to tap the sheaf of papers she had pushed aside. “May I ask what these are?”

Hornet slid them across the table to him, and he sobered as he took them and scanned the first sheet. Rather than explaining, she let him sort through his own conclusions, and she knew when he looked up in faint, bewildered wonder that he had the right of it. “These are signs you’ve taught them?”

“Only the first two pages. The remainder I have reserved for later.”

“I did wonder how they told you they did not eat.” He folded back the first page to compare the signs on the second, then the third.

“I was hoping you could verify that.” She spread her hands, then let them fall limp on the marble. “I have been able to ask them a few questions, but not many, and my knowledge of vessels is… lacking.” Mostly restricted to how to kill them, but she did not say that, not while there was any chance Hollow might hear her.

She did not know what they would do if they ever learned of it. She did not know what she would do. Wrestling with the knowledge herself was bad enough; imagining how her sibling would feel if they knew was enough to make a cold lump of dread rise in her throat.

Eventually. She would tell them when they were ready, although she did not know if she would ever be ready for them to hear it.

Instead of answering, Quirrel looked up. “Do you have a pencil?”

She withdrew a piece of charcoal from her cloak pocket, and he pulled a blank piece of paper from the back of the stack. “Proper note-taking will serve us later, I suspect.” He hesitated, flipping the charcoal back and forth in his fingers, and then swallowed and moved on. “Begin with what you’ve learned through observation, and we will move on to theory afterward.”

“Very well.” She could see the wisdom in that; better to have her memory unclouded by conjecture. Casting about for somewhere to start, she landed on the pile of sketched signs by Quirrel’s elbow and decided that was as good a topic as any.

Taking a long breath and lacing her hands together, she began, “Like other vessels, they appear to be entirely mute. Except for what sound occurs when they breathe, as you heard. I recall them being silent when I was young—”

Quirrel interrupted her with a sharp look. “You had contact with them before?”

“Of course.” Her answer sounded cold, indignant, and Quirrel did not deserve it. He had never met her before leaving the kingdom. Likely he had never even been to the Palace; it was a rare thing to receive an invitation.

She softened her next words intentionally, though speaking of her fostering always made her draw inward, like a baldur into its shell, recalling the bright lights and strange faces. “I was brought to the White Palace as an adolescent. My sibling was fully grown then, although any contact I had with them was incidental. And short-lived.”

He nodded, finished his sentence, and hovered over the next paragraph, waiting for her to continue.

“I suspect what sound they make now is the result of damage to their lungs and throat. At one point, I asked them to speak to me, if they could. They… appeared to try, though nothing happened.”

Quirrel hummed, and the charcoal scratched over the page with a flourish. He looked up. “They tried to speak to you?”

She looked down, but though her claws ached to clench, she did not let them. “I ordered them to.”

“And they follow your orders?”

“As well as they can.” She huffed. “Sometimes too well. I suspect that some of what I ask of them may be contradicting with commands they received in the past. I have no way to know what other orders they are under.”

“It would be helpful,” Quirrel said, tapping one blunt fingertip on the countertop, “to know everything you have asked them to do, and what they did in response.” His gaze was somehow both distant and intense, not quite seeing her, seeing only possibility. “Start at the beginning. You said you found them in the elevator?”

“Yes.” She paused, recalling what she had told him and what she had left out, filling the gaps in her story like potholes in a crumbling path. “Lying on the platform, as if they had collapsed. I thought they were dead at first, but they stirred when they saw me.”

Squinting, she felt her way back through the exhausted fog of the last few days, back to the white-hot shock of finding her sibling free. “They were unable to stand. I was wary of them attacking me, and they recognized that, I think, and threw their nail down the elevator shaft.”

The thought made her drop off into silence. She saw her sibling once again, pushing up onto their knees with all the strength left in their body, gripping their nail in a shaking hand. She had been too frightened, then, to see it, but the nail had been little more than a crutch, a prop to lean upon, and once they cast it away, they had had nothing.

“They collapsed again, after that.” Her voice was faint, flat, and she made herself swallow and put the strength back into it. “When I saw their wounds, I understood why.”

An intake of air whistled between Quirrel’s mandibles. She ignored it; if she stepped wrong now, she sensed she might crash through the thin planks of her composure, falling down into the pit trap of grief and anger that awaited her. As it was, her voice quavered, a single crack slipping in before she restrained herself. “Their chest was nearly caved in. Multiple stab wounds through to their back. Lesser damage to their legs, slashes and spell burns, the same sort I—”

Stop. Stop.

—the same sort I took, when I fought their sibling.

Quirrel looked up. She didn’t meet his eye.

A long breath. Another, longer breath. She couldn’t admit to that, not here, not now. Couldn’t admit to attempted murder of Quirrel’s friend, the ghostly wanderer he was obviously fond of, the last little vessel that had trailed her through the thickets, their eyes always upturned to track her as she flitted away, leading them deeper, knowing they would follow, luring them into an overgrown arena with high walls and open spaces, where she would have the advantage—

Then again, she had attempted to murder Quirrel, too. Perhaps he expected nothing less of her.

She choked down a half-hysterical laugh before it could bubble to the surface. That was what she was now, what she had always been, since her father had chosen her to do his bloody work. She had been named Protector—of the kingdom, of the Dreamers, of the Black Egg—but her actions had allowed Hollow’s imprisonment, their torture, to continue.

Had there been other vessels who could have taken their place before now? Had she killed or driven away another who might have cut short their suffering? Would they still have their arm, if she had seen the truth sooner? Would their mask be whole? Would they be less terribly afraid of every wrong word spoken, of every moment spent alone?

She had been named Protector. But what was she protecting, really?

Her father’s folly. Her father’s lies.

Quirrel was still staring, damn him, no doubt aware by now that she had had some kind of realization. For a second she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see it, smoldering and black-edged like a hole burnt straight through her, showing the ugly, bloody truth beneath her shell.

This was not something she would confess to. This would not go down in his notes. This was not something that should be remembered—by anyone but her.

This open, seeping wound of guilt was a small price to pay for what she’d done.

“They were infected,” she started again, with difficulty, feeling how her resolve strained, how close she was to breaking through. To her relief, Quirrel only gazed at her a moment longer before beginning to write again, reluctantly. “Their body only—there was no light in their eyes. The cysts had taken over their shoulder, removing their arm, and spread from there, I suspect.”

Blinking away images of bright rot and dark void pooling between the flagstones of the elevator, she pushed on. “I bound them, though they were already weak. I feared they might take me by surprise. I’ve seen them fight; they could have beaten me, easily, in their prime.”

Quirrel made a faint noise, agreeing with her, she thought. Her calm gradually returning as she continued, she told him of the moment the elevator stopped, of the first orders she had given them. She glossed over the long walk through the city, her doubts about the actions she had taken, her utter disregard of how painful that journey must have been—with Hollow splayed out behind her on the rough stone, cold rain soaking them through, still bleeding, still dying, as she dragged them through the streets and into the dingy house. She’d almost forgotten dropping them as soon as she made it through the door, and she winced but related that as well, knowing it was the least of the pain she had caused them.

Perhaps she could explain the logic behind that much of her actions, without venturing too close to the reason she had clung so tightly to believing it.

“I had been told that vessels felt no pain.” By her mother, first—though looking back now, she wondered if Herrah had believed everything she told her daughter in that moment. That, though, was a revelation for another time; she pushed it away, only to be met with the memory of her father’s last meeting with her, when he had reiterated what Herrah told her.

Her body went cold. With fear, with rage. She wasn’t sure. But she could still see the slow, considering tilt of his head as he looked her up and down, still feel the blur of her thoughts as she clung to her identity in the presence of a deity, still hear the echoing clack of the empty mask he set on the table between them, bone meeting marble in the ringing space of the Pale King’s audience chambers.

“You have a new duty.”

His voice, half whisper, half unearthly rumble, was as clear and inescapable in her mind as it had been then, and she twitched her head, as if to throw off chilly drops of rain.

Not now. She was not revisiting that now.

What was wrong with her? Her mind was spitting out horrors like an aspid full of venom, nightmares catching up with her before she fell asleep. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or perhaps the act of confessing what she’d done, even in part; the tiniest trickle was enough to weaken a dam.

Pathetic. She had to keep it together. Quirrel was not here to listen to her spill all her greatest regrets onto the table between them; he was here to help Hollow.

Helping her sibling. That was something she could latch her claws into, a reason to push the memories away, a reason to continue the story without another glance back.

She hoped.

The scholar was looking at her again. Shit. What had she said last?

Breathe. In, out. Shaky, but it helped.

“I had been told,” she repeated, “that vessels did not feel at all. Pain, certainly, but also fear, anger, grief—anything that mortal bugs understood. I was told that they were not even alive, in a sense, that they were merely empty corpses walking.” She swallowed. “I certainly would have treated them better, had I known that was not true.”

Quirrel heaved a sigh, and she looked up, eager to shed the burden of his attention. At her questioning glance, he dropped his chin in his hand, heavily. “I had wondered,” he said, his voice losing some of its polish, becoming rough around the edges. “Before—well.”

He paused, and tapped the charcoal on the paper. “I tried not to question anyone else’s role in the perpetuation of the kingdom. Only my own. Then the Wastes took even that knowledge from me, and every doubt I had was scattered to the winds.”

“Are you a poet, as well as a scholar?” Hornet mused quietly, half teasing.

“I assure you I am neither,” he returned, with a sidelong look at her. “As I said before, I was only the Madam’s assistant. I did not know enough of the plan to see its flaws.” Another sigh, this one deeper. “But she did.”

“And she sent you away,” Hornet said, a slow chill growing in her stomach. “She saw reason to fear.”

He shook his head and leaned back. “I still do not know what she feared, exactly, though it could not be much worse than what came to pass.” Pausing for a long moment, he seemed to lose focus, to lose sight of the room once again, and she had to wonder if she looked as lost as he did when she slipped into the past, if her shoulders slumped, too, and the shine left her eyes. “To come back to it now…”

She clenched her claws, sinking them into her palmpads, leaving dents in the callused skin. She had no room for pity, when Quirrel had been spared the worst of it. He had come home to a rotting corpse. She had been forced to watch it die.

“They were never hollow, were they,” he said, faintly, as if from a great distance.

“No.” By contrast, her whispered reply was too close, almost smothered, barely stirring the air around her mask. “Not as they were meant to be.”

“Perhaps she knew of the vessel’s impurity,” he continued, flatly, as if it didn’t matter. “Perhaps she knew that the seals would soon be all that stood between this kingdom and oblivion.”

“A poor job they did,” Hornet said, though something in her flinched at profaning her mother’s sacrifice. Nothing, it was all for nothing, and she had feared that for so long that she had almost forgotten what a ruin she stood in. To speak the truth of it, after everything that had happened, still hurt—like pulling a splinter from a wound that had already healed over.

Quirrel only huffed. “A poor job, indeed,” he said, rubbing one hand over the top of his head, brushing his long antennae back and then letting them rise again, slowly. He picked up the charcoal again and sat forward, a clear end to his reverie. “Please, continue.”

She grasped for the thread of conversation again, finding it more difficult than before. With the lanternlight flickering across the kitchen, and the heavy drone of rain on the dark windowpanes, the evening seemed timeless, but it must be drawing late.

In a sudden fit of paranoia, she tilted her head to the side, listening for any stir from the other room, and heard only the faintest whistle at the peak of Hollow’s inhale. A long, long moment passed before she heard it again, confirming that they were still unaware of the discussion going on while they slept.

It would be some time before she could join them.

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thatguywiththefaceog · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 Day 12- Costumes

The Owl House-Lumity

On the eve of Halloween, Luz and Amity get really involved in playing their characters, and it leads them to new discoveries

written by @kinktober2023

requested by anon on tumblr

Warning the following story contains fictional minors in sexual situations. If this makes you uncomfortable or are under 18 please do not read. This story is rated E for explicit and is for adults only. This story is a complete work of fiction.

