#Chosen by the World Chalice

[normalmonsterfight]

Hello! Here is are some monsters I’d like to submit (along with some reasons why I like them):

- Stray Familiar: Cat

- Interstellime: It’s so cute

- Metaphys Armed Dragon: One of the first cards I had when I started playing the game

- Alexandrite Dragon

- Wolf: So descriptive and the flavor text is fun

- Gunkan Suship Shari

- All three World Chalice normal monsters (Beckoned by the World Chalice, Crowned by the World Chalice, Chosen by the World Chalice)

- Bitron and Digitron: I’m a sucker for Yugioh Vrains

- Ultimate Flag Beast Avan Wolf and Ultimate Flag Mech Tough Striker: Light Machines is my favorite Rush deck to play

That is all but I will probably return with more

Seconds for Alexandrite Dragon, Metaphys Armed Dragon, Crowned by/Chosen by the World Chalice, and Digitron, the rest added!

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #28

[Continuation of Poll #27]

"Some food sounds nice," you mumbled hesitantly, forcing a smile on your lips and looking towards the werewolf while placing your hand on your stomach. A glint of victory sparked in his eyes as he raised his snout highly, proud to be the chosen option.

"As I said," he announced with a huff, and you got up from your seat to follow him out of the door. This was the perfect opportunity! You'd scout the area, try to sneak away when he was busy hunting, and be rid of this fearsome duo! Even if a night in the woods had the potential to be scary, you doubted the werewolf would let harm befall you if anything else tried to attack you. It was definitely the right choice!

A finger hooked underneath your shirt collar, tugging you back into a cold, firm chest while one arm wrapped around you from behind, leisurely holding you in place. "Ah, ah," the vampire chimed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"H-Hunting?" you questioned, looking up at the vampire, who quirked an eyebrow.

"You? Our sweet, incapable human?"

"Let them," the werewolf barked, stomping back through the door. His claws splintered the wood as they gripped the frame, the cracking a fierce reminder of his strength.

"Are you that dense? As if you could take care of a human while you're focusing on hunting. They'll slip from you, and you'll spend the rest of the night searching for them. How dumb do you take them that they wouldn't try to sneak away? No, you're not taking them on your mindless hunt; go fetch them some food alone."

You shivered slightly as the usual light and chatty tone of the vampire's voice turned into a snarl, clearly not amused about the idea of letting you out of their sight. On the other hand, you looked up at the werewolf, giving him your best impression of "puppy eyes", knowing that this was your best chance of escape. It had to work!

When he looked at you, his eyes softened, bared teeth disappearing beneath fur. But just as quickly, he looked back at his natural enemy, a growl vibrating in his throat as he spoke. "So you want me to leave them here? With you? So you can drink them dry before I even have the chance to feed them?"

"I won't," the vampire replied, a surprising firmness in his answer. "I'd rather see where this-" they waved their hand back and forth between the three of you "-is going to lead. It's been more fun than most of my meals in the last century, and I have the time to savor it."

"How am I going to believe you?" the werewolf bit back, and the vampire let out a long sigh while you imagined them rolling their eyes at this.

"You'll just have to. You do want to provide for your little mate, right? Look, they're famished."

The vampire hooked one of his cold fingers beneath your chin, lifting it to show you off. There were no mirrors to check your appearance, but famished wasn't how you would have described yourself. Still—and it made your mouth open in protest—the werewolf growled before giving a short nod with his snout and relented reluctantly, "I'll be back. And if they are missing just one drop of blood, I'll tear you limb from limb, you bat."

Then he was gone, his footsteps the only thing echoing through the mansion for a short while before you heard a door bang closed. How could he have possibly believed the vampire's sweet deception? Why in the world would he leave you alone with the possibly more dangerous monster of the two?!

"What an ill-tempered fellow," the vampire sighed, unwrapping their arm from you and stepping away. You stood there for a few seconds more, seeing your hope slowly fade away into the darkness of the hallway, when the golden chalice from before suddenly came back into view. You jerked away in surprise, but the vampire held it patiently in front of you until you had regained your composure, taking it from them. The pitcher followed in just as quick of a movement, and the dark red juice you had been given before flowed from its neck into your chalice.

"I know you were thirsty. Drink up," they encouraged you softly, stepping away while looking truly unbothered by your presence. It was as if it was no longer relevant that you were below them on the food chain.

"Are you... Are you not going to kill me?"

Turning around, you watched as the vampire placed the needle of an old gramophone standing in the corner of the room onto a record, soft music filling the room.

"What?" they squawked, uncharacteristically human, as if appalled by the thought. "Didn't I just say I wouldn't? You should listen when you are in a room full of monsters."

Instead of coming right back up to you, they sat on the armchair next to the couch, breathing out heavily as if a weight had been lifted before their eyes fell back from the ceiling to you. "Come," they beckoned, patting the soft cushion next to them. "No need to be so alert."

