#she contains multitudes.... and problems... and madness

[haemosexuality]

i went insane rambling on the tags of this post about princess bubblegum and ran out of space so i copy pasted it here so i could finish writing. under read more bc idk

tbf i dont think i would say pb is like... Good. well actually. wait. im gonna go on a rant.

i think it depends on how we classify ''good''. what makes someone a good person? what makes someone evil? thoughts or actions‚ past or present‚ etc. i honestly dont think i can firmly say bubblegum is either good or evil. shes one of the few truly morally grey characters ive seen. like

no matter what you think makes someone good or bad she has most certainly been bad in every single way. and also good in every single way. hm.

. she is not a naturally empathetic person. thats not to say she doesnt care about people‚ she does‚ and sometimes those feelings influence her actions a Lot even if she doesnt realize it. but also‚ even when it comes to those she cares about‚ emotional empathy is a struggle. shes the definition of thoughts over feelings 100% scientific brain facts and logic. she is Very egoistical‚ she likes being in control and having power over people (not bc shes power hungry per se but bc thats the best way to keep control over others. shes Logical. and if she has control than nothing can go wrong)‚ she likes not being questioned and she did and still does often disregard other peoples rights and privacy to get what she wants and to be on top/have control over them. she does care‚ about a bunch of different things in a bunch of different ways‚ but caring about someone/multiple ppl and naturally feeling empathy are different things. she needs to make an effort to take other peoples feelings into consideration‚ and while not feeling empathy and etc obviously has absolutely NOTHING to do with morality‚ the thing about pb is that most of the time she does not make that effort‚ and actively does things that hurt other people for her own gain‚ or for Science™ or the Kingdom™. she doesn't care ab how other people feel or their privacy and she does like government crimes and mass murders and a surveillance state about it. she cares deeply about her people for example‚ but not really them as individuals‚ shown when she likes fucking kills them or put cameras on their bodies etc. shes more worried about them surviving than their autonomy. she cares about finn‚ but specially at the beginning she treats him more as an asset than anything‚ and does shit like implant a gps on him without him knowing. and while shes Always liked control and been all logical alpha brain and shit‚ and struggled with sympathy‚ she used to care a lot lot more. or better, she used to Allow herself to care and to love and to feel‚ she build herself a family because she felt lonely and she loved marceline deeply. but like the post and the show said she kept being hurt and she needed to protect an entire kingdom alone‚ which meant repressing all that to fucking hell and back. so she slowly just build up and let her ''no sympathy no feelings only Facts And Science'' side rule until she forgot anything else

and thats how we meet bubblegum in the show: manipulative and head of a dictatorship and with no one she truly cared about close to her, doing awful awful things and not taking time to remember about others. what are morals. being just so very fucked up

like

your thoughts and brain and whatever do not make you evil. your actions do. but her actions are terrible and she does the things she does bc sympathy and caring do not come naturally for her, but being waaay to super mega smart and wanting control Do and she has hardened and isolated herself enough that she has no one to like, pull her out of that. keep her in check. remind her to make an effort to consider other people.

in the show, we see her begin to try and be good again. by letting other people in, by letting herself feel, letting herself be a Person outside of being a Princess and a Ruler and a Scientist, she begins to make that effort again. and bc shes like a war criminal that comes not only in the form of apologizing for those who are or were close to her and she was awful too, but also destroying the surveillance system and stop spying on people. she tries to begin having good actions. she realizes what she had been doing, and feels guilty about it (for... probably the first time honestly. she was very indifferent about it before. everything she did was the most logical thing to do, after all.) i say shes still firmly morally grey tho bc while shes no longer like Evil, she still. goes back to spying on people and etc. shes still Like That, just toned down. all that show that while shes getting Better shes still not good, and probably will never be, because thats just how she is. crazy scientist manipulative pink candy princess. shes the best

she was also never truly evil tho bc even at her worse her actions were not to cause harm! Most Of The Time! and when they were to cause harm it wasnt just bc she was idk a sadist or something, it was with a goal (usually the neutral goal of Science or the good goal of protecting her people) in mind! Theyre still not excusable tho bc they did cause harm! a lot! to a bunch of different people! and like she does care a lot she loves marceline she loves finn she loves netty and she loved shoko but she just doesnt KNOW how to love people and all of those feelings are like behind a brick wall in her brain so she just tries to science everything out and it doesnt always work. like ARGH such a good character. such a good morally grey character. i ❤ bubblegum. i love watching the show and flinching at all the terrible shit she does and being like jesus christ bubblegum what the fuck

anyways here are more good pb analysis

xxxxx

i want to keep ADDING THINGS but this is huge so im just gonna reblog a bunch of posts ab her now goodbye

[z-and-the-space-child]

my head is all currently midnight burger podcast so here's everything i like about this wonderful piece of media:

it's pretty fun and very funny!! i smile like an idiot on public transport and on my way to class at least once a day listening to this.

the characters are so. idk how to describe them but theyre so full of life and you can tell that they are loved greatly by the creator(s)

the WRITING. i could seriously pluck a quote from damn near every episode to carry me through the day. i don't need affirmations i need gloria to talk me through my problems.

i was doing a lil analysis of the themes in this show and i came up with "the best thing you can ever do is the best thing you can do right now" and it is FUEL, babey.

The el triste monologue. also just gloria being a POC and being proud of herself and her culture. there's a lot of cultural mish-mash in podcasts, so this is very refreshing.

It's very, very sweet and heartfelt. kind of like wolf 359 if they communicated more instead of dodging their issues until they came to a peak (love them for it.)

the PHYSICS of it all. i'm a physics/astrophysics major because i think space and looking at the stars is my lifeblood so i won't shut up about it. i don't want ava and leif (certainly ava) to shut up about it ever. HOW much reasearch did they have to do to get this kinda grasp on it. im in awe, i'm LEARNING actual things from them. i could go on. the gravity waves, the stellar nuclear fusion, the time dilation of it all. and all without using over-flowery language!!! i can actually follow a good chunk of the time. are we sure ava didn't take one of those science communication seminars. maybe 5 phds does it. when she and leif talk i vibrate like an electron in a lazer. wonderful.

star sequencing??? stellar nucleosequencing??? right up my alley. thats my kinda stuff. the romanticization of space, i've seen. the romanticization of physics, however, is not something i haven't seen in such a beautiful modern fashion. (Ie, not oppenheimer or even richard feyman)

and it's not too science-y to the point that they think they can't have fun. yes they discuss the implications of gravity waves and wax poetic about space and pulsars. (it beats for you, berts) but they have FUN! they meet their parents because they can. they get a plant drunk. there's an atmosphere(?????) around the diner that allows them to fly around and mind-numbing speeds and look at the curvature of spacetime and also sit on the roof. (I imagine the entire place is the temperature of a summer night.) they have a whole wild west planet. leif builds things inexplicably. how? where does he get the materials??? shhhhh don't question it just let him have the gravity wave detector. nobody actually knows what engineers do, not even engineers. let him be. also time crystals??????

ALSO ava being a woman in stem and being so blunt yet covert about it. she's been dealing with it for so long. why are all (recognized) physicists a)white b) men c) both. it's such a sucky thing to work into because of the outward appearance. ava is a proud mad scientist which i aspire to so much. i am keeping her in my little arsenal of people to think about when i don't want to study. (picture the do it for her meme but it's pics of ava) I don't think i aptly put how much i love her. i'm not all the way finished yet but i've heard she was forced to marry someone? i think it would be a thing for sure if she cheated on him. so many physicists cheated on their spouses (wives ): ) and i think ava should also do it. as a treat. if that's what she'd like.

when people have done bad, bad things but show/are capable of redemption upon reflecting on their past/current shortcomings is just something that gets me so much directly in the heart. the hiddenness of people. the tragedy. we contain MULTITUDES and this show demonstrates that so well. how they support each other! they are everchanging and that's good for them. Leif the engineer the ex criminal the diner cook.

leif exploding a man in cold blood. if i could draw i'd draw that. maybe i will anyways.

food as a form of affection/way to bond. grief. doing your best. making amends. using the time you have. death is inevitable but that's okay.

And if time and tide roil you too harshly, or diurnal courses leave you with no safe havens, just remember we’re out there, somewhere, lookin’ for ya’

they open at six

[dreamlessimp]

— deal

mikage reo x gn reader | 1.0k

the mikage’s try to make a deal with you, and their son invites you out

meeting in school, you were never particularly close with mikage reo.

you shared a few of the same classes, and you had more than a couple mutual friends. even with this, you couldn’t think back to a one on one conversation you’d had with him. 

it didn’t bother you much, though. there was never any need for you to be close.

which is probably why it came as a surprise when you heard that your and reo’s parents would be forming a deal over the next few months. 

described to you as a partnership, you put two and two together and realized that you would be taken to the mikage’s mansion and them likely to your own home.

the day after you were informed of this, unsurprisingly, the purple haired rich boy approached you in the minutes before class.

“hey! you’ve heard of the deal, right?” he asked after finally finding you, admittedly trying to do the same.

you nodded. “yeah, did it surprise you as much as me?”

“uh huh.” he agreed. “i’m not mad though, this’ll mean we’ll be able to speak more often.” his voice was nothing if not earnest.

a smile flickered onto your face and you lightly laughed. “right, we will.”

he reached out his hand. you reached out your own in acceptance, a motion you’d both made a multitude of times

class was soon to start, so he waved goodbye and walked off to his own homeroom.

with him facing in the opposite direction, you didn’t see the smile on his face, him having decided he’d be happy to speak to you more often.

a passing thought you had, though, was that you had just had your first one on one with mikage reo.

a couple weeks had passed, and you still weren’t exactly close to reo. but, amongst the crowded passing through the halls, you were no stranger to reciprocating a friendly smile.

with that, you were also no stranger to your face gently heating up afterwards. 

you would have been surprised though, if you’d heard the amount of times those fleeting smiles resulting in blush was mutual.

one day though, you were invited to the mikage’s house without your parents. ba-ya, the lady you were told was an assistant, informed you of the invitation as you were speaking with reo.

“really?” you faltered. “what for?”

“i haven’t been told, but if you’d like, you are invited tomorrow night to stay for dinner.” she explained with a smile.

reo looked confused, but grinned at you. “you should come. i guess my dad wants to meet you?”

you shrugged. “well,” looking over at reo, you quickly decided. “okay.”

at the mikage’s mansion, you had many questions. first and foremost, was why you had explicitly been told to not inform your parents. if you didn’t trust reo, and in turn, his parents, you’d have thought this was some sort of an elaborate kidnapping scheme.

soon, mr. mikage walked into the room. in his hand, was a folder containing what you assumed were a few papers. what for though, was beyond you.

he nodded at you. “please, sit down.”

you smiled awkwardly and moved to sit down. reo moved in front of you and pulled the chair out for you. looking at his father with an expression you didn’t recognize, you nodded your head in thanks and sat down. 

as you did, his hands momentarily remained on the back of your chair. 

you smiled. “thanks reo.”

realizing his surroundings, he laughed and removed his hands from the chair. “no problem. my bad.”

he straightened and took a set next to you. his father followed and you guessed his mother was still working. reo had said something about an investment.

“i assume you know why we’ve invited you?” reo’s father said after you all were sitting down.

you shook your head. “sorry, no.”

reo stayed silent, though his gaze full of suspicion as he watched his father.

completely straight-faced, mr. mikage opened the folder on the table to slide a few papers over to you face down.

“flip them over for me?” he asked, though it was clearly meant to be more then a suggestion.

you did as asked, and received no more clarity. by that point, you were confused and tired of the tense air around the table. still, you were in no place to break it.

reo finally spoke up. “what are the papers for, exactly?” he questioned, working to keep his voice as innocent as possible.

his father sighed. speech directed at you, he began. “well, as you appear to have been uninformed of, your parents have called off the partnership between us.”

reo’s eyes widened in surprise, similar to your own reaction.

though the question you wanted to ask was painfully clear, you stayed quiet.

“we at the mikage corporation are asking if you’d like to reconsider.”

at the horrified stare shared by you and his son, he further explained. “we expect that you’ll speak with a lawyer, of course.”

reo cleared his throat. “is this the only reason you invited them? for a stupid contract?”

“of course not, reo?” his dad clarified. “it’s simply an opportunity of mutual benefit. when you’re head, you’ll understand.”

reo theatrically stood up from his chair. walking over to you, without a even a targeted glare at his dad, he spoke. “come with me, we’ll get dinner.” with that, he hand extended out in front of him.

you were thoroughly weirded out, but reo’s offer was genuine, and a possible date with your crush would surely be much more fun then signing a suspicious but certainly legal contract with his unjustifiably confused father.

you nodded. “yeah, okay.” happily, you took his hand and allowed him to pull you from your seat.

a/n: help this is actually so cringe.. but. you know what’s also cringe? reo.

[whiskeyswifty]

What’s your favorite thing about folklore?

oh my god what a question. I'm just gonna riff off the dome here because if i try to go at this in any kind of organized way, i'll write a deranged thesis paper. (this is about the album proper, sorry to the lakes. too bad she never released it and we'll never know what it sounded like)

Gut reaction to this question is just how complete it is. It's an idea and concept, a writing prompt if you will, compiled neatly and cohesively in a way that's the perfect digestible length for it's form (music/an album) and also all killer, no filler. All the vignettes are not a "story" (save for the love triangle which i largely ignore because it's shoehorned) but come off like an anthology; that is to say that they're a series of emotional vignettes across a range of life experiences, but explored through the motifs and styles of one writer. I cannot jump around with folklore, i must press play on the 1, which has never happened before with a taylor album. It has no skips, every single one flowing smoothly but efficiently with the ebb and flow pacing of a babbling brook. (i do skip mad woman occasionally cuz its not what i wanna hear at the moment or epiphany cuz it's too heavy and too soon to go back to that mental place, but they're both excellent and fit perfectly within the album when i'm casually listening)

The sound is also just so perfectly aligned with my tastes. I contain multitudes, but unfortunately one of those is being a sad indie white girl lol. I love soft rubber bridge guitars, and whining violins and piano and minimal but expertly layered textures. atmospheric ones that carry the mood and the fill the space like fog but let you feel close to the artist, as i've said once before, as if she were sitting next to you and talking directly to you. There's a lushness to live instruments played softly and as pieces of a whole, and it makes any additions from a moog softened and supplementary. It just, for me anyway, really helps to hear the tactile nature of the instruments and mistakes and the breaths and the pedals on the piano and all the rest. it's the perfect mix of what i love musically from that genre, akin to Sujfan or Lucy/Phoebe or imogen heap or the xx or lana at times. even as way back and like dashboard, which shows my age a bit. you know the vibes. And i love how jack leaned into his more orchestral side, which he doesn't often do with taylor, still to this day. august in particular is just outstanding and he's great at stuff like that and i wish they would do more like that together!

