#candy mancer

[crystallizedkingdoms]

Pure Beds + Degenerate Stains

Rory and Candy have a tense argument in Carrie’s room the night after her funeral.

wc: 4,156 || tw: homophobic + whorephobic language, referenced suicide

you can also read this on ao3 <3

Carrie’s room is perfectly clean the night after her funeral.

Rory hates that his brain makes the remark, but there is a truth to it. She left her room as clean and tidy as she could, sheets tucked into the bed so tight, like no one would ever enter them again. Purple and white pillows are fluffed to perfection, well-loved duvet free of any wrinkles. Glow-in-the-dark stars shine for a child who will never grow up. Lively, serene, warm. Her room is so clean and pretty, that neither Rory nor his parents had touched a thing after her death.

Until now.

Rory walks into his sister’s room, the late night moonlight slipping through the partially-opened curtains. Rory’s wearing his beaten-down hoodie that’s dirtier than usual, tainted with tears, dirt, and dark blotches that he will never admit the origin of. He stains the clean room with his presence, sucking whatever life remained inside into his pitiful black hole of agony.

What right did he have to be inside such a nice room? Rory creeps towards the picturesque ideal of a teenage girl’s bed and plants a hand on the duvet. It is plush, soft from countless sleeps, and Rory’s hand ruins the smooth appearance. It sinks into the sheets, into the mattress, as he silently balances himself enough to sit down. He is so big, too big for this bed. Far too big for this nice room. He sits anyway.

Rory sits on his sister’s bed and his heart sinks down to his stomach. On this spot in the bed, Rory can only wonder about the nights she spent sitting just like this, and he didn’t know about it. Rory sucks in a shaky breath, pulling his arms close to his body. He holds back a sob with all his might. He can’t ruin her bed any more than he already has by sitting on it. He can’t let his tears stain her safest space.

“Oh, Carrie,” Rory whispers so quietly. His hands instinctively carry out her sign name. He clasps his hands together, shuts his eyes tight, and doesn’t move from his spot. For he knows he can not do much else other than sit and think about all the million little things that can make him feel like absolute shit.

What would it be tonight? Thoughts of how he could’ve saved her? Maybe it would be how happy she seemed as a younger child. Oh, it could also be a moment of reminiscence for all the wonderful parts of life that Rory will continue to participate in that she never will. It could also be the ol’ reliable idea that it should’ve been him on that fucking overpass and not his innocent little sister. Rory is in no short supply of pain to rot over, as he’s done in the days after her death.

Heavy thumping from the floor below catches Rory’s attention just before he can spiral. The slam of a door that has become all too familiar at this time of night. A moment of silence, a shuffle. The nuisance walks past the living room and into the hallway, and guessing from the extended silence, descends into the basement. The quiet lapses for a few minutes, then the thumping returns. Lighter sounds, growing louder and louder as it crawls up the stairs in an uneven pattern.

Rory clenches his hands into fists and refuses to look at the bedroom door when it slowly opens.

“There you are.”

Candy is a mess. She wears a thick coat over whatever skimpy dress she wore out for her client, her hair is wild, and her long legs are awkwardly still as she stands at the doorway. “I’m glad to see you out of your room, Rory,” she says. She sounds out of breath, exhausted to the bone.

Not that Rory cares. He does not look up at her. Instead his eyes are fixated on his hands at the chipped black nail polish that Carrie applied for him a few weeks ago. He tries not to pick at them.

Candy heaves a deep sigh. She stumbles over towards Rory with wobbling legs, making such a small distance feel like a winding trek. “Oh, Rory…” she whispers to the man on her daughter’s bed. Rory is so focused on ignoring her that he doesn’t realize she’s reaching for him until he feels her hand softly, hesitantly, grazing his shoulder.

Rory violently rips away from her touch and swats her hand away from his body. The contact is immediate and it is harsh, stinging the soft skin of her hand. Candy takes a step back and cradles her hand, as if she had pricked her finger upon the spindle of a spinning wheel rather than rest a hand on her son. Rory does not look at her even then.

Candy sighs yet again. Did she ever let enough air get into her head before it escapes her loose lips? Rory wishes her breathing could stop right about now, but unfortunately, it only continues. She sits on the bed next to Rory, though she keeps a healthy distance between them. Her legs cross together tightly, nylon tights rubbing together in a disgusting show. She hangs her head in equal parts exhaustion and shame, Rory thinks. 

The quiet fills every inch of the room, thick as mud and just as dirty. Candy and Rory bite their tongues. They feel out the other’s presence as subtly as they can, desperately trying to guess who would break first. If either of them would break at all. Rory is half convinced that Candy will give up and leave to sleep soundly in her own room. God knows how easily she’s been able to do that for so many years.

But Candy is persistent. Her legs cross tighter and she shakes her head a few times to keep herself awake and aware. Rory catches from the corner of his eye that she occasionally looks over to him, but never says anything. Her mouth opens, smeared and faded lipstick stubbornly clinging to her chapped lips, but no words come out before she closes it again. Was she teasing him? Beckoning him to give in and say something, anything? Was she too fucking scared to talk to her own flesh and blood? Didn’t Rory deserve to be spoken to?

“You couldn’t wait a day?” Rory hisses under his breath. He turns towards Candy and thus loses their little game.

Candy turns her head to Rory in return. She cocks an eyebrow, but when she observes his pointed glare, she shrugs. “Someone’s got to make the money. Someone’s gotta pay the bills and get us food,” she states plainly.

Rory seethes. “It’s fucking gross. We get off of my sister’s funeral and the next day you’re out fucking the next town tramp.”

Candy sneers at Rory. Finally , a reaction other than tired indifference. Rory feels a little proud about prying that out of her. “Well, aren’t you a saint?” she spits the last word out like it is venom. “I didn’t see you working double shift to cover my workload. You didn’t work a damn hour today.”

“My sister killed herself and we’re expected to work through it?” Rory asks. His volume rises, cracking whatever serenity this room could possibly hold any more.

Candy’s voice remains steady and low, “That’s life, dear. That's life.”

Rory refuses to respond to that sentiment. She knows that shit riles him up, she knows it. He will not dignify it with the reaction he knows she wants to see. He bites his tongue and looks down at his nails again. The polish on his pinky finger is more chipped than Rory remembers it being only a few moments earlier.

A tight heat builds in Rory’s chest. Agony taints his muscles and seeps into his bones. Decay aches his mortal body and Rory wishes he could get up and leave. Carrie does not deserve her family fighting in her first resting place. She does not deserve such filth staining such a beautiful, pure bedroom.

But it is hard not to push. It is hard not to bite the hand that only grazes him, never caresses. For though that hand is silent and cold, it pokes and prods in its own wicked way. Surely, anyone could see how sympathetic Rory is in this position. If their blood shall shed and stain these pristine sheets, well, Rory sees it justified for now. He can deal with the ensuing soul-crushing guilt and graveyard dirt another hopeless night.

“It’s your fault,” Rory bites.

Candy tenses up. Her body is stiff and she stops shifting in her spot for fucking once. Rory turns to her with keen eyes, desperately searching for the reaction in her face. Would it be anger? Rory anticipates it to be anger, or surprise, or goddamn it, he would even take fear at this point. Anything that he can take from her defiled soul and crush into one hundred and eight little pieces.

Candy turns to him and all he sees is hurt in her Madonna eyes.

Rory grinds his teeth together. Hurt is not the emotion he expected. Seeing it causes that tight heat in his chest to expand up into his throat. For what right did she feel to be hurt by his words? It is only a fact. It’s only a fucking fact. 

“Did you ever notice how she was hurting?” Rory continues through gritted teeth. Her hand takes the vile teeth and claws without complaint so far. He pushes. “Did you ever notice how much pain she went through? Did you ever even talk to her about it? No,” he scoffs, “no, you didn’t. You barely even talked to her at all, much less talked to her about her feelings.”

“That’s not true,” Candy’s voice cracks. “I talked to her.”

“Through me. Most of the time it was through me. I was almost always the middle man in your ‘conversations’ with her. Translating all those conversations throughout her whole life because you couldn’t be assed to fully learn a language for her. Did you ever see how disconnected that made her feel from you? That she couldn’t connect to her own goddamn mom because, oh no, she’s too tired to speak another language and bond with her?”

Candy uncrosses her legs and then crosses them again, alternating her legs. Her foot knocks into Rory’s shin and her jaw clenches, but she does not respond. She doesn’t fucking respond.

Rory pushes. It’s the only thing he can do. “That’s right. You never noticed. You never noticed when she got lonely or when she even got bullied. No, actually, that’s a lie. You knew, didn’t you? You knew and you did nothing to protect her. You pushed that all onto me. I bet you were just ashamed of yourself. Ashamed because you knew she was being bullied because she was associated with you. Yeah, you, she was embarrassed to be your fucking daughter—”

“Me, me, me! Yeah, it’s all fucking me, huh? I’m the shitty mother that drove her daughter to suicide, that’s what you’re saying?!” Candy screams. She slams her hands on the mattress and glares at Rory with such vitriol that he shies away from, despite himself. It’s humiliating, but Candy does not remark on it. “With the way you’re talking to me, you would think I had somehow pushed her off that overpass.”

