I would’ve killed for an after credits scene with just Allan doing anything.

more than a song ~ alex turner

word count: 2937

request?: yes!

“hi lovely! i wanted to request an alex turner x reader. just something based off of the song you’re so dark by arctic monkeys. he’s been friends with you for a while but a side comment from his girlfriend (something just like she doesn’t get how they’re just friends) and it’s just snaps into place. ig just him writing the song and moments of them together. maybeeeee him jacking off imagining her on all fours 👀. something like that! thank youuuuu”

description: in which he starts by writing a song about his best friend who is much different than him, and it turns into something more

pairing: alex turner x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (male masturbation), kind of cheating since alex is imagining the reader and not his girlfriend (who will be a made up character, not his real girlfriend louise), also the reader doesn’t really know what alex was doing so idk take that into consideration? idk these warnings are a mess now

masterlist (one, two, three)

It all started with a comment his girlfriend, Cheryl, made.

“She’s so dark. How are you two friends?”

They had just left a night out with Alex’s bandmates and his best friend, (Y/N). It was the first time the two women had met, which Alex was hoping would go well since both of them meant so much to him. They had just barley left the bar when Cheryl made the comment.

It amused him so much that he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Why do you say that?”

Cheryl gave Alex a look. “Really?”

He stopped walking so he could turn to face her. “I’m serious. What do you mean she’s dark?”

“Alex...she talked for nearly an hour about HP Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe.”

Alex waited, expecting her to explain why that was a bad thing. When she didn’t, he said, “Yeah, those are her favorite authors.”

“They’re very depressing authors.”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve never read any of their stuff.”

Cheryl closed her eyes and sighed. “She’s got a very dark personality, Alex. Like murder of crows follow her around, Addams family’s long lost member dark. It’s just weird to me that you’re her friend when she’s so depressing.”

“Hey, you may think that, but she’s still my best friend. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t insult her like that.”

Cheryl crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe I should be questioning your friendship with her in different ways.”

It was safe to say the night did not go as planned. Alex brought Cheryl home in a tense silence. He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek before she got out without a word, slamming her door shut behind her.

The night had definitely left a slight strain on their relationship. Cheryl had decided that she hated (Y/N) just because of this idea she had that Alex and (Y/N) had romantic feelings for one another, but Alex refused to end his friendship with her when that wasn’t true at all, and when he had known (Y/N) for so much longer than Cheryl. So, even though they decided to continue their relationship, it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing.

But Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N)’s personality stuck in Alex’s mind. He had never noticed a “darkness” to his best friend. She was just (Y/N), the person Alex had known since they were kids. But now he was thinking about the things she liked, and the way she acted and just her general personality. He found himself humming to himself around his apartment; a melody at first, but eventually lyrics started forming in his mind.

“You got your HP Lovecraft. Your Edgar Allan Poe.”

He quickly rushed to his work desk to scribble down the lyrics as they came to his head.

“You got your unkind ravens, and your murder of crows.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he thought of Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N) being like a murder of crows. What Cheryl didn’t know was that (Y/N) had a tattoo along the backside of her left shoulder that was a flock of black birds. They weren’t distinguishable birds, but she often said it was a murder of crows since they were black birds. Cheryl would probably have lost her mind if (Y/N) was wearing anything that would’ve showed off that tattoo.

Thinking of Cheryl caused his mind to wander to the turmoil of their relationship. He looked down at the verse and chorus he had written about (Y/N) and thought about the fact that he was in the process of writing a song for his best friend when he had never had thought about writing one for Cheryl at all since they started dating. Maybe Cheryl was right to think Alex felt stronger feelings than friendship for (Y/N).

He shook his head. No, that’s not it. She’s my best friend since we were kids, and I’ve only known Cheryl for a few months. That’s all it is.

“I know you’re nothing like mine, cause she’s walking on sunshine. And your love would tear us apart.”

Alex was at his desk for nearly an hour putting the song together. He had two full verses and a rough outline for the chorus, but it still needed something more. He was toying around with more lyrics when he started writing, “You watch Italian horror and you listen to the scores. Leather-clad and spike collar, I want you down on all fours.”

“Whoa,” he muttered to himself. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

But now that he had written it, he couldn’t help but picture (Y/N) doing exactly what he had written: on his bed, down on all fours, her ass in the air.

He shook his head. “No,” he scolded himself. “No, stop. This is wrong.”

But he couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and the image was embedded into his eyelids. He felt himself straining against his jeans as he imagined himself knelt behind her, looking down at her ass in the wear, wearing only a pair of lacy black underwear.

He groaned as he palmed himself through his jeans. The desire was far too strong to ignore. He had to take care of this, otherwise he knew he’d have a nasty ache between his legs that he would not be able to get rid of.

Just one time, he thought. Then I’ll never think of her like this again.

Alex unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his knees. His dick was hard as a rock and angry red. He hissed as the cool air touched the sensitive area. He spit on his hand and wrapped his hand around the base. His head tipped back as a moan erupted from his throat.

He closed his eyes and the image of (Y/N) appeared again. Her face buried into the pillow beneath her, moans muffled by the fabric of the pillow. Alex’s dick plunging in and out of her tight pussy, her ass bouncing every time his hips collided with it. He imagined that her moans were as pretty as her regular voice was. Picturing that pretty voice moaning his name caused his dick to twitch in his hand.

The wet sounds of his hand stroking his dick mixed with his heavy breathing and moans filled the room. His mind drifted from having her bent over in front of him to having her sat on his lap in the very chair where he was sat. He imagined (Y/N), still just in a matching lingerie set, pulling him away from his songwriting so she could climb up onto his lap and straddle him. He imagined her pulling the fabric of her panties to the side, a string of arousal connecting her needy hole and the underwear. He could almost feel the warm, wetness of her walls as she sunk herself down onto him, and her lips on his neck as she started to ride him.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “God, that feels so good.”

His desire to have her grew, even though he knew he never would. She was his best friend. There was no way she felt this way for him, too. And he definitely was not going to risk their friendship by bringing these feelings up to her. More than anything, (Y/N) was his friend and he wasn’t about to lose her all together. For now, the only way he’d have her would be in his imagination, and he was more than okay with that.

Behind his closed eyes he could see (Y/N)’s perfect tits bouncing in his face. He squeezed the base of his dick a little tighter as his jerking motions became quicker, almost more desperate. He could feel his high creeping up on him, and he was desperately trying to chase it.

In his mind, (Y/N) was leaning into his ear. In a sexy, sultry voice, he pictured her whispering, “Cum for me, Alex.”

And that was all he needed to go tumbling over the edge. He called out her name into his empty apartment as his hot cum spilled over his hand, lap, and some on his shirt. He mentally cursed to himself for not preparing more for the mess, but physically he felt incapable of fixing it. He let his head rest on the back of the chair as he breathed heavily. When he opened his eyes to finally face reality, he was looking up at the ceiling instead of at (Y/N)’s beautiful face.

There was a slight ringing in his ears as the blood flow from his brain to his dick finally went down. It was loud enough that he almost didn’t hear his phone vibrating on the desk and took him a moment to realize someone was trying to call him. He reached out with his clean hand to look at the caller ID, and his heart skipped a beat when (Y/N)’s name and face popped up on his screen.

Against his better judgement, Alex answered. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” (Y/N) asked, a joking tone in her voice. “I’ve sent you, like, five text messages.”

Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the lockscreen to see that (Y/N) had in fact tried to text him.

“Hey fucker, what are you doing?”

“Hello? Alex?”

“Quick wanking off and answer me.” (That one both made him laugh and made his heart pound harder against his chest.)

“Listen, can I come over? I wanted to talk about something.”

“I really hope the reason you’re not answering is not what I think.”

“Sorry, I was - uh - I was busy writing,” he said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “I got really into it and had my phone on silent. Didn’t even know you were texting me. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Well, I’m currently parked outside your place. Can I come in to talk about it?”

He felt his blood run cold. (Y/N) was outside his place right now trying to come in to talk to him, meanwhile he was sat at his work desk with cum over himself after jerking off to the thought of her.

This truly could not be any worse.

“Yeah! Yeah, just give me a second,” he said, quickly trying to figure out a solution to this.

“Alex, I’ve known you for years, you do not have to tidy the place up for me,” (Y/N) said.

“I know, I just need to...I just have to do something before you come in. Give me a second.”

He hung up before (Y/N) could protest any further. He quickly took off his already cum-stained shirt and used it to wipe off his hand and the area around his dick. He threw the shirt with the rest of his dirty clothes, tucked himself back into his jeans, and found a new shirt to put on. Just as he was pulling the shirt over his head, the doorbell started ringing. He quickly raced to his front door and threw it open to reveal (Y/N) stood there.

“Are you done whatever you had to do?” she asked, but pushed past him before he could answer.

“Come on in, make yourself at home,” he teased as he followed her in.

“I always do,” she said with a smirk. “You’re lucky I respect your privacy enough that I didn’t just get that hidden spare key and barge in here before I called.”

Very, very lucky for that, actually.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked her as they reached his living room. “Your texts sounded serious.”

(Y/N) sighed and flopped down onto his couch. Alex sat across from her, leaving a decent amount of space between them. His mind was still reeling from the mental images from earlier that he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to be so close to (Y/N) right now.

But she seemed very troubled, which was very concerning to him. (Y/N) always talked to him when something was wrong, but very rarely did she physically come over to his place to talk about something. He knew whatever it was had to be very serious for her to show up so suddenly like this.

“I ran into Cheryl at the store just now,” she said, looking down at her lap. “And...well...I know she doesn’t like me. I’m not stupid. I know there’s a reason she doesn’t come out anymore when she knows I’m there, and our brief run ins since we first met always include a glare whenever she sees me. Don’t even try to deny it, Alex.”

He wasn’t going to, but his mouth had been open to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he would’ve said, so he closed his mouth again and allowed her to go on.

“I saw her and decided just to try and avoid her. I expected her to do the same. There was really no reason for her to approach me when it was just her, so I thought. But she came right up to me in the middle of an aisle and she...well, the best way to describe it is she went off on a tirade about not liking me and how she wishes you would just stop being friends with me, and even told me that I should be the one to end our friendship so that she didn’t have to stress about me and you anymore.”

Alex’s hands balled into fists on his lap. He couldn’t believe Cheryl would really go up to (Y/N) like that when he wasn’t around. Like (Y/N), he figured that Cheryl would’ve just walked the other way and left her alone since she disliked her so much. But to go up to his best friend in a public and to go as far as telling her to stop being friends with him for the sake of a relationship that wasn’t even a month in was further than he ever expected her to go.

“I thought you weren’t responding because she got to you first,” (Y/N) continued. “I thought she was going to come to you with some made up bullshit saying that I was the one who attacked her or something.”

“I haven’t heard from her,” Alex said. “I guess she’s waiting till whenever I see her next.”

“Listen, I’m sorry that I’m causing this strain on your relationship - ”

Alex reached out to take (Y/N)’s hand to cut her off. The contact sent a spark through him, but he tried his best to ignore it.

“You’re not the one causing any strain to my relationship. Cheryl is. She’s the one who is feeling so insecure about our relationship that she has to go as far as calling you down to the dirt while I’m not around. I’ve tried everything to assure her there’s nothing to worry about between us, but it’s not enough for her. I think...I don’t think I can continue this relationship with her. Especially not after what you told me.”

(Y/N) looked down at their joined hands. In a soft voice she said, “She’s a fucking bitch.”

Alex smiled and chuckled softly. (Y/N) did as well, and eventually, they were both laughing at her comment.

When the laughter died down silence fell over them. Neither one of them knew how to break it, but they didn’t really feel like they had to. Silence always felt comfortable between the two of them. They never felt like they had to speak if they didn’t want to. They could just sit like this for hours and it would be fine.

But their hands were still joined together. (Y/N) was tracing circles in the back of his hand with her thumb, almost absentmindedly. He liked the feeling of her hand against his. He never wanted to let go of her.

“You said you were writing when I came?” she finally asked, looking up at him. “Anything good?”

“Oh, um, I think so? I haven’t really put it together properly. It’s just a couple verses and a chorus that I have to finish.”

“Can I hear it? Or see what you have written, at least?”

His face burned at the question. He knew he was definitely blushing by the way that a confused look creeped on (Y/N)’s face. How did he show her this song, which was clearly about her and included a line about wanting to fuck her, and not absolutely ruin their friendship in this moment?

“I-I guess, if-if you wanted to,” he stuttered. “But, um...it’s...it’s a little embarrassing because...well, you were my muse for it.”

Her face seemed to brighten. “Really? You were writing about me?”

“Yeah. There’s some lyrics...well, you’d know it was about you the song is released so I guess there’s no getting around it, there’s some lyrics that are a bit...more than friendly.”

And there it was. There was no taking it back.

He watched her face, trying to gauge what her reaction to that revelation would be. She was just looking at him for a moment, as if registering his words, before a smirk crept across her face.

“Then show me,” she told him, her voice low and sultry the exact same way it had been in his imagination.

And Alex swore he had never been more excited than in that moment.

ODD ONE OUT — .5

gosling!ken x barbie!reader

summary | You and Allan need to have a talk. Ken brings you your first flower.

part one , part two , part three , part four , part five

. . .

“WE need to talk,” Came the simple demand from your best friend, Allan, after he had stormed into your book shop one afternoon.

You looked up at him curiously before hesitantly closing over the novel in your hands, slipping it under the register like you always did whenever someone came into the shop to bother you for something—most cases being for a book, of course.

“Yes?” You answered with a raise of your brow, clasping your fingers together patiently as you waited for Allan to explain.

He huffed dramatically before crossing his arms, practically glaring down at you. “You need to stop hanging around Ken,” He stated.

You almost choked on air at the sudden request. “I’m sorry; what?” You managed to respond after getting over your original shock.

“Barbie…” Allen began with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “You’re only gonna end up getting hurt if you keep up this friendship with him,” He explained, confusing you further.

“Allan, I have absolutely no idea what you’re trying to tell me here,” You spoke dryly, not being very amused by his initial proposal of dropping one of your good friends.

Your friend rose a palm to his head, dragging it down his face tiredly at your ignorance to what was obvious to himself. “You’re in love with him!” He exclaimed. “You’re hopelessly in love with him and he can’t return those feelings because he’s hopelessly in love with his own Barbie!”

In all honesty, you hadn’t expected that outburst at all. You felt your face burst into a bright red at the sudden confrontation of your otherwise ignored feelings for Ken along with some hurt that trickled its way into your chest over the honest brutality of Allan’s words.

“Not cool,” You spat, pushing yourself up from the chair behind the register to face your friend with a fiery scowl.

“Barbie, I had to be realistic with you,” Allan looked at you desperately. “I’ve watched you the last few months get progressively more upset over this Ken and I just cannot stand it anymore. As your best friend and your brother from another mother, I’m telling you to leave this friendship behind.”

You stared at Allan blankly for a few moments before furiously shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Al,” You scoffed. “I’m perfectly okay—and I’m not in love with him.”

