#Librarian-Knowledge Management

[hotzimbabwejobs]

Job Opportunity: Subject Information Specialists (2 Posts) at the University of Zimbabwe! - February 2025

The University of Zimbabwe is seeking two highly skilled and motivated Subject Information Specialists to join their Library Department! If you have a passion for information science and knowledge management, this is an excellent opportunity to contribute to the academic excellence of the university. About the Role: As a Subject Information Specialist, you will play a crucial role in providing…

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (3) | Only Human

Part One, Two

Before your fateful encounter that led to the attention of your loyal canine neighbors and the adoring affection of cow-woman- Eudora you were left to your own devices. Managing your own chores and the sprucing up of your newly inherited property. But it’s exhausting working day in and out on such a big project; it’s a given that you search for something else to do. Something to keep the loneliness at bay as you endure the sneers and snickers from the townspeople. Specifically found in one of the most abandoned spots of the whole town the library. 

Ring Ring

“Hello is anyone in here?....Well if you are I’m just going to find what I need and check it out at the desk!”

Typically this would seem presumptuous for anyone to do but you had a sneaking suspicion your human status might have something to do with the missing librarian. Nonetheless, you did what you said grabbing a small amount and writing on the ledger conveniently left on the desk. Filling it out hoping that whoever was responsible for the neatly kept interior within the run-down library would realize you’d taken the initiative to borrow. Unbeknownst to you igniting a chain reaction for those who bear witness.

“Did they…take a book?”

“T-t-they took four!”

“Oh, goodness!?”

Now there were quite a few curious souls that looked at you without contempt as they spied on you flipping through your latest borrows as you made your way to your car but none as eager as the librarian himself. It wasn’t bizarre that someone would come into the library to borrow a book…what was odd was that a newcomer had come for it and had full intentions to return.

“I-it’’s them!?? They’re coming back!”

“Eeek I’ll have to hide!”

Ring Ring

“If anyone’s here I’ll just do what I did last time.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see some kind of appendage but when you turn to follow you find nothing but another row of books. Still oblivious to the hybrid practically gone into heat at the close encounter, they watch you leave once again.

“They nearly saw my tail!”

“T-that has to mean s-s-something good, right?”

 The few citizens of the town who frequented the library considered themselves to be of a different variety than the plebians rest of the town. A more enlightened group that relied on their vast collection of books to inform their decisions. All led by the very man given the honor to run the library.

“All rise for the great Stein!”

“Rest your heads, my enlightened followers a great happening has come upon us and I have our next course of action.”

By day the librarian was the soft-spoken, always flustered snake hybrid—Stein. Hired by the mayor to watch over the library in a building slowly violating the regulations of the up-to-code buildings surrounding it. It was the perfect place for the alarming presence of a snake hybrid feared for their notorious predatory instinct. Hidden, secluded, and generally avoided by the greater part of the town. Even those with a predator heritage were wary of the reptilian hybrid that is if they didn’t know him for the timid, stuttering librarian he appeared to be is.

“I-i-i’m the librarian w-w-w-what do you need help with?”

“Wow happy to finally meet you this time! Anyway I was wondering if you had the sequel to this book? I tried looking for it but I just can’t seem to find it.”

“T-t-t-that’s f-f-f-fine come with me.”

By night, Stein would become the leader that the minority of the town gathered around. Eagerly awaiting his knowledgable word. On an unrelated note, the town’s collection of books has a larger collection of the fictional genre influencing those curious enough to explore. With so much information they only found it right to turn to the hybrid tasked with understanding it all, seeing as no one other than Stein had attempted to learn from the non-fiction section…that is until you.

“My lord what does this mean!?”

“Shall we stake them?!”

“Ritualize them?!”

“Entice them to join!?

“Enlightened, please! Quiet your questions for I have the answer to all of them. The human is our Excalibur!”

Gasps fill the library basement.

“Can this be?”

“As the legend foretells whosoever should hold Excalibur shall hold the keys to the kingdom!” 

“That must be you our great lord Stein! You are the Arthur!”

“I should hope so.” 

“With this knowledge, we can work together to bring Excalibur to you!”

“But we must be cautious! The others of the round table before they become friends will be enemies!” 

“We must begin planning immediately!”

Stein isn’t delusional or an idiot or easily swayed by any means. He’s well aware that the stories of Welsh folklore are obviously not real at least not in this time. He went to school, a private school that accelerated his learning and then he went to a university where he proceeded to get his doctorate. But the bored and uninspired superstitious minority of the town did not. If that wasn’t enough to convince these other hybrids to follow, the fact that his particular origins were that of the venomous Black Mamba with a mix of Boa Constrictor. They were right to be afraid he happened to have both killer traits of his feared parents, it’s a given many insolent prey will rationalize that the one they fear the most must know the truth.

“(Y-y/n) good to see you, checking out the prequels?”

“You know it. I also wanted to know if you had recommendations for building doggy doors?”

“...I might have something…are you thinking of getting a dog?”

“Not necessarily but I’ve got a hole in my door and I think if I try and fix it it’ll just keep happening.”

“Say it! Ask my lord!”

“What was that?”

“I-i-uh I’m not very good with fixing things b-b-but if you like I could take a look…if you like?”

“That’s real sweet of you Stein, I appreciate that!” 

“The steps to procuring Excalibur commences!”

“Shh!”

He figures if he’s happening to start a cult, he might as well get help in his love-life. It might have been foolish to proclaim a poor outcast human the most prized object that this collective could agree upon but knowing the lengths his followers would go to he’d rather you be something adored than hated. Especially since the control he had on the collective wasn’t as straightforward as he had hoped.

“See my lord we’ve brought you the enemy!”

“Mmmffff.”

“Oh my.”

“It will be your first of many meals—I mean sacrifices in your pursuit of the grand Excalibur.”

“I–yes that is the plan.”

“Now eat! This is just fodder for the great Stein! Oh the grand ruler you’ll be!”

“EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!”

Stein swallows a tired sigh, ‘a wolf hybrid is gonna be so fattening.’

“For your information my lord, he broke the wheels of Excalibur’s wagon–forcing them to buy their overpriced replacements.”

“...I’ll need salt.”

“Yes, my lord!”

When he’s not playing up to the dastardly cult leader he gets to be at night he’s all so shy. It’s hard trying to connect with the human he’s got such a big crush on especially since their outcasted status was beginning to change. Unknowingly harming him, his collective was being much nicer—complimenting you and standing up for you when you have encounters with human-hating citizens. He’s happy for you but he curses the loss he used to have with speaking to you. Now instead of his well-planned bump-ins with you on the way to the market he’ll have to spend more of his evening following far behind. And that’s when your neighbors and roommate aren’t getting in the way

“Don’t argue with me, Mutt I know you did that on purpose!”

“Please, no one told you to where those dumb shoes to a market day!”

“Yeah well appearance is every–”

“...” “...”

“Mutt go get (Y/n), I smell danger.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

It’s so shattering for him to constantly be overshadowed by every interested citizen in town. It’s almost enough to make him give up hope but the remaining thing that ties him to you is his saving grace. 

“W-what if we made a book-club, you and I?”

“I don’t think anyone would want to join. Not with me in it…”

“Mmm–”

“But I’d love to talk about books with you! Over drinks or at my house if that’s better!”

“T-t-t-that’s perfect!”

If he could get past his fears he’s sure he’d be a force to be reckoned with but he’d much rather go the way he’s going now. He often receives letters about how his mother kept his father close to the nest at the beginning of their relationship. And since she seems to believe he can do even better with a mere human, he’d love if it was all organic minus the cults help.

“I feel like I'm on fire knowing such a holy existence is so close to me. I’m going to take full advantage of this. You are just a human it might be better that it’s me you end up with, especially in this town.”

Part 4: Here

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather

[yuechihua]

your love is the greatest sin.

summary: As a humble librarian, you're only interested in stories. Anaxa promises to give you the grandest story of them all.

notes: 8.9k words, author's notes, spoilers for 3.2, chest cavity and organ touching, ambiguous relationships

You were eighteen the first time you heard about Anaxa, though you didn’t think much of him at first.

“Watch out for that mad alchemist. If you’re going to survive here, then avoid Anaxagoras,” someone joked to you, and you nodded numbly.

Back then, in those first few days of your arrival at the Grove of Epiphany, you had little time for anything outside of survival. You had nothing save the clothes on your back and the torn edges of a few slim books you managed to save before the black tide swallowed your home and your family.

If you weren’t staying up late each night reading the books your father cherished, then you were disoriented by the swaying whispers of divine branches that woke you every morning, the eternal night that shadowed your window, the internal politics of a people entrenched deeply in academia. 

Still, you couldn’t escape Anaxa even then, infamy blooming with his every odd experiment and reckless movement. His name was always on the tips of everyone’s tongues, accompanied by admiration or reprobation. 

He was mad, people said. A heretic, using the intelligence Ceres blessed him with for all the wrong reasons. The sages should kick him out for the ideas he held, ones that seemed more intended to outrage than to produce any meaningful discourse.

“It’s better to stay out of his way,” one of your gossipy classmates advised you. You had decent enough relationships with your peers, but you primarily kept to yourself and took internal notes of the various topics that fascinated them. “He’s so rude, and he doesn’t care about anything but his experiments!”

“He’s very smart, though,” someone else chimed in. “If you can stomach the way he talks, you can ask him for his notes. Best ones I’ve ever seen.”

Anaxagoras, Anaxa, the Great Performer. What an odd man. You kept his name tucked away in the corner of your mind to turn over like a golden coin, spied his fluttering hair out of the corner of your eye, saw the sheen of black fabric covering his eye, and heard the echo of his brisk steps passing you in the halls. 

He was an oddity that sparked your interest, even if he never seemed to notice you. That was fair enough; you were only another pair of eyes in a crowd of them, and he must have grown used to the attention by the time you arrived.

Still, you had little time to worry over Anaxa outside of those stray moments when your paths collided, heretic or not. You had fled to the Grove of Epiphany for a particular reason, out of all the other city-states you could have taken refuge in.

You were here for the library, which housed the largest collection of stories Amphoreus had ever seen. Its wealth of knowledge would have fed a starving man for centuries, and you were a supplicant begging for even a morsel.

You were weaned on stories from your very first memories. Your father read you books from his private collection, and your mother spun stories from her own imagination or that she remembered from the words of others. Even your older brother took you out to see travelling storytellers or the nearby temple to hear about the myths of gods.

“Stories are the most beautiful things in the world,” your father told you. “They can house a world’s memories, a culture’s legacy.”

Stories were the only ways for things to survive, and it was how people could outlive their limited lifespans. After all, if you didn’t tell your family’s story to yourself, then you would have killed them twice. You poured over your memories, even when it was a story that could only end in the same way every time: your mother, pushing you out the backdoor and telling you to run as she gripped a rusty knife in hand. You father, handing you a few cherished books from his private collection, your only inheritance. Your older brother, biding you to hide with shaking hands as he ran out to distract the monsters.

People were finite. Stories were not

In a few more months at the Grove, you wormed your way into an assistant librarian position, content for now with the jobs of shelving books and organizing the catalogue, cocooned in your world of ink and paper, getting to touch the face of every new scroll or book that passed its way into the archives.

For all intended purposes, your life was going according to plan. You were surrounded by stories, and you were certain that after studying library sciences and dedicating all your time here, you could take the role of head librarian one day. Yet, why did it feel like you were still missing something?

That was when you first met Anaxa as he glided into the library with a relaxed arrogance that drew ire and admiration from all of your classmates, robes fluttering behind him.

“I need these books,” he told you curtly, without looking at your face. He slid a sheet of parchment across your desk, scrawled with the names of tedious-sounding titles. His handwriting, you were surprised to find, was an elegant, looping scrawl.

“Some of these books have restricted access,” you said, scanning the list. He was a man you had heard so much about, and yet, he was still just that: a man. Still, there was a gravitas to his bearing. This was someone who would truly do something remarkable in his lifetime. “You need permission from a professor or a librarian before you can check them out. Some of these books are quite controversial.”

“Controversial only because people were unwilling to acknowledge anything that didn’t reinforce their limited worldview,” Anaxa said. 

“Well, in a world ruled by the Titans, it’s controversial to posit that they could ever be similar to us.”

“The boundary between divinity and humanity is a false one,” he said. “But you can’t access these books?”

“It’s not within my authority,” you acknowledged. “These books are especially rare because their production was stopped early, or people burned so many copies we only have these few left. So they’re kept under tight supervision.”

Anaxa turned, his interest in you gone now that you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

Your heartbeat quickened at the loss of attention, of how easily this strange man was going to slip through your fingers. Maybe that was why you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “But I could, technically, find a way. If you made it worth my time.”

Anaxa turned back around, finally looking you in the eyes, observing you in the same way he looked at a lab specimen on a dissecting table, keen gaze intent on flaying you open. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Nothing that would inconvenience you much, really. Something simple. You’re an alchemist, right? Consider it an act of equivalent exchange.” The idea spun itself into existence as you voiced it, an answer to your tedium you hadn’t realized you were considering until now. “I want to witness your story.”

“A story? You’re surrounded by books.”

“I’m curious,” you said, “about a story only you can tell me. They call you a heretic, you know. The things you’ve told me are things most people wouldn’t even dare voice. So I want to see where your path leads.”

Anaxa still watched you, as if the dissection he thought would be simple had suddenly unearthed a new complication. “If you’re going to bring up an equivalent exchange, what am I getting out of this? You’re the only one who benefits from such an arrangement.”

“I know this place better than anyone else. It’s easier to get your hands on something when you have someone on the inside, don’t you think? There’s a chance if you ask for permission from someone else, they’ll refuse your request.”

“And if someone catches and punishes you for misconduct? You would risk your position for a story?”

“Not just any story,” you corrected. “Your story. This is beneficial for both of us. Besides, you’re a performer, right? Don’t you want an audience who’s going to watch you attentively until the very end?”

“That’s a bold proposition, librarian,” he said. 

“Are you going to refuse?”

“No. I think it’s an interesting idea. I’ll agree to your terms.”

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you,” you said. 

You held out your hand, and after a beat, Anaxa slid his into your grip. His hand was papery soft and cool, thin, elegant fingers wrapping around yours. They didn’t seem like the hands of a heretic.

“Now. My books?” Anaxa prompted, withdrawing his hand immediately. 

“I’ll get them for you.”

Basking in the afterglow of your unexpected meeting and his ready agreement, you relished in the chance to observe him up close. Anaxa was a bizarre character who challenged everything that was determined as an immutable fact, and he would change the Grove.

You would watch him until he didn’t find you useful, or you grew bored. Fate might spin its wheels, and tangle you helplessly in its threads as it wrenched you along, but this relationship, at least, was clear.

In a matter of weeks, you came to recognize Anaxa’s presence in the library by the sound of his light and decisive footsteps and the scent of ink, chemicals, and paper that trailed him wherever he went. He showed up at a similar time every day, and his appearance became so embedded in your routine you didn’t even have to raise your head to acknowledge his presence; he only announced himself by sliding a paper of all his various requested books across your desk. 

“I need these books,” he said.

You scanned the list. “This one hasn’t been mentioned in our records in several decades. I’d have to dig through our archives to find it.”

“Well? Is it too hard for you, then?” Anaxa raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. 

Asshole. You stood with a clatter of your chair. “Not at all.”

He was one of your most frequent patrons, and easily the most annoying. Every day it seemed he came with new demands and a list of obscure books that you had to dig through the shelves to find. As soon as you brought out his staggering collections of tomes, he perched on the edge of your desk, flipping through them and remarking on their contents.