Rory straightens himself up on the bed. He stares right back into Candy’s eyes and does not back down. “Maybe you did,” he says, and Candy’s eyes go wide with pain. “Maybe my sister wouldn’t have killed herself if she wasn’t related to some public degenerate.”

It’s a low blow. Rory knows it, but he can’t find it in him to care. He sinks his teeth and claws into flesh and waits for it to bleed. Waits for this to all make him feel better.

So, it is incredibly unnerving when Candy takes the bite and does not react. Her face is not contorted with surprise, her body does not quiver in fear. The pain in Candy’s eyes slowly drains away, replaced with nothing. Her eyes are suddenly cold, almost glossy-looking as they bore holes into Rory’s face. A calm and collected demeanour radiates from Candy as she uncrosses her legs and neatly folds her hands into her lap. 

“Oh, so that’s where we’re going?” she asks in a deep, smooth voice. Impossibly smooth for what Rory has said. It sends a chill down Rory’s spine and he hates that he can’t control that reaction. He hates that he’s still afraid of what she might say. “I’m sorry to burst your little bubble, but you’re no better than me, are you?”

The room feels as cold as death. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rory says.

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid,” Candy laughs. The laugh seeps any remaining warmth in this room. The only thing it had left. “You’re not exactly the pinnacle of sainthood. You think your little queer escapades didn’t add to her bullying?”

Rory freezes. “It is not like that and you know it,” he says. “I’m not doing what you’re doing, I’m not!”

“Do you think anyone else sees a difference? That’s cute. Not true, though. You holding a man’s hand in secret is no different than fucking one on the street when it comes to most people. You’re just as ‘gross’ as me, kid, and I’m sure it got around. It doesn’t help that you were even weirder than her,” Candy says. When Rory doesn’t reply, she pushes back even further. “Men talk, Rory, men talk. Men talk about me the same way they talk about you. Men talk to their girlfriends and wives and children listen like the little rats they are. Children bully children using whatever ammo they got. 

“I’m sure Carrie’s heard it all. Oh, her crazy little family. The psycho, the whore, and the faggot. And she was fucking deaf on top of all of that! That certainly did not help one bit, did it? Poor kid didn’t have a chance, let’s call it what it is!” Candy pauses to catch her breath. Rory does not fill in the silence. Rory wants to speak but his mouth does not cooperate with him. “Yeah, now you’re fucking quiet.”

Candy does not let up. She keeps talking and Rory thinks he might cover his ears to make it all stop, but his body does not cooperate. Nothing in his life does anymore. “Let me have my turn at accusations. It wasn’t just me who let this happen, now was it? If it was, then she’d still be alive. She’d still have you. Whatever bullying came about because of me, you eventually joined the mix. I wonder how embarrassing it must’ve been for her, to have you hug and walk her home and yell at teachers right in front of her classmates.”

“Shut up! I was helping her!” Rory finally yells. “You didn’t even try!”

Candy’s cruel eyes narrow. She disregards Rory’s words. “The fact is, you also failed her. Whatever warning signs I missed, you must’ve missed, too.”

“I—”

Unfiltered rage flickers in Candy’s dark eyes. “If you saw how weird she must’ve been acting before this, maybe you could’ve stopped her. Maybe she would still be alive and in our arms. Instead, she’s dead now. She’s dead because of me. She’s dead because of you.”

If Candy says anything, Rory does not hear her. The world of Carrie’s desecrated room falls apart, and Rory shuts his eyes so tight to prevent himself from seeing any of it. Candy’s words are no different than the ones that Rory has told himself countless of times, but to hear it from her? To hear it all from his mother? 

Pain is a dirty monster and it preys upon all these thoughts in his head, yowling with confirmation. This is it! it cries. Everything you have ever said is true! You killed your sister, Rory. Your only fucking sister! Your own mother believes it. Rory claws at fistfuls of hair on the sides of his head to try and stop it all from talking, but nothing stops it. You killed Carrie and you still try to blame it on your mom. How pathetic. 

“I… I know that,” Rory says. The words are tentative. Unsure of themselves. Unsure if they even want to be spoken. But what else can he do? “At least I’m aware of it. I’m so, so aware of it. I know I’m a terrible brother. I recognize it. You don’t.”

Candy’s words are less tentative. They are so sure of themselves. Hitting the teeth that try to bite. “Well, you brought it to my attention now. We’re a family of degenerates and we killed our sweet Carrie. There. You happy I recognize it? Does that make you feel better? Is Carrie any less dead than a minute before?”

Rory opens his eyes and looks into Candy’s. Rory searches for the right words to say. Candy beats him to it, “No. That’s right. She isn’t.”

They break their eye contact. Candy looks towards the other side, Rory looks down at his nails. Much of the polish has chipped away now. Curse him and his wandering hands, destroying every last bit of Carrie that lives on within him. The purity of this room has been stripped, mother and son acting as the vinegar and turpentine. What else will Rory destroy given enough time? It is only a matter of time.

All of this, over Carrie. Rory knows Carrie would’ve hated seeing him like this. She would’ve despised the way he speaks to their mother right now. Rory can almost see her and her face of agony, desperately telling him to stop and apologize. Rory can almost feel her arms wrapping around his torso and he can feel her tears cleansing his sweater and her cries bringing him peace. Anything about Carrie would bring him peace now.

But Carrie is gone now. No amount of self-loathing or recognition can bring her back.

Rory’s vision goes blurry. He half hopes it’s because he’s dying, but it’s something even worse. Tears sting his eyes and fall down his cheek and Rory is humiliated. “Fuck,” he whimpers as he scrubs his eyes harder, but the tears keep flowing.

Rory cries. There is no other word to call it. He chokes on a sob and he curls into himself. He hugs his trembling body and barely holds himself together. Just a cruel boy crying over his own actions, a cruel boy who bit off more than he could chew from his own mother. His tears burn his cold skin and yet it hardly warms him.

Candy tries to ignore Rory’s cries. Rory knows when she’s trying to ignore him. Her folded hands hold herself together and she tries to remain that way. Waiting for her son to finish his little tantrum. Rory hates that he knows this gesture and its meaning. It forces out another sob from him. 

Folded hands turn to jagged claws. The mother grips the hem of her dress. Rory attempts to cover up his crying, but the sounds are as obvious as ever.

“Oh, stop it.”

Rory is about to get up and leave when he sees his mother’s arms unfurl. They hesitate, hovering in the air for an awkward moment, before they settle on wrapping around Rory’s shoulder. Rory’s mind screams to push her off of him. She hurt you, it screams, she hurt you and she’ll only hurt you worse. But the smallest, childish part of Rory… it leans into that touch. Begs for that hug to hold him so tight.

…Against his better judgement, Rory leans into Mary’s gentle arms and lets the tears flow onto her shoulder. She brings him closer to her body and rests her head upon his. From this position, Rory feels his mother’s chest shake with each breath, and her tiny sniffles from above him. Rory gives in to the childish part of himself and wraps his arms around her. An early pietà.

“I just want her back,” Rory keens. His body trembles so hard he wonders if one day he will collapse onto this bed. “I want my Carrie back.”

Mary brushes her long fingers through Rory’s long hair that looks too much like her own. “I want her back, too. But… we won’t get her back. We won’t,” she says. She says it so plainly and so easily that Rory sobs even harder into her body. All she can do is hold her son tighter. 

How can she accept it so easily? Rory wonders in between each scratchy heave. Is she lying? Is she playing strong? Does she really not give a shit about the fact that Carrie is dead now? 

The thoughts are inflammatory, but no flame burns through Rory as it did a few moments earlier. There is no more bite left in him. Rory hugs his mother tighter.

“I’m…” The second word hangs in the cold air. Rory hesitates. He settles on, “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Mary hums. She hums a lowly tune of a song that does not exist. “I’m glad you recognize that,” she states. She adds a little too late, “I should not have said those things either.”

It’s not what either of them want to hear. But Rory is too tired to ask for anything more than that. Mary does not care for anything more. All they hear is their own cries and teary sniffles filling the cold, lifeless room that they don’t ever want to leave.

They haven’t completely stopped crying when Rory pulls away from Mary. He wipes his red, puffy eyes and shudders. Mary keeps her hands on his shoulders and he doesn’t shrug them away, even if their continued existence on his body makes his skin crawl. “I think I need some time alone… in here,” Rory says. Although he tells himself he doesn’t deserve it, that he has ruined Carrie’s bedroom and everything it holds, the thought of leaving is enough to make him feel  sick.

Mary tucks a lock of hair behind Rory’s ear to look at his tear-stained face better. Rory sees his mother’s own teary face, makeup streaking down with each teardrop. “Oh, fine. I’ll go to my room. Lord knows my back needs it,” she mutters, moreso to herself than Rory. She presses a kiss to his forehead, chapped lips against unclean skin, and she lets it linger. Rory briefly wishes they could live in this moment, where their collective grief overpowers his shameful anger.

Mary pulls her lips away and her arms follow with them. She stands up from the plush purple bed and watches Rory as he slowly drags his arms away from her. “Good night,” she says in a hushed tone. As if there were anybody else in the house to worry about waking up anymore. “I love you.”

