#⧽ ⠀ ⠀ ── ⠀ ⠀ study : i do the fighting and feasting and i am expert at both.

[jarlsson]

which symbolic fruit are you?

pomegranate.

the pomegranate is most famously attributed to the greek goddess, persephone. though versions of the story differ: with some saying persephone was tricked into eating pomegranate seeds to be trapped in the underworld, and some saying she willingly chose to eat the seeds. pomegranate's have a hard exterior that is tough to crack. your hard shell is a natural protectant and keeps you safe from those that only wish to use you. internally you are rich with bounties. you believe in living your life passionately and vibrantly. the idea of surrendering to a fate of being confined to anything, – whether it be a relationship, a job, or family dynamic where you are not happy and lack agency – is a terrifying prospect. it is fears like this which also prevent you from opening up and showing vulnerability to those around you. however, like the pomegranate whose seeds sparkle like gemstones, you hide inside you incredible beauty that only the most worthy deserve to see.

tagged by: @umberlant ty <33

tagging: @wolfkcst , @ofspvrta and anyone reading this who hasn’t been tagged already!

[panandinpain0]

can I make a rEquEST I’m new to this so sorry if it sounds weird 😭😭 can I req a cedric (yes I’m basic) x male hufflepuff where the readers the year below him- at the triwiz tourney and ball it’s revealed he’s the cousin of krum or delacour? Specific I know 😭

Cousins?

Dw hon, I'm basic too <3

I'm going with Delacour, idk why I just feel more inclined to do her- so you're Fleur Delacour's little brother!

@@@

Requested by: Anon

Cedric Diggory x Male!Hufflepuff!Delacour!Reader

---

(Y/N) and Cedric had been friends since (Y/N)'s first year. They'd met at his welcoming feast and became fast friends, even though they couldn't really go to class together (seeing as the classes were separated by year) but whenever they weren't attending class you'd see them together.

Now it was the Triwizard Tournament, and Cedric had been chosen.

"You what?" (Y/N) muttered through the toast in his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full- and I was chosen as a champion for the Triwizard Tournament," Cedric shot back playfully.

It was the day after his (and Harry's) name had been drawn, but (Y/N) was recovering from a week-long cold in the hospital wing. (Y/N) had really wanted to go but Madame Pomfrey insisted he stayed until he was better.

"Okay mom-" (Y/N) mocked after he'd swallowed his toast, turning his full attention to Cedric. "So you're actually going to compete?"

"Well-" Cedric shrugged halfheartedly- "Yeah. Do I really have a choice?"

"I'd like to think so," (Y/N) argued back, not backing down.

"It's not like I can just ask them to pull another name out of the goblet-"

"That's exactly what you can do!"

"Why are you fighting so hard for this? Aren't you happy for me?" Cedric asked, the fire fading from his voice near the end of his sentence.

(Y/N) sighed and shook his head, looking around the hall for a second.

"It's not that I'm not happy for you Cedric, I'm just... worried. You could die, Cedric. This tournament was banned for years for a reason. I have no idea why those idiots decided to bring it back." (Y/N) scoffed and started eating again, not that he was very hungry anymore.

"Hey, 'those idiots' includes our Headmaster."

"I meant what I said. The man who's supposed to be protecting us and have our best interests at heart is sending you- and other students- into a dragons den!" (Y/N) replied heatedly. "To hell with him."

Cedric didn't know what to say to that, he had a point.

"I'm sorry you don't like it, but I'm doing it, (Y/N)," Cedric warned him with a determined look on his face.

"I know, that's what I'm so afraid of. You're my best friend, Cedric. If you die, I don't-"

"Well, I'm not going to be dying so you don't have to worry about it." Cedric so badly wanted to reach across the table and take (Y/N)'s hand- but he didn't.

"You can't promise that." (Y/N) shook his head, not looking at Cedric.

They left it at that, changing the subject and getting on with their lives. Until the first task started to approach.

"I was just joking when I said they were sending you into a dragons den, I didn't think there'd be actual dragons!" (Y/N)'s strained voice whispered across the table to Cedric at the library.

"I didn't either, but Harry told me so now I'm ahead of the other champions."

(Y/N) worried his bottom lip, "I hope Fleur and Viktor find out soon..."

"I'm sure they'll be fine, if Harry knows everybody else probably knows too. Anyways, I've been studying up on some things I can use to get past the dragon, and I figured my best shot would be transfiguration. What do you think?"

"Well, you know how shit I am at transfiguration so I don't know, but I can't think of anything else. I just hope it works."

"It will." He sounded like he was reassuring himself more than anything.

...

"Alright, I've got to go-" Cedric motioned to the champions tent outside the stadium. "Make sure you have a good view," he joked, sending (Y/N) a wink.

"Wait, Cedric!" (Y/N) caught him by his wrist and pulled him in for a hug, arms around his waist as he tried to stop himself from tucking his face into Cedric's neck.

"Please be careful. Don't die."

Cedric, though surprised at first, wrapped his arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders, holding him tight. Pressing his face into (Y/N) hair he let his fear take over for a moment before he responded.

"I'll be careful, don't worry. And when it's done we'll go flying on our brooms together."

Eventually they parted, and Cedric gave what he hoped was a confident smile to his best friend, who nodded and weakly smiled back.

...

"You idiot!" Was the first thing Cedric heard after the tent flap opened.

Chuckling as Madame Pomfrey spread the salve over his burns, Cedric held out his hand to (Y/N).

"Hello to you too."

Pulling up a chair (Y/N) took hold of Cedric's hand and sat next to his cot.

"You're an idiot. I told you to be careful!"

"I know what you're saying is coming from a place of love so I won't take it seriously," Cedric joked again, squeezing (Y/N)'s hand in reassurance.

(Y/N) held Cedric's hand in both of his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles subconsciously. Heat flooded Cedric's face, and not from his burns.

"You're such an idiot," (Y/N) mumbled, still not noticing what he had done and the effect it had had on his best friend. "You could have died."

"But I didn't," Cedric managed to whisper out.

(Y/N) merely glared at him, not letting go of his hand. Madame Pomfrey finished wrapping his wounds and went to check on the other champions, leaving the boys alone.

"Hey," Cedric nudged (Y/N)'s chin with his captured hand, smiling at him. "I'm okay. I'm not dead, I'm right here."

Brows creased and tears pooling in his eyes, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and nodded, blinking them away before moving closer to Cedric's bedside. His elbows were on the side of the cot and still held Cedric's hand, staring into his eyes.

"You didn't die."

"I did not."

"Okay." (Y/N) took in another breath and closed his eyes, putting his forehead on their joined hands. "Are you in pain?"

"Some, but Pomfrey gave me some stuff for it."

"Good. Want me to beat up the dragon for you?"

Cedric guffawed and (Y/N) joined him, the two falling into laughter.

...

Staring at the egg on the table in the Hufflepuff common room, (Y/N) shook his head in dismay.

"It's only been a week, we still have time to figure it out, (Y/N)," Cedric startled him out of his thoughts.

"I know, but the sooner we know the better, that way we can find a way of beating the next task," (Y/N) shot back, turning the egg a bit on the table.

Cedric just let out an amused sigh, plopping down on the couch next to him.

"So, have you heard about this ball thing?" (Y/N) asked casually, wanting to gossip like they usually did.

Sitting up from his slouched position, Cedric gulped down his nerves and nodded.

"Uh, yes! Yeah, the Yule Ball, right?"

"Apparently we're supposed to be taking a dancing class for it," (Y/N) made a face as he wrote something down on his parchment, looking back up at the egg.

"About the ball, I was wondering..." Cedric trailed off uncertainly, looking at (Y/N)'s distracted state.

"Wondering?" (Y/N) put down his quill and looked to Cedric.

"Wondering if you'd like to go with me to the ball?"

(Y/N) blinked in shock and then his eyebrows slanted down.

"Like... as friends, or...?" (Y/N) trailed off, licking his lips as he suddenly found himself panicked.

"Um, no. Not- well, unless you'd like it to be as friends because that's completely f-"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like to go to the Yule Ball with you as not friends." (Y/N) smiled at him, his hands finding the loose thread in the common room couch very fascinating.

"Good, that's- that's good!" Cedric leaned forward and kept nodding.

They sat for a moment in awkward silence, sharing nervous looks every once in a while.

"Who do you think Harry will ask?" (Y/N) suddenly wondered aloud, picturing the awkward, bumbling boy in his year trying to ask someone out- curious as to who all of the champions will ask.

"You don't think he'll as Hermione, will you?" Cedric responded, giving in to the gossip.

"Oh, no- Ron's in love with her. Harry would never," (Y/N) stated like it was common sense.

"Wait Ron's in love with Hermione?"

And that's how the rest of the night went, the egg eventually being ignored.

...

"Do we really have to walk out in front of everybody? That seems a bit dramatic..."

"We're not just walking out, dearest, we're dancing in front of them too," Cedric teased, moving his eyebrows up and down to try and lighten the mood.

"That's not better, Diggory." (Y/N) frowned at him.

"I know, I'm sorry. I won't be that bad, just focus on me and you'll be fine," he reassured his best fr- boyfriend? They'd gone on a couple of dates since he'd asked him out to the ball, and it'd been like a dream come true.

They were lined up outside the doors of the Great Hall with Harry and Parvati standing behind them.

"Alright champions and companions, time to dance," Professor McGonagall opened the doors and out they went.

"Oh my god I can't believe I'm actually doing this," (Y/N) whispered to Cedric as they made it to the middle of the room, everybody's eyes on them. Well, the champions, which included them.

"Just look at me. None of them matter, not right now, just look at me." Cedric looked into (Y/N)'s eyes and they joined hands, dancing as the music started.

...

"I'll be honest, Ced, I did not expect to have this much fun tonight," (Y/N) revealed, taking a sip of the butterbeer that Cedric had gotten him.

"You didn't expect to have fun at a ball with your boyfriend?" Cedric asked incrediously.

"Boyfriend?" (Y/N) looked caught off guard, staring at Cedric with wide eyes.

Cedric stammered, "I- well, you- and we- I just thought..." he trailed off at the sight of (Y/N)'s blushing face.

"Boyfriend, hmm?" a new voice interrupted their conversation.

Head's whipping to see who the new person was, the boys felt almost relieved to have someone interuppt.

"Fleur, hey!" (Y/N) tried to act natural as Fleur pulled him into a hug.

"It is nice to finally get to talk to you again cousin! It feels as though I have hardly seen you while I've been here!"

"Cousin?" Cedric cut in, glancing between Fleur and (Y/N).

"Well, it is a big castle!" (Y/N) chuckled nervously, having forgotten he never told Cedric.

"Yes, (Y/N) here is my cousin. He grew up with me in France! Did he not tell you?" Fleur glanced between the two Hufflepuffs, sensing she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"I hadn't gotten the chance, it never came up." (Y/N) shrugged and smiled apologetically at Cedric.

"By the way, Mama says you need to write her back. 'Aunts deserve attention to, you know' were her exact words. Anyways, I will leave you with your boyfriend. Au revoir!" Fleur twirled away, making her way towards Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw she had asked to the ball.

"So, you're a Delacour, huh?" Cedric tried to joke.

"Not technically, if it helps? My mom is Fleur's mom's sister. She married my dad who's from Ireland, and they live there now, but we visited France a lot growing up," (Y/N) rambled, trying to tell him all now to make up for not telling him before.

Cedric nodded and looked down at his drink.

"Listen, it never real came up and I just kept forgetting, please don't take it too hard."

"It's not that." Cedric shook his head.

"Oh... well, we hadn't really talked about it yet, so I was just surprised."

"You aren't mad that I called you my boyfriend?"

"I would've preferred we'd talked about it before but I'm open to that conversation," (Y/N) chuckled out his response.

Cedric looked relieved.

"Care to dance?" he set down his cup and held out his hand to (Y/N), who took it.

"Gladly," he laughed back.

And they were happy, even if just for that night. In truth they were happy until the third task...

---

Hope you liked it Anon! Idk if you wanted that much background but I didn't feel good about just jumping into the Yule Ball scene.

Lots of love to ya!

-Author Max <3

[germhammy]

“Bonfire Roast pt 2”

Enid: so, Pugsley? Is everything ready?

Pugsley: yes. It’s always nice when we get to build a large fire. We can’t do it when it’s snowing.

Morticia: I hope the cold is not too much for you?

Enid: it is so much colder than what I’m used to. But thank you for all the winter clothes! I’ll be much more comfortable when we return to Nevermore too! Where is Wednesday?