I think its the PERFECT use of her voice. it's not blasphemous to say of all her artistic talents, she does not have a voice that can stack up against her peers vocally. But, as i've also said a million times before so sorry to bring it up again, she has a very emotive voice when it comes to the tiniest and most nuanced of emotions. maybe because she's less focused on vocal runs or hitting notes, but this album has her voice really shine. it's textured and rough and soft and smooth at the same time, fully bringing you whatever raw emotion is on the page. its the voice of a scribbled journal entry if that makes sense, off the cuff, unpracticed (even though i'm sure it is), and so intimate. you can hear her smile and hear when her throat is thick, it's just a showcase of her voice like nothing else. the pared down sound really lets all those tiny moments rise to the surface.

visually, i mean what can i say. her second best album cover ever. Fully removing herself from the center of it, diminishing herself with the trees for scale. Trees that have existed before her and will outlive her, as if to say this, the act of making art and ultimately the art itself, is so much bigger than me. my life and my problems. but everything is bigger than me, and it's important to not lose sight of that. which, if you were an adult at that time, particularly of a similar age to her at least, you commiserate with that sentiment. the black and white isn't actually black, but more of a warm gray, which i also love. i also know it was mainly out of necessity, but embracing how dressed down and simple her styling was. wrinkled dresses and limp, unruly hair. really suited the look of someone who's going to spin you a tale. NO TEXT TOO LIKE YEAHHHHHHHH god it's perfect and so well designed.

rapid fire now, lets see. i love that peace was done in one take, and you can tell, in a good way! and it's her HEARTBEAT???? i'm a sucker for that, no matter how played out that trick is, and imo it's justified because they disguise it with a dissonant tone of sorts. i love the PERFECT knee jerk answer opening of "i'm doing good" and then proceeding to delve into some of her darkest emotions she'd explored thus far (and in some ways since). i love that illicit affairs is missing it's final chorus, a song that is structurally unfinished and just peters out, the way doomed affairs always do. the way she never mentions the location or even the event, but the soundscape and the lyrics of my tears ricochet paint a perfectly clear church and funeral in your mind!! i love the word ricochet and i love how easy it is to spew it with vitriol. as corny as it is in the context of the rest of this more subtle album lyrically, i love the swiftian turn in the bridge of tlgad like.... damnit it's always so delicious. that harmonica in betty is just like a glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer night, it's SO bright and fun and puts a smile on my face every time!

But all that to say I think my favorite thing is seven. seven is a perfect song. her best song. the best version of a taylor swift song. a song so emotionally poignant and transcendent it wins over, however begrudgingly, even the biggest haters of her and indie music as it pokes at that one spot that will always be soft, and it's blank space's spiritual successor and therefore foil in that way. incredible feat to use the motif of your childhood self and not come off trite, like most other attempts by other artists can be. the most opaque she's ever been lyrically, which is a huge risk to take. small in scale but massive in it's implications and intentions. a song where the meaning and gravity exist in your reaction to it and not the song itself. perfect art. an opus of a song on an opus of an album.

[zannolin]

writing patterns: closing lines game

tagged by @lordgrimwing thanks friend!!

rules: list the last lines of your last 10 fics and see if there are any patterns that indicate how you tend to end stories, basically!

noting that i am skipping mutual distrust for this since it doesn't have a final chapter yet :)

"And then she heads back inside to join her friends." (meet me in the middle (of the parking lot))

"“No,” he replies, tugging Mike a little closer. “We found each other.”'* (some mad hope)

"But when Max Mayfield hangs up the phone that night, two time zones away, she finds she’s not so sure this is something she can fix." (good luck, babe!)

"Maybe, he thinks, staring at the empty seat across from him, there was never anything to do at all." (close encounters)

"For now, though, he’ll take the hallway and the dancing and Johnny Lawrence, and that’ll be good enough for Daniel." (objects in motion)

"Amanda LaRusso has about a hundred and ten problems to handle right now, but the puzzle that is Johnny Lawrence is mostly not one of them, at least for now." (puzzle pieces)

"And it’ll be enough." (love is too long)

"And then Anthony Lockwood goes to see a girl about a ghost." (losing face)

"We’ll be okay, Ethan thinks with a sigh of his own. As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay." (split ends)

"They don’t know everything, but they know enough, and that’s just fine." (motion fatigue)

*technically, i ended this one using a fredrik backman quotation that was an echo of the fredrik backman quotation i used as my epigraph, which in the context of the book it came from was part of a recurring theme about friendship and losing/regaining friends, and i felt ever so clever doing that though i know NONE of you care, but i went ahead and put my own last line here for simplicity's sake.

anywayyyy i see the pattern because i both end all my fics the same way and write the same fic over and over, honestly. in the greater context of the fic it usually calls back to the theme or a recurring motif overall (1, 2 and 6 are notable examples), and i also tend to be like in the future we can deal with all these unresolved things, but for now i need to end this damn fic, so we're good (see 5, 7, and 10). oftentimes when it's set within canon, especially in missing scenes or periods of time, i try to use the last line to direct the fic and the reader's attention back into canon (8 and 9). 3 and 4 here are part of a series with 2 so they end feeling more unresolved and less final than i tend to close out my fics, which is making these patterns perhaps less obvious especially if someone has just read like, one or two of my fics for a specific fandom. i contain multitudes so i end up repeating themes/motifs/metaphors across fandoms because there's not that many of you who will read all my fics lol.

anyway!! this was fun hehe. tagging @blusandbirds @bookinit02 @beautyofsorrow @stillokaynextcrisis @eirianerisdar if y'all wanna :)

[woozapooza]

Miscellaneous post-s5 Sopranos thoughts

This is just a selection of the stuff I wrote in my journal this season.

Adriana La Cerva suffered more than Jesus.

One of my favorite things to think about in any TV show is character parallels, and The Sopranos is fantastic on that front, yet for all the time I’ve spent thinking about which Sopranos characters parallel each other, somehow it took five whole seasons for me to notice what now seems like one of the most obvious pairs: Silvio and Melfi! They’re both Tony’s confidants and his two main advisers. Melfi is kind of his emotional consigliere, and Silvio is his…business therapist? What I’m trying to say is that they complement each other in their roles in Tony’s life, and that was (finally) extremely clear in “All Due Respect.” Despite looking at Tony from such different perspectives, they give him essentially the same advice about the Tony B. situation. They both conclude that Tony S. is using noble rhetoric of love and loyalty to mask what’s really motivating him. For Silvio, that motivation is “pride” and “a problem with authority,” and for Melfi, it’s “guilt and shame” (I suspect they’re both right to some degree, though I also think they’re both being unfair by implying that noble motives and selfish ones are mutually exclusive—come on, guys, he contains multitudes!) but they agree that to make the right decision, Tony needs to be honest with himself.

Another interesting parallel: in “Long Term Parking,” Christopher essentially does to Adriana the same thing he’s mad at Tony for doing to him. He “gave [Tony S.] pieces of [his] soul,” yet Tony S. favors the loose cannon Tony B. over him. Well, Adriana gave Christopher pretty much her entire soul, yet Christopher chooses the ungrateful Tony S. over her. The difference, of course, is that Tony S.’s choice (pre-“All Due Respect”) only costs Christopher his position, while Chris’s choice costs Adriana her life. And Adriana died knowing that Christopher had chosen Tony over her, his ride-or-die. With an emphasis on the “die,” I guess. At least Pussy had some comfort in his final moments. Adriana had none.

In “Sentimental Education,” Carmela’s relationship with Wegler failed because she tried to treat it as a transactional arrangement (well, and also because he was a pretentious misogynist). In “Long Term Parking,” it’s a transaction that brings Carmela and Tony back together. I’ve seen some people paint her relationship with Wegler as pure conniving on her part, but I don’t think that’s fair. It’s clearly how she’s used to relationships working.

In that same episode, I was SO proud of Carmela for starting to wake up to the absurdity of some of the things the Catholic church has taught her. 

I’m glad Carmela and Tony are back together if only because it was so painful to see how utterly alone she was during the separation. The suffocating feeling I got from watching her try to escape her awful husband’s clutches while also being vilified by her son was reminiscent of the feeling I got watching Breaking Bad, except worse, because Walter Jr. was never as vicious to Skyler as Anthony Jr. is to Carmela. 

I’m generally a Meadow apologist, but she had some unbearable moments this season, especially in “Unidentified Black Males.” The drama with Finn was frustrating (and to be fair, Finn could probably have handled it better, too, but Meadow was worse), but the worst part, IMO, was what she said to Carmela: “Haven't you thought beyond being dependent on a man?” Girl that is LITERALLY WHAT SHE’S TRYING TO DO NOW. Going back to the topic of Carmela’s isolation, it’s maddening that both her “progressive” daughter and her not-even-pretending-to-be-progressive husband essentially blame her for not being able to take care of herself, while also refusing to give her credit for trying to finally carve out an independent existence.

On that topic, this season continues the theme of what I call the obstacle of expectations: the fact that change is far harder when it seems that no one around you believes that you can change. (Which is not to say that this skepticism is always unearned.) Carmela tries to have a relationship with a normal guy, but concludes that “because [she] was married to a man like Tony, [her] motives will always be called into question.” Tony greatly impresses Melfi by not hooking up with Adriana (side note, it was really sweet how proud Melfi was of him), but he’s widely believed to have done so nonetheless, so he concludes, “I might as well have fucked her.” Then he says a sarcastic “thanks” to Melfi, the one person who consistently believes in his ability to change even after all he’s put her through, as if she’s the problem. Christopher literally says that “Tony don’t believe a person can change” and is therefore holding his past as an addict against him; in the following episode, when the Tonys are making jokes at his expense, Chris, in a moment of genuinely impressive maturity, says, “Sobriety's hard enough without having to get mocked for it.” All of Janice’s work in anger management is undone in a matter of seconds by her brother deliberately trying to undo it. Tony B. justifiably complains about the stigma of being an ex-con, although he’s a complicated case because he backslides into criminality at a moment when no one is being prejudiced towards him.

On that note, I never quite felt like I got Tony B. as a character. For example, I couldn’t really make sense of why he backslid so dramatically in “Sentimental Education.” I enjoyed him nonetheless, although a large part of that is surely due to the fact that it’s basically impossible not to enjoy Steve Buscemi. 

This post is getting enormous so I won’t go into detail about this, but the stories people tell—about themselves and about others, to themselves and to others—stood out as a huge theme this season. Excellent! Very Black Sails!

“The Test Dream” was so much fun. More shows should do episodes that let them bring back legions of dead characters.

Have I mentioned how much I love Melfi? No I haven’t because it’s beyond the capacity of human language to express. This season she was in 62% of the episodes (8/13). Next season she’s in 71% of the episodes (15/21), which is an improvement. I think she should be in a million percent of the episodes, but I’m also grateful that she’s ever been on my screen for even a single second.

[sunjaesol]

you keep my head from going under

chenford | drabble | post-4x01 | title: bruises // lewis capaldi

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Intellectually, Tim Bradford knew this made sense.

Jackson's death hit everyone hard, but Lucy took the punch. She was his best friend, his roommate, his confidante; a fellow rookie. More than once had Tim heard her jokingly refer to Jackson as her 'little brother', though her sweet tone said otherwise. It wasn't a joke. Lucy and Jackson were family and she just lost her brother.

So, yeah. It didn't take a genius to figure out Lucy needed someone to grieve with, that would understand, that would give her space and closeness and everything in between. Intellectually, Tim deduced he was the right fit for that. Nyla and her weren't super close, Angela was busy with the baby, the weird history with Nolan kept him out of the equation, too. (Tim didn't even begin to question or plow through that one — for his sanity, it was best he never found out.)

Emotionally, however, it was a whole other ball game. Because Lucy wasn't just his friend, or previous rookie, or fellow police officer. She was Lucy. Tim preferred to not linger on the multitudes she contained, but in vulnerable times like these, it was hard not to.

The perfume, a blend of cardemom and roses and citrus, tickling his nose when they hugged. The chime of her laugh every time he sold a joke. Drifting gaze on her pouted lips as she calculated a situation or problem, as though he shouldn't be focusing on the same thing. Her soothing voice, her bravery, her enviable resilience, her strength and smarts and style. Her, her, her. An intoxicating dosis of her as she slept over multiple times a week on the couch, mere feet away from his lonely bedroom.

Safe to say it drove him wild.

He had to remind himself he was a goddamn thirty-six year old man that has fought wars and faced Death every day on the job. He literally underwent an illegal mission to Guatemala to save Angela. But he couldn't keep his cool because the woman he liked slept in the other room? The fuck?

Then again... 'like' might be an understatement. Tim would be a fool if he didn't recognise his feelings for Lucy had grown past a simple infatuation, or prolonged adrenaline rush. Tim loved her.

Which was why he always waited in bed until he heard her alarm softly ring in the other room a bit past seven, listening how she stumbled from the couch to the bathroom, allowing him the limited time to tidy his (her?) couch and prepare breakfast. When she found out the first time, she objected, but his cool exterior and snark quickly shot that discussion down.

Which was why he bought her coffee and lunch more often during their breaks. His stomach twisted inside out with stupid pubescent glee each time her face lit up at the sight of a perfect burger with extra pickle, ordered without having to ask.

Which was why he didn't intercept whenever dudes started asking her out again, though the sympathetic looks of Nyla and Nolan nauseated him plenty. He felt a quiet sense of satisfaction with each rejected man.

Now, Tim didn't toss and turn at the seven fifteen alarm. He waited, he listened to her disappear into the bathroom, he got up and got moving, put on the radio (a music station, since she liked that) and cracked open eggs above a simmering pan. It felt natural. Especially when Lucy emerged in her street clothes and slipped around him to the coffee maker, as if this was a regular morning for them.

Maybe it was.

Pouring her cup, Lucy moved past him to the breakfast bar when he stopped her at the last moment, impulsive.

Her brows raised. "What?"

Before all the bullshit, Isabelle and him had been an easy match. They were made of the same cloth: pragmatic, straightforward, efficient. Though Tim did truly love her, he held different emotions for her than now for Lucy. This felt... insurmountable. Indescribable. His mouth opened and closed, yet nothing in the English language could explain what he experienced each second of the day when he was with her and when he wasn't with her. He felt himself going mad. Tim was in love with Lucy.