“Good night,” Rory whispers back anyway. “I love you, too.” His hand instinctively folds into the sign, with his ring and middle finger pressing downward. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Mary smiles. She smiles through those makeup streaks and Rory can’t tell whether he envies it or he despises it. Rory does not have the energy to examine it further. Mary turns towards Carrie’s door, walking away to leave her son alone in her dead daughter’s room.

“Wait. Mom?”

Mary turns her head to look at Rory over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“…I’ll work double shift tomorrow,” Rory says. His hand is still in the shape of the sign. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

A spark of life lights up in Mary’s eyes. Rory watches them with cold, empty eyes of his own. “Oh, thank you,” she says, her smile a little wider. She does not notice the sign. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Mary turns and leaves to her bedroom without another word.

Rory deflates with a long, drawn-out sigh. He sinks into the bed and lies on his side, pulling his legs up off the ground to curl up into his sister’s bed. The idea of going to work tomorrow, for double the time, for his mom’s sake, after that disaster of an argument, makes him sick. He will push through it anyway.

Carrie’s bedroom ceiling twinkles with glow-in-the-dark star stickers that will never be pulled off. They glow, pure and bright, down at the tired mess that rests below it. Faint green light bathes the rotten man, cleanses him of his filth, though he will never recognize it. Rory stares up at them, counts each blurry shape through teary eyes as he imagines his sister did the night before her final choice, until it lulls him fast asleep.

[gloomverse-theories]

Bait and Switch

In most of our theories, we rely on the assumption that Amadeus Gloom (aka Mooching Hobo aka the Dark Overlord) is the same person as the dark figure that Rylie sees in her dreams and who (seemingly) murder Prisma and her Colors friends.

But what if... it was not the case?

We do not know much about Amadeus’s past, besides the fact that he is an only child according to the printed version’s bonus chapter. We know he has a sketchy past, impressive shadow (and candy) powers, and that he was somehow part of what happened in the ruins. Since he’s called the dark overlord by the lemon kids, we all concluded that he and the shadowy figure from Rylie’s dream were the same person.

However, Yellow never finished her sentence, did she? Was she calling for Ama-deus? Or perhaps Ama-ryllis? We do not know! There’s still the theory that those two are one and the same, going by different names at different times. 

But a more interesting possibility is that she was calling for Amaryllis, and that the actual Amadeus was the child she carried in her arms.

Unthinkable? Well let me change your mind! 

Light and Dark

In most myths as well as popular thinking, Light and Dark are two sides of the same coin. One can not exist without the other, they depend on one another. They’re similar yet they’re opposed. This duality is often portrayed as Light and Dark being linked, with their embodiment being related to one another or having some kind of counterpart. From how much she’s glowing, to her white and gold attire, it’s kind of obvious that Prisma is the Light one. Alright, who is the Dark one if not Amadeus the Dark Overlord? 

It’s Rylie. 

Yeah you read that right.

Light and Dark are Linked. Prisma and Rylie are linked. They look like each other, but they’re two distinct individuals. 

After all, Rylie has had many “dark” foreshadowing. She has (had) the look too! Black hair, eyes that appear either black or red, powerful and mysterious magic, and a dream that keeps going back to that one moment where the Shadow Figure does something to Prisma....

Not only that, but her dreams can only be from the “perspective” of the shadow Mancer. Prisma gets eeby deebied before the end and Yellow arrives late. No one is witness to the whole event, except the perpetrator. 

The Motive(s)

With this theory, I’m also uncovering a motive for the dark figure. If Prisma and them are linked, possibly siblings or even twins, the motive can be jealousy, resentment even. Prisma was by all standards the golden child. Powerful, beloved, and offered to lead a country! She’s clad in golds and nice fabrics, while “Ama” is in rags and bandages. Kept in the shadows. It would feel unfair. What would you want then, to set things "right"?

It also adds a nice parallel of blood family feud (Prisma and "Ama") vs found family friendship (Rylie and Wallis + Harold) if they are related. 

This also explains Why Yellow wants Rylie dead! She may look like Prisma, but she isn’t. She’s her “murderer”. Yellow wants revenge! Maybe she believes it will bring back Prisma? After all, she seems trapped in Rylie’s psyche.

Speaking of, why is Prisma so nice to Rylie if what I said is true? Well that’s easy: Rylie is not her past, she’s not that dark figure. She grew up like a normal kid, perhaps under Prisma’s watch, and she just wants to live her life. Like Purple isn’t Violet, Rylie isn’t that dark figure, even if they share characteristics.

What about Amadeus?

I’ve covered who the dark figure is, if not Amadeus. That’s great, but where does Amadeus fit in then? In Midnight, he seemed to recognise the place and he swore that it would “never happen again”.

It’s a popular belief that a murderer will come back to the scene of the crime, and that’s exactly what Amadeus does in this chapter. His demeanor in this whole scene can be read as someone wracked with guilt and regrets coming back to the place of their biggest mistake, BUT it can also be read as the victim coming back to where they lost everything. He looks sad, almost nostalgic, but he’s trembling. He’s afraid. This is a place of trauma for him, no matter how you read it.

Another point is that Petunia is in the know. I’m not one to judge relationships, but it would be a pretty big deal breaker for anyone to find out your hubbie has been involved in mass murder. And left your family because he was haunted by his past. Granted, Petunia is more wild than she appears, but I still think Amadeus would need a really really solid reason for why he did what he did.

Currently, we have no clue. No obvious motives. No signs that Prisma deserved her fate. Her recent appearance shows her as a lovely person and a concerned friend, not someone rotten from the inside that needed to be stopped for the greater good. 

So, is it more believable that Amadeus is indeed akin to a serial murderer, or that he was one of the victims? 

Finally, Amadeus is an only child. That’s mentioned despite barely being relevant, so I call Chekhov’s gun on that! Yellow had One child. The emphasis on the baby is strong, but we don’t know what its deal is. We don’t even know if it survived after that day. So, what if that baby was Amadeus? They even have matching skin color! 

The Flaw

Finally, I would like to bring up the one thing that breaks this whole theory: Pi.

We learn from him that the hair and eye color of people with ecoversian lineage tend to be green. If Amadeus is really Yellow’s kid, then he would have at least been born with green hair and eyes. Petunia’s eyes are green. Both Harold and Wallis have blue eyes. My theory crumbles on that point because of PI. 

TL;DR:

Instead of Amadeus being the one to off Prisma, it's someone else. Rylie takes after them and after Prisma. Amadeus has done nothing wrong, no murders, and is as much a victim as Prisma is, because he was Yellow's child. Yellow wants revenge, and she can get it by killing Rylie.

This is probably one of my most out there theory, but the idea is still fun! Tell me what you think!

[rangerdoubt]

Unusual Muse Associations

i have been trying to unfry myself for the last... week? two weeks? three weeks? and alas it is not Working but while i wait for the brain cells to come back online, thank u to @silvery-bluish and @thenightdayblogger for tagging me and giving me a reason to think about Blorbos again <333

i've done miri and zoya, but i just reregistered for the shepherds of haven patreon and the test kiddo i completed the alpha with is now. a whole new character :'))

I HAVE NO IDEA WHO TO TAG so if u see this <33333 ur it. i have water spritzer to ur head. tell me things about ur kids

CAPT. VERO CORMORANT (ket-raised, circle-trained battle-mage. red-mancer. closest to blade, chase, ayla. hates going on vacation but needs one anyway.)

SEASONING: perilla leaf

WEATHER: storms. inches from getting struck by lightning. getting pelted by half-rain half-hail. either you're warm and inside, or you're out in your rainboots just Leaning Into It.

COLOR: dark, dark indigo.

SKY: red skies in the morning--she prefers to see things coming, even (especially?) if it's bad news

MAGICAL POWER: chain lightning evocation? pyrokinesis

HOUSE PLANT: philodendron gloriosum (Beeg Leef. not that she's very good with plants, she just wishes she was)

WEAPON: she has a dagger in canon, but she also likes bigger light blades like the light cavalry sabre

SUBJECT: using a very serious degree (mechanical engineering? architecture?) for very stupid reasons (blowing things up)

SOCIAL MEDIA: she would not and should not be on social media. but for the purpose of the question, she gets on tiktok and has to be Fished Out.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: contour/highlight palette

CANDY: cadbury eggs

FEAR: oh, you know, when something brushes your foot in the lake. things with too many teeth. dying alone. (being too late, being the last one standing again, having to live with the cost of your own failure--)

ICE CUBE SHAPE: can't go wrong with a classic cube tbh. if you want to get really adventurous, make them out of the drink you're going to put them in.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: get red to teleport her places Giant Cat™️

ART STYLE: when she draws, she does a lot of sketchy charcoal figure drawings. but i associate her with whatever toulouse-lautrec is doing with the launderess. the brushstrokes and the light. the

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: banshee.

PIECE OF STATIONERY: do the little letter openers count? if not, wax seals of various kinds

THREE EMOJIS: 🗡️🪷🌙

CELESTIAL BODY: north star

[serenitywinter-twe-if]

I'm really interested in romancing elias or miloslav i love pain and I can't wait for the demo! Is it possible to give little fun facts about each of the ROs?