Morticia: she is on a Zoom call with the writers, producers and director of her episode. They want her to be on set for at least a few days of filming.

Enid: when do they start filming?

Morticia: Late January until March maybe April

Enid: that’s almost three months! And I’m we have the fencing tournaments!

Morticia: I know. I reminded them again that she is only 17 and has her schoolwork and extracurricular activities she is invested in

Enid: I am sure Bianca will understand. She and Wednesday have really made a great team! Our next opponents are ones we have beaten before Wednesday. But we have to face Shiv in February. I’m sure Principal Thropp will want to see Wednesday fight them

Morticia: I should go in and check on Wednesday. She hates these meetings and I don’t like that they forget she’s a child

Ophelia called from the kitchen for Enid

Enid: what is it, Aunt Ophelia?

Ophelia: I made some gimbap to snack on. Don’t eat too much as we have a feast for dinner

Enid: mmm This is good.

In the study Morticia found her daughter getting frustrated

Wednesday: I can not be on set for three months! I have school! I have said this. I have fencing that I am committed to. I am not in university!! I am basically a senior in high school! How many times do I need to say this?

Morticia: -leaning over her daughter’s shoulder- as my daughter has stated. She is a senior in high school. I will not be taking her out of school for three months. One month is all I will allow. For once my daughter is enjoying her time at school. I will not deprive her of that. Besides much of her course work is not something that allows for homeschooling or tutors. As her studies are quite specialized

Ms Rowling: this story is not something that a mere 17 year old could possibly write!

Morticia: I can assure you. Wednesday is 17. She just turned 17 in October. She wrote that story when she was 16 as part of a therapy assignment and submitted it to your contest

Mr Gunn: we really would like her on set for the duration of the shoot which we anticipate will be about three months We managed to procure a perfect location starting the second week of January! We would like Wednesday to be there.

Morticia: Will you offer accommodations for my daughter and myself?

Mr Johnson: the studio will only provide accommodations for Miss Addams.

Morticia: again. Wednesday is only 17. She has school commitments.

Mr Burton: we would like her on set to help with the cast define her vision

Morticia: one month. Maybe two. And I will accompany my daughter. Wednesday? When does the fencing team face Shiv Academy?

Wednesday pulled out her cell phone to look at the schedule

Wednesday: February. And we face Ilvermorny again in May. Parents week is also in February the week before we face Shiv Academy

Morticia: Wednesday will not be available in February thru mid March. You may have us on set for the the first month of production and the last

Ms Rowling: it is vital that we have her on set

Mr Johnson: I’m sure we can provide tutors for her studies or she can make them up

Morticia: my daughter does not easily get along with people. She entered public school because tutors no longer wished to come to our home or longer wished to provide services. She had a terrible time in public school until we sent her to the boarding school where she studies now. Much to our surprise she has made friends and wants to be there.

Mr Burton: Miss Addams? Or may I call you Wednesday? We would love to have you on set for the beginning of production. Perhaps at least a couple of weeks. Tour the location. Meet the cast. I will personally take notes. I will send you updates via email. Or text you or your mother if it is something that needs immediate attention?

The others grumbled

Wednesday: my mother and my girlfriend will be accompanying me and accommodated

Mr Burton: I will see to that.

The others grumbled again

Mr Johnson: now she wants her girlfriend as well?

Morticia: having her girlfriend nearby will help my daughter deal with her anxiety and communication

Mr Burton: I will make sure you are all accommodated. I will be in touch, Mrs Addams

Wednesday: thank you, Mother. Parents weekend is in February. I would like to be there as I wish Granny and Grandmama to be there to help with preparing for Ilvermorny’s visit

Morticia: ah yes. They are looking forward to that.

Wednesday: The Poe Cup is in March. The Black Cats need to defend out title

Morticia: these events are very important to my daughter’s school experience. I will not have her missing those. You may have her and myself in January. If production goes into April we will be available then. Please email my daughter as well as myself with details.

Angrily the group signed off on

Wednesday: that does not sound like it went well

Morticia: Do not worry, Wednesday. I will email the show runners. That group still answers to them. And they understand that you are a minor. Mr Burton is the director am I correct?

Wednesday: yes. He did seem to come around

[dangermousie]

Ok, 13 eps in and it’s official - Lost You Forever is this year’s Love Between Fairy and Devil for me, and not just because I am unreasonably obsessed or because I love the design or because it features a protagonist horribly hurt by life and a love interest who gets to them by pure sunshine goodness.

No, it’s because they both are summer dramas that I mocked before they aired and whose cast gave me hives and then I had to eat crow dinner with crow coffee and crow dessert.

I thought the concept of LBFAD (demon king and fairy girl occasionally swap bodies) was risible. I thought anyone who cast Dylan Wang in anything, let alone as a terrifying demon lord, needed to have their head checked. I’ve seen that man in a number of dramas and he can’t act, thought I. Oh, and that trailer was simply awful. This is going to be a great terrible flop and I am gonna enjoy hate watching and mocking it, also thought I. I checked it out solely out of sheer morbid curiosity and I was a gone five minutes in. It ended up my favorite drama of 2022, made it into my top 10 cdramas of all time in fact, and if anyone said Dylan did anything but an amazing job in LBFAD, I’d fight them in the parking lot. Man tore my heart out.

Now comes 2023 and here is another anticipated summer drama, Lost You Forever. If you assume I learned anything from the LBFAD scenario, you would be wrong. (In my defense, in the overwhelming bulk of cases when I hate the concept, trailer and cast, I do not end up adoring the final product.) Nobody could explain the plot to me coherently (not their fault in retrospect, I can’t even explain it myself as it’s more character study than anything.) The concept screams reverse harem, something I am primed to enjoy about as much as I was primed to enjoy LBFAD body swap between female fairy and demon king or perhaps a toothache. The cast - yikes think I. The last Yang Zi drama and performance I enjoyed was the Battle of Changsha. A drama that is a bona fide masterpiece and in which she performed amazingly but was released in 2013, a whole decade ago. Ever since then she’s proceeded to play a range of cheery dimwits who only a mother could love, and only a mother in possession of earplugs and perhaps a gag at that. And to me she started sleepwalking through those roles to boot. Watching her and her dramas became the definition of elevator music. And her leading men here? Ooof! The guy who plays the cousin I’ve never seen in anything. Tan Jianci is good in the right role but I did not think that was going to be a good role and then we get Court Lady Tan Jianci which - shudder. And Deng Wei? Yikes! I’ve seen him in a bunch of dramas and he was the walking incarnation of color beige. And that trailer was a giant huh.

And now here we are. The story is exquisite and I feel so deeply for everyone in it (now, in case of cousin the feeling is the desire to barbecue him but still.) The acting is uniformly good and so is the story. And Yang Zi does not play a cheerful dimwit but a haunted old soul and she does it so well my heart breaks for her and I am so invested in her it becomes ridiculous as I feel her slightest joy or disappointment so intensely. And oh Deng Wei is my other revelation. If someone told me I’d be swooning over a character played by him I would have told them to sleep off all the booze they must have just consumed. But guuh, his 17 just might end up being my favorite male character in 2023 cdramas and I feel for him so deeply and remain amazed how he makes goodness layered and not boring or cloying at all.

That crow feast is sooo delicious!

Am I gonna learn? Hell no! Provided we are not all murdered by a giant asteroid, come back to this space in 2024 to see what other drama that I was prepared to hate I am now obsessing about.

[topguncortez]

Court of Thieves || Chapter 2

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The Lady Mitchell has traveled to Landing Center to meet her new husband. Prince Jake returns from war and comes face to face with his father's ailing condition

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mentions of death, language, era-related misogyny, talks of pregnancy, arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity.

You wanted to put up a fight. You wanted to scream and yell and throw things and curse at your father for signing you away before you even had a chance. From a young age, you knew that you wouldn’t have much say in the matter of who you married. Your father was part of the King’s guard, a trusted swordsman in his younger days. Whatever marriage you were to spawn was going to be for a political alliance, but your father promised you that it was going to be with your blessing. 

“I hear that the Prince isn’t so bad,” Bradley said, interrupting your reading. You peered over your book at him and he just shrugged, “It could be worse.” 

You closed your book. You had to travel through the night via ship to the mainland of Brinefell. Now you were in a carriage to take you to Landing Center, where the King resided. . . your new home, “How could it be worse? I am betrothed to a man who’s called the Crown Whore Prince.” 

The rumors of the Prince of Brinefell’s escapades were vast. He surrounded himself with pretty women, tearing through them like a man on a hunt. He didn’t care that he sullied their maidenheads, and had no intention of wedding them. The Prince was a smooth talker and had a pretty face to back it up. 

“Those are just stories, you know that,” Bradley said, reaching across the small carriage cabin to grab your hand. 

“And my sister’s stories? Those are just rumors?” 

Bradley sucked in a breath. Pete had sent his eldest daughter Allison to be a part of the Queen’s court. The Queen was friends with Pete’s late wife, Penelope, and did him a favor by inviting Allison. Allison was a beautiful young girl, with dark hair and striking green eyes. Her fair skin had many guards falling for her and pleading with Pete for his daughter’s hand in marriage. However, Pete turned them down, knowing that his wild daughter needed to calm down before she became a wife. What he didn’t know was that Allison had been caught entertaining the Prince in his chambers late at night. 

“Try and think positive, ducky,” Bradley said, “You won’t have to do a single thing. No chores, no studies, no filling glasses of wine. You’ll be sitting at high tables with fancy cheeses and wines.” 

That part of the deal did sound appealing to you. You had always envied the ladies of the Queen’s court when you’d go to balls with your father. They always had the fanciest dresses, their hair done in neat updos and stylings. You had heard a rumor that they have a feast every night of roasted pig and quail eggs. The King had hired a personal cook from France to make every meal for him and his family. 

But even with all the good points Bradley was giving, you were thinking of at least two negatives to each one. The biggest one was losing the person who knew you best. You and Allison were never as close as you and Bradley are. You knew that the second the carriage stopped on the Castle grounds, Bradley would be stopped from following you. He would be pushed away and possibly into the arms of another. 

You weren’t sure when the crush on Bradley had started, you think it was around the time that you became a woman. Bradley had always been a dashing man, and he grew into his looks as he got older. He now supported a beard, that helped define his prominent cheekbones. His hair color was lighter now that it was summer, a mix of different color brown curls. You loved his curls, they were always so soft. Your favorite thing was running your fingers through his hair as his head lay in your lap while you read him poetry under the sycamore tree. 

And now, those days of laying in the sun with Bradley were gone. 

Bradley liked this whole situation almost as much as you did, maybe even a little less. He knew you well enough that you wouldn’t put up a fight. You weren’t as strong-willed as Allison or your father, you were much like your mother. Quiet, and respectful, but could still stand up for yourself when needed. Bradley knew that Pete would try and marry you off if you weren’t already promised to another. He had asked your father for your hand on multiple occasions, telling him that there was no one better than himself to protect and care for you. Pete knew that Bradley was probably right, but he had already made the promise of your hand to the King. 

“Bradley,” You said softly, “W-what if I can’t produce an heir?” 

Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, “What do you mean? Don’t you cycle?” 

You blushed and nodded, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. What if I can not successfully give the King an heir? A son. . . What if he casts me aside like my poor cousins were by their King.” 

You were broken when you received the news about your dear cousins and the fate of their marriage. The accusations of witchcraft, incest, and adultery made your stomach turn. Then knowing of the brutal end they both received, their heads separating from their bodies, kept you awake at night. Bradley had held you as you woke up screaming in terror as the replay of your cousin’s execution played over and over behind your eyes. 

“I assure you, ducky, no one will let that happen to you,” Bradley said, squeezing your hand, “No queen has ever-” 

“No queen had ever been put to death before Anne either,” You swallowed. 

“Y/N,” Bradley said sternly, “The people of Brinefell are fair and just. They won’t allow the King to do something. . . so barbaric. Olivia the Great’s ghost would reign down on him if he did.” 

You gave him a small smile as the carriage came to a stop. You felt bile rise in your throat as you peered out and saw the entrance of the Castle. Bradley got out of the carriage first and walked around to your side, opening the door and giving you his arm to help you out. You squeezed his hand as you walked towards the entrance. The castle in real life looked more magnificent than the paintings had depicted. Beautiful white limestone stood at least three stories tall, with black framed windows nearly every three feet. The points of the steeples ascended high into the sky. 

A guard had led you and Bradley through the castle, and it was even more gorgeous on the inside. Marble floors where you swore you could see your reflection. High above you were candle chandeliers, the steel made into intricate patterns. Magnificent oil paintings of past rulers are on the wall. The most notable one was that of Queen Olivia, the Great. You felt as though her green eyes were following you as you walked by it. The large windows let in natural light, making the castle look even bigger on the inside. 