It didn’t bother you too much as you were always flitting between shelving new returns, sorting through the catalogues, and helping students with their various requests. But no matter how long it took you to accomplish all of your tasks, Anaxa was always waiting when you came back, posture still neat and legs crossed, one over the other. Privately, you’d begun to think of him as the library’s resident cat in the way he lounged in places that most inconvenienced you.

“It took you twenty minutes to assist the student this time, librarian,” he said, without looking up from his book. “Perhaps you aren’t as familiar with the library’s layouts as you claim.”

“It’s still faster than you would be. There are centuries of books to sort through, and sometimes these students only have a general idea of what they want and not a specific title,” you replied. “Wouldn’t it be more comfortable for you to sit in my chair or find somewhere else to read?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anaxa said. “What do you think about the soul?”

“Immaterial, difficult to work with, and the basis of an overwhelming amount of philosophy books in the library.”

“And the gods?”

“I don’t care much for them, though I am familiar with all of their stories. They only matter to me insofar as they relate to the books housed here.”

Anaxa laughed. “Why, that sounds borderline blasphemous.”

You sighed, slouching back in your chair. Your desk was a curve of polished wood located near the center of the room, in perfect view of every student who wandered the library so they knew exactly where to go for help. Though with Anaxa’s presence, they only approached you when you wandered the stacks, or he was absent for the day.

There were already rumors springing up about your relationship and how much time the two of you spent together. You warded off your classmates’ inquiries with a practiced smile, as you were the more approachable of the two. Even if you wanted to answer them, there wasn’t one you could give. You barely knew what to call the two of you yourself.

Were you close to him? You wouldn’t say that. You hadn’t really let yourself grow close to anyone here on principle. What word described the two of you best? Friend felt too kind of a word. Lover was irrefutably wrong. Partner was at least somewhat correct, but lacked context. If nothing else, then the best explanation was that Anaxa was a planet and you were a moon, drawn into his orbit for no other reason than the natural rules of gravity. 

“I believe your only god is memory,” Anaxa said.

You didn’t spare him a glance as you idly picked at the supplies lining your desk, lining the stacks of papers and colorful pots of ink in neat formation. “Then your god is truth, though I’d like to say your god is also yourself.”

“Then we’re not so different.”

“Are you going to keep needling at me, or are you going to fulfill your end of the bargain?”

Anaxa tilted his head. With his hands braced on the edge of the desk, he leaned closer to you, an insufferable smile playing on his lips. “I already am, librarian. A story can only be defined in the retrospective, once it comes to an end. Right now, you’re in the process of witnessing mine, aren’t you?”

“I just hope for more from the person they call the great performer,” you said evenly. 

“And what are you hoping for, precisely?”

“A good story.”

Anaxa placed a hand on his chest in mock sincerity. “Then you won’t be disappointed. Have some patience! Good stories require proper build-up.”

He was an infuriating man, through and through. But he was an infuriating man you had decided to tie yourself to, and you would see where his road would lead him in the end.

In the next several years that passed, Anaxa devoted himself to the pursuit of higher knowledge, working as the assistant of professors and pursuing his doctorate, and you pulled yourself up one tedious position at a time until you were working full-time at the library, losing yourself in documentation and categorization. There were always new books being brought in that had to be labeled, sorted, and registered in the library’s catalogue, more stories for you to devour.

No one had a complaint about you as you cared for nothing but your stories, it seemed Anaxa always found a way to needle those in charge, and he never tired of their outrage and indignation. His dreams were lofty, his inspirations grander than anyone could understand. And through it all, you watched him, taking note of all his movements: how he slept little and mumbled to himself, scribbled alchemical equations on any available surface, and the way manic light suffused his eyes when he came to a supposed breakthrough.

Anaxa slid into the framework of your life without any preamble or fuss, as natural as the air you breathed or the blood in your veins. His presence by your side was natural, and you only paused to acknowledge him when someone brought him to your attention. Your strange little relationship eventually expanded beyond the confines of the library. Anaxa still visited you there, but now, the two of you were prone to meeting in courtyards or various classrooms, wherever it was convenient to steal a moment to converse.

Your classmates no longer commented on your relationship, though you did still get the odd stare here and there. The two of you existed in your own little bubble, uninterested in other people outside of what they could offer you.

“Is it true that the two of you are dating?” New students were prone to asking you that question, with all the boldness and innocence that youth commanded. This one was no different, and she watched you with curious eyes.

“I can’t date Anaxa because he’s already in a committed relationship with his research. I can’t ask him to cheat,” you replied dryly.

“I didn’t give you permission to call me Anaxa,” he sniped.

“That’s because I gave myself permission.”

However, the closeness you semi-enjoyed with Anaxa came with one major detriment: a lack of respect for your personal space. 

“Librarian, wake up.”

You grumbled, emerging from your fragmented sleep, the cobweb of dreams still clinging to your mind. With sunlight warming your face and a nest of blankets wrapped around your body, you were loath to wake. And yet you did to Anaxa staring unsmiling down at you, arms crossed.

You swore viciously, scrambling upright and drawing your blankets closer to yourself. You launched a pillow at him, which Anaxa promptly side-stepped.

“Good morning,” he said.

“How did you get in here?”

“You left your door unlocked.”

“And you didn’t knock?”

“You didn’t answer, and I needed your assistance. I’ll give you ten minutes to get ready.”

“Make it thirty! And get out of here!” You threw another pillow at his retreating back. 

It really was like you had become close to a cat. Without a care in the world, he flounced into your life and took your lack of rejection as an invitation to make himself comfortable. It was simply more effort to chase him away than to let him in.

After making yourself as presentable as you could, you were out the door five minutes earlier than expected. Anaxa waited just outside, and the two of you took off side by side at a leisurely pace.

“So? What do you want?” you prompted.

“I have an invitation from Okhema. One of the Chrysos Heirs came directly to speak with me.”

“And…?”

“They were extending me an invitation to become a Chrysos Heir and join them on their journey.”

It was impossible to exist anywhere in Amphoreus and not hear of the Chrysos Heirs. They always felt more like distant legends than anything tangible, but it was a story you had some vested interest in. “You? A Chrysos Heir? What did you say?”

“Of course, I rejected their offer,” he said. “I have no interest in the Flame-Chase Journey, or going to Okhema for some grand destiny laid out for me by the gods.”

“But once you’re chosen, even if you don’t go to Okhema and you reject their path, you’re a Chrysos Heir for good.”

“So what? Other people can call me whatever title they like, but it has no influence on who I am or what I intend to accomplish,” Anaxa said.

“And what is it that you intend to do?”

“I plan to start my own school of knowledge here, and then I will become one of the seven sages.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your throat. “Arrogant as always, but I expect no less.”

The two of you had been winding through the various gardens and courtyards that interspersed the Grove. Soft light filtered playfully through the grove, branches and plants twining around marble patios and columns. It was beautiful, and this was the closest place you could call home.

“And you?” Anaxa said. “What do you plan to do?”

“Stay here and work in the library,” you said. “Someone has to manage it. You should know this.”

“And the Chrysos Heirs?”

“They only interest me insofar as they relate to you and whatever you plan to do,” you said. You skim a hand along one of the branches closest to you, an outshooting of the Sacred Tree, the manifestation of Ceres, the Titan of Reason. The wood is full of delicate whorls like the tight folds of a brain, emanating its own heat and humming under your touch.

“You have the capacity to be one yourself. The messenger they sent hinted as much. If you were interested, you could talk to them.”

You laughed again. “Well, I only have the capacity to be one, right? I wasn’t chosen, not like you, and that’s for good reason. I have no interest in being a saviour for other people.”

The two of you come to a stop in a secluded garden. Everywhere you gazed, you saw the soft, verdant green that announced Ceres’s continued presence and blessing. There must have been irony somewhere that Ceres accepted everyone in the pursuit of knowledge, even those who didn’t believe in them, or loathed them.

“You really don’t believe in the gods,” Anaxa mused.

“I don’t believe in anything but my stories,” you said. You couldn’t stop the bitterness that creeps into your voice. “If the gods were truly omnipotent and omnipresent, they would have stopped the black tide.”

A breeze rustled Anaxa’s hair. He watched you in silent contemplation. “You’re angry.”

“Isn’t everyone? I’ve lost my family, Anaxa. They sacrificed themselves so I could escape, but for what? There’s no safety. There’s not even a guaranteed future I can look forward to.”

“You doubt humanity’s ability to succeed, librarian, even after all the stories you’ve read.” There’s a rare note of intense emotion in Anaxa’s voice, like you’re a stubborn student in one of the classes he assisted in. “You should understand more than anyone else humanity’s potential. If the gods can fail, then that means they are no different from us, and we can succeed where they can’t.”

Despite what everyone thought of Anaxa, his mania and arrogance, what you couldn’t stand the most was his unrelenting faith in humanity’s future. It was a clear belief, one you didn’t understand. You strode closer to him until you were only a breath apart. His single eye stared down impassively at you, a brilliant, jeweled shard that you could cut yourself on. “Then show me something I can believe in.”

Before you could pull away, Anaxa gripped your wrist, using your momentary shock to guide your hand to his eyepatch. Your fingers rested gingerly on the fabric, though you had an inkling that if you were to slide them under, Anaxa would let you. It was a dangerous sort of permission, a line crossed in your relationship that hadn’t been breached before.

Neither of you moved. In a conversational tone, as if this was another one of your light-hearted spats, Anaxa said, “I lost this eye when I tried to bring my sister back from death. Like a fool, I had failed to consider that an eye was not an equivalent enough sacrifice for one life.”

“Your sister?”

“Lost to the black tide, like your family.”

You brushed a finger down the fabric covering his lost eye, as gentle as a butterfly’s kiss. “So we’ve both lost people we loved. How do you find it to keep going?”

“Simple. The gods are false shackles, binding us to our uncertainty and passivity. I intend to break those shackles. Isn’t it the same for how you live for your stories? Because you want something more than the pitiful narrative that’s been penned for humanity?”

“So I live for my stories, and you live for your goals. But that does make me wonder. What else would you sacrifice, Anaxa?”

He burned with an unnatural fervor, a pale flame that would never extinguish. “Everything. So if you can’t believe in anything, believe in me. Don’t look away. Watch me.”

His hand on your wrist seared into your skin, the proximity to his body too intense, too much. You wrenched your hand back, rubbing your wrist, and Anaxa let you go.

“I can’t believe someone like you is a Chrysos Heir. Maybe they’ve finally lost their minds,” you muttered. “Either way, you don’t need to tell me to watch you. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to.”

You could never let your past go. It was a simple truth you were forced to acknowledge. Anger and pain rotted in your soul, carving out a home in the same way termites burrowed into healthy wood, destroying it from the inside out. It was easier to cling to apathy, to watch people from afar rather than risk destruction from attachment. 

You still dreamed of your family, though their faces were starting to fade from your memory. Even your father’s tomes were beginning to disintegrate, no matter how careful you were when handling them. The gods could save nothing, not your family, not your people, not this world, so how could you believe in them?

You were set on being alone, on burying yourself alive in your library. Not much moved you.

That was why it was frightening that Anaxa stirred your heart in ways you dared not dwell on for too long, like the ripples from a stone thrown into a placid pond, spreading farther and farther still.

It didn’t take more than a few years after that for Anaxa to achieve the lofty goals he had presented to you, though you suspected he laid the groundwork for his plans much earlier than he admitted and was simply watching them come to fruition. Despite the opposition, he established his own burgeoning school, and students flocked from afar to study concepts of the soul. He was one of the youngest people to become a professor and a sage, an impressive achievement. 

You became the head of the library, and when you weren’t buried among mountains of books and tomes retrieved from the farthest corner of Amphoreus, you still made time to watch Anaxa. You visited his classrooms, shepherded his confused students to the correct materials he required, and chased him down when he returned rare books far past the due date. 

Research was always his first priority. You never doubted that he would choose his alchemical experiments over you. It never bothered you, because if you had to choose between the library and Anaxa, you would have sacrificed him in a heartbeat. The way he threw himself into his research with a vicious mania wasn’t new or unexpected.

But the way his clothes hung so much more loosely on him, the sharp bones jutting beneath his waxy skin like outcroppings of rocks in a murky sea, his drawn, pale face: that was all new. His body couldn’t keep up with the strain of what he was doing. 

He had told you as much, that he would sacrifice anything for his goals, but it disconcerted you to watch it happen in person. Nothing was sacred, not even his body or his soul.

You knew Anaxa’s schedule as well as your own. When his final class of the day ended, you made your way to his office, where the occasional student milled about in the hallway, chatting with their friends or grumbling about course assignments. It was a familiar sight from your own student days.

“Professor,” you greeted, shutting the door behind you when you entered his office.

“Librarian,” he said. Anaxa flipped through his notes, frowning. He was leaning against his desk, as if the mere act of sitting properly on his chair pained him. “What is it?”

“You’ve been using your body as materials for your alchemy experiments,” you said. Blunt and straight to the point, just as he enjoyed.

“Is that all you came here to say?”

“If you push yourself too much, you’ll die. You’re still only human.”

“I know my limits. There can’t be advancements made without sacrifices.”

“What have you used so far? Your blood? Your organs? Are you going to rip pieces of your soul apart next?”

You’re close to him now, close enough to pin him against the desk, your arms placed on either side of him like bars. Though it didn’t seem as if Anaxa had any intention to; he only watched you with that same curious stare he leveled everyone. It was always a chess game with him, the way he sizes up your next movement, readying his pieces in hand.

“I don’t want a premature end to your story,” you said, “I want to see what you’ll do next. How far you go. You still haven’t given me an impressive performance yet.”

“Oh, librarian,” Anaxa said. “It seems as if you’ve grown soft. Why do you sound so worried? Would you like to check for yourself how I’m doing?”

Coyly, he grasped one of your hands, bringing them to rest against his chest, right above his heart. Your fingers curled over the fabric separating you from him. You laid your hand flat enough against him, and felt the slow, steady pace of his heart, like a story marching toward an inevitable end.

Anaxa barely gave you enough time to settle into the soothing rhythm before he brought your hand to the center of his chest. Instead of solid flesh, there was nothing there but empty space, barely covered by his flimsy robes; you bit back a sharp gasp, driving your teeth hard into your lip.

“Well?” he said. The word fell like a taunt. 

This was an invitation, a provocation, really. Anaxa let you go as you pulled back the buttons of his shirt, almost ripping it in your haste. You were met with a milky galaxy, swirls of blue-green and bright stars, the infinite cosmos unfurling in his chest. His skin broke into a jagged scar shaped like a star, all sharp angles made from soft flesh.

“That was quite bold of you,” Anaxa mused. “We’re still in public, you know.”

“No one is going to come in,” you snapped. “And I locked the door.”

“Were you planning on jumping on me?”

“Were you planning on letting me?” You could do nothing but breathe in tandem to the rise and fall of his chest, to the ripple of the galaxy held within him. This foolish, infuriating man. “How did this happen?”

“Consequences from an experiment,” Anaxa said cryptically. You weren’t going to get any more out of him, if the stubborn silence he fell into was any indication. 

Instead, you brought one hand to the cracks, feeling the edges of skin. Warm, and smooth. It still felt like his human body, and you let one finger drag along his flesh, tracing the outline of the cracks.

You glanced at him, and met an eye that was watching you with palatable intensity, like you were another equation he was trying to solve. There was nothing else for you to do except gently dip your fingers into the hollow of his chest. It was a warm, smooth liquid consistency, like ocean waters from a sun-warmed beach, inviting you to draw your hand further in. 

You noted the way Anaxa tried to hold back a shudder at the first contact. This was affecting him more than he wanted to let on, and you wanted to see his insufferable composure break. He was always so poised, so above everything. You dipped your hand further in, up to your wrist, to your elbow, further than you should have been able to touch. 