Hello Anon 🌞

I will publish a mood board for each of them soon~

In the meanwhile yes, you can have fun facts about them 🤭

So here goes, two funny facts about the ROs.

Elias

...hates board games. Because he absolutely sucks at it. Like it's almost as if he does it on purpose. The only one he can tolerates is snakes and ladders because he thinks only the dice matters. But hush, don't tell him even dice can be tricky. 🤫

But, he is good at beer pong.

Fact 2: He enjoys cooking. He's good at preparing simple dishes because he likes to cook whenever his daughter comes to visit. (Yes, Elias is a doting father.) What he likes the most is, when it's sunny outside, to make triangle sandwiches and to go on a picnic.

Who knows, maybe he'll take you to one, one day.

Anya

...likes gardening—because she likes to have high quality ingredients for her business—but she is afraid of lizards. If she sees one, she just ends up running, arms raised, throwing her tools around.

Fact 2: She gave a name to all the plants she takes care of. So sometimes, she is standing in her garden, welcoming "Bobby, Gary, Goofyballs, Little Mermaid, Patrick..." but in a whisper. She will not survive if someone heard her wishing a goodnight to "Smartass", her dramaqueen alocasia and "Kiss kiss bang bang" her rosebush.

Bonus: She likes gardening, but she has a developing allergy to pollen. So whenever she gardens at the beginning of summer, she ends up with hay fever.

Sheppard

....are a tsundere. If you try to get them blushing they will end up stuttering which will prompt them to just become even more tensed. And yes, at some point they will just run away.

So, to all the bold Sheppard-mancer out there, good luck 🍀

Beside, they are oblivious to flirting and will just squint at you at first before understanding the innuendos. Even if the innuendos is a real elephant in the room.

Fact 2: Sheppard is the favorite victim of Yu in terms of jokes. To the point that each time Sheppard see them, they tense up immediately because they know they will end up hearing a joke, not understanding it at first and until Yu and Mbaya (unwillingly) will end up laughing.

The thing is, Sheppard don't dislike the jokes. And they know Yu is showing their affection that way.

Bonus : They are so tense that they end up being a real klutz when they walk into a room. A real terror for furniture.

Mbaya

...don't have their driving licence. Or, actually, they do. It's just that they drive so... bad, that it's better altogether when they don't drive at all. But no worries, Yu like to drive, so they always end up picking them up. Otherwise, you can stumble upon Mbaya in public transportation which is funny considering what they are and how old they are 🤭

Fact 2: Mbaya look rafined and all, but they have absolutely no working taste buds. If they say otherwise, they are lying. Upon meeting Yu, they hid this fact to Yu—who caught a cold—who asked them to try some food and see if it was spoiled. No need to say Mbaya, to mess with them, told Yu it was safe and they ended up with food poisoning.

Yu

...have a whole collection of small toy found in candy [insert famouse candy brand with suprise toy, here]. It's their secret. That's why they allow no one in their room. They are quite confident in everything but will end up whishing to be buried six feet down if someone stumbled into their room, see their collection and proceed to laugh their ass off.

+ They have the very famous traffic cone into their room as well, which they picked up from a particularly animated night out. And a full road sign with the metal bar and all. But this one, they don't remember how they got it.

Fact 2 : At home, they wear a robe, a satin cap and slippers. And on Sunday night, it's comedy night on Metflix for them. So they end up never answering to text and such. Sometimes Mbaya join them and bring pop corn with them. Those two are besties.

Owl

...can't handle liquor. Like, one glass is already the one glass too many. So, each time Yu have tried to invite them out drinking—because Yu is everyone best buddy—Owl declines. They of course understood that fact through trial and errors.

Fact 2: Owl sucks with children. Which is surprising when you witness how they are kind of warm with Lukas. But whenever they are near children, Owl becomes tense. Almost to a Sheppard-level tense. But you can witness the best interaction whenever they stumble upon Leah—Elias' daughter. Because she likes them and Owl just runs away.

Bonus: Whenever they remove their gloves when going home, they end up being shocked by static electricity. To the point when they are silently cursing [insert old types of curses here] when they touch door handles or tap water.

Iolrath

...has absolutely no sense of direction when it comes to city/town or any inhabited area. They are an ace when it comes to forested area, but if you see them walking in town, their GPS is their best friend, really.

They are really patient, but each time they must come to the city to grocery shop, they become grumpy.

Fact 2: Iolrath is terrible at finances as well. Like, they have a grocery list but end up buying this and that because it looks funny and they are really curious about "human custom". So they always end up leaving stores with far too much products costing far too much in terms of money. So, their house is like a modern museum of funny articles. Fortunately, Sheppard always give a hand in the money department as it's part of their job but Sheppard really need a vacation at some point.

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

The Wayfarer: Halloween Special Pt. 5

 “No, we’re going home and having a long hard talk about your behavior from tonight. You gave everyone a good scare with that stunt.” Dolly scolded, following Envy’s lead of walking back home after tonight’s events as more screeching erupted from the little bag of organs.

 “Well that and where on earth did she learn to tie others' ripped out hair into her own hair as a trophy.” Envy added as they were pretty impressed that Carmilla was able to do something like that on her own.

 “Envy! Dolly! You’ve found Carmilla!” Cried out Lust as the groups met back up at the halfway point.

 “We sure did, we’re not going back to the lab until after Halloween has passed.” Envy coldly stated, still not thrilled with having to deal with their literal rotting father.

 “What happened at the lab and WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO CARMILLA!?” Lust’s eyes grew wide at the horrific sight of Carmilla in her war regalia. 

 “She had a violence driven candy theft spree from the look of things.” Dolly answered honestly, her voice having to be louder than normal due to the screeching child.

 “God damn it, her parents are going to have a melt down from the phone calls tomorrow…I need to get my mind off this, Envy, tell me what happened at the lab.” Lust wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Carmilla’s parents about the rampage their kid went on.

 “Hohenheim has the worst case of brain rot imaginable, he wants flesh to cover those disgusting bones of his.” Envy answered in a very flat tone over everything they had to go through.

 “....He needs to be exterminated then if that’s the case.” Lust looked at Envy after hearing that terrible news.

 “We’ll hunt him down during the Yule and Sheepmas season, right now, I just need to recuperate.” Envy gave Lust the look of a homunculus who has had a bit of a day already and wasn’t wanting to deal with more.

 “It’s going to be alright Envy, we’ll have mulled blackberry mead for tonight, that’s something we all could use right now.” Dolly patted Envy on the back to comfort them after having to interact with their absolute disaster of a father.

 “That sounds like a good deal to me, Fairytale. I definitely could use a cup or two of something hard after this.” Envy felt a bit relieved at being offered something nice to drink, not wanting to think too hard on Hohenheim at the moment.

 “We should head back then, Greed is likely having to deal with the incoming phone calls from the events of tonight.” Lust reasoned as she directed Gluttony on the path back to the ancient family household. 

 Not wanting to stay out as long as they had to, Envy, Dolly, and the horrible lions followed the trick or treat search team back up to the household now that little Carmilla had been located. It wasn’t even an argument that Carmilla would be made to stay in her bedroom for the rest of the night given what she had done and the Halloween party had been turned into one for the Homunculi instead. Greed, as Lust had predicted, was dealing with the flood of angry phone calls from very upset parents of the children that Carmilla had attacked during that night. It was also clear that there would be police involvement after the series of vicious attacks over some candy along with a visit of child protection due to the concerning behavior pattern displayed. It was a whole new can of worms that the Mancer Family would have to deal with as Freddy hoped a proper psychological evaluation would be mandatory for Carmilla and her rather disturbing behavior. With everything that had and will happen later on, things were for the most part, a rather pleasant party with periodic monitoring of Carmilla to prevent any more escapes. Dorian, Ernest, and Gluttony went to enjoy the horror movie marathon on the television of some new melter flick that had come out to television just recently. Envy and Dolly were sitting next to one another during the party, sipping their mulled blackberry mead as they processed the encounter they’ve had with the rotting Hohenheim of Light only a few hours ago.

 “Think you want to bring up getting some dogs with Freddy? I think he’d jump at the chance to do just that.” Dolly asked as apparently the dog thing was working well for the Elric brothers at their own homes to keep Hohenheim out.

 “Sure he won’t throw his back out from joy jumping?” Envy couldn’t help but make a jab at Freddy being nearly a hundred years old at this point.

 “He’s pretty fit for his age, I’m sure Freddy could do a backflip if he wanted to. On a serious note, do we?” Dolly joked a bit before turning back to being serious about getting some dogs for the Meat Wool Alchemy Lab. “Yeah we should, if the dogs are working for my younger brothers, then it should work for us here.” Envy sighed a bit as they looked into their mug of mulled blackberry mead as they didn’t want their father around anymore.

 “Then it’s settled, we'll talk to Freddy then and hopefully we’ll get some dogs for the lab.” Dolly took a sip from her mug with the plan settled on getting dogs.

 “Good, I don’t want him coming around anymore.” Envy said as their mind was fully made up on the whole situation. “I don’t blame you, though, I’m surprised, you weren’t fully on board with killing him off.” Dolly admitted as she would’ve been sure Envy would want to slaughter the moldy mobile bones called Hohenheim.