The guard pushed open a set of doors to a rather large meeting room. You sucked in a breath as you came face to face with nobles, lords, and priests. Your hand squeezed Bradley’s, and he set his free hand on top of your hand. The two of you shared a brief look, and he smiled at you. 

In the back of the room, stood two large thrones. You knew what the room was without having to be told. A gorgeous woman was sitting in one of the thrones, clad in the most beautiful purple dress that you had ever seen, and a beautiful crown sat upon her head. The seat next to her was empty, but you still felt the King’s presence in the room. 

“Your Majesty, Lady Y/N Mitchell of North Island,” The guard said, introducing you. 

You let go of Bradley’s arm and took a step forward, curtseying in front of the Queen, “Your Majesty.” 

You kept your head down as you heard the Queen rise from her seat. She stepped down from the throne and walked up to you. You lifted your head and stood to your height. The Queen was even prettier in person; perfectly pale skin, big brown eyes, and dark brown hair that went straight down her back. Even though she was one of the most important women in Brinefell, all your fear had washed away as she smiled at you. 

“Y/N,” The Queen said softly, “You are an image of your mother.” 

“You knew my mother?” 

The Queen gave a soft nod, “That I did. She was a dear friend of mine. The news of her passing upset me, I am so sorry.”  

You hardly remembered your mother. She had died in childbirth when you were three. You weren’t sure if the memories you had of her were your own, or if they were adapted from the stories your father and grandparents had told you. But what you did know about your mother, Penelope, was that she was a vision. 

Penelope had inherited a century-old gene with beautiful silver-like hair, light blue eyes, and skin that made her look sunkissed. Her beauty went further than just on the outside. She had a heart of gold, spending her time raising her children without the help of nannies (which was rather unheard of), studying philosophy, and writing poetry. Your father had gifted you a couple of her journals when you left for the Landing. 

“But let us not dwell on sad times,” The Queen smiled, “We have much to celebrate,” She looked around the room, “Lady Y/N is engaged to my son, The Prince!” The room filled with cheers and applause as you blushed and nodded your head. The Queen held her arm out to you, and you took it, “Come now, child, we have much to discuss.” 

You looked over your shoulder at Bradley, who gave you a small nod, “It is okay. I have an appointment with an old friend.” 

The Queen looked between the two of you, “Join us for dinner tonight. . .” 

“Oh, my regards, your majesty,” Bradley said and bowed to the Queen, “Sir Bradley Bradshaw, of the House Bradshaw.” 

“I thought you looked familiar,” The Queen said, “Your father was a brave swordsman. Please, do us the honor and join us for dinner.” 

“As the Queen insists. Farwell for now,” Bradley said and took his leave from the room. 

You walked arm and arm with the Queen through the halls of the castle. You half listened as she rambled on about certain paintings, or gifts that lined the walls. She talked about her two daughters; Saera and Margeret. Jane was off studying in Earthmoor and Margeret had just had her first child. The Queen also explained a bit more about your impending wedding to her son. 

Years ago, when the first battle of the Rebellion started, your father headed the King’s army out of North Island.  He took his soldiers to Bearhaven to try and control the rebels. It was supposed to be an easy-fought battle, but the battle had quickly turned bloody. Desperate and out of options, your father wrote to the King begging for his intervention. Brinefell had been in a time of peace & serenity, The King wanted to keep the fighting out of his city as much as he could. Your father knew that writing him would only cause the rebellion to grow if the crown got involved, so your father offered the King your hand in return for help. 

“Your wedding was supposed to happen long ago,” The Queen said, as you sat in her chambers, “But the rebellion has expanded and now Argerus is at odds with us.” 

“But isn’t the Prince fighting in Argerus? How will he have time to come back and wed?” You asked. 

The Queen’s smile fell as she looked down at the cup in her hand, “I’m afraid the rush of the marriage is because of my husband, The King. He is ill, and dying. Because Jake is so young, and because of the past history of young, unwed rulers, the council passed a law that the heir must be wed before they take the throne.” 

You knew of the stories of the disastrous reign of King Francis, the current King’s older brother. The council had found King Francis incompetent in his job and removed him. King George was quickly instated and took over the ruling of Brinefell. 

“I believe the King wanted to see you,” The Queen said, “He is usually awake at this time. Shall we go see?” You nodded and stood from your chair. The Queen, again, hooked her arm through yours and walked down the hall to the King’s chambers, “Do not let him alarm you, child, his sickness has taken over his body, but his mind is still intact.” 

“Yes, your majesty,” You said. 

The Queen pushed the door open to her husband’s chambers and the two of you walked inside. The King was laid in bed, a curtain of sheer white cloth surrounding the bed. You could remember that your mother’s bed looked like this only days before her death. It was traditional to have curtains covering the bed of a dying person. A physician had once told you, that dying was hard, brutal work. It wasn’t easy for family members to see their loved one dying, and they believed that the dying deserved some privacy. 

“Your majesty,” A man bowed to the Queen as he stood from the side of the bed. 

“Sir Cromwell,” The Queen greeted, “How is my dear husband?” 

“Awake,” Sir Cromwell said, “He just received morphine, and will retire soon.” 

“Is that-” A rumble of a voice sounded out from behind the curtain. Even ill, his voice was still strong and powerful. 

You took a step forward and curtseyed for the King, though you knew he probably could not see you, “Your Majesty, it is I, the Lady Mitchell.” 

The King let out a small gasp, followed by coughing. Sir Cromwell was right by his side, helping him sit up. He then drew back the white curtains, allowing you to see the King’s face for the first time. The King looked pale, his blonde hair was thin on top. But his eyes, oh those eyes, ever so powerful and green, just like Queen Olivia’s were in her painting. 

“Please, Sir Cromwell, help me out of bed,” The King said. Both Sir Cromwell and the Queen rushed to his side. She grabbed her husband’s legs and helped swing them over the side of the bed, while Sir Cromwell helped the King sit up. You stood back and watched as they helped the ailing King stand to his feet. The Queen wrapped her arm around his waist and put one of his around her shoulders. 

“Where to, my King?” The Queen asked. 

“Anywhere you lead me, my love,” The King said to his wife. The Queen blushed and patted his chest, before leading him to a chair in the sitting area of his chambers. Once the King was sat in his chair, the Queen moved about, fixing his pillows and putting a blanket over his lap. She lifted his feet so Sir Cromwell could slide a footrest underneath them. 

“My Queen, you do too much for me,” The King grabbed her hand to stop her fretting. 

“My job is to serve you, my King,” The Queen kissed her husband’s forehead, before taking a step back and curtseying for him, “I will leave you to do your business, your majesty,” She stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward and sit in the chair beside the King. 

The King shifted in his chair, and you turned your head towards him, “She worries too much.” 

“A good wife ought to worry,” You said and the King nodded in agreement, “My mother used to worry for my father when he was away at battle. I remember her praying and writing all the time. She waited on him even on her death bed.”

“A wife’s job is never easy,” The King said, “I find her job more strenuous than mine. A King is nothing without his Queen. She is the true bearer of the Crown and its legacy. I can not continue on without her, and my son without you.” 

You let the King’s words wash over you. The realization of what your role meant finally hit you. Your marriage to the Prince went further than just repaying a debt to the Crown. You were needed to create a legacy not only for the Prince but for your family as well. Your father had no sons, his legacy ends when he dies. A son would mean the house Mitchell lives on after your father dies. A son would mean the crown carries on. 

“I understand, your majesty,” You said and took the King’s hand, “I promise I will do all I can to assure the Crown stays with your kin. I promise to do my role for you and your Prince, as well as my father.” 

The King nodded his head, “I know you will, Princess.” A flash of pride filled your chest at the mention of your new title, “Now, I hear you are skilled with a bow and arrow, tell me about it.” You chuckled and started in on your training with the weapon. 

— — — 

Jake was tired. As soon as Master Brook left his tent the other night, he packed up his saddlebags and travel all the way back to Landing Center. He had hoped that he wasn’t too late, that his father hadn’t passed before he could come and speak to him. Jake felt relief when he rode into Landing Center and saw his father’s colors still flying in the wind. 

When he arrived, he was met with his father’s most trusted confidants at the gate. Master Moore was his brother-in-law, the King’s hand, and Lord Floyd. Jake didn’t really care for Master Moore. The man had been trying to get Jake removed from the line of succession and reinstate his uncle, Francis instead. 

“Robert!” Jake shouts as he dismounts his horse, “Oh how I missed you!” Bob rolls his eyes as he took a step forward and greeted the Prince, “Where is the cake and party? The Prince has returned!” 

“Our apologies, your majesty,” Master Moore said, “Maybe if you weren’t returning to see your dying father, we would’ve had cake and whores.” Jake glared at the man as he took off his riding gloves and handed the reigns of his horse to one of the keepers. Bob could sense the tension between the two of them and stepped in the middle. 

“Your mother would like to see you,” Bob said, “In her chambers.” Jake nodded and headed to her, but not before sending another glare toward Master Moore. The man returned Jake’s icy stare before turning to Lord Floyd. 

Jake smiled politely at his mother’s ladies as he walked into her room. The Queen was by the fireplace, sewing probably a new shirt for the King. One of the ladies whispered in her ear, and she turned to see her only son standing in her room. She smiled and rose from her seat, going to hug him, but stopped short. 

“My dear son,” The Queen frowned, licking her thumb and wiping away some dirt on Jake’s cheek, “Do you ever take a bath?” 

Jake smirked, “Yes, but cleansing myself is not what I do in them.” 

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She walked back over to her chair by the fireplace and took a seat, Jake took one across from her. A servant placed a tray of fruits and cheeses in between them, as well as two cups of wine. The Queen thanked the servant and picked up one of the glasses, taking a sip of the red liquid. “Have you seen your father?” 

“No,” Jake answered, “Was met at the gate by Robert and that cunt Moore-” 

“Master,” The Queen corrected, “Master Moore.” 

“He is a cunt,” Jake said, “He has only one loyalty and that is to the bastard Francis-” 

“Prince!” The Queen corrected again, “Act as though you are the son of the King, please.” 

Jake rolled his eyes, “Yes mother.” 

“You must see him, but please, take a bath first, you smell of blood and shit,” The Queen cursed and Jake laughed. The only time he ever heard her curse was when he was with her. She held herself to the highest standard, being the Queen consort. It was refreshing to drop her facade and be herself with her children. Not many can say they’ve seen the Queen drunk and racing knights in the garden, “You also will be meeting your new wife tonight.” 

“Ah, so it is true,” Jake sat back in his chair, spreading his legs. The Queen scoffed and kicked his knee. He laughed as he crossed his leg over the other, “Betrothed to Mistress Mitchell? Doesn’t she lay in bed with Lord Bradshaw.” 

His mother gasped, “Jacob,” He shrugged and looked over at her, “It is unbecoming of a prince to talk about his future bride in such a way.”

“She will not be a true Queen if she comes from the bed of another man. All the heirs spawned will be true bas-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to his knee, “Ow!” 

“You should be glad I didn’t strike you with my hand,” The Queen pointed. Jake suddenly remembered why they called her the ‘Fire Queen’. She could get quite the temper sometimes, “The Lady Mitchell is untouched and does not lay in the bed of another. You will marry her and make strong heirs to the throne.” 

Jake grumbled and picked up a cherry, biting it off the stem and popping it in his mouth, “I have something I must admit though,” He said, a smirk on his lips as he sat up, sticking the stem in his mouth, “I know her sister.”

The Queen narrowed her eyes at her son, “In what regards?” 

“Intimately,” He pulled the now-knotted cherry stem out of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She stood up from her chair and grabbed her bible. She didn’t say another word as she left her chambers but Jake knew she was more than likely going to the chapel to pray. 

— — — 

Jake had listened to his mother and took a bath as she had asked. It felt good to finally bathe in warm water instead of having to find a creak. He washed his hair with sweet-smelling soaps and oils. He made sure to scrub his hands, getting all traces of blood off of them. In battle, Jake tried his best to not get his hands bloody, but sometimes it was inevitable. 

His green eyes trained on the reddened skin as memories of battle flooded his mind. The screams of brave men, scared women and terrified children filtered into his mind. He told his men to try and leave the women and children unharmed, but occasionally they would get in the way. Jake had held one too many wives back as their husband’s heads were cut off for disobeying the crown. 