“I’m your best friend, not blind,” He remarked with a roll of his eye. “If what you feel for him isn’t love, then I clearly hate volleyball.”

You tried to hold in the giggle at his remark, wanting to stay mad at Allan for being so blunt with you—and frankly, for hurting your feelings.

“Please leave my shop, Allan. I don’t want to have this conversation,” You mumbled as you disappeared behind one of your many bookshelves, desperately trying to hide from the situation.

Of course, however, your best friend was quite determined to make his point as he followed you in through the maze of shelves. “I’m serious, Barbie!” He hissed, crossing his arms across his chest with a fiery look on his face. “It’s killing me; seeing you hurt yourself over caring for this guy.”

You grind your teeth in your mouth, taking a deep breath through your nose before slowly turning to face Allan once again. “And I’m serious—I would like you to drop this conversation,” You spoke firmly. “Regardless of what you think about the situation, at the end of the day Ken is my friend and I won’t be dropping him—”

The ringing of the bell over the front door stopped your conversation in its tracks, forcing you to speedily walk back behind the register to tend to whatever customer had just walked in.

“Oh! Ken!” You looked at him in surprise. Of course he would have perfect timing. “What can I do for you?” You asked through grated teeth, desperately trying to give Allan a look to tell him to get out after he had appeared from behind the shelves you had just left behind.

“Just the usual, please. What book do you have for me this week?” Ken asked excitedly as he put last week’s book on the counter to return. “And I have this…” He sent you a charming grin before revealing the hand he had hidden behind his back, holding a tall and healthy sunflower out for you to take.

You gasped, your eyes taking in the ring of bright yellow petals. “Ken! What—?”

“I seen it in the flower shop and I thought of you… Sunflowers just fit your vibe,” He explained sheepishly as you took the stem into your own hands, the tips of his ears turning a bright red.

“I… I don’t even know what to say, Ken… It’s beautiful,” You looked up at him radiantly, your whole face lifted up with the smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.”

Behind Ken, you hadn’t noticed the disappointed Allan as he trudged his way out of the shop to leave you both be—his whole argument was already forgotten in your mind, so what was the point?

. . .

“KEN?” You questioned from behind your front door, tiredly rubbing your heavy eyes after answering the knock of the door in your pyjamas. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I had to talk to you about this book, Barbie! It’s so fascinating… I couldn’t go to sleep without talking to someone about it, and backflip Ken told me to buzz off, and I usually talk to him about the books I read, but—”

“Okay. Pause,” You cut his rambling off by raising a hand up to his face, letting out a quiet yawn. “You do realise how late it is, right?”

Ken’s face suddenly dropped. “Shoot… Is it really that late?” He asked worriedly. “I hadn’t noticed… I was reading.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew across your mouth, admiring that he had picked up a habit you yourself had as a reader. “Yes, it’s quite late,” You nodded before noticing that Ken was ready to suggest he should leave. “Come inside,” You quickly cut in, stepping aside for your friend to enter you house.

Ken took a moment to look surprised before making his way into your dream house, looking around curiously—he hadn’t actually been inside before. He quietly admired the fairy lights that lined your walls along with the aesthetically messy assortment of book and film posters. “Wow, it’s so…”

You couldn’t help the cringe that grew on your face, scrunching your shoulders after realising that you had just invited him into your cluttered home. “Messy, I know—”

“What? No. I was gonna say it’s so you,” He shook his head approaching your wall to take a closer look at one of your movie posters. “It’s so awesome.” There was a moment of silence. “I’ve never been inside a dream house…”

You felt quite horrified at this statement—he’d never been inside a house before. “Oh…” You replied stupidly, not being entirely sure what to say in response to that bomb of information. “Well, uh… let yourself get comfortable. Want a drink?” You asked awkwardly, pulling on the hem of your fluffy white pyjama sleeve.

Ken cleared his throat before nodding. “Yes please—just a drink of water.”

You quickly ran to your kitchen, grabbing one of your pink cups before “filling it” with water and handing it back to your friend who gratefully took a “sip”.

“So… Has Barbie really never invited you into her house?” You asked curiously, sitting beside Ken on your sofa.

He shook his head solemnly. “No, she’s always busy when I ask to visit,” He shrugged.

You nodded hesitantly, knowing that was probably a lie being a friend of Barbie’s and all. By all means, Barbie didn’t owe Ken any right into her home if she didn’t want him, but you had assumed that they were friendly enough for visits… Maybe their relationship was purely reliant on Ken’s pining?

“Right,” You nodded. “Well, you can always come visit me at my dream house,” You shrugged, leaning back on the soft cushions on your sofa. “I enjoy the company.”

Ken’s cheeks flushed a soft pink at the invite, not being entirely sure what to do with it but feeling elated nonetheless. “Sick,” He brushed off coolly, crossing his arms over his chest as he also sat back against your sofa to get comfortable.

“Well then, what did you want to talk about with the book?” You eventually asked, referring back to the whole reason he had arrived at your doorstep in the middle of the night.

. . .

RAYS of light refracted through the glass and around the room, annoyingly shining right onto your eyes and waking you up. You stretched your arms and gracefully rose from your place of rest, which you quickly noted was your sofa, and remembered that you had a guest over.

You glanced over to your side where Ken was curled up into a comfortable ball on the other side of the sofa, making you chuckle quietly before reaching over to gently shake him awake.

“Huh…?” He mumbled, still half asleep, before shooting up and frantically looking around. “I fell asleep! Oh gosh, Barbie, I’m so sorry! That was a mistake,” He rushed, jumping up off of the sofa and making you flinch from the sudden movement.

You furrowed your brows. “You’re fine, Ken. Allan stays over all the time,” You explained.

Ken shook his head. “No, no… Staying over is for boyfriend-girlfriend, and I’m stabbing Allan in the back by doing this because we’re not boyfriend-girlfriend!” He shrieked dramatically, pacing around your living room.

You ignored the pang in your chest over his words and decided to focus on the middle part of his outburst, shaking your head with a chuckle. “Do you think Allan and I are boyfriend and girlfriend?” You hid your grin behind your hand. “Because we’re not, and it’s normal for friends to have sleepovers. You do it with the other Ken’s all the time, right?”

“That’s not the same. We all live on beach together,” Ken stared at you flatly, raising an amused brow as he looked down at you with his hands resting on his hips.

You rolled your eyes before pushing yourself up off of the sofa. “Regardless, it’s normal for friends to sleep over,” You continued, walking past Ken. “Do you want some cereal? I can’t cook you eggs or anything because I need to buy more food from grocer Barbie…” You mumbled to yourself.

Ken shook his head, looking awkwardly tense as he continued to stand in the middle of the room. Clearly, you weren’t going to be able to sway him on the whole “sleepovers are normal” topic.

“I guess I should go,” He scratched his neck.

You sighed, nodding your head understandingly before leading the blond man to your front door. “You’re welcome here anytime, Ken,” You pursed your lips up at him as he stopped in your doorframe, looking down at you thoughtfully before pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Thank’s for having me over, Barbie!” He thanked you cheerfully, already gone back to his normal self—it was bizarre how quickly he had switched from being frantic to merry.

You waved your friend off as he strolled down the street and out of sight, spotting one of your neighbours, doctor Barbie, giving you an odd look. “Hi Barbie!” You sent her a wave, gritting your teeth together for as genuine of a smile you could muster. This was slightly awkward—she had caught Ken leaving your house.

She sent you back a rather confused greeting before getting into her own car and driving off, leaving you behind as you let out a sigh of relief and walked back into your home.

. . .

—> part six

. . .

i’m obsessed with ur work rn omg :o can you please write a shayne x reader fic where it’s their first halloween together and they’re just indulging in all the mushy couple activities? like matching costumes, scary movies, pumpkin carving, sweater sharing, all the sweet cozy fall vibes? thanks so much! <3

Hi!! Thank you so much for sending in a request, and I appreciate your comments so much! I’m sorry it took a little bit to get posted. (Tumblr is being a pain and not letting me post things directly from my computer so I have to jump through hoops just to get these to post, it’s so frustrating!) I really hope this meets your expectations. There were so many ways I wanted to start this and so many options of what to focus on, I couldn’t decide! I do plan on posting another version of this that will capture more of a cozy couple-y vibe! And it will be longer! But I hope you like this as well!

Not to be dramatic or anything, but Halloween was THE best time of the year, and to say that you were excited to finally be able to start decorating for it would be an understatement. If you had it your way, and technically you could have, you’d keep your place decorated in a spooky aesthetic all year round! Or at least fall themed, though either option would be equally valid. This year particularly, though, you were even more excited because you were able to spend it with your boyfriend, Shayne. You and him had been friends for a little short of a decade so it wasn’t even close to being the first year you two did something together, but this year was different because you were a C O U P L E and it just hit different.

Practically since after the 4th of July you were in plot mode, having a serious conversation with him about what you were doing for Halloween. It was important to know what you were going to dress up as, and it was vital to get ahead of it so you had time to get on the same page about what you were doing. Costume parties were going to be starting soon, and you had to be ready! You had both talked about options; going as a salt and pepper shaker, Mario and Princess Peach, Morticia and Gomez Addams, or more cliché, Barbie and Ken (though Shayne would most definitely be an Allan)!

“We should go as a cat burglar!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, startling Shayne a bit as he adjusted a leaf garland he was hanging up. “What?” He chuckled. “For a matching costume idea. We could go as a cat burglar! I’d be a cat and you a burglar and together we would be a cat burglar!” You raised your brows, enthusiasm sketched all over your face like it was the most brilliant idea. “Say cat burglar again, I don’t think you said it enough times,” he teased playfully. “That would be pretty funny, though.” “Or OOOH!! Pennywise and Georgie! Wouldn’t matter who would be who!” Shayne just laughed, watching you go back to placing plastic pumpkins on the mantle above the fireplace.

“I think the best part of this costume planning is going to be watching you get all excited about what idea to go with,” he laughed again. Shayne’s ideas were more subtle, which was great too. You didn’t normally go crazy about the dressing up aspect of it, but this year you wanted to do something special since you had someone to plan this sort of thing with. And you appreciated him being such a trooper about it! “It feels weird getting this amped up about costumes because normally I would prefer to just stay in and have horror movie marathons, which you can expect we’ll be doing because you can’t not do that during the spooky season.” “Yes, of course. Though technically spooky season isn’t until October..” “That’s up for debate,” you retorted quickly, getting another laugh out of him.

“Spooky season should always happen directly after the 4th, just like they do it with Christmas after Thanksgiving. But TECHNICALLY, spooky season gets started August 1st because that’s when all the fun things start, like horror nights and spooky conventions.” You let out an excited squeal as you hyped yourself up all over again. “So many fun things are starting!!”

After finishing up the decorations, your placed mostly decked out with fall themed items; apple cider and pumpkin spice scented candles and black cats and garlands everywhere, you were very pleased with how it all turned out. Standing next to Shayne, you wrapped your arms around his waist and marveled at both of your work for a few moments. “It looks like a Spirit Halloween store threw up in here.” “I know, don’t you love it?” You grinned. Shayne wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed, giving you a long hug before breaking it.

Thinking about what the next couple months were going to bring brought you so much joy. You were anxiously awaiting for the colder weather to kick in so you both could snuggle up on the couch with hot drinks and a crackling fire while you watched scary movies. You were excited for when you could carve pumpkins, make halloween goodies together, experiment with spooky themed bread because you knew Shayne would enjoy the hell out of that! There was so much to look forward to and you couldn’t wait to share this all with him.

serious, important, gigantic question i have . how do i start writing poetry? i'm really interested but just can't get myself started, lol. also what're some of ur fav books currently? i'm trying to get more into literature. love ur blog btw!

oh I love this question!! 

I believe becoming a poet begins with being an avid reader. Once you develop a love for reading, writing will come naturally as you start to note simple observations from your daily life or random thoughts that come to mind... As you continue to write, you'll gradually develop a better understanding of words. This will allow you to become more discerning in your writing, carefully selecting words and being mindful of how you structure your sentences to convey emotions and imagery... slowly You'll probably begin to dip into poetry, even if it's terrible at first, it's a necessary stage that everyone goes through (I could write an entire post on why creating bad art is so critical lol). The key is to keep writing. Write. Write. Write. And write. It's strange how addictive writing becomes once you get the hang of it… this year alone, I wrote hundreds of poems!!

So to summarize: Reading -> writing -> Poetry

here are some writers and writings I'd recommend to anyone who wants to get into poetry:

 (I got a bit carried away while writing this list lol…)

T.S. Eliot: The Waste Land, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, Four Quartets

Edgar Allan Poe: The Raven, Annabel Lee, The Tell-Tale Heart

Homer: The Odyssey

Walt Whitman: Leaves of Grass, Song of Myself

Dante Alighieri: The Divine Comedy (includes Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso)

John Milton: Paradise Lost

Geoffrey Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales

Emily Dickinson: Because I could not stop for Death, Hope is the thing with feathers, I’m Nobody! Who are you?

Sylvia Plath: Ariel, Lady Lazarus, Daddy

Maya Angelou: Still I Rise, Phenomenal Woman, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (autobiographical prose)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Sonnet 43 (How Do I Love Thee?), Aurora Leigh (a novel in verse)

my personal obsession lies in ancient poetry (Greek, to be specific), though I understand that it may not be everyone's cup of tea. But if you want to know more about that — or have any more literature-related questions in general — please let me know or send me another ask, and I'll be happy to share more!! <3

The Batboys Favorite Books📚

Laddies and Gentlemen, welcome to my first official post!! Hopefully this gos well, and remember that this is just my opinion and hardly any of it is canon. Enjoy.

Bruce

Ofc Bruce reads Dickens, Poe, and Shakespeare. But it’s a little-known fact that Bruce loves Beauty And The Beast. He loves it so much that he's got at least three libraries all equipped with rolling ladders. I can see him gliding about and pretending to be Belle when he thinks no ones looking. So he is probably going to try and bulls**t you into thinking that his favorite book is “Great Expectations” or something along those lines but his favorite book is actually Beauty And The Beast.

Alfred

His favorite poem is obviously “The Canterbury Tales”. Anytime him and Damian are fighting about who is more intelligent Alfred can just simply re-site that whole poem and Damian will shut the frick up. But I don’t really know what Alfred’s favorite book would be exactly. Him and Jason are the ones who I feel read the most and who are the biggest book nerds (that’s why they have a book club together). So I don’t really think Alfred has a favorite. I do see him siping tea on his breaks and reading very dramatic romances though.

Dick

I don’t really think Dick’s the biggest(haha) reader in the family. But I know he’s said to have read Robin Hood, The Thinking Machine, Encyclopedia Brown, in addition to some poems I bet. But I just don’t see him reading that much.