 “I’m existing in the best life possible right now, I guess that was the best revenge I could’ve hoped for. Just, for now, let the bastard suffer for a while longer from his own undoings.” Envy smiled faintly but warmly as they felt more accomplished in what they have now.

 “I’m proud of you, Wayfarer, you’ve truly come a long way from where you once were all those decades ago.” Dolly smiled warmly as Envy did manage to truly grow up and past the need for revenge at all costs. 

 “It wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for Lust, Gluttony, Hughes, Greed, the Elrics, Ernest, Dorian, and you. You guys really did save me back then from a pretty back portion of my existence.” Envy glanced over to Dolly as they smiled fully that this is the existence Envy was enjoying now.

 “They were still all your own achievements made by your own efforts, that is something to be truly proud about.”  Dolly reaffirmed Envy a bit on a lot of the changes they went through to get to this point was by Envy’s own efforts as well as the help they were given. 

 Envy and Dolly shared a rather warm laugh for a bit before going back to enjoy the party since tomorrow they’ll have to face the music with Carmilla’s parents. While there were some concerned about Hohenheim pulling himself back together, others felt given how quickly Carmilla managed to shatter him, it’d be a long while before Hohenheim would pose a threat. The only thing they would be more worried about was how to handle the future legal proceedings and the parents’ reaction to a possible visit by Child Services. As the Homunculi Halloween party went on, out in the cold night air of Walden into the forest was a deranged singing of some sort going on. A campsite had been laid to waste as equipment, clothes, and supplies had been strewn about as mangled, bloody skeletons of campers laid underneath the crescent moon. Hohenheim had reassembled himself from his terrible encounter with a candy crazed four year old as he started fitting the stolen flesh onto his own bones like a grotesque swimsuit fitting. Now once again dressed in flesh to keep those rotting bones warm from the sharp coldness of Walden’s winds, Hohenheim started a hideous dance on the snow to celebrate being covered once more. 

[gibthom]

Whenever I need my hair dyed.

[syrupmancer]

Inktober 30 & 31 - Trickmancer & Treatmancer 🎃 A mischievous duo of an illusionist and a sweet-tooth alchemist that go out to wreck havoc once a year.

INKTOBER END!!

You can see all the 31 full illustrations w/ all original character designs [here]

[thee-morrigan]

not anonymous, posting to fully admire your characters! i love them all, but especially holland (genuinely one of my fave N-mancers) and del. watching holland shed her layers of secrecy and protection to open herself up to nate is SO GOOD, and i scream every time i see you post something about del and felix's shenanigans!! <3 (~narrativefoiltrope)

brb, framing this ask because it is lovely, thank you, Erin!! 🥰💖 I definitely sound like a broken record at this point, but letting Holland be soft (even if she’s very suspicious of it at times!) and let her guard down gives me so much life.

And Del yes!! I’m working on a valentine’s thing for her and Felix and they are just pure cotton candy fluff, I love them so much.

[iincantatorum]

tagged by: @titanofthemoon​ (thank you so much darling!)

tagging:  @a-kitten-with-claws @voxvulgi @drew-a-tanaka @gretaphasmatosmartin @hisatonement @pantslessoptimism @adsagsona @xviperinae  @qceensofkings @cursedsonofhades @thecatgoddessbast @dominionovershadows @behindicyblueeyes @legendmade @roguishlydangerous @xcoatlicuex @bornofbloodandwater @survivics @diviinitatis @warrioroflondonbelow @fridge-o-mancer​ @legendmade​

for my soft girl,  Noura

𝙍𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙎    -            true romantic, loving the classics, pricked fingers, perfect makeup done to impress, bruises easily, beloved but unknown, soul as old as time, overused and under-appreciated.

𝘿𝘼𝙄𝙎𝙄𝙀𝙎    -               clean linens, youthful naivety, family, wide-open spaces, running barefoot, moving towards instead of away, trying to forget about death, sun blindness.

𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙎    -               standing tall, strong roots, a home to always return to,warm summer air, holding onto lost hope, belief in growth, painted overalls, split ends.

𝘽𝙇𝙐𝙀𝘽��𝙇𝙇𝙎    -               the end of spring, determination for the truth, cold and cautious,moonlight on windowsills, the taste of ice, unnecessary shyness, quiet belief in the extraordinary, complicated morals.

𝘿𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙊𝘿𝙄𝙇𝙎    -               mom friend, sweets, the smell of baking, riverbanks, leaving behind a toxic situation, being happy with your reflection, believing in luck, moving in a pack.

𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙎    -               sour candies, unappreciated elegance, valor, crystals projecting rainbows on white walls, unintended organization, old royalty, refusal to bow, learning a new language for the fun of it.

𝙇𝙄𝙇𝙄𝙀𝙎    -               secret poison, perfect handwriting, crisp consonants, pressed and ironed sheets, open windows, infinite persistence, thick skin, colder hands.

𝙇𝙄𝙇𝘼𝘾    -               fleeting and fair, strong but delicate, radiating good vibes, the beauty of falling apart, the joy in being scattered, soft fabrics, whirlwind romance, keeping the door open.

// noura’s internally really sad because she hadn’t been blessed with being around family. her parents have always been busy and failed to give her time, and as an only child she had been on her own for a long time and made loneliness her friend. she really craves to have a huge family that includes good friends and doesn’t want anyone else to feel as lonely as she does so she is inclusive of all people

[crystallizedkingdoms]

cicada calls & goldfinch songs

Rory and Carrie have an emotional moment… on the floor.

wc: 4,817 || tw: ableism

you can also read this on ao3 <3

Droning hums of cicada calls are the only sounds that hit Rory’s ears that don’t come from the dingy box fan right beside his face. The suffocating September heat, too early for fall to kick in but too late to justify turning on more than one fan, drags Rory down into the dirt-stained carpeted floor of the living room. He lays there, stewing in the heat and sweat, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly. 

Usually, Rory falls asleep after a certain amount of time on the floor, but this time, sleep just can’t come to him. Maybe it’s the awful sticky feeling that the humid weather plasters on his skin, or maybe it’s the mind-numbing cacophony of insects seeking each other out that permeates the walls. Maybe it’s the pain in Rory’s back from moving the new wave of shitty movies onto shelves all day. Whatever it is, it keeps Rory up, stuck in an exhausting state of limbo, limp on the floor. It keeps Rory’s mind awake enough to think.

I should change out of this stupid uniform, really, I need to shower, too, but god am I hungry, I think I need to make dinner tonight. Dinner for one? no, no, dinner for two at least, maybe three if mom drops by before she goes out, she might be gone a while she might be hungry maybe make enough for leftovers just in case, sure, maybe that bitch should just cook for herself though no god sorry. Ignore it ignore it fuck those cicadas are loud as shit. Visit dad at ward tomorrow and sneak leftovers. Dinner for two, Carrie will be hungry, should ask her what she wants for dinner wait where is Carrie? Sun is setting she should’ve been here already, first day of school ended hours ago should I get up and look? She does this sometimes she should be fine but what if she’s not what if something is wrong maybe I should get up but I don’t want to god my back hurts what if she’s hurt what if I—

What pulls Rory out of his messy head is the sound of a scraping key against a keyhole and the subsequent slam of a door opening. Rory’s body freezes, and his brain scrambles, begging him to get off of the floor in time before the person sees him, but the unbearable heat keeps him down. All he can do is crane his neck to look at who is entering the house and hope it’s not a client.

His thoughts and prayers are answered when Carrie stumbles past the door, staring him down. Rory can’t see her face very well, as the fleeting rays of the setting sun illuminate her from behind, casting leaving her face and in shadow. The open door temporarily lets in the songs of American goldfinches and common crows into the Mancer home, into Rory’s spirit. 

Temporarily being the keyword. Birdsong drowns under cicada calls as Carrie slams the door behind her and chucks her backpack down on the ground. She kicks her bag further to the side and lets out a strained huff. “Hi,” she signs, her right hand unusually stiff and curt as it moves up from her forehead.

“Hey,” Rory replies, his hand much less tense as he returns the movement. His face screws up, canine idly biting his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Carrie’s hands are quick to respond, almost sloppy as she angrily throws her hands down to her side when she finishes. She stomps closer to Rory, her eyes never leaving him and his state on the floor.

Rory doesn’t press. It’s a delicate situation, deciding which questions to ask, what exactly to say, but he tests the waters with another question, “Tell me why you took so long, at least. Please.”

Carrie huffs and crosses her arms. Her way of saying she won’t talk, no matter what! She swears that she means it every time she does it. But when Rory gives her those big brother puppy eyes, worried and searching for an answer, she gives in without a second thought and uncrosses her arms. “I was just in the graveyard. Far end, near the overpass. That’s all. I promise.”

Rory sighs and visibly relaxes. “Good. Now, come here,” he says, patting the floor beside him.

Carrie looks to the side. Her frown is more noticeable in this angle. “The floor? I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m not a baby.”

Rory pats the floor harder, forcing a smile. “Come on,” he insists, “floor time. You need it. I need it.”