Leaning back in the bathtub, Jake looked at the ceiling. Could he even be a good husband with all the things he had seen? His father had never been to war, he had never seen the terrors that were out there. Could Jake be the husband that he was supposed to be when he has killed? Could someone even look at him and want to lay in bed with him? Jake was a murderer, he was not a good man. How was he supposed to raise sons to be good men? 

“Your grace,” His servant called for him. Jake looked over the side of the tub, “It is time to dress you.” Jake sighed and nodded, climbing out of the tub. 

He got dressed in his traditional evening dinner wear; a black and gold tunic, black pants, and boots. He made sure to shave his face, knowing how his mother hated facial hair. Jake chuckled to himself as he shaved in the mirror his servant held. 

“First rule I am making as King; I get to have a beard,” Jake said, rinsing the shaving blade. 

“Yes, your grace,” The servant said. 

When Jake was shaved, dressed and the formal crown had been placed on his head, he grabbed his sword and headed to his father’s chambers. Various lords, ladies, and noblemen bowed to him as he passed through the halls. The great hall was going to be full as a crowd was gathering to celebrate the Prince’s new engagement. Jake would much rather slice his own throat than have to dance in front of people he didn’t even know. 

“He is unruly,” Jake heard his mother’s voice as he approached his father’s chambers. He furrowed his eyebrows and everso quietly stepped into the room. He hid behind a drape, as his mother kneeled before his father who sat in a chair, “I worry how he will treat her.” 

Jake looked down at his shoes, feeling a pang of hurt in his heart. He knew he wasn’t always the nicest, or the most thoughtful, but he believed he would make a good husband. He could be respectful when he needed to be. He knew that this whole marriage was nothing more than a business transaction. Jake could turn on his flirtatious side, send this girl a few smiles, and make her feel good in bed so she could carry his heirs. 

“He is my son,” Jake lifted his head up at the sound of his father’s weak voice. He had only been gone a month, and his father had deteriorated so quickly, “He will treat her well.” Jake cleared his throat, as he stepped around the drape he was hiding behind. The King’s face lit up as he walked in. Jake bowed to his father and mother, before taking the chair next to him. 

“How was Argerus?”

“Brutal,” Jake answered, “Not sure if Mother wants to hear of my conquests.” 

“No, she does not,” The Queen stood up, “I shall see you at dinner. My King,” The Queen curtseyed before them both and left the room. 

Jake sighs and looks at his dad. The King was sick before he sent Jake to fight in Argerus, now, it was amazing that he was even still alive. His color was gone, he looked like a gust of wind could break his bones, and his eyes were half open. Suddenly, Jake felt sick as he realized he was about to take over for his father ruling the country. There was still so much that he didn’t know. 

“I can hear your thoughts,” The King said barely above a whisper, gaining his son’s attention, “Speak them.” 

“I don’t know if I am ready,” Jake mumbled, “There are lots I do not know yet. You have more to teach-” 

The King held his hand up, “My job has been done, Jacob. You know all you need.” Jake scoffed, shaking his head. He went to stand up, but the King reached his hand out. Jake took it without hesitation, “You know more. . . than you know. . . You need. . . trust.” 

“If you say in Master-” 

“In her.” 

“Her?” 

“Your Queen.” 

Jake furrowed his eyebrows and opened to ask his father what he means, but the King fell into a fit of coughs. Jake’s heart started racing as he stood from his chair and helped his father lean forward. He rubbed the King’s back as he continued coughing, grimacing as he noticed pink droplets landing on the white blanket in front of him. Sir Cromwell entered the room and walked to the King. 

“Your majesty, we must get you to bed,” Sir Cromwell said. The King didn’t put up a fight as servants flanked his side to help him up. Jake watched helplessly as they carried the man that was once larger than life to bed. He waited until they had him tucked into bed, looking even smaller and frailer than he did earlier. 

Jake walked to his bedside, running his hand over his father’s hair, “Thank you, my King,” He pressed a kiss to his father’s forehead, before leaving his father to rest.

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[daitranscripts]

Skyhold Conversation

Cabot

Skyhold Masterpost

Cabot: Inquisitor.

PC: And you are?

Cabot: The bartender, Cabot?

PC: Just “the bartender”?

Cabot: You were expecting…?

Dialogue options:

General (Flissa alive): Where’s my old bartender?

General (Flissa died): More pomp and circumstance?

General: Nothing. I guess.

General: Welcome to the Inquisition.

1 - General: Where’s my old bartender? PC: I was expecting the same face from Haven. Cabot: It’s not a hereditary profession. I think Flissa—what was it? She joined the Chantry? I don’t understand the type, but that’s her business. So. Sooooo. [8]

2 - General: More pomp and circumstance? PC: More gravitas? This is the Inquisition, after all.

3 - General: Nothing. I guess. PC: I don’t know. I suppose nothing. [5]

5 - Scene continues. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Cabot: (Sighs.) I am a bartender. Like my grandfather before me, and my father before him. A lineage destined to draw me hence. Is that better? ㅤㅤ ㅤ Dialogue options:

General: Kind of, yes. [6]

General: No need for theatrics. [ 7]

6 - General: Kind of, yes. PC: Actually? Yes, yes it is. Cabot: Of course. Refreshments await yon Kings of Destiny. [8] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 7 - General: No need for theatrics. PC: Fine, don’t make a big production out of it. Cabot: As ye will it. [8]

4 - General: Welcome to the Inquisition. PC: Well, welcome to the Inquisition. Cabot: Thank you. Welcome to the tavern. [8]

8 - Dialogue options:

General: Where did you train? [9]

General: How is morale? [10]

General: Know any rumors? [11]

General: Goodbye. [12]

9 - General: Where did you train? PC: Where did you study? I assume you’re trained. Cabot: In bartending? I’m no alchemist. You mix the bottles that don’t taste like nug, and you pretend to listen. I suppose I trained at home, during Feast Day family visits. My specialty is ale. Old Antivan recipe. The secret is ale.

Dialogue options:

Special: If you’re so jaded, why join?

[Back to 8]

11 - Special: If you’re so jaded, why join? PC: You’re a bit of a hard-ass. Why are you here? Cabot: If I could fight, I’d be in a helmet. If I was a mage, I’d throw fire. And probably be dead. But I can’t do anything. Just like the hundreds of people who can’t do anything, who make sure the thousands who can do something, can do it. Besides, if you know a safer place than your castle, do share. [back to 8]

10 - General: How is morale? PC: What’s the current mood?

Cabot: Scorn.

Cabot: Ennui.

Cabot: Turgid?

Cabot: Obsequious.

Cabot: Hope in the face of reality.

Cabot: Spirited enlightenment. Also: drunk.

Cabot: Unlikely.

Cabot: Willful.

Cabot: Spritely.

Cabot: Thick with three of the four humors. [Back to 8]

11 - General: Know any rumors? PC: What’s the word out there?

Flissa died Cabot: Flissa had a family. Word is: they’re sad.

Trainers arrived at Skyhold The trainers you brought in are unnerving some of the other customers. It's kind of great.

Briala rules with Gaspard Briala is pulling strings in your favor. It's going over as well as you'd expect.

Gaspard rules alone Gaspard sent wine. And beer. And trophy heads from some sort of… punching expedition.

Celene rules The servants of the empress sent us a crystal glass full of rose petals cradling a single golden pear. I mean, I assume.

Completed Before the Dawn/Under Her Skin Cabot: Don’t tell Corypheus, but learning about his servants has affected how people view him. I think negatively.

After What Pride Had Wrought Events at the temple of Mythal have the Chantry fretting. Fretting! Will no one think of them?

PC in active romance Cabot: A few complaining that you’ve time to bed your allies. I don’t judge. Much.

Romancing Sera Cabot: Word is… that I hope you and Sera didn’t do it on my bar.

Romancing Blackwall Cabot: The horses are spooked. Strange noises were heard in the loft. Things going bump in the night.

Had roof time with Sera Cabot: Thieves made off with our stores of cookie dough. Now it’s personal.

After Blackwall’s quest, made Warden Cabot: Opinion on keeping Blackwall is mixed. Like oil and water.

Dagna recruited Your arcanist has peculiar tastes and a long memory. Don't let the giggling fool you.

Claimed the outposts in the Dales Cabot: They’re pouring in from the Dales. That’s good, I think?

General

Cabot: I hear the Arishok was replaced by the Arishok. But he’d better watch out. In the shadows, the Arishok.

Cabot: There's a vigil for the dead later. I'll be closed.

Cabot: They have heeded the call to power and are ready to raise arms at Chateau Crane du Gris.

Cabot: The admirals of the Felicisima Armada are disappointed the Inquisition is primarily inland.

Cabot: Seven people want your minstrel dead. They’d settle for smashing her lute, but they’re afraid she’d sing about it.

Cabot: Orlais wants war. Now talks. Now fashionable hats. Now they’ve seen something shiny

Cabot: Someone requested a dragon flagon. I threw him out.

Cabot: Heard someone spitting your name. Worked up a good one, too. (the plot flag for this is “bartender hate check”. Do with that what you will.)

All other dialogues exhausted Cabot: Quiet. Too quiet. No, wait. Just quiet enough.

[Back to 8]

12 - General: Goodbye. PC: As you were. Cabot: Inquisitor.

[diwtara]

The locals were throwing them a feast in thanks for saving the village. With music and booze and meat - what more could they ask for?

The chief even brought out a local speciality.

"This drink," he explained, "will compell you to go to your friends and tell them something honest." He went on to explain that though it might not be something you would normally say out loud, it very rarely led to hurt feeling on either side - it did of course happen ocasionally, but the drink was made specifically to celebrate and help strengthen bonds.

When offered the chance to try it, no one was surprised that Luffy took the opportunity. Their cook was next, having caught a wiff of it Sanji insisted he needed to learn the flavour profile. Franky was the third and final volunteer, claiming that honesty was SUPER.

The stawhats kept a close eye on their captain as he bounced around chatting with everyone in his vicinity, though it was hard to tell if the drink had taken effect yet, or if Luffy was simply being Luffy.

"Nami-swan!" Sanji called running eagerly up to the red head, with a bright smile on his face.

She greeted him in turn with a polite smile, allowing him to take one of her hands gently in his own

"Nami-swan, you are such a strong, amazing person and I am so glad that we met. I am so happy that we are friends!"

Namis eyes widdened as a blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh!" That wasnt what she had expected him to say at all. Now she found herself stumbling over how to respond.

"I see the elixer has begun to work, cook-san" Robin cut in with a soft smile.

"Robin-chwan!" He cheered taking her hand in his free one. "You are so brilliant and wonderful. Im always excited for you when we find ruins for you to study, or a poneglyph for you to read. I love seeing you happy!"

It was Robins turn to be left speachless. She knew the strawhats were okay with humouring her passion, but it still caught her off guard that they were people, that there could be people, who genuinely cared about her happiness.

Movement off to the side caught Sanjis attention and he took off as quickly as he had appeared.

"Usopp!" He cried, wrapping the man in a hug.

"Oof. Okay okay, you can let go-"

"I know how brave you are Usopp! I see it every time you do what you need to despite being scared! But i will still always do my best to protect you whenever I can!"

Usopps eyes watered for a moment before he threw his arms around the chef. "Sanji!!"

Zoro doesnt know what draws the blondes attention his way, hell maybe its just another special property of the drink, makes you zero in on the people you know one by one. He sort of wishes he hadnt been noticed though.

"Zoro!" He tried not to squirm or duck away as he was approached.

He didnt need the cook rushing over to - what? Tell Zoro that theyre friends? He knows theyre friends, its not something either of them should have to say out loud. Thats not what they do.

Or worse, the curly-browed idiot could decided to say something like 'you're strong', or 'you're a good fighter', or 'I respect you'.

That would just be uncomfortable for both of them. And the cook would probably regret it in the morning.

And just how would Zoro be able to respond to that? Zoro sure as hell cant respond in kind to that sort of comment. Hes not the one who drank a truth potion after all.

He could pick a fight of course, make fun of the blonde for coming over and smiling and talking with complete sincerety. Laugh at him for willingly taking the drink and spilling out his feelings everywhere.

"Oi! Zoro!" The cook was grinning at him in a way he never did, or at least he was until he tripped on something on the path and a look of concentration replaced the smile as the man focused on staying upright while stumbling the last few feet forward. This had Zoro fighting off a smile of his own. The staggering blonde was a stupid, and maybe slightly endearing, sight.

Sanji caught himself with one hand planted on Zoros chest, staring down at it in complete fascination.

"I think about kissing you all the time."

What.

Zoros breath caught.

"I would really like to suck your cock." Sanji continued, licking his lips, "Maybe tie you up first if you'd let me."