Figuring their staring match had gone on too long, he dropped her elbow and crossed his arms instead. "I love you."

Lucy blinked. "W-what?"

Tim caught what he said a beat too late. What the fuck. "Yeah."

"Um... okay." She set her cup down and nervously clutched onto her necklace. Tim felt himself being ripped in all directions by monstrous tides, not being in control rather uncharted territory. "Can- can we talk about this after... work? Please?"

Tim grimaced. "And sit it in the shop together all day? That'll be worse than your last day as boot."

"Well," she sputtered, decidedly taking a step back. "I'm sorry, but you kind of sprung this on me, so..."

"I know," he rushed. "I know that. But you can't deny something is..." God, he hated this. He hasn't done this in years. Mustering the courage, he continued with, "there. You're a good cop, Lucy, you know it, too."

She groaned, exasperated. "Please don't make this about our job."

"I'm out of my depth here, Lucy!" he exclaimed. Frustration rose. "Just- let's finish the conversation now. I can't do it later."

"Can't or won't?"

"Lucy."

Her face steeled in a way he hadn't seen before. Her lips set in a thin line, jaw taut, yet her eyes shimmered with unbridled emotion that only she possessed of. He thought back of the infamous wedding, prior to the abduction, of how beautiful she looked, of her red lips stretched in a teasing smile. He remembered just how great that moment felt, that if he could, he'd prolong it.

"Tim..." she whispered. Her saddened tone held no hint of silver lining, his shoulders dropping with defeat. "We've lost... I can't lose more people that I love."

He latched onto her hands in a snap. Suddenly, the words came to him. "You won't though. You won't lose me."

Lucy shook her head, unshed tears welling, though didn't let go. "You can't promise that. Jackson didn't think he'd die so soon either."

"But is that really the thing that should hold us back? Life is unpredictable. Tomorrow, it could all be over for us."

"Tim."

He smiled. "Lucy."

And then she hugged him. Her arms tightly wrapped around him and he reflexively followed, cradling the back of her head and holding her close. Whatever happened after this, he'd take it; for now, his heart beat in sync with hers and a swooning sense of adoration filled his chest.

"I love you," she whispered in his shirt.

Oh, man. Nothing beat her uttering those sweet words to him. His nose pressed in the crown of her head and let the smile stretch to a beam. "You're never gonna lose me, Chen."

Her chin ticked up and that was all he needed.

A kiss before his morning coffee felt like a good place to start.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@alphinias @smolfangirl @tim-lucy

[maple-cloak]

So I was reading @chipper-smol shitlordAU and got inspired to make this Drabble

Basically it’s a 4K (wait Fuck that’s in no way right I thinks it’s more like 400 wtf was I thinking) word what-if where Ghost fights Radiance but she gets scared and runs away.

Also PK giving Ghost a hug.

Enjoy!

The Radiance was livid,

or rather, more livid then before.

First it was that Wyrm, who had created itself a new form and descended as a bug, a pale and pathetic bug. Stealing her followers away with his artificial light, Refracted light, a false light from a mere Wyrm who knew nothing of it.

But the bugs of what is now Hallownest followed that false light in lieu of her own, and she soon found herself forgotten, her entire being was relegated to the sol object that spoke of her Light. A single withering statue atop the nearby mountain peak.

She had waited, dwelling in the faint dreams the statue held, waiting for what her traitorous creations called their Pale King to finish her off.

But he never came.

Instead she was left there, fuming in her own rage, when she heard someone approaching. She briefly though the wretched Wyrm had finally come to end her being entirely, but was instead found by some simple miners, who had decided to climb to the peak of the crystal filled mountain, their helmets bearing a simple crest.

The Wyrms crest for his new kingdom.

And she saw an chance for revenge.

The simple memorabilia was enough for her to infect their minds, and in turn infect others who came in contact; she commanded them through their dreams to talk and spread word about her statue. To get more to learn of her, to get more to talk, and wonder, and before that Wyrm could learn how, her rage spread forth. With enough bugs to remember she had enough power to spread through his kingdom, expanding her influence throughout the populace, causing the kingdoms sharp decline, and she reveled in the kings panic and desperation.

Eventually the king had the idea to contain her in a vessel, using the void below the kingdom to make a being with no mind to think and be influenced, no will for her to break, and no voice to cry her name in suffering.

But she knew that the king had failed.

While its thoughts were not as loud as the common bug, there were still there, almost silent, but she could still hear the mantra it repeated, still feel the slightest of wills, and she knew that it would not hold.

“Do not think”

But that is a though

“Do not feel”

But the pain so great

“Do not speak”

But you must scream

“Do not hope…”

There is no hope for Hallownest

Eventually the cracks started to form. And she began to seep her influence out through them.

It didn’t matter if the kingdom had already fallen.

It didn’t matter that the Wyrm is no longer here.

She would destroy all evidence of the kingdom, leaving nothing behind for the few survivors to call home, and once that was done she would infect one of the many travelers that came through, and become a god in a new land.

But then came a second vessel

A vessel that had manage to escape the void and her servants who impeded their escape out into the open world without her notice, and when it came back she felt a tinge of fear. It had left the kingdom, and without the influence of the Wyrm that gave those around him minds it would become truly empty. And if it were to attempt so she would be imprisoned with no chance of escape.

Fortunately, there had been multiple influences, not just from a single ignorant king failing to notice the mind it had given, but from a multitude of bugs, instilling their own ideas onto to the second vessel. Gifting it a mind and a will, and she saw it as no threat.

But then it encountered one of her formal followers -Considered a traitor even by the other moths of her tribe, and she gave the vessel the Dream Nail. The moment she saw this she began sealing the mind of her container, preventing the other vessel from attacking her directly with the weakened talisman. The “Seer” however instructed the vessel to restore the talisman, reinvigorating the nail with essence by the time she had taken back the life she gave, the Nail had fully awoken

To worsen matters, the vessel had gotten the former Wyrms charm, and used it to unite the void under its ever growing will. And when it arrived at the temple it unsealed The Radiance prepared to use its container, missing a limb and having a cracked mask from her efforts to hastily take control, to kill the smaller vessel, a ghost of the kings attempts to contain her, given form with the goal of ending her life like its parent so many years ago.

But as the Kings Ghost and the Broken Vessel fought, the Ghost hesitated. It had seen its siblings pain and saw as it injured itself in order to give it a better chance of victory, of finally ending her.

And it ran.

It couldn’t handle its siblings pain and The Radiance laughed as the Ghost ran away, allowing her to reign unopposed.

But the Ghost was tenacious, and found a way to her without injuring its sibling.

The Godseekers, they came in search of a new God after theirs abandoned them; a role she intend to fill. But the Ghost had used their mind to get to her, fighting their way through the ‘Gods’ of Hallownest, many of whom she had control over, and eventually, they arrived at the peak, at her peak.

She though she would win, in a realm where she was no longer held back by the myriad of infected bugs or the broken vessel, but that Ghost was tenacious. And each ensuing fight it grew closer to victory, closer to consuming her within the void.

And it did, it had given the void focus, and it had consuming her.

But despite this, despite struggling within its clutches, her light drowning within its dark abyss. She found herself back in Hallownest, the people still panicked over the ‘disease’ that spread, the king struggling with his ‘solution’.

She has gleefully taken the second chance at ruining his kingdom, being more thorough then before, but as she infected a chef in order to ruin the kings meals (rather petty, but the further unrest that it would give the king was absolutely delightful) she found it slain by the very Ghost that slew her. She almost didn’t recognize it since it had molted, but it’s movement made it undeniable.

It too had been sent back, and The Radiance was livid.

Or rather, more livid then before

But not only that, she found herself trembling, not just with rage, but with fear. The being no longer had the same control over the void, but it still had the same skill that enabled it to use it at her most vulnerable, it was still the same being that killed Absolute Radiance.

Despite seemingly despising the very same Wyrm, making their life all the more frustrating, it refused to let her have her revenge. And it sought to do what it did before again, this time before she could end the kingdom.

And she was scarred.

———————————————————

The Feral Vessel and the Pale King had gotten into an argument.

Now this wasn’t particularly surprising, the two had always butted heads, but this argument was very heated. The vessel, who seemed to named itself Ghost, had been getting on the Wyrm’s case about its treatment of the Pure Vessel, while the Wyrm got angry at Ghost for instilling ideas into it, and that it they shouldn’t interact it as they have been.

The Pale King now sat in his room, it had been almost a week since the feral vessel Ghost had walked off at the end of their argument, and they had yet to be seen since. He stared at his hand lost in though, staring at the cracked void that stained it, thinking over the argument and going over scenarios of what could’ve been.

He hated to admit it, but he cared for the little Ghost. While it had caused plenty of trouble and headaches, deep down he knew he deserved it. For all the hundreds of thousands of siblings down dead in the void below, he felt that Ghost was his punishment. Humiliating and insulting him for his transgressions, the Wyrm knew he deserved it all.

And behind the mask of child-like pranks and dislike for him, he and his Root had long since suspected that they somehow knew more then even his foresight could account for. The familiarity with the White Palace, despite never once being there. How they traveled accros Hallownest with ease, knowing where hidden charms lay and even pale ore across the kingdom. Even with the few fights they have had, he heard they even wield a nail with such familiarity and ease, even ending a bout with the Pale Vessel in a draw despite receiving no training unlike the latter.

And above all, how they still care for his Root, and how she cares for them. How she enjoys mentoring them (and occasionally aiding in embarrassing the Wyrm but it’s hard to be mad when your wife is practically telling them to do it). Then there’s the excitement they show when sharing the language of hands they created with their mother, a language without words but with expression and symbols. It was something he actually wanted to praise them for, and something he was exited to learn as well.

The Wyrm frowned as these thoughts passed, bringing him back to the argument. Ghost was always insistent on the fact that the Pure Vessel wasn’t… pure. Hollow. Empty…

Unable to properly contain the Radiance.

And the worst part was that he knew they were right. He didn’t want to admit it, but Ghost was always right, even before they interfered, the vessel was never pure. The King always claimed that he knew what to do, how to solve the problem and that the Pure Vessel - Hollow, Ghost had taken to calling it (no doubt because his young sister, Hornet, calling it that) was the only, and the right answer.

He had practically abandoned his foresight by now, the only path he could see since tossing all those eggs into the void was one were his beloved kingdom fell, his beloved subjects who he cared so much for dead at the hands of a spiteful light, their burning corpses wandering his kingdoms husk. All that he worked for, and all that he is, was doomed.

The Pale King was snapped away from with thoughts with a knock as his door, and he quickly regained composer, if anything he could give his subjects some hope for their future. Calmly (or at least appearing so) he walked to the door and opened it.

“What is it?” He asked the guard, they were panting, having run as quickly to fetch the King

“T-the… “ the guard cleared his through. “There’s a messenger here my lord, form the Archives, says it’s urgent”

The Wyrm steeled himself, news from the Archives ment news of the infection. He dismissed the guard and swiftly made his way to the entrance hall, greeting the messenger, whom he recognized to be Monomon’s assistant.

“What is it Quirrel? Has Monomon learned something?” He inquired, startling the bug as he shot up straight.

“Y-yes your majesty it’s about the infection…”

Quirrel paused briefly for a breathand the Pale King noticed the faintest to hope in his voice

“The infection, it’s… it’s regressed”

The news had startled him, regressed? The Ra- the Old Light was the cause of the infection, it’s no ordinary disease she invade their mind and takes over . For the infection to regress would mean…

“Prepare me a stag for the Queens Station.” He ordered a nearby servent, who had already been anticipating such a command and he made his way to the Archives in the Fog Canyon.

He made his way swiftly through the caves, Quirrel aiding in avoiding the various Ooma’s that lived there.

“Monomon what do you mean the Infection has regressed?” He asked, walking straight into the main office.

“Well you majesty it’s exactly that, previously infected bugs have either lessening symptoms, regaining control over themselves, or simply becoming uninfected entirely!” She responded, expecting the king not to barge in in such a manner.

“But that would mean…”

“…somethings happened to the Old Light”

They both paused, a silence filled the room as they wondered what could’ve happened. As the Wyrm ran a hand up its face a though crossed his mind. Ghost, they always knew more then they should, familiar with things they have had no way to experience before. Could they have…?

“Keep looking into it, I’ll see if I can figure anything else”

“Be careful my lord” Monomon responded as they left the archives.

A single thought ran through his head, ‘Where was that Feral Vessel? Where is Ghost?”. It had been a few days yes, but what if they were preparing for something, going from one corner of Hallownest to the next to get what they needed for… whatever it was. He made his way to the resting grounds, where Ghost would regularly search for… something, but he found no evidence of them being there. We’re else would the feral vessel have gone? He stood in a empty plot, a place where he planned to build a monument for the dreamers.

Deepnest? No, hornet would not have wondered where they went when she came to visit. The Queens Gardens? No, his dear Root would’ve found them easily in her domain. So where could they be? He though it over, could there be anyone who would know of their whereabouts?

He paused. Grimm. Ghost had shown an unusual affection for the Troupe Master, and… he froze in a panic. When Ghost had first met Grimm his foresight had shown him the infection being killed form the inside.

He immediately took off, flying over to where the Troupes tent resided. No! They couldn’t have? Panic filled the Pale King, how could he not realize? Ghost was going to enter Radience’s realm with Grimms aid! They were, no they ARE fighting the Radiance!!!

The Pale King stumbled as he landed in front of the tent running inside.

“Grimm! Grimm!” He barely hid his concern for his child skidding to a halt in the middle of the show ring.

“Grimm!” He called out once more as the Troupe Master appeared with his usual (but still well performed) burst of flame.

“With what do we-“

“Not now Grimm, where is my child!” He interrupted the Nightmare Vessel, earning a slight frown that quickly turned into a sly smile.

“Your child hmmm~ and here I though that particular vessel was an annoyance you would love to be rid of.” He sneered, while normally the King would retort to such a comment, he was too preoccupied with the well-being of his little Ghost.

“Grimm, please” he pleaded out of breath. “Is… are… are they alright?”

Grimm paused, staring blankly at the Pale Wyrm. “I’m afraid I can’t be certain of their fate.” He stated blankly.

“Did they…?”

“Yes” Grimm nodded, not even needing the hear the question proper.

“They entered the realm of dreams to fight The Radiance, a trip that’s - unfortunately, one-way.”