Perhaps you could fit your entire body in here. It was a strange thought, unbidden, the idea of letting yourself be swallowed up by him forever, nestled close to his heart, so every time it beat he would be reminded of your presence. 

“Librarian,” Anaxa said in a strained voice. His eye was unfocused now, his breathing shallow. 

“If you’re going to give pieces of yourself away,” you said, swirling your fingers in absent loops in the space inside him. Every part of you felt weightless, like you weren’t really there. “Why not give something to me?”

“And what would you do with it?”

“What do you think?” 

Anaxa’s head dipped slightly. “Something untoward.”

“I think you would like it, though. Is your heart still here?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Can I touch it?”

“Only if I let you.”

“Will you?”

You were met with silence, so you spread your arm through the hollow space, bracing your other hand on the desk behind Anaxa. Everything was disorientingly expansive, like the hole in his chest has pushed the pieces of his body apart, a trick room where the space inside was larger than the space outside. You angled your hand sideways experimentally, towards where his heart should be, and brushed the edge of his rib. Clean, hard bone that you held tenderly, gliding your fingers along the length of it. 

It was this provocation that proved too much for Anaxa. His head fell on your shoulder, and his hands moved to grip your waist, as if he would fall apart without you to anchor. His hands were still slender and elegant, the sort of beautiful hands built for creation.

This sight, the great Anaxa brought so low at your touch, was reserved just for you. As was his body, the tender caverns of it. You took your time to ghost along his bones, relishing in every shudder that wracked his body, and then you found it. A wet muscle, pulsing ever so gently, the center of Anaxa’s body.

You caressed his heart, squeezing it slightly, feeling it contract in your hands. Anaxa’s hands tightened around your waist, his nails digging into clothed flesh. Still, you did nothing more but hold it gently, feeling it quicken alongside Anaxa’s shallow breathing. Soft, warm, inviting. You stroked a thumb along the tender muscle.

“If you want it, you’ll need to give something else to me,” Anaxa said, his voice a low, hot murmur in your ear. “As is the manner of equivalent exchange.”

Before you could respond, a knock resounded on the door. “Professor? I had some questions about the material covered in the lecture today.”

At the sound, you jerked your hand back, your arm emerging pristine and untouched. It felt heavy, gravity weighing you down, unlike the inviting, weightless expanse within Anaxa. In a few seconds, you straightened your clothing as Anaxa buttoned his shirt back and smoothed his robes, leaning heavily against the desk, hand curled around his mouth. You were across the room and pushing open the door, revealing a surprised student, curled fist raised mid-knock.

You schooled your face into a neutral expression, and threw a quick shout over your shoulder. “You aren’t excluded from the rules of the library just because you’re a sage now, professor! Turn your books in on time.”

And then you hurried on, keeping your eyes straight ahead, flexing and unflexing your hand as you walked. The two of you would never speak of that moment again, though you noticed Anaxa looking unbearably smug in the weeks that followed, and you found a new habit of touching his shoulder when you talked.

In the following years that passed, more Chrysos Heirs came to study at the Grove, working under Anaxa’s strict tutelage and wandering the rows of your library. Your favorite was Castorice, who kept a respectful distance back and asked you numerous questions about the books in your archives. Your least favorite was Phainon, who had a habit of being a little more clumsy with the books than you liked.

“Do you enjoy teaching them?” you asked, hand cupped in your cheek. Anaxa retained the habit of perching on your desk, still preferring to claim your space as his rather than find one of his own.

In turn, however, you had grown bolder with his body. If he wasn’t going to take care of it, you might as well put it to use. His arm lay stretched across your desk, and you scribbled notes on the creamy, smooth skin of his inner arm: alchemical equations he taught you, or reminders of what books he had to return, or doodles of dromases. 

“If they’re going to embark on the Flame-Chase Journey, it’s prudent for them to find their own path, instead of blindly believing what they’re told,” he remarked. You put down your pen, and Anaxa glanced at the fresh ink still shining on his skin. “Librarian, what is this?”

“A dromas,” you said.

He examined the inked doodle, eye borrowed. “The proportions of its facial features are off and too close together.”

“How picky, professor. I’ll draw a better one next time.”

It was easy, so easy being with Anaxa that it frightened you. New students of Anaxa’s assumed the two of you were “together,” and it wasn’t right, but it wasn’t wrong, either. The two of you were a pair, and it felt wrong to be away from him, like you were being denied part of who you were.

Did you love him? Did you need him? Your desire took on confusing forms, eluding categorization and convention. Maybe you were simply greedy: like the day he let you touch the galaxy in his chest, you wanted more of Anaxa, to shelter within him forever.

How to understand this? Was there even a way to understand it, or were you helpless to desire’s whims? It was an unsolvable equation. 

The years could have passed so sweetly and comfortably, until you heard news of Titankin flooding Okhema and strange new warriors appearing. As Hyacine made to venture into the holy city to treat the wounded, Anaxa approached you one evening while you were in your bedroom, flinging it open without a knock, another habit he retained.

“Go with Hyacine to Okhema,” Anaxa said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re curious about the new strangers in the city, and what happened with Strife, aren’t you? Go with her and learn.”

“Are you kicking me out of the Grove, professor?” you asked.

“I’m telling you to seek new knowledge, and see the center of a new, great story. Or have you grown complacent here, tending to your dusty scrolls?”

“Aren’t you going to miss me?”

Anaxa leaned against the door of your bedroom. “Why should I?”

“You want to know about those strangers and the status of Okhema,” you guessed. “Don’t you?”

“If that’s how you chose to see my words, I don’t see any need to refute you.”

“You’re as frustrating as ever, professor,” you said. You stood, making your way over to him. Idly, you started playing with the hair that fell over his shoulders, silky strands slipping through your fingers. “Why don’t you say you’re also worried about me? Shuffling me, a poor librarian off to the holy city, when there’s so much turbulence in Amphoreus right now… It doesn’t feel coincidental.”

Anaxa dipped his head, chin lowered to his chest. “Will you admit that that sort of concern makes you happy, then?”

“Do you have any evidence to support that?”

“Do you?” he challenged.

“Well, since my expertise doesn’t lie in debating, so I’ll refrain from answering.” You withdrew your hand, reached down, and pulled Anaxa’s hand up by the wrist, placing it over your heart. His fingers rested lightly against your chest, as if he could cage your heartbeat. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, then. Goodbye for now, professor.”

“Goodbye, librarian.”

The road to Okhema was relatively pleasant. Hyacine was cheerful and made for good company, perceptive enough to know when you tired of talking. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disoriented. You weren’t attached at the hip to Anaxa, as your duties took up most of your time, and he had his spells where he forgot the rest of the world existed when he was buried in research. But you weren’t used to being far enough away where if you called his name, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

Okhema was still vibrant and bustling when you and your retinue of exhausted scholars approached, shining with a ferocity that denied any rumors of defeat and downfall. Kephale rose grandly above the city in the distance, arms outstretched as if ready to take on your burdens. 

“I need to go look at some of the soldiers now,” Hyacine said. “Why don’t you go greet Lady Aglaea first? I’ll follow you as soon as you can!”

It was as solid a plan as any. You trudged through the city, making your way to where Aglaea waited. As you walked through sunlight and vapor from the local baths, through laughter and the splash of carefree citizens: it seemed humanity would prevail no matter what.

When you found Aglaea, she was waiting, patient as ever, an enigmatic smile on her lips and hands folded in front of her, as pristine and flawless as a god carved from marble.

“Hello, librarian.”

“Hello, Lady Aglaea. I’m here from the Grove of Epiphany along with a few of my companions. Hyacine will likely come greet you soon,” you said. There was no need to go through any formalities with her; her golden threads had likely picked up on the vibration of your conversation with Hyacine. It cut down on any need for pleasantries and explanations.

“And I’m sure you’ll be reporting everything we say back to that man?” Her smile was still cool, unruffled; you admired her composure. You had no quarrel with Aglaea, and you could not grudge her need for control and protection of all her citizens. Still, it was a daunting task to stand in front of someone like her.

“Reporting is a strong word,” you said. “I would prefer something more like observation. I’m not here to make trouble, only to note what I see.”

“They say you’re a recluse, a librarian who’s only fond of stories and barely has the time to give to anyone outside of a certain professor,” Aglaea said. “You would have made a good candidate for the Coreflame of Time.”

“Ah, but I’m too selfish to sacrifice myself for humanity,” you said, filling in the gaps of her words. “I know my flaws.”

“Indeed. You’re too caught up in your own stories, narrating everything you see as if it has nothing to do with you.”

“And is that so wrong? It’s simply the most interesting thing for me to do,” you said. 

“You and that man are alike in that way,” Aglaea mused. “Caught up in your respective research and acts. You’re a narrator and a performer on the same stage together, though I wonder. It seems as if that man is eager to perform great feats for the distant narrator to watch, so they won’t turn their attention away from him.”

You settled your gaze somewhere over her shoulder, your hands grasped tightly in the folds of your clothing. “Lady Aglaea, I apologize for my bluntness, but I daresay you’re wrong. We both know Anaxa is the sort of man who would only stir to action for the sake of his own goals. Anything else that happens is incidental to what he achieves.”

“Do we both know that?”

“You’ve seen how he acts.”

“Regardless, I only wanted to extend a word of caution to you, librarian. You’ve long refused the invitation to step on the stage, and so your chance to take the spotlight has passed. Are you truly prepared to witness the story playing out in front of you without being able to raise a hand to stop a single event from transpiring?”

“Is this advice from you personally, Lady Aglaea, or is it advice from a demigod?”

She smiled. “What do you think? I’m sure you’ll come to a conclusion all on your own. I only find it a shame we couldn’t work together more.”

That was the end of your conversation with her. But throughout your stay in Okhema, Aglaea’s words rang in your head, like a burr stuck to the folds of your thoughts, even as you found yourself preoccupied by greater worries. The Grove being overtaken by the black tide. Political unrest in Okhema. And Anaxa, who, from all accounts, had seemingly escaped the fate that befell your coworkers and peers.

Once more, your home was lost, but this time, at least one person had survived. Yet, to your growing ire and confusion, Anaxa did not approach you once when he came to the city. You only received reports from Hyacine in the temporary room you took refuge in, provided by Aglaea. 

You thought nothing of it at first, certain he would seek you out on his own time. It wasn’t uncommon for Anaxa to rush headlong into whatever project or scheme caught his attention. He would make his way back to you eventually.

As the hours passed, malaise and discontent settled on you like a heavy veil. You were not a Chrysos Heir, so you were not privy to the inner politics of their number. You were nothing more than a civilian. But this was the first time you had to hear about Anaxa’s movements from other people instead of relaying them to others. 

His silence was a purposeful message: Anaxa was not going to involve you in whatever he had planned. You were to sit and wait and watch on the sidelines, as you always had.

You could guess at his motivations: he was playing risky games, getting involved with the Council of Elders. He had done something outrageous, brushed right up against the divine, and had to undertake his trials alone. You were not useful to him in these games, and it would be dangerous for him to openly associate with you and alert people of your presence in his life.

People were lost so easily, but stories lived forever. You had believed this all your life, and yet, as you melted in your chaise, stacks of half-finished books piling around you, all your beloved stories felt stale and tasteless. 

Someone flung open your door, and you jerked upright as Anaxa strode into the room with the same arrogance as if this was your home back in the Grove. You barely had time to smooth your rumpled clothing and pull your legs to the side before Anaxa was settling at the end of your seat, legs folded.

“Where have you been, you ass?” you snapped, kicking him with your foot.

He didn’t move, taking your kick with stoicism. “I’ve been researching,” he said.

“Well? Are you going to tell me what you’ve been working on?”

“These theories are still being worked on.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from telling me before. Honestly, what have you been doing? The Chrysos Heirs are all over the place, and there’s been talk that you’ve joined the Council of Elders. Not to mention what happened with the Grove. How did you get out? What happened? Why–” You choked on your words, all your nameless frustration and fear surging out. “Why couldn’t I be there with you?”

Anaxa’s eye was focused on you, but his gaze was distant and foggy. His lips moved, as if he was speaking to himself, and you could only wait in impatient silence before he said, “I’m dead, librarian.”

With a furious burst of energy, you lunged at Anaxa, pinning him down to the chaise. His green hair fanned across the cushions, as your hands shook.

“Anaxa, I don’t have time for your games. For once in your life, just tell me the truth.”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“You’re still here,” you pressed. “If you were truly dead, you wouldn’t be moving like this.”

“That’s simply because I bound my soul to a Titan. I don’t have that much time left.”

“Titan…? You can’t mean… You bound yourself to a god? Are you mad?”

“Only in the eyes of fools,” he said. 

“Anaxa. How long do you have left?”

He called your name, said in such a soft tone, as if you were still teenagers in the Grove of Epiphany, still young and foolish with your entire lives in front of you. “Only until the end of today. You know the black tide takes all, and you know the principles of equivalent exchange. A life for a life. It’s fitting.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whispered. “You were going to show me a grand story. Things I haven’t seen before. A brilliant conclusion.”

“I will.” Anaxa brought his hand to the back of your head, pulling you down to rest on his chest. You closed your eyes, burying your face in the fabric of his clothing. You sought desperately for his heartbeat, but it wasn’t there. “But all performers must leave the stage eventually.”

“I don’t want you to,” you said. It was a childish, petulant protest, the likes of which you hadn’t made in years, not after your family died. “You’re supposed to live forever, Anaxa.”

“I will. I will live forever in your stories, librarian. You should understand this.”

“You infuriating man.”

“You meddlesome librarian.”

“Are you telling me goodbye? Is this what this is?”

“It doesn’t have to be something permanent,” he said cryptically.

“And I’m sure you won’t explain what that means, either, will you?”

“All will be revealed in due time. Have patience, librarian. That’s one of your strong suits.”

“Anaxa!” Your shout came out to a strangled whisper as you fisted your hands in his robes as if in some vain attempt, you could bind him to this earth forever, as if he wasn’t already lost to you. “You’re a wretched, blasphemous fool. But you’ve forgotten something.”

“And what have I forgotten? Enlighten me, dear librarian.”

“You let me touch your heart,” you murmured into the hollow of his chest. “Remember? That day in the classroom?”

“Well, it’s difficult to forget the liberties you took with my body. What about it?”

“You asked me what I would give in exchange for your heart. I never answered you, and as per the laws of equivalent exchange, as you so like to espouse, I’d like to give you something now,” you persisted. 

“Oh? And what are you planning on offering?”

“My heart,” you persisted. “If you give me a part of you, then I’ll give you a part of me.”

“Do you plan on ripping your heart out for me?”

“If you asked, then it’s yours, to do with as you please.”

Anaxa did not speak. He only stroked the back of your head, as if he was tracing alchemical equations. “What an audacious claim.”

“You don’t dislike it, though.”

“I told you I don’t lie, librarian.”

“Then you need to understand this,�� you confessed, a supplicant before a god, the words tumbling out in a way they never have before. Your heartache, laid raw and bare, the weave of your soul exposed. “I’ve kept myself distance from everything. The Grove. The other scholars. Even Amphoreus itself. But you, Anaxa. You make me act so foolishly, want irrational and unattainable things. I can’t keep myself apart from you.”

“Well, well,” Anaxa said. “The reclusive librarian has finally shown me a bit of what lies in their heart.”

You hit him lightly with your fist, the action carrying no anger or weight to it. “Come on. Is that all you have to say to me?”

“I don’t need to say anything. All you need to do is to keep watching me, like we once promised,” he said. “Come, librarian. If you’ve laid claim to my heart, you should understand it by now. What I do, I do while thinking of you and of the best way to keep you entertained.”

You wrapped your arms around Anaxa. He was still touching you ever so gently, stroking your back in a way that belied the harshness of his words. Neither of you spoke. You closed your eyes, imagining what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms. 