What?!

The blondes eyes slowly traced up from his hand on Zoros chest to meet his eyes. When he did, whatever he saw there, he seemed to realize exactly what he had just said.

Zoro watched as his mouth opened and closed several times, a dark blush racing across the mans face.

Finally Sanji snatched his hand away and turned on his heel before running back the way he came. Zoro almost chased after until he saw the blondes path change so he could scoop Chopper up in his arms.

The bright smile was back on his face, the blush fading. Whatever he was saying to Chopper had the reindeer wiggling and delightedly calling him a bastard.

Zoro watched the group - Franky was now openly sobbing while Nami pat his shoulder awkardly, Luffy was fully wrapped around Usopp - while he tried to catch up with what just happened.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?!

He sighed and decided he could confront the cook tomorrow. (Maybe.)

For now he needed a drink.

[tavyliasin]

Festive BG3 Treats!

A spontaneous prompt from Tav'ern Discord inspired some spicy festive cards from all of our favourites! These are messages they might leave in a greetings card at this time of year - if there's anyone I missed that you want me to add, or if you'd like to throw your own ideas in, please do comment and reblog! I'd love to see what you all come up with too~ Smut below the cut~

--- MAIN COMPANIONS --- Gale: On the eve before the celebration, some traditions include a hot drink and a bedtime story... Well, dearest, how about I read you something hot and drink from you at bedtime instead? --- Astarion: Darling, you would look so beautiful dressed all in red and white...clothing not required~ --- Wyll: You are the greatest gift I could wish for, let me unwrap you carefully and give you a gift of my own. --- Halsin: My heart, I have heard that it is customary to bring a tree indoors at this time of year. While that does sound intriguing, I have another kind of wood that you can bring "inside"... --- Shadowheart: You know that I'm the only gift you need, but I should like to give you something in return... You decide where the mistletoe goes, and I will decide how to kiss you beneath it. --- Lae'zel: Tchk. If anyone attempts to invade my chimney I will fight them. However, you are welcome to try. I relish the thought of our "battle". --- Karlach: You don't need a fire, I brought my own! Hurry up and lay on the rug by my fireplace, I've been waiting all bloody year for this. --- Minthara: A trade, is it? I will not be outdone, but you will find yourself undone before the season is over. --- OTHER FAVOURITES --- Raphael: No I am not dressing up as Santa. However, there might be allowances made for a Little Mouse to sit upon my knee and whisper all their dirty little desires into my ear. All you need do is sign right here- --- Haarlep: If you wanted to sit on the lap of one dressed all in red, Little Thief, you need only ask. You can choose the form of the gift I deliver, and I will enjoy the taste of your "milk and cookies"~ --- Abdirak: Pain is a gift I will give or receive, gladly...I long for our flesh to be decorated with the colours of the season. Holly is sharp, is it not?... --- Alfira: There's lots of singing this time of year, isn't there... How about you and I compose our own duet? --- Rolan: I've been studying a while and this tower is cold...would you care to visit and warm it up? I have something new to show you, a kind of magic that you won't soon forget. --- Dammon: Do drop by the Forge soon, I've been working on something special... --- Gortash: If you do not wish to be beneath my heel, I suggest you place yourself beneath my tree instead. --- Isobel: I might not be a tree, but I want an angel on top of me. --- Aylin: None shall tie me down ever again...unless you ask nicely first. --- Emperor: I already know everything on your wish list, and I can tell you would rather be naughty than nice... --- Ansur: Why did you ask this of me? I am a dragon, and dead, and you carry my ex in your pocket. Is this some kind of sick joke? --- Geraldus: You gifted me another chance to show the honour of the Harpers. Would you allow me to return the favour? --- Jaheira: You are quite certain? Then you should come, cub...more than once. --- Nine Fingers Keene: I see you are Keene to feel all of my Nine Fingers. Earn the right, and I will consider it. --- Mizora: Such an eager little pup; forget the festive feast, taste the hells with me instead. --- CURSED LIST TO FOLLOW IN A REBLOG (I ran out of space? I kept getting errors...)

[mslanna]

Oncoming Storm

Chapter 18 of Be My Guest now up on AO3

Old Friends House of Hope Sanctuary

The calm of war settles over the House of Hope. Tav takes up regular fighting exercises again since they don't want to be helpless if another attack happens. They take to bringing a knife everywhere. It is a small thing but with a great boost for their confidence.

They also double down on their studies of infernal. Tav is invisible to most devils and they may drop useful information. Their lewd vocabulary is still growing faster than the rest since Haarlep insists on teaching.

Tav seeks refuge in the library. Raphael is antsy. Alliances with two hells and preparing to conquer another, one that is ruled by Asmodeus own daughter. Things can go dicey every moment.

When he visits Tav in his human form, they raise their brows in surprise. “Now that is a face I haven’t seen in quite a while.”

“You prefer another other one?”

“No.” Tav runs a hand over his cheek, the slight stubble scratching their palm. “I like them all. I just haven’t seen it for some time. What’s the occasion?”

“A visitor will arrive momentarily who will react better to this.” He smiles as he catches their hand and presses a kiss into Tav’s palm.

“So soft,” Tav murmurs and snuggle up against him. As human, Raphael is shorter and they could easily just-

Raphael places his finger over their mouth. “Later. We don’t want to let our visitor waiting.”

Tav stays glued to him, and slowly sucks the tip of his finger into their mouth. It is almost new to caress a fingertip that doesn’t sport sharp, pointed nails.

“Impossible.” Raphael ends Tav’s interlude with a kiss. When he pulls back, the devil is smiling, though.

Tav yields and threads an arm through his as they walk the short way from the library to the foyer. The portal is already dimming down again, leaving a lone human standing in the room. When he turns to face the new arrivals, Tav rips free of their devil and jumps at new arrival.

“Gale!”

“Tav?” The wizard replies, closing his rams around Tav who hugs him with the determination of a constrictor.

“I’m so happy to see you.” Tav relents but stays stuck to his side, both arms around the wizard’s waist. “Raphael didn’t tell me it was you. Naughty.” They send their devil a mock reproachful glance.

“I imagined you like surprises.” Raphael saunters over. “I seem to be quite correct.”

“You said you are looking to secure an important asset,” Gale says carefully. “I am here to – consider. Depending on what it is we are talking about.”

“Of course.” Raphael turns on the charm. “All business, like your good friend here used to be. Very professional.”

“You plan to deal with Raphael?” Tav can’t believe it. “What in the hells are you thinking?”

“Hypocrite much?” Gale asks back. “And Raphael has offered a solution to my magical consumption problem.”

“He did?” Tav eyes the devil warily. “And in return you secure his stuff?”

“That is how I understood it. But,” he looks at Tav solemnly, “you remember Hope? I am not agreeing to anything unless I know what that asset is and what I am supposed to do to secure it.

“You are holding on to it already,” Raphael smirks.

The humans jerk apart.

“Me?” Tav asks.

“Them?” Gale wants to know at the same time.

“How very quaint of you.” Raphael laughs. “Yes, I am talking about Tav. I want to make sure they cannot be harmed in this place. The fiends are – heedless and I do not want an incident. Especially not one that may look like an accident.”

“Tav?” Gale asks. “Why not just leave? Come with me.”

“Um.” Tav takes a moment to stare at their toes.

“I see you need some time.” Raphael puts a hand on a shoulder of each human. “Take your time, eat, drink, the Feast Hall and the library are yours.” With a smile at Tav he adds: “You know where to find me.”

“Are you alright?” Gale asks as soon as Raphael is out of earshot.

Tav nods and takes his arm. “I can explain. Mostly. But not here. You hungry? Food has improved in the mouldless department. And I can get my hands on some excellent tea.”

Gale follows reluctantly and offers no input on the choice of nibbles. Tav falls back on their times together and hopes for the best. When they open the door to the library, Gale whistles.

“This is new.” He takes in the three levels of books. “Last time we were here, I am certain it was a balcony.”

“Yep.” Tav puts down the tray on a table and pulls up another chair. “I was totally getting on Raphael’s nerves. It keeps me busy.”

“I assume there is a reason you do not return to Baldur’s Gate?” Gale settles in a chair, looking none too comfortable.

“I-“ Tav hesitates. “I was stupid. And now I cannot leave. I mean I could if I want to end up dead and then my soul goes, well, it goes to a place I don’t want it in. And it is not the House of Hope. I’m here for my own safety.”

“How long?”

“Not sure, but it isn’t forever. I am looking forward to being able to leave again. I don’t know when, but it will happen.”

“And Raphael..?”

“Is good to me, no deal necessary. Which, I admit, surprising, but I won’t question it.”

“Playing the long game for your soul?” Gale doesn’t sound convinced.

“Maybe.” Tav shrugs. “Not sure my soul is worth that much though.”

“You know what?” Gale reaches for a biscuit. “If he’s not after your soul, I don’t think I wanna know. Truly. Oh my. You realise there are bite marks all over your throat, yes?”

Tav blushes violently. Subconsciously, they know. After all they are very present when the biting happens and may have returned the favour, though they are less prone to drawing blood. Unlike the very sharp teeth of a certain devil. It just never comes up.

Burying their head in their hands Tav groans. They are a walking advertisement of their own doom. Of course the other devils don’t consider them worth a second glance – plaything of their master. Out of bounds even if obviously delicious enough to bite pieces off.

“I take that as a no.” Gale sighs. “At least I can be sure it is you. Nobody else is that oblivious.”

“That is the consensus in this house, yes,” Tav agrees. “But enough of me, tell me everything. About you. About the others. Everything I missed!”

“Do we have time for that? Devils aren’t known for their patience.”

“If Raphael was in a hurry, he wouldn’t have let me alone with you,” Tav laughs. “He knows me.”

Gale doesn’t grace that with a reply. Instead he launches into a detailed report of his doings before branching out to the others. Tav sits happy to listen and sip on their tea.

In the middle of Wyll and Karlach’s most recent endeavours in Avernus, Gale stops with his mouth open and eyes glued to the door.

When Tav follows his glance, they find Haarlep sauntering towards them, their predatory lust in full swing.

“What have we here?” Haarlep asks, devouring the wizard with their eyes. “Oh, I wondered where you were, dear,” they add curtly at Tav.

“Having a visitor, as you can see. My friend Gale, who is not a treat, Haarps. Gale, you may remember Haarlep from our last visit.”

“Darkly,” the wizard says but still offer his hand. “It doesn’t feel like a memory I am supposed to have.”

“Oh, let me help you with that,” the incubus purrs, taking Gale’s hand with both of their own.

“Haarps!” Tav cuts in sharply. “If Gale doesn’t want to remember me fucking nasty with an incubus that is his good right. Unlike others in this room, he does have decency.”

“What a shame he’s all alone with that.”

Tav huffs. "Still not over the fact that I don't want to sleep with you?"

"Maybe." Haarlep grins mischievously. "Something I am certain you can help me get over." They lean towards Gale and Tav can feel the magic roll off the incubus.

"Not for you, Haarps," they repeat.

"You absolute spoilsport." The incubus sighs theatrical. But they relent on the wizard. "Alright. I'll just be going then, playing lanceboard against myself."

"Lanceboard?" Gale perks up.

"Gale, don't."

"Oh, but please, Gale do." Haarlep leans back in. "Tav can use any help they can get. They lose every single time."

"You didn't tell me you play lanceboard now." He sounds offended. "You know I would love a game. We can talk as we play."

"I cannot play, Gale," Tav tries. "I was roped into losing against Haarlep because-" they shut up. How to explain that lanceboard was easier to interrupt for a quick fuck than a song and dance number. "Alright. I'll get the board. I can see that this is the price I will have to pay for my information."

They follow Haarlep and give a complete lecture on how Gale is not a snack and isn't to be seduced.

"I would be easier to mollify if you'd send somebody my way," the incubus pouts. "You said you might and then you didn't in a while."

"Alright, alright. I'll do my best to send you somebody. Something juicy, okay? Complacent cunt with a hubris. How's that sound?"

"Exactly like the type that would arrive here in service of Mephistopheles." Haarlep licks their lips. "Be a dove and try not to forget about it again."

"I swear." Tav rises to their toes to give the incubus a peck on the cheek. "And maybe, if you can one day credibly swear you won't eat him up, I may allow you a game of lanceboard with him. But I warn you, Gale can play."

"Finally a challenge." The incubus sweeps up the game and drops it into Tav's arms. "At least in one respect."

Tav carries the board to the library where Gale eagerly helps setting it up. It takes two games for him to finish his updates.

"You're not half bad," he tells Tav. "If you are losing so quickly, Haarlep has to be very good."

