#[I am sure about Elland]

[ask-elland-n-will]

You two have been diligently working on your homework on a day warm enough that it made you take off your jackets. Distracted by your studies, you don’t notice a curious black bird that lands behind you. It tilts its head as it regards something shiny on one of the jackets. With a loud CAW it jumps forwards, makes quick work of its pray, and takes off onto the nearest tree, proudly sporting a prefect badge in its beak.

After a minute of observing your reactions from behind the tree, a hooded figure of a Ravenclaw shows itself, a deck of cards in their hands.

“Now that my friend got your attention,” the figure begins somewhat smugly, “Tell me, oh, the Prefect who knows everything and the Puff who happens to know the base. What court cards represent you?”

Will stands there, mouth opening and closing, unsure if he wants to be offended at this obvious raven trap (is there a single pet in this castle that doesn't want to steal his badge?) or if he wants to stay a moment in "the Prefect who knows everything" reality. Who do they think they are anyway, using such cheap tricks and distracting both him and his dear Hufflepuff from important business!

Elland, who was considering either using Accio or a Disarming Charm on the bird, lowers his wand. A court card? That's a small price to pay for Will's peace. As for himself, Elland has already been considering taking a break for the past 10 minutes. The Ravenclaw taking Will's badge hostage was a great excuse to stretch his legs. What a smart bird, doing its Mastress' bidding.

"Good afternoon," Elland begins and gives first the Ravenclaw and then the bird a light bow of his head. William beside him huffs, ready to skip the formalities, but Elland doesn't let him. "My brother used to say that I have to be one of the Knights or at least have a card with the suit of Cups. But since you're asking for the court cards specifically, I'll have to remember what meant what."

Will is torn between listening to Elland and focusing on the bird, eyeing it suspiciously. The moment the raven shifts on the branch, Will interjects, facing the hooded figure:

"I request that you give me my badge back before you get any answers. I wouldn't want to take points away from your house, but it is up to you. This is extortion!"

"Will, you are overreacting. You've never taken points from Sebastian because of Nosy, right?" Elland points out. After a pregnant pause, Will reluctantly agrees, letting Elland go on. "And besides, you look like a King of Cups to me."

"What?" squacks Will. "No way, you are the King of Cups sort, being so therapeutic and compassionate."

"You think so?"

"Where are you taking those interpretations from, anyway?"

"From the art on the cards?"

"Images?! Elland!"

"Here we go again. You know this is all subjective anyway, right?"

"No, no, stay here, both of y—" Will begins and then squints at the bird, remembering about its presence. "All three of you, stay right here! I'll go get the book. Pictures, Merlin, Elland, are you five? Have you attended a single Divination class? Nobody leaves until I get my badge! I mean, the book! No, Both!"

Will storms off, and Elland chuckles.

"Sorry about him, his badge was a low blow. I imagine he wants to see himself as some card of Swords, being logical and good at planning, adept at communicating, wishing to know more — either the King or the Page. I imagine he'd go with the King, of course. But apart from Swords, I believe the other suits hold just as much importance."

Elland points to where he was sitting with Will prior, inviting the Ravenclaw to sit down.

"There are some Pentacles in him, with all his hard work. Yes, he is a noble, and I imagine in many ways he won't ever have to grow from the bottom up, but trust me, he is one of the most hardworking people I've ever met. The King might be the only one from this suit fitting enough. For Wands, he is either the Knight or the Queen. As for Cups… Do I even have to tell? You seem to know all about Tarot. Will is emotion. Will is passion. Will is the heart. I'm sure he'll give you the answer when he's back."

Elland pours the Ravenclaw some tea and, after a moment of thinking, charms another empty cup with water, for the raven.

"Sorry, I am rambling, I really don't know Tarot too well, but my younger brother has been obsessed with it before even coming to Hogwarts. Cyrus eventually settled on the King of Cups for me, I think. Take that however you wish."

Elland pauses. Huh, didn't Will just name the same card before he left?

[Update: If I move outside of the Court Cards, The Sun is Will's (not just cause he's a sunshine, although The Chariot is also a close second, representing who he wants to / will become). Fred is The Moon. I still like Elland as the King of Cups, but there's also a fair bit of The Justice and then The Temperance in there later in life when he finds his inner balance. Cyrus is The Wheel of Fortune]

[diana-bluewolf]

Dear Chris,

Today is such a wonderful day, do you think you'll be interested in a quick duel by the lake or some Summoner's Court activities? I am unsure if you are into competitive games or not, so a study session is also on the table. It really feels like a great day for doing things outside, perhaps even with more of our friends. Would be great to hang out!

—Elland

Chris scanned the letter, his gaze lingering on the words "hang out", the concept of which still remained a mystery to him. The same he could say about Elland, who was too… nice. If life had taught Chris anything, "nice" and "suspicious" were synonyms. 

Still, Elland hadn't yet revealed his true motives, being as kind (Chris grimaced) as it gets. Even in his letter, he generously provided Chris with a choice of battlefield for their next “chess match”. It was as if Elland was sure he had the upper hand and could afford to show it to his opponent. That was irritating and… intriguing. 

Well, nothing exposes the true essence of a person more than their responses in situations when they have to react quickly. The way they deal with defeat or victory can be very telling, too. And to reduce the number of variables, it is better to conduct the experiment without third parties.

Chris flipped the letter and scribbled on the other side.

"Dear Elland,

The duel does sound fun. I hope 4 pm by the lake works for you. 

Chris"

[theodoradevlin]

Miss Theodora,

We (1st year witches and wizards) are organizing an art exhibition next week! Not just drawings, dancez and music will be there too! We would like to ask you if you would be okay with being one of the jutjdges of the dancing competition? We do not have prices prizes but you are so cool and elegant! Would you like to come?

With delight,

1st year Witches and Wizards

(We are not sure if we should tell prefects about it or not, please don't tell them! Especially the Slytherin ginger one. We feel like he might start talking about permissions permits and paperwork and we don't want detentions, we just want to create...)

Theo eyes the letter's multiple misspellings and wonders if the faculty should add spelling to the 1st year curriculum.

Her smile widens as she remembers she does have a few bouncing bulbs left over that were simply begging to be used.

After all, what better way to encourage some dancing than a few of those secretly slipped into some cloaks? But....no, no. Must fight the demons. Reading the last line she shakes her head with a small laugh. Clearly these first years did not know much about Will.

Dear Collective First Years, I am flattered to hear of your offer, but I must let you know that the ginger prefect is the professional here on all things art and dancing. I'm not sure if I'm qualified to be the judge of much, as I am a terrible dancer myself, but you should ask him yourself sometime! His talent is truly something to behold, and some veteran advice for you? Some flattery may go a long way if you're worried about getting detentions. However.... where did you say this was again? Just so... you know, I can make sure no prefects are nearby ...just incase! It's the least I can do!

She sends the owl back with no remorse as she already starts making plans on how she can sneak in and plant a few, innocent, bouncing bulbs on the unsuspecting first years and wonders if @ask-elland-n-will might also get a laugh out of it....

[ask-andrew-montrose]

Elland is a little hesitant coming to Andrew with this but he does not really have a choice. William is strict: Elland has to empty the pocky box by the end of the day. The Ravenclaw who Elland has watched from afar ever since William had that first interaction with him, grew to become a not-so-bad person in his eyes. Perhaps he really did heed Elland's warning. At the very least when it comes to William. Elland is grateful to see his little fox happy, even if with a little pang in his heart because it is not Elland's doing.

The Hufflepuff finds Montrose sitting on a bench at the furthest corner of the courtyard engrossed in his studies. Andrew looks so focused on what he is doing that his face takes on a mask of an ancient Greek statue: gorgeous bone structure, strong nose, full lips, especially the bottom one. Elland has to take a deep breath before coming to sit next to him, turning his whole body in Andrew's direction, and taking out the pocky box.

"Montrose. Long time no see. I am here on the behest of our little ginger snake. I have a task and I cannot back out of it now. As with any bets. You understand."

There is a pocky in Elland's mouth after those words are said.

Andrew’s brow raises, seeing Elland coming in his direction. Last time they conversed, it had been when Elland had given him quite the lengthy scolding about his behavior, so as he sits beside Andrew and takes what seems to be a very deep breath Andrew can only wonder what the hell is about to come next.

His grin deepens as he hears him out, turning his body in Elland’s direction more and more as he explains. It’s too good. Elland? Of all people? Coming to him with a bet like this?

He chuckles, “I understand only too well. I admit, you’ve made me curious on exactly what the terms of that bet might be. Knowing William…well. I’m sure it’s something good…”

He leans closer, determined to win.

“Just so you know, I won’t make it easy for you.”

His hand snakes to Elland’s jaw, holding him in place incase he has any thoughts of chickening out.

Andrew keeps his eyes on the stick, his lips coaxing it further into his mouth gently, determined not to break it. Elland’s face is coming closer and closer into view, enough for Andrew to appreciate and understand why Will likes to spend so much time with the Hufflepuff. He is surprised to feel a twinge of, something. What? Jealousy? Would Will prefer someone like Elland?

It strikes a competitive flame right back up. Despite the mixed emotions coming to light as he realizes he wishes it was Will coming to him with this challenge instead. But he didn't. He told Elland to...and…so Andrew has to win doesn’t he?

He moves his lips closer until there is finally no more space on the stick, just a breadth of air between Elland’s lips and Andrews.

He smirks as Elland seems frozen...guess he’ll have to end the game for both of them. It's what a gentleman would do. Or at least...the type of gentleman Andrew is.

That hand on his jaw pulls Elland’s head forward, as Andrews lips press again his, tongue snaking in and stealing the rest of what’s left of the stick, quick and efficient. And delicious.

Finally, Andrew releases Elland's jaw. He sits back quite satisfied. From the look on Elland’s face, he hopes there will be no further scoldings from him after that.

“So ….winner gets what?” He asks, casually, almost bored.

[coraline-delaney]

Dear Coraline!

Elland passed on your message to me and I'll be honest I am a bit worried about that puffskein. I had a friend here who I was just getting to know before they had to leave school, and they had a puffskein. I am not sure what happened to that pet, so… Is there any chance that that puffskein looks like this?

[You see the following drawing of a puffskein, brown fur with white splotches and a mustache:]

Other than that, I haven't heard of anyone in the Slytherin common room losing a puffskein. Hope you are doing well! I might come to see you together with Elland the next time he visits the music room. Please, keep me updated!

Sincerely yours, William Abbott

William,

That's definitely the puffskein I saw in the forest! A little dirtier, but I wouldn't forget that little moustache marking. It's a boy? Does he have a name?

If his owner has left school, I don't want to leave him alone without any companions. I plan on trying to find him again...I don't suppose you have any tips for gaining his trust?

I'd love for you both to visit, I've been working on my own composition, though it's a little rough. Maybe it could use another ear or two.