Jason

Yes, the whole reason I wanted this list to be my first post was so I could geek out over Jason’s favorite books because we have the same taste in literature lol. Of course if you’re a Jason Todd fan you probably already know that his favorite book is “Pride And Prejudice”. But let’s just dive into what other books and poems he might like (because I have nothing better to do with my life). It’s been said multiple times that Jay is a HUGE Jane Austin fan and loves all of her books. He loved reading Pride And Prejudice so much that even when fighting he just couldn’t put the book down. Putting Jane Austin aside for a moment, I think Jason would also enjoy reading Jane Eyre, Dracula(and just monster books in general), Agatha Christie, and MUCH more. He seems to enjoy classics (duh) but the only slightly more modern author I see him really liking is Stephen King. And as far as poems go, we’ve seen this freaking man make hundreds of  Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe references so we can already assume those are two of his favorite poets.

Tim

No question about, his favorite thing to read is the case files. This boy has no time to read unless it’s work related or his coffee cup in the morning. He probably read when he was younger but he has no freaking time for it now.

Damian 

Okay, we all know that Damian enjoys Charles Dickens but I feel like he has a secret favorite book like his father. And I’m just gonna take the risk and say that his favorite book is probably “The Last Unicorn”, and I’m being serious. The Last Unicorn is a great book and I think Damian would cut out a hole in his mattress and hide it from everyone and he would die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out.

I hope you all enjoyed this list and if you have any other books that any of the BatFamily would enjoy reading I would love to hear them! Let me know what other Batfamily/batboy lists you guys wanna see!🖤🦇

Edgar Allan Poe Ask Game except nobody asked (x gn!reader)

Note: all credits go to @sunsetsinhoenn for prompts!!! I’m not going to be doing all of them cause there are a lot but I did pick my favourites.

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❤️ Are they romantic?

Poe is the embodiment of romantic. He loves getting close and intimate with you, so expect a lot of dates at home, or day trips with just you, Poe and Karl. He’s shy at first, but still wants you to know that he loves you. The longer you two are together, naturally he becomes less rigid around you. Expect more flirty/poetically romantic remarks and make sure you sit down when he says then cause every time it makes your knees weak with the tone of voice he uses with you.

🧡 How do they confess that they like someone?

Poe wasn’t sure if anytime was the right time to confess his undying love to you. Nonetheless, he wrote you a letter. He’s considered leaving the letter somewhere for you to find or sending Karl to deliver it, but he wants you to know how serious he is about you and opts to deliver it in person. He wants to impress you, and show you his confident side, so he shows up at your door one day and hands it to you, not without shaking in his heels.

💛 Do they drop hints that they like someone and what are they?

Poe might be a nervous wreck around the one he loves, but he tries to subtly drop hints (or tries to be subtle). Poe’s hints may seem normal to him, but to everyone else they are grand gestures. For example, if you play the piano, he’ll buy a grand piano so you can play for him. He also has characters dedicated to you.

“Poe your story is amazing as always, I just wish it was longer,” you said with a smile. Poe looked down at his ink stained hands in an attempted to hide the pink hue creeping on his face.

“Did anything in particular catch your attention?” He asked gesturing towards the book in your hand. You thought for a second and Poe could see the gears turning in your head.

“A character perhaps?” He choked out, not wanting to sound to desperate.

“The protagonist seems familiar,” You said. Poe’s eyes practically glowed even though you hadn’t connected the dots yet.

“Yes! They were inspired by you!” He said before slapping a hand over his mouth, whipping his head around to avoid your gaze.

You were shocked to say the least, but honoured at the gesture.

🖤 Do they enjoy loving or being loved?

While Poe has all the love in the world to give, it will forever take him by surprise when you show him love. He loves when you pull him into your lap and cuddle him after a long day. If he goes to bed really late and you wake him up with breakfast in bed he’ll nearly cry from the gesture.

❣️ What makes them blush/gets their heart pounding?

Anything you do makes Edgar blush, but what really makes him weak is when you get really close to him. While he’s working on his novel, he loves when you appear out of nowhere and whisper something in his ear, or when you’re talking and you sit extra close to him, so close that one move and you’d be kissing. (Moments like this one make his chest burn)

💓 How do they act when they realize they’re in love/have a crush?

he doesn’t even try to deny it. Regardless, he still can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he started wishing you were there with him or making up nonsensical reasons to be around you.

💘 Do they take the time to learn more about their crush by talking/asking or observing?

Since he tries to spend as much time as possible with you, he naturally asks you about your interests. That being said, he observes you a lot, like to see your reaction to things if your hanging out. He makes not of the things that make you smile to yourself, and naturally the things you have no care in the world for.

❌ Are they scared of being in love?

Yes; Edgar has always had a hard time getting close to people. He never gets beyond the introduction phase because people find him to odd. His biggest fear is that, although you are well into the friendship phase, that at any moment you could leave him. No matter how many times he tries to brush off the feeling, he’s still afraid that one day you’ll grow tired of his antics and leave forever.

♒️ Do they end up checking to see if their signs are compatible? Or maybe do they do ‘love-tests’ (enter in your name and see if you’re meant for each other kind of thing)

Kind of, Edgar feels things on a whole new level compared to those around him. When he’s in love and even after you start dating, he might do silly things without realising it just to ease his nerves and the voices in his head saying you’re out of his league. That being said the first time he got a low percentage he stopped doing them.

🎇 Are the feelings they have like a whirlwind or are they able to keep it under control?

As mentioned above, Edgar experiences intense emotions. If you’re unfamiliar with him or just not used to experiencing romantic love on any level, his way of expressing his feelings can be overwhelming and to others may seem borderline to obsessive. He has a hard time keeping his feelings under control, he probably has a million characters based of you, has a separate book dedicated to writing about you or he showers you with handwritten letters. I have a headcanon that Edgar draws. They’re not super detailed drawings, mainly sketches but he gives you millions of them. If you keep them in a little box to preserve them he’ll cry that you, number one keep them, number two preserve them somehow. If you are similar to him in a sense that you show love the same way, your house is going to be littered with gifts that you’ve giving each other, and to others the atmosphere in the room just reeks of ‘I love my partner’. That being said, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or hurt you in anyway and will slow down on the gestures if you feel overwhelmed, no questions asked.

🌸 How often do they say ‘I love you’?

While Edgar says I love you, he doesn’t do it often. He’s been hurt before, when he’s either confessed to someone and had his heart shattered, or thinking someone loved him only to be hurt in the end. So when he started dating you he was hesitant to say it to often in fear of weirding you out. He loves you deeply, and is better at showing love through gifts, physical touch and quality time.

💐 Do they enjoy giving compliments or do they like getting them more? What kind of compliments do they give/like?

He loves when you compliment him. Grab his face gently, kiss him and tell him he’s doing a good job. He’s knees will grow weaker by the second. His compliments are always so poetic when he dishes them out to you (and kind of dramatic but we love that for him). Aside from complimenting how gorgeous you are, he’ll compliment your skills if you have a special one. If you really like something (like a character or a book), he’ll admire how passionate you are. For receiving compliments, he loves any type of praise, especially when it’s from you (or Ranpo). Whether it be about his book, his hair, his cute face, he loves it all from you.

💋 How do they kiss?

Edgar is on his knees for deep kisses. A deep kiss holds all the words he doesn’t have the confidence to say in the moment and tells you everything you need to know about how he’s feeling. He doesn’t like to be in a rush once his lips land on yours, and once he starts it’s like he’s in a trance. When you pull away, he normally has a goofy grin, that lovesick daze and his eyes barely open from the pure bliss he felt.

He loves quick kisses too though. If you’re working on something while sitting together he loves when you tap your lips, signalling you want a kiss. Every now and then you’ll look at each other, lean in for a peck and carry on with what you were doing (Nerds /lh)

👀 Are they protective?

A lot of people assume Edgar is weak just because he’s shy. I said this for Kunikida in a previous post, but the same thing applies for Poe, he isn’t the type to jump in and fight off anyone who even looks at you, he always checks to see how your reacting before making any decisions. If he notices that you look uncomfortable, he’ll waltz over and snake his arms around you. We all know Poe can give a mean evil look, and his shyness is fully overcome with the need to silently warn the person that you are not the one to mess with.

🥳 How do they cheer their s/o up when they’re down?

This is where his ability comes into play since I barely ever mention it. By now he’s familiar with what makes you happy, so if you’re ever feeling sad, he’ll write up a small scenario for you two to disappear into. It isn’t always “a book of your favourite things” sometimes it’s mystery you two solve together as a way to spend time with each other to boost your mood.

😱 What makes them worry about their s/o the most?

If you’re someone who’s a little reckless, he sometimes gets worried that you’ll hurt yourself. If you’re apart of the ADA, or even the mafia, he’s practically sweating bullets worried you’re going to hurt yourself even if your ability has you fully covered.

🥰 How often do they stare lovingly at their s/o?

Edgar doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it when he catches glimpse of you and becomes lost in a trance. Even if he’s in the middle of a conversation, it’s like as soon as you lock eyes, the conversation is done. You have his full attention without even realising it. That being said, if you catch him staring and tease him, the first few times he’ll try an deny it. But if you two have been together for awhile and he’s more relaxed around you, he’ll say things like “i can’t help it when you’re this lovely little thing,” or “you make a fool of me my beloved,”

🎀 Are they likely to fall for someone first or is it the other way around?

Edgar doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he is definitely the one to fall first and very hard. That being said if you also fall hard you’re both corny as hell /s

💌 Do they send loving/cutesy texts to their s/o?

Why would expect anything less from a love stricken writer? He’ll send you cute messages if you’ve gone out for the day, just to let you know he’s thinking of you.

🔪 Do they try to be a good influence on their s/o or do they not care?

He cares about you, but Edgar isn’t the ‘voice of reason’ that everyone thinks he is. If you have your days where you’re bouncing around, that also fuels his chaotic side.

🎉 Are they a fan of nicknames? Do they prefer cutesy, traditional or silly ones?

He lives for nicknames. If English isn’t your first language, he loves when you use nicknames that are specific to your language. I’ve mentioned what nicknames he uses for you in other post but they’re worth mentioning again. Expect lots of;

My beloved (is his go to)

My River

My Angel/Angel

My love

My muse

Basically all of that tooth rotting sweet shit. If you also call him any of these, people will playfully poke fun at you two for sounding like an old married couple.

“You guys sound like you’ve been married for 50 years,”

“No we don’t,”

“Y/n, can you call your boyfriend,”

“EDGAR DEAREST!”

If you really want to K.O. this man, use nicknames with a seductive voice. It’s one thing to call him ‘Kitten’ but call him kitten with a purr in your tone and he’s on his knees in seconds.

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How did you get so good at writing? Were you born that amazing or did you practice? I’m trying to become a writer but I seem to suck at it. Loooove all your work btw 🥰

This is actually a very difficult question, but I'm glad you think I'm a good writer. That so kind of you. 💐

I have always liked Polish language and literature lessons, especially text analysis, during our classes we also have to write something like an "rozprawka". In other countries it is most often called an "essay", but in our case this form has clearly defined rules and is not an argument purely with your thoughts, only arguments for and against, analysis of fragments of texts, a bit as if you were a prosecutor.

Rozprawka comes from the Polish word rozprawa, which means dissertation in English.

By analyzing works of literature from all over the world in this way, you begin to analyze them very deeply, and it seems to me that nothing helps me in writing more than my experiences with other classical writers that I have read.

I love Edgar Allan Poe, I love Jane Austen, I love Molière, I love Sophocles, I love Shakespeare, Tolkien, Dostoyevsky, but also many outstanding Polish writers and artists, Gombrowicz, Mickiewicz, Wyspiański.

I have their books at home and they had a huge impact on me, but what impressed me the most was the analysis of these texts, because without it you don't fully understand what you're reading.

I have always liked creating my stories, but I usually presented them naturally to me, in the form of drawings and comics. It turned out that it was easier for me to present and describe something with words than with drawings, even though I am an artist (hehe). So I didn't write before I created this fanfic account, with maybe two exceptions, but only with my friend, and before that all my texts were serious comparative analyzes of other books.

So I don't know if I was born with it, probably not, but the words just come to me. First I come up with scenes and then I write them down, but sometimes I just write and the plot takes care of itself. I never plan my stories, I usually have no idea what will happen in them, I come up with ideas on the fly. I never know how it will end, it's always a guess. I admire writers who plan everything step by step, I would die halfway through, I try to write whenever I feel inspired.

Yesterday and today, for example, I wrote 8 chapters of The Prince and The Fox and I will probably write a few more, because I have inspiration, I feel this story now and I want to go further.

I will add that I write in my native language: Polish, because it is the language in which I think and in which words come naturally to me, and only then I translate them into English.

I don't know if it will help you, but my advice, for the despair of some people, is this: read the classics of literature!

TDWC 08: Secrets of the Forgotten

Pairing: House Leaders x gn! Reader

Warnings: canon divergence, slow burn

Summary: “Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s. Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.” “Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

Notes: [01] | 07 | 09

Words: 9.7k

A/N: huge thanks to @raindrops-on-the-roof for joining me on this ride and being my beta-reader!!

i lived, bitch. it's been so long but after a year, i'm back with the next chapter and it was ton of fun working on it becase we're finally introduced to a new figure and get some original content. also claude's a menace and that's what we all want. enjoy!

08: Secrets of the Forgotten

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch’s high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.

— Edgar Allan Poe, “The Haunted Palace”

The underground canals running through Abyss, like veins moving blood through the body, are dirty and smell of human waste and decay, but Balthus plays a hand much dirtier and everyone huddling around the small, crooked table in Wilting Rose Inn groans in unison. Except for Byleth. She shows her own cards, a Royal Flush, and earns a round of earnest applause. You try catching her eye to find out whether she has turned time back in her favour but her ever-steady gaze doesn’t betray anything.

“Okay, lesson learnt.” Balthus gets up and stretches, putting his taut muscles on full display. “I never imagined there could be someone worse than Yuri out there. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Is Yuri really that bad?” you ask, throwing your Flush on the table.

Balthus gives you a seldom serious look. “You have no idea.”

It’s certainly not that hard to imagine. He sometimes has this intense, piercing gaze in his eyes when he talks about knights patrolling too close to Abyss’ entrances for his liking, even though his whole body is a picture of relaxed serenity. He’s an amazing actor, you can give him that.

“Another round?” Byleth asks, already shuffling the cards expertly with her slender fingers. Apparently, part of being a mercenary also entails having an amazing poker face and constantly winning at card games.

“Oh, no, no, I think I’m on guard duty,” Marco, the Rogue, says and flees.

“I forgot I promised to check if there’s enough candle wax to … remake candles,” Ethan, the Marksman, says and bolts.

“These are the men supposed to protect us,” Barbara, the Smith, sighs. “Yet they fear their pride won’t stand after losing a game to a woman.” She gives Byleth a scrutinising look that is also approving at the same time and follows her comrades. The rest of the crowd scatters like butterflies fluttering away after being disturbed from their peaceful slumber.

“That Barbara.” Balthus shakes his head. “Can’t say I know anyone more capable of making grown men feel like little boys.”

“I like her,” you admit. “She doesn’t call me the Archbishop’s Lapdog.” Like most Abyssians.