The frown on Carrie’s face doesn’t leave, but the body loosens up from its previous stiffness. She relents, and slowly she descends to his level to lie by Rory’s side. Her hair, short and blunt from a recent chop she had done herself only a few weeks earlier (she was found teary eyed and regretful in the bathtub the morning after), doesn’t fan out across the floor like Rory’s does, but it catches the light from a slit in the curtains that Rory’s couldn’t catch from his spot. 

Rory gives her some time to settle in. He closes his eyes and listens to her sigh and grumble, her frustration as unbearably hot as the surrounding air. She stews in her anger, eyes boring holes into the ceiling above. 

Rory wants so desperately to ask her why she’s acting this way. What could’ve happened in school to cause this? Although he knows the answer, not even buried that far back in his mind, he desperately wishes it will be anything else. He hopes with all his soul that it will ever be anything else than what he already knows. So, he knows better than to ask. At least for now.

For as much as Rory deliberates on asking Carrie the question, it is actually Carrie who turns to fully face him. She taps him on the shoulder, and he faces her the same way. “How’s your new job?” she inquires.

“Ugh, you don’t wanna know. It is actually insane how nothing can happen in that place. All I do is restock stuff that never sells and sit around on the company computer. I guess it leaves me with a lot of time to think, though,” Rory explains, exasperation oozing in every movement. The heat and sweat only exemplify his messy style.

Carrie can only let out a disappointed groan. “Are the movies at least watchable?”

“I promise, not one of them is even worth watching passively. I tried watching one during work in the back, and for a moment I thought that it would be more entertaining to sit and face the wall than just looking at that movie.”

Carrie pouts. “So, you can’t bring some home?” 

Damn. Rory’s eyes shift away to avoid looking at Carrie. “You wouldn’t like the movies, really…” he says. His eyes catch Carrie’s by accident, and that mixed look of residual frustration and genuine disappointment gets the better of him. “But, well, yes, I can bring them home. We can make fun of them together.”

Some part of Rory expects the news to light Carrie up. If not completely, then at least crack a smile. It does neither. She shrugs and lets her hands fall to the floor. Her nails absentmindedly pick at the carpet fibre, her eyes cast downwards, almost purposefully avoiding Rory. It stings, Rory won’t lie.

Would it be better to let her be? The delicate balance of being too pushy or too neglectful feels impossible to navigate, scorching Rory’s thoughts like a rough summer. For a moment, Rory leans into the thought of leaving Carrie alone. She could always come to him when she felt ready to. She knew that, right? She’s big enough to know that now. That's a whole other horror of itself that Rory isn’t ready to confront.

Rory thinks about how his parents left him be. Left him be, let him be. Let him shrivel under the overbearing sun.

No, he realizes. I can’t do that to her.

An inkling of an idea he had come up with days ago comes to mind. It is silly, but really, what can you expect from an older brother of any age? Rory taps Carrie on the shoulder. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, but he motions for her to fully face him. Carrie does as she’s asked, shifting her head. “What?” she asks, her face providing a tone to her sign that only cranky preteens can unleash.

Rory smiles at the stupid idea brewing in his head. “Do you know how fairies say ‘microwave’?” Rory asks. 

Carrie shrugs as best as she can while laying on her side. “How?” 

Rory raises his hand between them, then closes all his fingers, except his pinkie. He shifts his pinkie side to side in a quick waving motion. “ Microwave,” he says out loud for emphasis to no one but himself.

Carrie stares at Rory blankly. Then her lips tremble. Her back rises and falls too sharply for any normal breath.

Got you.

Before Carrie can call him dumb or insufferable, Rory interjects as quickly as he can, “Have you heard the actual story of King Kong?”

The question stuns Carrie out of her need to tease. “No?” 

“Well, it starts the same as the normal King Kong. King Kong is rampaging in New York City, stomping around and causing crowds to run in fear, when he spots the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He scoops her into one of his hands, and he climbs to the top of the Empire State Building, swatting away the helicopters and military that try to defeat him. Eventually, he finally gets to speak to the woman. He props her up on his left hand to speak to her better.” Rory props up his own left hand as he tells the story, and Carrie watches him with curious eyes.

“When King Kong tries to speak to the woman, she shakes her head and points to her ears. ‘I’m Deaf!’ she says. King Kong signs, ‘That’s okay. I know sign language. My parents are Deaf,’” Rory pauses for dramatic effect, and to give his hands a quick break from the sweeping, exaggerated gesture he has been doing. He hears a bitten-back giggle from Carrie, sees how her lips accidentally crack a smile, and he fights back his own grin to continue the joke. 

“And he continues in ASL. He says, ‘You are so beautiful! I love you. I want to marry—’” Rory slams his right hand onto his left one, the sign for ‘marry’. His eyes grow wide in shock, faux horror settling in on his face. “‘Shit!’” 

Raucous laughter fills Rory’s ears, drowning out the sounds of summer insects and failing fans. Rory hadn’t expected her to laugh so hard, he only expected to put a little smile on her face. He doesn’t complain, not at all; he relishes every single sound, watching as her whole body shakes in her big, charming laugh. 

Carrie is still a smiling and giggling mess when she can steady her hands enough to talk. “Where did you learn that?” she asks through jittery hands.

“You know how I said my new job has a computer? Well, it has access to the Internet. I’ve found some pretty cool forums on there. One of them was made by Deaf people and people with deaf family members. They shared some jokes with me that I could tell you,” Rory explains. 

A twinkle lights up in Carrie’s eye when he mentions the Internet. She’s practically sparkling when he talks about the forum. Rory tries to ride that high, elaborating, “Since barely anyone comes in right now, I use that computer and the Internet as much as I can. It’s really amazing. If you need anything, anything, tell me. I’ll try to find whatever you need there. At least until I save up enough to get my own computer, like I told you I would.”

Carrie is still beaming, warmth radiating from her like a gentle star. Rory can tolerate the warmth, even in his sweaty Planet VHS uniform and dirty carpet floors, just so long as it is Carrie’s warmth.

That is why it’s all the more shocking when that warmth is sapped from him not only a minute later. Her sparkle catches on something, flickering away in the humid wind, and her bright smile falters. “Can you find other schools on the computer?” she asks tentatively.

There it is. The small opening, a crack in her walls. Rory’s own smile falters as he tries to keep that crack open for as long as he can. “A new middle school? What’s wrong with the one you’re in now?”

“I don’t know…” Carrie’s hand stands still.

“You can tell me. I won’t tell our parents if you don’t want me to. Please, just tell me,” Rory begs. He’s so desperate in his begging that he starts mouthing his words in English.

Carrie stares at Rory with apprehension. Her body is tense once again, deliberating over her words. Finally, she gives in. “I can’t be in this school. It’s not for me,” she sighs.

Rory looks to the side. Right. Of course. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But I thought your EA was decent?”

“She’s not. She isn’t even as good as you, or even Mom! But,” Carrie balls up her fists in momentary frustration, but she quickly gets back on track, “but she’s not the issue. She’s not the issue. The issue is… um, it’s these girls. It’s these girls in the classroom next to mine.”

Rory scowls. Those fucking bastards. “Same ones from your old school?” he asks, barely containing his anger.

Carrie shrinks into herself. “One. Two others are new. They, um, make fun of me, like usual. But lately they’ve been making sure I see them. They—” she chokes on a cry building up in her throat, the most heartbreaking sound of Rory’s entire existence that she can’t hear— “they get mean right in front of me. They raised their voices at me during lunch, thinking I can’t tell the difference. They came up behind me during P.E and they scared me. They wrote the worst things in a note in my bag and— and I hate it! I hate them!”

Rory bites down on his lip, teeth digging into soft skin until Rory is sure if he goes any further, blood will rush out. It’s the only thing keeping the simmering rage from escaping him, from making him yell and demand Carrie tell him each girl’s name and where they lived. Carrie hates it when he gets like that. The terrible line he has to toe, between his feelings and keeping Carrie comfortable, feels impossible when listening to his little sister in pain.

He’s unnervingly quiet as Carrie vents. “I don’t want to go there anymore. I want to go to school with other people like me. I want to go to school where people like me. I want to be somewhere where nobody knows who me and my family are! I don’t want to be somewhere where people know—”

“Wait, family?”

Carrie clutches her hands together in an instant. Her eyes are wide with shock, like she didn’t mean to let the words slip out. 

Rory narrows his eyes. “Carrie. What are they saying about us?” he presses.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Carrie,” Rory emphasizes her sign name with a tight movement. “Tell me, please.”

“I’m done talking! Stop it!” Carrie shuts down the conversation, clenching her eyes tightly when Rory tries to talk to her. She rolls onto her back and pins her hands to the sides of her body, shaking her head from side to side. 

Carrie has never spoken to him like this. Rory’s heart pounds a mile a minute as he stares at her, mind racing with the worst of thoughts.

Fuck what are they saying what could they be possibly saying about me? What are they saying to her never seen her react this way is it getting worse how much worse? Need to ask if she has the note I need to fucking bring this up to the school I need to find those girls I need to find their parents. Need to make some complaints need to make a scene it’s the only way to get anywhere in this fucking shithole. They must be saying something about us, something about the family, about me. No no no Rory it’s about her it’s about Carrie she’s the one being bullied, it’s her it’s her she’s hurting she’s hurting so fucking much why aren’t you doing anything do something anything for fucks sake you worthless piece of shit goddamn it ignore that!