Cora

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 10 January 1835

8 1/2

11 ¼

a nice quiet good kiss last night damp, rainy cold morning F35° at 9 20 am - breakfast at 9 40 - had Mr S. Washington - paid him £100 towards the purchase of his field adjoining Roydelands (Harcastle’s farm) as agreed on Wednesday at the rent audit - when it was also agreed to complete the purchase on the 2nd of the next month I paying £260 which with the hundred before and the £140 W- owes A- for Lidgate hay = £500 the price of the field – out at 11 ¼ in the joiner’s shop with Charles H- busy as for the last week past with the wainscot for the north parlour passage – then went into the pit-drift to see for myself the width they are driving it – Hinscliffe right – measured it with my umbrella where the man was working (about 30 yards length done) to 4ft. or very nearly that – 5 minutes in going in and out and staying about a minute with the workmen –a very fatiguing journey on account of the stooping tho’ the drift a yard high – driving a dead level – water standing in the bottom a couple of inch deep – went up to Joseph Mann sinking the vent chimney – told him I would not have the drift so wide – I was a little out of breath and spoke perhaps as if angry (more so than I really felt)– the old man turning (bringing the stuff out– the chimney began yesterday and 5 or 6 yards deep now) begged me not to be in a passion – I merely said his request was unnecessary – I was out of breath with hurrying into and out of the drift – but the observation struck me – I stood talking quietly – then [wound] up one bucket – said I ought therefore to pay a footing for this and going into the drift, so gave the man 2/. for them all four - came in at 1 ¼ - sat with A- at her luncheon – dawdling over one thing or other - wrote note to’ Mr. Bradley architect Elland’ - A- and I off at 2 ½ to Crownest to speak to Mrs Washington about shirts for the poor – about ¼ hour there - then sat 33 minutes at Cliff hill – Mrs A.W- this and our 2 last visits in great good humour with us both - rained (a shower) as we went  part of the way and rained lightly more or less all the way back - home at 5 – settled with Pickels and Charles H- and read them the principal news of the election – damages done etc – twelve Inns much damaged and about 7 private houses including Mr Atkinson’s spirit merchant defended by Pickels and an old soldier and 3 or 4 other men who ran away into some safe place in the house – as did Mrs A- and her husband also who had had his clothes torn by the mob at the Swan and escaped home in a fright just before the mob attacked his house - but only broke his windows - P- fired twice, and the old soldier ran an old spear (5 or 6 inch deep) into the shoulder of a man who was getting in at a window - P- said the mob came about 6pm without music or any sign of their coming quite quietly – nobody could tell of their coming unless they knew beforehand, and it was very odd that about 10 minutes before Mr. Akroyde and the house opposite (A-s adjoins Mr. Atkinson’s) had the upper windows illuminated by candles - so that they afforded the mob as much light as they could - P- saw the woman or man dressed in a white sort of dressing gown with a red sash round the waist who asked if the mob knew him or her - ‘do you know who I am’ - ‘yes’ said the mob, ‘we do’ - ‘very well! that’s right’ - and when Atkinsons windows were broken ‘now my lads you’ve done enough’ - but said P- my double barrelled gun frightened them - they ran over the bridge (clerk bridge) you might have stood on their heads - they were only a parcel of lads - he P- did not feel frightened - if they had broke into the spirit vault upon him it was dark he would have no light - and meant to throw down his gun to escape among the crowd - he believed Mr. Atkinson crept under a bed or hid himself and locked himself up somewhere upstairs - John Booth had brought back (about 5) the answer from Mr Bradley – not at home but Mrs Bradley sure he would not disappoint me if possible to avoid it and he would write an answer tomorrow – my note was  (vid. line 19 of yesterday) ‘Shibden Hall. Saturday 10th January 1835. Sir -  I send over to inquire if I may with certainty expect you about 10 o’clock on Monday morning, and to say that, if you can possibly make it convenient to be absent from home a few days you shall have a bed here – I shall be glad to have your opinion on several things and shall be obliged to you to bring all your plans to finish here - if you can leave (anywhere in Halifax) what you wish to have with you, I will send for it on Monday - if the servant does not find you at home, be so good as let me have an answer, by the post, as soon as you can - I am sir etc etc A. Lister’ dinner at 6 ½ - had Washington to pay A- her Bailey hall rents – Patterson did not pay – so the receipt under £50 – sent off George at 7 or a few minutes before (leaving us to be waited upon at dinner as we could) to the post office with the Halifax Guardian newspaper of today directed to the ‘Honourable Lady Stuart, Whitehall London’ - W-  took coffee with us, and with some humming and ahing, pulled out of his pocket today’s Leeds Mercury containing among the marriages of Wednesday last ‘Same day, at the Parish church H-x Captain Tom Lister of Shibden Hall near Halifax to Miss Ann Walker late of Lidget near the same place’ - I smiled and said it was very good – read it aloud to A- who also smiled and then took up the paper and read the skit to my aunt and on returning the paper to W- begged him to give it to us when he had done with it - he said he would, and seemed agreeably surprised to find what was probably meant to annoy, taken so quietly and with such mere amusement – said not a word of it to my father and Marian

 SH:7/ML/E/17/0142

 with them ½ hour till 8 ¼ - then came upstairs A- did not like the joke suspects the Briggs sso does my aunt wrote the 1st 21 lines of yesterday till 9 ¾ - then 20 minutes with my aunt – in much pain – had had a very painful night and very little sleep - damp showery day - rainy evening F40 ½° at 10 25 pm and at that hour looked out and saw the ground white with snow (the 1st this winter) but not snowing then

[solcorvidae]

(I can remove the tags you you'd like, prev, just let me know.)

I apologize in advance for dumping an essay in the notes of a silly post about the draw of mention-only characters...

HOWEVER, I feel like with Aiden specifically... I suspect that the degree of consistency in his characterization might come from people who have first taken the time to understand Lambert as a character before even touching Aiden. I think that many people who write and draw Aiden also have already put the effort into understanding what kind of person Lambert is, what kind of relationships he has and maintains, what he values in his personal life, and why Lambert expresses himself in the ways he does. 

Now, I'm not a Harry Potter fan, and I am just going off of the screenshot above... but it sounds like Daphne Greengrass is never canonically mentioned in relation to a well-known/main character. If Daphne is only brought up in a list, I would assume that she has only developed common character traits through the fandom, detached from the source material nearly entirely. 

With Aiden (and I am definitely biased because this is how I developed my understanding of his character,) it seems that The Witcher fandom has taken the handful of dialogue lines where he's mentioned and has tried to understand Aiden through the lens of a character we already know and love. 

After vaguely outlining to Geralt how he and Aiden met in Ellander after his contract with the Ogre went awry, Lambert had described Aiden as "the best man I'd ever met," and without going into an in-depth character analysis of both of these guys... I think the fandom understands what kind of person Lambert is and what type of person he would not only befriend but also defend in such a dramatic and emotional way. He told Geralt (to his face, mind you.) that despite the importance of their relationship --their history-- what he and Aiden had was "no comparison," and later (depending on if you allow him to kill Karadin.) that he doesn't know if he'll "be able to forgive" Geralt for what he has done. In my eyes, both these statements have huge implications. 

We have been given virtually no information about Aiden himself, but we sure as hell know a lot about Lambert. And through Lambert, we have developed a sense of understanding of who he might have been; a vibe, if you will. I think this is why he is so clockable in fanart as Aiden and not a ground-up built, wholehearted, original Witcher OC, no matter how unique his character design is and how drastically it varies, artist to artist. 

And I just think that's neat. (x)

I exposed all you lambden shippers on reddit lol

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Seven - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: Getting to Know Each Other

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Seven

"Geralt! What am I going to do with you?" Jaskier's voice was melodic as he entered the little room Nenneke had let Geralt stay in while he healed. He was smiling, and had his lute and travel pack slung over his shoulders. Geralt grunted and slowly sat up, careful of his still-healing neck and shoulder.

"How did you even find me?" Geralt asked as Jaskier dropped his pack into the corner next to Geralt's things. The bard looked good. Healthy and vibrant in a light lilac ensemble that he looked good in. It suited him, somehow.

"A good friend of a friend in Temeria saw you heading toward Ellander. You told me the temple here would house you if needed." Jaskier said flippantly, and Geralt thought about that. It had been a throw away joke, actually. 

Jaskier had asked him once what he would do if he got severely hurt during a hunt. Geralt responded with a bit of dark humor that the priestesses of Melitele in Ellander would give him proper last rites.

"Hm…" Geralt had nothing to say to that. He was caught off guard by Jaskier remembering such a little thing.

"Well, let me see." Jaskier was kneeling in front of Geralt now, off to the side of where his legs were swung over the edge of the bed. His hands were inches away from the bandages.

"You touch those, boy, I'll have your hands." A woman's voice from the doorway barked, making Jaskier jump. Geralt just smirked up at Nenneke. The older woman gave the bard an appraising once over and narrowed her eyes as she considered him. "I've finally got this stubborn mule to leave them be. Don't you dare undo all my hard work."

"Ah. Sorry, Mother Nenneke." Jaskier mumbled.

"And who might you be, then?" She asked as Jaskier stood, backing away quickly. He gave her a pleasant smile and a very large courtly bow.

"Jaskier the Bard, at your service, venerable Mother." 

"So you're the one who's been singing those songs about Witchers the last couple years?" Nenneke said as she dropped the couple of books she'd been holding into Geralt's lap. She quickly fussed at the bandage ends, making sure they were still properly wrapped. "Didn't think you could take on such a vibrant travel companion, boy." She said to Geralt, poking him in the shoulder.

"I thought that Geralt deserved an image fix, what with all the nasty names people liked to give him. The White Wolf is so much better than… that." Jaskier huffed at the woman, slightly offended, but Geralt could see the gleam in Nenneke's eyes that meant she was teasing the boy.

"I have to agree there." She said, surprising Geralt with her earnesty. "You're that Pankratz boy Stefania talks about, aren't you?" Jaskier's jaw dropped at that, eyes wide in surprise and shock.

"You… I- Yes. Stefania is one of my aunts. How do you-?"

"She studied here as a girl, and she still visits from time to time." Nenneke cut off the rambled questions easily, and Jaskier could do nothing but nod. Geralt was surprised.

"I didn't realize." He answered, obviously out of his depth and floundering.

"You keep interesting friends, Geralt." She said softly to Geralt with a small smile and soft touch on his shoulder. Geralt just grunted.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Nenneke. I'm healed enough to get back on the Path." Nenneke raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

"Can you even lift your sword yet, Geralt?" Jaskier cut in, frowning at him. "What about turning your head?" Geralt growled a little at him for that. He didn't realize the bard could read him that well. He had been trying to hide that fact from him.

"I'm going to go somewhere safe for the rest of the season. Heal until spring comes." He replied in a grumble.

"Going home so soon? Will Vesemir even be at the keep this early?" Nenneke asked, knowing exactly where he was planning on going. Geralt shrugged and immediately regretted it. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hide the wince.

"You've told me the trail up the mountains is dangerous even for you on a good day." Jaskier was radiating concern now, hands fluttering about in a nervous tick that only Geralt seemed to notice. Nenneke raised a questioning eyebrow at that. She knew better. He'd only told the bard that so he wouldn't try to follow him home. "Why not come winter with me? Oxenfurt is an easy ride from here. I've more than enough space in my house, and I'd planned on teaching this semester anyway."

"You teach?" Geralt asked, a little blindsided by that. Jaskier crossed his arms at that, obviously upset.

"I've told you that before. I teach rhetoric some of the winter semesters." Geralt was surprised by that.

"I thought you'd teach music." Jaskier wrinkled his nose in distaste, which was probably more endearing than it had any right to be.

"Melitele's tears, no! I'd fling myself off the roof of the Chancellor's building if I had to teach music to students who didn't truly love it." Nenneke laughed just a little at that.

"Go with him, boy." Nenneke whispered quietly, giving Geralt a small sly smile. "It'd do you some good, being around people for a while."

It was that stern approval from Nenneke that swayed him. Geralt stayed one more night in the temple before they both set off toward Oxenfurt.

"Well?" Jaskier asked nervously as they approached his house. Ever since he had asked Geralt to accompany him home for the winter, he'd been a nervous wreck. Not that he regretted the offer, but he was worried that he had effectively trapped the Witcher in his presence for months on end. After all, Geralt couldn't just run off in the middle of the night once winter had settled in. "What do you think? Three words or less."

"There's a stable." He grumbled out and Jaskier just laughed at his response. Indeed, that was the reason he had chosen to move to this house almost four years ago after meeting Geralt the first time. It was small and set about as far away from the university you could get and not be in the water. 

"You'll have to make sure it's in good repair for Roach before we go get her." He said just as they were getting to the door. Letting himself and Geralt inside, he stood back to watch Geralt's face as he took in the house. It was probably nothing like what Geralt was expecting; he just hoped he would be okay living here until Spring. "And I'll need your help getting the spare bedroom set up the way you want it."

"Hm." Geralt grunted as he awkwardly set his bag and swords down in one of the vacant chairs. Jaskier sat his bag down in his favorite chair, the one at his desk in front of the window, before heading into the spare bedroom. It was little more than storage at this point, but there was an extra bed frame here already, propped up out of the way against the wall.

"Oh. We'll need to grab a mattress as well, when we pick up supplies." Jaskier started rambling when he heard Geralt following after him. "How about we head out to dinner after you check out the stables, and we can stop by the market on the way back from getting Roach. We can rent a cart."

"Hm." Geralt just hummed back, but Jaskier could hear the acceptance in it. Jaskier smiled back at his Witcher.