It was the night before Halloween, and Luz was putting the finishing touches on her Halloween costume. Amity had suggested an Aurza and Hecate theme custom and damn it was such a good idea, even with her down attitude that Luz said yes.

She was seeing how the hat would work with the green wig. She turned her head and neither the hat or wig fell off. The 14-year-old was standing in her (now) shared bedroom; looking over her costume in front of a full body mirror.

Willow’s head popped in. “She’s decent.” It was difficult to share a single room between four teens without everyone seeing a bit of T&A. It wasn’t such a big deal save for the couple, who tried to preserve their privacy with each other. Sure enough after Willow’s head went back in, Amity shuffled in. Luz’s throat went dry. Man, Amity looked beautiful dressed as Hecate. She seemed to have other opinions.

“This is a disaster!”

“Amity, what's wrong? Your costume looks amazing! And so book accurate.”

“Book accurate? Book accurate?! Luz I only have one face! Hecate has two. It’s her thing! I look like a poser.”

“Well maybe we could make something-”

“Already tried. I used a paper plate but I couldn’t keep it on my face.”

“Maybe Gus could…”

“That requires too much concentration and I don’t want him to miss a new human holiday.”

“Hmm, that is quite a pickle. Does it matter? Amity, your costume is incredible; second face or no.” Amity could only sigh. Luz racked her brain. “Hecate. How dare you say something so awful about my true love.” Remembering how the scene went in the book, she took Amity’s hand. “Your eyes sparkle like the greatest stars in the night sky. Your voice is merrier than the most musical of bells. And your lips are sweeter than the rippest of fruit.” Her face was inches from Amity’s.

“So we’re doing that scene?”

Luz blushed and pulled away embarrassed. The scene she was quoting was rather infamous in the Azura fandom. It’s from book five, where Azura says this to Hecate and they kiss… and the book jumps to the next chapter, where it is morning and the two characters are in bed together. It is about as risque as a 6-11 year old targeted series could get. It had become quite the meme.

“No, this isn’t wasn’t I-”

Amity took Luz’s hand. “Azura, you are the bravest, cleverest, and the most beautiful witch to walk this land. My heart is yours.” Their lips melted together in a burst of passion. Amity’s hands groped Luz’s chest while Luz’s hands explored Amity’s backside. The kiss broke. “Are we doing this?” Amity asked.

“I’m game if you are Blight.”

The teens resumed kissing. Carefully, they removed each other's clothes as they didn’t want to damage each other's Halloween costumes. It was the most care any 14-year-olds ever had when undressing each other. This was the first time Luz and Amity really had a chance to see each other’s bodies. While staying in the Noceda’s home, they had been some awkward moments of walking into the bedroom while changing but Luz and Amity did their best that those remain accidental and quick peeks. Never before had they drunk in each other's forms.

Luz’s brown skin was complemented by black nipples, both of which were hard against her small breasts. Luz was never much for grooming, and her bush was rather noticeable nude. Amity's pink nipples was similarly hard on her tiny boobs. But back on the Boiling Isles, Amity kept herself downstairs completely hair free. But human realm razors scared her. While she used them for her pits and legs (those were visible depending on the outfit.), she was not willing to put one of those things near her privates. So she had a small patch of fuzz the same color as her roots. Amity felt so embarrassed, her body hair exposed to her girlfriend.

But Luz didn't care. Fiercely, more passionately than they ever did before; it set their whole bodies a flame. Luz moved toward Amity’s neck while her rough tomboy fingers carcassed Amity’s tiny bush. They soon moved lower down to her sex. Her vagina was already wet and hot. "Amity, can I touch it?"

"Gahmm, yes. Please."

The witch gasped as Luz’s fingers penetrated her. Luz was nervous, never really done anything like this before. She recalled what she liked to do to herself while masturbating, and tried to mimic that. It seemed to have worked as Amity writhed under Luz’s touch. The human repeatedly kissed her as she was fingered.

"Luz, Luz, Luuuz!" Amity’s whole body shook as she came, her pussy squirting furiously.

As Luz sat back down and started wiping her hands with some kleenex, Amity made her way toward her girlfriend. Luz giggled as she felt a series of kisses up and down her thighs. Amity’s own fingers made their way to Luz’s own snatch. Her pink walls, wet with slick, shone against her brown skin. Luz’s head rolled as she took in the pleasure of getting finger banged.

Amity was determined to make Luz feel as good as Luz made her feel. Luz’s walls quivered around the witch's fingers.

"Oh Amity. Oh Amity!"

Luz came, squirting slightly less than Amity did, but the lavender haired witch's face was much closer, so much if it ended on her face.

"Oh Amity! I'm sorry. Here." As Luz wiped her slick if her girlfriend's face, Amity kissed her.

"I see why they skipped this scene in the chapter."

"I don't know. This was the best scene in the series."

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #the owl house #lumity #sour lemon

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dailycharacteroption · 6 months

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Retrograde Revision 2: Arcane Bomber

(art by AppleSin on DeviantArt)

Ah yes, the Arcane Bomber, an archetype that grants the explosive power of bombs to traditional wizards. In retrospect with classes like arcanist having powerful non-spell blasting exploits, the drawbacks for this archetype seem a bit overly conservative, giving up a lot to give a wizard the ability to create explosive splash weapons and then enhance them by sacrificing spells, but it does do a decent job experimenting with how to combine features from one class to another in a unique way, paving the way for other “cross-class” archetypes in the future.

In any case, on to the archetype itself!

While many wizards consider the works of alchemy quaint compared to true magic, there are those, particularly those with a love of transmutation and evocation magic, that see the value in an alchemist’s more explosive arsenal.

They may be obsessed with expressing elemental power in every way possible, or perhaps lay alchemists eager to experiment with combining arcane magic with alchemical works, or perhaps even soldiers in a military perfecting all sorts of minor blasts in addition to those provided by their spells.

The bombs that these wizards create are very similar to alchemist’s bombs, though instead of being fiery by default, they instead choose what their initial element is. What’s more, if they cross-train into true alchemy, their bombing expertise stacks, albeit with limitations such as being unable to modify them with alchemical discoveries.

What truly sets them apart is their ability to sacrifice a prepared spell to improve both the accuracy and the yield of the bomb in question, turning a potentially unused spell into fuel for a potent blast. However, this is at the cost of learning the basics of cantrips, forcing them to expend spell energy to cast magical detection and read magic spells, leaving other useful cantrips unavailable to them.

What’s more, their focus on this hybrid style of study replaces a traditional arcane school, and is so intensive that they have twice as many opposition schools as most other wizards, highly limiting what they can cast without restrictions.

If your plan is to make a caster that blasts all day, this archetype may be appealing, but on the other hand, what you lose out of it may be too much to justify for many. Honestly the biggest point of contention is what four schools to keep. Evocation seems obvious with their focus on damage dealing, but there are arguments for keeping any of the others no matter how you slice it. In any case, any spells they learn in their opposition schools are likely downtime utility spells in order to not burn double the spell slots for the same benefit when it comes time to sacrifice a spell for a bomb. No matter what schools you choose to keep, I would recommend a healthy mix of blasting and a variety of other spells so you retain some use beyond combat, but can still burn them for bomb damage when needed. Also, definitely pick up the Extra Bombs feat at least once, if not more.

In the previous version of this entry from ten years ago, I did mention how military backgrounds are pretty common with this archetype, but that hardly needs to be the case, nor do you have to fall into mad-bomber stereotypes. These could be inventor types eager to test the limits of both chemistry and magic along a very narrow field, or stoic professionals working in a specialized area either above or below the board.

The Stormpitcher Brigade was once the premiere fighting force of the kingdom of Myrdich, specializing in invading enemy fortresses, softening them up with lightning and electrical bombs. However, with the pushes towards peace, the brigade is out of work, and the horror of their actions during the conflicts are beginning to catch up to them. Its only a matter of time before some of them snap.

Though other peoples look down on them, the ratfolk of Halbonden provide an invaluable service, clearing the city of is chronic giant vermin and swarm problems with arcane explosives and spells. When the exterminators go underground without explaining why, the city is placed in grave peril, as the winter thaw approaches, heralding the thickest plague of insects of any time of the year.

The bourgeoisie of Tvars Brund have held the practice of arcane magic, an import from their oread immigrants, to be illegal for decades. Tension boils over as the stony folk argue that their culture is being suppressed, and now militant cells have began popping up, armed with a payload of magical destruction. The situation needs to be handled carefully before the metaphorical and literal powder keg goes off.

#pathfinder #retrograde revision #archetype #wizard #arcane bomber #ratfolk #oread #Ultimate Combat

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rocketonthemoon · 2 months

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Not good but “correct” ending? That’s quite the stance

so i'm gunna preface all of this by admitting a) I still haven't seen all of the show (i'm missing a couple of episodes basically from 3/4/ and quite a bit from 5) and that b) it's been a while since I last watched the parts of the show I HAVE seen so. Bear with me

But yes. I absolutely believe this was the Correct ending for the CWSG's version of Kara. like I said, from the get go, the Kara we're introduced to struggles with her dual lifestyle. Becoming Supergirl makes her feel free and confident. She's EXCITED by being able to use her powers and be more of herself instead of hiding all the time. Kara's regularly confronted for being a bad liar - both by the show going 'haha isn't this silly' and by the characters - and personally I view her hard line of "you lied to me" that she draws with other characters comes from her extreme dislike of the fact that she's lying about herself. She comes out to at least one character every season except maybe 3? And every time her behavior with those characters transforms into Kara becoming more comfortable and more herself. And no matter how you view Kara's relationship with Lena, the reveal and the aftereffect is the big push through the season both plot and character-wise

For all of the writing's faults, the one line they did manage to make through the entire season is Kara's struggle with her dual identity. I don't even like calling it "secret" because I think they do actually a decent job of showing that Kara views - or at least wants - her life not as a secret but rather two halves that she can't seem to make fit together. How much of that throughline is Melissa Benoist's understanding and evolution of Kara as a character (the famous interview at the end where she admits to apparently pitching Kara's ending makes me suspect it was quite a bit) and how much of that was actual show projection, I don't think we'll actually ever know. But for this version of Kara that we sat with through 6 seasons of TV with, anything else for a character arc would've just felt static imo. If CWSG can say it's about anything, it can say it's Kara's journey of self discovery.

#Anonymous #Ask a Rocket #listen I'm very out of practice of doing meta analysis on television shows #also it's 4 in the afternoon and I'm technically at work right now #so this is the best we're gunna get spur of the moment #Rocket watches Supergirl #sure that feels like a good tage to throw this under #man I really need to rewatch/finish watching the whole damn show #Supergirl #please do not come into my inbox telling me how wrong I am #I can promise you I do not give a fucking shit

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nightmare-the-cat · 2 months

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Crimson Wings III

Hunter becomes Lucifer’s equivalent of a secretary, using a Rune Stone (old time hell newspaper/mail dispenser) and the radio to keep up with current goings on-with all the facts he can gather.

…………

There had been a rather important change in Lucifer’s routine as of late.

“Sir-I have the daily report ready, if you’re ready for it”

The voice was timid, but it was a far cry better than the complete silence they’d started with. Lucifer chuckled and turned in his seat, current project in hand, to find Hunter waiting stiffly for permission to begin.

With just a little hand wave, all the tension in his shoulders melted away, and the little blonde began his self-assigned daily report once more.

“Okay, so starting with what you seemed to care about most from previous reports, here is an update regarding the discovery of that dead Exorcist after the latest Extermination-its been released that only a severed head had been recovered, no sign of a body, so I suppose now we know why the next Extermination is in four months instead of ten” Hunter hummed, pacing back and fourth with a little bit of flourish. “Your daughters hotel on the edge of Pride has another confirmed resident-side note, the amount of disrespect towards her in the media is borderline disturbing-and that, quote, “off brand shithole” Loo Loo Land in Greed has burned down-“

The report continued on for the next ten minutes, Hunter always starting with what Lucifer would deem most important or relevant, then going down a list of things that could be of note, all ended with the flimsy “gossip” and “business” sections that were mostly there for Hunters sake.