“I’ll see you again,” you mumbled. “If not in this life, then in the next. Don’t think you can get away from me so easily.”

You thought you could feel him smile. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

This was the last time you ever saw him. When you did drift off to sleep, you awoke on your chaise, a blanket pulled up to your shoulders, with nothing left of Anaxa but the cooling spot he once occupied.

—

After his death, you dream of him. His body cracking, flaking away to reveal a cosmos birthed beneath his skin. His smile and unfocused eyes, looking at some grand scheme beyond you. The hard, red crystal of heart, the white lines of his ribs.

One day, you will return to your library in the Grove, to your archives and books and your catalogues. But for now, you reside in the holy city, recording what you see, marking history in your own words. The narrator to a play you could not change, as Aglaea called you, in love with a performer who left the stage of his own accord.

Anaxa does not lie, so you know his theories to be true, even if others decry them as blasphemy. You will find him again, in the next life, in the next world. You will find a way to keep his memory alive, weave it into the fabric of the universe itself, so not even the gods could rip him from you even if Amphoreus as you knew it fell to pieces. 

You imagine what it would be like, in the next world. You would pull him close, your dear professor, and tell him every story that happened in his absence. This time, you would not let him go.

[theplotmage]

Fantasy Royal Hierarchy & Government Explained for Dummies

👑 The Royal Hierarchy:

High King/High Queen: The ultimate ruler of all the lands. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They oversee multiple kingdoms and have the final say in all matters.

King/Queen: The rulers of individual kingdoms. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They manage their own territories, make laws, and lead their armies into epic battles.

Prince/Princess: The children of the king and queen. Addressed as “Your Highness.” They’re next in line for the throne and often have their own mini-kingdoms to practice ruling.

Duke/Duchess: High-ranking nobles who control large regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Your Grace.” They’re like the regional managers, handling local governance and military affairs.

Marquess/Marchioness: Nobles who oversee border territories. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re responsible for defending the kingdom’s edges and often have a mix of military and administrative duties.

Earl/Countess: Nobles who manage smaller regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the middle managers, ensuring everything runs smoothly in their areas.

Viscount/Viscountess: Nobles who assist earls and countesses. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the assistant managers, helping with local governance and administration.

Baron/Baroness: The lowest rank of nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They control small areas of land and are responsible for local justice and order.

Lord/Lady: A general title for nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” Lords and ladies can hold various ranks and responsibilities within the kingdom.

Government Structure:

🏛️ The Council: A group of high-ranking nobles and advisors who help the king or queen make important decisions. Think of them as the board of directors.

🧙 The Wizard: The royal advisor with magical powers. They provide wisdom, cast spells, and sometimes meddle in politics.

⚔️ The Knight Commander: The head of the royal army. They lead the knights and soldiers into battle and ensure the kingdom’s defense.

📜 The Chancellor: The head of the kingdom’s finances and administration. They manage the treasury, collect taxes, and oversee the kingdom’s bureaucracy.

🎭 The Bard: The kingdom’s storyteller and historian. They spread news, sing songs of heroism, and keep the royal family’s image sparkling.

Other Classes:

🌳 Elves: Graceful and wise, elves often serve as advisors, scholars, or elite warriors. They have a deep connection to nature and magic, making them invaluable in both court and battlefield.

🌾 Peasants: The backbone of the kingdom. They work the land, pay taxes, and sometimes get caught up in the schemes of the nobility. Despite their humble status, they can be heroes in their own right.

💀 Necromancers: Masters of death magic. They can raise the dead, drain life energy, and command undead minions. Often feared and misunderstood, they can be powerful allies or dangerous enemies.

📚 Scholars: Also known as sages, librarians, or loremasters. Scholars are the kingdom’s intellectuals, possessing encyclopedic knowledge. They study ancient texts, advise on matters of history and magic, and often uncover secrets that can turn the tide of events.

⚔️ Heroes: Brave individuals who embark on epic quests. They can come from any class—knights, peasants, elves, or even necromancers. Heroes are defined by their courage, skill, and willingness to face danger for the greater good.

🙏 Priests/Priestesses: Spiritual leaders who serve the gods and goddesses of the realm. They perform rituals, offer guidance, and sometimes wield divine magic. Addressed as “Father,” “Mother,” or “Your Holiness”.

🐉 Dragons: Sometimes pets, sometimes pests. Always epic. They can be guardians of treasure, wise advisors, or terrifying foes.

Servants and Other Castle Inhabitants:

Steward: Manages the household and estate. Addressed as “Master Steward.”

Chamberlain: Oversees the private chambers and personal needs of the lord or lady. Addressed as “Master Chamberlain.”

Marshal: In charge of the stables and the training of knights. Addressed as “Master Marshal.”

Cook: Prepares meals for the household. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Cook.”

Maid: Responsible for cleaning and maintaining the castle. Addressed as “Mistress Maid.”

Squire: A young noble training to become a knight. Addressed as “Squire.”

Falconer: Takes care of the hunting birds. Addressed as “Master Falconer.”

Gardener: Maintains the castle gardens. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Gardener.”

Where They Dwell:

🏰 Castle: A fortified structure built for defense and residence. It includes towers, walls, a keep, and often a moat. The castle is the main residence of the king or queen and their court.

🏛️ Court: The royal household and the place where the king or queen holds court. It includes the throne room, great hall, and various chambers for the nobles and advisors.

🏡 Manor: The residence of a noble, usually a lord or lady. It’s less fortified than a castle and focuses more on comfort and domestic life.

Pro Tips:

Royal Drama: Expect lots of intrigue, secret plots, and power struggles. It’s like a medieval reality show.

Magic: Always a wildcard. It can solve problems or create new ones.

Quests: Royals love sending heroes on epic quests. It’s their way of handling problems without getting their hands dirty.

---

[balrogballs]

The Tenth Hole: Tolkien Archive Dive 3/29

Many here know of my (equal parts academic and morbid curiosity) ongoing investigation into the portrayal, or rather, strategic omission of bodily functions in Tolkien. After my last failed archive-dive, I finally caught a second-wind and decided to look at the pre-print plates of the History of Middle Earth in the Bodleian Library. After a fruitless hunt through earlier plates, I came across Volume 8, where I chanced upon two pieces of curious marginalia buried within an early, mercifully abandoned draft of Fellowship.

[Scanned Plate – Early Draft Fragment, circa 1949, HoME Vol. VIII, folio 112b] Then Aragorn spake low to Legolas as they made ready to depart: “See that thou keep to the western side of the trail, where the moss lies thick—there the Rangers of Imladris have long kept to their manner. We must continue in our practice of the Hollowing, as was taught in Rivendell of old: to mark an additional hollow beneath the roots of trees, in remembrance of years past.” And Legolas nodded, saying only: “The trees remember.”

It is only in the following segment, however, that The Hollowing is properly explained, here presented in its scanned copy form directly.

A shite hole? An empty shite hole?

Obviously, this was the first I heard of the matter too. Turning to The History of Middle-earth, Volume X (Morgoth’s Ring: drafts), I began combing the Annals and linguistic appendices because, well, it sounded like an interesting practice even outside of my specific area of interest.

Buried (quite fittingly) in a nearly-legible margin of an abandoned draft of The Shibboleth of Fëanor, I came across what appeared to be a secondary reflection by another author, regarding the initial fate Fëanor had envisioned for the Silmarils. Once I located that specific tome, I realised the paper was smeared and dusty, and the page itself bound upside-down in the volume, but I managed to get a scan. It's presented quite tersely as simple dialogue, with F standing for, obviously, Fëanor and M for Manwë.

Elendil, R. & Galdor, M. (Eds.) (1956). “On the Secret Fire: Fragmentary Notes from Aman.” Uncatalogued Glass Plate MS, Shelf D-42b, Special Collections. Transcribed by author.

And there we have it, another potential version of the fate of the Silmarils. This act, though omitted in later editions of course, just might shed disturbing light on the oft-quoted line: “...and Fëanor perished, but his spirit was consumed from within.”

I also ended up thinking, well, had Fëanor consumed the Silmarils in advance, Morgoth would have found himself with little more to steal than constipation. And thus, the High King himself would have been spared. Perhaps in his obsession with possession, Fëanor could have inadvertently saved his father’s life, though at the expense of his own dignity. And yet, was his father not dearer to him than dignity too?

Unfortunately, when I presented my findings, the archivists at Special Collections were less than thrilled.

"Some knowledge is best left to circulate elsewhere, Dr. Balls," said the head librarian, and with that, I was promptly told to never return. But, much like Fëanor’s unfortunate gastrointestinal journey, I shall press on. After all, some things cannot be allowed to simply pass, without further probing.

[theshiftershop]

So! Finally managing to post this major headworld between myself and @territorial-utopia, to which they have already alluded to here and here-

Consider this y'all's introduction post to Shaping Up!

In this nebulous network of stories and scenarios, there are giants and humans (and possibly others as well)

SD works for/is part of a sort of knight's reserve, and is a proper force to be reckoned with. Tall, even by giant's standards, strong, and a fan favorite amongst the patrons who come to watch and revel in the escapades and training that he and his fellow knights partake in.

Terri is a local human librarian and witch who loves to expand their knowledge of the arcane arts, potions and history, with one particular class of potions especially on their mind, despite the means to achieving them being nearly impossible, as far as they know...

Shop is a bartender who works in the building where people come to watch the knight's reserve display their prowess. Bubbly and outgoing, she always seems to know just how to handle things that would be rather difficult by giant's standards, like human sized equipment. Well known for her flare and service, some can't seem to shake the feeling that she shares an uncanny resemblance to a quiet human bartender who works the odd shift here and there...

[archivistic]

SLA Announces Dissolution

The Special Libraries Association (SLA), a global organization dedicated to supporting information professionals and specialized librarians, has announced it will begin a dissolution process after 116 years of service to the profession. Since its founding in 1909, SLA has been a cornerstone for knowledge management, research, and information services across industries, providing invaluable networking, professional development opportunities, and advocacy for its members. After careful evaluation of the organization’s financial sustainability and the evolving needs of the profession, the SLA Board of Directors has made the difficult decision to begin the dissolution process of the Association.

Wow, I'm not a member of SLA but this seems like a pretty major move.

[siconetribal]

Beyond the Bookshelves (11)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: "I see."

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Sorry about the delay. I ended up getting more tasks for work right after traveling abroad. It was a scramble to get the last 2 months caught up.

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

Loki stood awkwardly in the sterile environment, too far from the door to leave yet close enough to not hover over the staff member dressed in a white coat. Y/N lay motionless on the atrocity that is considered a “bed”. A cuff was wrapped around her bicep which whirred to life with a few button presses. It inflated until it looked as if it would burst before slowly deflating with evenly placed clicks until numbers popped up on the screen. A plastic device was clamped over the tip of one finger and more numbers came onto the screen. The medic then slipped a metal probe encased in plastic into her mouth. Another portion of the screen lit up and a new set of numbers came up. He was not entirely sure what all these numbers meant, but it was clear by the frown that it was not good. 

“What are these numbers and why are you wrapping her in such machinery? She fainted, how do all these gadgets treat that?” He finally asked two of the questions that only grew in number with each new thing. The staff member turned to face him, sizing him up.

“And you are what to her exactly?” The question was simple, but the scrutiny in the medic’s gaze gave pause. Was he being questioned on why he cared for her? Or was he being reminded rhetorically that he was an outsider and that he simply should leave? 

If it’s the former, well is it not obvious? She is a thorn in my side. The vile villainess who dared to ban me, a prince, from the library! She is a haughty midgardian who lacks any proper etiquette towards royalty though she is surrounded by knowledge. He recalled their “first encounter” and the texts. His frown deepened. An oddity in this world that does not follow the norm. “She is someone I made to work with on a large assignment given to her by Fury. I need her to be normal for the work to be done and I can be freed of this extra burden.” He finally responded.

“I see,” was followed by silence. “This medical equipment does not treat her. It allows me to gather necessary information to best assess, diagnose, and treat her. Is there anything that happened during your assignment that I should know about?”

“That it has yet to start, because she simply vanished for a lengthy amount of time and only recently returned? Or perhaps her incessant chattering with the equally annoyingly talkative Rogers?” And I was forced to wait, none the wiser of her absence. “You've gathered your vitals, what is wrong with her?”

“I see, so she was traveling recently for work?”

“As per her claims.”

“I see,” the medic turned and began to tap away on a tablet. That two word phrase was beginning to poke at his nerves.

“And?”

“And do you know where she had gone in her travels?”

Do I look to be her keeper? I only brought her to you to be treated, not be her living diary! He bit back the words and dulled his sharp tone, taking a deep breath. “Do I look like her keeper?”

“I am simply gathering the necessary information to better assess her.”

“And how would knowing where she traveled be of any use to you?”

“Climate, environment, and what the current illnesses are currently on the rise.”

“No, I do not know where she went nor did I ask her or anyone. I was preoccupied with more important matters.” Loki took another deep breath. Will these insufferable questions end and the treatment begin?”

“I see,” his eyebrow twitched at the repeated statement. The medic moved from Y/N’s beside.

“Are you not going to cure her now? Where are you going?” The younger prince turned on his heel to see the medic start tapping away at a computer. “What are you doing now? What could possibly be more important in that hellish void than healing a fallen midgardian?” His jaw tightened at the series of clicks and clacks that came from the mechanical keyboard. 

“I need to document my treatment in her chart.” The forever unperturbed voice of the medic was like nails on a chalkboard. Was there no sense of urgency? Was the health of someone who could outrank an Avenger mean so little? Or were the staff uncaring because he was involved? Was he hindering proper treatment because he was so hated and she was being associated with him? He glanced over his shoulder at Y/N. Her eyebrows were furrowed, creating creases in her forehead; and her breathing was labored and shallow.

“Is it necessary to do that right now?” The medic turned from the monitor and silently observed the irritated royal before refocusing in the computer screen. 

“Yes, it needs to be done timely.” Once again, a sluggish and bland tone that gave no sense of security. “Do you plan on staying here with her?”

“Why would I stay here with her? Treat her so that she is back up on her feet and I am free of this unnecessary burden!” He demanded.

“I see,” his hand twitched at the statement that was repeated for the umpteenth time. It took a great amount of control to not summon one of his beloved throwing knives to threaten the medic into working properly.

“I highly doubt it.” He coolly retorted. “You’ve done absolutely nothing to treat her and are now requesting me to watch over her while you galavant off to do absolutely nothing. You've only assessed what I have told you multiple times, the Librarian fainted and needs to be revived. You have done nothing to remedy this.” He forced his jaw to unclench so that his words were clear for the pathetic midgardian in charge of care.

“There’s no medicine on Earth that can suddenly revive someone who has fainted as she has. As per what you said, she fell unconscious and did not hit her head, recently returned from a trip, and has been recently assigned something that requires the assistance of an Avenger. Coupled with her vitals, I can say she is safe from serious danger and will get better. It will take time, some medication, and proper hydration.” The medic walked past the irritated Asgardian, donning gloves after gathering some supplies. Loki observed the odd steps taken, skeptical and confused as part of her arm under her elbow was wiped and a needle with some tubing was inserted. The tubing was then attached to a bag that was hung above Y/N and drops of clear liquid began to steadily fill a chamber. Then the medic brought forth a syringe and poked something into the bag, pushing it into it. “She’ll need to rest here. I can’t say when she’ll wake up, but you can stop by and check in a couple of hours. The IV and medication will help her. If that’s all, I’ll be heading back to do my charting.” Seeing the prince stand there in silence was sign enough for the medic to walk out of the room and head to the back office.