He felt his heart flutter in his chest as Geralt stepped in close to him before he carefully picked up one of the crates of books and stacked it neatly into the corner. 

"We can just stack this up out of the way. Don't want to impose any more."

"Nonsense!" Jaskier huffed at him, crossing his arms and scowling. "I invited you, Witcher. You are not an imposition on me, and I want you to be comfortable here!" Geralt ducked his head a little and reached to pick up another box, but Jaskier was watching him now. He saw the little twitch in his face and arm that meant he'd over-reached. "Nope! None of that!" Jaskier flapped his hands at Geralt until he moved away from the box, amusement hiding in the corners of his eyes. "You are to rest, stubborn man. And that means I can move these boxes all on my own." Jaskier waved at the room thematically. "You go check on the stables and make sure Roach will be okay out there when we go get her." He poked Geralt in the chest, but he saw the slight smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier wanted to kiss them.

"Fine." Geralt relented and turned away.

Oh, Jaskier knew his traitorous heart too well by now. He was falling for his broody Witcher.

[ask-elland-n-will]

OOC Question:

I am sorry, I am sure you already answered that Question, but how did Will and Elland come to life? 💚

How did you come up with their names and personality?

[I'm gonna call this recent series of ooc asks "Lily rambles while on a walk without proofreading anything"!

Cyrus was first, I cannot begin this conversation without bringing him up. I played him in a DnD campaign for about a year. Elland happened a little while later, but was just an NPC, somebody for the game master to bring up to get the plot going. I switched into playing Elland cause I wanted to give another class a go: Cyrus went home to take care of family stuff, and Elland moved into his friendgroup to help prevent the end of the world. Typical DnD stuff.

Elland is supposed to Cy's foil. Their dynamic was great, their differences stood out more when they were paired up. I wanted a really strong bond.

HL came around — and as I was playing Elland in DnD at the time, I used him in HL. When starting a replay of the game, I went with another archetype I always loved, a talkative cute ginger sunshine boy (we know how he mutated since then 🤣). It was a switch from Cyrus into Will, because Cyrus, being an adult in DnD, was, for the lack of the better word, too horny and abrasive. He didn't fit in a school, and at the time the thought of changing him felt like a monumental task.

So I created another foil for Elland. Will now is so far from his original self that I might as well come up with another cute sweet OC. It always happens like that with my characters. When it feels like one has too much of everything, the character branches out into other characters. Will used to be a coward — and don't get me wrong, self preservation is strong in this one but he knows when to pick his fights and is not easily scared when he can explain things logically (pickle was an exception but he got over that fear after a while). But with time Fred took over the coward role.

Lilith was supposed to be sweet — yet now she's unhinged, strong, domineering — those qualities didn't sit right with any other characters.

Elland was supposed to be more like he is in DnD, this figure making tough choices and not being afraid to get his hands dirty to protect family. But it felt wrong for the HL setting, and thus I have Fyodor, who is even more straightforward. Wherr Elland still can tell a white lie — Fyodor is brutally honest, even if it needlessly hurts somebody's feelings.

I'm rambling at this point haha

Names? Elland — I was in a book club at the time, going through The Mistborn series and The City of Brass. There was a character in the first book series, Elend Venture, whom I liked a lot. When I was coming up with names, I wrote "Elland" and only way later realized why it feels so familiar. I got inspired without knowing.

The second book is fantasy set around the world of djinn. That was the inspiration that made Cyrus a genasi, and de Strontiums in general came from the Middle East (still haven't decided if Egypt or Turkey). There were a few centuries of assimilation both in DnD and HL, so Elland and Cyrus are mixed race.

Cyrus is a name of Persian origin with Greek roots. It meant "sun". With how the boy is burning, it was fitting. And in Genshin there is a guy named Cyrus who is the head of the Adventurers guild. So I had a good feeling about the name.

Their last names, too. Strontium is/was added to fireworks to give them red colour. I've mentioned before that their family came from firework making origins. It's a tradition for them, even when they became nobleman. They branched out into firearms eventually, that's how the majority of their family's wealth was accumulated, helping supply the Crown. In DnD — making weapons for the city guards, and a bunch of other experimental projects that had to do with explosives. Cyrus was reeeealy born for this.

William — always loved the name, no other reason. Abbott — I was looking all over the wiki for a family name that would soften their stance on muggles. I don't remember exactly, but later down the line Abbott's married muggles. Even is Sacred families weren't really a think in HL times (I think?) It doesn't make Will any less generationally pureblood.

For personalities - I'll lump Will and Cyrus in the same category. I needed someone fun. Fun, outgoing, energetic, inspired. And to pair them up for a dynamic I liked, I needed someone calm. Supportive, more empathetic, good listener but somebody with a firm hand to direct Will/Cyrus if they get carried away. W/C should hold E in high regard. E is the kind of person to ground them and make them see things they are too blinded to see.

In practice (roleplay) it's a bit harder to do, so don't be surprised if the characters sometimes do things you didn't think they would do. That, and coming from DnD, Elland especially, Tumblr will just never see some of the sides of him I see critical for understanding his character. Now that I made up my mind about my boys' as OCs lore, the dangerous and unforgiving environment that was HL MC lore and DnD lore — it moved aside.

Elland is a Hufflepuff here only because I couldn't decide between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff because I wanted Puff's commonroom. If I made a choose on behalf of the DnD Elland, he is more Ravenclaw than Puff in terms of personality. A lot of it just didn't come to him until he went to magic academy. And again, bringing up harsh MC lore, now I can't really show off how he operates under pressure and how smart and quick-thunking he is, and how passion can cloud his judgement, especially when his loved ones are involved. Dueling might be the only way for that to slip through.]

[cherryjuicegf]

a lovestruck's letter

Over the years, Jaskier filled his absence with his letters. Then there was one time that Geralt had to fill that absence himself.

3,7k, epistolary, fluff (ao3)

It was one-sided at first. If he thought back, Geralt could still remember the first time he had entered the inn after a long winter in Kaer Morhen and found the innkeeper standing in front of him, his hand outstretched. In his hand he was gripping an envelope, light blue and sealed with white wax.

He’d frowned then. Even though, somehow, he knew. Somehow his fingertips tingled when he touched the paper. And, well, somehow, he knew the right time to read it would be way later, in the darkness of his room, under the light of the candles. He really knew how to set an atmosphere. He would laugh at himself now.

He hadn’t, back then.

Instead, he had sat on his bed, unfolded the paper and just in time, he’d caught a stem of dried basil before it fell on the floor. The leaves had crumbled between his fingers. If he smelled his fingers now, he would probably still catch their fading scent. He smiled. Jaskier was too vain to consider the long-term ending of dried basil leaves.

He hadn’t minded then. He didn’t now. He couldn’t, as his lips silently moved to form the words he’d read then, just like he did now, under the candlelight.

Geralt,

I know you are most likely to be surprised by the letter, if you, my friend, can actually be surprised by anything in your long life. However, I also know that you’re delighted to hear from me, even via paper, dare I say it’s extremely more pleasant to you to read my ramblings rather than hear them for days on end. It seems though that since you are reading this, we are yet to meet, and probably won’t actually meet for some time still. That is, until next month. I’m pleading you to forgive my unexpected absence and I know how devastated you are to hear the news. I can see your idiot smug face as you pretend you don’t give a shit.

As soon as I learned about my needed presence in the Academy I made sure this letter reaches you. It seems that for the first time during the five years of our acquaintance, you’ll have some more time to bulk in your comfortable, though insufferable if you ask me, silence.

And since I knew that you wouldn’t make a fuss about not finding me after winter --our paths always cross as if by Fate, you see-- I felt the urge to break that particular silence of yours with this letter. A fun little thing, until we meet again. A reason for me to talk, if you will.

Truth be told, I have no real news for you to acknowledge. I was merely hoping to hear yours or, in any case, hear anything from you. An extra month in the Academy is enjoyable nonetheless; my thoughts and wishes though are with you. Write to me, if you wish. Till we meet again.

Regards,

J.

The sheet smelled of basil and wildflowers, of ink and twenty years. Geralt brought it to his lips. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t written back then.

I hear you’re recovering in Ellander. I am terribly sorry for not being at your side at this time, I have seen how hard the whole process can be and I would give everything to make you forget about your pain for a while. I’m afraid though it’s too long for me to come, I’m close to Cintra, you see, and I know the news about your injury already travelled late to my ears. Truthfully, I am not even certain that this letter will reach you before you heal and entirely depart from the temple. In case you are indeed reading this, however, I am relieved that you are alive and hopeful to see you soon, once your suffering is over.

Dear friend,

Oh dear, I was carried away and entirely missed the point of my own letter! Well, not entirely, I mean I still hope you’re doing well and we’ll see each other again. I’m not going to tire you with elaborate blathering, dear friend, fear not. I wish though, for this letter to keep you company, even if it cannot replace mine, a failed substitute, if you will. And I so hope that the smile I remember on your lips, that one rare of yours, is what embellishes your weary, brooding face as you read my words.

Give my greetings to Nenneke, I know she’ll cherish them the way she only knows. My thoughts are with you, hopeful of a quick healing. Till we meet again, Geralt.

Take care,

Jaskier

Geralt brushed his fingers over a stem of blue salvia, dried and tucked inside the old sheet. On the ninth year of their friendship, Jaskier had sent him that letter. He had appreciated it, a good company, a substitute. Nenneke had cherished the greetings. A small smile, nostalgic, curved his lips as his eyes flew over the ink-stained words. He hadn’t written back, still.

I hope you are doing well. Of course, I doubt the happenings of the opposite, since your new acquaintance seems to lift your mood like no one has ever managed to do before. I trust that this letter finds you where I left you at Rinde, otherwise it’s highly unlikely that it’s you reading it now and not some random mailman that failed to find you. I know, however, that you planned to stay for a few days. That’s why I left the town on my own, after all.

Geralt,

Forgive my forwardness. It has nothing to do with you, my dear, only the past few days have been brutal to my mental state. You were there though, no need to tire you with information you have already witnessed. Your witch’s spell was highly effective, it feels like nothing happened to my voice ever and, if I’m to take a little pride, I managed to charm much bigger crowds than usual yesterday evening. You must be wondering how I am doing. Excellent, I dare say.

Sometimes I feel like somebody wrapping their hands around my neck, choking me. I guess this will take some time to pass. But that’s a matter for another time.

I’m considering heading to Tretogor for a change of environment. If you depart some time soon, it’s highly possible we meet on the road. You won’t, probably, but a friend can hope.

My sincere regards to the witch, if she deigns to accept them. I know you’re having a good time and I couldn’t wish for more. Till we meet again, friend.

J.

If he thought about it, Geralt could remember all those times Jaskier’s hand trailed his throat, exactly where the djinn had injured him. It was an absentminded gesture, he knew. Or at least, he liked to hope. Yet it made something twist in his stomach.

He stared at the frail daffodil in his hand. He hadn’t paid any thought then, neither at the flower nor the way Jaskier’s words stung like daggers. He had no reason to; the bard had a rough few days. Now he saw why, though. And wondered what he would have said, if he had ever written back then.

As he thought back, he considered the last prospect to be the most probable. A while ago, he would blame himself, for letting his feeling take hold of him, for being impulsive, absurd. Hopeful. As he read the bard’s letter, the one he had responded to, he knew there wasn’t much to be done for his resistance to persist. And, as he roamed between the words, oh, how he ached. Ached for something he knew he couldn’t have anymore.

There had actually been a time, during the last years, when Geralt started responding to the letters Jaskier stubbornly continued to send. Maybe he thought that way the letters would stop. Maybe he indeed had something to say to him in return. Maybe it was for an entirely different reason.

Dearest friend,

I haven’t sent you a letter in years and I’m certain you are more than surprised to read this now, only a few weeks after we parted for the winter. I feel though, that I wasn’t able to say a proper farewell to you, considering the circumstances of our separation. Honestly, I have no explanation for your sudden departure before the sun had barely risen, but I’m sure it was for the best, gods forbid you ever have a vile purpose. I know you are rolling your eyes right now and no matter how pissed you wish to look, that little scowl of yours never fails to be endearing. And pretentious. But I’m not writing you to analyze your body language.