Rory shakes his head to rid himself of his thoughts. He searches for anything to focus his mind on instead. His eyes sweep down from Carrie’s shut eyes down to the hand on her side. It’s balled up into a fist once again, denying any sense of continuing any conversation with Rory.

Rory can’t help himself. He takes his hand and snakes it towards Carrie’s. His long, thin fingers gently pry open her fingers until he could slip his hand into her small, delicate palm. Carrie does not respond. Her eyes are closed, her hand loosening enough for Rory to hold, but she does not hold his hand back. 

Though his heart aches at the rejection, Rory takes it head-on. His fingers trace along her clammy palm until he opens it up, completely flat. He arranges his fingers in a particular pattern, with his pinkie, index, and thumb rising up while his ring and middle fingers fold down. He presses this sign into Carrie’s hand harder than he intends to, frantic, longing for her to feel the emotions he felt in this one sign: “I love you.”

There is reluctance in Carrie’s fingers when they first close down on Rory’s index. But when she feels the two folded fingers, her hand closes down on Rory’s hand fully, feeling around the sign without actually looking down at it. Every pass of her fingertips around Rory’s own makes her body tense up, her chest rise, her shoulders shake, until it crescendos into the smallest, weakest sob a girl can release. 

Rory closes his eyes and keeps his hand in Carrie’s palm. He feels her fingers loosely circling his knuckles when he unfurls his hand and pulls away from her. She needs some time alone, he convinces himself; even when her quiet cries and goldfinch songs haunt his mind. His hand retracts from hers, resting by his side similar to Carrie.

Not a second goes by before Carrie clamours to grab Rory’s hand. Her grip is tight on his sweaty palms when she presses “I love you” into his skin. She shoves her hand deep into his palm with a fervour that matches Rory’s. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” Carrie emphasizes by swaying her hand in Rory’s. 

Rory opens his eyes to look at Carrie and the first thing he notices is that a tear has fallen from his eye. He feels the teardrop rolling down his cheek, and he blinks hard to hold back anymore tears. What kind of strong, older brother is he if he cries in front of his little sister all the time? Surely, he can bottle it up tightly this time. He can hold the tears back and release them later, where she doesn’t have to see him. 

Then he sees Carrie lying on her side, looking back at him, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. And Rory cracks.

“Oh, Care Bear,” Rory whispers, signing his words as he speaks them out loud. He reaches his hand towards Carrie’s face and gently wipes away her tears with his thumb. His caress is uncharacteristically soft; a special compassion reserved only for his sister. Carrie matches his action, wiping away Rory’s own rolling tears, and Rory knows she feels the same.

When his thumb has cleared most of her tears, he pulls away to talk. “I’m gonna look into those schools, okay?” he promises. Carrie’s face lightens up, a dim glimmer of hope, but he interjects, “Look, I can’t guarantee that I will get you out of there immediately. I don’t know how it’ll fly with Mom and Dad, or how long the process would be. But I’ll figure it out. Even if it's further away, I’ll figure it out. I will get you out of there. Okay?”

Carrie does what she does best: she smiles. She smiles through her tears, so wide that it pokes dimples into her red cheeks, so bright it outshines the last tongues of sunlight peeking through the blinds. Rory stares at that smile and wishes he had what she did. “Thank you,” Carrie cries. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She throws her arms around Rory’s shoulders, her body on top of his upper body as she sobs into his neck. Rory hugs her back with all his might and wishes that could make everything better.

They can’t talk to each other like this. Not when they’re so close, not when their arms are preoccupied with clinging to each other like they are the only things in existence. But as they cradle one another in their arms, their heartbeats so prominent in their chests, talking is not a thought in their mind. Every shift in their grip, every rise and fall of their chest, every tear dry on their cheek, communicates their message just as loud as talking. Perhaps it is even louder.

Carrie is the one to break the spell. She lifts her head from the crook of Rory’s neck and looks down at him. Her eyes are red and puffy, but when she wipes her face, no fresh tears flow from her eyes. She tears herself away from Rory’s embrace, but only so she can return to laying on her side. “More comfortable on the floor,” she explains.

“I thought you weren't a baby anymore,” Rory teases. Carrie lets a quiet grumble and a roll of the eyes respond for her.

Rory reaches and brushes Carrie’s short, blonde hair towards the back of her head, feeling the choppy strands slip past his fingers with ease. He rests his hand on the back of her head, staring into her eyes with love, then cranes his head to plant a loving kiss on her forehead. 

Immediately, Carrie gasps, her face blooming pink and red. “Rory!! I’m in middle school now, I’m really not a baby!” she insists, embarrassment exuding off of her exaggerated signs. She covers her face, as if that could stop Rory’s kiss from hitting her skin, leaving enough room through her fingers so she can peek at Rory. 

“You’re still my little sister,” Rory laughs. A genuine laugh. He kisses another section of her head that her fingers couldn't quite cover, and she squeaks in embarrassment. “Loser,” he adds. Carrie swats his hands when he says that, whining loudly that he would say such a thing. Rory is not insulted; he went through this phase before. Worth it.

A door swinging open interrupts their season of laughter, and the choir of cicada calls pouring in.

Rory sits himself up, suddenly becoming aware of the sweat on his body once again. He wipes it off of his temple as he stares at the person who interrupts his time with Carrie.

“Candy” stares at her children on the floor and signs a sloppy “hello” at them. Rory and Carrie silently return the greeting, watching as she kicks the door closed behind her and walks past them, towards the couch across from their spot on the floor. Exhaustion seeps into the carpeted floor, staining it so clearly that Rory notices his own lack of energy hits him once again. Carrie seems equally drained, her smile faltering.

The mother collapses onto the couch, her arms and legs spilling across the couch. “Rory, did you make dinner?” their mother questions through voice, and voice alone. Rory glances down at Carrie, who glances back with a knowing look. He translates his mother’s question before he answers, in English and in ASL, “No, I didn’t. Sorry.”

A sigh escapes their mother’s lips. It is long and drawn out, but it is not disingenuous or even frustrating. “I’ll cook tonight, dear. What do you want? Could you ask Carrie?” she asks. One hand drapes across her waist, the other dangles off the couch. Motionless.

Rory repeats the question to Carrie.

“Just spaghetti is okay,” she says, although she looks a little disappointed. 

Rory repeats the answer to their mom.

“Oh, thank God. I can do that,” the Mancer mother says. She closes her eyes and sinks further into the beaten-up cushions. Her long, dulled blonde hair does not catch the light how Carrie’s does. It looks more like Rory’s hair. Looking at it, Rory can’t find it in him to be mad at her. “Yes, yes. Five minutes, though. Please. Need time to rest. Then I can cook. I can do that, I can do that…” Rory translates their mom’s droning hums. Carrie’s eyes gloss over his hands. All there is left in her eyes is an empty dissatisfaction. 

The Mancer household is miraculously still. Two children laying on the floor now, the mother on the couch. Summer sweat and Soul-sucking duties drain the Mancers until all is quiet.

Rory breaks the silence by getting up. “I need to change,” he tells Carrie. He’s getting sick of the sticky, sweaty fabric clinging to him in places he’d rather they not stick to. 

Carrie gets up with him. She clings to his uniform shirt to steady herself, her thin legs wobbling as she stands up. “I’m going to my room.” She pauses, then leans against Rory. Rory wraps his arm around her shoulder and hums. He knows she likes it when he does that.

Rory and Carrie begin to make their way to their rooms, down the hall, where Rory will take a left towards the basement and Carrie will take a right towards the second floor. 

“Wait!”

Rory turns back to the mother, tapping Carrie on the shoulder so she can do the same.

Mom is still laying on the couch, but she has her upper body propped up on the armrest of the couch to better face her kids. She flashes a weak but genuine smile. She raises her right hand and folds down her ring and middle finger. “I love you,” she whispers, just loud enough for Rory to hear you, swaying the sign from side-to-side. Rory and Carrie repeat it, a silent chorus of I love you, I love you, I love you.  

Mary, not “Candy” or “baby” or any other name, drops her arm onto her chest, then wraps her other arm over it. Oh, Mother Mary, she closes her eyes and rests with her arms hugging herself. It looks just like the sign for love. 

Rory tears his gaze away from his tired mother and towards his sister. “See you at dinner,” Rory says.

Carrie raises her hands as if to talk, but she stalls. Rory raises a brow. He waits for her to admit something tragic. He waits for her to drop some bombshell on him, like her worries about school, her worries about life, or what those kids at school were saying to her about their goddamn family. As if, somehow, that could given him closure to the conversation they just had.

Carrie wraps her arms around Rory in a quick hug, pulling away right as he is about to hug her back. “Thank you, again.”

This is fine, too. Rory lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s no problem,” he assures. “Anything for you.”

Carrie waves goodbye with her small hand. She turns and walks down to the stairwell on the other side of the hallway, and she ascends to her room on the upper floor.

Rory stands in the hallway, staring down where Carrie left, hands up to talk to no one in particular. He looks towards his mom as she rests on the couch and only then does he decide to go down. He descends into the hot basement with a heavy heart, Carrie’s terrifying words still weighing on him. 