The Pale Wyrm fell to his knees, tears that were once held right below his eyes végane to flow. Grimm for one was somewhat uncomfortable, not so much for having someone break down in front of them, no it was who had fallen before them with tears flowing down their face. They had never imagined the Wyrm to do such a thing, they never seemed the type. The type to adamantly refusing to untill alone or with someone they are close to, and even then resisting the urge to cry.

“I did make sure they knew what they were getting into.” Grimm comforted attempting to lift his spirits. “They even insisted we dance to show they were able, and might I add, they put up quite the performance.”

“They we-are quite stubborn.” The Wyrm said, standing up and dusting himself off, hoping that at the very least, they are still alive.

“There you go! Much more fitting for a king eh?” Grimm encouraged as the King wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Yes, I apologies, that was rath-” he stopped mid-sentence in shock, and Grimm followed his eyes and saw why. There was the vessel, Ghost, coming from Grimm’s quarters, limping.

——————————————————————

“Your certain of this?” Grimm inquired for like, the 15th time. Ghost was getting rather annoyed at the question and all it’s variants

‘Yes, I know what I’m doing.’ They signed again. They had already gotten all the charms and weapons they needed. A Mothwing Cloak which they manage to fuse with some of their void, (very painful process and it wasn’t nearly as effective as it would be if they had access to the pit below the palace.) some Monarch Wings they stole found (thankfully the Kingsmold were too preoccupied with Mawlek to notice) and a variety of spells from various Snail Shaman throughout Hallownest, (none of which were killed and/or dead, which is always good) and of course their Pure Root Nail (though they would’ve gladly stolen one from Sly if they needed one)

With those and the charms they took collected between getting everything else, they were more then ready. Grimm let out a sigh, “Very well then, do give us a superb performance hmm?” He said as he raised a hand, shooting out a light from his palm similar to the one of the Dream Nail Ghost was familiar with, only Grimms was a crimson red instead of a bright white.

As Grimm swung his hand down is a (stylish) arc, Ghost found himself engulfed in a red light, fading to a more familiar white before fading away entirely. Ghost looked around a platform similar in size in shape to the one in the Pantheon, though the material and style was different, a grey that wasn’t dark, but not light either, but the area surrounding it was, a endless sea of golden clouds.

Ghost didn’t dwell on these thoughts as they climbed up the few floating platforms, and faced the sun that bathed the picturesque scenery, knowing full well that this was no place of beauty

Ghost drew their Pure Root, their desire to protect Hallownest - and more specifically, their sibling Hollow - giving the Root its form as a blade, as sharp as a Pure Nail and just as deadly - and they faced the sun as she, The Radiance responded to their challenge with her anger.

The small platforms Ghost was standing on vanished, he fell a short ways to the larger platform he ‘awoke’ on, and didn’t hesitate to start attacking the spiteful god. Starting off with what could be mistaken for a shout, a scream towards the sky as their soul and void manifested as an upward outburst of screaming heads, The Radiance cried with rage

Blades flow form the sides, which ghost easily dashed between, not wanting to use their Shade Cloaks invulnerability too soon, as they slashed upwards towards the giant moth. They had both fought before, and Ghost had long since memorized how to evade each attack. Radiance shot out circles of swords, but Ghost backed off and jumped. aligning themself properly they shot out a spell they didn’t have when they fought before, a stream of bright daggers shot out from their hand, only a few hitting their mark before The Radiance teleported away.

As Ghost landed they quickly dashed to the side and blades shot out form the ground, covering over a third of the platform, and a beam of light from above threatened them. Using their Shade Cloak they easily fazed through the beam, and slashed at the sun-moth with a nail art before a soul-charged stomp on the ground, void and soul rising around Ghost protectively while striking at the gif above.

The fight had continued for a long time, Ghost evading or countering all of Radiance’s attacks, while the god itself became more and more desperate, as fewer and fewer attacks hit (not that many hit to begin with) as Ghost got into their rhythm. Before long, it took off higher and Ghost pursued, dodging incoming searing rays of light. But before Ghost could do more damage to end the fearful god something they never expected happened.

They woke up, in Grimm’s room, in the Troupes tent. They looked around, did they do it? They dropped off the ledge they were on and winced, almost crumpled from the pain. Did the Radiance hit them with one last-ditch blast? They slowly lowered themselves to the floor and looked down the hall down the hall to the main performance area of the tent. We’re they still in the dream realm? No, they would’ve seen the Nightmare Hearts leathery viens in the hall, and there’s no Nightmare essence floating around. So that means the Radiance has ejected them from the dream.

The Radiance fled, huh. Ghost had never considered it but they suppose it does make sense, without the dream nail they couldn’t return and hunt it down, and they had no void to restrain it. Ghost found that annoying, all that effort of collect charms and spells and other useful items and the stupid thing leaves. Coward.

With a huff the Vessel stands up, might as well let Grimm know their okay at least, and make there way down the vein-less hall. They tried to heal their injuries with Soul but found they had none, used at every opportunity during the fight with the flying puff-ball.

As they made their way down the hall they heard two voices talking, one was clearly Grimm but they found trouble identifying the other. The voice was male and they seemed distraught, but Ghost couldn’t pin a name, who did they no would be upset? Form what they could tell Grimm told them about what they did, but they didn’t know anyone who would be this upset about it.

But they didn’t have to imagine who when they saw who it was.

And they never would’ve imagined it was their father, the Pale King, who ran up and hugged them the moment he saw them.

And they never expect him to be crying.

The Pale King pulled away enough to get a proper look at the vessel, fresh tears streaming down his face and he held one hand against Ghost’s cheek, not only in shock, but in relief.

“How” he asked, barely a whisper. Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond, and was at a lost for signs at their fathers reaction

Thankfully Grimm was still Grimm and they knew Grimm

“Bra-vo darling!” He exclaimed clapping, “I have to say I did not expect this! How did you escape?”

This was enough to snap ghost back to his surroundings and found a pretty simple way to explain it.

‘Butt head ran away’ they signed

‘Don’t know worse insults’

“She… ran?”

Ghost paused for a moment, staring at their father, then made a gesture like they were throwing something to the side,

‘Ejected me’

As Ghost completed the motion they stumbled to the side, almost falling over until the Pale King caught them

Grimm, for his part, picked a terrible time to laugh openly, much to Ghosts irritation, thinking it was at them.

“Your telling me, your got the Radiance who has been terrorizing this kingdom for years to run in fear” Grim said continuing to laugh, “my goodness you are full of surprises!”

The Pale King could only stare in shock, she had been repelled? Not dead, but still, he didn’t have to consult his foresight to tell that his child he held up had bought him years maybe even a century. For them to have chased off radiance, the skill and strength they must posses…

‘Should be dead’ They signed grumpily, clearly upset at themselves but their father was having none of it

“Don’t understate your accomplishments! For you to have fought Radiance, to have beaten her to the point where she runs away? Maybe she isn’t gone for good but she will not be coming back for decades at the least! You… you’re…” he stammered, pulling the void-born child in for another hug “I… I’m sorry, for the… the atrocity la I’ve done, for my treatment of you, for… for my treatment of your… your sibling.” The Wyrm pulled away looking Ghost directly in their eyes “I was wrong, I’m sorry”

Ghost could only stand shocked at their fathers beaming praise, for their quirky frankly, unnatural behavior… and that last thing, their sibling. There was so much to be done, but things seemed so much… brighter, so much better. Hollow could finally be themself be happy. Ghost was at a lost for words.

‘We… talk later?’ They offered both too overwhelmed and Ghost, too tired, to make proper plans.

“I- yes, yes of course, of course” the father readjusted themself and his son to more effectively carry.

As they made they way out the King paused “Ah! And Grimm” he turned, facing the Troupe Master. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

Grimm, who had fallen to the background to allow the two some space perked up and gave an elegant bow to the Pale being.

“Think nothing of it. I had simply set the stage and you two, had been excellent performers!”

The Wyrm nodded his head, while Ghost used its free arm to wave, and the two made their way back home.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Good Help - chapter 4 - ao3 link

-

The day Wen Ruohan returned, Meng Yao felt ready for just about anything short of an immediate order of execution. He had survived an increasingly frantic set of attempts to murder him – in many instances, his survival was entirely courtesy of A-Jue – and had a list of achievements as long as his arm, each one backed with public recognition and an explanation as to how they fit into Wen Ruohan’s pre-existing orders.

He'd disposed of any dissenters, too.

The return ceremony was no time for someone to blurt out something awkward.

It was intricately planned: first the multitude out in the Nightless City, cheering their Emperor’s return, then the procession through the court with all its ministers and representatives of all the other Great Sects, and finally the entrance to the throne room, which would contain only those most important to the Emperor: his closest deputies, his wives and concubines, and of course the Empress far above them all in her sedate chair.

And Meng Yao, of course.

The innermost hall would be guarded by those guards assigned to it, an honor that they all lusted for, and Meng Yao had abrogated the right of the guard captain to select each of them himself, claiming that all of the disasters in the past few weeks had shown him the need to take especial care of their beloved Emperor’s life.

He didn’t select A-Jue.

He hadn’t even looked for his name in the list. He'd rather deliberately planned on A-Jue not attending, in fact, and A-Jue hadn’t questioned it, only saluted with a bow deeper than any of the (usually ironic and highly irreverent) ones that had come before. Their eyes had met briefly – a glance full of regret, regret and understanding – and they had said no more about it, each going their own way that evening as if everything were the same.

And then, in the morning…

A-Jue had not come.

Meng Yao had not permitted himself to be disappointed.

He’d turned his mind to other things, to preparations, to making sure everything was perfect, and it was. He’d worried briefly about the Empress, that she might refuse to leave seclusion, but she was there before he was, seated and waiting in her place, a larger than life statue in her thousand veiled layers as always. He’d stressed over the placement of the guards, but they were there, shining and immaculate as always, each one carefully selected for their talent at discretion. He’d checked over his multiple plans designed to let him survive.

He was as ready as he could ever be.

Wen Ruohan’s procession took an age, the concubines in the inner hall yawning and shifting from leg to leg, the veiled Empress as unmoving as stone. Meng Yao took her as his model and remained still, refusing to show weakness.

And then –

The Emperor walked in through the doors, a swirl of robes, and no matter how much Meng Yao had prepared himself, he still involuntarily drew a breath when he felt the sheer power radiating off the man. There were those that accused Wen Ruohan of doing dark and dirty things to get his power, those whisperers all dissatisfied and envious, and they were probably right, too. But those that entered his presence, that were subject to his might directly, knew that it didn’t matter how he’d gotten his power.

Power was power.

Strength was strength.

Wen Ruohan had the face of a young man and the aura of a vicious beast, the temperament of an emperor and the emotional stability of a madman – and he had enough power to crush all the rest of them with a snap of his fingers.

He swept into the room like a storm.

Following in his wake were those he had taken with him on his travels: his highest-ranked guards, his most favorite servants, and Imperial Consort A-Sang, veiled and hidden but for his clever eyes, characteristic scholar’s fan held loosely in his hands.

Walking freely, as if he feared nothing.

As if he owned the hall.

Meng Yao was not the only one who tensed at the sight of the Imperial Consort and his blithe unconcern, thinking that the last thing that they needed right now at this moment was the bitter internecine conflict of the harem breaking out.

And then, of course, it turned out that their concern, all those rumors and suspicions and speculations and schemes, were all for nothing.

Wen Ruohan didn’t so much as look at the rest of them – not the concubines he had obtained, unmatchable in their beauty; not the guards he had nurtured, each one as ferocious as a tiger and as precious as pearl held in his palm; not the deputies he valued so highly; not even Meng Yao to who he had entrusted his city, his sect, his empire.

He had eyes only for his Empress.

“My beloved,” he said with a smile and hands extended as he climbed the stairs, Imperial Consort A-Sang left forgotten behind him to quietly retake his proper place among the other concubines. “Have you missed me?”

The Empress ignored him, silent and unmoving as always.

Wen Ruohan did not take offense the way he might have with someone else – the way he would have, with anyone else.

Meng Yao had heard people say that Wen Ruohan was mad over his unspeaking statute of an Empress, but his time in the Fire Palace had made it difficult for him to believe it. Wen Ruohan enjoyed rape, among the multitude of torments inflicted there, and he took sadistic pleasure in snatching would-be brides or daughters, sometimes even sons, from people he disliked and forcing them to become concubines; the more he disliked them, the more time he spent in the beds of their loved ones.

He was a man who enjoyed violence and humiliation above all else. How could such a man fall in love?

Much less with the Empress, of all people. The frigid, silent Empress, who had no political backing to prove her worth, who had been there by his side for years and years – long enough for any man to grow bored, much less an Emperor who commanded the wind and storm, who could have anyone he pleased?

Meng Yao couldn’t believe it.

And yet, it appeared – he was wrong.

Wen Ruohan’s gaze as he walked up to his wife went beyond passion and into obsession. The miraculous treasure he had obtained in the south, a powerful spiritual weapon in the shape of a lamp that was said to increase the speed of the bearer’s cultivation a dozen times over, was placed in front of her.

“Do you like what I got for you?” Wen Ruohan asked, and the Empress turned her veiled head aside, a clear gesture of rejection. “So picky, so picky. I could pluck the moon out of the sky for you, my beloved, and you wouldn’t care…”

Any normal woman would yield to such persuasion.

Any woman who knew fear, knew Wen Ruohan’s fickle moods, would seek to at least temporize, distract.

The Empress ignored him.

“Same as always,” Wen Ruohan sighed exaggeratedly, and put his hand upon her cheek, turning her face back to him. “You never do change, do you, A-Jue?”

A cold sharp shock spread at the base of Meng Yao’s spine.

The Empress permitted her head to be turned, to be raised to regard her imperial husband.

“Fuck off,” A-Jue said, his voice painfully familiar, and attacked.

-

“Would you like some more tea?” A-Sang – Huaisang, apparently, Nie Huaisang, just as A-Jue was apparently the long-thought-dead heir of the Nie sect, Nie Mingjue, and obviously had never even once been a guard of any hall whatsoever – asked Meng Yao, patting his shoulder sympathetically yet again. “You’ve had a hard day.”

“No, thank you,” Meng Yao said, both because he didn’t know where he’d put the needles he used to check tea for poison after the last cup and also because he wanted to keep some room in his belly for the barrel of liquor he intended to find and down at some point later on.

He rather thought he deserved it.

A hard day. He scarcely had words to explain how much Nie Huaisang was understating things. A hard day!