In fact, there is no actual purpose for this letter, apart from saying goodbye. And also pointing out, my dear, that you unfortunately forgot to empty your bag of all my clothes, resulting to you taking away one of my shirts, the one with the embroidered roses on the collar, if I am not mistaken. Fret not, I have plenty of others, it’s barely a loss. You can even keep it if you wish, although I doubt your enormous muscles will be restrained under tight silk. I know you are not fond of ornate clothing anyway. You oaf.

I hope this winter treats you well. You deserve to rest, my friend. I’m looking forward to seeing you again in spring and may the blooming flowers mean the hopeful beginning of another year of company. My best wishes, till we meet again.

Sincerely,

Jaskier

Geralt’s fingers curled on the paper. Sincerely, Jaskier had signed, yet oh how many things had gone unspoken in fear of brutal sincerity. The sheet smelled of gardenias, just like the one that fell on the wooden floor when he unfolded the letter. It was not that old, anyway. Strange how bitterness stains a sweet word in no time.

He still had the shirt. Forgot to return it, or at least that’s what he said to Jaskier. If he was being honest, he hadn’t even forgotten to take it out of his bag in the first place. Instead, when he woke up that morning, Jaskier curled inside his arms and his heart beating way faster than a mutant’s should beat, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find the words to say goodbye when the bard was awake. As he took the shirt in his hands and took in its scent, the same he had wrapped in his arms minutes ago, he decided it wouldn’t harm to devoid him of one.

He still had the shirt. He still clutched it on his chest. A substitute, he thought with a bitter smile, for someone he wished was here. Or something he wished was real. It hadn’t lost its scent, he thought. And even if it had, it would always pierce Geralt’s mind, as if it was still there.

He had written back. And, in contrast to Jaskier, he had been brief and chary of words.

Jaskier,

I noticed your shirt when I was already far away. I will return it in spring. I left early because the sky was overcast and I feared of a snowfall that would block the road to the mountains. I apologize for not saying goodbye. Thank you for the wishes. I too hope you have a good time and unnecessary gossips to bother me with when we meet. Farewell, then.

Geralt

Geralt hadn’t been sincere; in fact, he hadn’t even tried to. For the best, he thought. Still, when he had hugged Jaskier come spring, the bard’s hug had been warmer than he remembered, and something in his eyes had changed.

Dearest Geralt,

The last letter wasn’t old. Yet it felt like it carried the weight of two decades on its marked words. There were smudges of ink under which the unfortunate phrase was unreadable, apart from the greetings. There, on the top of the page, Geralt could discern an erased Geralt, beloved, and the first letters of what seemed the starts of darling. Finally, Jaskier had settled. Just like he’d done then, Geralt found himself craving to actually be called what the bard first intended to call him. Instead.

Before you adorn your face with the look of utter confusion, I want you to know there is no real purpose for this letter. Only, albeit we’re just two months apart, I was thinking about you. I’m thinking about you as I write, sitting on the dock in Novigrad. The sea is calm tonight, so much that one would say the stars are reflected on the water. So many stars, Geralt. I wish it stays like that until we see each other again, so that I can show you the constellations. Well, you probably know them. Still.

Remember that mermaid? The one that traded her tail for love? It indeed made a great story, a sacrifice for love, denying one’s nature. You know, it didn’t make it to the story, I preferred to keep the happy ending, however, she’s alone now, argued with whom she once would do and did anything for. Ironic, isn’t it? And yet, I like to think, as a poet should think and as a lovestruck one should do, that if she could, she would do the same mistake over and over again. If one can name it a mistake, you see. Just for the moments of genuine love. You probably think it’s idiotic, a waste of time. It may be, dear, I can’t know, I am but a poet. But can you ask the lovestruck for sense?

Foolish of me to say, but I miss you sometimes. Gazing at the sea, I’m thinking of taking a small break some time soon. Just for a few months. Maybe somewhere near the coast.

I know I didn’t do much to avoid your confused look and that frown between your brows. But care not, let’s pretend I’m drunk. I promise to sober up, till we meet again.

Yours, truly,

Jaskier

Red tulips. Dried. Like their meaning, thought Geralt, and the thought pained him more than the actual letter. Hadn’t he been a fool, he would have appreciated the sheer irony. Isn’t a poet always a lovestruck? Isn’t a lovestruck always drunk? Jaskier knew. For Geralt to realize, it had taken time, and half-uttered affections, and loud accusations and a sob that choked him mercilessly every time he returned to those letters, every time he brushed his fingers over their words as though to catch a fleeting feel of Jaskier’s skin, as though to make them sing his voice. A substitute. Once more.

He had written back again that time. As if it would make any difference in the end, as if he understood why he had written back. As if he understood what he had written.

Jaskier,

The mermaid was indeed unfortunate. But don’t lose your hopes.

I miss you too. Save a glass of whatever it is you’re drinking, or pretending to, for me.

The coast truly sounds fitting for you.

Geralt

A fool. A fool when Jaskier had offered him a glass of wine with a smile when they had reunited, a fool when Jaskier had mentioned the coast once more. Fitting, he’d said, as if Jaskier cared to fit, as if this wasn’t all he was the one to crave all his life.

He read it, over and over again. Those last words played over his mind like an endless wheel of torture, each turn mocking him with laughter. Yours, yours, yours, yours. Truly. How he wished. How he wished it was true. But even when it was, he had eventually rendered it a lie. Yours. His. Over and over again, but never out loud, never to set it true, as though afraid to give away a part of himself, as if he hadn’t already given himself away whole a long time ago. And now in that empty shirt in his hands, he found scattered pieces of a mirror, of the self he’d offered so hesitantly he had taken it back in the end.

With time, Jaskier’s scent on the shirt had faded away slightly, he knew now. Now he could smell his own scent as he buried his face in it, searching among the pieces for something familiar, something to indicate that Jaskier was still there, still owning him, still being owned and his. It pierced his mind, lavender and wildflowers, and yet it was barely there. He hoped it was there and maybe the only thing he smelled was his hope. Still, it was there.

Slowly, he folded the letter back. Just like he had done dozens of times now. Out of the open window, Novigrad was breathing alive with people. The sun had almost set.

On the table, there was paper and quill. Geralt swallowed and took a deep breath.

There’s a letter for you, sir.

A tug of sleeve.

Wh—Me? Who is it from?

Confidential. Also this.

A rose? Hey, wait!

Geralt watches as the kid runs away and disappears around the dark corner.

Then his look returns on the deck. On Jaskier.

He prays for his eyes to never watch anything else than him.

There he stands, almost gaping and still staring at the long gone kid. In his hand, an envelope and a rose. Geralt is not a romantic, gods forbid. But if that’s what it would take, he had no intention of wasting another chance.

He thinks he can hear Jaskier’s breath hitch as he turns to the sea again. Oh, he knows. He is certain, as he comes closer, that there are tears in his eyes. He can smell their salty scent and it not the sea, not this time. He longs to kiss them away.

With trembling fingers, Jaskier unfolds the letter.

Jaskier,

I was wrong. I hope you can forgive me. Your absence can’t be replaced by letters anymore, neither your words with flowers. They never could.

I love you.

Behind you,

Geralt

Jaskier gasps and turns around with a spin, then freezes. Geralt meets his eyes, blue and clouded over like the ocean, and for a moment he feels his heart stopping, the months that had gone without them suddenly hitting him like a wave. He waits. Forever, if that’s what it takes. Jaskier though doesn’t speak, not immediately. He just stares at him, lips parted and eyes wide and the sheet shaking between his fingers. Silent.

Geralt feels his heart sinking for a moment, yet he doesn’t give up. He clenches his fists, swallows. “Do you still want to show me the constellations?”

“Oh, you fool!” Jaskier sobs and shakes his head, the tears shining in his eyes. Then laughs. Gods, he laughs and Geralt knows he would be content to leave unforgiven, if this is the last sound he hears out of his lips. But Jaskier isn’t over yet. “You complete, utter fool!” Before Geralt manages to frown in confusion, eager arms are around him and Jaskier throws himself in his embrace. With his breath cut, Geralt wraps his arms around him and holds him tight on his chest, feeling Jaskier shaking. After some time, he cannot tell if it’s the laughter or the sobs.

“You oaf, you idiot, gods, Geralt,” Jaskier’s words are muffled in the witcher’s shoulder but he doesn’t fail to keep talking. He only tightens his hug even more, burying himself as if that way they would become one. Geralt closes his eyes and nuzzles in the bard’s hair, taking him in, his scent, his body, his voice, anything he can savour. A fool, that’s what he is. Never fails to be. But at least he can make up for it now. Jaskier huffs and draws away just a bit, just to look into his eyes. He smiles, and it’s probably to swallow more tears, but he doesn’t care. “There’s not a day when I haven’t forgiven you, dear heart.” He shakes his head, gazes at him. “There is not a day when I haven’t missed you.”

Geralt bites his lips and he feels the sob choking him all this time suddenly absent. “I missed you too, Jaskier. Too much.”

“Can you say it?” Jaskier twirls the rose between his fingers and looks at him with a stare that screams, begs. Geralt hears his voice quivering. “Can you say it out loud?”

Geralt chuckles. He could scream it if that’s what Jaskier wanted. Slowly, he holds his face inside his hands, wipes the remaining tears with his thumb. And leans closer, only an inch. “I love you, Jaskier. Most sincerely.”

With a released breath, Jaskier closes the gap between them. His lips are soft, and warm and welcoming, as if uttering all those words that although written, had remained unspoken. Geralt kisses back with a sigh, eager, and as their mouths fit together he thinks his chest is going to burst. He feels Jaskier smiling. He smiles too.

Jaskier pulls back, their lips still touching, and looks into his eyes. “I love you too, Geralt. I love you with my life.” He huffs a small laugh, his hand coming up to hold Geralt’s on his face, and warmth, so much warmth in his eyes. “Beloved.”

Geralt smiles and kisses him again deep, the rest of his confessions humming down Jaskier’s throat as he moans weakly and, breathless, gives into the kiss.

Later, when the deck is silent and they sit by the sea, Geralt runs his hand down Jaskier’s arm making him shiver. He rubs the fabric of the sleeve between his fingers. “I still have your shirt,” he mutters and it feels like he confessed his deepest secret, if the pain of loss is a secret to anyone else than the mourner.

Yet Jaskier smiles. As he turns to look at him, he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s yours now.” He swallows, his eyes brighter than a million stars. “I’m yours.”

The word echoes in his head and it’s Geralt’s turn to shiver. Mine, he thinks and gets drunk just with the thought. Truly. He holds Jaskier closer still, on his chest, and this time the shirt isn’t empty but flooding. Just like his heart.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[drabsyo]

Drabs, I know that you usually draw Fleur with slightly darker blonde hair than Narcissa. Was it a choice so that it’s easier to distinguish them from each other or was your Fleur maybe slightly influenced by the actress from the movie who had darker hair?

In the books Fleur didn’t seem to have much description other than having long silvery hair (waist length?) and having this glow around her. So like with Narcissa, what works have influenced your design of Fleur?

It’s fascinating sometimes to read the artist’s perspective and your previous reply to the anon about Narcissa has been very interesting.

Thank you!!! 🥺

I was actually pretty embarrassed over how enthusiastic I got over the whole hair thing, but I'm glad it made some sense at least 😂 And now that I've been given even more reason to talk about it... (Let's face it, I shouldn't even be allowed on this website to begin with, ya'll have been way too nice to me.)

Only click on keep reading if you want to read Some Nonsense.

I did consider Fleur's actress when I thought about her hair color. Though I pictured it to be something of a mix between movie Fleur and Elsa’s (from Frozen) hair. But the way I drew Fleur's hair, the way it falls across her shoulders, that was more of... well, I imagined Fleur to have effortlessly perfect hair, like she doesn't seem to need to style it so much because it's already whimsical as it is, what with her being part-Veela. There were a lot of fanfictions that helped me to sort of see a better image of Fleur in my head so really, I owe it to all the talented writers out there!

It's also the same with Narcissa's case. Though I decided to give her paler hair, compared to Fleur's, because I wanted to emphasize that air of vulnerability Narcissa has—this image she conjures, like she's this fragile thing made of glass, which typically in fanfiction is what Narcissa uses so that Voldemort would overlook her a lot, hence why she wasn't given any "missions" or "tasks" while Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor. Slytherin preservation. This "fragile" image was something Narcissa capitalized on and maintained perfectly, but in post-war Cissamione fanfictions, she no longer has to put on that façade—she starts living for herself, but the quiet sadness about her never really goes away.