“Just give everyone some time.” Balthus’ grin is part amusement, part pity as he gives your shoulder two hard claps to bid you good night. “They’ll see in no time you’re no church stuck-up.”

You aren’t so sure about that. You have been down here for a couple of days only, engaging in fights, defending the place against the mercenaries and bandits that wander into Abyss—on accident or on order still remains a question. It was obvious that fighting a few battles for them would not change their mind so quickly—a few good deeds did not undo the year-long abuse and persecution most of the Abyss dwellers had to suffer. You doubt you alone can heal those wounds, yet still there is a fierce fire burning inside you, a light blazing to banish all the shadows clinging to their pained hearts.

Not for the church’s sake, you’ve realised quickly, but for the Herald’s, for the first one loved Fódlan’s people; loves Fódlan’s people still. Every night you lie in your dark quarters, a single, tiny room with nothing but slatted frames and a thin blanket for a bed, nothing feels surer and more honest than this feeling Seiros’ Champion allows you to glimpse as if what it means to be the Herald is that simple.

And simple it is, for if you cannot remember your identity, your wishes and dreams and ambitions, you can take his on until you have figured it out for yourself; surround yourself with them just like you donned his ceremonial robes at the very beginning.

If Byleth questions your new-found vigour for battle, for tactics and schemes on the battlefield, she hasn’t voiced it yet. Or, maybe she is simply too occupied trying to understand the cards Fate has dealt her.

The Wilting Rose Inn clears out as the candles burn down until only a few loyal patrons remain in their respective, quiet corners. It becomes easier to talk to Byleth, since you cannot be sure who might be listening in, ready to forward information to Yuri and give him whatever reason to put your head on a stake. Not that he would actually do something like that. At least, you hope he would not do something like that.

You also realise how much you missed just being in her presence, and they become the only short moments during the day when you allow yourself to relax and droop your shoulders whenever exhaustion weighs you down.

Today, Byleth has made it her personal mission to teach you wood-carving. It goes as expected: you’ve cut yourself three times and have nothing to show for but a misshapen try at a cat that bears more resemblance to a stone you might find in one of Abyss’ gutters.

“I am,” you say as the sharp edge nicks your thumb once more, “a danger to myself and everyone around me.”

“Good thing I’m the only one here then.” Byleth gently takes the knife from you as if you are a toddler and only to be trusted with tools that are highly unlikely to chop your limbs off. Like a spoon. You’ll remind her of that next time she pushes a sword into your hands and demands you to participate in another sparring session. “I’m not as practised in magic and Tome wielding as Linhardt or Lysithea, but I am sure you still need all your fingers to conjure spells.”

“I could try it with my toes.” You wiggle your bloodied fingers at her like the boogie man. “Become the first Warlock that casts Dark magic with their feet.”

The smile that tugs at the corners of Byleth’s mouth is a greater victory than having chased off the bandits yesterday. It is followed by a frown though, one so light, the softest shift in her brows that you wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for the long hours during tea-time you spent studying the planes and features of her face like an artist might while studying their muse.

She leans back in her creaking chair and pockets her knife inside the hidden sheath strapped around her upper thigh. “We are making slow progress uncovering who is after Yuri and his friends,” Byleth says. “I know we’ve been through this already, but any guesses?”

“You’d think with how often we got rid of them by now, they would realise trying to drive the underground residents away is a waste of time. Whoever pays them must hold a serious grudge, why else would they spend so much money on sending mercs in here?”

A shadow passes Byleth’s eyes. “Unless these kids know more and are hiding the true reason someone would be after them.”

You understand her concern. You two have agreed to help, but your official duties and first responsibilities lie in taking care of the academy’s students and seeing that no harm comes to them. Which is no easy task as they so readily throw themselves into defending the Abyssians.

“I … I don’t think that is the case.”

Byleth simply lifts an eyebrow, urging you to go on.

“I can’t explain it very well. I just don’t think they have anything bad in mind. I don’t think there is a reason to doubt them.”

It doesn’t make sense, and yet you know Byleth is the last one to argue against a point like that. This quiet, strange connection that exists between you two is undeniable—just like the sun’s travel over the skies and that it lies to rest in the West and rises again in the East, day by day. Everything is connected, you just have to find out who is spinning the thread of your Fates together.

“I really thought they were trouble at first,” Byleth says and gestures to the barman to bring another round. “Especially Yuri. He is cunning and sharp, a dangerous combination for a leader.”

“I’d like to think he is hiding a warm, pleasant core beneath all that scheming and calculating,” you say, taking the drink the moment the bartender leaves it at your table. “Hiding it somewhere very, very deep.”

A corner of Byleth’s mouth twitches. She’s holding her own glass, lazily swirling the amber liquid in circles. “He is young, but I would not put it past him to hold ulterior motives. Promise me to be careful around him.”

“He and his lot helped me before they knew I was the Herald,” you concede, thinking back to Constance’s reaction after you woke up. “They simply saw someone in need of help, that’s all.” Since then, it has not occurred to you even once that they might be criminals hiding away under the church’s nose. You still think of Alfons and Briana’s small faces, their round button-noses and large eyes as they look up at Yuri in adoration. They deserve so much more than hiding away in some dark, rotting cellars.

You swallow your shot in one go, and instantly begin to cough and pound your chest as it goes down burning. Byleth knocks her glass back without any problem and swallows the burning liquid as if it were water. You still blink against the tears stinging in your eyes.

“You sound like you trust them already,” Byleth says and waves for another round. You try to share a mildly concerned look with the bartender, but he ignores you and slides two more shot glasses in front of your noses.

“Trust is maybe a little much,” you mumble, thinking of Yuri’s sharp smile, the way Hapi struggles and fails not to roll her eyes whenever you offer some insight with your Crest. “But I don’t think they’re bad. Or evil.”

Byleth nods, either because she has come to the same conclusion or because she puts trust in your decision not to doubt them. She downs another shot, looks at you expectantly. You scramble for another topic, anything that will save your throat from burning up a second time with this goddess-forsaken liquor.

Inevitably, your eyes fall on the sword strapped to her waist, only to call it a sword puts any blacksmith who has mastered the art of steel and iron to shame, and you have no desire to meet the one responsible for this craft, the one that bends bone and magic to their will. Byleth follows your gaze. Her hand rests on the hilt, hesitantly at first. You don’t think you have ever seen her hesitate before.

“The Sword of the Creator,” you mumble. “What does that even mean?” Has the Progenitor God truly wielded such a thing? What kind of goddess was she to come up with such a hideous weapon, to forge the Heroes’ Relics in such a portrayal and present them as gifts to humanity? It is like receiving an apple and only finding the core rotten and inhabited with worms after you have taken a bite. You wonder if this repulsive fascination is you or Seiros’ Champion, yet he remains silent.

Byleth stares into her glass as if the answers for all her questions lie hidden at the bottom and by drinking fast enough, she can unravel them. You are pretty sure that is how people become drunkards.

“Holding the sword … wielding it.” Byleth searches your gaze. “It felt raw. Unlike anything I have ever felt, and yet...” Her nimble fingers dance across the hilt once more, halt at the round socket where it seems that something spherical is missing. When she locks eyes with you, something tells you this is something she has not even told her students. Maybe she can’t tell them. Maybe, just like you feel with her, she feels that honesty comes easier when only you are around. You take a sip from your glass, welcoming for once the biting heat that forces you to shut your eyes and turn your head away.

Why can’t you tell her about the first Herald? Why do you want to keep his existence within you a secret? You listen for his voice, his opinion on the matter, but Seiros’ Champion is still silent, and you hope it doesn’t stay that way in matters of life or death. What is the use of an ancient dwelling inside your heart when he does not share in his unending knowledge and experience?

“And yet, it felt right,” Byleth finishes, cutting off your thoughts, and somehow you can easily imagine what she had felt—for the very same could be said about meeting the Herald. Right, natural. Like returning home. “I wonder … if there is any truth to the people’s claims that only a descendant of the King of Liberation would be able to use its power the way I did.”

You’ve read the historic texts on Nemesis, the King of Liberation. How the goddess gifted him the sword to use its power to save Fódlan from wicked gods over a thousand years ago. He liberated the people from their thralldom and thus was named King and Beloved of the people until the sword’s heavenly power, too terrifying and mighty for any mortal to bear, corrupted him and he turned to the darkness, waging war across the land and thus forcing Seiros to destroy him. It strengthens your belief that whatever benevolence the Goddess gifts her patrons, the price to pay in the end seems too high.

“I hope,” Byleth continues, “Professor Hanneman will have answers to that when we return. I still do not quite understand why Rhea has allowed me to keep it.”

“Is there any explanation as to why it was her sword inside the tomb and not the remains of Saint Seiros?” you ask. It would also beg the question where they are instead. But Byleth shakes her head.

“There wasn’t much time to go into details,” she says. Her fingers linger just a moment longer on the sword, before she withdraws them—a little reluctantly. “When you disappeared, we moved heaven and hell to find you. It was by mere luck Claude spotted one of the Abyssians disappear inside a passageway under the Abbey.”

“I hate how no one told us,” you say. “You would think a whole bunch of people living under the monastery is worth mentioning at some point after appointing us to our positions.”

“I’d like to think there was a reason for keeping silent about it,” Byleth says though even she doesn’t sound sure, and it strikes you as odd. Not Byleth doubting Rhea, but her not being sure about something. “A reason I can’t wait to hear once we’re back on the surface.” She reaches across the table, presenting her open palm to your hand holding your glass. You surrender and give it to her, watching a little too intently when her throat bobs as she swallows another round.

“Yuri expects another attack on the Abyss soon,” Byleth continues and rises to her feet. She stretches like a cat in the sun. “We should head to bed and rest up. I wouldn’t want a repeat of the last battle.”

“Oh, come on, it was not that bad.”

“You almost fell asleep from exhaustion when those two Grapplers advanced,” Byleth says, using her Professor voice on you.

You can’t help but grin. “And just like I predicted, you came and saved me.” Byleth’s mouth twitches into a flat line, but you can see that she is pleased. “Pulling an all-nighter to study the maps and outline of Abyss and the secrets it has to offer was a good idea. There are some interesting chambers holding traps and pitfalls. Whoever built this place really wanted to keep people away.”

“Makes you think what could be hiding deeper down in Abyss,” Byleth thinks aloud. “And maybe one of the next bandits will be kind enough to tell us.”

You nod. It was Claude’s idea to take someone captive and get answers from them, and hopefully shed some light on what it is exactly that their employer wants from Abyss.

Byleth escorts you to your chamber, your quiet voices bouncing off the damp walls in the dark corridor that stretch away into unprepossessing shadows. Unlike up in the monastery, the walls here are bare of tapestries and sometimes even of torches which makes traversing the tunnels difficult. You’ve let Linhardt show you simple fire spells to have a source of light on you.

“But it would be far easier if you learnt Light Magic,” he had commented as you two bent over scrolls and books, fighting a yawn. “Also much safer and highly unlikely to set yourself on fire.”

You had closed the tome he’d slid across the table to you, smiling stiffly. “Duly noted.”

The flame dancing across your palm now flickers but doesn’t waver, illuminating the corridor and painting Byleth’s face with a sheen of soft, amber light, giving her pale complexion a little colour. She is watching you conjuring the spell; how your fingers close around the flame as if it were a small beating heart, easily snuffed out whenever a breeze swipes through the corridors.

“I see your Magic Prowess is growing,” Byleth notes. “As is your ability to hold your own ground on the battlefield. You’ve grown used to fighting.”

That isn’t a compliment you had ever thought someone would tell you, but coming from Byleth, you know it is true. You have noticed it yourself—how with every battle it gets easier to see the enemy’s movements and abilities, their weapons and gear. Calling upon the power of the Herald’s Crest, usually a taxing and draining endeavour that left you resting up in your chambers, has become much easier since you have met Seiros’ Champion. Whenever he makes his presence known with quiet whispers of where to lead your students next, soft pushes as if he is placing his small child’s hand upon your shoulder to guide you to victory, his support is like wind in your sails, propelling you forward and lifting your courage.

“You are not as scared as you were in the beginning,” she continues. “You have never much wavered in your tactics, but you seem even more sure now.”

All that praise from her makes your ears scald with heat. Though praise it seems, you know that Byleth only speaks truth. “I have finally started to trust in my abilities. If people see me doubt, how can they follow where I lead them in battle?” you say, even though that is not entirely the truth, of course. Which is why you hastily add, “And I trust you. As long as you are by my side, we are invincible.”

“So it is,” Byleth says, turning her head so that her moss-green eyes dig into you like hooks. “And yet I wonder. This courage, is it just because you wish to defend Abyss? To prove yourself before Yuri and his companions. Or is there something else? Something that you want to share with me?”

You both pause in front of the door leading to your quarters, the silence smothering you like a heavy blanket of freshly fallen snow that puts everything into a deep slumber. No matter how much you dig through that snow though, you can’t find the resolve to tell her about Seiros’ Champion. Where would you even begin to explain?

It might seem that I have turned mad but believe me when I tell you the soul of the first Herald resides within me and sometimes, he whispers to me what I should do, and he likes to gossip from time to time as well. He seems fond of Edelgard in particular, and notices whenever she looks at you, but you choose not to see it.

You stare at her, not entirely sure what you are waiting for. Maybe that Byleth learns how to read your thoughts so you wouldn’t have to speak these outlandish things aloud. Instead, you say, “No. There is nothing.”

Byleth considers you for a moment. You make it a point not to shy away from her scrutinising gaze, as one would do with nothing to hide, you assume. In the end, she relents first, but not because she grants you an easy victory. You’re certain she knows when it is wise to return to a battle at a later time. “I see,” she says mildly. “Rest up, then. I will see you tomorrow.”

 You watch her disappear down the hallway, the blade at her side peeking out from under her black robes like a sly wink; like a promise waiting for the right time to jump out of the shadows and strike you in the back. It occurs to you then, for the first time, that maybe the timely meeting with Seiros’ Champion and Byleth activating the power of the Sword of the Creator might be connected.

The Chalice of Beginnings. The way it all ties back to the Rite of Rising, the very same festivities used as a distraction to try and steal Seiros’ remains—unless the Western Church somehow knew what they would find inside the tomb would be something entirely different—and ultimately the reason you are all down here … calling it simply coincidence is like cooing at a fox shortly before it snaps with sharp fangs at you. It is hard to tell what play you are conducting on the stage unknown forces have set you upon. All you can hope for is that it doesn’t end up being a tragedy.

With the scrolls, papers and books Aelfric was kind enough to lend you spread over the make-shift workplace you’ve put together using crates, you’re spending the evening reading up on the Rite of Passing and the Four Apostles. Even though some of the texts are so badly damaged you can barely make out their content, it all matches with what Aelfric has already told you: the ritual is believed to have the power to resurrect a life that was lost using the chalice which only the Four Apostles had access to. After the ritual failed, they bound the chalice so that it would never fall into mortal hands. Capable of something that grand, it is no wonder whoever is after it throws ambush after ambush at the Abyssians in hopes to find crumbs leading to where this treasure of immeasurable worth might be.