At the end of the report, Lucifer stuck the finished rubber duck on Hunters head, this one stylized to look like a Blue Jay, another little habit they’d gotten into.

“Nope, Flapjack wasn’t one of those either-but it’s a decent guess” the blonde hummed with a smile, retrieving the little bird from his head and carefully placing it on the “Incorrect Guess” shelf, right below a tiny outcrop labeled “Flapjack”. “Shall I move on to your mail? We’ve finally reached the end of our catch-up summaries-and there’s even a few messages for today”

“Of course” Lucifer hummed, taking note of how far to the right the latest guess was placed, before gathering up his cup of lukewarm tea and settling back down. “I’m sure the Goetia are going off on me for ignoring them”

“Well, you’re half right. But for a start, last months mail-all of it was junk, but there’s some things of interest-phony ransoms via some imp mafia, a report from a hell incident on earth involving Beelzejuice and… a fish, and some tabloids speculating about possible relations between an imp and one of the big seven-nothing new there” the boy hummed, quickly moving down the scroll. “Onto current events-I’ve managed to get you off the list of all those junk adverts someone signed you up for, as today was free and clear!”

“Ah, what would I have done without you?” Lucifer chuckled, to which Hunter cackled, turning to face the king of hell with amusement.

“Been buried alive like I was when you finally checked your Rune Stone-that’s what” the boy hummed, before turning back to his list, ignorant of the proud smile that was sent his way. “Now-there are some demands here from the Ars Goetia for a formal party….”

…………

Another perk of having Hunter as a (self-appointed) sort of secretary around the manor was that the boy brought up a lot of good points about the current state of hell. For instance, despite his discomfort with voicing his personal opinions on political matters, he was not afraid to speak up if he felt something needed to be addressed.

In this case, it was more like something that needed to be checked up on.

“So, I’ve gathered you haven’t been checking in on the other major sins since… seven years ago, approximately?”

It wasn’t too out of the blue of a question-Hunter sometimes dictated Lucifer’s mail responses due to his insane speed-writing skills, not to mention his rifling and summation of all the unread mail from the last five years. Nowadays he did his secretarial work in the corner of Lucifer’s study, both from Lucifer’s own insistence, and the logical idea that he could ask relevant questions without feeling like he was intruding on something.

“Mm-yeah, pretty much. Lilith was more invested in keeping the Sins in check, though” Lucifer hummed, gently sculpting a crest on his current little red-breasted rubber-robin-duck. “They’re mostly kind of…. How to put this appropriately…. Assholes?”

“And… you don’t think it’s a BAD idea to leave the other rings of hell to their own devices? Unchecked?” Hunter questioned, which gave Lucifer pause. “Far be it from me to tell you what should be done, but I DO have experience in managing a similar political climate-even if the prophet-king in charge was an obsessive control freak-and leaving the only people who can challenge your power to their own devices can have pretty… INTENSE, consequences”

For the second time that day, Lucifer turned to look at Hunter, who had a rather strained expression on his face.

“Okay” Lucifer said slowly, filing that disturbing bit of information away for later. It was screaming “cult” vibes and he was NOT liking it-but Hunter did have a point that needed to be addressed. “What do you propose I do now?”

“Well, for starters, a voluntary meeting within the next month-it will tell you which sins are power hungry boot lickers, curious about your motives, or legitimately loyal to you. It’s enough prep time for me to make the manor look presentable, but soon enough that it will only be a priority for sins who care” the blonde explained, quickly scribbling down a little chart with the crests of the other sins and a timetable. “Then, once we know who’s interested, and you casually talk about whatever policies you want to enforce, we make a second, mandatory meeting date at a later time for ALL sins- including an escort for those who try to blow it off-and make ironclad proclamations about what codes of conduct the sins need to follow going forward-and appropriate consequences for code violations”

It was very apparent Hunter had been thinking on this for a while. If Lucifer was honest, it sounded like a fair and reasonable plan of action, gouging out supporters before making non-negotiable laws. It also gave those who held support a voice before the laws would be solidified.

This wasn’t just “political experience”, this was political EXPERTISE-at least in a climate similar to hell. The ramifications of that made Lucifer squirm a little on the inside. Hunter himself had admitted he died young-like, MINOR young, what kind of person had put a BOY in charge of a government? He didn’t know-but if he ever found the sinner responsible, it would not be a pretty execution.

“I’ll admit-this is a good plan, and you have a point about my negligence in keeping the sins in line” Lucifer hummed, slinking up to the boy and giving the little chart a look over. Hunter flinched when Lucifer then cupped the side of his face, the side with that scar, but didn’t pull away. “This… “political experience” you speak of… were you given any power of your own over others?”

“Oh, heavens no. My title was mostly just that-a title. I had no real power-just a name to be respected” the blonde admitted, trying to look away, but Lucifer held his head in place. “…I was an errand boy at best. My opinion held no weight. Anything I brought up to improve political relations was thrown out. I was a figurehead-and that was it, though I didn’t realize it until….”

Hunter went silent, and Lucifer let him look away this time, hand moving to the boys armored shoulder instead.

He never questioned the choice of armor on a sinner before, but…

It didn’t bode well for what this boys life experience had been.

“Well, you’re here with me now, and I think you have a good head on your shoulders” Lucifer chuckled, ruffling the boys hair before summoning up a little manifesto of his own. “Now, why don’t we start planning a little shindig for our impending guests? If we want to reclaim some order in hell, it’s best to have a warm welcome waiting for them!”

#au #the owl house #hazbin hotel #hunter noceda #lucifer morningstar #crimson wings

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capn-queer · 5 months

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Actually did some art for once, so. Woo! It's been a while, kinda been just idling trying to figure out how to make good 3d models, but I decided that like. Yeah I should just try making some 2d stuff because it's been a while. And I did. And I enjoyed it.

There's two, a Warframe character and a D&D character, don't know if I should be splitting this up into two posts but like. There's not really a tutorial or anything for using Tumblr as far as I'm aware and it seems unlikely many people will see this anyway so even if it's a bit bothersome, it shouldn't be Too bothersome.

Anyways, first one, this is Damhnait, named after the singer for Sleeping in the Cold Below. They're my Tenno OC because Warframe has been taking up my time in Destiny's stead now that the sunk cost fallacy's not holding me down. They're a bit of a bigger kid compared to a lot of the others on the Zariman, and because of that they felt responsible when everything went to shit, and tried to keep at least their little group together, which they managed pretty well, eventually ending up starting a clan and building a dojo with their friends.

Fast forwards a bit after first waking up, they're... not doing so hot as a faceless super soldier still, but they're not doing terribly, more just strangely empty as they go about their life up until the point the Second Dream happens.

They aren't the one who makes the discovery but to be fair it doesn't matter that much when you find out everything you thought you knew about yourself was built up on a lie, that lie being the idea that you and the people you are ordering to fight are adults and not a bunch of literal child soldiers.

Obviously, they are not exactly Okay after that little revelation and have not Transferred back into any of their Warframes even Once after recovering their real body, instead being carried around like in the Second Dream most of the time, also not being the most physically healthy just in general and due to that being pretty much wheelchair bound. I mean. If that wheelchair was a humanoid-killing machine capable of magnetizing people's bones.

Anyways, I tried to base them off their look in game a decent amount but obviously it's not perfect, their scars especially bother me but I haven't figured out texture for any of my other drawings and I'm certainly not stopping now.

And now onto something relatively more lighthearted, Cosgrove, named after Matt Cosgrove who plays on the TTRPG channel the Third Wheel and also made a bunch of character songs for the PCs and NPCs. He's one of my current player characters, a Wild Magic Sorcerer who had a very normal homelife with parents who love him and a dog and went to Magic Highschool and Magic College just like anyone else, eventually graduating with an ethics degree and becoming a workplace health and safety inspector for the Nine Shrines Merchant's Guild with a serious disposition and a desire to help others.

Only... well, this is a D&D character, so obviously there's problems. Not from what you might think though, this man's as straight-laced and surprisingly average as they come, with a loving family, a decent social life, a stable job, a home to come back to, etc. The only real issue is something he's dealt with his entire life, his magic, something wild and uncontrollable that he's grown to resent over the years, which is what even lead to most of his decisions, to his need for control over himself and deeply unhealthy level of responsibility for others even when reasonably he should be looking out for himself.

He joined the party, not because of his own goals or motivations, but because his best friend, my previous character Indrina Morea, ended up getting seriously messed up in the first fight she was in, not enough to kill her but enough for her to realize that she was not enough for the party as it stood then and there, and for her to make the decision to ask for help, going to the most capable person she knew, who she also knew was a strong magic user even if he actively avoided using any magic.

He's got a deeply unhealthy mindset for an adventurer obviously, adventurers are so deeply varied but they almost all Want things, have their own wants and desires, don't hesitate in dangerous situations and act on their instincts. Cosgrove though... he freezes up, he refuses to use magic unless given proper authorization by either the leader of the party or the highest rank ally available. He uses a gun in most of his fights and doesn't even Have a damaging spell.

He's the weakest link in the party, and the rest of the party doesn't Know it yet, even to him, while it's obvious he isn't exactly suited he doesn't know the extent of it, and it's going to be made Very Clear through various fights, getting singled out and having his weaknesses taken advantage of, and through it all he'll either sink on his own or the other party members will recognize what's going on and push him to start swimming. It's all a matter of whether they'll see the dangers and flaws of his current mindset before it's too late.

As you can tell by... well, all of that, I have a lot more to say about Cosgrove than I do about Damhnait, which makes sense because he's a character that's actively doing stuff and not just in my head while leveling up random items. As for his design, it's pretty simple and formal. I wanted to really hammer home how out of his depth he is here by making him... well, an office worker.

He doesn't look like some hero or even particularly fantastical, he's just a guy, he Wants to be just a guy, he's rejecting himself to be that and he's covered it up so well that if the rest of the party hadn't actively seen him using magic in combat they wouldn't even know. I also largely took inspiration from, well, two Jujutsu Kaisen characters, Nanami and a guy from the manga who I'm not gonna spoil in case any of my friends who wants to watch/read the series read this.

Anyways, that's the two of them. Who knows, maybe I'll post more within a semi-reasonable time-frame if I finish up more pics soon. I have been thinking about drawing my other active and soon to be active D&D characters, and maybe when I get more comfortable with art again I can start doing more complex things than just headshots, all just kinda depends.

At least I'm not working with MS Paint now.

#art #digital art #warframe #tenno #d&d art #d&d character #d&d oc #tenno oc

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forbiddensaintessandsinner · 10 months

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'Resistance was never in me, yes?'

Ship Writing no. 3 Davidson x Mireille (@rosietrace)

TW: Serious Writing Alerted! (Various Choices of Language, Issues of Mental Health, Mireille's Background being explained, Resurrection Side, Angst till Fluff)

_____________________________________________

Within the outback of the campus of RSA (royal sword academy), there stood the pride of the empire... Davidson Novellion. Many may know him very well thanks to his status as heir to the throne and his brother Lance alongside him, many may not stand a chance of his personality.. Especially towards what he wants and he will get it no matter what it takes, regardless of countless reasons that may turn down in regarding favours of his own benefits and desires.

That's the David that everyone has known within the academy, that's for sure.

But till then, as the black-haired man was eventually calculating his time as the clock within his pocket watch was ticking, he was then met by his younger brother Lance.. Which it was barely much in regards to even a decent brother-like conversation despite either of their background. But as they walked passed by.. they were met by a few students who were having a whisper in a secluded area.

"So... Are you sure..? You know, about doing this?"

"Come on man! I mean- It's just a dare. It's just asking her out!"

Well not that the both of the Novellion brothers were even slightly interested in the conversation, though they were planning to walk past them, something certain that caught David's ears.