I really did struggle at first, I had to find a way where I could draw them without confusing people and myself.

So, again, I sifted through a lot of canon and non canon material about these two characters which funnily enough made me see some kind of parallel going on between them. I know. Fleur Delacour and Narcissa Black. Parallels?! It's nuts. But again, this is only within Fleurmione and Cissamione fanfiction, and it really helped me to draw them better. (At least in a way that made them distinguishable from one other at first glance, I’d like to think.)

These 'hair scenes' are mostly the bits where Hermione "first" sees Fleur. Hermione is entranced, a little curious, sometimes she feels indifferent, but the general theme is Hermione immediately finds Fleur beautiful—which probably explains why Hermione in fanfiction sometimes thinks Narcissa could be part-Veela like Fleur. And as you can imagine, that's where my struggle began.

You'll see what I mean in a minute. And just like last time, remember that this part comes with spoilers.

🔹 In Fighting is our form of Flirting by InsomniacAndBi in Chapter 2 Hermione sees Fleur for the first time. This is the first Fleurmione fanfiction I've ever read, and also the first time I've encountered Fleur's character. Tall, bright blonde hair, won the genetic lottery, aristocratic features, face held in a scowl, floats into the room with effortless poise, immediately starts demanding things out of people... Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it. Like some other blonde we know.

"Non!" A voice from the doorway said. "This is not what was agreed."

For a moment, Hermione thought about ignoring it but turned to glance over there if only to quell her curiosity. A girl stepped into the room and Hermione's phone call was forgotten in a moment. She knew that it wasn't nice to stare but Hermione couldn't help but do it because, in all honesty, this was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was definitely taller than Hermione was, with bright blonde hair and...clearly she had won the genetic lottery.

Her skin practically glowed and it looked so smooth and soft. It made Hermione wonder if she used those fancy beautification charms or had a very lengthy skincare routine. Or maybe, just maybe, this is what being rich did to people's faces. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that this girl was rich - like extremely rich, like even rich people thought she was rich. That kind of rich. That was the type of rich that this girl was.

Also, only super rich people curled up their lip like this girl was doing.

She breezed into the room like she was floating and Hermione hastily ended her phone call and promised to call back later.

"This is not what was agreed," The girl said again and Hermione felt incredibly small sitting in front of her. Not to mention, the girl's clothes screamed 'I'm rich and I know it' and Hermione's screamed 'I'm so out of place that I might as well be a bull in a China shop'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione managed to get out when it became apparent that the girl was waiting for her response.

"You are English." The girl looked shock for a moment at Hermione's accent before shaking her head angrily. "This is not what was agreed."

🔹 In Oath of Silver by i_shall_wear_midnight immediately in the first chapter, when Witcher Hermione first meets Fleur, it's something Hermione quickly notices. Vivid sapphire eyes. Silvery blonde hair that shimmered in the torchlight. And once again, right off the bat, Fleur is pushy. She wants things done her way. It’s just so cute how she doesn’t even let the fact that Hermione is a Witcher, an extremely dangerous outcast in society, get in the way of that.

(I'm sorry for this but I just have to gush about Oath of Silver. Hermione as a witcher is just so fitting for her character; she possesses that natural eye for detail that remarkable witchers have, witchers like Geralt and Vesimir (a skill that gets even more honed through the Witcher Trials). Hermione even has Geralt's dry sense of humor, a bit rough around the edges, brilliant, snippy without really meaning to (because she asks a lot of questions and would rather get to the point), but has a good heart.)

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away, the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown her way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

🔹 Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver is probably the most interesting one because it uses the concept of Veela hair as a wand core brilliantly. Again, this comes with huge 🛑spoilers🛑. Read the italicized words at your own risk. I can't add the entire clip here, as the topic of Fleur's hair is littered throughout several other chapters. But this story shows us a Fleur who is willing to do anything in order to protect Hermione during the course of the war.

My memory is a bit foggy, I haven't read this story in months, but here's what I remember:

This takes place during the time of Shell Cottage, where Fleur is married to Bill and takes care of Hermione. Fleur didn't expect to fall in love with the young brunette and, as the Golden Trio's time in Shell Cottage comes to an end, she worries over Hermione's safety. Fleur, using magic only known to the Veela tribes, does her best to offer Hermione protection in any way that she can--even going as far as to study what Lily Potter did so Harry could live. At one point, Fleur cuts her own hair with a length now roughly above her shoulders to give Hermione a new wand. But this isn't the only bridge Fleur is willing to cross to make sure Hermione survives the incoming battle. Fleur's grandmother, Ron, and even Bill himself, is a little sceptic over the propriety of Fleur's actions, but Fleur is determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Hermione makes it out of the war safe and alive.

So that was a lot to wade through, I know.

But if you've skipped all those parts for the sake of missing spoilers then let me go ahead and explain why the parallel between Fleur and Narcissa are there. Sure, it's plain to see that they have similar physical characteristics, but they're also similar in other ways.

In Witnessed here in Time and Blood, Fleur is willing to do whatever it takes to protect Hermione during the war: sacrifice the secrets of the Veela, make Hermione a wand, make her marriage and friendship with Bill suffer, be scrutinized by her Veela tribe, etc. And didn't Narcissa do the exact same thing during the war to make sure Draco made it out alive? They both chose to 'betray' everyone else for the sake of this one person. Not to mention, in Extinction by rubikanon Narcissa even makes Hermione a wand. (I’m telling you, there are so many parallels between these two ships and I can probably list more but I'd rather not make this post longer.)

Here, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—it’s almost like Fleur and Narcissa in fanfiction have the same love language.

A glaringly obvious difference between them is their upbringing, and we could argue that this why Fleur tends to be more open with her emotions while Narcissa tends to be more carefully guarded with hers. And I don't know if writers realize these parallels but as someone who's a huge fan of both characters and as someone who makes the occasional fanart of them, it's a pretty difficult detail to ignore. This crazy conspiracy all started because I had to find a way to make both characters look distinct from one another... It's just so interesting that writers from two different ships unknowingly make these parallels with two completely separate characters who are often at the opposite ends of the seesaw.

But again, let's take a look at Extinction by rubikanon. (I know. Extinction?! AGAIN?! Always.)

Spoiler warning!

🔹 Extinction by rubikanon has a marvelous take on this, as it turns out Fleur and Narcissa are actually good friends, and if I remember correctly, occasionally exchange letters (I’m unsure about this bit, I might have read it in a different story). They just get along remarkably well; I imagine they both share a kind of mutual respect for each other, a quiet understanding for the way the other woman carries herself: poised, meticulous, they pride themselves in their work, they both know how to handle an Ocean Of Secrets™, they're both accustomed to being under the spotlight of the public eye, and they’re both dedicated to their loved ones. Needless to say, Fleur and Narcissa are both giddy over the prospect of being with someone they love and adore, and end up meticulously planning numerous (I think it was hinted) double dates (Fleur with Bill, and Narcissa with Hermione) with the same kind of endearing enthusiasm that leave Hermione and Bill with no choice but to agree to the whims of their respective lovers.

(Scene seen in Chapter 23: Build Up Your Defense 2 of 2)

Narcissa and (Hermione) I were sitting together on one of the couches when Bill and Fleur arrived later. They showered Teddy with kisses on his little cheeks. He'd gotten past his clingy phase and adored us all, struggling to walk around the room by bracing himself on everyone's knees.

Suddenly Narcissa reached up and grabbed onto someone's wrist behind her head. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"That's just scary. How did you know I was there?" George stood up from behind the couch, a toy spider dangling from his hand. Teddy shrieked with laughter.

"She has eyes in the back of her head," Draco said.

"Mothers," George grumbled, sitting down close to Angelina. "Dump her, Hermione. I need you to date someone more prankable."

Fleur looked in surprise at the two of us on the couch. "Oh, la vache! How did I not know zees? You are lovers?"

"We're dating," I said mildly, though we really were lovers. In every sense. I glanced at Narcissa and bit my lip as heat spread through me. My imagination started planning a middle-of-the-night rendezvous.

"No wonder she (Narcissa) was so adamant about healing that curse," Bill said thoughtfully.

"Adorable! Simply adorable!" Fleur exclaimed, sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "We must go out for a double date next week, all four of us. We'll dine at L'Escargot!"

Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"Oh, no," I said.

"You won't have to eat snails," Narcissa said. "Please, mon amour?"

"French doesn't work on me."

"Please?" She kissed my cheek again and again. "Please? Please?"

Laughing now, I pulled her in for a kiss on the lips and said, "Yes, alright. But only because I have fond memories of trying new foods with you."

"As do I," she agreed.

Then we realized everyone was staring. Narcissa cleared her throat and straightened up, blushing. Draco made a face. Ginny looked a little more favorable. Harry held in laughter, and Andromeda hid her camera.

"Adorable!" Fleur declared again.

🔹 Also, I just have to add Sugar and Spice by waltzlikeits1698 because Chapter 4: Happy Birthday, Harry is absolutely hysterical. During Harry's birthday party, Hermione sulks in a corner because Fleur has apparently been avoiding her. Ginny decides to do something barking mad, something Hermione typically falls for.

“Ooh, someone’s grouchy,” Ginny teased, retracting her arm and facing Hermione fully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted, although even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Sure seems like it,” she snarked, summoning two shots and offering one to Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows. Hermione pulled a face and Ginny shrugged before downing both, one after the other. (...) “You know, I spotted a tall, blonde drink of water hanging around the stairs.”

“What!?” Hermione exclaimed, whirling around and leaning out of the room to look at the staircase. Sure enough, standing at the bottom and resting a slender hand on the bannister was a tall, blonde witch who made Hermione’s heart stop with her mere presence. She had started forward before she knew it, her heart taking up an even quicker beat as she crossed the few steps and reached out a hand to clasp her elbow. The woman turned, that beautiful blonde hair catching the candlelight as it moved in one long sheet.

Hermione retracted her hand in horror, her eyes widening. “Mrs Malfoy!?”

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the witch who had practically accosted her. “Miss Granger. Can I help?”

What was she even doing here?

“Uh,” Hermione said dumbly, “sorry, I just… need the loo. Can I-?”

She gestured lamely to the staircase. Both women stared at the perfectly reasonable gap that Hermione could easily pass through. The moment stretched on.

Slowly, Narcissa returned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably in response. She then took a small step to the side and gestured for Hermione to pass. She did so and, as she turned the corner of the staircase, sent a deadly glare at Ginny, who was practically pissing herself with laughter.

(...)

Fleur had arrived. Hermione couldn’t explain exactly how she could tell, considering she had been in the duplicated bathroom for the last ten minutes after humiliating herself in front of Narcissa, but she knew it like she knew that it was levi-O-sa.

(...) (Hermione) She tried to avoid eye contact with Narcissa on the way back down and was thoroughly unsuccessful: the witch had physically reached out and laid her own hand over Hermione’s on the bannister, forcing her to stop and look up. Then, with an intention behind her eyes that Hermione had neither the brain capacity nor the energy to delve into, she said “It’s Ms Black now.”

Then she had released Hermione’s hand and turned back to her conversation with Andromeda and two wizards Hermione didn’t recognise.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of people Hermione didn’t recognise.

Anyway, long story short, this is the result of reading both Fleurmione and Cissamione—

But RIGHT. At the end of the day, again, these are just some crazy little things I picked up on and I may or may not be right, no one has to agree with me, everyone can disagree with me. Actually, yes feel free to disagree with me. I need to get out of this damn site and you know, touch grass.

Okay. Well. I'm gonna stop here now. So. Bye. But thank you anon for this lovely ask!! I’m really touched that you wanted to know what inspired the way I drew Fleur 🥺💕💖 But still. So sorry for this massive word vomit!! 😂

[theodoradevlin]

Dear Theodora,

I know we haven't really talked before but the rumours of your shenanigans have spread far and wide. And considering who I am friends with, it's a wonder that we haven't hung out yet! It just came to my attention that you can play the lute, I never knew! Don't ask me how I found out but you have probably already guessed: sounds like the other night was rather eventful for all of you. I should come next time as well, just to keep an eye on the situation. It's already hard enough dealing with Will talking about his crushes (and Monty specifically now) 24/7. Imagine him after what had transpired last night! I couldn't get a word in today at breakfast!