But if that chalice really exists, where is it? To search for the Chasm of Bound below Abyss feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack. There is no telling how much time you have left before either Rhea demands everyone’s presence back or you are unable to protect the Abyssians any longer from the mob of greedy thugs.

“Knock knock,” a voice says from the entrance to your room.

You startle, too lost in thought to notice anyone approaching. Claude is leaning against the doorframe, having come up behind you as silent as a cat. He has changed out of his gear, wearing loose dark trousers tied at the waist, and a simple white shirt that stands in contrast against his tanned skin. The first buttons of his collar are open, showing the elegant curves of his collarbones. His dark hair is damp, curling against his temples and the nape of his neck.

“Did something happen?” you ask, moving in alarm to rise from your seat, though surely, he wouldn’t lean so leisurely and relaxed against the door if there was another attack. He confirms as much with a lazy wave of his hand, unhitching himself from the frame. “Nope, nothing to worry about. I just thought I’d drop by and say hi. Do you know how difficult it is to pin you down? You’ve gotten really busy since we’ve come down here.”

“You know, no rest for the wicked.” You try to restore order on your desk by organising the books and scrolls in one corner. You’ve completely lost track of time, and as it turns out, magical fire is incapable of burning candles to their wick, so there is really no telling how long you’ve been holed up in your room, studying the ancient texts. “Do you need something?”

“Just thought we’d have a nice, pleasant chat.” The smile flirting with Claude’s lips is dangerous for it tries to appear innocent, yet the way his green eyes glint with mischief, like the edge of a knife flashing as it is drawn from a hidden sheath, promises nothing good. “Been a while since we’ve had one of those.”

 You can’t remember if you have ever had one with Claude. Maybe all those moons ago after you had awoken with your new power, which now feels like a lifetime ago. You lean back in your chair, allowing your eyes a break after all those hours of reading. Maybe this distraction might help.

“Okay, I’m all yours.” You stand up, waving at the chair to offer Claude a place to sit, and absolutely missing the way he shoots you an amused glance at your choice of words. Instead of taking up your offer though, he steps backward. Suspicion crawls up your back, feathery light like a spider making its way to new prey caught in its web.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Claude says and with a swift kick, shuts the door behind him. You stare at him, tongue-tied. Can students just do that with faculty members? Yuri’s voice creeps up from a dark corner in your memory: “You’d do well to keep in mind that the monastery rules don’t apply down here, Herald.”

“I just have a few questions, is all,” he continues, still smiling but anything pleasant in his voice has made room for an urgency that you can’t remember ever having heard coming from him. Claude crosses the room in quick strides, and leans his hips sideways against the table. His eyes flick over the remaining texts on your table, his head slightly cocking to one side to get a better angle to read them. When you clear your throat, he startles, and looks back up at you.

“Right, sorry.” He knows that you know that he, in fact, is not sorry. “The library here has some pretty interesting things, I gotta say. Books and scrolls you’d never find in the monastery’s library. There are some things that are hard to believe, though. There’s this funny book hidden inside a false cover that talks about a Distance Viewer and Flammable Black Water and a Metal-Hold Printing Machine. Imagine the technological advancement one of the nations would achieve if they could actually build and utilise devices like that.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “To talk about the Abyss’ book collection?”

“What? No. No, I—,” he begins, tapping his slender fingers impatiently against the wood. You don’t think you have ever seen this restlessness about him. Claude has always appeared as steady as his bow-hand, sure that wherever he aims the shot will land true. “I was just wondering if something happened after your fall down here. Something you can’t tell us.”

You feel as if ice water has been dumped down the back of your neck, shocking you to full alertness. Claude must see that he has caught you off guard; a look of hesitancy flashes across your face before you can speak. “And what would that something be, exactly?”

He lowers his voice. “I thought you might tell me.”

You stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of anxiety spreading slowly through your limbs. “Nothing happened. Whatever gave you the idea that I’m hiding something from you guys?”

There is a moment of silence as you two trade a look that feels like a dare. There is something forbidding about the intensity of Claude’s gaze, the tension of his stillness. His fingers stop their rhythmic tap tap against the table, and now clutch onto its edge, his knuckles turning white. “I’ve always figured your reservation towards using your Crest came from the novelty of it. The foreignness of a power that isn’t yours. But in our recent battles, there’s nothing of that anymore.

“I thought maybe it’s because you met the Ashen Wolves and the people from Abyss, and you feel sympathy towards them and that’s giving you a little more oomph to try making use of the Crest. But that’s not it, is it? You’ve changed from despising the powers to fully embracing them. Wielding them as if you’ve never done anything else in your life.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, and you don’t miss Claude’s eyes quickly jumping down to your mouth for a second. Or maybe it was just your imagination, the flickering shadow of the small candle’s light across his face. “Maybe I’ve just grown used to it,” you reply quietly.

“Herald, you grow used to balding or riding a new steed.” He looks at you sharply, his head tilted to the side. Something in his voice changes in that moment. “You don’t get used to something that changes your life from being a nobody to suddenly standing in the centre of the world. Not really.” His voice has a veneer of calm, but beneath you could hear the vibration of some very different emotion.

What changed for you, then? you want to ask. It doesn’t feel like the answer would be so simple as the appointment to the heir of the Leicester Alliance.

You shift, folding your arms in front of you for lack of a response. As much as you like to discount Claude’s tendency for plots and schemes, there is something disconcertingly earnest about him right now. The similarity is striking you all of a sudden, the shadow passing his eyes one you have already seen in Sylvain’s when he had tried talking about his Crest and its troubles.

“All I’m saying is,” Claude continues, and he takes a step towards you. Instinctively, you take one back. He takes another one. This goes on until it ends with your back against the wall. “All I’m saying is that maybe Teach finding her new shiny weapon triggered something in you,” he says now, propping himself up against the wall, his hand splayed beside your head. “Maybe a memory? Something like that?”

You hold his gaze, not shying away from his scrutinising eyes or the close proximity. So, you are not the only one thinking that the Sword of the Creator and the Crest of the Herald are connected in a way the other Crests are not. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Claude, of all people, is the first to have noticed it. You had simply failed—or underestimated him, rather—to anticipate that he would also act on that theory and corner you like a mouse to get answers. Literally.

“Nothing like that happened, Claude,” you say now, feeling like you’re walking on a lightrope, and a single misplaced word could send you plunging. And then, he is there, his presence like the light brush of soft flower petals against the back of your mind. Do not tell him yet. Do not tell anyone yet, I ask of you. I do not wish the world to know I still exist. Silly Champion of Seiros. You’ve already understood his feelings perfectly without him having to tell you.

“Somehow, I was given this power. I tried fighting it for so long, but there’s no way I can run from this. I realised that, so now I’m just trying to make the best out of it.” It is only half the truth, but that is something Claude doesn’t need to know. It is also something he didn’t want to hearyou realise as you watch his expression turn into something close to disappointment.

“I’m sure Lady Rhea would enjoy hearing this,” Claude says, his voice deep and thin like a knife’s edge—and just as sharp.

“You’re not very subtle, Claude.” You try to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. “What’s your problem?”

“Problem? There is no problem.” The mask of bored indifference slips back on his face, turning his eyes distant, and cold even. An easy smile stretches over his features, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy teasing you.”

“And maybe I’ll enjoy sticking a dagger in your side.”

Claude laughs. “That’s not very Heraldy of you.”

You try to see if that laugh means you’re good, but his eyes are closed doors. Your face must be a question mark, because he says, “Herald,” and touches your cheek gently, grazing your skin with the rough pads of his fingers. You inhale sharply, gaze snapping up to his. Claude’s eyes widen, realising what he’s doing only then, and his warm, calloused fingers freeze against your cheek.

Just as he opens his mouth, knocks come from your front door. He lifts an eyebrow at you, asking if you are expecting visitors at this time. You just shrug. You certainly didn’t expect him, and yet here he is.

Claude pushes himself off the wall, allowing you to cross the room and open the door a crack wide. Through the narrow opening you see Dimitri standing in the hallway. When he spies you glancing at him, he gives you a shy smile that quickly turns into a scowl when Claude comes up behind you. He presses his chest against your back and leans an arm against the door frame above your head. “Oh, Dimitri?” Claude drawls.

Dimitri pales as he sees, and certainly misunderstands the sudden intimate proximity Claude is displaying. He presses his mouth into a thin line. “Pardon the intrusion, Herald. I thought maybe this would be a good moment to review the last battle reports. But I see…,” and here his eyes dart over to Claude and sweep over him as if he were a particularly unpleasant surprise he found under his bed, “… you are preoccupied.”

“Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.”

“Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

You’re pretty sure Dimitri on the other side is wearing the same expression of dumbfounded surprise that is on your face. “What is going on with you, Claude?” you ask and turn to him, forgetting how close he is. When you almost bump into his chest, you take a hurried step to the side. “The way you are acting is unbecoming of someone with your station.”

Claude shrugs. “Don’t worry, Dimitri won’t take it to heart. It’s just that things have started to happen that don’t make sense, and I am all about making sense of the senseless.” He looks over at you, smiling. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You’re spared the eye roll for an answer when distant bell ringing heralds another ambush on Abyss. Claude heaves a long, weary sigh. “No rest for the wicked, huh…” He turns to open the door, but except a little rattle, nothing happens, no matter how hard he shakes at the handle.

“Come on,” you say, unable to contain the urgency in your voice. “Open the door.”

“Well.” He turns around. “It appears that it is stuck.”

Your eyes go wide. “Then unstuck it.”

Claude throws himself against the door. It doesn’t budge. He curses. “My shoulder will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health when this is over.”

“This is your fault,” you press out between gritted teeth. “Just break the door down, we can’t waste more time.”

“That’s what I’m—,” Claude throws himself once more against the hard wood, “—trying.”

There’s a loud crack and the door opens to the other side; not by swinging but by being lifted out of its hinges. Behind it, Dimitri is peeking around the frame, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “I thought you two might be in need of some assistance.”

“Yeah, I was … I was about to do the same,” Claude says.

You push him aside, hurrying down the corridor and waving them after you. “Lucky for us, Dimitri was faster.”

“No, really!” Claude calls after you. “I was just about to do the same!”

The fight lasted throughout the whole night. When you return to your chamber, drenched in grime and blood, you can’t even be bothered with your missing door and fall face first into your bed, remembering too late that it’s as hard as the ground.

After an hour or two of resting, you quickly clean yourself up and meet the others for a short breakfast of dry rye bread and mushy oats, letting them believe the red bump on your forehead is from the battle. There is a little spare time before the meeting to discuss your next course of action, so you head back to your room for some more shut-eye.

“Herald.”

A raspy whisper stops you, drawing your attention to a chamber you walked past on your way to the classroom many times. Not once has it been occupied since your arrival in Abyss. But now it is decorated with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries. Violet lights hang from lanterns on the ceiling, illuminating the heavy furniture and curtains in soft, misty light. You remember Constance mentioning something about a Wayseer’s room, usually empty, but now inhabited by an elderly woman sitting in an armchair too big for her behind a round, mahogany table. You can only see a pair of narrow, dark eyes staring up at you. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind a white veil.

“Please, do come in, Herald,” the woman croons and gestures to an empty, cushioned chair standing before the table. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “There is so much we have to discuss.”

Something in your chest gives a sudden, sharp tug. Seiros’ Champion? No, this feels different. Somehow … It feels wrong. You shouldn’t be here. You hover within the doorframe, looking down the corridor left and right. It is like everyone except you two has left Abyss.

Curiosity taking you in its reins, you step into the room, your eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. “Who are you?” you ask, cautiously making your way across the room towards the chair.

The woman chuckles.

“They call me Wayseer, Herald. For I see the paths people have walked and how far they still have to march until they arrive at their destination.”

You pause, hand resting on the chair’s backrest. The wood feels impossibly cold against your skin. “You can see … the future?”

The woman chuckles again. It is the sound of dry leaves scattered by the cold autumn wind. “You mean do I have the same ability as you? Making Time bow to me? Oh no. Nothing of the like. I simply glimpse where I am allowed. No one else has what you wield.”

“Of course.” You sit, quickly swallowing your disappointment.

“Oh, but why frown like that, Herald.” The Wayseer places her hands to both sides of a translucent orb placed before her on a dark socket. You could have sworn it was not there a second ago. They were small hands with lithe fingers like spider legs. On each finger she wore heavy rings. “So many would kill for what you seem not to appreciate. Power. Glory. The chance to sit upon the throne of the world.”

“I would appreciate people not telling me how to feel about it,” you snap, irritation lashing out like a cornered beast. Taken aback, you lean away from her, your back pressed right against the cold chair. It feels as if you are pressing yourself against a solid block of ice. Where did this come from? This fury?

The Wayseer’s lip curls. If she’s taken offence at your irritation, she doesn’t show. She shifts in her seat like a child impatient to finally be allowed to play with a new toy.

“What can you tell me about my paths then?” you ask. There is little you hope for, really. If she tells you she sees you living in a nice house by the sea in twenty years or so, that is all you can ask for. A peaceful life. You would simply be happy hearing you will survive the next few years. And, if she can see where exactly you have come from, then maybe luck really is on your side this time and you can finally find some answers.

“Very well.” The Wayseer’s chuckle is drier than crisp autumn leaves. She holds out her wiry hand and says, “Close your eyes, Herald, and give me your hand.”

You aren’t too keen on skinship with a stranger, but just to humour both of you, you comply, and placing your hand into hers, palm up, you close your eyes. You feel her gnarly fingers dance over your wrist, brushing over your open palm as light as a spider’s touch. You fight a shudder.

The pain is so sudden and jarring like a lightning bolt. Before you can pull your hand back, the Wayseer grabs your wrist hard like a vice—surprisingly strong for someone this old. Her head darts forward and she sucks your bleeding finger into her greedy mouth as if it were water and she is dying of thirst.

“What are you doing?” you demand, fighting to free your hand. Finally, the Wayseer releases your finger with a wet pop from her lips, and for a second you believe to see razor sharp teeth before the veil obscures her mouth again.

The Wayseer smacks her lips and scratches her nails against the smooth surface of her orb. Maybe this is all a joke. If Claude and Hilda jump out from under the table any second and laugh about the silly face you’re making, you wouldn’t even be angry. But no one emerges, and you stay alone with this mad woman. She’s moving her hands in strange motions over the orb, and in response colourful clouds swirl inside the ball. First red, then blue, and golden until, like a storm rolling in, all of a sudden it becomes black.

The Wayseer recoils.

She tries to suck in air as if she is drowning, her eyes bulging like a dead fish’s. She spits on the ground and a shudder wrecks through her, one that has her falling from her armchair onto the ground, her body convulsing. She begins to cough, a horrible, rattling sound, as if there is something stuck deep inside her that she can’t get out. Clawing at her throat, digging her nails deep enough into the skin to tear, she kicks and wails as if set in invisible flames. As if something is burning her up from the inside. Like poison.