"Dude, I have a gut feeling that she might reject your offer."

"From that look..? No way!"

"Dude, Blanchefleur may look cute but.. No."

The eldest prince of the empire mostly took a halt into his tracks which startled his younger brother, it wasn't even surprising that he alone can recognize that name anywhere, even if the pronunciation was a bit off, depending on the language itself.

Blanchefleur... By that last name, it's Mireille Blanchefleur. It's been about a couple of weeks since the prince met that strange girl, of course. Strange as in strange as it should be. He'd never seen a senior like her with a strange fire-breathing gerlim sticking to her side like a clingy onto parasite, apparently he had heard that she's the strange prefect in NRC upon their entrance ceremony. The black-haired prince less likely cared about the rumour thanks to his persona- till they met around at an internship between the two rivalry schools.

Of course, their first time meeting was an off start of a rude conversation between the timidity she had alongside her towards the unpredictable attitude he has in him. It felt that two opposites can never get along in them, but the time here moves slowly as a turtle on land till both sides can get an adaptation better than the first one... Which is its prediction that can come true, if you can believe me.

The white-haired woman eventually got used to the prince's upbringing and unbelievable attitude, much to the surprise of the prince himself if you dare ask him. It almost felt like she already knew how intense and controlling his manipulation was... Rather it was an odd setting for the prince to notice but she kept being herself as if something clicked that she knew within a minute. Despite that being revealed between the two seniors within two different yet opposite schools, they still met up as if that discovery of the prince's personality didn't even happen...

Davidson had known well that Mireille herself could be weird as they said, but as if he knew it better than he could think about it, there was no way someone as odd as her could know the dark side of a persona he has kept hidden within. Then again... She didn't even have to take a guess out of it. Which the prince of the empire......

......had felt something off for the first time in a magicless human being he just met...

After remembering the past events, the prince continued to listen to the conversation between the two RSA students. Are they planning a fake setup of a confession? Well, he knew that she looked relatively easy to mess around but he had known that he often ignored that fact he was listening to something that was relatively uninvolved to? Rather then, the prince himself doesn't seem to care about the two students but a tiny bit of wondering if she ever falls for it...?

That shouldn't matter to the prince himself though, but his brother had caught the attention of his older brother and the conversation, but instead of speaking about it he stayed silent. Lance seems to be aware of Mireille after seeing her talking to his older brother a few times when he sees them, but sometimes he often gets caught which the female latter didn't seem to mind.

By the scene itself that anyone almost sees within the campus of the prestigious that rivaled against the other school, it almost felt that the two and the female latter were familiar with one another like a pair of friends back in the past. But the feeling that was understandable to them, David never seemed to know about it himself...

After a long stand of silence, the two students then walked away after agreeing with the plan that involves the female prefect from NRC, the two princes of the empire stayed quiet as they noticed the two students were finally out of sight, but however Lance was about to say a word till his lips were sealed off the minute he saw his brother expression, it was very unreadable to sense from him... But he felt something is a bit off after his overhearing of a conversation that involves the female student from NRC that he only met frequently.

"Brother..." The latter spoke, till he received an unexpected reaction.

"I highly doubt that a white-haired woman like her from NRC would even fall for that baseless trick, besides we have other plans to settle." Replied the black-haired prince as the oldest price then proceeded to walk away, with his younger brother joining him, with a simple muttered that can't be heard of.

"Besides, that white-haired woman.... She isn't even normal."

Only that the night may come at a silent steed...

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

'One' was in the library around this late evening and is currently leaving the room at the same time when the night of the dark night glowed the empty skies of the night, well not in her perspective school that is. The latter was by herself walking around the silent night of the RSA empty hallways, apparently she returned rather a few books that were temporarily borrowed a few weeks back during the book sales within the RSA Academy. The white-haired latter managed to collect her patience to return them the minute nightfall came, currently she was about to head back within a silent walk with her shoes walking without a noise. It looks like she's alone tonight, but however......

'~Crazy that you're walking alone in the dead of tonight.. Aren't you, Mire?~' a sheer female eerie echoed in her mind as the win blows in the silent evening, which the white-haired female prefect kept on walking down the silent dead halls, as a white spectre appeared before her sight, all she can do is sigh at the sight before her.

"Very funny to mention, Lil." Mireille muttered as her soft voice wasn't loud enough to echo throughout the hallway, but it felt that she was familiar with the gastly presence around her, however it sounded like a scolding session for her haunting companion.

'~This school is always at the top prestige against NRC though, but then again the peculiars here are rather fun to see through...~' Lilith hummed lightly, sounding like a lullaby that no one can even see.

"Are you planning on another set of hallucinations on someone again? The last time you did it three days back, Luau would have scolded me for it back at the chapel, and you're getting an extra of it from Rao too if this keeps up to the bottle top." Mireille reminded the ghost beside her, of course how can she forget how mischievous Lilith was? Even after she became a subjection as a haunted within the resurrection side, the ghastly angel's tactics of scaring and using her abilities around every night was now starting to become rather a problem for Mireille.

"And also, Blaine would have planned to do an extreme measurements if anyone finds about you being here with me as a ghost in this realm. Do realize that I have huge responsibility that involves you being here with me as well." The female latter continued as she rubbed her forehead not wanting to deal with another random scream in the middle of the night like this, it would be troublesome to handle.

'~Aww.. No need for that, I just wanted a bit of fun is all~' The female ghost sighed, as if wanting to complain for a bit but Mireille's expression of being serious put her mouth still.

The female prefect sighed as she entered the courtyard of the RSA academy, the gateway back to her NRC isn't that far off. Though it has been a while ever since she got transported here out of nowhere when she herself was about to graduate college and have a decent life ever since her whole past issue had been settled with... But then again, meeting an angelic ghost like Lilith here wasn't part of her plans after escaping her kidnapping and her kidnapper back in the abandoned asylum.....

And even creating an extended haunting scare to end his sanity to drive it crazy as she escaped with the ghost's help... Although she didn't intend to harm the man herself, Mireille herself was defenseless as her knees fell to the floor in that dark room that evening for being helpless with no one to call, plus she had almost killed him... Which is why she stopped the skill that nearly put to a life's risk attempt. Despite the fact that it was all over, it still lingered around her like a collar attached to a dog that needed obedience and discipline.

She wanted to forget everything to this point, it was baring her already now.........

Before Mireille was about to step out of the silent courtyard, Lilith then appeared in her pathway, blocking the exit.

"What now, Lil?" Mireille asked, seeing the ghost in her way but with an expression that she knew so well was on her lips.

'~Not much to ask... What do you think of Prince David?~' The ghost asked, which resulted in the white-haired prefect to raise an eye-brow at the question, as such the confusion entered her face afterward.

"Pardon? Why did you ask?" Mireille replied, wondering what the ghost had been curious about after hearing the word was out from her pale-ish lips. It was rather understanding that Lilith would always be around Mireille as if she was haunting her as her second life depends on it after her kidnapping issue, it wouldn't be surprising that the ghost is now interested in her current relationship with the empire's crown prince.

'~Oh come on! No need to be harsh enough! Tell me, Mire!~' Lilith whined, which Mireille sighed as she crossed her arms looking at Lilith as she was dealing with a kid that is younger than her age of choice.

"Well Lil, it's obvious what kind of personality his highness is after meeting him unfortunately, that's one of his reasons after we talked for the first time in forever a few months back. Well I am someone he and his brother knows now but it's nothing that much of an interesting story to hear for anyone... Well you know how rumors work in these schools. And besides, Lilith. I'm just someone that he knows already." The latter explained, remembering how she met the prince and his younger brother, the starting point was awkward at first till she bared with it afterward till the current point. Mireille then looked at the moonlight glowing through her eyes and hair as she stated in a soft manner... Lilith then smiled at her reply, which the ghost was satisfied with her answer.

As Mireille was about to leave RSA, she looked back at a certain tower of the dormitory of the students residing in... It did take long for her to smile in a gentle manner with a feeling that felt knowing.

"And also.... Resistance is never in me, yes?" She smiled as Lilith chuckled slyly, knowing well of where she was looking at.

As if Lilith can notice that.... Two had then made eye-contact at a farther distance away but the gaze was still there watching one another....

And with that, the female prefect left with a satisfied smile.

#ship writing no. 3 #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #mc #oc #mireille blanchefleur #ship fanfic #miri

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ironheartedfae · 10 months

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Timing: Just after this dash post Location: Osgood's Dump Feat: @mortemoppetere & @ironheartedfae Warnings: Child Abuse tw (past), Suicidal Ideation Summary: Emilio goes out to find Ren in the woods after she disappears again.

Normally, when Emilio trudged through the forest, he made an effort to be quiet. A loud hunter was, more often than not, a very dead hunter. He’d learned that at an early age, the same way he’d learned just about everything else — experience. But today, he let the twigs break beneath his feet, let the leftover leaves rustle around. If what Kaden told him was any indication of Ren’s mental state, she was probably scared and jumpy. Sneaking up on her was only going to make matters worse. He wanted to make sure she knew he was coming — and he wanted to make sure she knew it was him.

“Kid,” he called into the treeline, not for the first time. He’d been talking periodically, trying to make sure his voice was heard. If he was lucky, she’d come to him. He didn’t think he’d be very lucky. He rarely was. Still, he kept going. “It’s me. Heard you had a run-in with something. Gael says you haven’t been around in a couple days. I’m just here to check on you, all right? Not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but if you’re hurt, I’m going to make sure you get help.” From someone who was better at that than he was. “And if you’re not hurt, I’ve got food. Can you let me know if you’re here? Please.”

—

What had been a decently tidy camp made from an old dumping ground had become more of an actual dump. Tornadoes had done less damage than the wreckage wrought by the angry hands with plenty to destroy, little to stop them from doing so. Papers, old drawings, journals, supplies, all strewn across the dusty ground. And in the center a hunched and pouting figure. Carefully watched by another.

The cu-sith. The very same that had come along that day with the ranger, apparently followed the fae home. And now it sat like a silent sentinel. Watching the tiny crumpled kid shudder where no more tears or screams could come.

Ren was in no state to notice just about anything. Far too in their own world of self discovery and destruction. The creature however, was far more perceptive. Responding to Emilio’s call with a protective growl. Standing over the nymph and guarding her from the voice that rang out in the woods.

—

He heard it before he saw it. A low growl cutting through the quiet of the forest, immediately putting him on edge. The knife found its way into his hand like it had always been there, like it was a natural extension of the limb. If Ren was out here alone — which Emilio highly suspected was the case — anything else was a threat.

Of course, he had no intention of leaving. He came out here to find the kid, to make sure she was okay, to coax her back to the safety of Gael’s house where there were no wardens with iron knives or slayers who loved them too much to let them go. He cared enough about Ren to know that other people could keep her safe far easier than he could, far better. But he also cared about her too much to give up. So he moved towards that growling, moved towards that danger. And he was afraid. Not for himself, but for what he might find there. Images of a living room floor flickered in through the cracks, and he shook them away. Now was not the time to worry over ghosts.

The growls lead him to a campsite… or what was left of one. Things were strewn all over, fury clear in the chaos. Ren sat at the center, clearly hurt and distraught but alive. Emilio let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold, relief settling over him so heavy that he nearly stumbled beneath the weight of it. And above her…

Langley had mentioned a cu-sith, hadn’t he? Emilio didn’t know much about them. Bits and pieces here and there, things Rhett had told him. Enough to know it wasn’t a threat to Ren. Enough to know it probably was a threat to him. It seemed to zero in on the knife he hadn’t yet put away, and Emilio quickly tucked the blade into his pocket, holding his hands up in an attempt to communicate that he meant no harm. He wasn’t sure it’d work on the creature, but he wasn’t as worried about it as he should have been. Instead, he looked to Ren. “Hey, kid,” he greeted lowly. “You with me? Been worried.”