I digress. I haven't seen you around in the Music Room much but perhaps we just come there at different times? I had the same situation happen with Cora; only found out she plays a musical instrument when I overheard a piano in passing a while ago and had to see who was playing it. 

But back to the lute, I also play quite a bit! If you're ever curious, we can probably duet at some point! No pressure, of course.

Your fellow Hufflepuff, Elland de Strontium 🌙

Dear Elland, 

Thrilled doesn’t even describe how pleased I am to hear from you - I feel as if I’ve said your name thousands of times in passing conversations with our dear mutual friend that it almost feels as if I know you already. 

I won’t ask you to reveal your sources, but I have a few guesses who it might have been. And trust me…I sympathize with you greatly in the current trend of breakfast conversation topics. It’s much the same on my end with Montrose. And that man is usually one of few words.

I admit I have taken to practicing the lute outside on the grounds some days when it’s nice out, especially now that it’s autumn. Nothing like letting the notes of the strings drift along on the breeze.  But, I’d absolutely love to duet sometime! I also must make my way to the music room one of these days. It seems there is so much wonderful talent I’m missing out on! Maybe sometime this month we can find a particularly nice autumn day to practice?

But... I um…might need to lay low for a little bit with my (new) lute due to…..extenuating circumstances. 

I’m sure we’ll run into each other in the common room before then! At least I hope we do. 

Your fellow lute player and friend, 

Theodora Devlin 

[bomberqueen17]

FIC UPDATE

in brighter news, I have finally progressed Fit For Pearls to the point where it now hooks into the events of the Trust series, and i am PUMPED about that.

I hope this gets me back on my friday update schedule but we’ll see. December is a cruel mistress.

In this chapter, Keira shows up! (on AO3)

There were half a dozen Nilfgaardian mages in the courtyard now, all standing about in various attitudes of suspicion and worry, but no one had done anything aggressive. The guards all had drawn swords but nobody was moving.

The mage herself was a beautiful blonde woman who looked about twenty-four (though she certainly wasn’t) and had her shirt open nearly to her navel, her full breasts hovering impossibly unsupported, the inner sides of them completely visible from top to bottom, nothing to prevent them falling sideways out of her open shirt. She was in bright garish colors, her hair similarly nonsensically gravity-defying: she was absolutely, indubitably a Nordling mage of the classically-dramatic type. She also had her hands outstretched, fingers straight, and it was clear she was trying to show that she wasn’t casting a spell, but to the guards it looked threatening, so everyone was in a tizzy.

“Keira Metz,” Morvran said, relieved. He’d never met her, but her likeness had been circulated; she was a former member of the Lodge of Sorceresses, and in former years an ardent foe of Nilfgaard. “Former court sorcerer of Temeria,” he said, since that was a less-controversial section of her curriculum vitae, and he wasn’t trying to inflame the situation. “To what do we owe the pleasure of so abrupt a visit?”

“I wasn’t trying to cause a fuss,” Metz said, crossing her arms across her midsection in a way that left her chest entirely unconcealed. It was probably meant to be distracting, and it was, but not enough to really matter. Morvran made himself look unconcernedly at her face, which was pretty enough; he’d recognized her by the strong jaw and hazel eyes. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with, ah, I believe she’s the Crown Princess, now? Cirilla, formerly of Cintra.”

Morvran nodded slowly and didn’t say anything, because he was trying to think of what Cirilla would prefer he do in this situation. He couldn’t let her down, not again; he had to do the right thing here, no further margin for error. He wasn’t entirely sure what the status was of the former Lodge. But, ah, this was the mage Cirilla had met up with during her unplanned translocation to Ellander not long ago, and yes, this mage was keeping company with one of the Wolf Witchers, so it was likely Cirilla would in fact wish to see her. 

“Who are you?” Metz demanded, as Morvran was working all of this out internally.

He smiled at her, slipping his socialite’s smile over his crisp efficient meeting-runner persona. “I’m the resident Nordling expert,” he said.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Elland Road in Leeds, UK - May 29, 1982 (Part-2)

Fan Stories

“We got a coach from my home town (about 2 hours from memory) and drank an ocean of lager on the way, by the time we got there we needed the toilet so badly we could have exploded! We got into the stadium and waited for the first band of the day. Soon enough a not very well known (to me) American band came on called Heart. They weren't bad but did nothing for me. Then came The Teardrop Explodes who tried and who I reckoned did quite well despite the flying bottles of liquid being hurled at them from the crowd. After them was Joan Jett complete with Blackhearts who got the crowd going with "I Love Rock'n'Roll" mainly because Brian appeared at the side of the stage with his daughter to have a look. Eventually after a long wait the stage lights dimmed and a strange cranking sound started up and then you were suddenly aware of the drum beat to Flash thumping out and spotlights chasing around the stadium. This went on for a minute or so and the excitement was unbearable. All of a sudden in an explosion of smoke, lights, guitars, drums... Brian, John and Roger are there blasting out the opening part of The Hero. Seconds later in a gleaming white leather jacket out runs Freddie and it begins... A moment I will never forget along with many others from Queen shows since and before it. I can't say which show was my favourite as I loved them all but that moment WAS Queen, the sheer power, the anticipation, the fantastic musical ability and above all else the way they gave people what they crave more than anything... wonderful memories.” - whiteman

“29th May 1982 - a really nice warm day. We only lived a few miles away so walked down to Elland Road - I can't believe it - Queen live in my home town at the home of the greatest football team in the country (well maybe not now!). Got to the ground early and were allowed in by security, such a relaxed atmosphere. Saw band's soundcheck - great! So hot sun, never went behind stadium roofs. Got best suntan I have ever had! Heard Teardrop Explodes - not bad. Then you are aware of the beat of flash thumping out around the stadium, the smoke rises and bang - they are on! The greatest gig I have ever seen from the greatest live band in history. God bless you, Brian, Roger and John. Rest in peace, Freddie - we will never forget.” - Michael Quine

“This was my second ever gig, the first being Rory Gallagher the year before (I am sure I once read that Rory was one of Brian May's favourite guitarists). Anyway, being only 14 and not yet in the habit of getting off my face at gigs,I can remember that day very clearly. I am convinced I saw someone throw a hamburger at Julian Cope (Teardrop Explodes were going down like a lead balloon), and just as Julian was opening his gob to sing, he CAUGHT IT IN HIS MOUTH. A huge cheer went up, then they stomped off. Somebody, possibly Queen's manager, came on and told everbody to behave. I also remember a fan getting on stage and Freddie expertly rolling him off the stage. I didnt like the Hot Space album much but was chuffed they were still a hard rock band. I bought the next edition of Kerrang mag and the write up of the gig said STUNNING. Great memory.” - Edwin

“I was 15 years old in 1982 when I attended my first ever concert. Fortunately for me, it was QUEEN's show at Leeds AFC ground in the North of England. I remember when my ticket arrived in the post, possibly 2-3 months before the concert, as was often the case in those days. I stuck my ticket on a cork notice board in my bedroom and could barely contain my excitement over the coming weeks. Every morning, I would wake up and look at the yellow ticket, wishing the days away. I imagined everything that could go wrong would. Queen would cancel the gig, I would break my leg, the family pet would die on the morning of the concert and it would be too insensitive of me to go, the transport wouldn't turn up or would break down, there would be a pile up on the motorway, I'd lose my ticket en route, etc, etc. As it turned out, May 29th 1982 was a hot and sunny day, perfect weather for an outdoor gig. I was CRAZY about Queen and had been since the age of 9 but I really didn't know what to expect on that day. Myself and three friends took a coach organised by my Dad's company from Lancashire across the M62 motorway to Leeds. Our excitement began to really take a hold when we arrived at the football ground and we followed the droves of people towards the turnstiles. To me, this was something on a really big scale and I could already hear the hum of the crowd inside. Not really believing that we were actually about to witness a Queen concert, we found our seats on the West Stand, offering a great view of the stage. I remember marvelling at Queen's new lighting rig and the equipment that adorned the stage, shining in the afternoon sunshine. The ground was almost full at this point and the pitch was heaving with people. The atmosphere was relaxed as people bathed in the sunshine. I remember two guys climbing the fence from the stand and attempting to get a better spot by running into the crowd and losing themselves on the pitch. Their efforts were in vain however as they were quickly located and ejected back into the stand by two security guards. We bought some black Hot Space tour shirts (I wore mine with pride until it literally fell apart) and a programme from a vendor inside the ground and waited for the first band to take the stage. A guy near us shouted and punched his way through Heart's set and then left just as they vacated the stage. Obviously not a Queen fan! The Teardrop Explodes suffered at the hands of the Queen congregation and found themselves battling against a shower of bottles and assorted missiles. Other than that, I don't really remember much about the support bands. I think that Bow Wow Wow were billed to play (an odd choice) but I can't recall if they actually turned up. No matter, we were about to witness what is still one of the best gigs I have ever attended.

As the dusk descended upon us, the giant floodlights were extinguished one by one and the memory of the roar that followed still sends shivers down my spine. Dry ice drifted across the heads of the crowd on the pitch as the intro tape of Flash thumped out of the PA and the strange 'grating' noises added to the recording created a foreboding atmosphere. Two of our party were on the pitch and to this day remember their chests thumping in unison to the powerful rhythm. A sea of hands clapped in perfect time to the beat. To me, this was already an amazing experience. And then the big moment. Freddie, resplendent in dazzling white made his entrance to The Hero and the blaze of the lights. An apt number to start with. Before he had even sung a note, the audience were locked tightly in the palm of his hand. Such an entrance, such a showman. "You're a F***in amazing crowd", he exclaimed after the first rush. The beginning of the gig is, in truth, my strongest memory of the show itself. In particular, the "Flash!!!" vocals cutting through the night air with so much volume. I recall being shocked at the sheer power of Queen's performance and the clarity of the huge sound they harnessed. Morgan Fisher's keyboards during 'Action This Day' sounded bright and hypnotic. Freddie's intro to Fat Bottomed Girls caused quite a response too; "the bigger the t*t the better it is!". I also remember the follow spots darting wildly over the crowd during 'Tie Your Mother Down' and everybody going crazy. Oddly enough (and this is something I still swear by to this day), I was in a Maths lesson at school the following Monday and I swear I had a flashback of this and could actually 'hear' the music being re-played in my head. It was a weird moment and life was never quite the same again. We talked endlessly about our experience for months to come and one of my biggest regrets is not jumping on a train to attend the filmed Milton Keynes show a week later. Having been to so many gigs since, I can honestly say that there is nobody who has been able to top Queen live; I was lucky enough to see the band five times between 1982 and 1986, including Wembley Stadium and their last show at Knebworth. I think that my personal favourite was their performance at the NEC in Birmingham on 'The Works' tour in 1984. People were literally stood there with open mouths, unable to believe how good they were. Leeds is definitely up there too. I recall Brian May stating that he thought it was one of their best performances ever. I can't argue with that Mr May. I've often wondered if an audience shot cine film or even just photographs exist from the Leeds gig. It would be a dream come true to see my memories come to life again.” - Keith Lambert

“I can't believe it was 30 years ago that I attended my first ever gig at Elland Rd Leeds in 1982. I was 17 years old at the time, I was into Queen when I first heard seven seas of rhye, which was so different to all the other stuff around at the time. I'd heard them live on tv, and had Live Killers. Also I used to buy bootleg cassettes of all of their tours from 74 onwards. But nothing could prepare me for that day. They should have played this gig at Old Trafford Manchester, my home town, so I was gutted when the residents opposed it. Tickets were very easy to come by, believe it or not, cos Queen were not seen as a relevant band at that time. Also touring the Hot Space album didn't seem to excite anybody. So, Billy no mates had to go on his own, haha. My memory is a bit hazy, but I will try my best. I got to the ground about 1pm, and was lucky enough to have a pitch ticket. I got right to the front, well about 10 yards from the stage, slightly off centre and to the right. If I told you I never moved from that spot all day and never spoke to anyone, would you believe me? One of the reasons for this is the rivalry between Manchester and Leeds, also I was only a kid, haha. Not sure who was first on, probably Teardrop Explodes, Julian Cope, I remember while they were throwing bottles at him, picked one up and started hitting himself with it and stretching his arms out saying he was an Argentinian bomber or something. It was during the Falklands war, remember. Then Heart came on, not really my cup of tea, and I had a lie down on the tarpaulin and tried to go to sleep. Then Joan Jett, who was better than the rest, but not really exciting. During the band changes, I remember the roadies polishing Roger's drum kit and climbing up ropes and those threepronged lights, which before I saw them move I thought they were cameras. Queen took ages to come on. From my recollection and I might be wrong, they didn't come on until 10pm and went off around Midnight. I heard later that they got fined so much per minute for being late on stage but they wanted to wait until it was dark for the lighting rig to take effect. If you watch the Bowl DVD you will notice it was light when they came on stage there. But that was being filmed by Channel 4. But it was absolutely pitch black when they came on stage at Leeds. Then the floodlights went off, smoke started to appear and strange noises started, which I can't describe, sorry. Then Flash's Theme started, it was loud, very, very loud. I knew they were supposed to be loud and this was the part that scared me. The ground was thumping, the bass just pumping away. The these 'cameras' flicked into life, with men on them. The intro seemed to last for a very long time. Then BANG Brian appears with the first chord of The Hero and a flash of the biggest white light I've ever seen and will never forget and the absolute loudest noise I have ever heard just hit me. The intro was quite in comparrision to this. When I play Live at the Bowl, I tend to repeat the intro and The Hero, virtually every time, because it was definitely a life changing experience for me at that moment, just incredible. Then Freddie appeared in brilliant white again, I was that close, I swear His hair seemed blue because of the mass of white lights. His voice, so loud, so clear, honestly, I can't describe that moment properly. I heard Freddie swear, saw Roger spitting, quite a lot, over his drum kit and onto the stage, I was bewildered.