That’s it?! That’s all that can be done? And they simply wash their hands of the matter and move on? What could that ridiculous excuse of a physician possibly have seen if that was all that could be done?! Loki had half the mind to teleport to the back and demand more be done, but stopped himself. Why am I so aggrieved by this? This is all her own fault! Why am I wasting my time here when she's the one who abruptly left me banned from the library for weeks? This it's simply the consequences of her actions. I have no work to be done at this moment, I need to eat and head back to the library to avoid all unnecessary interactions. He turned to the door and resolutely made his way back to the cafeteria to get some food. 

Where am I? Y/N slowly slipped back into the world of the conscious. Her head felt like it was skimming on water and one arm felt a bit swollen. Forcing her eyes open, she blinked away the bleariness to see the IV drip and digital monitor. I'm in infirmary? How? She craned her neck to look around the room a bit before dropping it back against the pillow. Obviously someone brought me here, because I sure as hell know I did not bring myself. I went to lunch with Jess and she was telling me about a new recruit for the Avengers. Another super soldier, I think? Or was it something that has to do with Steve and not a newcomer? Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths to ease the oncoming headache. Don’t worry about that detail for now Y/N. Focus on not having your brain rip itself in two. She used her free arm to rub her face.

“I was talking to Jess, we ate lunch in the cafeteria, and we were walking out together. She was fussing over my health and then what happened? Did I black out?” She frowned. “That’s not good. Fury’ll be furious if my report isn't in by tomorrow, pun intended.” She mumbled aloud to herself. “What time is it?”

“It’s currently 19:30.” A voice off to the right answered her. Rolling her head to the side, she saw one of the nurses step through the glass door, the curtain half drawn across the glass wall for some privacy.

“Seven thirty? How long have I been here?” Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and opened them once more.

“You were checked in at 13:06 and have been under observation for fever, exhaustion, and dehydration. You’ve been asleep the majority of the time. We were told that you were travelling recently?”

“Yeah, I had to go to all the SHIELD libraries to make sure the new network was functional and the staff properly trained.” She muttered, rubbing her face. “I was working on the reports and took a break for lunch, but that's the last thing I remember before waking up here.”

“So no issues in remembering what happened prior to the incident. Do you recall hitting your head on something?”

“Hitting my head?” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to recall what happened in more detail. “No, I don't recall. I was talking to my friend and I just blacked out. No, wait, I did fall. I got dizzy and blacked out for a moment. I stumbled into the wall and slid down. Jess was freaking out, I used the wall to stand up again, and then I passed out again.” She opened her eyes again and turned to the nurse. “I don’t remember bringing myself here.” She frowned.

“You didn't, someone brought you in while you were unconscious.”

“Oh, I guess Jess called for assistance.”

“No, one of the other personnel brought you in.” Y/N’s head jerked up off the pillow at this detail.

“Another? Another who? I can’t have been Jess. She’s strong, but she isn’t that strong. Did she get someone to help?”

“Bingo, your friend Jess found one of the strongest to assist. You were brought in by an Avenger.”

An Avenger? Maybe Steve was nearby. Oh, maybe that's why I thought we talked about super soldiers. “Well, aren't I a lucky gal? Not everyday you get carried off by an Avenger without some life altering calamity happening.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” The nurse laughed, scanning Y/N’s wristband before taking her vitals. “Well, you’re looking good so far. Seems like it was purely exhaustion hitting you hard. You need to rest, don’t go running back to work after so much travel and in so many different time zones. Your body needs to recover.”

“Yeah, I made a promise to someone so I came in Toby away.”

“Y/N, I’m sure they'd have understood. Even if they didn't, your health is a priority to you. No one else is going to care for it for you. So, rest and proper nutrition for the next two days. No rushing to work, I'll post your order so everyone who needs to know doesn't give you a hard time.”

“Thanks, that'll help.” Y/N sat up at the edge of the bed, letting the nurse unhook her from the machines and clear her for leave. “I’ll be sure to stay home for two days as the doctor ordered.”

“Good, now off you go. Do you need someone to help you home?”

“Oh, no need to go that far, I'm fine.” Y/N assured. “Thanks again,” she stood up once cleared and left the infirmary. I’ll need to thank Steve tomor-no, when I get back. I'll thank him when I get back. Being carried by an Avenger is gossip enough, but by the Captain America only makes it worse! She pinched the bridge of her nose. A few days away from work would be the best course of action. P,us I can focus on my reports and submit them without an all-nighter.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @evalynanne @wolfsmom1

[blueinkphantom]

Phantom of a Book

Summary: While in prison, Techno finds out a new fact about Dream and with it a new escape route opens up for his roommate. The choice of whether or not to use said escape plan gets taken out of their hands, however, when a visitor comes. (7,280 Words)

Aka. a Fic that was supposed to be finished on the 17th December for the Dreamnoblade Christmas Event. I just now managed to finish the second chapter which is why i didnt post it here before.

Bubbling of lava was the only sound reigning in the cell.

It had been weeks since Technoblade joined Dream in prison. Two months if Techno's inner clock was still to be trusted. Which it was more than Dream's at the very least. The green teletubby's was pretty destroyed by now considering he didn't even know how long he had been in prison so far.

And technically, Techno was already supposed to be out and about. By a bit under 2 months to be exact. Either Phil's inner clock was just as terrible as his roommates or he forgot to read the will.

Either way, it didn't seem like his original escape plan was happening any time soon. As a result, they had started to try digging a tunnel from the hole in the corner. And it was successful so far. They already got... two blocks downwards with Dream right now breaking the next one a bit to the side.

Every now and then he'd get him to pause a bit and eat something. Only having potatoes didn't give Techno much to work with but he still tried to cook them a bit so they weren't completely raw at least. It was working okay-ish, he'd say.

He wished being the spirit of an object would erase any need for food. Then at least they wouldn't need the potatoes. Unfortunately, they were only halfway a spirit so to say.

Speaking of that subject. He was still curious how Dream seemed to know what to do with him when he was recharging in the sword. It’s not common knowledge after all. And he doubts there are many books on the topic if any. So the only way he could see Dream knowing about this was through personal experience. Which brought up another question.

Was Dream friends with someone like Techno or was Dream himself like him?

Glancing over to his roommate, it was hard to tell. Similarities to the object are usually only obvious once the object is known. But considering he also didn't know what Dream even was, it would be even harder.

His right eye reminded him much of an eye of ender down to the slitted pupil while the other was more pale, probably a result of what also caused the scar across said eye. His hair was as white as snow but that seemed more recent. Looking at his black hands, he still didn’t have any more clue. He could see the guy as the spirit of a weapon, maybe his Nightmare axe but he knew that didn’t need to be true. Philza once told him off a librarian who had been the spirit of the very library she worked at. There was also someone that had been the soul of a pair of elytras.

“What are you staring at?” Dream asked in an annoyed tone.

“How did you know what to do?”

“What do you-”

“At the execution, when I had to retreat into the sword. How did you know what to do?”

Dream stared to the side. “Does it matter?”

“Of course. Chat’s curious. Imagine the clout I could get from potentially unlocking more of the mysterious guy’s backstory.”

“Well, curiosity killed the cat.” The guy muttered, probably in an attempt to get Techno to stop pursuing the topic. Unfortunately for both, Techno could be stubborn.

“But satisfaction brought it back. And besides, Technoblade never dies and with it Chat too. Thought you’d know by now.” Techno chuckled.

Dream grumbled.

-----

There were many topics Dream would rather talk about than this. So many in fact that Dream tried to pick any that would distract Techno from the current one.

“You know, if you are also like me, you can just tell me. I won’t judge. I won’t use it against you or whatever you think I will do.”

“Why are you talking like you already know?”

“Call it a hunch. I have been told to have a sixth sense by some.” The piglin grinned at the other who in turn raised an eyebrow as the edge of his lips moved slightly up.

“A sixth sense or voices that whisper hints?”

“Eh. Same thing.”

Dream's tail swished back and forth as silence resumed. His thoughts stayed on the topic, debating with himself if he maybe should tell him. He already clearly knew that he was something. Besides, Dream knew what Techno was.

“Fine.” Dream stared back at the lava wall, vehemently ignoring Techno’s presence and gaze at him as he stood up.

“So are you-”

“I’m the Revival Book.” Dream confessed to Techno with a firm look all while broadening his shoulders and uncurling. Something Techno seemed to find amusing, though he didn't comment on it. Though it was unsurprising. Technoblade still seemed taller despite sitting. Taller and handsomer with the orange glow of the lava throwing him into a warm hue.

"Ah." was all that Techno uttered at first. Eyes slightly widened either at Dream telling him or the object named.

Dream's tail kept swishing back and forth behind him and he resisted the urge to wrap it around his own leg. "Well, roommate who is also the spirit of the book that can bring people back. I may have a new escape idea." Techno announced happily though Dream could see the nervousness on his face which made him instantly hesitate.

"And what's that?"

“You know how we can retreat into our object at any time if we want to? If you have the book here, what if you-”

“No.” Dream could see where this was going and no way in hell would he do that.

"Very fair. Very fair. Can't blame ya considering the horror stories that exist. I can tell ya, being stuck in someone's inventory is not pleasant. 1/5 stars. I'd take this vacation over that any day." Techno chuckled. “Well. Guess we will stick to the current plan.”

“What would it even bring? I can walk myself out so me being in your inventory won’t bring much. At most, there’s one less person to fight against Sam and anyone else who wants to stop us.”

“Well, not if a certain someone finally read the note I left him. You know how I knew this was a trap? Well I had planned that someone gets me out via a stasis pearl chamber. If he still were to read the note at some point, I could get us both out as long as you have the book with you here. But also I get it if you don’t wanna.”

Dream stayed silent. What if Techno doesn’t ever let him out?

-----

More time passed. Techno’s suggestion was almost like an elephant in the room, keeping a certain amount of tension in it. Neither spoke about it. Not that they talked that much during said time anyway. Only quick words when food got dropped in or the silence got too much. Despite not doing much, this place had a strange way of sucking the energy out of people. Probably the mining fatigue extending into more areas than just mining.

A chance to escape, one requiring lots of trust. Techno wouldn’t blame him if he passed up on it. He would still return later for the teletubby whether the guy trusted him or not. He couldn’t leave him here. When he first heard of Dream’s imprisonment he figured the favour would be used for a breakout. By now Dream wouldn’t even have to use the favour for it. Techno get him out with or without it. He couldn’t leave anyone in here, especially someone who had never gone against him and instead assisted him. Heck, he had any chance to keep him in weapon form and instead took care that he could come back as soon as possible. He will get Dream out.

Who knows, maybe it's even a courtship behaviour for whatever species Dream is. He’s pretty sure he saw something with cages and caging under one species, either creepers or wardens.

He was brought out of his musings when Dream stepped in front of him, leaning against the wall in what looked like an attempt to keep the pressure off his right foot.

“Okay.” Dream’s voice cracked halfway through. It had gotten better before but with the new silence, the bit of progress regressed a bit.

“Heh?”

“You can put me in your inventory.” He could see Dream slightly shaking, something he tried to unsuccessfully suppress.

It took Techno several seconds to respond, surprised by either the trust or saddened by the desperation. Considering who it was, the latter seemed more likely even if he hoped it wasn’t that.

Before he could respond in any way shape or form though, redstone ticked loudly alongside the heavy shifting of machinery.

Dream tensed immediately, form stiffening more than Techno thought possible. He barely wasted a second as he put himself between his roommate and the slowly retreating lava curtain.

It only took him a small bit of time to register who was on the other side.

Sam, of course, Warden of the prison. And Quackity.

-----

"Well. Well. Well. If it isn't my two favourite prisoners. How have you been? You been good?" Quackity asked as he waltzed off the bridge wearing netherite armour and ...were those shears?

"Yeah, you know. We've just been chilling. Not much to do in here." Techno replied while keeping his eyes on him, only shortly glancing over to Dream who was standing in the other corner, leaning on the chest.

"Hm. Im sure. I'm sure." The duck's eyes squinted at him as the grin stayed on him. He turned around to where Sam was still observing them from the other side and called out "Okay, well. Sam-" Seeing a chance, Techno sprung forward, not seeing his roomy shaking his head as a pink fist connected with Quackity in an attempt to throw him into the lava below.

Unfortunately, the three months had taken their toll, the punch not doing much besides pushing Quackity a bit further just before the edge where he turned quickly to him. "Yo, what the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Techno?! We didn't even start! What is wrong with you?" Techno chuckled even as the duck was slashing at him with the shears, leaving multiple cuts of varying size and depth. "I was gonna ease into it. I was gonna ease into it. Okay but since you so clearly wanna rush things along, why not?"

"Sam! Keep this guy in check." Keeping him in check apparently meant, aiming a bow at him with an arrow notched, ready to fire any second.

When Techno looked back in the cell, he saw Dream near the hole, Quackity close to him. "Here's what's gonna happen. I am sick and tired of these prison visits." He stepped closer and closer to Dream, with his roommate trying to get further and further away to the other corner until he was pressed against the chest. "I've been trying to get the revival book for the longest time, Dream. And today, you are gonna give me the book. You wanna know why?"

"I'm not giving you the boo-"

Quackity slammed his fist against the wall right next to Dream's face. "You wanna know why? Because this guy, this guy right here is your only way out of here and if you won't give me the book, he dies and with it your only chance of getting out of here. That's the only reason he's here. So that I finally get the book after all this time you’ve wasted."

"That's kinda harsh,” muttered Techno. “Don't do it, Dream."

"You know what I don't even care if you break out. If this guy gets you out. All I care about is the Revival book, and you are gonna give it to me.” If Quackity had half the knowledge about stuff, he's gonna care a bit more probably. Besides, it's not like Techno can really die. Not unless his Sword gets smashed to bits and the Sword is safely tucked away at home. Speaking of death...

"Wait. Hear me out. Hear me out, Dream. Does he really have any leverage? Cause if he kills me and my best friend is a Necromancer, doesn't that kinda just work out? You could just revive me after. I'm just saying." Dream’s eyes were locked onto his, the same thought Techno had probably crossed him too. Techno won’t die. Then his gaze skittered to Quackity, awaiting his reaction which was as expected another slice of shears at the piglin before turning to Dream again.

"You know what just give me the Revive Book. Just give me it. I'm not playing games anymore. I don’t care."

“I can’t give you the Revival Book, you know that. Hell, even if I could give you the book you're just gonna kill me. And probably kill Techno right after. The whole reason I'm in here is cause I have the book. Otherwise, I'd be dead."

"Okay then you know what. What if I just killed you both right now? No more best friend for you, Techno. And no headaches for me. Why not stop the madness, right? Not like the book brought many good things with it anyway, did it? So I'm just gonna kill you both and get this over with."

"Now let's just relax first. Let's calm down." Techno tried, moving both hands up to no success as Quackity didn’t stop talking. 

"No no. I should just kill you both right? So why not? Starting with you Techno and don’t think I’ gonna forget about you, Dream. And I'm gonna make sure it's painful enough as payment for ruining the execution and every second I have wasted here just because you couldn’t do a single thing. Just because you wouldn’t tell me and wouldn’t open that goddamn book." Any protests from Dream got ignored as Quackity turned to Techno. "I've been waiting a long ass time to do this." The first slash still hit him but the next got blocked by Dream who put himself between them. "Oh, you wanna go first? Wanna make sure that there's no chance for Techno to come back? Want him to watch his buddy die? Fine by me."

Techno tried to pull Dream away, out of Quackity's range but before he could make much progress, the rips on Dream's form spread. Rips that reminded him of torn-apart pages until they split apart entirely and green mist formed. Green mist which seemed to dissolve but turns out to have just entered the object as a book was left behind. One that Techno didn't hesitate to grab before Quackity could. And by the duck's wide grin and eyes, he knew that the guy was aware of what it was even if he didn't know the full extent of its connection to Dream. "Techno, give me the bo-" He saw the swing and felt part of the blade enter before the sensation abruptly left. His arms stayed raised in defence as he slowly took in where he was.