"They are certainly full of it." Tav pours some more tea. "Coming back to the reason you're here. What did Raphael ask?"

The wizard hesitates, a smart reaction. "Not much. Just that he needs magical protection for one of his assets and that I needed to come here to secure it. Are you in danger?"

"A little." Tav blushes. "As I said, my soul will go unsavoury place if I die so we try to avoid that. While others try to hasten it to curry favours with the unsavoury in question."

"People come here to kill you?" Gale takes their hand. "I will do what I can to keep you safe, my friend."

"Thank you. I – it's lonely here sometimes and I wish Raphael allowed visitors more often. But I understand. " Tav forces a smile. "Most visitors want to kill either me or him. Often both."

"He should hire a bodyguard." Gale brightens. "I know one, excellent track record, superbly fit for Avernus. Maybe you heard of her? A tiefling with the name of Karlach?"

Tav laughs but it turns wistful quickly. "You know, that is an excellent idea, really. She protects me and in return Raphael gives her an actual heart. Everybody is happy and I am not that lonely."

"You may have your hands full convincing her those bite marks are worth anything though. She's not one to endorse of anything fiendish."

Tav's hand sneaks back to their throat. Turtle necks - they will have to look into that. A good thing Gale can't see how deep the teeth marks wander. "It will keep me in shape," they reply. "Let's go find Raphael. I hope whatever you do will take very, very long so you can stay for a bit."

"That makes one of us." Gale rises as well and follows Tav out of the library. "I am hoping to get out of here at the soonest. It's not a place for humans."

Tav can't object to that. They lead him down the broad stairs and though there is two of them now, they still have to get out of the way of the devils milling around. The door to Raphael’s study is open and they don't have to wait long before the devil notices them lingering and sweeps his current clients out.

"All caught up, I assume." He stands and walks around the huge desk. His fingers trail over the polished surface in a way that wakes many memories. Tav swallows. It's a great desk.

"Yes," Gale replies oblivious of, or acutely ignoring, the tension between Raphael and Tav. "Tav told me a little about how life is here and where danger might come from. But I think you can shed deeper light on the latter part."

"Of course." Raphael leans against the desk. "I need Tav to be untouchable, yet free to move around the house as they wish. No weapon or spell must touch them. No harm can come to them under my roof."

Gale blinks at the ferocity of the words. He looks at Tav who is thinking, eyes shifting between the polished wood of the desk and the devil leaning against it. "Armour is out of the question, I assume."

"I need them protected out of armour," Raphael explains. "When Tav is armoured up, they are fighting and capable to look after themself. I need them safe when the armour comes off."

"Like Sanctuary," Tav brightens. "I can just cast that on myself, can I not?"

"Not when you are sleeping," Gale throws in. "Or unconscious. But the approach is solid.”

He continues to devolve into magic speak with Raphael and Tav is content just watching the two argue back and forth. As one point, Gale draws a crude map of the House of Hope one fresh paper pinned over the map of the hells. With Raphael’s guidance he marks several places and connects some with lines.

Tav is completely lost on the details, but they get that the points are foci for some kind of spell that is supposed to cover the whole house. Their heart beats fast. Tav knows how much energy and money such a thing would cost. The thought that Raphael thinks them worth the expenses-

"That will do," the devil decides and lets a hand descend on Gale's shoulder. "Do it."

"I will need-"

"Give me a list," Raphael interrupts and parchment a quill appear hanging before Gale.

The wizards takes them with a glance at Tav and starts to write. "It's not much but some things are tricky to come by. And I will say you are lucky you have me. No normal wizard can do what you want."

Raphael takes the list, and after looking it over, hands it back to Gale. "Everything you need is in the throne room. Begin at your own discretion. Be quick and if you need helping hands, any devil in this house is at your disposal."

He half guides, half pushes the surprised wizard out of the room. Tav follows in time to hear their friend welp when he finds everything he requested neatly stacked on a trolley.

"Prepare everything in the library. It should be enough for a few extra dummies." Raphael snaps his fingers and the trolley vanishes in a small cloud of dust. "Let me know when you are ready for the last step."

Tav watches their devil retreat and shrugs at Gale. "I hope I can help somehow? You know my level of magic."

"I do but you can." He follows them through the throne room back up the stairs. "A lot is assembling the material components which will go up around the house. I show you how to put them together and the I'll bespell them.”

"How long will it take?" Tav bounces. Finally something to do. Finally a friend to do something with. Old times rise at the back of their mind and they set to work smiling. Soon they are chatting easily with Gale, the severity of the situation blown clean from their mind.

After a snack they move through the house positioning the small items and making them invisible. They take the same care for the dummies and Haarlep offers their help for the right to look without any respect at all.

After stoutly refusing to let them handle a dummy, Tav yields and lets the incubus put up an active spell engine. They are preening horribly while doing so but Gale is oblivious to the display of offered features.

"Anything special I should bring to the grand finale?" Tav asks when they make their way back to Raphael's study.

"Just yourself. After all, you are the main ingredient for the last step."

"I am slightly worried somebody is going to try and stuff an apply in my mouth," Tav, chuckles.

"We can get you an apple if you think it will help." Gale bumps them gently in the side.

They arrive in the throne room where the door to Raphael's study is already open for them.

"He does keep tabs on you," Gale observes. "Doesn't that worry you?"

Tav looks at the devils milling about. "I would be more worried if he didn't."

Gale follows their gaze. "Point taken." He closes the heavy door behind them.

Since Tav cant sit on their devil's lap, they chose the table instead and dangle with their feet. "So, what now?"

"Now Mr Dekarios will cast magic over you and the House," Raphael replies, his eyes fixed on the wizards. "A spell that protects Tav."

"Most certainly." Gale switches into explanation mode. "It will work like a perpetual Sanctuary. As long as you are out of armour, it will take effect."

"Why not in armour?" Tav wonders.

"When you are armoured, I assume you are abut to partake in violent interactions." Gale grins. "I know you. Do not try to deny it. But the most energy of this magic is consumed when it changes states. A fight will force many changes, one each time you attack. It is easier to trust your prowess and keep the magic for when you armour down again."

Tav tilts their head. "I like it. That's really smart and I don't think it could be done."

"It can't."He swells with pride. "But I can."

"Anyway, instead of all this," Tav gestures vaguely, "we could just have gotten me a bodyguard, you know? I'm sure Karlach is open to it and she has experience."

"Noted," Raphael only says to their surprise. "But a spell doesn't have to sleep."

A valid point and somewhat worrying.

"Ready whenever you are," Gale cuts in.

"We are." Raphael holds out his hand to help Tav from the desk. They take it and lean on him because it feels good. They let him position them before the wizard who straightens in preparation. He starts enunciating and though Tav listens attentively, they can't even make out words. Every now and then, Gale puts a hand onto their body, pressing his palm between their collarbones or neck.

The spell takes hold slowly. It spreads from the base of Tav's neck to the shoulder blades and meets again at the small of their back where it stabs through to their navel and back up to the hollow of their throat. It cuts like wires of gold and starlight as it settles into their skin and flesh.

Tav shakes experimentally when Gale takes a step back to examine his work. But the effect merged into them already, invisible, intangible, nothing more than a layer of silver spiderweb.

"There." Gale decides. "Done."

Tav turns tentatively. They don't feel much different. Everything looks like before, too; even the spots they felt the magic take hold. Tav pulls their collar wide to stare down a their shirt. When an infernal fist surges at them, they blink in disbelief and forget to evade.

Raphael's punch bounces off harmlessly. The devil follows up with a fire ray which doesn't reach Tav either. "Excellent," he pronounces. Then he turns his attention to Gale. "Now, to the matter of your compensation. If you could wait outside for a moment, Tav?"

Tav blinks and glances from their devil to the wizard who nods.

"If I need you I'll call," he says with a smile and Tav doesn't have the heart to tell him every room down here is soundproof. Instead they shrug and leave.

It feels strange to wait outside. Devils walk by checking if the door is open. They rarely spare more than a glance for Tav. Still they feel better knowing that even if they wanted to, they could not hurt them. Not any longer. Of course, the same isn't true for Haarlep. Tav chews on their lip. With luck, Raphael wouldn't try to lure anybody again by letting Haarlep pose as them.

"Did he cure you?" they ask as soon as gale steps out of the room.

"Mostly," the wizard replies. "There is one more thing I have to do that only I can do. But it is doable and well within my abilities."

"And that is okay? In accordance with the deal you made.?"

"Yes, do not worry. I got what I asked for. And I hope that so did he." Gale looks his friend over with a sigh. "I didn't think I'd be so thorough working for that devil. But protecting you, he sure has my full abilities. We worry, Tav. And not much I saw here alleviates my fears any."

"It would be worse for me if I left. And here I am," Tav gesticulates helplessly.

"Appreciated?" Gale suggests. "Are you happy here?" Gale asks, cupping their face with one hand.

Tav thanks before answering. "I'm – it’s not. I'm not unhappy here. But I want more. I want something to do. A purpose. Moving about and seeing my friends again. But it’s not bad here. And Raphael is good to me."

"Maybe." Gale touches a bloody crust on Tav's throat wistfully. "But he won't take well to you leaving him."

"I'm not leaving him," Tav huffs indignant. "Like you didn't leave me when you returned to Waterdeep. And Lae'zel didn't leave me to lead her people in resistance. We are still we. We are still one."

"He's a devil," Gale says softly. "Such nuance may be lost on him."

They embrace and Tav can't help shedding a tear. "I wish I was coming with you."

"So do I." Gale takes a deep breath as the portal hums into life. "Write. Make the devil deliver. We miss you Tav."

Tav keeps the smile forced over their face until their friend vanished. Then they let it fall apart, dribbling to the floor in wet pieces. The House of Hope is suddenly huge and full of strangers. They curl up in themself and rock with their back against a far soul pillar.

[catt-nuevenor]

Soap

I am about to get extremely nerdy and excited about ancient soaps. Consider yourselves warned, this is gonna be me getting giddy about tracking a plant through linguistic records, and botanical records.

All who don't want to geek out about this topic, I hope you enjoy your future scrolling and have a nice day. All who do, click the read more and join me down the rabbit hole.

So, soap.

There's an unfortunate belief that we in the modern period are the first descendents of the ape to understand the need of personal hygiene, sterilisation, and washing. This is wrong. We've understood dirt is bad for general health (as in food, water, and wounds) for thousands of years.

Allow me a few examples for the sceptical:

Galen, Hygiene Vol I, Book I. written between 165-175 CE.

And for those looking for something a wee bit older:

Unknown Author, writing style Sumerian dates to Third Dynasty of Ur, c.2158-2008 BCE. Page from Healing Hands by Guido Majno 1992

As Manjo points out in his discussion of this prescription, note the hot water as well as the beer.

I could go on, but I hope you see why I find 'all ancient peoples were dirty and only had a bath once a year,' an asinine statement. So, onto the 'Dark Ages'.

I needed to figure out what compound or substance the Lǽce, or medical practitioners in the story, would use to clean their hands after an examination. I've recently been looking into something of a plant 'shopping list' cross-referencing archaeological records and written records for what came to Northern Europe and when. Here's where I attempt to introduce you all to the term 'archaeophyte'.

An Archaeophyte is a plant that came to the geographical area or region of study before 1500 CE. Any plant that made its way to an area before this date, be with human intervention or without, falls into this category. A plant that arrives after this date is a Neophyte.

An example for the UK; Corn Marigold, Chrysanthemum segetum for all you folks who want to see me fight my way through Latin, arrived in the UK first in the Iron Age (in this context being about 940 BCE to 43 CE) as evidenced by archaeological finds, with later examples occurring in a Roman, then medieval context.

See Archaeolophytes in Britain, Preston, Pearman, and Hall for sources and more information

Right, so I've been constructing this list of plants I can use in the story. My rules are that it must occur in a Pre-Roman context North of Frankfurt, Germany, and West of Warsaw, Poland. The reasoning for this ruleset is too complicated to go into in this post, so just try and accept this as my baseline.

I started to go through this list this morning, looking for a plant that could be used for cleaning hands in a medical setting. I looked at Yarrow to begin with, it being an Archaeophyte for the area with archaeological evidence dating back to the Neolithic period (10,000-4,500BC) in the context of feasting at stone henge. It has limited scientific write up, but there is some evidence to suggest that it has antibacterial properties, anti-inflammatory properties, and may help with the staunching of wounds (see Medical Plants, Simmonds, Howes, and Irving 2016, Royal Botanical Gardens Kew, and Culpeper's Complete Herbal modern edition edited by Steven Foster, 2019).