Meng Yao still had blood splattered on his face from standing too close to the throne when A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, he needed to remember that – when Nie Mingjue decapitated the Emperor right in front of all his deputies and concubines, which was immediately followed by half of said concubines pulling out knives or swords or other weapons and moving at once to hold the other half hostage. The shrieks of those concubines that had not been in the know acted as a signal to those outside the hall, the roar of fighting breaking out at once, and Meng Yao didn’t even want to think about the gigantic mess they’d undoubtedly turned the Sun Palace into.

(But that was still better than thinking over and over, with no little amount of hysteria, I’m so glad I never ordered him to serve me in bed!)

Nie Mingjue had stalked out to the door, the frankly gigantic saber he’d always carried around everywhere finally drawn – it felt almost alive to Meng Yao’s admittedly inferior senses, alive and vicious and cruel and bloodthirsty, and he remembered how he’d once laughed off A-Jue’s claim that death would inevitably follow if he drew his blade – and he’d been greeted by shouts of acclaim and admiration from his followers, cries of dismay and despair from his enemies. He’d still been dressed in an Empress’ robes, which he’d torn apart for more mobility, but no one had cared one bit.

I guess the problems really did start in the harem, Meng Yao thought to himself, and thought he might still be a little hysterical.

Jiang Cheng had shown up at some point, wielding some sort of lighting-whip; he’d only stopped long enough to pull Nie Huaisang into a brief embrace before continuing onwards, his voice snapping out orders as sharp and vicious as his weapon, his orders obeyed by what might or might not have been a secretly resurrected Jiang sect. And he was the least disturbing of their visitors – the Lan sect apparently had been hiding a demonic cultivator away in their placid and boring little mountain retreat, just waiting to bring his unique brand of necromancy to cause havoc in the Nightless City – !

“How did I miss all this?” Meng Yao found himself asking Nie Huaisang, who smiled at him.

“Scale,” he said. “You were so close to everything, and your ascension so abrupt, that you had no chance to catch us – by the time you were put in charge, everything was already in the works. You would have only been able to see the patterns as they were, not as Wen Ruohan would have had them be.”

That made sense.

“You came pretty close a few times, though,” Nie Huaisang added thoughtfully. “I had to deal with more than a few frantic messages from my brother – thanks for spilling that, by the way.”

Meng Yao could not, for the life of him, tell if Nie Huaisang was being sarcastic.

He did feel marginally appeased that he’d come close.

“Was it always supposed to happen now?” he asked, curious. “The lamp he retrieved – was it –”

“Oh, no, no, we’re three months early! The lamp wasn’t important at all; it was just something I dug up a reference to because I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist going after it and we needed him out of the way to set up the last few things we needed. And then da-ge got into a fight with him so that he’d get the idea to drag me with him – he’s vindictive like that, but also predictable – and that gave me the opportunity to keep on poisoning him. The whole thing was actually supposed to be at his birthday banquet, after he’d gotten drunk…it’s all your fault, you know.”

“Me?”

“He was going to execute you, as you’d suspected,” Nie Huaisang said. “Your methods would have forced his hand – he couldn’t have done it publicly, not and keep his self-image of the merit-rewarding Emperor intact. But he promised your father that you’d be dead before the month is out, even if he had to cause an ‘accident’ himself.”

Meng Yao shuddered. That’d been the one weakness of his plan: his weak cultivation, which Wen Ruohan could have used to excuse a death from a supposedly ‘friendly’ interaction.

Still, that wasn’t the key part of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“You sped up your plans – for me?” he asked, confused, and Nie Huaisang nodded. “Why?”

“My brother likes you! He doesn’t like just about anybody, really,” Nie Huaisang said, voice blithe and merry as it had always been, something that raised Meng Yao’s hackles more than relaxed him. Clearly Nie Huaisang wasn’t anywhere near as useless and head-in the-sky, dreamy and idealistic, as he’d appeared for years. “Especially when it turned out that you were easy enough to convince into not continuing to commit atrocities as long as another route was offered – you don’t know how hard some people find that, and of course you did come out of the Fire Palace, very suspicious, but all in all you passed your trial period with flying colors. So obviously we couldn’t let you just die, could we?”

“…this humble one thanks you,” Meng Yao forced himself to say.

Nie Huaisang waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, you’re a good administrator,” he said. “And there’s still the Nightless City and all the Empire left to manage. You don’t mind, do you? There should be fewer assassination attempts now.”

Meng Yao frowned. “Those attempts…?”

“We spread word that Wen Ruohan was planning on keeping you,” Nie Huaisang said, and he didn’t even sound apologetic. “Obviously Wen Ruohan had already encouraged all those he thought were his enemies to attack you, but we tried to lure out the rest of them: his most faithful servants, the greedy and the vile – that part of the plan was before we got to know you. Or, well, before my brother did. He felt so bad after a while…I don’t see why. He protected you, and together you got rid of any number of the people who would have been our fiercest enemies! So what if you had to endure a little stress?”

No, Nie Huaisang was definitely not useless and dreamy and idealistic.

“Now there’s really only one problem,” Nie Huisang mused. “It’d be strange if you went from being Wen Ruohan’s viceroy to being ours, so we need to give you a new position. But what would suit…?”

“Huaisang! Meng Yao!”

They both turned.

A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, why couldn’t he remember – strode towards them. He’d changed into proper robes at some point, dark ones that could handle bloodstains, and he looked like a war-god, shining with power as bright as sunlight. He was every bit as powerful as Wen Ruohan was, in his own way – the blazing sun to Wen Ruohan’s dark and ominous hurricane – but that wasn’t so much of a surprise, given as he was such a ridiculous cultivation maniac…and, oh, they’d made jokes about the Empress right in front of him. They’d joked about her dual cultivating with the Emperor in front of him – !

No wonder he was so powerful. Wen Ruohan literally shared his spiritual energy with Nie Mingjue, presumably for years, the cultivation making them both grow more powerful and creating a connection between them, a connection that Nie Mingjue had used to drain all that power away from a weakened Wen Ruohan – Nie Huaisang’s unspecified poison, presumably – and then to sever the bond between them when he severed the erstwhile Emperor’s head.

A-Jue smiled at them both, just as free and easy and straightforward as he’d ever been.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally met!” he said, beaming. “You’re very similar, in some ways; I think you’ll get along excellently. Which is good, because I’ll need all the help I can get –”

And then he started talking about a publicity campaign, rearranging the army, and tax reform, about implementing Meng Yao’s system of random audits for more than just wheat and expanding the Watchtowers concept across the entire Empire, and Meng Yao stupidly felt a little like someone had given him flowers and romantic poetry written just for him.

At his side, Nie Huaisang started giggling.

“Oh,” he said. “Well there’s always that, I suppose. It’ll work quite well. I think you’ll make a very nice Empress, Meng Yao – perhaps a bit more sociable than our last, wouldn’t you say?”

The pinnacle of power, Meng Yao thought to himself, and shrugged, accepting his likely fate with a smile that he thought was even genuine. And why not? He could have everything he’d had under Wen Ruohan, except with a leader that would actually listen to him – that he had already trained to listen to him – and it would good for them, too. They’d keep him around, he was sure of it.

After all – good help was so very hard to find.

[wickedpact]

A ranking of all the TTT stories in order of how much I liked them.

(Oh god this is so long)

1 My Mother's Axe

BABY ANDYYYYYYYYYYYY. Honestly this one had the trifecta of developing a character's motivations, developing a character's backstory, & developing their personality. The story starting out with Andy teaching Nile to use the axe was so charming and fun, and you could feel that chemistry they had in Opening Fire, the way they teased and bickered with each other so naturally. I loved the wedge between them on the subject of the axe, how Nile was perhaps a little too young to understand Andy's feelings about whether or not its the 'same' axe. I also love how the axe is obviously the symbol of the franchise and hugely important, but you never get a sense of exactly how important it is to Andy until you read the story.

I love the entire Ship of Theseus theme, and how it feels so natural that for Andy she has to get attached to the idea of things rather than the things themselves because she'll always outlive the things themselves-- the axe is symbolically her mom's axe, even if physically it isn't. And I love how she clearly clings to that concept so tightly. "This is the labrys she held in her hands...." IT GETS ME.

And the fact that this sense of BELONGING, of FAMILY, of CULTURE is so important to Andy that she clings to it (figuratively and literally) with both hands. And of course it's important to her, she spent so long alone that the woman doesn't even remember her birth name. That axe (or the idea of that axe) is all she has left of her mother and that family/culture she was born into.

PLUS on that note I love how Andy doesn't remember if her mom was her actual biological mother, but it doesn't matter to her. This woman was her mother in all the ways that counted. And how her mom BETRAYED AND KILLED Andy but Andy loved her so much that she avenged her and carried her axe for thousands of years. THOUSANDS OF YEARS!!!!!!

I also loved how the story transcends the timeline of the whole franchise and seeing Andy through the years. Loved seeing her with the varying squads and with varying axes. Also baby Andy was so cute. It was cool seeing her so young. like holy fuck. Andromache The Scythian, Immortal Warrior (but smol). Love that.

Also I think this one is one of the few ttt stories that doesn't suffer from length problems.

tldr: goddammit greg you've done it again.

2 Zanzibar and Other Harbors

Zanzibar my beloved. I've said before, but it's downright comedic how little regard there was for Joe and Nicky's character designs in this story. The same person who does the colors for the regular comic did the colors for this one too, and you can tell, every panel of this story was Beautiful.

Ik there was A Lot of criticism of this one (lmao @ how the fandom had no idea what was to come) but I thought a lot of The Discourse was a bit dramatic. I did think Nicky came off as a little oblivious to Joe's feelings in this story, but I've said before, I honestly think that was a 'tone not translating' thing. It felt like Nicky was nagging Joe for [checks notes] saving innocent people, but Joe was so amused by Nicky's complaints I really do think it was supposed to come off as teasing.

Plus I know the 'Joe running off into danger and Nicky reluctantly following' dynamic wasn't popular (I'm a pretty meh on it meself) but I did love how Joe's impulsiveness (if you want to call it that) was interpreted as heroism and not hot-hotheadedness. All of the examples Nicky and Joe talked about included Joe explicitly saving people. (and it also took A Lot for the nazi to actually provoke Joe).

I also feel like their characterization here was closest to the movie canon-- the bit where they hear the woman scream and Joe goes running in to save her while Nicky swoops in on Joe's heels to comfort her while Joe and the nazi were fighting reminds me of the train car scene. Joe had suggested First that they go find Nile because she needed to be protected, and Nicky later added that Nile probably also needed emotional support. Similar reactions.

But it was So Good, the themes of queer community and the enduring nature of queer culture are Not themes you see in media that often and it was such a delight how it was done. Also it's one of the few more modern TTT stories that has a completely valid excuse for taking place when it did. Chef's kiss.

3 Passchendaele

I love the Duality between seeing baby Andy and then seeing Mama Andy in the very next issue. This story doesn't have a ton of meat to it, but the entire concept of Andy adopting a war orphan straight off the battlefield PLUCKS MY TENDER LITTLE HEARTSTRINGS, and I think it's especially poignant for comic!Andy. I think most people wouldn't think twice about movie!Andy doing something like that but comic Andy is so hardened and almost cruel sometimes, and seeing that even for her the world hasn't beaten all of the compassion from her yet is SO!!!!!!! this woman contains MULTITUDES okay, she's violent and angry and tired and Done but she's also so kind and compassionate and THE STRENGTH OF HER!!!!! Also the idea of her and Yitzhak co-raising a kid together is so damn cute. It was #mysterious pre-Yitzhak-story but now it's cute. holy fuck. It's cute.

& the headbonk panel of her and Zeus lives in my heart. anyways.

4 Many Happy Returns

I Know people weren't thrilled about Booker being in this one, but I've developed a pet-peeve about that: this story was *not* booker-centric. Booker only exists in this story to the extent required to explain the importance of the gesture Nile makes towards him. If there was a story about Booker making some grand gesture of kindness to Nile no one would be saying it was Nile-centric. bc it wouldn't be! Booker exists in this story to explore Nile's kindness, its not about him. I saw that a couple times and it bothered me. anyways.

AAAAAAAAAA I loved this one, the art was beautiful, I loved how Andy Nile and Booker were drawn (like their comic selves but.. more looking like actual people). I loved Andy and Nile's Bants, how Andy wanted to jump right in and Do Violence but Nile was basically telling her to hold her horses.

I feel like I'm just repeating the post I made on this story a few days ago, but I LOVED how Nile's plan revolves not around violence or Cool Mercenary Skills but on Nile's own life skills (as she canonly did a lot of minimum wage job-hopping before the marines in comics canon). Her plan used her skills, not the skills of an immortal warrior, and HER SKILLS were in fact more useful for the situation! lov to see Nile's resourcefulness and planning skills.

AND HOW NILE WAS PROBABLY WATCHING BOOKER??? it's so Much bc 1.) nile knew booker A SINGLE DAY and yet he made such an impression on her emotionally that she had to keep an eye on him and 2.) she said in the movie she wanted Booker to get off free with an apology. Yes she's a member of the team but that doesn't mean she's necessarily going to follow orders like a good little soldier. I also love how she convinced Andy to go along with it. her HEART, her KINDNESS, her THOUGHTFULNESS, UGH.

5 The Bear

Honestly I have like no negative things to say about this one other than a.) character design issues which is less about the story itself and is more of a 'tog comic in general' criticism and b.) too short, but it was supposed to be a tease, so.

But I loved Yitzhak, I wasn't expecting to really like him at all but like I said in my other post, he tickled me. I love characters who are Kind™, especially if they have little reason to be so given their backgrounds. Chef's kiss. Lov him.

6 Bonsai Shokunin

I know this one was a little controversial bc of the outsider POV but whenever I see people upset about that they never point out that the Outsider Guy (the samurai) existed as a reflection on Noriko. His ideas are explained in the text to develop hers. The whole story follows how she gave mercy to a scared young man and in response he murdered Noriko, repeatedly! Who gave him the right to inflict such pain and suffering on the world? In his opinion, the lack of response from the gods was his permission. And for Noriko-- over and over again she dies and suffers because she gave mercy, which lines up with her ideas in FM about how it's their fate to rule mortals and if they don't align with that plan/fate/whatever then they suffer. It shows some background to those ideas and how they developed in her mind outside of Ocean Madness™. Additionally, his idea of 'the Gods have done nothing to strike me down so it's fine if I do these things' kind of explains how Noriko may justify her own morally corrupt actions-- she's died so many times and it's never stuck. Maybe if she did die any of those times, or while she was in the water, maybe that would've been a sign she was doing something right, or at least doing something normal. But she hasn't died. Fate isn't done with Noriko yet. And maybe there's a reason for that. In her mind, it's just not a very pleasant reason, is all.