—

“It will not leave.” The tiny voice came out from the hunched figure. Raw, crackling, and clearly having spent a good long while under duress. She was referring, of course, to the creature that still stood over her. That eyed Emilio suspiciously, but made no move to go after him. It seemed warily content with the gesture, seeing as the kid didn’t seem too agitated by it. If anything, Ren was far more concerned with the cu-sith itself, how it hovered protectively no matter what she did. No matter how much she shouted at it, thrown things. It came back. It stayed. It tried to lick at the bite it left, either from guilt or care. Tried to bring her dead things to eat. But Ren just wouldn’t budge either.

The growl stopped as Ren’s hand drifted absently to the canid’s side. Stroking the fur that sat beneath the moss and leaves. Evidence of her state was just about everywhere. Bloody knuckles that echoed the massive dents in the upended cars scattered around the dump, her leg still unbandaged, now with two wounds instead of just one, a thin coating of dirt almost everywhere. It was like she hadn’t moved from this camp in days. Hadn’t done anything but thrash about, destroying as much of this place as she could, and hurting herself in the process.

“Why will it not leave?”

—

She looked like shit. Sounded like it, too. And Emilio hated himself for not checking on her sooner, for waiting until Kaden told him he’d run into her before realizing she was gone. He should have been out here days ago, hunting her down and doing something worthwhile, should have found her before things got this bad. He’d been so distracted lately. The anniversary of the massacre came and went in a haze of whiskey and grief, everything else numbed by the date on the calendar. It was no excuse. He should have done something sooner; he knew that.

“It likes you,” he said quietly, taking a step closer with his eyes still on the cu-sith. It didn’t make a move to attack him, so he risked another step and another, until he was crouching beside her in the dirt. “It’s got good taste.” The joke fell flat, because he was bad at this. At the comforting, at the being there for people. He wasn’t sure how it kept falling on him. Ren, Nora, Leticia, Andy… every one of them deserved someone who was better at this than he was. “It’s a cu-sith,” he elaborated. “They like fae.” He knew she’d hate that, knew she hated anything that reminded her of what she was, but he knew she’d want an explanation that was real, too. “Will you let me take you back to Gael’s? Somebody needs to clean you up.” And it can’t be me. Even if Emilio did know anything about first aid that wasn’t just slapping tape over a wound and hoping for the best, his hands were shaking a little too much to be useful. “You can’t stay here, kid. Not like this.”

—

Perhaps there was more to the steadiness of the cu-sith than the hand on its shoulder, the way it eyed the detective with a knowing look. Seeing something that Ren hadn’t even known. A past case, a freedom won. The nymph made no move to look around. She was too tired to move. Sleep evaded her on the best of nights, this last week? Well… it was safe to say she did more screaming than resting. Her head lolled forward, releasing all weight from her neck, dangling there like a leaf too stubborn to finally be felled by the cool winds of fall. “It should not like me.”

Ren knew what it was. Of course she knew what it was. She even knew that they were supposed to like fae but that didn’t excuse the behavior. Its or hers. There was a guilt to her actions, to the fact that she hadn’t gone home. But the longer she waited, the harder it was. Worse, the way she took out her frustration, her confusion, and her bitter sadness at the beast who only wanted to help her. Just like Emilio. Just like Gael. Just like everyone in this goddamn town.

“If…” Time was good for one thing, allowing the young nymph to endlessly rehearse conversations that may or may never happen. To come up with the explanation. To excavate her thoughts beneath those hard won callouses of propaganda and misinformation. “If it is kind that means—” Ren bit at her lip and felt the soft salty touch of a tear she thought she was much too dried out to cry. “It means I have been hurting things that are not evil. It means I–” She’d killed people. Who didn’t deserve it. People who were probably just… people. Going about their business. She’d only seen the worst in them because of the lens she’d been crafted to wear.

“I cannot go there.”

—

“Why not? I like you.” Again, a teasing lilt that fell flatter than it should have. If he were able to focus on the cu-sith instead of the kid, he might realize that he recognized it. Most animals looked more or less the same, but Emilio made a point to memorize every goddamn one of them that escaped from Joy’s shitshow, checked the papers every day to track attacks so he could trace them down. A few had been returned to where they belonged, but not all. Not this one. And he’d hate himself for it later, because he always did. But right now, there was a kid who needed his help and a father’s instinct that hadn’t died when his daughter did.

He ached a little as Ren spoke, because he knew that feeling. He remembered the aftermath of the massacre, the realization that while vampires had been the one to rip his family apart, his uncle had been the one to show them how. There were bullets, and there were the people who fired the guns. Both were guilty — Emilio wouldn’t absolve himself of his own sins so easily — but there was so much more intent behind the person pulling the trigger. And Ren? She was a kid. Raised to hate herself and anything like her. She’d blame herself for it, anyway; he knew that. But that didn’t make it her fault.

Glancing to the cu-sith again, Emilio settled into a seating position. “I don’t know how many vampires I’ve killed,” he said quietly, rolling a blade of grass between his fingers. “How many zombies, how many mares, how many furies. When we were kids, me and my brother figured we’d keep track of it. Like a scoreboard, you know? But you lose count, after a while.” He’d been much younger than she was now when that count was lost, and still so excited about it. He used to think he would save the world. All he’d ever managed to do was make it worse. “I, uh… I can’t change what I’ve done. You can’t change what you’ve done, either. But we can both work to be different from now on. Redención, you know, forgiveness… It doesn’t happen overnight. You gotta do the work. Figuring out you want it, I think, that’s the hard part. And you’ve done that.” Maybe not in the healthiest of ways, but she had. “Next step is just… trying to be better, right? And I can help you, if you want. You can help me, too. Maybe we learn to be better together.”

She was more redeemable than he was; he knew that. Emilio wasn’t a scared, lost kid. Emilio didn’t realize the error of his ways before he spiraled too far to be saved. Hell, Emilio wouldn’t have changed at all if external forces hadn’t dictated it. He’d probably still be killing any vampire he came across if he hadn’t lost everything to them. Even now, he killed the ones he figured deserved it without thought, without guilt. But Ren was better than he was. He could see that. Anyone could. Hesitantly, he tapped his knee against hers. “As for that house… Somebody told me, uh, not long ago, that you don’t get to decide if you’re worthy of someone’s trust in you. They get to decide that. And it seems to me like Gael’s decided it. So don’t take that choice from him, kid. Or from me, or from anyone who’s made it. Let people feel what they feel. Even if it means they care about you.” Maybe especially then.

—

In a way, Ren wished it had been raining. Wished the sky reflected the open weeping wound her heart ached with. But no. It was sunshine and warmth. Felt undeserved and wrong. Made skin already sticky with grime feel even more so as whatever hydration she had left evaporated with her sweat. The hard lump in her throat proved a better shield than expected. Kept most of her practiced paragraphs from exiting in the way she wanted. Kept defiant responses to a scoff. He liked her. Gael liked her. How long would it be until she got them hurt somehow. Failed to save them from something like her. Something that was monstrous, not because of what she was, but what she had done.

“I remember them.” A few times folks had remarked on their inability to account for things. The only bits of Ren’s life that had been forgotten were the ones magically taken away from her. Eidetic. Perfect picture clarity. Perfect sound, smell, the weight of the blades in her hand. The weight of the bodies that slumped under their perfectly applied pressure. How it felt to dispose of them. Fae didn’t disappear like the undead. You had to deal with the consequences. You had to carry that weight to the grave, literally and figuratively.

This wasn’t like the fight they’d shared before. Ren’s tone wasn’t defensive, wasn’t parroting things that had been shoved down her throat since before she could talk. She was thinking for herself, for perhaps the first time. Coming to terms with what it meant. “Gael is a good man. He is normal. Not like us.” A slight shift, a shared guilt, and Ren’s hand slid over to where Emilio sat. Lacing a pinky finger into his. The cu-sith settled too, deciding to nestle in around the pair. Providing support for both their backs if they chose to lean into it.

“I cannot understand why he is so nice. It feels…” Wrong? Sour? Heavy? “It feels like I am setting him up for disappointment. He knows what I am but he does not know. Does not understand that I have killed many of my own. How can I just… pretend like it is normal?” Ren’s face still hadn’t lifted, nor had her tone. A flat tuneless stretch of words. “I do not deserve normal. I do not deserve to have… family like this. He should leave just as my parents did. Or perhaps I should leave. I–” A long sigh, and Ren’s green eyed gaze lifted skyward. “I do not know anymore. I do not know anything.”

—

“I know you do. Probably makes you better than me.” She’d hurt people, but at least she remembered them. At least she hadn’t done what Emilio had and seen them as so insignificant that she’d forgotten their existence at all. For her, redemption was still possible. A rocky road, maybe, but a clear path. She could make up for the things she’d done, because she was a child who someone had lied to, a prisoner of war who’d been fed self doubt and hatred all her life. She was never meant to be this, was never supposed to be a hunter any more than Nora should have been raised by humans who hadn’t known enough to tell her what she was. There was so much cruelty in the people who’d brought her up. If he ever met them in person, he didn’t think she’d forgive him for what he’d do. He didn’t think he would, either.

That wasn’t to say they wouldn’t deserve it. Emilio was a piece of shit; he knew that. He was a bad man, a monster that lived under someone’s bed, a knife with so much blood on the blade that you couldn’t see the shine of the metal underneath. But even he couldn’t make sense of Ren’s ‘family.’ Of what they’d done, of how they’d raised her. To take a child and feed them hate their entire life, to tell them they were inherently evil just for being what they were born… If anyone had done it to his daughter, he would have soaked the ground in their blood until nothing could hope to grow from the soil. Ren deserved better. Anyone would, but especially Ren. She was kind. She remembered the people she’d hurt. She cared, despite all attempts to take it from her.

He was glad she had Gael, at least, even if he’d never say as much aloud. If Emilio was a shining example of all the things she shouldn’t strive to be, maybe Gael could act as the opposite. He was a little naive sometimes, sure, but Ren was right — he was a good man. Not like Emilio. “I don’t know about normal,” he said, thinking of all the pieces in the puzzle that were Gael’s ‘bear attack’ and what they meant, “but he’s a good guy. You’re right about that. But you can learn from good guys, right? You’re a quick learner.” He’d seen that much.

Her touch on his hand drew his eyes downward, and he looked at where she’d intertwined their pinkie fingers together. Warmth spread through his chest, and somehow, he felt guilty for it. Feeling warm when she was in this state, when people like him were the reason for it… It was something to be ashamed of. Everything was something to be ashamed of, really. “You do,” he said quietly. “You do deserve normal. Kid, you were — You were forced into a life that wasn’t supposed to be yours. Somebody made that choice for you when you were too young to know any better. You’ve been away from them for, what, a couple months? And you’re already seeing that they weren’t right about everything. You know how hard that is? Maybe…” He trailed off. “Maybe you’ve done bad shit. But maybe you wouldn’t have done it if you were where you were supposed to be. Maybe this is proof of that. You’re allowed to grow, kid. To change. To be better. You’re allowed to give yourself a damn break, too. Your parents leaving…” If they had at all, though part of Emilio suspected something more sinister. “That’s not on you. You were a baby. All a baby is supposed to do is exist. And no half decent parent would ever leave their kid like that. So that says everything about them, and nothing about you. Okay? Gael wants to stay. He wants you to stay. He told me that much. So… Let him stay.”

—

In the quiet of the woods, with someone who knew the kind of things Ren had gone through, the nymph was able to find a little peace within the turmoil. She wrestled with that. Ached with it. Guilt was a strong force that guided most things she did these days, even if it was far more aimless than it ought to be. She listened. Ren had always been pretty good at listening. Maybe it was the only thing she was really good at in the end. Emilio didn’t think himself a man built for comfort or speeches, but his words were a providence all their own. Everything she needed to hear.