You jump to your feet, rounding the table to help her but she screeches and scrambles away from you, eyes ripped wide open. “Who … no, what are you?” she croaks.

“I … I don’t know.” Your voice is so quiet you don’t know if she can even hear you. “I hoped you could tell me.”

The Wayseer turns to the side and spits some more. It is so dark that it almost looks black, whatever that is—blood or maybe something far gruesome?

Did I do that? you think, horrified as you watch her climb to her feet, still shaking and shuddering. You are about to apologise, reaching forward to steady her by her elbow, but the Wayseer shakes your effort away impatiently as if you are nothing but an annoying fly.

“Oh, my dear, you seem forsaken to me,” she says, and you can’t hold back your surprise how easily she bears no mind or grudge to whatever has happened. Whatever you might have caused. “Just like—” She stops. Her eyes are fixed on her orb that is now swirling in undistinguishable shapes. She leans over it, her gaze pining you like a dead animal on a corkboard. “It seems to me that the answers you seek lie in the Shadow Library, Herald,” the Wayseer says now, her voice suddenly smooth like clear water. Or the satin concealing a sharp knife. But what makes your stomach churn is the way she purred “Herald.” Almost mockingly, and you realise the spiking fear in your stomach doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the first Herald.

“Why can’t you tell me?” you ask.

“Because it is not my place to tell you.” The Wayseer casts down her eyes now. Her whole behaviour doesn’t make sense. Making light of the Herald’s name first, now acting obedient. You listen inside for the voice of Seiros’ Champion and find one emotion burning like a beacon in the dark. Get out. She is the enemy.

You jump to your feet, almost knocking the table over. “I have to go.”

“Of course.” The Wayseer bows her head slightly, and from the way her eyes become slits, you can see she is smiling underneath the veil. “But don’t forget, the Shadow Library holds answers. Do not let anyone stop you from chasing the truth.”

You give an awkward nod, not trusting your voice.

When you quickly leave the room and throw a last glance back, you think you see the unfamiliar face of a man staring back at you from inside the Wayseer’s orbs, his eyes eerily white.

The Shadow Library is a dark, damp room tucked away at the end of a narrow hall that is seldom frequented by the Abyssians. When you take a look inside, relief fills you that only Linhardt is currently occupying a seat close to a wall, an uneven stack of books his only companion.

The Wayseer didn’t say specifically where to look, but you would start with records on the first Herald and see what you could turn up about him.

But first, you have to deal with Linhardt who’s napping away in his seat, cheek squished against the edge of an open book.

“Linhardt.” You shake him. “Linhardt!”

He jerks up. “I’m awake,” he lies, blinking sleepily against the dim candle’s light. He looks up at you, squints and seems to recognise who caught him. “Oh, it’s just you, Herald. Come to a late study session as well? Or early morning? It’s certainly hard to tell down here with no sun.”

“How long have you been awake?”

Linhardt thinks about that for a moment, his eyes losing focus, then refocusing again. “Forty-two hours, maybe?”

“Bed. Now.”

He leans back, considering the idea. “We can’t say for how long we’ll have access to this hidden knowledge. Did you know it was only with the founding of the Adrestian Empire that we have the calendar as we know it today. They used to call our moons ‘months,’ if you can believe something this extraordinary! You can’t find data like that up in the monastery’s library.”

“Linhardt,” you repeat. “Go to bed. Or do you want me to get Byleth?”

Linhardt doesn’t need to consider this. He raises to his feet, sways a little from exhaustion, and tugs his uniform in order. “Good night, Herald.”

He turns and moves to the exit, but you call him back. “Linhardt!”

He stops. You point at the table. His mouth twitches into an unpleasant line, the only sight of his disapproval, but he returns, drops the books and scrolls he’s hidden in the folds of his robes, and leaves for good.

Quiet settles, and you give it a minute or two to calm your beating heart. “I know you don’t like this,” you say out loud, hoping Seiros’ Champion might finally stop being so anxious inside you. “I don’t trust that Wayseer either, but if I find answers here, I’ll take anything I can get.” He doesn’t know what it is like not knowing anything. Are you even a real person if you don’t have a past; if you don’t have anything or anyone remembering you? “I have a right to know who I am.”

Unfathomable sadness spills at those words—his mixing with yours and you can’t say who started it. But he quickly recedes, leaving you alone. Somehow you feel even worse now. Lonely. You wonder where he left to where you can’t follow him.

You make your way along the walls of books, allowing your fingers to gently journey over the spines. There are so many stories in here that so few people get to read. This library’s collection appears larger than the monastery’s as well, solely for the fact that they don’t have enough space for all the knowledge cramped into every nook and cranny. Wherever there is even some small additional space, someone has made it their calling to fill that blank spot with a book—even when it doesn’t fit.

Without any idea to start, you continue down the aisle and pick whatever sounds interesting. Letters from heirs to noble houses, an antiquated note on what meat to use for a special dish prepared for the new emperor at ceremonies, a novel set in the Adrestian Empire with a date of removal and Seteth’s signature. So this is where the books end up that Seteth doesn’t allow up in the monastery.

You’d hoped to find more about the Herald down here maybe, but there are no records, no memoirs, not even discourse. Why did no one care to keep your records alive? you wonder, but wherever the boy has retreated to, he can’t hear you, or perhaps, chooses not to hear you.

Nothing sticks out as something truly worthy of Seteth’s scorn at first glance. That is until you find the burnt remnants of a report stating some details on a handful of noble houses, another scroll that talks about a False God and the children of men fleeing to the depths of the earth. One paper strikes you as particularly important, but the page is so old and worn that most of the text is illegible. The Truth of Heroes’ Relics. You wonder what it might be, what truth lies within the relics and their Crests that the writer of this paper finished with the words “I daresay the Goddess would not wish for me to learn more than I already have.”

You finally hit a breakthrough when a stack of papers falls to your feet, bundled together with a crumbling piece of wool. When you begin to read, you realise these are the fragments of a forgotten memoir of someone who had fought in the War of Heroes. With clammy hands, you begin to read.

__/15 - Ailell Forest It has been several moons since King Nemesis was defeated, and the tides of war have turned from bad to worse. I have received news that my friend Daphnel has fallen as well. Those zealots are after our heads, and those of our leaders. All that is left for us is to disappear into the muddy waters Seiros has created. My long life may soon come to an end …

__/2 - Itha Plains I somehow escaped with my life, but I fear the end is near. They tell stories of the Shadowlord’s execution and with him gone, what point is there for us, those who have survived? Those who remain and carry a broken legacy. People are worried, for their Herald has locked himself in his rooms, unwilling to speak to his followers or Saint Seiros. They do not understand how he could be so distraught over the Shadowlord’s death. They do not know the truth. Once more, Seiros has chosen to keep secrets, to play with her charges’ obedience and fear. But I know. The world will know the truth at some point and then Seiros will reap the rotten harvest of what she has sown. I misspoke and was driven away to the Fhirid River. They hunt us like animals. I considered leaving Crusher behind, hiding my trails. Maybe it is too late for that. I wish I could see my wife and son again … just one last time.

You read the content of the worn pages once more, trying to make a sense of it. Daphnel was one of the Ten Heroes, as was the author of this letter—if you remember correctly, the Heroes’ Relic Crusher was wielded by Dominic. It must be from after the corruption if King Nemesis was defeated, but from the way those words are framed, the author doesn’t strike you as someone mad for more power or revenge. It is strange but you feel pity for this person.

There is another name that stands out, of course, one that you have not heard in all your moons since joining the church.

The Shadowlord.

The name is like a brush of icy cold fingers against your mind, as gently as a snake grazing your ankle before it springs forward and sinks its venomous fangs deep into your flesh. A shiver passes your body, only it is settled so deep within your bones that you know this is not your fear rekindled.

But as you focus on chasing after Seiros’ Champion before he can disappear back into the murky depths of your mind, a cough comes from the library’s entrance. Your gaze snaps up to see Yuri standing in the doorway. The look of annoyance on his face is something that deserves its own painting to commemorate it.

“I hope you plan on putting that back exactly where you found it,” he says, strolling over as if he doesn’t have any care in the world but the tense set of his shoulders betrays him. “Wouldn’t want any of that to find its way into the hands of someone from the surface.”

“Don’t you get bored?” you ask, folding the papers back together and pushing them back between two books.

Yuri stops, quickly eyeing what you’ve put away to undoubtedly have a look himself once you leave. “Bored of what?”

“Pretending I’m still the villain and here to sell out your people?”

To your surprise, a look of unabashed amusement lights up his face for a moment. It settles back to a somewhat neutral expression, but the glee still remains in the soft dip of the dimple on his left cheek.

“Better safe than sorry,” Yuri replies, shrugging casually. His nimble fingers dance across book spines. “Though yes, even I must admit that your deeds for the people of Abyss are not what I have expected.” His fingers pause. Yuri leans forward, lilac eyes gleaming. His face is predatory, but his voice is gentle. “You are not what I have expected.”

His words feel like the warm flick of a candle’s light. You didn’t realise until now how much you cared for Yuri’s approval. To think he’s warming up to you slowly might still be an exaggeration, but maybe he’ll grant you the generosity of a looser tongue now that he doesn’t see you as the enemy.

Your eyes skim back to where you’ve returned the letters, fingers itching to take them with you until you know every word by heart. “I’ve … I’ve read about this person. Shadowlord. Any idea who that was?”

Yuri raises a slim eyebrow. “The Shadowlord?” He looks a little puzzled, his eyes roaming over the books. “It’s just a story. A boogie man living in the shadows that steals you away if you don’t finish eating all your vegetables. Grandparents used to tell their grandchildren that story so they wouldn’t be naughty.”

“So just the bad guy in a fairy tale?”

“Is what I’ve heard.” He gives a single shrug. “Who knows. All fairy tales have a spark of truth to them though. Maybe he truly existed.”

You’re sure that is what people thought about the Herald as well until the story became reality. You just hope this particular story remains one.

“Also, I would appreciate it if you don’t go around the monastery telling everyone what you’re reading down here,” Yuri says, waving towards the library’s entrance to signal your late-night reading has come to an end.

You hesitate only a moment before you follow him down the corridor, leaving the books and tomes behind. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Great.” He winks at you. “Saves me the trouble of sneaking into your room and slitting your throat.”

“Charming as always.”

Maybe one day you’ll be capable of holding a pleasant conversation with him without any death threats. Though it already feels as if a little of Yuri’s animosity has disappeared in favour of giving you a chance to prove yourself.

He drops you off at the door to your quarters, already flaunting down the corridor to whatever nightly escapade fancies his tastes without so much as a wave at you over his shoulder.

“That Wayseer,” you say before he can disappear into the shadows. “What’s her deal?”

Yuri stops. He turns slowly, his eyes flitting from the dark corners of the flickering lights on the walls to you. There’s a question in his eyes you don’t know the answer to. “What Wayseer?” he asks, and you can feel your blood run cold. “I know everyone going in and out of Abyss, and I haven’t heard about someone like that hanging around.”

“But that room next to the scrap chamber…”

“Hasn’t been occupied in years.” When Yuri answers this time, he turns around and looks at you a little sceptical but also impatient as if he doesn’t have time for whatever pipe dreams you’ve come up with. “I guess someone played a joke on you. Don’t let it get to you.”

You nod, but your mind still lingers in that room, with that person. It would be easy to brush it off as a joke. But this sense of wrongness spikes again, a kernel of goddess-awful flavour that the more you think about it has you gagging. You had felt an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It was recognition.

A/N: someone over at ao3 made fanart of the first herald and i'm absolutely in love!! check it out here!

if you're interested to join the taglist, please let me know! i want to resume uploads every month, so the next chapter should be up on September 15th. thanks for reading and take care!

Happy Birthday musician Michael ‘Mike’ Scott born 14th December 1958 in Edinburgh.

Scott was born and raised in Edinburgh. His father, Allan Scott, left the family when Mike was ten years old, but the two were reunited in 2007.

Scott was interested in music from an early age. At age 12, after the family had moved to Ayr, he began a serious interest in learning guitar. In 1968 he mentions listening to Hank Williams as a “life-changing” experience. The next year, Scott was playing in school bands and formed the band Karma, they were inspired by David Bowie, The Beatles and Bob Dylan.

Playing in a few bands by the time 1981 came he had started the idea of The Waterboys, he admits that he “is” The Waterboys, the lineup has changed through the years but he say that “ there’s no difference between Mike Scott and the Waterboys; they both mean the same thing. They mean myself and whoever are my current travelling musical companions.”

It’s not all about having hits with The Waterboys, Mike is a natural songwriter, as The Waterboys and Mike Scott he has released 15 albums, 4 of the singles reached the top 40.

In mid-1980s, when The Waterboys supported U2 at Wembley Arena in London, Mike Scott’s band seemed all set for the same global status as Bono and Co.

The following year, when their third album, This Is The Sea, and classic single, The Whole Of The Moon, catapulted the band’s “big music” into the Top 10 such success seemed virtually assured. But it was never what he wanted. Under pressure from his record company to produce more stadium-pleasing Waterboys tracks, he retreated to Ireland… and made a folk record. Mike has lived in the Fair city of Dublin for over 12 years and holds a dual nationality, he said in an interview last year   “ ….people have often told me I’m an honouree Irishman, but I feel Scottish. But I’m very proud to live in Ireland. And my children are Irish. So, now I’ve very deep roots here.”

Mike continues to write and tour with the Waterboys, I remember always arguing with a friend that disagreed with me that the Waterboys were (are) a Scottish group, it’s true some of the members of the group have come from Ireland and England as well as the US but Mike Scott, as I said to him and would still say to him IS The Waterboys, The Whole of the Moon is a top class song and the lyric…

“Unicorns and cannonballs, palaces and piers Trumpets, towers and tenements Wide oceans full of tears Flags, rags ferryboats Scimitars and scarves”

……could only be written by a Scotsman. The song was initially released to a limited success in 1985, it resurfaced again in 1991 and won an Ivor Novello Award as “Best Song Musically and Lyrically” that year and reached number 3. Celtic Women sing a version at their concerts, Jennifer Warnes has also covered it as well as the late great Prince at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club during his 2014 Hit & Run tour. U2 used the song as a “walk out tune” during the Joshua Tree tour.

The Waterboys released their 16th studio album last May, I’ve listened to a few of the tracks, Blackberry Girl for me is the stand out tune, Once were Brothers is a decent track too, it’s a cover of Robbie Robertson song.

The Waterboys  are set for dates next year in Portugal, Netherlands, the Scandinavian countries and Germany, before heading home with gigs at Glasgow Royal  Concert Hall on October 2nd, Edinburgh Usher Hall on the 3rd and back to Glasgow Barrowlands on the 6th, they then head south for a number of dates in England 

The song I have chosen this year was  originally from The Waterboys Too Close to Heaven album, a collection of outtakes, alternative versions, and unreleased tracks from The Waterboys' Fisherman's Blues period, released in September 2001. This version is sung in a Scottish accent, it is, in my opinion fucking brilliant. The line  You feel like you want to have your sporran refilled, just gets me.If I was to describe it, I would say it is like The Proclaimers on Acid. 