There were things I was kind of meh about tho. I did kind of wish we saw something of Noriko and the team, or smth explaining the way she was before her dip in the pool-- personality, likes dislikes, etc. but it wasn't bad or anything. It was super vague tho, I had to read it a few times before I got what it was going for. Liked the art. Liked the bonsai metaphor. And of course I Respect the decision to use the 1300s (1200s? I don't remember off the top of my head) rather than using the last 200 years.

7 Strong Medicine

Honestly looking back, this one made me kind of sad because both this one and Bonsai Shokunin explored character's ideas on Fate and The Divine and how that intersects with immortality and I totally thought that theme would be continued, especially with Love Letters. But Then It Wasn't™.

Admittedly.... I had to re-read this one to remember most of it. I liked Booker's ideas on God, 'The conductor of the symphony just may not be very good at his trade' but the plot itself was kind of forgettable. Some fuckin cowboys try to kill a doctor (their second) because he couldn't save their sickly brother. Book tries to stop them, gets killed, and then comes back and kills them all before they get the doctor. Alright. I liked the artstyle because the characters were ugly in a similar way that leandro's are, but way more bearable.

I love the Irony of Booker concluding that there is no such thing as fate or destiny and nothing has meaning, AS HE UNKNOWINGLY SAVES MERRICK'S GRANDFATHER FROM BEING KILLED. Booker getting fucked over by life/god/destiny yet again. It also kind of explains about where the fuck hell Merrick's interest in immortal mercenaries even came from.

I originally had this one a lot higher and then I thought about it and moved it down like two spots.

8 Never Gets Old

I liked seeing Booker interact with his kid. And we got a name for the kid! Philippe was a little bitch though, he was a little obnoxious. I liked how Booker was so thrilled to experience a restaurant with his kid (and since we know he was there before, it can be assumed he went with all of his kids and yet he was so charmed each time). It fits with his line to Nicky in the moon landing story about how you don't appreciate beautiful things 'unless you have someone to share them with'. It was charming to see Booker interact with his kid, and to see him so happy. Also lmao @ Booker's big fat Ye Olde Crush on Andy.

However at the same time it was like.. of all the things to write about,,, I guess? Booker's Night Out...... alright. Especially since Book had so many stories.

I don't know, it was alright. The old man killing him really came out of nowhere, (but the 'Salut, asshole!' panel was funny tho).

9 How To Make a Ghost Town

I've hit a point where talking about these stories has gotten less fun. I liked this one but I felt like Achilles getting lynched was not really necessary for a story that was already tragic (a story that already involved Achilles doing a lot of suffering at the hand of bigots). When we first got the blurb for this story I thought it would be about Andy returning to the squad and making friends with Booker after losing Achilles and them butting heads on the idea of family and when to cut off ties. So a little bit of my underwhelmedness about this one might be just my expectations being different.

Honestly I was pretty interested in Andy and Achilles' relationship and I would've liked to see more of them-- like, what was their dynamic like? What did they love about each other?

But anyways Andy leaving and Achilles getting killed anyways feels so pointlessly tragic (which I suppose is the point..... I don't like tragedies) she left to save him and yet people killed him anyway. Meh.

I did love the bits about Andy wanting to have a domestic life (Andy and her multitudes again) and the little detail about how she buried her axe near the road but he buried his guns under his bed-- he was an escaped slave, he never had the luxury of assuredness like Andy did. It was a sad story.

10 Lacus Solitudinis

'You put this one above love letters crim??? how could you???' easy, lmao.

There was stuff in this one I liked. But to talk about stuff I didn't like: (I'll keep it brief, I know ragging on this story has been done time and time again)

UH, setting aside the 6 year cold shoulder between Joe and Nicky, I thought their chosen method of conflict resolution was... bad at best. Nicky's inability to talk about his feelings was also annoying, especially since the entire point of this story is a fight Joe and Nicky had, and yet we don't get both sides to the story, which is...... important? That fact is especially annoying bc in the absence of Nicky explaining his side of the story, it's absolutely a possible (and admittedly probably unintentional) interpretation of the text that we do get that Joe routinely resolves conflict between him and Nicky by simply cutting Nicky out of his life entirely until Nicky just. caves? Even if it takes years?

WHICH i could get into that interpretation and how fucked up i find it. but im not going to. out of restraint.

I don't know, I think there are a lot of interesting ways to go about this conflict but 'Nicky wants to kill a guy and Joe refuses to acknowledge his existence until he stops because he thinks Nicky is too much of a Good Boy to get his hands dirty like that' ('I wont watch as the world turns his (...) compassion into something ugly'. ) wasn't.. how I would've done it. (I mean you know Joe doesn't give a shit about what Nicky is doing in a moral way, because Joe doesn't even care or mention that Booker is killing those cops too. Joe only cares because he doesn't like the idea of Nicky changing in a way he finds undesirable.)

admittedly I've said before, I do like the emphasis Joe's reaction puts on Nicky's kindness. Joe has a complete inability to cope with Nicky simply Not Being Kind. It speaks to the steadiness of Nicky's compassion all those years. but still that fact doesn't make it the conflict feel worth it

hm. I said I would be brief and I wasn't.

oh well. basically I thought there was interesting conflict potential there but it wasn't done the way I would've liked, and the way it was done leaves a lot of disturbing (and again probably unintended) interpretations to lie.

What I did like? Andy and Joe having that pessimist/optimist dynamic. Joe nerding out about science. Andy not being impressed by The Achievements Of Man. I loved Booker needling at Nicky about his outdated slang and also trying to give him Older Brother advice practically in the same breath. I loved Booker giving The Worst relationship advice ever and Nicky being like 'I Will Not Do That, Ever, Thanks.' the family vibes were so good. The Joenicky vibes left a lot to be desired tho.

11 Love Letters

I talked about my problems with Nicky in this story (and Lacus Solitudinis). I don't know, the story isn't bad but I do hold a little bit of a grudge towards it because its very existence begs the existence of a solo Joe story and we didn't get one. If we never got this story, then we could happily count Lacus Solitudinis and Zanzibar as The Joenicky Stories™ and move on with our lives. sigh.

I remember when we first got the blurb for this story I was really curious about why Nicky specifically + the setting, and the answer kind of feels like 'the author had an idea for a story like this and saw ttt as a good enough place to utilize that idea'. Plus I was really underwhelmed by the Romantic Sentiment in the letter. If you look at it line-by-line, the majority of the letter is actually Nicky talking about how lonely and disturbed he is, rather than actual,, yknow,,, Romantic Sentiment. I mean, compare the van speech and this letter and this letter is just kind of meh in comparison. I liked nicky calling joe wise! and I liked the brief sun/moon metaphor! and otherwise it was eh. It didn't even have cute squad banter, which is why Lacus Solitudinis is above this one.

12 An Old Soul

Nun orgy. Nun orgy?????? Nun orgy.......

The whole story felt like a setup to have a nun orgy. Why did Booker have abs? Why did they do that to Andy's nose? ?????? the art was good at least.

nun orgy.

[femmesandhoney]

yall this specific review of marina's album is so ugly. they're literally brought trans politics into an album about feminism out of nowhere. are you fucking kidding me. they're so mad marina didn't stop at every political problem to give a hearty solution and address random unrelated topics or to say the obvious like "oh women aren't black and white too though".

like just because she doesn't state all the intricacies' to every problem, doesn't mean her core messages of feminism are invalid or unworthy of respecting. the way she keeps saying "divine sacred feminine" instead of fucking feminism in a mocking way, which is marina's obvious message, to try and downplay any importance of her work. also they literally categorized this album as r&b. enough said about what kind of woman wrote this, outdated most def.

this section really irked me the most, cause wtf is this review of the album? but woman contain multitudes my ass. who is "them"? why are you bringing that up in the middle of an album review where marina is still fucking correct women barely make up any government positions and thats far more important to talk about than going "well, some women are bad in government" like okay! yeah that happens sometimes, but that's not what's she talking about!

so yeah, having a "narrow" focus on feminism muddles her entire album's messages...of feminism. totally makes sense.

[lunarimpact]

My darling, why are you so silent? ( saying nothing )

         for @writer-and-artist27 | written with @partialdignity

Time trudged on like a steady river, tenderly cradling the boat and all of its passengers. A gentle and steady river that flowed between the past, the present, and the achingly unknown future. In the gentle wake of the passage of time, the Archer felt most at home, in these moments where all seemed to be none the wiser to those who prowled the less-trafficked halls of the vessel and all the secrets which it contained. Where he might slip through the cracks, a forgettable shadow. A drifting soul. A wandering spirit.

It was in these untraveled and labyrinthine halls which he called home, that he found a queer sight. A door like no other, marred by ancient yellow talismans, seemingly undisturbed. A door which hardly belonged within the technologically advanced Nautilus, made of some ancient, blackened wood. A door which did not stir when he drew near, like any of the other metal doors. No whoosh of air, no electric stir. He had never seen a door like this, not within the many years, now, that he'd been active as Vy's servant. So, surely, hidden behind this door lay his unfamiliar prey, that slip of being which had appeared behind Vy like some aes sídhe of Annwn.

And so here he remained, watching over a door which never opened, and those pale talismans which bore red ink unstirring in the mild air-conditioning. Waiting, like a hound, uncalled upon by his dear Master. Waiting with all the patience in the world for some sign of life. Some stirring. A revelation about what lay beyond the door. Minutes turned to hours, time passing him by like an evening breeze. No one had yet come out of the sealed-up room tucked away in the back of the Nautilus, or if they had, they were better at stealth than anyone he'd ever met. Including that Count of Monte Cristo fellow and his whole 'literally sinks into the shadows' thing he did. 

Robin glowered at the faded seals, uncertain about their exact meaning since the Grail hadn't, this time, deigned to fill him in on the written alphabet of a multitude of languages. Or dialects, for that matter. Not so long as they hadn't mattered to his Master nor the staff at the former Chaldea, or the Nautilus. But looking at them, the complex characters which reminded him of some form of Chinese, perhaps, and taking in the sheer number plastered onto the door was enough to get a clue. They probably said some variant of keep out, which was something of a problem when what he wanted to do was get in.

Just a little peek. Just to make sure that he wasn't half-mad from the summer heat on that day. That he hadn't hallucinated the pale figure whose crimson eyes sparkled with a dangerous delight, who had smiled at him with all the mischief of a fair folk, letting a new sunhat slip from slender fingers, with blackened fingernails. An unexpected gift falling upon his master's head. Only for them to disappear immediately after like some kind of ghost. No harm done, but the promise of it had remained, lingering around Vy for a long time, even if she hadn't noticed.

He'd had enough of ghosts lately, between the Lostbelts and BB's revamped Luluhawa. One more unknown popping up so suddenly just made his scalp itch. And one who had held an aura like that pulled at his memory of Yu Mei-Ren, with all of her hatred and anger, her venomous tongue. But there was something else, something darker. It wasn't like making eye contact with a Beast, nothing like looking into Kiara's hungry gaze. It was unsettling. Nameless.

Robin had, for a brief moment, felt as though he might lose Vy right then and there, with that stranger standing behind her. A wolf about to descend upon a sheep.

He shivered, all at once unsettled by the memory of that day. Of that briefest moment in time. Drawing himself back to the present, he looked once more upon the ebony wood door. He moved from his spot, eager to slip away. Eager to rid himself of it. He'd come back, of course, for his investigation was hardly over. He just needed to stretch his legs, clear his thoughts.

Still nothing, he noted, after making another circuit of the hallway. Whoever was inside, if anyone at all, must not get out much. Or had no reason to, which could well be the case.

Scratching at his cheek, he let No Face May King settle back into place, digging into the reserves of his patience and resolving to wait a little longer. He was a decent hunter for a somewhat more modern spirit. He could wait unless the little sparrow needed him.

                  ⬧                          ⬧                          ⬧      

"...he is still out there," Ao Bing sighed, the rustle of his sleeves seeming loud in the otherwise quiet room. Frowning at the closed door, he permitted himself a soft tsk as the inquisitive spirit on the other side took up its nosy post.

"Perhaps the Captain neglected to explain how loitering is rude to him," the dragon mused softly, not quite ignorant to the other in the room. The dark-haired being who had bound him to their side in a questionable contract, who sat at an antique writing table. The all too familiar pungent smell of the ink-stone made him wrinkle his nose, but he wasn't planning to fuss at the other as they lazily practiced their calligraphy. The ancient characters were brought to life upon the paper, blackened brush dragging just slightly, not enough to leave a mess. Nor enough to alter the words into something unsuitable for one who looked so young.

"Would you rather be out playing with xiǎo hǔ?" Xiao hummed, never taking their gaze off the paper, nor the way their brush moved. Heat rushed to Ao Bing’s cheeks, indignation dancing upon his tongue. “I do not-”

“It’s alright, I understand that you miss them, and that I’m keeping you from them, but it is for your own sake. Much as what that spirit,” they paused, setting their brush to rest with care, “is doing this for the sake of his Master. I suppose I would too if I had some inkling of knowledge as to what awaits me in this very room. Still...

What size coffin do you think he intends to ask for?”

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 2

In which: Danny thinks, Talia is concerned, and we finally see Ra's al Ghul's pride an joy: the Lazarus pit

AO3 | Prologue | 1 | [ 2 ] | 3 |

---

DANNY COUNTS THE DAYS by the hours he is in the monitor room. One hour is all that he is allowed. One hour after a day of learning and fighting, of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘stand up straighter, boy’ and ‘remember that you have feet.’ Of being handed a sword only to have it knocked out of his hand (pickitup-pickitup-pick-it-up). Of ‘here’s eight plants, only one of them is the antidote to the poison you just ingested, and you better hope you remember the difference because this is the life you live now, Danny.’ This is what you agreed to for some time in front of a few television screen.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred measly fucking seconds was all he got to see his family before he’s ushered back to his room. Dark. Barren. Windowless.

God, when was the last time he saw the stars?

He spent his multitude of ‘one hours’ simply watching. That was all he could do, really. Watch and collect snatches of Amity—of Before. Like torn pieces of an antique photograph, unable to be restored but too precious to throw away.