She was quiet. More than usual. This time out of reverence, of contemplation. The Cu-sith rumbled itself forward slightly, wormed its massive head onto Ren’s lap. Which in turn pushed the tiny fae a little closer to the hunter. She didn’t mind. The support on all sides was welcome, and she even leaned into it. Leaned against Emilio in a way she hadn’t before. In a way she might not ever have if she hadn’t allowed Gael into her life, hadn’t finally felt how nice a hug could be.

“If…” A soft spoken voice finally broke the sweet sounds nature had to offer. “If it is possible, I would like to get better. I would like– if we could… figure it out together.” Wind rustled the leaves, branches heavy with the early summer boughs. Birds sang, bugs buzzed. It was peaceful, here in the dump. Whenever Ren wasn’t making a mess of it all. Whether or not he’d believe it, the detective had been one of the most solid rocks the fae could hold on to. Something about his understanding, his context, made it so much easier to attach. The world could turn, oblivious to those upon it. Every day would bring something new. Challenges, set backs. But if Emilio Cortez said they could step forward, said they could find a way… maybe it’d be okay in the end.

Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future.

—

She leaned against him, and Emilio hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulder, letting his hand rest on her arm in a quiet show of comfort he’d never been allowed himself. He remembered sitting in the woods, leg a mangled mess and mind in worse shape than that, when Rhett bound out of the trees and pulled him into a tight grip that a man could only manage when stumbling upon a man instead of a corpse, when a beating heart was found instead of a dead one. Other than that, how many people had held Emilio in the interest of comfort instead of hurt? He figured Ren’s past was very much the same. Worse, maybe. He’d had Rhett, sometimes. Who had she had?

Maybe he could provide a better answer to that here. Maybe he could do for her what Rhett had done for him in those woods two years ago. He was built to either bury the dead or turn them to dust, but maybe he could do more than that, too. Maybe he could speak them back to life, just as Rhett had in that clearing in the woods. Emilio couldn’t redeem Ren. She had to do that herself. But he could let her know that it was okay to want it, that it was something that she could achieve. And didn’t that count for something?

He swallowed as she suggested that they get better together, tried to determine if getting better was a thing he could do. Ren was a kid. Emilio wasn’t. The things he’d done, he’d done himself. He had a wife who had hated him, a daughter he’d failed to protect. There were people who could find redemption, he knew. People like Ren, who realized they wanted it before it was too late to grasp, who decided to make that change for the better before the hill they had to climb to get there turned itself into a mountain. There were people who could be redeemed.

Emilio Cortez was not one of them.

But he could pretend, for a little while. He wasn’t fae; he could lie if he had to. He hated it, hated lying to her, but it was a necessary evil, sometimes. You told your kid you were going to bed at eight o’clock at night in hopes that she’d get some rest herself. You told your wife you’d put a knife in your daughter’s hand tomorrow or next week or in a month and you packed a bag in secret. You told a kid in the woods that you were a half decent person so she’d let someone care about her. It was part of it, wasn’t it? Part of the thing Emilio didn’t let him say aloud anymore, part of what had died on that living room floor. It was part of it.

“Yeah, kid,” he said quietly, “we’ll figure it out together. Okay? It’s you and me, kid. You and me.” Maybe some lies were kinder than the truth.

#wickedswriting #para;#mortemoppetere #ironheartedfae

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darknights04 · 2 years

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Scandal: part two

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson has never met anyone who was more skilled than he was. After all, he’s had lifetime after lifetime to learn. But this all changed when he met Hyacinth Bennet. Mrs. Hyacinth Bennet that was. But was this woman, married or not, the single key to his heart?

Themes inspired by “Last Letters from your Lover” by Jojo Moyes

Warnings: This chapter deals with themes related to slavery, whips, blood, and violence. If these themes bother you then do not read further

Elijah Mikaelson x original character

Part 2 of ?

Part One Masterlist

🌹✉🌹

“What’s this?” Elijah asked, walking into his room. Klaus and Hayley were still huddled near his closet, still invested in their story time. “Nikalus,” Elijah sighed. “You of all people should know that those letters are private.”

“Sorry, brother,” he smirked. “We were just leaving. Come along, little wolf.”

Elijah sighed as he went to pick up the letters thrown about the floor. He picked them up and neatly stacked them as one fell out the bottom of the pile. He set the rest aside and smiled as he picked it up. The first letter he’d ever received from Hyacinth. The beginning of what would soon be the best years of his life.

Mr. Mikaelson, the letter read.

I am writing to you to apologize for my bragging upon our meeting. It wasn’t very ladylike, I am now realizing. However, no matter how much I know it was wrong, I can’t seem to regret my actions. It’s not often I get to leave an accomplished man such as yourself, so high in society, speechless over my actions, let alone words. I quite enjoyed it if you could not tell. However I am not writing to you just to tease you more, but rather to inform you of a discovery I made recently. I was reading one of Jane Austin’s new books recently, Pride and Prejudice. Have you read it? Well, reading it reminded me of one of the quips I delivered to you, regarding your requirements for an “accomplished woman”. I had thought of it so quickly because it reminded me of the infamous Mr. Darcy from this book. He who lets his pride get in the way of seeing people for what they are. However, unlike the Miss Bennet from this story, I will not allow my prejudice to get in my way of getting to know you for how you really are. I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Mikaelson. Until next time.

-Hyacinth Bennet

🌹✉🌹

Elijah smiled, despite himself, as he read the letter. Setting the lilac scented envelope down and leaving his study, he began towards his family’s sitting room to speak to his brothers.

“Send an invitation for tonights mixer to Mr. Bennet,” Elijah instructed them. Followed instantly by a groan from Kol.

“Mr. Bennet?” he repeated.

“Yes, that is what I said.”

“Brother, that man bring down the whole room when present.”

“Even so, we must show him respect as any other decent member of society.”

“Don’t mind him, Kol,” Klaus smirked from the doorway of the room. “He simply wants to bring Mr. Bennet around because he knows that means that his wife will show up too. A woman he seems to have become quite smitten with.”

“Niklaus, you should know better than to insinuate such things about a married woman,” Elijah lectured. “Whether he brings along Mrs. Bennet or not is none of my concern. Write to him and let him know that he is invited to stay, as our guest, in our home for a period of time. And that we will be taking him with us to the governor’s ball. A great chance for him to make introductions.”

“I like that wife of his,” Rebecca announced suddenly, strolling into the room. “She’s got spunk. Strength. Reminds me a bit of myself.”

At this comment, Niklaus let out a snort. “Dear sister, you wish you could be half as independant as her.”

“Excuse me, I am not dependant on anyone!”

Elijah rolled his eyes and left the room as his siblings continued to squabble behind him. As he left, Elijah held up the letter he had received once more, bringing it to his nose to let the smell of lilac engulf him.

🌹✉🌹

“Ah, Mr. Bennet,” Elijah smiled, welcoming the man into their home. “I’m glad to see you were able to make it.”

“Thank you for the gracious invitation, sir,” he beamed. It was obviously the first time the man has ever received such an invite. “And may I present my wife, the lovely Hyacinth?”

“Yes how could I forget,” Elijah smiled. “Mrs. Bennet,” he finished with a nod of greeting.

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, bowing her head slightly to him with a teasing smirk on her face.

Her husband looked confused at the two but let it go as he was already overwhelmed with the lavish interior of their manor.

Elijah fought to keep the grin that was threatening to appear away but was failing as the ends of his lips quirked up at the teasing he recieved from the girl.

“I hope you’ve both brought your best outfits,” Elijah told them, leading them further into the compound. “Later on after we get you settled in, we’re setting off the the govenor’s plantation for his ball.”

“The governor?” Mr. Bennet gasped, his jaw practically on the floor. “How on Earth did you receive invitations for the governor’s ball?”

“We have an inside man,” Rebekah stated, coming down the stairs into the room where they all stood. “The governor’s son is a good friend of mine.”

“What she means to say is their courting,” Elijah corrected. “The governor treats us as family.”

“Remarkable,” the man gasped. He could never imagine being so close to a man so powerful. But perhaps tonight was his chance. His chance to make introductions and finally climb the social ladder.

🌹✉🌹

Elijah’s daydreams were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” he called out with a sigh.

“Elijah?” Hayley could be heard from the doorway, slowly peaking her head into the room. “I just wanted to apologize for…”

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“I was going to say snooping but I guess that works too.”

“It’s alright. It seems my brother doesn’t care who knows the most intimate details about my life.”

“Well now I feel bad for what I was going to ask,” Hayley said with a nervous chuckle.

“You wanted to know more, didn’t you?” he sighed.

“Maybe a little.”

After a bit of thought, Elijah rolled his eyes with a deep breath. “Fine, what do you want to know.”

When hearing that he was willing to talk, Hayley burst further into the room, her curiosity sparking a gleam in her eye as she sat on one of the chair in the room, questions forming in her head faster than she could ask them.

“What was she like? Did her husband ever find out? When did you begin seeing each other romantically? How did everyone else react to this? Did you need to keep it secret from everyone? What did-”

“Slow down,” he interrupted with a slight grin. “I can only answer so many questions at once.”

“Okay fine,” Hayley chuckled, catching her breath a bit. “Let’s start with what she was like.”

Elijah stopped for a moment, looking back down at the letter he had in his hand, letting memories of the woman in question flood his mind. “She was… extraordinary,” he started simply. “Stubborn as an ox but magnificently so. She knew how to get what she wanted and didn’t let anyone stand in her way. Not me, not Mr. Bennet, Niklaus, anyone. Even the governor himself.”

“The governor?” Hayley repeated. “She stood up against him?”

“As often as she would any ordinary person,” Elijah nodded. “She knew what she wanted, she knew her morals. Nothing would stop her from fighting for them. Hyacinth was… stubbornly kindhearted.”

“How so?”

“Well, I introduced her and her husband to the governor one night and they, more specifically she, was loved by the whole family henceforth. When the governor’s son died from… an unfortunate accident with the stairs, she accompanied us to his funeral. Rebekah was courting him and was beside herself, so Hyacinth came along as a comfort to her.

“When the percession was walking to honor the man, Hyacinth saw something that she did not believe in in the slightest, and didn’t hesitate to let everyone know about it.”

🌹✉🌹

The funeral percession were walking along towards the burial sight for the governor’s only son. Klaus and Rebekah Mikaelson toward the back with Hyacinth walking in arm with her. While they were walking, the party heard a whiplash, followed by a scream. Everyone began looking around but no one as concerned as she. It only took a few moments to spot the source of the sound. A young boy, no older than ten or twelve was on his knees in front of a man on a horse, holding a whip in his direction. They watched the man crack the whip again and again without even an ounce of empathy towards the child. Everyone who was a part of the funeral continued walking on without a care. But not the Mikaelsons. Not Hyacinth.

The boy seemed to have enough of this torment, so he got up, grabbed a bright red apple from the ground and threw it at the man. He threw the apple as hard as he could and watched it pelt his shoulder. Hyacinth could tell by the man’s expression alone that this was a mistake.

Before he could lift his whip again to crack it as hard as he could onto the boy’s back, Hyacinth ran toward him, ignoring the concerned calls from the Mikaelson siblings. She quickly got between the two boys and intercepted the hit of the whip, it landing instead on the arm she had held out to protect the boy and slightly graised the peak of her cheekbone, both drawing blood as she winced from the sting.

“Hyacinth!” Rebekah called out, racing towards her.

“Aer you insane, girl?!” The watchman lectured from the horse. “Get out of the way!”

“How about apologizing first?” Nikalus stated menicingly from the sidelines.

“She shouldn’t have interfered. This is slave business. Move along.”

Klaus’s eyes grew dark as he heard the man’s words. Not wanting to reveal himself to the girl on the ground, he marched as a human pace to the man and pulled him off the horse. He signaled to Rebekah to keep quiet, as the girl was distracted, as he dragged the man into the woods to finish him. He didn’t like those who took avantage of the weak.

“Are you alright?” Hyacinth asked the boy on the ground. Blood had been streaming from the gash on her arm and her cheek but she did not seem to care. And if she did then she didn’t show it.