Reluctantly, you swayed on your spot, feeling the red eyes drilling into you as you had to convince your body to move. When you finally did, you left some space between the vampire's reach and your seat, just to be sure, before nipping at your juice again, your body relieved by the drink.

"I was human once," the vampire mused, and you jumped, almost feeling bad for your reaction.

"It's not a pleasure to drink blood, and most of the time, it tastes as awful as what it sounds like." They sighed once more, and you got the feeling they were quite dramatic.

"But having company, bickering, learning new things—that is fun! That is what's interesting! So," they sat up straight again, crossing their legs before giving you a toothy grin, "Tell me about yourself!"

You gulped down the tart sweetness on your tongue, unprepared for the overwhelming interest you suddenly received. Quickly, you averted your eyes, fearing the vampire's hypnosis and all the uncomfortable things they could order you to speak about to get a good laugh. But after a few moments, you caught yourself, rattling down basic facts about your life, going from your family to your hobbies, and discovering some shared interests between you two as the vampire chimed in with their own.

"So... do you have any other hobbies?" you asked, wringing your hands as you tried to keep the conversation going and push it away from you. Even after talking for a while, you were still running on survival instinct, knowing that the longer you kept the vampire occupied, the more time the werewolf had to return. If running wasn't an option, keeping the two of them occupied with fighting each other was your next best bet.

"Hm," the vampire hummed. "I love dancing. It has become awfully lonely in recent times, but we used to hold balls and celebrations in this mansion and dance all night. Those memories keep me alive in the dark times; memories I wish to always relive and cherish for as long as I can remember them."

Their words reminded you of a movie you had seen recently: nobles waltzing to music through a grand hall. It brought a sad smile to your lips as you felt a hint of sympathy for the vampire who must have witnessed the rise and fall of such traditions and, even more, the people who made them special.

"Well," they tore you out of your thoughts. Their hand stretched out towards you, long fingers with pointed nails, well-cared for yet inhumanly cold. "Would you do me the honors?"

Refusal made your lips quiver, but their gaze was almost bashful as they looked up at you, expecting the rejection yet hopeful you'd agree. You glanced back at the door, not knowing when the werewolf would be back. Dancing would bring you in a very close, very dangerous reach of the vampire's fangs, but it would also keep them occupied. You had to stall more time and force them not to kill you, but you didn't want to be served on a silver platter either.

"Don't I stink too much?" you laughed nervously, pointing out their previous comment about you needing a bath.

"Oh, I don't mind your smell as much as that beast's. In fact, you have a pleasant scent lingering on you now that he's not marking you up and down."

They seemed sincere enough, hadn't made a move except for petting the space that kept you two apart, seemingly disappointed. The conversation had been pleasant, going on for a very long time. Even for the hobbies they didn't share with you, they questioned and listened intently, glancing at your lips ever so often as if they wished for more and more information. Quality time seemed to be their thing, so if they were honest, agreeing to dance would probably put you in good standing with them, while refusing might anger them.

But that was if they were truthful about not harming you, given the chance.

[xxnashiraxx]

Pairing: Astarion/f!Durge ◇ Astarion/f!OC (Ofelia)

Word Count: 6,119

Tags/Warnings: Mature (slight spice), Soft Astarion, Fluff

Summary: It's December in Baldur’s Gate and the snow is falling on Act 3 of Ofelia's adventure. After falling ill to a cold that prevents her from spreading the joy of Christmas to her companions, they decide to band together and prepare it in secret as a surprise for her. As they look for decorations, gifts, and a tree, Astarion reflects on his time with her and contemplates whether or not his gift will convey the depth of his true feelings...

divider here!

AO3 | Song Reference: Let it Snow!

Hi everyone!!! My apologies for this trainwreck, I tried my best on little time, but I really wanted to write something sweet for these two, and I owe inspiration for this oneshot to @caffeinatedmunchkin ! Thank you again friend!!! I also tried as far as the elvish, so please bear with me 🙏🏼

Please enjoy- fluff was needed for the season, and I hope everyone has a lovely day if you celebrate!!! ❤️ You do not need to read the main fic to read this one- it's its own little standalone! 💕

“So, you expect us to believe that some jolly old man goes around to every child in your world and delivers gifts on this ‘Christmas Eve’?” Gale's tone, while incredulous, remains cheerful. “That does not seem feasible, given your planet's population.”

“Well, not every child celebrates Christmas, so not all seven billion. But yeah pretty much,” Ofelia’s eyes light with amusement as Gale begins another spiel into logic and probability, causing Astarion to roll his eyes and grumble into the chalice of blood Ofelia had filled for him not but a few minutes ago.