Surely Rory can make Carrie’s life better, can’t he?

What a stupid question. Of course he can. That’s what good older brothers do.

Holed up in the depths of the Mancer house, Rory lies on his bed, and finds that he can’t hear the goldfinches and cicadas of the world above. Carrie, up in her room, shall never hear them at all.

[gloomverse-theories]

All for One

or Prisma is a thief of light.

This theory is a bit silly and doesn’t have much proof, mostly because Prisma doesn’t have much screentime! However, that won’t stop me from writing this theory.

Before I explain what I mean, let’s start by going over the basics!

Every human in this magical world is born with a certain “magical potential” that can range from None to Enormous. As Purple puts it,

Each magician, has a different amount of potential. Some magicians can do a lot of magic in a day, and others can do very little. [...], the magician doing the magic is still extending some of their own energy into every trick they do.

Some people simply have more magical energy then others, and that is this magical potential.

Which means that in order to become a Mancer, a magician must be born with a high potential.

Or so you would think.

I have reasons to believe that Prisma wasn’t actually born with the potential of a Mancer. Let’s go over the evidence, shall we?

Sharing Magic

As my first witness, I call Harold Gloom to the bar. Harold is a very special case, because his hat, and therefore his magic, is not his own. As consequences, his hair turned black, and his eyes turned red. Now, THAT’s interesting!

There are many things of interest for my cause here.

The Dark Overlord can grant “hats” and magic to people

That magic relates to his own personality, since Hobo loves candy and Harold has candy magic

There’s an external marker (black hair, red eyes) when your magic is not your own

Harold is also never seen with a wand, meaning his magic is not really “complete”

However, this may have weakened Amadeus. Petunia implies he can change his appearance, but he hasn’t done so in a while. How long? Perhaps, ever since Harold got his magic, at 17. He’s in his mid twenties now, so thats 5-7 years.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? When you share a limited ressource, you get less for yourself. And so, by sharing magic with Harold, Amadeus “lost” some of his potential.

In summary: Sharing Magic with someone is possible, but it has consequences for both parties.

The Magic of the Colors

As said before, when someone messes with your magic in an unnatural way, there’s an external marker. For Harold, it was black hair and red eyes. For the Colors? It’s their entire body.

Their cases is very peculiar though, and almost completely different from Harold, so the link isn’t obvious. However, I think the hidden cause is the same. Someone messed with their magic! And that someone is obviously Prisma. The Colors were her “servants” and she is implied to have “made” them this way. For unknown reason, this color change repeated itself after (each?) generations.

That’s neat, but... apart from the aesthetic, why would Prisma do that? And what exactly did she do? Did she grant them magic, like Amadeus did for Harold?

Well, no.

All the colors changed when they got their magic. So we know one thing: all the colors have the potential for magic in them. Even an inversian, someone with extremely low chances of getting magic, turned Orange. Someone with no potential, so no magic, could never become a color.

However, none of the Original Colors have shown signs that they’re able to use magic. Green and Violet are only seen a short time, but they do not have any kind of hats or wands, while Prisma and the dark lord are both shown with a staff/wand. The same is true for Yellow. There’s nothing in her room that could be a hat or wand. This may just be an unfortunate coincidence, but until it get disproven, it just adds to my theory.

The colors that Prisma originally “created” can’t use their magic.

And as a fun note, the chapter that finally introduce us to Prisma, Violet and Green is titled “Less Than Humans”. This is a phrase used to describe magicless humans in the past. People that can’t use their magic.

The dominating belief, was that magicless humans were 'less then human' and therefore deserved the terrible treatment. This is obviously false, [...]

There’s a lot to be said about the colors, tbh. The fact that they convert the colors of everything they touch imply that they are leaking magic out of every pore of their body. Perhaps because they’ve been “wired” to “share” their magic with the exterior? Magic usually needs the hat to pull energy from somewhere else, but the magic leak that colors have going on is only centered on their bodies. Their hat/wand don’t spread the color, only their body. Since the Magician’s energy is already used in regular magic use, it’s possible that their body is radiating this magical energy/potential at all time instead of keeping it inside.

Prisma the young Prodigee

In Purple’s book, we are first introduced to Prisma by this line from a letter by the contemporary queen of Stratoverse:

I have a very gifted magician in my country [...]

Later, we’re told this:

Prisma was considered to all, as a respectable, and beautiful magician

This is extremely tame compared to how Amaryllis, Malus, and Hyacinth, the first three Mancers, were presented. There is no mention that she is More Powerful than the norm, unlike the others.

Maybe because she wasn’t. Not in the beggining at least. Yet, at the end of her life, she was powerful enough to... broadcast her memories to numerous people across thousand of years. Or something. And stand up to the dark lord in a fight. Probably. We don’t really know what her powers were.

My point being, that Prisma wasn’t frightingly powerful early on like Malus or Amaryllis. She only became a “threat” later in her life, which made the Dark Lord pay her a visit.

Speaking of,

What did the Dark Lord want?

“You got what you wanted... please, spare me...”, this is how Prisma begs for her life. It’s unclear what happened, but the scene is morbid: Prisma is on her knees, surrounded by the corpses of her closest friends, while a magician drenched in darkness towers over her.

But.... what was it that they wanted? Supposedly they ‘got’ it. What is it? They are in the temple and it doesn’t seem like they ever left it, so whatever it is, is something they can get from Prisma, from the temple..... or from her friends.

There’s a lot of emphasis on the Color’s lifeless bodies! They’re impossible to miss, and very peculiar. More importantly, they were the first victims. They died before Prisma, when in all likelyhood, Prisma is the primary target, being The Mancer, The Leader, The Head of State. So why go through her servants? It doesn’t seem like they died while protecting her either.

Amadeus, our beloved dark overlord, doesn’t seem the type to kill people just for fun. This was done with purpose. The Colors had to die.

It can also be noted that the bodies are scribbled over with a light color. Not black, but white. While it can be taken as them severring, it can also be linked back to Prisma, since white seems to be her magic. Could she have been the one to do it? It’s possible that Prisma killed them herself under threat (she IS very attached to Yellow and her future baby, just saying. A deal may have been struck so that Yellow would survive if she killed the other colors herself. Perhaps by severring them purposefully, since she seems to have some control over their magic potential, and that exceeding one’s own potential is what cause severring).

Why did the Colors have to die? This is where all the build up pays off.

CONCLUSION

Unlike Amadeus, Prisma didn’t “gift” magic to the colors. Instead, she appropriated their magic potential for herself. She stole it. Each new color created, each new servant, made her more powerful than before.

She bypassed the right of limits this way, insuring that SHE wouldn’t suffer the consequences of overusing her magic, but that her servants would. The original colors can’t use their magic, because it now “belongs” to Prisma. However, the mutilation of their magic potential changed them, changed their colors. They are aways “bleeding out” magic and turning what they touch to their colors.

By stealing the magic potential of people like Hyacinth or Malus, she would have been unstoppable. Or maybe she planned to do this to all the future settlers. Out of selfish reasons, or out of careless good intentions, it’s unknown.

Killing the colors weakened Prisma. The Dark Lord “got what they wanted” because the colors died. But Prisma could always have made more. Such a dangerous power can’t be allowed. And thus she was killed. Or was she?

After all, Prisma is the new Vriska.

She’ll find a way to be relevant again.

Because she’s a Thief Of Light, and that’s what she does best!

Thank you for reading.

[badgloomverse]

Goddammit CQ: a thread

we’ve been over the like

dumbass puns like the “nothing up their sleeves” bros 

but you know what gets me? 

we were bamboozled

the dark overlord

the evil badguy stealing-is-good archenemy of cashier girl 

lord of the candy minions (good thing Gloomverse doesn’t have facebook)

is just

actually

LORDING over the DARK 

DARK OVERLORD

shadow mancer

it’s LITERAL

how DARE YOU 

play on our EXPECTATIONS like THIS

and don’t even get me started on the sugar daddy pun

[jaymzeecat]

Halloween Mushrooms

The Oden-Mancer gives out oden for Halloween instead of candy... (most of the babies wanted candy though, haha). 

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Jaymz Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/jaymzeecat

[fierylittleniece]

Get 2 Know: Roxanne Williams

ALWAYS, SOMETIMES, WITHOUT A DOUBT, NEVER

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Tagged by: @fridge-o-mancer

Tagging: @devilshades @heroicissm @ithinkmyskullburns @barnesreporting And anyone interested~

[gibthom]

Lawn Mowers

[nonempyreal]

ALWAYS, SOMETIMES, WITHOUT A DOUBT, NEVER

hot weather or cold weather | scary movies or light - hearted movies | coffee or tea or neither | tattoos or piercings or neither | early mornings or late nights | fruits or vegetables | tv shows or movies | pie or cake | sunrises or sunsets | gardening or baking | busy cities or calm countrysides | ice cream or frozen yogurt | breakfast or lunch or dinner | pastel colours or dark colours | hugs or kisses or secret hand shakes | romantic love or platonic love | sweet candy or sour candy or chocolate | long sleeves or short sleeves | pancakes or waffles | social media: love it or hate it

Tagged by: @fridge-o-mancer

Tagging: y’all