“Why did you do that?” he exclaimed quickly. “I’m so sorry about your arm and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted. “I’m asking about you.”

“Hyacinth he’s right,” Rebekah said quickly. “You’re bleeding. A lot. You-”

“So if he,” she said stubbornly.

Just as Niklaus returned from the woods, conveniently without the previous man in question, Elijah jogged over from the front of the party.

“What happened?” He commanded.

“Hyacinth ran into the line of a whip.”

“You did what?!”

“I’m fine. What is your name?” she asked to the boy on the ground next to her.

“Don’t got one,” he responded after a moment. “Mama wouldn’t name me ‘til I turned ten, case the fever took me. Then it took her.”

“You’re a survivor, and survivors need names.” Klaus concluded, kneeling down toward him as Elijah pulled Hyacinth up by her untouched arm to inspect her.

“Really, Mr. Mikaelson, I am fine,” Hyacinth continued to protest as Nikalus stayed with the boy. “We should catch up to the others.”

“Not until your wounds are properly cleaned and wrapped. And don’t you think that at this point we’re far enough beyond the formalities of last names?”

“Would you prefer I called you Darcy?” She teased again. He knew she would never let that go.

Elijah sighed but couldn’t deny the smirk growing on his lips. “We’re returning to our familie’s compound. Immediately. I will send word to your husband but we need to clean these before they become infected.”

“I’m not leaving here unless we take the boy with us.”

“You know it is not our place to-”

“I’m NOT leaving here,” she repeated sternly, interrupting Elijah mid sentence. “Unless we take him with us.”

Elijah sighed. “Fine. Niklaus?”

“Yes?”

“Bring the boy back to the compound. We’ll meet you there.”

Niklaus nodded as he held a hand out to help the boy up. Elijah motioned for the girl to step out in front of him so he could escort her back.

“You think this will leave a cool scar?” she asked with a slight grin, wiping a little of the blood off of her face.

Elijah scoffed in return but couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips. That was the first night of many that Mrs. Hyacinth Bennet had spent at the Mikaelson compound.

Part Three

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #mikaelson #oc #elijah x reader #fanfiction #1820s #period piece #victorian #scandal #affair #love #plantation #new orleans

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pokemon-card-of-the-day · 9 months

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Pokemon Card of the Day Schedule: Neo Discovery and Southern Islands

Neo Discovery was a rather small set, and had a similar level of impact to its size on a large scale. That's not to say that it didn't matter a decent bit. Back when Slowking was mistranslated and played that way, Igglybuff was a big deal to shut down Slowking's Pokemon Power. Tyrogue was also very popular back then for getting that potential double flip KO on a Cleffa. Both are less popular in modern versions of the old formats, but worth noting nonetheless.

There were some interesting attackers in here, with Espeon being a solid Psychic-type and Kabutops pairing well with Steelix. Pokemon like Forretress, Tyranitar, and Umbreon all had some lesser use. The Trainer lineup, in competitive terms, was limited to Fossil Egg and Hyper Devolution Spray.

Southern Islands was a mini-set with just 18 cards, and 4 of them at least marginally mattered. Two will get covered here, with the other two (Onix and Ivysaur) being small upgrades to evolving Pokemon when you were really trying to get to their evolved forms. Overall, neither was the biggest thing, but there were still some playable cards here.

Neo Discovery

Espeon #1 Forretress Hitmontop Houndoom Kabutops Scizor Smeargle Tyranitar Umbreon #13 Yanma Beedrill Igglybuff Unown D Unown M Unown N Caterpie Tyrogue Fossil Egg Hyper Devolution Spray

Southern Islands

Jigglypuff Vileplume

#pokemon #pokemon tcg #card of the day #neo discovery #southern islands

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googleeyed · 10 months

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The Blackhole [A story HEAVILY Inspired by Minecrafts Blackhole mod, ft. Wilbur soot, tommyinnit, Slime cicle and Philza minecraft.

[Hello, my name is Professor Soot. or for my freinds Wilbur, Soot. im writing this very quickly to introduce myself, and to document my discoverys. its difficult due to the soon empending doom tho. anywho, i hope this will help me keep track of my findings.]

I woke up in the morning agrevated by wooshing. I adjusted my eyesight for a closer look, it seemed quite small, atleast for the time being, i got up out of bed and threw on my white lab coat calmly, right over my golden-yellow sweater. It was uncomfortable, but i didnt have time to change.

As i scampered out of bed, my coat started being pulled torwards the direction of the blackhole could feel it pulling on me, i ran as fast as i could to Doctor Sickles home, i bursted through the door of his adobe and shouted "DOCTOR WE HAVE A ISSUE!" As he snapped up from his bedside, wide awake due to my yelling, i saw the terror in his bloodshot eyes.

"Throw on ur labcoat, quickly!" He replied with a bit of a slur in his voice "wha.. man im trying to sleep.." As he rolled back over on his side, i looked out of his window only to see the blackhole again, but this time it had gotten larger. I tried to tell him urgently again, this time i shook the side of his back violently. The pure expression of anger on his face was upsetting, but i didnt have time to make him "breakfast in bed."

Doctor Sickle then finally got up, as he threw on his Labcoat over his usual T-shirt, i gripped his hand firmly, felt kinda.. wet actully, but anyways, we darted out the door of his home, off to hopefully go get our freinds Tommy and Phil. we ran across the grass, as we did we could hear the ruffle of the wind of the blackhole pulling us, aswell as anything behind us, when all of a sudden Doctor Sickle turned around and stared at the blackhole.

I was wondering what was wrong with him, at a time like THIS? When we were about to DIE. And at that thought, i looked at his face, of pure terror. i gripped his arm of his labcoat tightly and dragged him along as i ran. We Finally arrived at Tommy and Phils house, We didnt have time to knock, so naturally, we busted down their door. luckily, they were already awake. As the door hit the ground me and Doctor Sickle just stood there, now stuck in eyecontact with Phil, who at the time was prepparing a cup of coffee.

As we stood at the door tho, he appeared quite shocked, i mean i dont blame him, we were doused in sweat, and Doctor Sickles Terrified face didnt make it any better. I told Phil calmly that "We have to leave the area, due to the empending blackhole." Suprisingly, his eyes lit up, as if he was waiting for this moment, as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a few things, a iron sword and a few buckets. he yelled at Tommy across the room, who looked to be organizing some loot.

Tommy then was extremely Panicked, and even jumped a little bit, i saw the ground shake, or maybe that was the force of the blackhole.. Doesnt matter now, we all ran out the door in search of somewhere atleast decently away from the blackhole, however me and Doctor Sickle had other plans, we had expiriments to do. And so, while me and Doctor Sickle went off to experiment with the blackhole and its force of gravity, Tommy and Phil worked on getting prepared, planning even. but i dont care, thats not what was important to me.

Me and Doctor Sickle hung out in front of the blackhole for a bit, we were trying to get a pair of chickens to lay some eggs. So they didnt run away, we put them into a hole in the dirt. to see if it'd be effected by the gravity. As we struggled with harnassing the eggs, Doctor Sickle looked down at the chickens, supposively trying to "urge" them.

I joined in, in a last ditch effort we finally got some eggs. Two to be exact, the blackhole got closer, edging torwards the hole where the chickens were. Doctor Sickle quickly told me to grab a egg, make a hole in the ground and throw the egg in the air. And so, i did. I dug a semi-deep hole a decent space away from the blackhole. I could feel my hair being perpelled by the force, and so, i threw the egg into the air, Doctor Sickle then yelled "IT WORKED!!" i felt joy in my findings.

unforunitely, this wouldnt last long, im writing this before the blackhole is going to consume me, i dont know what will happen after but i hope that my findings are useful. [END LOG 1]

Where am i? Last thing i remember i was sucked into the blackhole. I cant really see at all, but theres nothing here but Pitch Black Darkness, so its bery hard for me tosee if im writing the rigjt letaters. i canf eelmy self staring to lacnk conciposunness, i candt breatheanysmor

im back in control, but im not sure for how long. i was sent back onto the surface, for some odd reason.. the black hole is increasing in size. i dont have much time to help the others anymore.

I ran up to Ch- i mean, Doctor Sickle, he was yapping some nonsense about "Throwing Hoops" to Tommy, er.. playing basketball? i didnt care. i grabbed Doctor Sickle by his arm, angerly. We had somthing to take care of. Id built a small train track, along with a obsidian blockade so that Doctor Sickle wont get sucked into the Blackhole, i showed him it and his reaction was not what i was hoping for.

He yelled "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?" i replied, "i want you to observe the effect the Blackhole has on water, Doc." he looked back at me, almost furious, but i still managed to convince him, i told him that "Theres a button to ur right side that you can push to push the cart in this direction so that after viewing we can both live." He stared at me oddly, squinting. He seemed convinced enough.

All of a sudden i could feel it, gaining back control of me. I screamed to Doctor Sickle, "THE BLACKHOLE IS INSIDE OF MY BODY CHARLIE- I-I CANT CONTROL MYSELF DONT LISTEN TO ME DONT LI-" Doctor Sickle replied in confusion, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE BLACKHOLE IS INSIDE YOU? LIKE? POSSESSING YOU?" All of my body movement stopped. He gave me a weird, scared look but then sat down in the minecart, observing the water. At that moment, i didnt feel like myself anymore. i couldnt hold back the urge anymore. The blackhole inched closer to Doctor Sickles Position, but i couldnt find myself able to control myself, this was up to him. He attempted to escape the pull by forcing the cart in my direction, I felt somthing take over me in that moment, i could move. I walked forward and pushed the cart backwards. Leaving Doctor Sickle Helpless. I tried to scream out to him, im not quite sure if he heard me, i hope he did. I am once again slipping from my control. Maybe now he will understand my pain. He screamed so loud. i saw his glasses get ripped off of his eyes. in a way.. It was satisfying, the loud screams were soon silenced by the void. I have the urge to feed more people to it, i cant stop resisting the urge anymore. I shall start looking for more victims, besides, they wont have many places to hide afterall. [END LOG 2]

Ive found them, now i just have to put on the stupid act and fool them. i approach Phil With ease, he was under ground along with tommy, i hear his yelling echoing loudly in the caves, as i stared from them at the top of the opening of the hole, i had a sudden voice echo through my head, or maybe it was everywhere? It sounded like charlie, yapping on about somthing along the lines of "The Omlette of the beyond." ..whatever that means, but what really struct my fancy was when i heard "come take a bite, philllzaaaa~"

The voice faded, Finally. now that he was out of the way he had been handeld, now with a diffrent mindset of before, and foruntely, working perfectly with my plan. at this rate i cant tell who i am anymore. i just know who im supposed to be, and thats "ProfessorSoot." I was going to join them in the nether, after the portal was lit. But somthing changed my mind, i decided to sit down on the grass and await the void.

The INEVITABLE, void that we shall ALL FALL to. As i sat on the grass, i looked at my labcoat, which was now tainted with Doctor Sickles struggle, tho it was just a few patches of slime, along with a bit of blood. Nothing ive never seen before. I found myself staring into the blackhole as its everexpanding surface got larger and larger, i dont know how long ive been sitting here now, but i finally hear them coming back, i pick myself off the ground and rush to their underground base, falling through the hole, luckily i caught myself before being injured, thanks to some hanging cave vines.

Phil and Tommy Seemed to finally find some useful items, such as 8 enderpearls, some blazerods and alot of other self-defense loot, such as armor. i dropped down casully, and greeted them with "Joy" i was wondering what i could do to stop them, they seemed to be trying to escape, but i just found myself going along with them, for my own sake. I could hear it above us, when we finally found the ender-portal i felt.. A weird feeling, not like before. the need to be free, the need to get away from the impending doom, unlike before where i was allured to it, everything seemed to be okay with myself now.