Blackstone walls with Nether bricks. A pink sheep connected with a led to a wall decoration bearing three wither skulls. Lava flowed down in the corners and stone bricks on the floor, some with moss.

It was the Syndicate Meeting Room. He was out. He was-

"Did it work?" A familiar voice. A familiar voice that he was incredibly glad to hear.

"Oh my god. Phil." He was still on edge as he turned to his best friend for years.

 "Here, drink that. Drink that." The immortal handed him a glass of milk alongside a golden apple. Both of which Techno gladly consumed.

"Phil. I gave you that book three months ago, Phil!" Techno exclaimed once he swallowed the bite he took out of the apple. His wounds healed, stitching themselves back together with the feeling of pins and needles pricking his flesh.

"You said three months!" Philza tried to argue.

"No, I did not! I thought you'd take like two days. I've been in jail for three months!"

A look of realisation came across his oldest friend. "Wait, wait wait. Oh my god, you said three days."

"Bruuuh."

"Well at least you got a book out of it, it seems."

Ah. He nearly forgot. He looks down at his right hand, still holding the book, still holding Dream there.

"What's with it?"

"Well. The good news is, we don't need to head to the prison soon."

"Not fancying another visit to Dream?"

"I mean if he was still in there, I'd go back. You know break him out and stuff. Return the favour and all.” Techno moved back to his hair, settling down into it and setting Dream down on the table, out of his inventory even if it would probably take a while for him to come back with the hits he took.

"Did he break out?"

"Now yes. Next thing is waiting till he’s back." His gaze stayed on the book, noting the glowing green writing, and the firm but used-looking leather cover. An eye of ender was sitting on the front inside a golden frame. One that looked just like Dream's. Slowly the parallels became clearer.

The white hair from the pages that were still as white as snow despite the many years this book probably existed. The eye. The black on his hands from the ink that likely stained the pages. And the green highlights in his hair from the glowing title.

It made sense.

Dream is the spirit of the Revival Book.

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

It's been a few days since Technoblade got teleported out of the prison.

Getting used to being out again went well so far. Sure, he may be a bit apprehensive about potatoes now. For all the love he held for the multi-use vegetable, even he could apparently get enough of them, especially when he's had nothing but potatoes for weeks. If they had at least been prepared in different ways but no. A shame considering how many different delicious meals one could cook with them. But now he lacks any appetite for them. Dream probably won't have one either once he returns, whenever that is.

Dream's book was still on the pillow where Techno had put it upon entering the room. He figured out quickly that he wasn't entirely comfortable with leaving Dream out of his sight in this state. Sure, he'd probably notice if anyone tried to sneak in but this felt safer. Besides, this way he got a comfortable amount of warmth from the fireplace while still staying a good distance away. Techno's been freezing more than usual after getting used to the heat of the cell. No doubt Dream would have even more issues considering his longer stay. He's probably gonna need several layers of clothing when he comes back.

If he comes back.

Techno tried to shake that thought.

Now he knows that there can be different recharging times from one object spirit to another. Heck, with all the things Dream went through in that prison, it shouldn't be surprising that he took a bit longer. It didn't stop Techno's worry from constantly nagging. It didn't stop a few of the voices from throwing in their concerns as well.

The book still had that green shine over it. Dream was still alive. Logically, he knew that. The small bit of a tail he had barely ever ceased from swishing back and forth whenever his thoughts drifted to his roommate. There was nothing he could do but wait. Wait and hope Dream returned.

Knock, knock.

Techno turned to the door, hand already on his sword's handle before he even thought about it. Silently, he neared the door.

Chances were, it was just Phil who had made it a habit to check on him daily. Preferring to be safe than sorry though, Techno listened first to make out anything suspicious. Not that it was needed when a voice soon rang out. "Heya, mate. It's me." Just Phil. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nearly earned Phil's fist in his face when he opened the door.

"You know, I'm all for trying out new greetings but I don't think a fist to the face is the best." Techno smiled more when Phil let out a laugh at that.

"Didn't expect you at the door so soon. Anyway, you ready for the meeting?"

He stared at his friend blankly for a tick. And another. "About that..." He sheepishly looked away, avoiding Phil's gaze.

"Did you forget about it?"

"Yup." His mind was running between preparing for any unwanted visitors, preparing for when Dream was back and taking care of his usual chores. Everything else had slipped his mind.

Phil clapped him on the back. "It's fine. Come on. We still got time."

They packed and headed out with Techno carrying Dream in a bag that would hopefully not prevent him from forming like being in an inventory would. The meeting itself went by in a blur. His mind drifted to the book beside him. To the person in it. Like it always seemed to. Even before this whole thing, his mind would sometimes drift to Dream. Curious about what his favourite flower might be, his favourite animal and more.

When Niki and Ranboo asked where he'd been the last months, Phil answered for him. Explaining how he'd been locked up and stuck there till Phil, rather late, got him out with the stasis chamber. What followed were concerns about Dream's breakout and questions of if he had anything to do with it to which Techno was honest. Though he did try to avoid mentioning how Dream's like him, well aware that the teletubby would prefer as few people as possible to know his status as spirit. Techno himself avoided many people knowing. Too many had wished to wield the sword that housed the mighty warrior.

Luckily, he managed to calm them mostly down, partly thanks to bringing up a few things about how the prison was handled and reassurances that he would ensure their safety.

The meeting got dismissed rather early and once Techno was back at his cabin, he only went out to feed the animals again before falling into bed, taking the book with him.

-----

More days passed. So many hours and still Dream didn't come back out. Techno continued with attempts to keep his worry down. Him and Dream just take different times to form again. The teletubby had been tortured for weeks by the time he was there. They had different objects, him a sword and Dream a book. Maybe it's the material. Maybe- Maybe Quackity had carved into Dream while in the book. So many factors that could delay it. So many reasonable explanations.

Maybe Dream just didn't feel safe to come back around him? He tried not to think about that. But also, he couldn't blame Dream if that was the case. He couldn't put him outside. That was too risky. What if someone decided to visit right then and take him? No one had come to attack yet. No warden or duck or ex-best-friends with a murderous promise. None. Yet.

He glanced at the unmoving book on what could probably be considered a makeshift nest. Pillows and blankets and a cloak he had made for Dream surrounded the book from beneath and around. The faint green shimmer never stopped, reminding Techno of an enchanted object. It reminded him of how Phil and Chat described his sword whenever he was inside.

It was beautiful and unnerving at once. The longer he stared, the more he could see the parallels between the book and Dream. The eye of ender on the cover fit with the one Dream had. The green glowing writing in enchanting language matched the words he could see through some tears in the clothing Dream wore when they tried the book on Techno. The pages nearly looked white as snow or rather Dream's hair. If he took a guess, the ink used for the words and sketches inside was probably as black as the tips of Dream's claws that gradually went over to his usual skin tone along the arm or the words on his skin when not using the book.

He gently felt along the cover with one of his hands before removing it as if burned. He technically held the book for multiple minutes by this point - hours if one were to include the time he accidentally fell asleep with it in his arms - still he tried to keep it to a minimum for Dream's sake. He knew Dream wasn't the biggest with touch. Touch-starved? Most likely, based on how he still leaned towards Techno in prison and how he'd been before, way before. Willing to touch? Eh. Considering the bits he learned while roommating with him in prison, it wasn't surprising. Trust this broken is hard to get again, even more so when all recent touch seemed to have been with the intent to hurt.

It reminds him of himself before he met Phil.

A groan brought him out of his musings. Steve was looking at him with such a puppy-eye look that Techno barely had to think about what he wanted. "You hungry, Steve?" Another groan. "Alright. Alright. You get your food." He rose back to full height before picking Dream's book up. "Just need to do something quickly." He tried to carry as many blankets and pillows too before moving everything downstairs into a mostly hidden corner in the basement and restarting the nest. Maybe if the delay was due to being constantly in the same room as him, this would help Dream feel comfortable enough to come back.

He stepped away, eyes on the book before turning and climbing back up and started making dinner.

-----

Having many animals had its perks, Techno would like to note. They were good company, fighters and more. However, they could also be a disturbance to his plans.

When Techno woke up the next day, he found Dream's book next to him, one of the foxes lying on top of it.

He sighed, before softly petting the fox which continued to sleep despite the gradual removal of the book from below it. With it in hand, he headed down and started his daily routine, item placed once more on a seat near the fire.

The voices started throwing different suggestions for why Dream was still in there. Ranging from simple refusal to death. He tried to ignore that last suggestion. Dream couldn't be dead. The book would have to be destroyed. Just like the sword had to be broken and shattered into pieces for Techno to die. The voices were wrong. Nothing more to it.

He tended to his farm and animals, cooked and fixed some of the fence around their clearing that was starting to deteriorate a bit. A squirrel shortly paused his work as it climbed along the structure.

It was when he was putting away the dishes that a green light from behind made him freeze.

Turning showed a green mist taking shape around the book and a second later, Dream sat there, left eye focused on Technoblade as his face shifted between multiple microexpressions.

Dream was there. Dream was back. His hair was still white, one eye with a whiteish hue over it and one leg missing.

They both stared at each other for several ticks.

"Welcome back, teletubby." Techno greeted him, trying to go for humour with all the relief in his chest at seeing Dream out.

"Why didn't you open it?" Dream asked, voice rough from not having used it in more than two weeks. A frown sat on his face.

"Huh?"

"I've been inside for days. You had so many chances. Why didn't you open it?" Dream looked at him as if he had grown a second head. As if he was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"Why should I?" Techno asked back. "You didn't give away what was inside even under torture. I could be wrong but I was under the impression you weren't really a fan of anyone else knowing what was written inside."

"Yeah, but not like that ever mattered. It sure as hell didn't matter when Sam let Quackity in the first time. Didn't matter when Quackity tried to get it to open with an axe while I was inside."

"It matters to me," Techno responded, stomach sinking at the thought of someone attacking him while inside the object. No wonder Dream's right leg didn't form. Severe damage could limit how much of one's body can be formed. Especially if it's damage to his object. He wouldn't be surprised if his torturer had intentionally aimed at his leg in hopes this would happen.

Dream was silent, eyes moved to the side as Techno's own flickered over Dream, trying to find anything else that was missing or damaged. Except for a missing ring finger, he didn't find much to be concerned about. Scars of course. Plenty. One or two in the form of a familiar smile, some burn scars and others from an axe or knife. But nothing else that would impact Dream's ability to move much.

After many more ticks, Techno clapped his hands. "So, anyway. I made some food if you want. Fish with spinach. It should still be warm."

His roommate squinted at him. "I'm fine. I can get some myself."

"Sure. Sure but I may have made too much, so really, you'd be doing me a favour," Techno continued, hoping for an agreement. And he got one, although reluctant and with obvious scepticism.

He didn't let that dissuade him though and put some of the food on a plate before noticing a slight shake in Dream's hands. "Wanna sit at the table?"

Dream looked to it before shaking his head. "Alright. Hope I didn't salt it too much though. Phil says I sometimes go overboard." He also for some reason had always accompanied it with a wink which Techno was still confused by, though that detail didn't feel important.

After sniffing at it and still looking for something off, Dream took a bite and then another. He didn't keep track of how many but it turned out too much as it didn't take long for Dream's face to turn pale and attempt to rush outside only to reach a window and promptly throw up.

Ah right. Stomach's not used to that much.

-----

Carefully, Techno cut more and more slices of wood away. The form was slowly becoming recognisable much to his satisfaction, but there was still a decent way to go. Once finished, it would fit neatly next to the wolf, crow and pig carved from the same material. After that, he already had another one in mind.

The fire in the chimney flickered softly. It crackled regularly from the bits of water in the wood which was unavoidable. The warmth helped well with the current weather. A snowstorm ruled outside. Not the strongest snowstorm that Techno had ever seen but still not one that should be underestimated.

Looking over to Dream, who sat on a couch near the chimney, he was somewhat glad for the weather. The guy was determined to get out and do whatever stupid thing he had in mind. And that was when his body hadn't even fully healed to its capability.

Not to mention the appointment he had booked for Dream to get him a prosthetic because let's be honest, Techno doesn't have the medical and mechanical knowledge required to get Dream a good one. Not even a decent one. There was maybe one or two people on the server who could make a good one, but Techno didn't trust either of them with this.

Safe to say, Techno wasn't entirely comfortable with letting Dream out and about. Not until he at least healed more. And even then he hoped the guy would stick around. Continue the roommates arc and all. Nothing else. Chat shut up.

In his slight distraction, he slipped and the carving knife cut him on his finger. It luckily didn't get deep, piglin skin is rather sturdy, still blood exits. He put the wood and tool to the side and went to get a cloth to stop the bleeding. When he turned from the cabinet where he got the cloth though, Dream stood right there, eyes fixated on where the wound is, the cut looking like a crack in metal.

"Let me look at it." Confused, Techno did.

Dream held his hand and Techno could feel his face heating up for some reason. His friend leaned down with his head so close that he could feel the heat of his breath as he whispered something Techno couldn't make out. A tick and he felt the skin there tickle. The wound glowed green as it sealed shut. Stunned he kept staring at where there was just a wound but now there was nothing. Only a small faint scar that's barely noticeable.

"How did you-"

"The book didn't just have the secrets to revival." Techno glanced up and saw Dream also still looking at where the wound was. He shortly lifted his head before averting his gaze and moving back to where he was with the help of the stick one of the woods wolves - one that for some reason loved to steal Techno’s glasses - gave him.

-----

It started with the wolves barking outside.

They didn't bark when it was a friend. Every time Niki, Ranboo, Phil or Dream entered this area, the dogs didn't bark. That was the first sign for them to get ready.

They had discussed this, him and Dream. Techno would go out, armour and weapons at the ready. Dream would try to hide somewhere in the house where he hopefully won't be found while Techno tries to get them out of this with the least amount of bloodshed. As much as Techno wanted to get back at Quackity and Sam, killing them could lead to more unwanted attention from the rest of the server, especially if they got confirmation that Dream was still with Techno instead of on his own somewhere. Right now, the priority was safety.

So Dream hid himself away covered by Steve. As embarrassing as the position seemed, Dream figured neither of the two looking for him would risk angering a bear just to see or get what seemed to be in its grip.

If he had a mouth, he would have stopped breathing when he heard Quackity enter. And he knew those footsteps even if they sounded more unsure. He also knew the ones that followed and noted a third one he expected missing. Just Quackity and Technoblade then. Sam probably stayed outside in case Dream tried to sneak away.

The two inside were talking. Dream knew they were talking but he couldn't focus on the words. He tried to. He needed to know but he couldn't. Mind

A screech cut through his haze. For a second he worried that it was Techno before registering the next words. "Technoblade, get your fox off of me, dude. Get your fucking fox off of me."

Dream tried to peek and sense what was going on and got a rough image. A dark blue figure shook in pain as a smaller, way smaller green one tore into his arm that had reached up to a bookcase.

"Aw, come on. They just want to play. Ain't that right, Em?"

"It's literally biting me. Get it off of me." Dream had to admit, that fox was determined. She didn't let off despite the way Quackity shook his arm. Good fox.

Blood was soaking through his sleeves when one of the wolves came from behind and bit into his leg, mauling on it multiple times. It didn't go missing on him that it's the same he lost and he wondered for a second if the hound knew.

If it wasn't for his current mouthless state, Dream would have burst out laughing when another one bit into the intruder. For a second, he thought they might be close to actually kill-

Quackity's form poofed, leaving his items behind. He heard a cackle from somewhere in the room. He'd have thought it was himself if he could make sounds. Instead, it was Technoblade who seemingly couldn't hold it in himself.