So far so good, but not in anyway perfect. Then, while flicking through one of my books to locate yet another entry on yarrow to triple check my notes, I skimmed past an entry for a plant called Soapwort. To say I sat and stared at it dumbfounded for a while is an understatement.

My first thought was that the suffix 'wort' was a very good sign. 'Wort' comes from the Old English 'wyrt', which basically means a usable plant, be that edible as food, used in dyes, or applied in medicine. However, Old English speakers are infamous for making new compounds up of familiar elements to suit imported objects or ideas.

What I should have done next was to look up the etymology of the word 'soap', but I didn't. Instead, I went running back to the 'Archaeophytes in Britain...' article and did a ctrl F search for the Latin name, 'saponaria officinalis'. As soon as I typed it in, my heart sank.

Soap - Saponaria

That's a little too close for comfort, implying that the names were not only related, but likely came from the Old Latin, indicating that I was dealing with a re-emerging Roman export. Briefly, the Anglo-Saxons, the speakers of the Old English Language, came to the UK sometime in the 400s CE, after Rome withdrew. There is a marked dip in Roman culture, architecture, goods and especially language in this time, indicating some think, that the Roman settlers were not widely integrated with the Brittonic peoples. Latinised, or Late Roman, culture and influences do not really re-enter the UK until the Christianisation of the Anglo-Saxons some time later. When it did re-emerge, the Latin was favoured in academic contexts over the Old English, and for this reason I choose to use the Old English as a good waypoint for pre-existing features.

Back to the article on Archaeophytes. There is no known record of soapwort in the UK before the 1500's CE. However, it is found in Germany and Poland as a 'native' species, meaning that it predates 1500 CE, and reached the geographic area without human intervention (this can be discerned through where a sample is found, for example bog or wetland pollen deposits, or ancient forest remains). This slots it nicely into my 'can use' category.

It was only at this point that I decided to look up the etymology of 'soap'.

Soap <- Sope Middle English <- Sápe Old English <;- Saipá Proto-Germanic <- seyb- Proto-Indo-European

Which rather made all the fussing I did about Roman and Latin mute. -_-

The Anglo-Saxon's called Soapwort either leáþorwyrt or grundsópa by the by, meaning literally lather wort and ground soap.

The plant Soapwort contains large amounts of Saponin (about 20% when flowering, according to Wikipedia). This produces a lather when in contact with water, and basically breaks down various cell membrane components. That's about as far as my limited grasp of biochemistry leaves me high and dry, I'm afraid, but hopefully you get the idea.

In short summary; the Lǽce in the story can literally use soap, and I should always look up etymologies before I go traipsing through academic papers. Hope those who made it this far found it interesting!

Photo Credits to TeunSpaans Wikipedia

[jarlsson]

some quick tags.

[amplifyme]

Stew and sour red...

He didn't say much as they ate, reverting to grunts or short exchanges as she shouldered the weight of the conversation. She told him about the glass garden at Winterfell and how she would help her mother tend to the flowers. Shared memories of harvest feasts and the beauty of sudden summer snows. She spoke of her brothers and Arya and how she had both loved and feared her father and admired her mother. And all the time he spooned stew into his mouth and grunted at her and kept their cups filled with sour red. By the time he'd cleaned his third bowl with a final chunk of hard bread swept around the edges, Sansa was drowsy and feeling the sort of capriciousness one finds in the bottom of a wine cup.

"Tell me something," she blurted.

"What should I tell you?"

"Is it such an impossible thing to imagine, that I might want you?"

He chuckled low and gazed at her with sleepy eyes that matched her own. "Look at me, girl. What do you think? Think I've spent much time fighting off pretty highborn women eager to warm my bed? If I had back all the coin I've spent on whores over the years I'd be lord of my own keep by now, raising dogs in proper kennels instead of the shit-for-sheds I have now."

"Some women might find you attractive." She smiled at his outburst of laughter and went on despite it. "Though there is much to be said for a handsome face, appearances are not the proper measure of a man."

"Tell me that when you're faced with the Knight of Flowers. Don't think I've forgotten the way you'd swoon over the splendid noblemen in their fancy clothes and their perfumed skin. Pretty girls like you all dream of shiny knights and comely princes, don't they?"

"I had a prince, if you'll recall, a king in fact. And look what it got me: fearful for my life and married off to a Lannister, followed by a succession of other handsome men eager for my lands and my title. Those were the dreams of a child, Sandor, and I am not that anymore."

Her proclamation earned her an extended and probing study. She held very still, not daring to move, as he hesitantly reached across the table and ran his fingertips gently down the side of her face.

"What do you dream of now, little bird?"

She caught his hand as it fell and clasped his fingers as they came to rest on the table. The contrast of his large calloused hand held by her much smaller, delicate fingers was a revelation to her, a thing of beauty she had not expected.

"I dream of freedom and of wild things. I dream of my family and of Winterfell, always. And I dream of having a home again and a man who is gentle and brave and strong." She looked up and found his eyes on her, deep and languorous pools of gray.

"I can take you there," he said. "A week's ride and we could be-"

"No. Winterfell is gone. All that remains are its bones and the blackened ground where it once stood so strong. And all that remains of House Stark sits before you in a ragged gown. The bloodline will die with me. I am the last of my kind."

The Calling - Chapter 2

[slotumn]

While I'm on the subject of characters and religiosity I think Lysithea is actually more religious than people (both in and outside of universe, herself included) think. She does have faith as one of her boons, in CF she likes the suggestion of turning the Church into a state institution, and in GW she's shown to take into account how locals think of the Federation disconnecting with + going to war against the central Church, with the general consensus the GD reach being "well we still have Eastern Church so it should be ok"

I do think most of it is cultural, as the Church of Seiros traditions are probably intertwined with Fódlani culture and customs to the point you can't separate it entirely. She's not super devout in the way Marianne or Mercedes are, but she still observes major holidays/prayers and believes in the goddess as a sort of Fódlani default. Her interest in faith magic and any scripture study that requires is mostly academic, but she probably appreciates whatever spiritual insight/relief she might get along the way, too. (The "I'm not religious or spiritual I really am just in it academically" person is probably Linhardt.) Also Lysithea definitely loves her home territory, so I think she'd be fond and even protective of how they celebrate religious holidays/festivals in Ordelia.

And on the subject of the Eastern Church, Fódlan is mentioned to have tensions between the church branches— and given the GD's "it's fine we have the Eastern Church" reaction above, I like to think that Eastern Church venerates, say, significant figures from the Crescent Moon War as significant martyrs/saints independently from other Churches. And that means Lysithea and other noble GD's ancestors may very well be included there, especially if Ordelia is a house that made it to the Roundtable from their contribution during the Crescent Moon War.

Any spiritual importance the Eastern Church has usually isn't obvious because of Leicester always internally feuding + Eastern Church not being as politically influential as other branches, and Leicesterians themselves usually think they're not too sensitive about religion because it isn't a central part of the Leicesterian identity like it is to the other two nations (Holy Kingdom and the Empire a saint founded). But if someone (especially from outside of the country) is too dismissive of like, local Eastern Church traditions and doctrines, they do get pissed; because the intersection of national pride/identity and the religious legitimacy behind it is still a touchy subject for a young country, no matter how you slice it.

What I'm saying is, there should be a moment where someone from Garreg Mach/Adrestia/Faerghus asks why the Eastern Church holds feasts in honor of the Roundtable founders, with the implication that it's heretical. And suddenly the Leicesterians everyone thought didn't really give a shit about religion (beyond political purposes, like Gloucester) suddenly turns into the Eastern Church's strongest soldiers and tells them to fuck off, possibly headed by Lysithea, for whom it's a doubly sensitive subject because of how her house was founded + how Ordelia's sovereignty was violated in recent memory.

Then someone goes "wow if you guys put half of that energy and half of the energy you spend fighting one another into helping the Eastern Church, maybe the Central Church wouldn't have to send troops all the way over every time they have a problem" and they're all quiet again lmao

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT ARYA I

yeah, uh, it’s been a couple months. I spent that time FIGHTING for my life during the last semester since I’m in the final year of my degree and it’s only going to get worse from here. But I’m back and ready for GRRM to absolutely massacre me again. And it’s going to be a rough start, because I really don’t like this chapter and, believe it or not, I’ve already rewritten this summary at least once because I’m not trying to engage in ~the discourse~ too much. 

And listen, I like Arya a lot. She’s always somewhere in my top five. I like the whole justice versus revenge narrative she has going on. I like feral little girls with knives. There should be more of them!

But this chapter is not it, y’all. Now, I’ve read quite a lot of 90s fantasy with spunky tomboy heroines in my day, and this chapter is like middle tier at best. If I’m gong to read 90s fantasy with a spunky tomboy heroine, I’d much rather go for the crème de la crème like Song of the Lioness by Tamora Pierce or even The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley (which is actually 80s and the likely originator of a least a few spunky heroine tropes.) But I’ll freely admit that I’ve always been sensitive to men writing female characters who do a lot of hating on other women. Sue me. 

ANd I guess I’ve come around on this chapter some??? I think it’s a pretty good piece of character writing and unreliable narrators upon reflection, but I still don’t have to like it. 

So onto the chapter, I guess, though  @alaynasansa has already summarized this chapter better than I ever could

That’s it, that’s most of the chapter. 

But no seriously, Arya is a nine year old kid with a well-behaved older sister, who she resents for being well-behaved, and needs a lot of recess time to in order to pay attention in class. Give Arya scheduled run-around time, and I feel like half of the problems could be solved. 

We open on Arya having crooked stitches, yet again, while Sansa’s sewing her perfect.

“Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. “Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.”

Mordane, I’m begging, at least put the tiniest of effort in to not showing favoritism. We all know you’re Wenda the White Fawn and should not be anyone’s governess, but a shred of effort towards maintaining your cover. please!

Also, rip to all that Gentry foreshadowing struck down by the time skip being cut. You will be missed. 🫡

 Arya thought that Myrcella’s stitches looked a little crooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.

The Starklings need to stop dogpiling on Myrcella. She’s done nothing to you??? She has like two character traits, both of which contradict each other, and she’s an incest baby. She’s got enough on her plate. 

She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle.

I ask the same question every time. WTF have you done to your sewing, Arya? I’m assuming some comically big knot that would never exist in reality. 

And then we get EVUL Sansa talking with her fellow preteens.

Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik’s little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

Beth is, what, ten? And Jeyne is the same age as Sansa. Keep this in mind when GRRM decides to fridge both of them. (The wiki refers to them as Sansa’s “more glamorous retinue” and who ever wrote that needs to be shot.) 

So Arya wants to be included in the conversation, which fair enough, Arya. I, too, am a gossip hound. 

“We were talking about the prince,” Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss. Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

Now, now, Arya. Don’t go judging appearances, or you too will be almost raped at knife point. Also, people would (and do!) kill to sit next to Tommen instead of Joffrey, so. 

“Joffrey likes your sister,” Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell’s steward and Sansa’s dearest friend. 

It’s feeling sad about Jeyne hours.

 I choose to believe that Sansa and Jeyne have one of these:

“He’s going to marry her,” little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself.

This chapter is just making me sad. 

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

Peak sibling behavior. Your sibling is literally just sitting there, and you're like “they’re doing this to spite me specifically” and half the time, you're right. 

“Beth, you shouldn’t make up stories,” Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words.

I hope nothing happens to these sweet kids. 😬

“What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?” “Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

Is she wrong? No, we all read Jon I. We saw the breakdown. Sansa just succinctly summarized one of Jon's core character conflicts in one sentence, and I have to laugh a little. More Jon and Joffrey foiling. (Actually this whole chapter is JoJo foiling, really.) 

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room. Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. “What are you talking about, children?”

Maybe Syrio’s greatest lesson was teaching Arya how to use her inside voice. 

“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise.

EVUL Sansa. How dare you!!!!!! (Nevermind all the times the other Starklings call  Jon their half-brother, shhh, Sansa is the evil Catelyn 2.0)

She smiled for the septa. “Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,” she said.

Look how smoothly Sansa covers for Arya! 

One thing I’ve noticed about this chapter, is how chill Sansa really is to Arya. She’s just very relaxed and isn’t that interested in picking a fight with Arya. It’s such a contrast to their later AGOT chapters, when both of them are under immense amounts of stress. It seems that fist fights at the breakfast table is, in fact, not their default state. 

Septa Mordane nodded. “Indeed. A great honor for us all.” Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment.

Somebody help Myrcella. She has no clue what's going on. 

“Arya, why aren’t you at work?” the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. “Let me see your stitches.” Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa’s attention.