The mountain is steep The ditches are deep The task in hand Is making us weep But here's a promise (I intend to keep / That I mean to keep) Seed it in your mind And say it each night Before you sleep: We will climb higher in time (och!) You've got a head full of trouble And a ship to build (You think you won't make it But you know you will You feel you need your Cup refilled Fill it out of mine We'll drop the defenses Pool our skill / Your heart you're hiding It's making you ill You feel like you want to have your Sporran refilled Well, fill it out of mine Let the soulful water Overspill) And we will climb higher in time

I've been to the bottom I've been on the train I've slept in the gutter With my head in a drain I've been brutally proud I've been mortally shamed But this is not a crime I'm just learning, my friends That it's all in the game And we will climb higher in time (Och!) Climb higher in time Climb higher in time

❦ Thorne-Zest Household, Day Twenty-Three ❦

❧ ROOMIES - - - - -  

     “So you’re not in Strangerville anymore?” she asked as they started getting weird looks from the festival organizers on why they were still here when everything was winding down. They both got up from the table, Allan insisting on walking her towards the subway station. 

“Nah, place was too weird,” he said, shaking his head. “Got transferred out this way right after the academy. Been staying at this place downtown, but I’m looking for something outside the city now that things are settled. City’s too...loud, I guess.” 

Eris nodded and before she could think better of it, she offered, “I’m looking for a roommate.” They both stopped on the sidewalk and Eris felt her cheeks flush as Allan looked over at her, brow raised. “I mean...” she cleared her throat. “I’m buying a house, you know, for...” she waved her hands at her belly. “And the house payment, I can make, it just, would be nicer with, you know, a roommate...” she trailed off awkwardly. “If you wanted. And you’re okay with a baby, of course. I mean he’s coming in a couple months, so...” 

Allan clucked his tongue, eyes going to the ground like he was thinking it over and she almost retracted the statement. It was such a forward thing to offer when she wasn’t sure he even felt the same way she did. That they were still friends. She thought that way. Even if they hadn’t spoken for a couple of years, he was still her friend. She still cared about him something fierce. They could be roommates, right? 

“Okay.” 

The word had her stalling in those doubts and thoughts, looking over at him. “Really?” she asked, probably more surprised than she meant to let on, but she didn’t care right now. 

Allan chuckled. “Yeah, sure, why not? I’m looking for a place, you’re looking for a roommate, why not?” 

Eris’s face lit up. “Cool,” she said, feeling like a goofy teenager again before she suddenly grew serious. “But just roommates.” 

“Yeah, just roommates,” he agreed. 

Household Addition: Allan Szalinski

Gen One || Legacy Page      

So that was a downer. Which I suppose you might have expected, given the subject matter and the team behind it (same director and star as Hostiles)...

The detective Augustus Landor is called to investigate a murder at West Point Military Academy–one of the cadets has been hanged and had his heart cut out. It’s a bit freaky! Landor’s investigation leads him to cross paths with another cadet, Edgar Allan Poe, who wants to help figure out who did it, using his own unorthodox point of view to help solve the mystery. But the heads of West Point keep applying more pressure as the case goes on and more bodies turn up.

A historical murder mystery can be difficult to get right; you can’t just have a CSI story set in a historical period and hope that’s enough. You need some kind of additional hook, like being set in a monastery during a massive ecclesiastical dispute, or involving Aztec mythological figures or something. This one has the idea (and that credit goes to the author of the book this movie was based on) to include Edgar Allan Poe in the investigation.

There’s a nice little game to play with this movie, where you try to see how many allusions to Poe’s stories you can find. There’s the obvious thing about Poe being one of America’s first serious mystery writers with his Dupin stories. But there are plenty of others there too. 

Edgar Allen Poe was not, thankfully, an annoying gimmick addition as he could have been. He was a likable, fully-realized character who contributes both the story and characterization of our lead, Landor. He’s fun. I mean he’s also a bit of a weirdo, which is kind of how he has to be. He never quite reaches the level of dorkability as the version you’ll see in Poe Party_/Tell Tale Vlog, but it’s still entertaining.

Also, he’s played by Dudley Dursley which is a bit weird when I realized that.]

Don’t let that make you think that it’s a fun movie overall. It’s a pretty dark movie, throughout its run. It is, after all, about catching a murderer who has cut the heart out of the victim’s chest. Even scenes that aren’t about the murder are very somber in tone, because of the dark colors of the design, the ever-present snow, and the setting being the military academy West Point. You could simply look at stills of this film to know the kind of movie you’re getting into. Normally, I’d be bothered by the melancholy hues and overwhelming atmosphere, but this is a movie it really fits in.

Still, that doesn’t make it a good time to watch. Which is fine–not every film needs to be a popcorn flick. It’s also not a film that I’d put on lightly. Unless you’re someone who will take great fun out of trying to figure out the mystery as the characters do in the film, make sure you’re in the right mood for this movie before you put it on.

There is a frustrating bit of grimdark Plot that rears its head when we get to the end (I’m not going to spoil it for you, because it’s an important part of character motivations). It’s not out of nowhere; while I didn’t predict it, I suspect quite a few viewers might as the story goes on. That doesn’t change that it’s a trope I’m tired of seeing. I suspect it’s also in the original novel that the story’s based on (I’d have to check out this book to be sure), and I don’t know how the story as intended would ever work without it. That doesn’t make me like this Plot element though, and I know more than one critic was completely turned off from the movie by it.

The Pale Blue Eye is a well-made and very memorable movie, and I think it’s worth watching if you find interest in the premise, or like dark murder mysteries in historical settings. I can’t say how or if fans of the book will enjoy it. I don’t think I could stand watching this movie if I was already in a bad mood though, and that ending spoils some of the enjoyment I had of the movie.

@swerte​ said:  Allan will not beg. He will not. Yet at the same time, he can feel the blood loss beginning to affect him, the pain rippling from the open wound on his side throughout the rest of his body. He tries reaching for his globe, fallen to the ground far from him, but his strength fails him. His vision blurs, blood pooling in his mouth, and he collapses onto his side with a low cry of pain. "H-help me... bastard..." Allan gasps out, knowing Roi is watching, though his own eyes fixate on his torquetem. If he can just heal himself of these injuries, of the wound taken by the sudden assassin that had appeared, then he would be fine. But, fuck, his body won't cooperate despite every part of him that screams in desperation to live.

Not accepting ⸻ ✸  

⸻ ☄

How rare. Roi was usually the one sporting injuries when they met. Though, he had never had one as severe as what Allan had right now. Dark red blood gushing out of his mouth, out of his wound. He could reason that a lung was punctured. Blood loss, a collapsed lung. He didn’t know which would likely kill Allan first. 

And yet, there was a sense of panic inside of him. An out of control pulse, despite how he looks calm and uncaring. The assassin was already dead. Roi’s hands tremble. He doubted Allan could fully heal himself. It would be dangerous for him to take Allan somewhere more equipped to help him, even if he did manage to stop the immediate threat with his healing. 

 Despite the fear inside of him, he approached the other slowly. Kneeling beside him, Roi looks at the wound. Even to a layman, it looked deep. The coppery smell of blood made him suddenly see something. His mother in Allan’s place. Blood leaking from her mouth and... He shakes his head. 

❝ Calm down. ❞  His tone is commanding. He grabs Allan, moving his arms under the other man’s. Slowly, he shifts Allan’s body. Even though it likely would hurt. It would be best if he was sitting upright. If he flipped onto his back, he might choke on his own blood. ❝  I’m moving you to the wall. Then I’ll get the globe for you. ❞   Roi’s tone was monotone. The brief vision of his mother. The stench of blood. His only friend contact bleeding out in front of it. All of it hit him at once and his emotions shut down. It felt like he had separated from reality. Like he was watching events unfold without being a part of them. 

 He slowly dragged the smaller man to the nearby wall. He had very little medical knowledge. He couldn’t patch such a serious injury up. He could only allow the other to heal what he could and get him someone more knowledgeable to help him. It was a risk. And one he would have to take or else he would lose his healer. 

Once satisfied that Allan wouldn’t fall over, he rose to his feet. Again, feeling like he had fully dissociated from the situation, Roi walked to the star globe and retrieved it. His hands were still shaking, his heart was beating so fast that he couldn’t stand it. He walked back to the other, again kneeling before Allan passing him the globe. 

❝ Heal what you can. Then I’ll take you to a chirurgian. ❞ Roi ripped off a piece of his own coat to use as a rag. He applied pressure to the wound on Allan’s side. The warmth of the blood, even through the cloth, was a strange sensation. Roi preferred burning to kill people. Blood was so... unpleasant. ❝ If you need aether, I can give some of my own. Though you will owe me for every bit of my help. Do you understand? ❞ 

As much as he hated to admit it... Roi didn’t care about repayment. He couldn’t accept it. The fact that he simply didn’t want Allan to die. 

Hello! I was wondering if I may get a romantic or NSFW matchup? Thank you so much!

Gender preference: Male

INFJ 4w5

Personality (a summary): Reserved, empathetic, caring, slightly serious, artistic, curious, quiet, sensitive. Mischievous, teasing, flirty, playful, and slightly sarcastic with people I’m close to.

Other people have described me as: Shy, kind, quiet, serious, funny, smart, logical, caring, charismatic

I love learning, and am passionate about psychology and writing (especially when mixing theoretical or philosophical elements in). I also love drawing. I would like to learn painting, calligraphy, violin, and piano someday. I also tend to ramble about the things I study - especially psychological theories.

I have sharp intuition and can read people easily, though I often fall into the habit of over-analyzing people (including myself).

While I’m good at helping others open up, I have an extremely hard time opening up myself, even pushing people away. I bottle up my emotions a lot, and have a hard time connecting with people (like a lot of people connect with me, but I can’t connect with them).

Likes: Cats, psychology, philosophy, daydreaming, rainy/overcast/snowy days, poetry, writing, learning, wax sealing, dark chocolate dark academia, language learning, etc.

I pair you with..... Edgar Allan Poe!

You’re both shy, so this romance is definitely a slowburn but Poe would be quite enamored with you! Dark academia is totally his jam, so you’ll always be in abundance of dark academia aesthetics. He feels like you’re the only one who understands him and he wants to be that person for you too. Your analytical skills come in handy, it’s hard for many people to read Poe but you’d have an easier time. Sometimes, he asks you to look at his characters from a psychological lens, to gauge how they come across, it’s really helpful to his writing. Your humor gets Poe every time and you often make him blush. He tries to be romantic but it isn’t easy for him, he tends to show his affection with gifts (bought & hand made) and wanting to spend time together even if you do separate things. He likes rainy days in, too, he likes to hold you close at night while the rain beats down. He likes to listen to you chatter, as you get talking Karl will hop up on your lap to demand pets and Poe will set his quill aside to listen. It takes Poe a while to feel comfortable with pointing out that you’re clearly bottling your emotions but he does everything he can to make it clear that everything you feel matters to him. He seems like the sort to know Calligraphy, he would gladly teach you, and he would be a very willing victim to listen to you learn piano or violin. He really goes out of his way to Show you that he cares, hoping it’ll be enough to make you want to let him in. He wants to prove that he can be there for you. He definitely asks you for advice on ways to get to Ranpo, you proooobably shouldn’t fan that flame though, he can be too competitive. 

On a chilly winter day, tease him and rile him up and soon enough you’ll both be a whole lot warmer than before. Poe is very susceptible to flirting, the littlest teases will get him all worked up. He also likes to use his books for erotic fantasies with you, sometimes they’re used for wholesome dates, other times he writes them to do things he would otherwise feel too shy to do. It will depend on what you like, but inside the book you could experiment in public or set up some fun and sexy challenges to get out of the book. Something that would test your limits, in a good way. Poe would be putty under your hands if you decided to, say, tie his wrists and ride him. He would try to take the lead, if you wanted, but he would prefer to choreograph things out ahead if he’s in control. So, he’s a bit more dominant in the comfort of a scene he picked in his books than he is in his own home. Poe isn’t too great at going with the flow but overtime he would learn how to lose himself in just bein with you and not overthink it all so much. 

Warner Music Group's 'Underwater' Podcast With Jason Derulo And Alexandra Shipp – Set To Premiere On October 31