"Well done, Em and June. Well done, you two." Techno praised them. Tears crinkled at the edge of his eyes as he petted them.

He stood back up properly and went to the door only to come back rather quickly. "Welp. Sam dipped too. Probably scared of the big fearsome fox and hound. Probably helped that Ravyn was outside too." Techno's gaze stayed on the outside a bit more. Likely making sure that no one was there anymore. "Dream, you can come out. Pretty sure we are not gonna have to worry about them for a bit."

Dream did so after a few more ticks. Forming around the book again. However, he realised a moment too late that it left him stuck with Steve, who seemed to like holding him. "Um. Techno. A little help?"

"You know what? Nah. Who am I to take my emotional support bear's emotional support war criminal."

"Techno!" Dream tried to wiggle out of the soft arms, only to be held closer. He would have tried again if not for the snout moving against him as the wolf that still had blood around its snout was starting to lean against him. Same for the fox as they seemed to cuddle together against him.

Moving would be impossible now without accidentally hitting one of them.

Reluctantly, Dream gave up, sagging in Steve's hold while Techno brought in two more wolves. One snowy one and one woods. Both joined the animals already resting and Dream didn't need to look up to see Techno smirking at him.

"When I get out, I'll get my revenge."

"Sure you will, bud. Sure you will. What do you want for dinner?"

"...Broccoli Gratin."

-----

Dream settled back in the same place on the couch the next day. Once more idly watching as Techno carved a new wooden figure that Dream could make out to be a cat. It looked good already. Incredibly so. He had spotted the wooden figures on his shelves before and debated asking but never did.

"Whe-" His voice cracked. He moved past. "When did you start with wood carving?"

"Uh. Probably around eight months ago? Give or take. Been wanting to get into it a few years ago. Didn't really get to. Stuff got in the way. Lost the books teaching woodcarving. Got called to war. You know, usual things?"

"Heh. Yeah. Usual."

Dream's gaze shortly went up to Techno's eyes. They were blue. Like the sky but, more colourful. Like aquamarine. Like the gem on his sword.

"You know, I wasn't always the spirit of a sword." Techno at some point voiced. "It's been... roughly about a hundred years ago I think. I was in an arena, one of their best champions even if their treatment of me never really matched it. The audience would cheer whenever I fought, not that it mattered to the owners besides the money it brought them." He huffed. Dream stared, unsure how to respond.

"I was good enough that I caught a certain god's attention. The Blood God loves to see fights and apparently, he loved to watch mine. So much so that he gave me a blessing." The last word was accompanied by a tone he couldn't pinpoint. Dream glanced back down to the figure the other was still carving.

"That night, I became immortal. Not to be killed unless the sword he gave me was shattered beyond repair. It was also the night I became free. So both immortality and freedom. Pog if you ask me." Techno seemed to be carving details like the eyes and mouth now. He was silent after that. It took only a few more ticks for Dream to open his mouth instead.

"I made a deal with Schlatt. He got protection and an army, I got the book. Then one moment I was there, burning a copy of the book, the next, I was like this." It was less than Techno told him. But Techno didn't need to know about the experiments. He didn't need to know about Punz and how somehow only he became the spirit of the book, not his mercenary.

"Huh. Always thought you were a bookworm. You sure you don't write any fanfics?"

"Oh my god, no." Dream immediately responded.

"That was a suspiciously quick denial," the piglin joked.

"No, it's not. What?" A smile tugged at his lips, tail swishing back and forth behind him.

"Come on. What's your pen name? I promise I won't tell a soul." Techno grinned.

"No, I'm leaving." Dream said as he planned to stand up, only for one of the wolves to settle on top of him.

"Yes. Good, Yawn." Techno encouraged.

"No, No. Bad." Dream tried to discourage it to no avail.

"Well. Guess you're stuck now. Now where were we?"

Dream leaned his head back, scratching the spotted wolf with one hand.

-----

Dream couldn't sleep. It was nothing new. He spent plenty of nights awake either by choice or inability. Usually, though, he didn't need to figure out a way how to get out of another person's arms.

Slowly, he started shifting into a mouse, making himself small and light enough that hopefully, Techno wouldn't wake. He stepped along the bedsheets and down onto the floor. He gave his sleeping roommate one last glance before changing to a screech owl and quietly flying himself down the ladder and through an open window. Once on the porch, he shifted back.

It was cold. Freezingly so. He didn't have the cloak. Or anything really fitting for the temperature.

Just a few hundred ticks and then he'd go back in.

Before the time passed though, he heard the floorboards inside creak and just a few ticks later, a cloak found its way around him and a certain piglin next to him.

"Nice night, isn't it? The sky's so clear you can even see the stars and constellations like the Nightmare Eater and the Lava Walker." Techno spoke softly. Eyes up to the sky as well.

"Which ones are those?" Dream asked, not so much for the knowledge about stars and more just to hear Techno's voice.

His roommate pointed to different stars while leaning closer to Dream, their heads next to each other. "This one's Nightmare Eater. A phantom that feasted upon the nightmares of gods till they had enough and punished it by turning it into stars, never to get another meal." He pointed to another cluster. "And that's Lava Walker. A strider who had helped a young adventurer get help from his friends after falling down from a great height in the nether. The injury could have caused his death if the strider didn't get them. As thanks, the lil guy got immortalised."

Dream looked from the stars to Techno, seeing them reflect in his eyes. A sparkle in his blue eyes that entranced Dream. He didn’t even notice their hands being intertwined.

Techno turned his head down, looking back at Dream after noticing his silence. His eyes flickered to his lips.

They stared at each other as the moon shone down on them.

With the stars as only witnesses, Techno kissed Dream and Dream kissed back.

[brittanyearnestauthor]

How to Write Trades and Cultures More Effectively

When developing characters, it's crucial to consider both small and major aspects of their identities. Even if certain details don’t make it into the final story, understanding everything about your character helps define their goals, personality, and role within the plot.

Among these elements, two critical aspects are trade and culture—both shape how a character interacts with their world and influences their decisions. In this post, I’ll explore why trades and backgrounds matter, how they impact character development, and ways to integrate them into storytelling.

What Are Trades?

Trades refer to a character’s occupation, skills, or specialized knowledge—whether they’re in a formal profession or have learned a craft through experience.

Why Trades Matter in Character Development

A character’s trade plays a major role in shaping their skills, mindset, experiences, and worldview. It influences:

- How they approach problems

- Their daily interactions

- Their values and priorities

For example:

- A doctor sees life through healing and responsibility. They might be compassionate, skilled at managing people, and prioritize others' well-being—or, if motivated by money, they could take advantage of patients instead.

- A soldier fights for what they believe in. They often display discipline, resilience, and loyalty but may also struggle with past traumas no one else understands.

These elements help define character motivation and strengthen storytelling, showing why a character makes certain choices and how they evolve over time.

How Backgrounds Shape Character Perspectives

A character’s upbringing, culture, education, and personal experiences shape their personality and beliefs. This influences their decision-making, relationships, and moral outlook.

Key Factors That Shape Backgrounds:

- Wealth – Characters raised in financial stability may value status and image, while those from poverty may prioritize resourcefulness and survival.

- Family Dynamics – A character raised in a loving home may express warmth, while one from a chaotic household may struggle with relationships or seek independence.

- Hardships – Facing difficulties can make a character more compassionate or more guarded, depending on how they respond to challenges.

- Privilege – Some characters may be unaware of societal struggles, assuming others have the same opportunities they do. Others challenge privilege, striving for fairness.

How Location Influences Backgrounds

A character’s surroundings shape expectations, skills, and behaviors:

- City Life – Fast-paced and demanding, often leading to characters who value efficiency and precision.

- Rural or Tribal Life – Strong emphasis on self-sufficiency, community, and survival skills.

- Nomadic or Remote Living – Adaptability, resourcefulness, and deep connection with nature.

Understanding regional influences ensures characters feel authentic and rooted in their environment.

Examples of Careers & Trades

Here’s a diverse mix of occupations and trades to consider for your characters:

Skilled Trades & Hands-On Careers

- Carpenter, Electrician, Plumber, Mechanic, Blacksmith, Welder, Tailor

Medical & Science-Related Professions

- Doctor, Nurse, Pharmacist, Biologist, Psychologist, Chemist, Researcher

Military & Law Enforcement

- Soldier, Police Officer, Spy, FBI Agent, Bodyguard, Detective

Creative & Artistic Careers

- Writer, Painter, Actor, Musician, Graphic Designer, Photographer, Film Director

Business & Technology

- Entrepreneur, Software Developer, Engineer, Accountant, Analyst, Marketing Expert

Education & Mentorship

- Teacher, Professor, Tutor, Historian, Librarian, Public Speaker

Survival & Adventure-Based Trades

- Explorer, Sailor, Ranger, Astronaut, Survivalist, Guide

Unconventional Careers

- Hacker, Fortune Teller, Stunt Performer, Cryptologist, Auctioneer, Game Developer

How Trades & Backgrounds Impact Character Growth

Each profession requires specific skills, emotions, and beliefs, making characters unique within their role. This shapes:

- Problem-solving abilities

- Resilience and adaptability

- Patience, empathy, and integrity

A well-developed character evolves naturally, with their trade and background seamlessly fitting into their personal growth.

How to Effectively Integrate Trades & Backgrounds into Your Story

1. Research Thoroughly – Every culture and profession has unique nuances. Realism enhances authenticity and respect for diverse experiences.

2. Build Around the Character Arc – Design a character’s skills, motivations, and weaknesses to align with their growth and trade.

3. Consider Cultural Influence – A profession may be viewed differently across cultures, requiring accurate representation.

4. Avoid Stereotypes – Even characters within the same trade or culture should have individual personalities and experiences.

5. Expand Beyond Their Career – A character’s interests, hobbies, and struggles should extend beyond their occupation, making them multidimensional.

Conclusion

Thoughtfully integrating trades and backgrounds adds realism, depth, and emotional weight to storytelling. By crafting characters with unique experiences and skill sets, writers create immersive worlds that resonate with audiences.

Developing these elements will help shape memorable characters who feel rooted in their world—characters who stand out and keep readers engaged.

Happy writing!

[solspina]

Is This a Library Date?

ahzek ahriman ⋆˙⟡

another dumb blurb that i decided to write instead of going to sleep! i’m still working on clearing up my asks box, i promise. not proofread :)

ahriman managed to make it into the black library, only to be stopped by a human guardian. he manages to escape back into the warp, but he doesn’t leave without unwanted feelings.

warnings: n/a

their eyes stared into the armored sorcerer of tzeentch, cold and unfeeling.

“intruder” they stated, their voice hard like the steel of the sword pressed up against his chest as his hands remained in the air in surrender. “identify yourself”

it would take nothing for him to slaughter them. to have them turned to dust with a wave of his hand and nothing more. to have them be sucked in by the warp, to manifest the most powerful vacuum known to the universe and command it to swallow the little guardian of the black library whole.

instead, he stood frozen.

“ahzek ahriman.” he stated, his voice warm and glazed with honey. he knew, going into this, that the black library would not be an easy target to acquire knowledge from. he’d expected a fight, a confrontation, all out war. he had not anticipated a much smaller, weaker, and yet stunning figure to emerge from the shadows.

the moment he saw them, he had come to a halting stop from his sprint. something had stopped him from dealing with them as simply and swiftly as he had the others.

perhaps it was the intelligence they radiated, perhaps it was the pain he had seen in their eyes, the longing for something greater. or perhaps it were their eyes themselves, the most beautiful pair of sightseeing organs he’d ever seen. perhaps it were their lips, or the way they were so confident in the illusion that they had gotten him cornered.

maybe it was the fact that whatever stood before him was the epitome of what mortal beauty could be. he felt great loss in the fact that the emperor would hide it away within the depths of the library, for something as striking as them should only know the light of the stars and to sit prettily atop a throne.

“state your purpose here, ahzek ahriman.”

“knowledge. that is all…” he knew that acting upon the sword pointed at his chest meant that his life was at stake, and that if they drove the sword through him before he managed to turn them to dust, he’d be a lost cause.

yet he hesitated.

they tried to speak to him. to tell him that his time in the black library was over, but before their sword could pierce any further, he moved in the blink of an eye behind them, placing his spear to their back between their shoulder blades.

psychic energy now radiated through the air as they whimpered slightly in pain. “i’d hate to take the life of such a pretty thing…” he spoke to himself, seeming to contemplate before shifting his focus to them.

it was incredibly obvious that their assailants had never bested them before, the way they seemed to open their mouth in shock. he noticed the way tears pricked at their eyes, and whether it was their initial reaction to knowing they may die or their response to the pain manifested by the power radiating from his spear, he did not know.

“why don’t we let each other go, yeah?” he asked, attempting to strike a deal with the young guardian of the black library, wishing to avoid killing them.

in the back of his mind, he prayed that they agreed to his request. it would truly pain him to deprive the world of something he thought so beautiful, and it would pain him even more knowing that he’d never have a chance to come back and take them away from these dark and winding halls.

they trembled, afraid to lose their life, but seemed to nod their head. he allowed them to turn and face him. he used a portion of his psychic energy to rip their sword from their hand and throw it to the ground. their eyes widened slightly at the proximity of the thousand sons chief librarian. the two of them were nearly chest to chest as he took a breath and spoke again “you keep your life, and i keep mine?”

they nodded again in response, afraid and shaken up by the near loss of their life to such a powerful psyker. they seemed to be dazed in their fear, allowing ahriman to lift his helmet just above his nose. dark brown hair came cascading down his shoulders, his armor not confining it to his head.

he seemed to be overcome by an impulse, the way he kissed their tears away. he shushed them into silence, an attempt of comfort as to not get them caught before he could escape back into the webway. he would take them with him, if the warp were safe enough for a mortal being, it was the safest way to know they couldn’t tell anyone of what happened today.

but he knew he couldn’t. not now. not yet.

he turned as the air seemed to crack open, leading himself back into the warp while pulling his helmet back over his head.

the young guardian reached for him, almost as if they wished he wouldn’t depart from them so soon. they had more questions for him, he could see it in their eyes. their interaction had been short and sickeningly sweet.

he placed his hand in theirs, lifting the back of their hand to his helmet, mimicking the action of a kiss. “i hope you are able to catch me, when i return.” he laughed.

he relished once again in the thought of this human traveling through the webway with him. he thought of the way he would scribe runes onto their skin in golden ink. he thought of the way he would introduce them to magnus, the way the crimson king would smile like a proud father at the sight of his most beloved son courting a human that looked like they belonged in the emperor’s gallery of statues and intricate paintings. even tzeentch would be proud.

“if i catch you first, i will not be the only one forbidden from entering this library ever again.”

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Mel Medarda's Diary - Small town meljayvik borderline hallmarkish

Mel is a big city lawyer working tirelessly day and night with everything to show for it but a happy home life. After her biological father passes away and leaves all his belongings to her in his will, including a cottage in a small town, She packs up everything and moves, telling only her brother Kino of her whereabouts.

Her father's cottage happens to be just across the street from Jayce and Viktor, the power couple of the town. Jayce runs the community garden, and Viktor runs the bakery in town. Truly a jack of all trades type couple, they also spend their time manufacturing handy devices, widgets and gadgets which they sell at a remarkably low price at the farmers market.

When Jayce knocks on her door, with the bakery's signature coffee cake in hand to welcome her the neighbourhood, she's immediately enamoured until his husband strolls up beside him. She gives up immediately, not one to meddle in such affairs. Though that doesn't stop her from fantasising about him in her journal (she was advised to keep one by a therapist).

Mel does not settle into small town life easily. Everything seems to go wrong within the seemingly managable house. When her kitchen sink bursts, she finds herself soaking wet and panicking on her neighbour's doorstep. While Jayce does help, he also finds a lot of amusement in her predicament. Mel thinks her crush will eventually quell, but unfortunately, Jayce is more and more charming every time they meet. More appliances malfunction, and going to Jayce becomes second nature, as does the cup of tea they have afterwards.