When they did Play The Game and also Somebody To Love, when Freddie was doing the intros for them and it will sound strange to those that weren't there, but I didn't know what the songs were. I thought they was new unreleased songs. The reason was they was so loud, It kind of deafened you and then kind of sunk in what they were about to play. Then the rest of the gig flew by and I was singing my head off. Everyone was, but you could only hear Queen. Again my memory may be wrong, but I read afterwards that Queen had paid for residents to move out of their homes for the day. These houses were monitored and they said that the sound was like Concorde flying 10 feet over your head... Yep I will buy that. For all that and for all the bad things said about it, The Works tour, which I went to all the 4 origional England gigs they had planned, was the best tour they ever did. The set list was fantastic and the lighting rig was incredible. Not as loud, I also add. I also saw them in Manchester, 86. They had to be off stage by 10pm and noise levels had to be adhered to. I was too far awy to see them and the screens didn't come on because it was too light. Also I couldn't here them properly. I've watched the mMagic Tour gigs on DVD etc, but for me, that was the poorest tour they ever did. So that's it, hopefully some of you can confirm my bad memory, or say I'm wrong. Hopefully not bored you all. But it was the greatest musical experience I ever witnessed and I am proud I was there.” - Paul Wakefield

Part-1

(x)

[bard-llama]

I'm curious about 95. Sounds like it has extensive (is that the right word?) plot. And I really enjoy your stories with politics and the worldbuilding you do.

-sorry for my English -

Oooh, yes, I am very excited for this one!! I've shared a little bit about it before, but I'm so glad to hear you enjoy the politics and worldbuilding, because I'm going all in on this one lol. It's a big, involved 'verse and I've actually written more in Part 4 than in Part 1 oops, but the start is actually very simple: Foltest lets his hate get the better of his judgement and does something extreme - he tries to burn down Iorveth's forest.

I haven't actually written much more than what's in this snip, so I'm gonna ramble about the worldbuilding and the plan instead lol. But I guess I'll be nice and stick it under a cut XD

Send me a title and I'll share a rorveth snip (or ramble about the plan for it)

95. Temerian Civil War: The Lilies Divided (also called A Single Spark and I'm not sure which title I will use where, but it will probably be a series)

Okay, so like I said, we start with Foltest going a little crazy. Why? Because the Scoia’tael keep winning, dammit, and he’s sick of the bloody squirrels and they’re hard to fight because they hide in the forests and pluck his soldiers off like vermin. So the solution? Smoke them out like rats. Burn the forest down.

Now, to their credit, several of Foltest’s advisors do try to speak up against this plan, for a multitude of reasons. 

Huge fires are ecological disasters that cause lasting damage not just in the moment, but for years afterwards. We’re talking about things like topsoil erosion and ash and soot contaminating water supplies and such, but also the literal results of ‘no more forest’: no more firewood, no more hunting, no foraging, etc. Depending on how big the fire is, it could literally take decades for the surrounding area to recover.

Two towns are located right in the midst of the forest and are very definitely at risk if it burns. Ellander, at least, is on the outskirts, but Flotsam is in the center of the fucking forest AND it’s a highly valuable port, which means it burning down is economically costly as well as, you know, deadly.

If the fire spreads past Temeria’s borders (because forests don’t tend to mind human demarcations), then they would end up owing huge fines to other kingdoms for those exact reasons. 

Temeria’s regions would understand how damaging what Foltest wants to do is differently. By which I mean, somewhere like Velen, that’s all swamps and lives off of a fire ecology - they would understand what it means to set a fire like that and how much damage it does. But to someone in the plains of Central Temeria, they might not really get it. It’s just a fire, right? How bad can it be?

Unfortunately for everyone, Foltest is not interested in listening to logic or reason. He wants the Scoia’tael dealt with and he feels like he’s fixed onto the key to dealing with them. And, honestly, I don’t think HE understands just how important forests are and how much damage an uncontrolled fire can do. 

Roche, on the other hand. Roche grew up in Velen. He knows at least a little bit about fire ecologies and he knows that forest and the role it plays in local culture and life. Yes, it’s Scoia’tael-infested... but it also has half of their food sources.

So when Foltest calls the Council meeting to a close with orders to prepare to head to the forest, Roche knows he doesn’t have much time. He tries to reason with Foltest, because he believes in Foltest - but Foltest is uninterested in hearing it and dismisses him from sight. So Roche finds someone who will listen.

Triss and Keira are just as shaken as he is by Foltest’s plan, and together, they + the Stripes decide that even if it makes them traitors, they have to stop it. So Keira portals half of the Stripes to Ellander to warn the town and start preparing to fight the fire there while Triss portals the other half to Flotsam to do the same there. Basically, they have to do everything possible to make sure that the fire does not spread to the villages, because as soon as it does, they’re lost.

But the two majority human towns aren’t the only ones in the forest, and Roche decides that he’s honor-bound to warn the Scoia’tael. He more or less knows where their base is, but they’ve never had the manpower to raid it, so it’s never mattered. But now... now that base is directly in the path of the fire - because Keira and Triss may have portaled them, but they aren’t Foltest’s only mages. His remaining sorcerer, Fercart, portals nearby and starts the fire, and he starts it HOT. Hot enough that the tree canopy catches and it spreads fast.

Of all the Stripes, Fenn knows fire the best. Both because he’s their explosives expert and literally plays with fire in his free time, but also because his religion worships fire. This is important - Fenn’s religion is gonna play a huge role in this fic. So what is it? Well, what you gotta know about Fenn is that he was raised by the Witch Hunters. If he ever had a birth family, he doesn’t remember them - they threw him away. And the Witch Hunters follow the Eternal Fire very devoutly, which paired well with his general interest in fire and making things go boom.

Then he saw his first pyre. It was supposed to be a radicalizing moment for young Fenn, and it was... but not quite in the way the Witch Hunters intended. Because the person they were burning wasn’t someone Fenn knew well or anything, he was just the old man who sold Fenn supplies for a quarter of the cost because he knew Fenn couldn’t afford it. He also happened to have done to same for some mages, and they set him alight for it and for something that was supposed to be warm and nurturing, fire burned hard and rough and the old man’s screams and the smell of his charred flesh still haunt Fenn.

So Fenn was radicalized all right - only not really the way they wanted, and with a deep wariness towards them. (Then they hired an assassin for a job and Fenn found out they were planning to double cross him and on a whim, Fenn decided to save the idiot. And that’s the story of how Finch ended up stuck with Fenn.)

Anyway, all of this matters because Fenn knows Fire, so when the Boss has the crazy fucking idea to run into the path of the huge blaze, he’s the best person to go with to keep them alive. They have amulets from Keira and Triss that will help protect them, but at a certain point, a fire starts to generate its own atmosphere, so to speak - it’s own wind currents and shit. AKA the magic just makes it more out of control.

Roche and Fenn go searching for the Scoia’tael and find them already busy preparing - because they have eyes and can see the fire coming, but also, they’re elves. They’ve lived in forests since before humanity came to the continent. They know how to manage fires. So they’re working to cut firelines and create a firebreak BEFORE it reaches their base. But the problem is, there’s only so many of them, and the forest is HUGE. So they’re working to save their base and as much of the forest around them as they can, but they gotta be ruthlessly practical about it. And that’s hard when you’re a species that’s connected to the nature that’s burning unnaturally hot and fast. Because yeah, fire is part of nature and they definitely do controlled burns on the regular so that this shit doesn’t happen, but none of that helps against magically driven firestorms.

Which is all to say - the fire overtakes them. Or well, specifically, it overtakes Fenn, Roche, and Iorveth. Because Iorveth stopped to talk to Roche when he arrived, and as the fire approached Fenn darted off towards the flames, which made Roche panic and run after him. And Iorveth can’t let the stupid dh’oine die when they’re only out here to warn the Scoia’tael, so he goes after them and manages to catch Roche in time for them to at least sort of take cover. AKA they get entraped through the fire. @waywardcorvid, by the way, was absolutely essential in all of the planning for this ‘verse, because she knows firefighting and I know shit all lmao. So what happens in an entrapment is you realize the fire is going to overtake you, so you go to a pre-established spot/make a spot where you basically cut/dig/burn everything flammable so that there’s no fuel for the fire. Then you get your fire shelter out, lay face down on the ground with it covering you, and pray like hell, because the shelters are not fireproof, they’re just there to improve your chances.

So Iorveth and Roche face a very intense near death together and come out on the other side - but they have no idea what happened to Fenn, and odds aren’t exactly in his favor. Which is something Roche has gotta tell Finch, and he is not looking forward to it. But before that, Iorveth brings him back to the Scoia’tael base to check him over and, once the fire is over, sends people out looking for Fenn, ‘cause they figure if the fucker was crazy enough to come warn them, it’s the least they can do. 

At any rate, Iorveth and Roche talk a little bit and Roche mentions despondently that this will be the start of civil war in Temeria. Iorveth, far from grave, is excited at this idea. He wants in on it. After all, if change is coming, why the fuck can’t that change be good for EVERYONE?

So Roche goes back to Ellander with Iorveth and maybe a Scoia’tael guard in tow and people definitely have some reactions to that. And Roche would worry about all that, but he’s gotta tell his team about Fenn, so like... he’s got bigger concerns. Then we get to where that snip is set - all the sensible people in the aftermath having a strategy meeting to figure out what happens next. They are ALL considered traitors by Foltest’s Loyalists for having fought against the fire, but instead of presenting a united front, they split intwo two separate factions: The Pragmatists, who want to limit the powers of the king and install Anais and Boussy on the throne as Foltest’s illegitimate children; and The United Temerians, who want a Temeria that works for EVERYONE, including nonhumans. They follow the leadership of Adda the White, Foltest’s supposed niece, whose time as a striga just happened to make her identify more with nonhumans than humans. 

Foltest, of course, is FURIOUS that not only are his children (and by dint of that, his lover, Louisa La Valette, Anais and Boussy’s mother) and his tool (Roche) openly rebelling against him, but even his own nobles are more than a little uncomfortable with how far he went. Not to say they want to overthrow him... but not to say they wouldn’t support someone else, if the opportunity were to arise. For Foltest, it’s an untenable position, and he must attack. So he does - he denies that Anais and Boussy are his children and he reveals that Adda is actually a child of incest. Which has mixed results. On the one hand, people are 100% inclined to blame the girl for things beyond her control rather than her father in these kinds of situations. On the other hand, Adda’s got a pretty good standing. She’s a Priestess of Melitele and has devoted her life to service in Melitele’s name, which like... is pretty good for one’s reputation. She also had no idea and was pretty horrified upon finding out - especially because it meant that her ‘Uncle Roche’ knew and kept it from her.