Talia would call him too sentimental. Danny would love to remind Talia that if it wasn’t for her and her freaky older-than-dirt dad, Danny wouldn’t even need to be fucking sentimental.

Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

One more time.

There’s a voice in Danny’s head that sounded too much like Jazz telling him that this kind of behavior was unhealthy. The Jazz in Danny’s head didn’t exactly know why, though they’re both pretty sure that constantly watching your family and friends move on after your death probably isn’t good for one’s sanity. Especially since Danny isn’t really dead.

Well.

Dead-er.

He isn’t—

(family-love-mememe-why aren’t they looking harder-don’t they care-they care-for their own good-what about-happy-no-me-them-me-them).

Truth be told, Danny isn’t angry that everyone in Amity seemed to be getting on with their lives. God, he’s seen how his suppsed-death affected them. He can’t—he won’t be responsible for holding them back from living when he can’t even be sure if he’ll ever be able to return to Amity again.

(He’s seen what happens when someone refuses to move on. Hell, the Zone is full of it. It’s either you obsess with grief…or you try to rip it out of yourself entirely.)

Danny wanted them to live on. Be happy. (With him.)The FentonWorks portal remained under constant vigilance, and since Pariah Dark, most ghosts recognized Amity as his haunt and tended to stay away. With any major threats he could only hope that Clockwork would step in somehow and at least keep it contained. Tucker and Sam were more than capable enough to handle most of his regular rogues gallery, especially if Red Huntress was backing them up too.

Amity…didn’t really need Danny anymore to protect it.

(Family-happy-protectprotectprotect-what?-safe-not safe-not needed).

For all that they tried to find out, Danny, Sam, and Tucker never did manage to figure out what his ghostly obsession was. Sam went out on a limb and said Heroism which…wasn’t quite right but fit the bill well enough.

And what was the point of heroes?

To build a world where they aren’t needed.

------

There was a noticeable shift in her son’s demeanor after he learned of the true nature of his parentage. Though it should be noted that while Talia showed a photograph of her beloved to Daniel, she did not disclose his true identity as to Ra’s al Ghul’s orders. Her father reasoned that it was more advantageous for Daniel to develop a closer connection with the maternal side of his family as opposed to the Waynes—a name that would be more familiar and thus better viewed than the strange people who kidnapped him.

No; ‘Recovered’ would be the most appropriate term. Daniel was her child. Would always be her child, no matter who raised him.

Daniel was…quieter. Somber. His eyes glazed yet sharp—blue eyes bloodshot despite maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Like pit madness with neither the madness nor the pit; simply the look of rage that bubbles beneath the skin, close to boiling over yet never there.

He continued to watch his false family obsessively. Yet…he had taken to watching Talia as well. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Small glances at the corner of his eye. Contemplative looks with furrowed brows whenever he presumed she did not notice. He had even taken to meticulously check his reflection in the mirror; pinching cheeks and turning his face this way and that, cataloguing his features as if to find what parts of him was from her—or perhaps if there was any part of him that ever resembled the paranormal scientists he once called parents.

Even if the physical similarities were not there, the DNA testing—regardless of the anomalies found in Daniel’s genes—was proof enough that he was her son.

“You have been keeping with your diet regimen, yes?” Asked one of the League’s physicians. He pressed his gloved fingers against Daniel’s skin, brushing the ridges of his ribcage. Marring her son’s skin was a large, faint scars. Fractals branching across his torso like the branches of a gruesome tree. “You are still too thin.”

“Fast metabolism,” Daniel mumbled. He is sat on an examination table in their medical wing, black shirt neatly folded beside him. His figure, though not skeletal, per se, was gaunt. His ribs poking from his pallor skin, stomach still concave for a boy who ate double the portions than any other member of the League of Assassins. “I’ve had it since the accident, but it’s never gotten this bad.”

The physician hummed, jotting his notes down along side the results of Danny’s vitals. The exact numbers were unknown to Talia, standing as she was by the door, though she could infer the results from previous physical examinations. (Low blood pressure and core body temperature. Faint pulse, slight tachycardia,) “Do you have any ideas why?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, eyes darting to the side as he always did whenever Phantom was related in anyway. His face was too open; Talia needed to train him out of that. “My…” He took a deep breath. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to stay very long in the Material world. It lacks the ectoplasmic energies that helps them ‘stay alive,’ so to speak. Usually they can supplement some of this by filtering some of the ambient energy in the atmosphere to strengthen themselves—it’s why Amity was such a hotspot for ghosts because of the large concentration of ectoplasm in the atmosphere—but it still isn’t a good long term solution.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Since I’m still somewhat human, I’m able to spend way more time in the Material world and can substitute spending days in the Zone by instead filtering ambient energy and eating.”

The physician made another noise, the tip of his pen tapping against the side of the clipboard. “So I take it then that, as your other half doesn’t have access to this ‘ambient energy’ as you call it, it is forced to take what energy it needs from the calories you’ve consumed, yes?”

“Basically.”

“What will happen if you do not have enough calories to supplement this energy?”

Danny shrugged, a rueful smile on his face. “Dunno. Maybe this time, death will stick.”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

Such a thing will not happen. She had been forced to give up on Daniel once, and then later on she lost her youngest to her beloved. Never again.

This child was hers.

------

“Father, did you not say that the anomalies found in Daniel’s DNA were similar in composition to the Lazarus pit?”

Ra’s al Ghul did not pause in pause in his reading to look up at Talia. The bird shaped magnifying glass held steady above the ancient manuscripts spread across his desk, eyes focused on the words and figures carefully inked onto the page. “Yes.” He set aside the magnifying glass and gently flipped the page. “It is what strengthened my belief of the connection between the Lazarus pit and these spirits.”

Talia straightened. “With your permission I would like to place Daniel into the pit.”

Her fathered looked up, curious. “You forget what the pit does to those who are in good health.”

She placed the results of Daniel’s most recent physical exam on to of his desk. Ra’s sat back in his chair and idly flipped through the folder, reading the contents as if no different to reading the newspaper instead of how his grandson is slowly being starved by his own biology. “Well, well. This would be a problem.”

He closed the folder, a wry grin curling at his lips. “Have him ready for tomorrow. I am curious as to how the pit would affect one already half-dead.”

------

Danny is awoken by Talia sometime the next day. “Come,” she said. “You do not need to change, so come quickly.”

He got off the bed with a silent groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. Somewhere that will help you.”

He snorted. “Letting me go home would help me.”

Talia doesn’t answer, simply waiting for him at the door. Danny groaned, combing away as much of his bedhead with his fingers as he followed her.

For the first time since being dragged to Nanda Parbat, Danny is allowed to venture beyond his small section of the compound.

He didn’t really know what to expect.

Still didn’t stop everything from being so…anticlimactic.

Beyond the steel door, normally kept locked and guarded by two of his shadow guards, was a hallway. Endlessly long with a wide pathway, lit enough by the fluorescent lights overhead but not enough to banish the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The hallway looked empty. ‘Looked’ being the key word, here. Even if he couldn’t see them, Danny would bet on his half-life that the shadows were teeming with life.

Talia led the way through the maze of twists and turns (were they underground?), a couple of shadow guards quietly following behind them.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Talia looked at him from over her shoulder for a moment, then turned away. “Have you heard of the Lazarus pits?”

“Lazarus? Like the guy who came back to life?” Neither of his parents were really religious. His dad only really Baptist in name because he was born into a Baptist family that, too, wasn’t overly strict in their religion. The only reason why Danny knew of this Lazarus guy was because of Mr. Lancer’s unit on Greco-Roman and Christian allusions.

Talia nodded, turning a corner. “The Lazarus pits are natural pools with restorative properties, capable of rejuvenating the body, healing grievous injuries, and even bringing the dead back to life.”

Danny nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? That’s—” Impossible. He ran up to Talia, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “What’s dead is dead. Resurrecting the dead goes against the natural law of the universe!”

“Well, you seem to be doing fine.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s different. I’m still dead, even if my entire existence seems like the but end of a Schrodinger’s joke.”

“Be that as it may, what I speak is truth.” She stopped in front of a door and opened it. Then, stepping aside to usher Danny in first. “See of yourself.”

Danny stepped inside, Talia following behind him, and—

Oh.

Before he even saw the pit, he could feel it. A low and steady hum reminiscent of the ghost portal. But…different. Not necessarily fainter but garbled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

The room was a large, open space, with stone walls framed by red wooden pillars. It was dim, lit only by the green glow of the pit that consumed the majority of the space. A square pool of too-clear waters and toxic-looking steam rising from the surface.

The waters felt of the Zone but…not.

“Ah, Daniel.” He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Ra’s al Ghul stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands folded behind his back. The green glow highlighted the sharp contours of his face; the shadows that clung to him only making his visage harsher. “It is good to see you.”

Danny greeted the Demon’s Head with a League salute. “Grandfather.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue despite being in English. To formal for a boy who never really had the chance to interact with his own grandparents. But Danny was told to refer to Ra’s like this, and so he did. (He was only grateful Talia didn’t insist on calling her ‘mother.’)

Ra’s al Ghul was an enigma. Centuries old yet he looked only about a decade older than his mom and dad. (Jack and Maddie Fenton will always be his mom and dad. They raised him. Loved him, in their own eccentric, science-y way. No blood test or adoption or ninja-assassins could change that). Like Danny’s still-unnamed biological father, Ra’s carried himself with theatrical purpose. Comically villainous in his attire and grand gestures, though unlike Vlad, Ra’s had this overwhelmingly intimidating presence that engulfed whatever room he stepped in.

Ra’s was a man that commanded attention as opposed to demanding it. And now, at the focus of the man’s calculating gaze, Danny could not help but stand stiff at attention.

“You’re mother was right,” Ra’s said. Danny barely restrained himself from perking up at that word. “You are wasting away, Daniel.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Well, at least you still have that fire in you.”

Danny startled, slapping his hand over his mouth. Shit, he didn’t know he said that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia suppressed a small smile.

“You have that in common with the Detective,” Ra’s continue, circling Danny like a carrion that spotted its next meal. “That and the rather foolish notion on not properly reporting the extent of your injuries.”

“With all due respect, grandfather, I wasn’t expecting on staying here for this long.”

Ra’s gave him a knowing look. “But something is keeping you here, isn’t it?”

“Keeping my family and friends hostage is a pretty good motivator, apparently.” An insidious thought bubbled in Danny’s mind. But that isn’t all, is it?”

“I have consulted your mother and your physician as to the nature of your condition, and I have decided that the Lazarus pit would be a sufficient way to restore your health.” He gestured to the pool. “It appears that your DNA shares several similarities to the composition to the Lazarus pit.”

Danny crouched at the edge of the pit, hovering his hand above the water’s surface. “It’s because it contains ectoplasm. An impure kind, I think.”

“Will the impurities be harmful to you?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so? My body can filter out the impurities just fine, it’s just that I’ve never encountered thistype of ectoplasm before. It’s so clear and—aqueous, I think is the word.”

There’s a strange glint in Ra’s eyes. Dare Danny say it, it even looked mischievous. It made him uneasy, and just as Danny made a move to step back, Ra’s al Ghul picked him up by the collar of his night shirt—

And threw Danny into the Lazarus Pit.

[winepresswrath]

what if... i just posted a bunch of  highly specific and possibly controversial Silmarillion opinions backed up by varying degrees of canon (or not)

i think the cousins were in fact A Family and even caranthir got in on it which is why he decides it would be a good idea to make fun of angrod instead of being cool about the noldor’s envoy to doriath

it is extremely telling that curufin and celegorm were so close with one of fingolfin’s kids. curufin (CURUFIN) loves aredhel and explicitly acknowledges her as his kinswoman even after shit has gotten quite ugly

this is not to say people didn’t get mad but i think it is an anger that has its roots in love and broken trust

like it’s substantially worse if they love each other

finarfin totally reserved every good holiday for olwe and mostly chilled in alqualonde trying not to think too hard about what his brothers were doing

sadly for him tirion was sometimes inescapable

and then totally inescapable

even for findis who definitely climbed way the fuck up taniquetil and only came down once shit was well and truly underway and her mom needed the moral support

finrod actually being super mad about his cousins murdering his other cousins and just faking all the camping and hosting never really sits right with me. i think there’s a political dimension to his forgiveness, in that he’s keenly aware his forgiveness will help create a (more) united front and gives them a better shot at survival, but i also think he means it when he says they have shown friendship to him in every need. like sometime you don’t want to be mad and i think finrod is a person who is good at deciding to Let it Go

until the crown throwing incident then he’s real mad

every time i picture finrod i come up with a hot blond charles the second by way of horrible histories. the king who brought back partying.

galadriel was likewise attached to celebrimbor both as his own person and as a remnant of some people who she used to love and eventually did not recognize

i’ve always been charmed by that one line that mentions she saw the stain of morgoth on feanor but failed to see it on everyone else, and have shamelessly run with it to conclude that even if she thought her cousins were obnoxious she had identified feanor specifically as The Problem

honestly while finarfins are clearly team fingolfin in their way i also think of them as very into ethereally floating above the fray with their advanced meditation practices and organic smoothies, telling everyone else about how they too could float if they consumed more antioxidents. except for angrod, who has a list, and galadriel, who smugly floats while also spitefully yearning to expel feanor from the family group chat. she can do both. she contains multitudes.

she was PISSED when feanor was expelled from the family group chat and so her grandpa and cousins also left in protest.

i’m into the idea of her bumping into maglor and telling him what happened to celebrimbor

feanor tried to be a good dad but was not actually a very good dad

i also think he did actually accidentally bbq his baby. these issues are separate but related.

oops

orodreth is angrod’s son and argon is not only real but essential

also noble

that felt good

[mordoriscalling]

Secret pt.2

A follow up to my fanfic about Geralt talking (and eventually confessing his love) to Jaskier in Polish, thinking that Jaskier doesn’t understand. @artistsfuneral came up with that glorious idea in this fic! Now, pt 2 is about how Jaskier learns the language, as requested by blue_midnight on AO3. Hope you enjoy! 

(This fic also includes background, brief Lambert/ Aiden)

At the beginning, Jaskier suspects that it’s Geralt’s way of being as rude as possible. Why on earth act like that, he has no idea, but one thing is for certain: the rustling sounds leaving Geralt’s mouth, which Jaskier thinks are supposed to be words, are set to drive him insane.

It must be some kind of language. Geralt uses it when talking to his horse a lot. Jaskier almost finds the behaviour endearing but then the witcher speaks in that tongue when answering many of his questions. Jaskier just wants to get them better acquainted but Geralt couldn’t care less about the offerings of friendship, apparently.