Here we share the news about Alexandra Shipp joining forces with Jason Derulo in "Underwater" - a sizzling new romantic, neo-noir thriller podcast brought to you by Warner Music Group's podcast powerhouse, Interval Presents, and conceived by Clamor and Temple Hill Entertainment. This exciting series will kick off with a bang on Tuesday, October 31, gracing all major podcast platforms with two electrifying episodes. This star-studded eight-episode saga promises a weekly dose of talent that'll keep you coming back for more, every single Tuesday after the launch. "Underwater" Redefines Entertainment "Underwater" unfolds in the glamorous setting of a top-tier island resort. It's the tale of Nico, played by Derulo, and Ana, brought to life by Shipp. But their red-hot romance is under siege, and not just because of your run-of-the-mill problems. Nope, it's about Nico's undercover mission and the skeletons lurking in Ana's closet. It's a love story that'll take you on the ride of a lifetime. In addition, the podcast is presented in the form of a narrative album! And Jason Derulo brings brand-new music to the mix, perfectly intertwined with the story and score, to deliver an audio experience like no other. Are you ready for a groundbreaking audio adventure at the cutting edge of entertainment? You better be! “As an artist, I’ve always believed that music and storytelling go hand in hand, shaping emotions and connecting people in unique ways. Podcasting provides an opportunity to delve deeper into the storytelling experience, and “Underwater” intertwines new music with all of the drama, thrills, and romance of the story itself,” said Jason Derulo. “Interval Presents is the perfect partner because of their deep roots in music and expertise as an established podcast powerhouse. They share in my vision of merging artistry and narrative to create a truly immersive and unforgettable experience for listeners.” "Delving into the world of audio storytelling has been an exciting new chapter for me. I'm grateful for the opportunity to collaborate with the immensely talented Jason Derulo as well as the teams at Clamor, Temple Hill, and Interval Presents, to bring this project to life,” said series star Alexandra Shipp. “I can’t wait for listeners to immerse themselves in the world of 'Underwater' and experience the power of this thrilling romantic series." Interval Presents' Commitment To Audio Storytelling Besides Jason and Alexandra, the cast includes Beau Bridgland, Michael Dearie, Aneesha DuBois, Andrew Frankel, Melissa Greenspan, Alice Hunter, Jeremy Jordan, Josh Keaton, Tara Langella, Jonathan Leon, Donis Leonard Jr., Michael McGlone, Carla Renata, Giancarlo Sabogal, David Shatraw, Andre Sogliuzzo, and Cameron J. Wright, who all contribute their own distinctive voices to the series. "Interval Presents is committed to pushing the boundaries of audio storytelling and this stellar cast exemplifies an unmatched combination of music and acting talent that is sure to engage and entertain our listeners,” said Allan Coye, General Manager of Interval Presents and WMG's Senior Vice President of Digital Strategy & Business Development. ’Underwater’ is a project that seamlessly weaves music and narrative, and perfectly aligns with our goals of elevating WMG artists, while staying true to the core values of Interval Presents." Interval Presents keeps things fresh and exciting. They're all about connecting with new audiences, and they're dead serious about it. They whip up some seriously authentic, culture-forward content that speaks to the heart of who you are. But with this new podcast, they're cranking up the volume of their programming game. You can bet they're reaching out to folks who want their audio content to match their own vibes about culture, life, and society. Is There Anything Alexandra Shipp Can't Achieve? Alexandra Shipp is no one-trick pony – she's a triple threat, boasting accomplishments as an actress, singer, and songwriter. In Lin-Manuel Miranda's directorial film debut, "tick, tick... BOOM!", a cinematic gem based on the autobiographical Off-Broadway masterpiece by the late Jonathan Larson, Shipp showcased her incredible versatility. She didn't just play 'Susan,' Jonathan Larson's long-term girlfriend; she embarked on a journey of self-discovery herself! Alexandra wowed us with brilliant solo performances and incredible duets alongside Andrew Garfield. The result? Rave reviews and awards buzz that left critics whizzing with excitement. But if you thought she was done, think again. Catch her right now in the summer's biggest blockbuster, Greta Gerwig's "BARBIE" for Warner Bros, starring alongside Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling. And if that's not enough to leave you in awe, she's currently in production for Will Gluck's untitled romantic comedy, featuring Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell. Is there anything Shipp can't conquer? Shipp's Filmography Explored In 2021, she released her debut musical masterpiece, the catchy "Dirty Long Sleeve Shirt." But that's just the beginning of the story! Shipp rocked the big screen as the iconic, mohawked superheroine 'Storm' in the X-Men blockbusters, including the epic battles of Apocalypse and Dark Phoenix. She also delighted audiences with the critically acclaimed film "Love, Simon," which tugged at our heartstrings and also snagged the prestigious Outstanding Film award at the 2019 GLAAD Awards. What else is on the horizon, you ask? Kyra Sedgwick's cosmic adventure "Space Oddity," which intrigued audiences at last year's Tribeca Film Festival. And David Sandberg's riveting "Kung Fury II," where Shipp teams up with Michael Fassbender. Notable Film Credits That's not all she's earned. In 2018, the red carpet rolled out to honor Alexandra at the Women in Film Crystal + Lucy Awards with the prestigious "Face of the Future Award®." Why? For her extraordinary acting chops and her embodiment of timeless style and grace. Oh, and let's not forget the cherry on top – that same year, she snagged a "Rising Star Award" at the Napa Valley Film Festival. Additional credits include Asking For It, opposite Kiersey Clemons and Vanessa Hudgens; Nancy Meyer’s Father of the Bride (3ish), a Netflix project to raise money for World Central Kitchen; Jexi opposite Adam Devine; Netflix’s original film All The Bright Places, opposite Elle Fanning; Universal’s Oscar-nominated feature Straight Outta Compton; A Dog’s Way Home; the two-hander Tragedy Girls, TRAGEDY GIRLS; and the title role of ‘Aaliyah’ in the Lifetime biopic, Aaliyah. The Princess Of R&B's Bold Move To Los Angeles Hailing from the sunny streets of Phoenix, Arizona, the Princess of R&B went on a thrilling adventure when she packed her bags and headed to the City of Angels at the tender age of 17. From a small-town girl to a rising star, Shipp burst onto the silver screen with her debut appearance in the Fox sensation, "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel." In television, she enchanted audiences with her portrayal of KT Rush on Nickelodeon's series, "House of Anubis." Isn't it fascinating how this Arizona native made her way to Hollywood and left her mark on both the big and small screens? All it took was a little squeak, a lot of courage, and a lot of hairspray! Celebrating Jason Derulo's Remarkable Musical And Financial Achievements With an imaginative flair that knows no bounds, Derulo has firmly established himself as a leading force in pop music. Ever since his breakthrough moment with the sensational "Whatcha Say," he's been on a roll. And the numbers? They speak volumes. From one platinum hit to another, he's got a mind-boggling 15 platinum singles under his belt! Those singles include, "Wiggle", "Talk Dirty", "Want to Want Me," "Trumpets," "It Girl", "In My Head," “Ridin' Solo,” “Don’t Wanna Go Home,” “Marry Me,” “ The Other Side,” “Get Ugly,” “Swalla,” “Savage Love” and “Take You Dancing.” But, have you ever wondered just how much this musical powerhouse is worth?  His net worth is soaring over the $100 million mark. Now, isn't that a journey worth celebrating? Since the inception of his solo recording journey back in 2009, he's been racking up over 18.2 billion worldwide streams, and his social media game? It's been absolutely unstoppable, with a jaw-dropping 117 million followers across all platforms. 500 Million+ Views And Counting Right now, Jason Derulo's in the lab cooking up his highly-anticipated fifth album, which also marks his grand entrance into the Atlantic Records family. And what's he been dishing out in the meantime? Smash hit after smash hit, each one racking up 500 million+ views. We're talking about tunes like the insanely catchy "Acapulco," the platinum-certified groovefest "Take You Dancing," and that chart-topping banger "Savage Love (Laxed – Siren Beat)" in collaboration with Jawsh 685, which went triple platinum! And let's not forget the worldwide sensation that was the "Savage Love" BTS remix in 2020. It conquered the Billboard "Hot 100" and reigned supreme on the charts in 16 other countries. Jason is not just a music maestro, he's also an actor and savvy entrepreneur. He's diving into ventures like Catch L.A. and Rumble Boxing, and did you know he's part-owner of Bedlam Vodka? Plus, he's got an innovation-packed podcast in the works and a lineup of supplements and fitness goodies thanks to the Najafi Group and BodyBuilding.com. Jason Derulo Lights Up the NFL TikTok Tailgate Derulo has just unveiled something seriously cool – his very own graphic novel, "Jason Derulo’s UZO," brought to life by Z2 Comics, and it's based on a TikTok character he created himself. With his TikTok videos consistently raking in over 10 million views per post, you've got to wonder, how has this platform transformed his fan interaction? Derulo is not just any TikTok star; he's up there with the big shots. He's the 4th most followed guy on the platform and the 11th biggest account overall. His TikTok presence is growing faster than you can say "viral!" He's got 58.2 million followers from all around the globe and more than 1.2 billion likes! But here's the real head-scratcher: How Jason reclaim his throne as TikTok king? Well, last year, he dropped the summer sensation "Slidin'" and even challenged fans to dance to his own electric slide rendition on TikTok. And speaking of fun, this guy knows how to party. To celebrate the single, Derulo threw a wildly extravagant "Slidin’" Weekend in Miami with some of his closest creator pals. He had private jets, massive mansions, sexy yacht parties, hibachi dinners, clubbing, and more! In addition, the pop singer lit up the stage at the NFL TikTok Tailgate during the Super Bowl LVII pregame special! He cranked out many chart-toppers. But you won't believe this – he even treated us to the first live performance of his fresh single, "Saturday / Sunday," featuring David Guetta. Did you catch that epic show? It was one for the books! About Interval Presents Interval Presents is a podcast network from Warner Music Group (WMG) that produces multi-format, culture-forward audio content at the intersection of music, pop culture, and social impact. Launched in 2022, the network is rooted in artistry, authenticity, and diversity partnering with WMG’s talent, notable figures, and producers to connect listeners with unique storytelling about today’s trending topics. Interval Presents’ slate of programming amplifies underrepresented voices, cultures and explores the impact of music artistry from diverse perspectives. The network’s programming slate includes talk shows and narrative-driven episodic podcasts. It is home to “Drink Champs” co-hosted by N.O.R.E. and DJ EFN, “Yeah, I F*cked That Up,” hosted by Billy Mann, “Rap Radar” featuring Elliott Wilson and Brian “B.Dot” Miller, “Holding Court” with Eboni K. Williams, and “The Last Resort” narrated by Xiuhtezcatl, with forthcoming shows hosted by Oscar-winning actress Lupita Nyong’o, as well as “Amplify Color,” highlighting Black trailblazers who changed this history of radio. For more information, follow Interval Presents on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok and YouTube. Written by Nikiya Biggs | LinkedIn | Twitter | Facebook Follow and like FMHipHop on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, and Spotify! Read the full article

Art analysis: 'Poe and Ranpo' chapter-opening art

The upward eight of swords? The Black Cat? The Murders in the Rue Morgue?

*Spoilers ahead for the manga, ‘The Black Cat’ by Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ by Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter 32 is the chapter where Poe challenges Ranpo and Yosano, but mostly Ranpo, to solve a mystery he has spent 6 years meticulously constructing, thinking that he finally would have his revenge on Ranpo. And, for what’s worth, I think it’s interesting to point out the potential references that are embedded in this chapter opening art.

# All my analyses are personal opinions and I do not mean to override any takes the reader might have. That being said...

The first reference is the upward eight of swords.

In the art, we can see a hand, or possibly just the hand of a body, reaching out from a coffin, and eight swords in an upright position jutting out of it. I haven’t really learned anything about tarot cards before but after reading up on it, I feel like it might have something significant to the card of the upward eight of swords. Please do correct me if I am wrong on any accord.

The upward eight of swords represents a situation where you feel trapped in a situation but you have no way out. The more that you think about it, the more that you feel trapped. But in actuality you are not bound by the situation itself but the thoughts by which you chain yourself. You are able to escape the situation if you want to.

In the tarot card, the woman is fenced by the upright swords but isn’t necessarily imprisoned by them. She would know that she can escape if only she’d take the blindfold off.

So far in the manga, there has been two scenes where Ranpo admits that he does not have an ability and that his deduction skills are his own observative intelligence and methodology:

Chapter 32, which we are analysing right now

And, chapter 56, where he tells Mushitaro he will defeat him even though he does not have an ability, but since his comrades think he’s invincible (dazaiscans)

Ranpo kept telling Yosano all throughout the first part of the chapter that he needed his glasses so that they could solve the mystery of the novel they were trapped in and return to the real world. He's shown to have not wanted to question the guests or investigate his surroundings, but since Ranpo's "ability" has always been himself, he is subconsciously or unconsciously doing it anyways. He notices things when he's not even having to put in the effort to do so. He can point out his deduction process and justify the outcome as he always does.

But he still said that he wasn't doing fine. I don't mean to mischaracterize Ranpo in any way, he is a very brilliant character with a childish, occasionally teasing personality but serious when the time calls for it. But in this chapter, his initial statement that says he couldn't use his ability because he did not have his glasses, did put him in a tight place for a hot minute. Now this is what would relate to the upward eight of swords. The card symbolizes a situation where you feel trapped in a situation but it is not the situation itself binding you, but your thoughts. You are able to escape if you want to. The lady in the card is able to escape if only she took her blindfold off. I wouldn’t necessarily say Ranpo is in denial of the fact that he does not have an ability, because, evidently, he very much is aware of said fact and acknowledges it himself.

The second reference is the black cat behind the window.

While most ability users in BSD have their abilities named after a famous work of them or a reference to one of their works, Poe's ability name ‘Black Cat in the Rue Morgue’ has a combination of two of his works: 'The Black Cat' and ' The Murders in the Rue Morgue'. And the mystery novel that he introduced Ranpo to in Chapter 32 also seems to be a combination of the tales of irl Poe's two stories, 'The Black cat' and 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue', with, I'd say, only the exception of it being set in the future since the original novels of irl Poe did not have any futuristic elements in them. I’m not saying that the mystery novel is an exact replica and combination of the two irl novels, it’s just that the overall atmosphere of the novel seems to somewhat reflect certain elements of the irl novels.

The Black Cat is a story about a man who hanged his own cat from a tree and later killed his own wife in the heat of a moment. The protagonist of this novel enjoyed drinking to the extreme and it was in the moments when he was highly intoxicated that he committed acts such as gouging out the eye of his beloved cat, Pluto, and hitting his wife over the head with an axe, accidently killing her.

The Murders in the Rue Morgue is a story of how the intelligent mind of Auguste Dupin solved the muder mystery of two french ladies who were killed by an unknown murderer in their apartment at Rue Morgue street. Said unknown murderer later turned out to be an orangutan that a sailor captured from Borneo then brought to Paris, In the novel, several people known to have heard the murder were questioned individually about the unknown culprit, just like how the people in the mansion were questioned about the murderer in chapter 32, in the novel. It could be said that questioning witnesses is a common theme that can be found for any mystery story but it’s just an interesting similarity.

The thing about the mystery novel BSD Poe wrote was that-

a) There was a murderer whom the people did not know

b) The protagonist was trying to find out who the murderer is

c) The protagonist himself was the murderer

In the story of ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’,

a) There was a murderer whom the people did not know

b) The protagonist, or protagonists, since there were two of them, were trying to find out who the murderer is

Obviously BSD Poe’s mystery novel did not feature an orangutan that accidently happened to kill people but that is where the element of the story of ‘The Black Cat’ comes in, because the protagonist of ‘The Black Cat’ murdered both his cat and his wife in the name of intoxication, which leads us to

c) The protagonist himself is the murderer

Personally, I feel like ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ fits better than ‘The Black Cat’ for the references in BSD, since it features a protagonist, who was amazed by an individual who had a very observant mind. The protagonist of the novel had much admiration for Auguste Dupin’s thought process and how he could read something seemingly simple to deduce something deep out of it. Much like the admiration and respect that Poe has for Ranpo’s ability, the non-ability.

The third reference is the roses.

Everyone knows that roses are typically associated with love, romance and passion, but they could also have different meanings depending on their color and their symbolisms in different cultures. Yellow roses in Japanese culture are said to mean jealousy, at least according to source. It might symbolize the jealousy that Poe has of Ranpo and his aspiration to beat Ranpo. But he is equally jealous of it as he is fascinated by it, which orange roses can symbolize: fascination and desire. They could also mean enthusiasm and passion, both of which Poe has for Ranpo’s company and ability. He admires Ranpo and his ability, in the way that one would admire their opponent in a friendly rivalry sort of relationship. He is constantly awed by it, and draws a lot of inspiration from Ranpo.

In conclusion, I think the fascination that Poe has of Ranpo and the fact that Ranpo acknowledges his and Poe’s encounter six years ago as ‘the only time I got pushed to my limits by another detective’(easygoingscans) is very compatible of them and I do believe that their rivalry and friendship is something that helps both of them grow and benefits both individuals. It is something beautiful.

Some more sources below for the meaning of roses if anyone wants to find out more!! Also thank you so much nika @nikadoesanart for beta-ing this analysis >//<

https://www.pickupflowers.com/flower-guide/rose-flower-meanings.

https://www.thursd.com/articles/different-colors-of-roses-and-their-meaning/

https://blossomtown.com/bt-news/what-do-flowers-mean-find-flower-language/