Tho as i stood there on the side while Phil placed the ender eyes into the slots, i could feel two parts of me fighting, the one who wanted doom, and the one who truly just wanted to escape. Phil Finally Placed the last eyes into the slot, i could hear the blackhole wooshing through the wind, I closed my eyes and jumped through the portal. Finally, i actully felt free. Free of the urge, free of the impending doom. But i still found myself feeling empty.

Dispite my tryumphs i feel like shit. I wish i could've helped charlie while i could. i stare off into the pitch black bottom of the end, until tommy approaches me and right when i try to speak, SLAPS ME, and says, "SHUT THE FUCK UP, WHERE THE FUCK IS CHARLIE?!" I clear my voice, still having the sound of dissapointment in myself in my voice.

I see Tommys eyes try to resist tears, He just runs away, off to where Phil is, as Phil is already getting ready to fight the enderdragon. I walk over depressivly, armed with nothing. Only my own words, if i die by this dragon, god knows i deserve it, maybe ill see charlie again then. I screamed words i didnt even understand at the dragon, tho i imagine they must've been pretty offensive. Tommy had taken care of the End-crystals, all we had to do was kill it now. Phil ran in with a glimmering diamond sword, and stabbed it in the chest. Exp went everywhere, little green-yellow balls of power. and with that, we finally did it. we were finally done. Me, Tommy and Phil looked at eachother, took a deep breath then dived into the unknown void-portal that was there after defeating the dragon. we were ok. ..at least we thought we were, we are being teleported into the void, where it all started, hopefully ill have written some more logs, if not, im sorry Charlie. im sorry Phil and Tommy aswell. I should've just helped you all from the start, i can hear the wooshing getting louder and the force PULLING on me now, u7il next ti~=e. [EnD LOg]

#slimecicle #wilbur soot #i love writing #uhhhhh #yeah sure #blackholemodminecraft

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ahb-writes · 10 months

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Book Review: ‘Ascendance of a Bookworm’ #13

Ascendance of a Bookworm: Part 4 Volume 1 (Ascendance of a Bookworm: Part 4 by Miya Kazuki My rating: 4 of 5 stars A royal education is for reflection, focus, and fortitude. A royal education enables self-discovery. A royal education is a privilege for those whose fortunes are known, yet not entirely fulfilled. The Royal Academy is about to get blown up by a tiny girl with dark-blue hair and way too much mana for her own good. Lady Rozemyne awakens from two years of slumber and is almost immediately forced to attend the Royal Academy in the Sovereignty, the nation's central district. ASCENDANCE OF A BOOKWORM v13 quietly and conveniently eschews the awkward and vastly unresolved conclusions of the previous narrative arc and nudges readers in the direction of something entirely different: Rozemyne goes to the rich kids' school and causes all sorts of havoc. The young woman has the academy's two-story library in her sights, but before she can even step foot among those hallowed stacks, she must first conquer weeks of intense study, socializing with archnobles, and a half-dozen pass-fail tests on geography, mathematics, history, music, practical magecraft, and more. She'll be fine, right? Ferdinand prophesied misfortune was on the horizon, but what's a guy to do, knowing full well that Rozemyne is a beast when books are involved? ("I have faith in your abilities," p. 117). Regardless, readers encounter a great deal of worldbuilding in this volume. New maps. New characters. New alliances. New enemies. New frenemies. ASCENDANCE OF A BOOKWORM v13 sets the stage for a lot to happen. For example, readers follow characters as they move through their first-year magecraft lessons on mana control, highbeast creation, mana compression, and schtappe acquisition/creation. It's a lot to take in, and each academy instructor responsible for these lessons provides varying detail and information that fill in a lot of the gaps this series has ignored for ages. Naturally, the author puts their own twist on things. Rozemyne invents another new manner of mana control. Rozemyne causes a bit of a ruckus with Lessy, her unconventional ("abnormal") highbeast. And, apparently, Rozemyne snares the material to create her schtappe in a quietly exceptional way. To the last of these, one wonders if the author will return to the quirky circumstances that saw the young woman acquire the "divine will" (pseudo-sentient crystal power source) that becomes her schtappe; after all, Rozemyne is clearly the most powerful character in the country, it's only a matter of time until someone else challenges her on it. This is a good volume. Notwithstanding the novel's painful segues out of old conflicts and into those yet to form, the book's character development takes keen and purposeful strides. Wilfried, for example, after two years of playing catch-up to his brilliant (and incapacitated younger sister), has matured into a decent kid. He's still somewhat naïve and emotionally vulnerable, but he's more circumspect. His main problem no longer concerns living up to the expectations of the Aub, but of outmaneuvering his scheming cousin, Detlinde, the daughter of the nefarious Georgine of Ahrensbach. Other, newer characters are quite fun. Hartmut, an apprentice archscolar and ally, is essentially a miniature Justus; he's reliable and intelligent, but he's too nosy for his own good. Professor Hirschur, the dorm supervisor for Ehrenfest, is a bit of a mad scientist; she's hilariously obsessed with studying Rozemyne, and the author also reveals she had instructed Ferdinand back in the day (Hirschur: "You clearly have no self-awareness whatsoever," p. 242). But none of this matters. Not really. Because the Royal Academy's library is almost within reach. True, Rozemyne nearly causes an interduchy incident by totally snubbing royalty (Anastasius, the second prince). True, Rozemyne accidentally scares the daylights out of people by inadvertently bringing to life two long-slumbering magical tools that assist the academy's librarian. Now, all this intrepid young woman has to do is ace her entrance exams, force all of her student peers from Ehrenfest to ace their entrance exams, and keep her head down. She'll be fine, right?

Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

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thebanishedking · 2 years

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i have just spent quite a bit analysing eddie’s room as best as i can through only a blurry bts video and the scarce set pics we have available and would like to share my discoveries, as well as semi decent quality versions of the posters i could find….. i did this mostly for personal use/curiosity, BUT if i can help some eddie fans decorate and/or give more insight on his environment to writers and/or artists it’s a big plus ;)

Alright. first off right when we walk in we’re greeted with this. Lovely image. first seen in episode one,

but i believe u can see it better here, along with a second poster

the skull i found pretty easy with just searching the image in pinterest,

here’s a pretty low quality version of it but. I did see links to people selling the print on ebay, though with some image enhancing i feel you could print this on your own if your heart desires it

for the poster beside it, i couldn’t find the image online, though this could be on me since i didn’t look extremely hard for this one. Sorry. what i made out from it though was that it’s an advertisement for the band Blessed Death performing their album “Kill or Be Killed” live from “the patio” on September 16. Not sure if this is meant to be a poster for an old show Eddie left up, or a future one he planned to attend, but it’s there nonetheless

moving on… To,

the bedside table! Wooooo!

to get the miscellaneous stuff out of the way first, some of the items are (correct me if i’m wrong about any of these) a deck of cards, two letters, a pair of aviator sunglasses, a bottle of beer (?), ashtray full of cigs, an unopened pack of trojan-enz condoms, empty bullet shells,

[Not Pictured, but they’re there too] a blue guitar pick, a blue toy car, along with a radio (? i think, i’m not too well versed on tech of the 80s) that has a red toy car sitting on top of it. :)

now, for the stuff i feel does matter,

there’s a magazine about auto parts & accessories! So good news to all you mechanic eddie likers out there… i guess it’s canon that he cares about cars somewhat? At least enough to own a magazine about the topic…

extremely blurry here but,

a Heavy Metal Summer of ‘86 Mag, Vol 10 #2 (censored from tumblr just in case)

Here it is in subpar quality, (again censored just in case)

if you’d like to see it upclose. And if you want to buy the mag for yourself, i’ve seen listings on sites like Etsy, Amazon, Ebay, etc etc.

Above the nightstand hangs a print,

an illustration of the Tomb of Horrors by Gary Gyrax. (DnD adventure module, as wikipedia says. idk jack abt DnD)

Here it is in okay quality,

it’s not the exact image but i believe it’ll do with some cropping if you so wish to hang an exact replica on your wall!

moving on to above the bed, there’s a Judas Priest “Screaming for Vengeance” poster, with what i'm Pretty Sure is a Slayer tapestry beneath it.

and here's an image i tweaked with to imitate Eddie's poster,

im unsure if it's an Exact replica but it's definitely good enough for me

and for the Slayer tapestry, I could not find the exact one online, which is why i'm unsure if i'm even correct, but i'm like 97% sure that's the slayer logo. sooooooooo..................

To the side of the bed, there isn't much except for what i think is another nightstand, and the only thing i can make out on it is a red cup. Two posters hang on the wall over here, and there isn't much seeing as a window & an amp (?) take up almost all of this side of the room.

the one poster I can actually make out on this side of the room and even then it took me a hot minute to do so, is the bottom one. It's a poster for Anthrax's "Fistful of Metal" album. I looked, and couldn't find the Exact poster, so i made an imitation of it for an attempt at a clearer idea.

Above the closet, hangs an Anthrax banner.

now, onto the best quality image we'll have of Eddie's room in this post. Here i'll be describing from left to right, and really only focusing on the wall decor.

The first thing i can place my finger on here, is behind the dresser there is a poster of Iron Maiden's mascot "Eddie"

Now obviously this isn't the exact image, (different colours, different background) but if you take a look at what we Can see of it even as it's hidden behind the dresser and banner, it lines up pretty well (the axe, the hand, the bit of shoulder)

the Corroded Coffin banner: An obviously homemade thing, that looks well-loved and worn, even ripping at the top. I wonder if this is one Eddie and his bandmates made for when they play at the Hideout that he ended up keeping?

The acoustic guitar that reads "THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS": Most likely a reference to Woody Guthrie's "This machine kills fascists"

A lamp is bolted into the wall, and another one of Eddie's black bandanas hangs off of it. Beside the lamp, there is a poster for the band Massacre. Sort of looks like an ad for a show, i'm not tooooo sure. Couldn't find any copies of it online.

The next poster I can make out is for the band Liege Lord, and seems as if it's from a live show from '84. Beside it is a poster for a live "Metal Night", the only band I can see on it is Nasty Savage.

Above these two, is another two posters, though the only one I can make out is a Judas Priest "Defenders of The Faith" poster. Here it is in clear quality:

Beside it and a bit under it I'm guessing, is a mirror. Above the mirror there is a mount for Eddie's "Sweetheart" so she hangs down over it. A limited-edition replica of Eddie's guitar was available at Guitar Center, and there were only about 2000 of them made. It retailed for around $899 USD, and even then, that was the lower-priced version. An EXACT recreation would cost almost $5k USD. Jesus H Christ.

Just underneath the guitar, there's again a poster for the band Nasty Savage. In front of the poster, oddly enough, there is a full pepper shaker. I've seen people speculate that Eddie keeps this around just in case, seeing as if you sniff some black pepper during a harsh high, it can help combat anxiety and paranoia.

And a last thing that is probably honestly a stretch, but oh well.

Above the other window in Eddie's room, there's something hanging. I think this could be a red version of a Hellfire shirt. Don't ask me to explain why, you either see it or you don't.

OH and also, don’t think i forgot because i almost did,

Eddie’s infamous cuffs he’s got hanging on his wall, i think beside his closet? . An honourable mention for sure.

And that's about it I think. i know I didn't really mention or go into detail on his guitars and amps,but i'm simply not knowledgeable in instruments for that. Though I think in total he has three guitars. idek how many amps don't ask me to count.

If u really just read this all the way to the end I applaud you. I hope you enjoyed and make good use of all this info i just dumped. And if you believe u can help improve this post pls leave a comment i did this all with only my own knowledge.

Tumblr won’t let me paste a link for some reason, but the tiktok video i used for reference and where all of the screenshots are from is by user averilina.

P.S. if i missed out on anything in the room or didn’t mention something in a picture, it’s probably because i literally could not make out what it was/said no matter how hard i tried. My weak little eyes and tiny brain can only do so much. Sighs

#this post is a product of autism #eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #behind the scenes #my laptop crashed while i was writing this

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