Even though the witcher can be a right bastard like that, one thing is clear from the very start: Jaskier can only wish to be half the man Geralt is, but the world thinks it’s Geralt who is less than human. Jaskier finds he can’t stand by and let it happen.

It’s a simple exchange. They both need each other to prove that they’re more than what everyone thinks they are. The transaction is uncomplicated: Geralt fights monsters for Jaskier to sing about, Jaskier softens the hearts and the minds. As time passes, however, it changes and becomes more complex: they share food, rooms and coin, start caring for each other in all the small but significant ways.

Five years pass and it’s a friendship in full bloom, but Geralt still often talks to him and snaps at him in that damned tongue, like he doesn’t think Jaskier worthy of knowing his thoughts. It’s never stopped angering him but at this point, he’s also intrigued in what Geralt wants to hide and why the hell it seems to concern him so often. (A certain feeling that shall not be named blooms in his chest at the thought and he squashes it).

Then there’s that one bath. Geralt looks at him as if he was the most fascinating puzzle in the world which, fair, Jaskier is interesting if he does say so himself, but not that much. It’s on that day that he decides to learn that bloody language, even if it’s the last thing he does.

Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt that winter and searches the vast library through and through. The librarians shoot him looks indicating their suspicion about him being a maniac but Jaskier is simply a man on a mission. In the middle of winter, his madness finally bears fruit – he finds an ancient book written in a language he has never seen. “Wiedźmiński bestiariusz” the title says. Inside, there’s a loose piece of parchment with the first few paragraphs of the book translated, including the title – “Witcher Bestiary”. The book is full of sketches of monsters and descriptions, the words containing several strange letters. Many passages aren’t readable anymore because they’ve faded with age but Jaskier treasures the book anyway. He spends the rest of the winter copying all the legible pages, indulging in life’s pleasures much less, which only fuels the rumours of his insanity. All the while, he hopes that this is the language Geralt has been using.

The answer comes surprisingly quickly in the surprising shape of another wolf witcher. They stumble upon each other in late spring in Redania. It’s such a funny coincidence that there’s no way Jaskier’s not going to make the best of it.

“See, master witcher,” Jaskier says as they drink ale together, “When I rummaged through my university’s library, I stumbled upon an interesting volume.” He forgets to mention the translated passages as he pulls out his copy of the book and lays it on the table in front of Lambert. The witcher’s eyes widen when they rest upon the title and Jaskier knows this is it. He grins and carries on, “It seems to be full of precious knowledge and wisdom, yet it’s written in a language I don’t understand. It concerns monsters, so I was hoping a witcher could assist me in decoding this tongue.”

Lambert says nothing for some time, only regarding Jaskier with suspicion. “Why would you want to learn it?” he questions.

“Call it academic curiosity.”

The witcher’s eyes narrow. Hadn’t Jaskier spent so much time with Geralt, he would certainly squirm under the hot, searching gaze.

“It’s not a secret language of your guild, is it?” he asks to break the tense silence.

“It’s not,” Lambert answers, “But no one really bothered before, is the thing. Dunno what to make of you.”

Jaskier sighs and decides to reveal the malice of his intentions because, from what little Geralt told him of his brothers, he knows that Lambert will appreciate it. “Listen,” he says as he leans in towards the red-haired witcher, “just imagine how it’ll freak Geralt out when he finds out.”

Lambert lets out a delighted laugh. “Fuck, I wanna be there when it happens.”

Jaskier can’t make any promises of the sort, so he says nothing to that. Instead, he asks, “Do we have a deal, then?”

“We’ll see.”

Lambert’s reserve didn’t make sense at that moment but Jaskier almost wishes he didn’t find out why the witcher was so cautious about his enthusiasm.

It turns out the language is a demonic creation. Lambert starts explaining some basic words and phrases to him and it already makes Jaskier’s head spin – there are so many forms and conjugations that Jaskier’s task of achieving fluency in that damned tongue suddenly appears almost too daunting. Almost.

He still wants to see the look on Geralt’s bloody beautiful face.

Lambert lets Jaskier join him on the Path for a few weeks. Throughout that time, he teaches Jaskier a bit more, especially how to read in the language. The wonderful thing about it is that, once he knows all the rules of pronunciation, he can read everything out loud. The dreadful thing is that the pronunciation itself is so tough and tongue-twisting that it may as well be a form of diabolical punishment inflicted upon Jaskier for all the transgressions he committed.

Lambert laughs when he voices his frustrations. “Przyzwyczaisz się.” You’ll get used to it, the witcher answers, his voice producing the mad consonant clusters with ease.

“I doubt it,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath.

The two of them part ways as Jaskier pays for Lambert’s services with a song. Jaskier saw the wolf witcher take down a vampire in a truly spectacular manner, so it was no hardship. After Lambert leaves, Jaskier starts learning on his own. Whenever Geralt hunts, he reads out loud from his copy of the bestiary (and how Geralt never overhears it is truly beyond him. Melitele likes him calling upon her tits so frequently, it seems). He tries to decipher the words in the book using all knowledge he has, translating some more passages. He and Lambert also exchange letters but Jaskier fails at writing in the tongue miserably. The last one he wrote returns to him with a multitude of Lambert’s corrections and a short note from the witcher himself:

"Cały list do przepisania, skowroneczku." The whole letter needs rewriting, little lark.

Jaskier huffs at the nickname, ruffling his figurative feathers in indignation. Although a lark’s voice is beautiful, very much so, its plumage is too plain. Jaskier could never. He would be a blackbird at the very least. Or a siskin. A bullfinch, preferably. If Jaskier was honest, a peacock would best fit to describe his exterior, but the sounds peacocks make aren’t pleasant, so he would be willing to settle on some colourful songbird.

Damn Lambert, in any case. The witcher knows far too well how to rile him up. It’s a bit unnerving.

"Skowronek to nie jak ja." Lark doesn’t sound like me, Jaskier answers in the next letter.

"Rzeczywiście, tak ładnie nie śpiewasz." True, your singing isn’t that pretty, Lambert writes back.  

Damn him indeed. Jaskier responds to that comment with a simple, efficient “fuck you”, to which Lambert replies “chciałbyś” you wish.

Jaskier can’t exactly deny this. He would certainly show his appreciation for Lambert’s fiery spirit if not for one little, tiny problem. The problem is so minuscule that Jaskier does everything in his power not to think about it. He seeks out lovers constantly and falls into the Countess de Stael’s arms almost every winter. She wants his attention now, as it’s a puppy love no longer, but during his stay at her palace, someone else always catches his attention. She kicks him out the moment she finds out. And so their romance goes, rinse and repeat.

No matter whether Jaskier winters at the Countess’s court, Oxenfurt, or some other place, he always devotes much of his free time to search for any book containing the Witcher tongue, as Jaskier started calling it. There isn’t much anywhere, and Lambert’s letters are few and far in between. Jaskier can feel himself getting stagnant in his learning and he can’t afford it. Not now, after six years of gargantuan effort that he’s put in already. Not when Geralt sometimes says something to him in that quiet, warm voice, and he still doesn’t understand.

Jaskier seems to enjoy more of Melitele’s blessing than he really should because, just when he’s getting desperate, there’s a godsend dropped on his way on a lovely spring day.

Quite literally dropped, since that witcher falls from a tree Jaskier’s about to walk under as he’s on his way to find Geralt. There’s a cat medallion around the witcher’s neck, and his body is gravely injured. He’s unconscious and Jaskier takes the liberty to use his witcher potions to help him not die. After he finally opens his eyes the next day, he introduces himself as Aiden.

It takes Aiden two more days to stand back on his feet. Soon after he manages that, Jaskier makes him trip when he speaks in the Witcher tongue to him, and the poor Cat witcher actually falls to the ground when Jaskier mentions Lambert. Sensing some story there, he sticks by Aiden’s side for a week or two. They make fast friends and promise to write to each other frequently.

Aiden’s letters are just what Jaskier needs to improve. The witcher is more expansive than Lambert and a touch flirty, which is perfect. As their correspondence goes on, Jaskier grows to like him only more and more. Not that much, though; he’s still stuck in the merry old mess of admiration and friendly affection getting out of hand. At least he’s not the only one – the story that Aiden and Lambert share is there in the letters, between the lines, and Jaskier is clever enough to see it.

Jaskier and Aiden meet for a drink in Novigrad once. When they’re deep into their cups, they start whining about their predicament.

“Cholerne wilki.” Damned wolves, Aiden grumbles.

“Cholerne wilki.” Damned wolves, Jaskier agrees wholeheartedly.

Ten years of learning the Witcher tongue have passed when Jaskier finds Geralt fishing for a djin in the lake near Rinde. He’s known Geralt for sixteen years now, so it takes him exactly one moment to see through the sorry excuse of insomnia. Destiny can’t be trifled with like that, he knows, so he doesn’t let it happen.

When Jaskier sings his friend to sleep, Geralt wonders about deserving him, that silly witcher. As if it wasn’t Jaskier who could only dream of deserving Geralt. As if Jaskier wasn’t a cheater, a homewrecker and a bastard who shouldn’t even deserve to look into those warm, gold eyes that allow a peek into the heart of gold.

As they meet Yennefer, the chemistry between her and Geralt is so strong that Jaskier can almost see the sparkles fly. Jaskier holds his breath all throughout their stay in Rinde. After they leave and nothing happens, there’s no relief. Now the witcher and the sorceress can get together any time and Jaskier turns bitter at the ripe, sweet age of thirty-four.

He lets go of many things after that. The silly affair with the Countess, caring about what the educated think about his works. He lives, breathes and grows, at last, fuelled by the one thing that he’s driven by best – sheer, absolute spite. Jaskier’s learnt the Witcher tongue out of spite (among other motives that he refuses to think about), and out of spite he will survive now, no matter how much he worries about a purple-eyes sorceress being such a great match for the White Wolf that even he wants to write a ballad about it.

Jaskier doesn’t ask, of course, and Geralt doesn’t say. They keep travelling together and Jaskier basks in the glory of knowing exactly what Geralt says about him when the witcher thinks he doesn’t understand. It’s wildly satisfying indeed but only up to a point – until the day Geralt calls him beautiful. Jaskier accepts the compliment with a smile, since it is the truth after all, but he can’t trust his voice to answer. He tries to fight the idiotic hope blooming in his chest and blames the warmth in Geralt’s gaze on the firelight. He reminds himself that Geralt doesn’t see him that way because it’s only women that the witcher’s ever been interested in. Life goes on.

Then his world crashes around him as he hears the words about love leaving Geralt’s mouth. That is when he can’t hold it in anymore and his secret is out. Or both his secrets, really.

It’s so freeing that he’s heady. Or maybe the giddiness can be all on Geralt. Or perhaps on the fact that, when Jaskier bares his heart in the Witcher tongue, it touches the witcher’s heart to its very core. He can feel it, in the way Geralt clings to him, and he already knows he won’t find any words to describe it properly in any language he knows.

That's how he knows it's something worth living and loving for - it means too much for words.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it! This fic is also available on AO3. Part 3 is coming, hopefully soon. It will be a 5+1 kind of thing about Geralt and Jaskier using the language. 

Part 3

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

That anon with that fucked up ask about Mmb, i hate to say it, but a lot of your posts as of late are feeding the C@ryl haters, dismissing those who aren’t as chill about the spoilers as you are as dramatic and telling people any negative theories about a female character is misogyny. You’re so smart and great at analysis and i love your writing and i usually love your meta, but, as of late, there’s an edge of mean and smug i’ve been surprised by. I get you’re frustrated w fandom, but jeez.

i 110% encourage anyone who finds my posts upsetting to unfollow or block me. i mean that genuinely. even if we're friends, i don't mind. my whole thing is that i want ppl to make fandom a place they want to be a part of, and if i'm spoiling the experience then exclude me from your narrative, that is totally fine, and i will never hold it against you.

and to be clear, i am totally understanding of people who are upset about the spoilers, and who don't wanna be positive bc they're feeling tired with everything, or they don't like the direction the characters are going, and there isn't a thing wrong with their pov. but i /do/ think there's something wrong with specifically targeting female characters and actors, however, especially when we've literally not seen anything they've done yet. there is a VAST difference between "i don't like this female character bc of X reasons that she's done in the show," vs "this woman interferes with my ship, ergo she's a bitch and she should die and i cannot believe the audacity of the actress to play such a horrible character." if you're not doing the latter then i'm not targeting you and you shouldn't be concerned.

you're never gonna see me go on a ten million words long discourse rant about this. i got all my obnoxious, militant activism out in college and am sort of at the point where i'm cynical and bitter lol. like i'll go to the protests but me and the rest of the old, cynical crew sort of just hang in the background sighing the whole time cuz we been here so long, and i'm the same way about internet discourse, which is probably why i come off as snarky. i'm too tired to teach intersectional feminism on a tumblr blog about a zombie apocalypse show, but i also have absolutely no qualms about pointing out privileged behavior when i see it. y'all are lucky i haven't bothered to touch the racism aspect, lmfao. you wanna see bitter, just try me on that one.

the point is, i'm going to be very understanding about how different people are affected by the way the story is progressing, and i am very self-aware that positivity is not what everyone wants right now, which is why i've said more than once that you definitely do not need to be up in this blog if it's upsetting you, i genuinely do not mind.

BUT!

when it comes to misogyny i am not going to be as nice. i'm not here to make you comfortable, and if me pointing out the rampant internalized misogyny not just in the caryl fandom, but p much every twd fandom (or like, any fandom that exists anywhere) makes you uncomfortable you may want to examine why that is. again, there is a clear difference between disliking a character bc you simply don't like their story and development, and disliking a character bc she's a woman and she makes you mad, and the latter don't fly on this blog, and never will

(i was telling my partner about all the spoilers, and you know what the first thing he said was? "god, i'd fucking hate to be that actress." this is not something i've made up, this is a very prominent problem, my dudes)

so i'm sorry if i seem mean, and in most circumstances i will be understanding and patient, and if you want to talk to me about a specific issue or have a specific question i will try and meet you where you're at with no judgement, but when it comes to the situation at large, i've been through this bullshit long enough (re: my entire gd life) to not have to be gentle about stuff like this anymore. especially not on my own blog. shit makes me mad, and i'm entitled to my anger, just as other people are entitled to theirs. i contain multitudes, bro, let me be a complex character, it's only fair

-diz