One day, something breaks, and Viktor is the only one home, and it's as if Mel has been doused with cold water. Reality hits her like a brick. Still, Viktor offers to help, and he's got his own charm and humour. And afterward, Mel starts to dream (and write about) of both of them.

Weeks into her arrival, Mel discovers her father's legacy. He was a librarian and played in a blues band on the side. He also had a penchant for gardening.

Mel gets a job as an art teacher at the local high school (She has two degrees: fine art and law). There she befriends, PE teachers Vi, Sevika and Caitlyn, Science teacher Sky and English teacher Elora. This becomes her circle and her support system, which she'll need while she harbours the most debilitating crushes on the only two men in the town she can't have.

Wishing to show her gratitude for all that her neighbours have done for her (and definitely not just an excuse to talk to them some more), Mel attempts to make brownies. It goes wrong several times before she's able to make an edible batch. For safety, she also makes a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. She gifts these to them in bag.

Unfortunately for her, that bag that she had scrambled to find, had her diary in it. Jayce and Viktor become aware of every thought both sweet and saucy that she'd ever dreamt up about them. At first, they wanted to respect her privacy, but the temptation grew too strong, and they cracked. They find that they quite like the way Mel feels about them. That they had liked her for a while too.

Mel remains blissfully unaware for a day until she goes in search of her diary. She's practically hyperventilating when she goes over to Jayce and Viktor's and asks if she might have put it in the bag. Jayce is about to hand it over when Viktor snatches it and keeps it out of Mel's sight. He denies any knowledge of such a thing.

Slowly but surely, their relationship grows more flirtatious, and Mel grows more confused. That is until she keeps ending up in scenarios with two men that greatly resemble her written words. Then it becomes a game with no winner in sight.

[gachaclubideas]

@hayatiayad I made a moonlight university teacher/librarian because of @alistuff-zzz

Name: (Madam) Willow Kessler

GL2 code: RANRIJG2M

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender: female (she/her)

Teaches: History, magic control and potions making

A humble librarian and a teacher of the Moonlight University, you can see her in the library during the recess.

She's an elf and a powerful mage.

A haphazard, carefree personality she possess, a languid but knowledgeable person. She's quite the charming and flirtatious individual, she like coming up "cute" nicknames for you and your peers.

She is an intellectual witch who can never get enough naps. As the Librarian of Moonlight University, Willow is smart in that she always knows exactly what to do with whatever troubles her. As much as she loves her sleep, she still manages to keep everything under control in a calm, composed manner.

Even if She is generally laidback, she can be quite the terror when she's angered, and she believe in giving a "proper punishment" to whoever has upset her.

[koifishstick]

THE MIDNIGHT READERS SOCIETY

a hogwarts university club. master list

deep within the hidden corners of hogwarts university, tucked away from prying eyes, a secret book club exists—the midnight readers’ society. this clandestine group of book lovers operates under the cover of night, bound by their shared love of forbidden knowledge and an insatiable curiosity that drives them to explore the most dangerous corners of the magical world—the restricted section of the library. the club’s founding members were a group of ambitious, slightly rebellious students who found themselves fascinated by the books that were deemed too dangerous or too powerful for ordinary students. they believed that knowledge should be free, that no spell should remain locked away in dusty old tomes, simply because it might be "too dark" or "too advanced." and so, the midnight readers’ society was born—a club of adventurers in the truest sense of the word, a fellowship of students who were willing to take risks for the thrill of discovery.

SECRET MEETINGS. the midnight readers meet in a shadowy alcove near the edge of the castle grounds, a place few students ever venture. it's a cozy, dimly lit space, furnished with piles of cushions and thick, worn blankets that smell faintly of old parchment and dust. the members gather late in the evening, well after curfew, when the halls of hogwarts are silent and the castle’s magical wards are at their weakest. the group sits in a circle, sipping tea from mismatched cups and whispering excitedly about their most recent acquisitions.

but the most thrilling part of their meetings is the exchange of knowledge. each week, a different member takes on the perilous task of sneaking into the restricted section of the library—a place heavily guarded by enchanted barriers, magical creatures, and an ever-watchful librarian, madam pincers, who is known for her sharp eyes and quicker reflexes. this daring member must manage to slip past all these defenses, find a book from the restricted section, and return to the group with their prize.

once the book is secured, the true magic begins. using a carefully learned duplication charm, the group creates perfect copies of the stolen book. the charm is precise, turning each page into a flawless replica. these copies are distributed among the members, allowing them to read what the restricted section has to offer without ever setting foot inside.

but there’s a catch—whoever takes the book must also ensure that the prior book is returned safely. once a new book is brought into the fold, the member is responsible for placing the old book back in its rightful spot. it’s a delicate balance of trust, secrecy, and skill, and the members of the society are always careful not to get caught. the thrill of a good heist is one of the many reasons the club’s meetings are so eagerly anticipated each week.

BOOKS. the books they steal are not your average school textbooks. they are tomes filled with powerful and often dangerous knowledge—books on advanced potions, rare spells, and historical records that were never meant to be widely circulated. some of these books have been locked away for centuries, thought to be too dangerous for young wizards and witches to handle. but the midnight readers know that knowledge isn’t inherently evil; it’s how you use it that matters.

one of the most prized volumes in their collection is the grimoire of ancient enchantments, a book said to contain spells older than the school itself. another is the dark wizard’s compendium, which details the techniques and curses used by dark wizards throughout history. then there’s the philosopher’s almanac, which covers everything from time travel to soul magic—a book so powerful it’s said that no wizard or witch has ever read it without experiencing strange, otherworldly dreams afterward.

each book stolen becomes a source of intense fascination. the members spend weeks poring over the copies, practicing the spells, analyzing the texts, and debating the meanings behind cryptic passages. the club’s meetings often spiral into heated discussions about the ethical implications of certain magical practices, the history of dark arts, and the potential for magical knowledge to shape the future.

RISKS. of course, there are dangers involved. the restricted section of the library is filled with enchantments designed to thwart any would-be intruders. books are often protected by cursed wards, traps that trigger upon touch, and creatures that lurk in the dark corners, guarding their secrets. one of the most infamous creatures is the book-basilisk, a serpent that only appears when someone tries to tamper with a forbidden book. it can petrify anyone who looks into its eyes, rendering them paralyzed for hours.

madam pincers, the librarian, has also developed a sixth sense when it comes to missing books. while she may seem absent-minded and somewhat harmless, she is always one step ahead of the students who try to steal from her. it’s rumored that she has a magical ability to sense when someone is in the library after hours, and she’s been known to leave enchanted notes in the restricted section, taunting the students who think they’ve gotten away with it.

yet, despite these risks, the midnight readers continue their quests, united by the thrill of the chase and the allure of forbidden knowledge.

PHILOSOPHY. at the heart of the midnight readers’ society is a belief that knowledge should never be stifled or restricted—only understood. the club members believe that by expanding their magical knowledge, they can make a difference in the world, whether it’s through understanding history more clearly, developing more advanced magical practices, or simply satisfying their own insatiable curiosity.

each new book uncovered is a small rebellion against the idea that some things are too dangerous to be known. to them, the real danger lies not in knowledge, but in ignorance. and though their methods are far from conventional, the midnight readers firmly believe they’re doing a service to their fellow students—giving them access to the wisdom that might otherwise be denied.

[darkinfinity]

Happy 28! Here are all the fics I read and enjoyed this past month!

☁ Call out my name by lesbidirection (E, 101k)

Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.

Harry Styles begs to differ.

A soulmate AU where two lovers find each other entirly by accident, featuring photoshoots, Gucci suits, too many takeaways, having sex and feeling sad, an alpha who feels lost, and the omega that finds him. It shouldn't be this easy, but it is.

☁ don't be afraid to love (and love again) by @voulezloux (T, 83k)

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different. There’s always been something at odds about how he felt.

As the eldest daughter of seven kids, he knew something was wrong with his body. Something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His mum dressed him in dresses and tights, plaits in his hair as he wandered around with the local neighborhood boys. They called him a girl, called him she and Rosemary when his name is Louis. He had told the boys as such, but they would tell him Louis is a boy’s name, not a girl’s.

Louis is a boy. He knows he is.

or the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

☁ Wither & Bloom by @dizzy-pixie17 (E, 65k)

No one knows that legendary Harry Styles is an omega. The record label, the fans, and even his family have no idea, leading to a very isolated and very lonely life for Harry. He knows it's for the best. Otherwise, he'd never have the career he wanted and he contents himself in the knowledge that he's not the only one. But when Harry injures his voice during a performance, his manager hires a new vocal coach to help put him to rights. Cue Louis Tomlinson, the sweetest, sexiest, kindest alpha in the world, stepped right out of Harry's dizziest daydreams. While Louis tries to figure out why there's something so incredibly un-alpha-like about 'Alpha-King of Pop' Harry Styles, Harry is busy trying to control his omega's undeniable urge to throw himself at the object of his infatuation.

Amid an accidental misgendering, getting slick in public, tour bus snuggles with awkward boners, and unprovoked drops, Harry will have to choose whether he wants to keep living a lie for the sake of remaining in the spotlight or if he'll sacrifice everything to be with the man he loves… Assuming Louis ever comes back.

☁ Give me love by @falsegoodnight & @soldouthaz (E, 41k)

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

☁ Freeway of love (in a pink Cadillac) by @mizzhydes (E, 33k)

Louis was on his way to Miami to visit an old friend. Harry was going there for a little R&R and take in the sights and sounds. A sudden upgrade in seating brought these polar opposites together. The universe works in mysterious ways and they are unknowingly about to embark on an adventure they will surely remember for a lifetime.

Prompt 107: Sugar daddy AU inspired by this tweet: “going to sit next to the richest looking middle aged man on my flight and scroll through my nudes for three hours straight” with rich daddy Harry and bratty baby Louis

☁ this brokenness inside me might start healing by @loveislarryislove (T, 29k)

Louis grew up in a tiny town, where everyone knew everyone -- or at least, they think they do. Then he left, and became a successful singer-songwriter, a star that everyone in the country knows -- or at least, they think they do.

But when Louis returns home for the birth of his first nibling, he meets a librarian who doesn't know him at all. And that's all Louis could ask for.

☁ Cuddlebug by sun_flowr (Not rated, 19k)

When the call from the adoption agency finally calls, Harry and Louis are surprised to discover that they have been tentatively paired with a young pup named Rami, who suffers from a multitude of issues stemming from the abandonment he’s suffered. But no matter the challenges, they know they will do everything they can to care for and love this pup as if he was their own.

Prompt: a/b/o established relationship where they finally go adopt a child and find a toddler with touch depri/abandonment issues and they build him a nest and comfort him

☁ Stars will align for us by @2tiedships2 (Not rated, 15k)

"The serial monogamist is single," Niall said by way of introduction when he sat down across from Harry in the canteen.

Harry sipped his chocolate milk. "What are you going on about?"

"Your alpha dream boat," Niall said. "That tiny little footie player? I heard from Hannah that he's broken it off with his boyfriend so he’s single and ready to flamingle. Now's the time to make your move."

Harry sipped his chocolate milk harder to keep himself from replying.

Or the one where Harry is an omega at a loss of how to get past his pining and gain the attention of Louis…especially considering the alpha is always in a relationship.

☁ now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie (T, 5k)

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all.

This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

☁ Send me your pillow (the one that you dream on) by fairytalefemme (G, 3k)

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

Short fluffy o/o gaybo drabble with lots of cuddles and softness and sock stealing <3

[blackfolksintime]

THE (BLACK) WOMAN WHO MANAGED MORGAN’S MILLIONS

On a brisk December day in 1905, a young librarian stepped into the Manhattan office of America’s most powerful man. The two sized each other up. To her, the huge, hulking tycoon seemed whipsmart and curious about everything. To him, the petite woman seemed poised and precise. Conversation soon revealed a common love of old treasures — rare books, manuscripts, tapestries. So J.P. Morgan hired the librarian, never suspecting.

Belle da Costa Greene soon toured the salons of Europe. She posed for Matisse. She had affairs with a Norwegian count and an Italian duke. She dined with opera stars, tycoons, and royalty, charming all with her wit and intelligence. Yet she lived “behind the curtain of my mind,” because although she told everyone she was Portuguese, Belle da Costa Greene was black.

The art of “passing” casts a shadow on American history. No one knows how many light-skinned African-Americans, burdened by bigotry, crossed the color line and lived as whites. Some see betrayal, others courage, but in Belle da Costa Greene, (born Belle Marion Greener) we see a shooting star.

Her mother was a socialite among the noted black families of Washington, D.C. Her father was Harvard’s first black student, later a lawyer, professor, and diplomat. From her father, Belle learned to love history and its pearls. By the age of 12, she “wanted to work with rare books. I loved them even then, the sight of them, the wonderful feel of them, the romance and the thrill of them.”

But if her brilliant father suffered the scorn of Jim Crow, how could a black girl hope to rise? Belle found an answer when her parents separated. Changing their names, she and her mother entered Manhattan’s white society without a backward glance.

Belle soon became a librarian at Princeton where another librarian — J.P. Morgan’s nephew — noticed her. His uncle needed someone to manage his opulent new library. Belle got the job — $75 a week and a boss who terrified everyone he met.

By 1905, J.P. Morgan controlled half the nation’s railroads. He had masterminded mergers creating General Electric, U.S. Steel, and AT&T. But Morgan had studied art history, not finance. Nurturing a soft spot for “the finer things in life,” he soon had his librarian doing more than stenography.

Working together, Morgan and Greene created one of America’s great repositories for the artifacts of Western Civilization. With nerve and knowledge rivaling Morgan’s, Greene bought works by Raphael, Rembrandt, and Michelangelo. She paid small fortunes for Egyptian scrolls, and outbid the British Museum for ancient tablets and illuminated wonders. Meanwhile, behind the curtain of her secret, she wore plumed hats and fine gowns. “Just because I am a librarian,” she said, “doesn’t mean I have to dress like one.”

Morgan called her “the cleverest girl I know.” Greene admitted to having a “terrific crush” on the man she privately called “Big Chief.” But when asked about a romance, she said only, “We tried.” The odd couple never was a couple, biographers attest. Other men, however, simply swooned.

Greene got “hipped up” on one lover after another, notably art critic Bernard Berenson. From his villa in Florence, Berenson carried on a lengthy affair with Greene, whom he found “miraculously responsive and most of all to the things I really care most about.”

Yet there were rumors about “Miss Greene, with her tanned complexion.” “A mulatto,” some gossiped, while others thought she might hail from Cuba. Portuguese, she insisted, and went back to her fabulous and secret life. By 1912, she was earning a quarter million a year.

J.P. Morgan died in 1913. Of his $3 billion, nearly half was in his art collection. Some went to the Met but the rest remained under the control of Belle da Costa Greene. For the next 35 years, as director of the Morgan Library, she worked to make the library “pre-eminent, especially for incunabula, manuscripts, bindings, and the classics.”

Belle da Costa Greene died in 1950. Only when Morgan biographers probed her past did they learn her secret. But by then, hailed as “the soul of the Morgan Library,” she was seen as a treasure herself. Rather than remember her solely as a black woman who “passed,” biographers marveled at the unlikely partnership. A common love of art, it seems, can transcend all others. Almost.

Once, she recalled, Morgan asked her if she would like him more “if he were thirty years younger. I said no, I’d leave the library — he would be too dangerous — which seemed to please him. And then he said he never wanted to be younger except when he was with me and thought of me. I don’t doubt he has said that to every woman he knows but I love him just the same.”