Anyway, all of that? Is just the set up 😂😂 Now we have the actual civil war. And they’re not free of outside influence either - the international community would absolutely try to influence things in Temeria to favor them. So while Redania and Kaedwen support the Loyalists, Nilfgaard actually supports the United Temerians (which Iorveth hates. He hates so much that he’s once more fighting a war supplied by Nilfgaardian weapons). I think Dijkstra secretly supports the Pragmatists and Saskia supports the United Temerians, but not sure how much actual help her support translates into ‘cause she wouldn’t have a realm yet and her army would be busy fighting its own battles in Aedirn. Ooooh, but they could 100% inspire and inform each other, esp if Philippa is already helping Saskia.

Speaking of: which characters are where?

The United Temerians: Adda the White, Vernon Roche, Iorveth, Triss Merigold, The Blue Stripes

The Pragmatists: Baroness Louisa La Valette (and by extension, Anais and Boussy, and their older half brother Ari), John Natalis, Keira Metz, Duke Hereward I of Ellander

The Loyalists: Foltest, Baron Kimbolt, Count Maravel, Fercart, Velerad (governor of Vizima), Duke Bronibor, Vilimerius (cleric, anti-mage + anti-nonhuman)

Okay, so what happens with Fenn? Obviously we can’t just leave things there!

About a day or two after the fire, even though all of the Scoia’tael’s searches have turned up empty, Fenn walks out of the forest, completely unscathed. When asked how the fuck he survived, he just smiles and says that the Eternal Fire works in mysterious ways. Roche and Finch both nearly kill him for that, but the Stripes are all so relieved that he’s okay that they don’t really care about the how.

But word of his survival and of the whole fire spreads fast and actually ends up causing a division within the Church of the Eternal Fire. There are those that see the way the flames failed to kill the nonhumans/scoia’tael as a sign that the Eternal Fire does not stand against them and that Foltest was the one to profane the Fire by attempting to use it for genocide. Then, of course, there are others who believe that Foltest’s actions were merely divine punishment and that those who fought the fire should be punished for going against the will of god. 

So there’s argument in the church about their stance on nonhumans (previously pretty unfavorable), but also, one of their members just walked through fire and survived and that is definitely A Sign to a LOT of people. Fenn is not exactly overjoyed about this.

Idk exactly what happens throughout the rest of the war, but I do know that towards the end of it, the Loyalist faction falls apart when Foltest’s forces face Roche’s and Fenn manages to set Foltest on fire. So suddenly they have no leader, which means the crown is now either going to Anais and Boussy or Adda.

Oh, I forgot to say, though! So, Louisa is trying to keep Anais and Boussy distant from the United Temerians, because she’s practical and kinda ruthless and she doesn’t want them to get attached to their enemy. But Ari, their older brother (renamed from Aryan ‘cause 😬) secretly works with Roche and Adda to ensure that Anais and Boussy get to know their half sister. 

I think ultimately they should be the ones who get to decide their own fate. Because they’ve kinda been pawns so far and I mean, on the one hand, Adda is of age while they are children, so realistically, who can take the throne? But I think they can cement her rule by deciding to follow her/swear fealty to her. And that way, they can be her heirs, esp if she doesn’t marry. (In the games, she marries Radovid if she lives, but also, fuck her game portrayal). If she did marry and have a kid, then that kid would be a more direct heir and there would again be potential for civil war if either Anais or Boussy chose to contest their claim... but I dunno that they would. Still, it would be something they’d need to consider politically - but I could also see Adda declaring that she’s married to her faith and her siblings are her heirs. 

Anyway, under Queen Adda the White, Temeria grants equal rights and protections to nonhumans, and somewhere in there, Roche and Iorveth get together, and boom, that’s the story. And that was really long, so I think extensive was indeed the right word, anon!

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 3 October 1837

7 40

11 50

fine morning F59 ½° at 8 35 and went downstairs to a Mr. Greenwood from H-x who brought a plan for the water wheel – breakfast with A- (and Mr. Gray came at 9) at 8 50 in about ¾ hour – then looking to see what sum of Lords rent A- owns to Lady William Gordon (vid. 30 August) and calculating for her she leaving the money £4.16.11 for SW. this morning to pay Mr. Lister the auctioneer who collects these rents -  off in the yellow carriage to Thorpe at 10 – took A- to Nicholsons’ shop, and staid with her there from 10 ¼ to 10 50, and then set her down (to walk to Cliff Hill) at the far end of  the northbridge at 10 55 and drove off to the White Lion for a ticket for the King x bar – off from the White lion at 11 and met Mr. J. Priestley on the road (he going into Norland) at 11 ½ and took him back in the carriage to his own house and alighted there about 11 ¾ and came way at 1 35 – both the brothers J and Walker P- the former brought his plan of his estimate and the greater intelligence of the latter much aided our conversation – said I had come over to tell JP.  he could do me a service and himself too – Explained – he seemed to know very little about coal – JP. said he must take advice and consider about it – yes! certainly – a matter of consideration to all parties but I should be glad of a determination as soon as possible as I should set about goit or steam engine as soon as I could – I was not fast – there were 2 sides of the brook, either would suit me – but I had preferred applying to P- first – I thought the drain or goit would be a benefit to him and on the other were the Mcaulays with whom I knew Mr. Stocks would have influence – P- wished to consult a disinterested person – I said no coal-person would be so – I mentioned Kitchingman Childe – and Matthew Naylor as valuing tenants damages for me, I thought £6 per DW. – and Mr. Cooke of Elland called in to value coal damages for me, and Illingworth Miss Walkers’ coal tenant, Mr. Rawsons’ great man and very clever, but he certainly would not be disinterested – I said they would tell him (JP.) that the privilege was worth thousands to me – of that I left him to judge for himself merely observing that if he thought so, I should give the thing up – I did not even offer him more than damages, because I thought the benefit, to him and the expense to me sufficiently great – it could not be done for less than 10/. per running yard – might be – probably would be a 2 thousand pounds job – might be (but SW.’s survey would shew) from 2 to 3 thousand yards long – WP. measured the plan from which, direct across from about the low end of waste-wood to the head of Walterclough mill new goit, seemed = 1100 yards explain the benefit of the goit to JP. his upper bed 60 or 70 yards deep at Dumb mill bridge and 51 yards at Walkerclough mill (vid. near the bottom of last page) – my goit would begin at about 40 or 42 yards below the surface; and if ever his coal was wanted would save him 30 or 40 yards of pumping he wished I would loose his coal – I said it was not in my power to do what except perhaps about the upper 1/3 of it – never thought of working my own coal but gently explained how forced into it – the communication between R. and me underground pretty near – mentioned the assa-faetida for the 10 acres sold I had only a price between the 2 prices sold at by my uncle and it was odd that

SH:7/ML/E/20/0138

that such objection was made to my sending anyone into R-‘s pits – it was suspicious – I should have no objection to anyone going into my pits – if anything was wrong, I should be glad to be informed of it; if not, what need of mystery – the law of no use – must give a fortnights’ notice of a chancery injunction, and that time enough for stopping all up so that nothing could be found out – But now I was pretty much at ease – it was now discovered that R- could  not get the bit of coal I had wished to buy – for which R- bade 1 hundred and got me up to 5 hundred when I said he might have it – but they could not make a title to it – I believed also that he could not get Walker P-‘s coal – H- had offered a good price and was not likely to offer as much again    WP. knew of the throw that had been found but said H- had been at great expense and must have some coal to pay for it – I quietly said yes!  but he had a large quantity already and now that nobody could get WP.’s but H-, it made a great difference – if  I did not let my colliery and perhaps I should not H- was naturally my agent for it; and the colliery would in case be almost as good as his won, so that he would be in no want of coal – said I should be glad to see but the Messrs. P- at Shibden hall – nothing wanted but a table large enough; and they would learn from my plans in 2 minutes more than their own plans or mere talk could shew them in 2 hours – said I should be glad to avoid the smoke of an engine, but if obliged to have it, I should easily get over it – the chimney would be carried up into the hill and Mr. Harper thought the nuisance would be very small – I could a 14 horse English for £420 (vid. line 12 of yesterday) and the whole outlay engine house road and everything would not exceed £1000 nor would the daily expense exceed 10/. (including coal fireman and wear and tear) – at all rates the annual expense would not exceed £200; and then I should do my coal work and benefit nobody – Mr. JP. might think of this when they told him the privilege was worth thousands to me  and then judge for himself be it remembered I am not fast – if I was I must come into P-‘s terms yes! said P- ‘and you we all make what we can’ (How nicely characteristic!) he thought we should want some written document – yes! certainly said I – for my sake quite as much as yours – but that will be left to our attorneys – or I will shew you a rough draft of agreement for your perusal - I will shew you the old grant from Mrs. Firth to my grandfather – But we are both of us people who will come to the business without any wish to take any advantage one either side – oh! yes! to be sure, said JP- that their confidence in me may [?] with the length of the proposed goit je n’en sais rien – I doubt it – but SW. is to take the levels and I am to let JP. know the result and he will consider about and take advice and come over – In fear and trembling lest my goit and I should be too deep for him? I had told him his coal was not worth more than £10 an acre now – it could not got in one time – say 56 years how often would ten pounds double itself in that time? – Holt said I had coal enough of my own to last twenty colliers getting 150 years – Walker P- said my coal might not be so valuable for coal had been discovered in Soyland – a seam 9in. thick – in 1834 – some Lancashire colliers had come over but the property here was so divided nothing could be done – they thought it might be the Dule (Lancashire Dule or some such name) bed – WP. gave me a copy of the strata bored thro’ at Soyland mill (near Thorpe) in 1834 as follows  

                                    yards        ft.        in.

1 Shale                             6

2 Black ditto                    9

3 Gritty ditto                  16

4 Shale                             18

5 Iron stone                     1            .           6

6 Shale                             3            .           10

7 Iron stone                                   2          8

8 Shale                             20           1          6

9 Iron stone                                   1          6

10 Shale                            3

11 Iron stone                   1

12 Black shale                  4

13 Intermixed with          8

shale

14 Iron stone                    1        .           6

15 Left off in black            4       .           8

shale very soapy

                                         96      2         2

Had just written all the above of today in an hour at 4 ¼ - Miss Priestley with us the whole time – changed my dress before sitting down to my journal how will the matter end? shall I get the privilege or not? – then wrote as follows to ‘Mr. Samuel Washington, Crownest’ – ‘Shibden hall. Tuesday 3 October 1837 – Sir – I shall be obliged to you to let me know the earliest day you can take the levels of the brook, from the gapstead in the bit of wall between the Bunker hill and Parkfield in Lower Place land, going along Mr. John Priestley’s land down to the lowest extremity of my Southolm land – I am sir, etc. etc. etc. A. Lister’ – JP. particularly inquired what n° of vent pits I should require I said I could not exactly tell – something would depend upon himself air might be carried in pipes 200 or 300 yards and the drain would be so deep I should make as few vent pits as possible unless he gave me to leave to make as many as I liked and I found them cheaper than pipes – at any rate I should want the privilege of a place to bury the scale in – thought about 1 ½ yard cube per running yard would come out – but all should be buried so as to leave no nuisance – not a bit of scale to be seen – I should do it as I had done that in my own land – JP. had best come and see – But I thought I could manage very well with 6 vent pits in JP-‘s land supposing the length 1100 yards went downstairs at 4 ¾ - George gone for A- ¼ hour ago – out, about a little while then at 5 5 off to Mitham to send my note by little John – he went to Mr. George Robinson’s on Monday (yesterday) to work in the land and eat at home – walked forwards meaning to go to Crownest – met A- not far from on this side of Hipperholme lane ends – sent George back with the note and returned with A- and back at 6 – then out with Robert Mann seeing about road for the platform carts till 6 40 then ¼ hour with A- dressed – dinner at 7 10 – asleep – coffee –read the newspaper – came upstairs 5 minutes after A- at 10 pm at which hour F61° - fine till about noon – then a couple of hours rain or more afterwards tolerably fair – but damp warm disagreeable afternoon and evening – raining fast about 10 1/2 pm