Unreliable narrator Arya Stark. You were the one being loud three paragraphs ago. But love the commitment to blaming it on your sister, peak sibling behavior! (Is George an only child? He must have a sibling, he captures the dynamic so well). 

The septa examined the fabric. “Arya, Arya, Arya,” she said. “This will not do. This will not do at all.”

I am once again asking what Arya has done to her sewing. 

Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister’s disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her.

Yeah, being the negative center of attention can be rough. I get it. But also, love the assumption that Sansa would of course smile at Arya getting in trouble if it wasn't rude, when she was covering for Arya five seconds ago. I will not be commenting on Jeyne at this point in time. 

Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door.

I am struck by how similar Jon and Arya are. Both them run out in tears in their first chapters. This is probably on purpose. 

Arya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down her cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to Myrcella. “By your leave, my lady.” Myrcella blinked at her and looked to her ladies for guidance. 

Myrcella is literally just here. She’s only got brothers, she’s completely lost here. 

“Just where do you think you are going, Arya?” the septa demanded. Arya glared at her. “I have to go shoe a horse,” she said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septa’s face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.

Arya Snark makes her first appearance. Rip that gendrya foreshadowing. 

I don’t know who’s more glad that Arya escaped that sewing lesson, me or her. 

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left.

This is just what having an older sister is like. Most realistic thing George has ever written. This is peak realism. 

Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse.

The realism of the steward’s daughter name-calling the lord’s daughter aside (because, really? You don’t think Vayon is pulling Jeyne aside and nipping that in the bud?), Arya is usually covered in dirt and can mistaken for a stable boy and she loves riding horses, so I feel like this nickname might be for multiple reasons. 

Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

We’ll see about that, Arya! Sansa’s taking a summer class on how to run a castle in two books, and we’ll see what grade she gets. 

(But love the hyper nine-year old asserting that she could be a better household manager than the patient eleven-year-old. Never lose that confidence, Arya)

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. They went everywhere together, and Nymeria slept in her room, at the foot of her bed.

I am not immune to the cute prehistoric killing machine and it’s cute little paws. 

She had yellow eyes. When they caught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. Arya had named her after the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea. That had been a great scandal too.

Somebody smarter than talk about Nymeria’s golden eyes. Doesn’t Lady also have golden eyes?

Also, love Arya’s naming choice. When I was ten, I named my cat Cleopatra. Very relatable. (But also, what's the scandal? Did the septa sniff when Arya announced it? Seems like a fine and very Arya name.) 

But a warrior queen and body of water. HMMMMM. The ship girl foreshadowing starts early.

Sansa, of course, had named her pup “Lady.”

Be still my heart. 😩

The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back.

Have I mentioned how fond I am of Arya?

There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed.

Another puzzle piece for the people meticulously reconstructing WF in Minecraft. Godspeed to them.

Jon is watching from the window, and Ghost and Nymeria have a cute moment that melts my frozen heart. 

To her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers.

I know that this moments gets a ton of callbacks, being a big moment of King Bran and dead Tommen foreshadowing, but look at the bundled-up seven year olds! SO cute! 

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed. “A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him.

I mean- we all know where this is going. 

Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.

I am not immune to Jon and Arya being adorable together. 

Little Arya is afraid of being a bastard because she sees how Jon is treated, so she goes to him, and Jon puts all of problems to one side to comfort his little sister. Argh, my heart. 

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him. He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. “Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.”

It’s- It’s irony. Becuase- because the Baratheon kids are bastards, and Jon is a prince. 

(Is Jon actually a bastard, or is he true born through some horrible shenanigans? Let’s keep a running list.)

“Oh.” Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya reflected that life was not fair.

I feel like this speaks for itself mainly. All of Jon’s siblings can be thoughtless when it comes to Jon’s situation. 

She watched her little brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” she said. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”

The sibling age hierarchy is so very real. 

Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom.

This will never not be funny to me.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.” “The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Get em, Arya! 

“Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.” “A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh.

I- I can’t. What do you want me to do with this??? Because my mind is in fact a gutter. Someone put me out of my misery. 

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms.

This feel significant on multiple levels. The way that daughters and bastard sons are permanently slotted below true born sons in the Westerosi patriarchy. The way that a bastard son and true born daughter could consolidate their claims together to make a stronger one. Something something. 

Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet.

Yeah, Tommen’s pretty toast. There can be only one apparently, and its going t be Bran. 

Ser Rodrik has got to one of my favorite silly old men, with his silly little beard. 

And then we get the Joffrey-Robb conflict foreshadowing that feels like they were actually supposed to have a more personal showdown but it got dropped.

Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.” “Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik said. Joffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.” There was laughter from the Lannister men.

Is this or is this not fulfilled by the war of the Five Kings? You decide, I guess. 

The Hound is terrible, Joffrey is terrible, Theon has to hold Robb back from committing some serious treason, Jon has a cryptic description. 

Jon watched them leave, and Arya watched Jon. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood.

Huh. Always interesting to see how Jon is identified with WF early on. 

“You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.”

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, JON. DO not foreshadow your little sister like that. Now she’s definitely losing her fingers, if not her hand. You’re worst than Ned, I swear. 

The chapter ends with a funny haha sitcom moment that does not make me want to gouge my eyes out at all.

It was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn’t Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.

I’m laughing so hard, guys.

Conclusion: Uh. Arya is peak sibling behavior in every way, Sansa is actually very chill when her spirit animal hasn’t been killed, the Bran and Tommen see saw is real, and Jon is a great big brother when he’s not foreshadowing. 

And no women wins under patriarchy?

Who’s next? Bran? Thank god!

[basalamander-corner]

New month, new pinned post!

Do I keep getting a new pinned post like, every other month? Yeah, I do. But honestly, who cares!

╰┈➤please read...

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╰┈➤basics

Call me Sabel. Or Octo. But I like Sabel the best. I go by he/him or they/them pronouns.

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[novankenn]

J/C - the Idols of Beacon

--==(Table of Contents) ==--

(Chapter 9 - Rules & Roles)

Joan and Carla were lounging about, enjoying another greasy feast from the cafeteria. Carla devouring her second bacon double cheeseburger, while Joan was inhaling an extra large bowl of poutine. Groaning, Joan put down her meal and rubbed her stomach.

“If this is how this, whatever this is, is going to be… I’m pretty satisfied.” Joan commented as she rose from the couch, and stretched, cousin her slightly too small t-shirt to rise up and expose her midriff and her just noticeable paunch. 

“I hate to agree, but this is a cakewalk.”

“Is my ass getting fat?” Joan asked as she slapped her hands on her ample, perky butt cheeks. “I think they are. What do you think?”

“Dude! I’m eating.” Carla retorted, “I’m not checking out your ass!”

“It’s just a question, and you’re the only one I can ask.” Joan responded.

“Why are you asking me that type of shit? I don't care if you think your boobs are getting bigger, or your ass is fatter… I don't care, and I don't want to know about it.”

“Bitch.”

“Seriously, dude, what the hell?” Carla asked, a tint of disgust in her voice as she tossed the remains of her burger on the take-out box covered coffee table. “ You’re acting like this whole thing is good. It’s not.”

“I’m just trying to make the most of it.” Joan countered. “We’ve got like three years and some to be like this…”

“Do not remind me.”

A knock on the door on the door to their lodgings ended the conversation, and before anyone could answer the door opened, allowing Goodwitch and four others access. The pair of magically altered young men stiffened at the sight of three. The fourth they had no idea about.

Joan seeing her former partner, then one of her former bullies and finally Coco… who she was very aware of started to invoke the ‘fight or flight’ response… heavily slanted to ‘flight’.

Carla was afraid of all three. Nikos for trouncing her and her team, Coco for being a looming threat of if her real identity ever was revealed that she would be on the receiving of the ass kicking of the century. Then there was Russel, her former teammate. Like Jaune, Carla was extremely entertaining the idea of making a run for it.

“Don’t.” the fourth member of Godwitch’s posse commanded as she strode past everyone and surveyed not only the pair of young women, their state of dress, and the condition of their living space. “Disgusting and depressing.”

“Um… who are you?” Joan stuttered out.

“Speak up, speak clearly, and speak with conviction.” the woman stated, her pink eyes focused on Joan. “I am your agent, choreographer, and vocal instructor. My name is Piper Hamelin, and you are?”

“Joan… Joan A?”

“Then I assume you are Carla W.”

“Y…yes?”

“I see.” Piper studied the pair for several minutes before speaking again. “The three students with me are your support team.”

“Support team? Why do we have…” Joan started to ask.

“Because you need one, and considering the state of this place, and your current appearance… you desperately need them. Sit.” Piper waited as Joan and Carla looked at each other as if having a discussion without words. “I do not have all day, ladies. Sit!”

Joan was the first to cave to Piper’s authoritative tone, with Carla soon following suit.

“So there are going to be several changes to your routine and habits, and you WILL follow my directions to a tee, or I will make things even more strict. Understood?”

The pair just nodded.

“Good. Ms Nikos has agreed to being your fitness instructor and has also been given the authority to monitor your caloric intake. This…” Piper pointed to the cluttered coffee table, “WILL no longer be happening.”

“Ms Adel has been chosen as your fashion consultant and stylist. She will dictate what you wear, especially when you eventually go on stage and start having public appearances… “Piper snorted before continuing, “She will ALSO be enforcing a strict dress code for all over times… you will not be dressed as slops or in other unflattering ways. Are you understanding these directives?”

Joan and Carla silently nodded.

“Finally, Mr Thrust will be your songwriter and composer. I will be instructing him in the style I believe you are best suited to perform in. You will not be required to play any instruments. You will perform using pre-recorded music.” Piper then opened her leather portfolio and pulled out several stapled together sheets of paper, and proceeded to hand a copy to each of them. “These are the rules and codes of conduct, along with weekly schedule, dress code, exercise plan, and meal plan. Read and memorize. Any questions?”

“I… um…” Joan started to stammer out.

“Good.” Piper cut her off. “Up… up, no time like the present to start.”

“Start?” Carla asked as she hesitantly rose to her feet.

“I need to hear your voices. So you will in turn sing a scale for me. Up and down.” Piper informed the pair, and then pointing to Carla. “You first.”

“Um…” Carla hesitant. “I haven’t… for some time…”

“It matters not. This is a test to sample your abilities. Once I have assessed you, I will work out a training plan. Now. Scale.”

Carla clears her throat and then in almost perfect pitch…

“Doh-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-High Doh”

“Reverse.”

“High Doh-Ti-La-Sol-Fa-Mi-Re-Doh”

“Impressive, you still need work, but nothing constant practice will not fix.” Piper nodded. “We will also need to work on your projection and breathing. Very good.”

Piper fixed her gaze on Joan who rubbed the back of her neck, that instantly reminded Pyrrha of her missing leader Jaune.

“I’m waiting.” Piper spoke flatly.

“I can’t.” Joan replied.

“I don't care. Try. I need to assess your voice.”

Joan also cleared her throat, her voice cracking instantly and causing everyone to wince.

““Doh-Re-Mi-”

“Enough” Piper frowned. “You are atrocious, but not completely. You will need extensive and intensive training.”

Joan looked utterly dejected, and Carla despite her normal attitude felt a little bad about Joan’s situation. Vocal training was rough, and Joan was going to suffer.

“Professor, I am finished.” Piper turned her head to look at Glynda. “I will be granted access to these quarters, and I need a sound proofed room, with a sound system, floor to ceiling wall mirrors, and barre. Is this doable, or do I need to arrange for facilities in Vale?”

“We have such a room. I will have maintenance refurbish and clean it.” Glynda replied.

“How long?” 

“A day. It is being currently being used for storage.”

“I also need three basic chairs, wood or plastic, and a mini-fridge stocked with water and sports drinks.”

“No issue.”

“Very well. I am finished here.” Piper let her eye linger on the pair. “I have to return to Vale, but I will be back tomorrow. Be well rested. It will be a long day. Ms Nikos.”

“Yes?”

“Adjust their schedule. They need to work off this garbage.” PIper indicated the collected take-out boxes, “Early morning runs, until I tell you differently. Is that doable? Does it fit with in your class schedule?”

“Yes, I can make it work. I normally take an early morning run, so it will be no issue to pick them up to join me.”

“Good. Get some rest, ladies. You WILL need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

Carla and Joan shivered as Piper, Pyrrha, Coco, Russel and Goodwitch exited the room, leaving the dejected and worried pair alone. Joan’s shoulders slumped as she without a word vanished into her room.

“This is bullshit.” Carla snorted as she as well headed into her room.