“It's just make-believe!” Ofelia spouts around giggles, her smile bright. “Not real! Something you tell kids so they behave, but the holiday is still the same- parents get their children gifts, blame it on Santa, make cookies and leave milk out for him for his journey, hang stockings on the mantle to see if they get coal if they’re bad or sweets and little toys if they’re good. It's all for fun- I myself most enjoy the snow and decorations.” She sounds wistful as their ragtag group listens. He watches her face twist slightly as if recalling a bad memory, and he pays attention to the warble in her voice when she next speaks.

“I haven't had a real Christmas since I was still young enough to believe… my parents did everything for me, those first nine years. It was always so magical… pazole, tamales, candy, gifts- I wished they wouldn't have, but they'd do everything, take extra shifts just so there was something under the tree for me… I miss them this time of year. Just a little bit extra.” No longer afraid of the warmth that blooms in his chest, he reaches for her and when his hand rests over her shoulder she turns to him and quickly wipes the moisture from the corner of her eye. Her cheeks crease with an appreciative smile and she squeezes his hand in thanks as the others look around.

“Would you want to celebrate it here?” Karlach asks, setting her cleaned plate off to the side on one of the many little tables littered around their common space in the Elfsong.

“You guys want to?” Ofelia asks with a soft huff, hefty emotion washing from her voice amid the sweet hope that spreads over her face.

“We may not have Santa, but why not? The spirit of gift giving and love isn’t foreign here,” Gale smiles, patting Ofelia’s opposite shoulder.

“Okay… yeah! We’ll have to find a tree, and ornaments, and gift wrapping of some kind- paper will do! Stockings to hang over the fire for each of us… day after tomorrow!” Her eyes brighten at each syllable, and for all the teasing he’d love to utter, he can’t find it in himself to poke when this is the happiest she’s looked since they’d arrived in Baldur’s Gate.

And gods, if it isn’t the happiest he’s been, as well. Since Cazador fell. They still have the brain and two of the Dead Three's chosen left, but curse it all to the hells. Right now perhaps they can indulge in some respite from it all. The calm before the storm.

They move through the rest of the day restocking their supplies, tracking down various needs, and chasing some loose ends. They discover more of Orin’s handiwork littered throughout the city, much to Ofelia’s chagrin, but decide to turn in early in the hopes of getting started on their decorating. Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

“I’m afraid healing magic really only works on injuries and the like- I’m sorry, Ofelia. I know how much this meant to you… perhaps we can have it later in the week?” Shadowheart strokes the human’s face softly, her pale hand meeting russet, clammy skin. Ofelia nods, eyes shifting to a corner of the room as the half-elf leaves and shoots Astarion a pitying frown. When the door shuts, he sinks down beside her and strokes the hair off her cheeks and forehead, fever hot against his cold undead hands.

“This sucks…” She mutters, cheeks ruddy with heat as her body fights against an infection they have no hope of combatting with anything but time and herbs. Already, Jaheira had mixed what little items she had into a concoction Ofelia had knocked back minutes ago, and though a bit of color has returned to her lips, she’s not exactly the picture of good health.

“I’m sorry, darling,” He murmurs, resting the back of his hand against her cheek. He knows she likes it when he does, and she typically runs hot, but this is something else entirely and it pulls at his unbeating heart.

“No, it’s okay… it’s been so long since I’ve tried to decorate, but I did try last year- look.” She strains to her right to grab the object that always manages to mystify him and she starts to scroll through the little frozen pictures on her device before holding some up to him. “I got this really stupid fake tiny tree and I put all those little things on it, got some tinsel and hung it up around the doors and windows.” He peers down at the small room she’d once called home- bright metallic garlands trimming the entryways with twinkling lights adorning the small tree that sits on a table in the center of it. His lips tick up at the corners as he sees her in the next photo, bright red painted lips and golden eyelids, some terribly gaudy red and green jumper covering her chest.

“Beautiful, and loud. As always,” She rolls her eyes at his attempt to poke fun, leaning down more fully onto his right elbow as she tucks herself closer to him.

“I wanted to get a big one this time… really show you guys what it looks like, though I’m not sure what the hell I’d do about the bulbs, or lights, or star on top…” She smiles up at him and he feels his chest twinge with guilt. Of course she’d gone and gotten herself sick somehow…

“There’s… always next year,” He says around the strange doubt in his mind. It’s nothing but disbelief- disbelief that she’s with him at all. That she keeps telling him she loves him. That she keeps promising they’ll defeat the brain and get rid of Orin and Gortash and be able to breathe once it’s all over… together. Sometimes the incredulity of it all still catches him off guard.

“You’re such a big softie, really,” He huffs a laugh, reaching down to pinch one of her cheeks before pressing a terse kiss to the crown of her head.

“And the mistletoe, gods, can’t forget the mistletoe!” She groans, pressing a hand over her eyes as she collapses into the pillows.

“Mistletoe?” He questions. She sighs, spreading her fingers enough so that one eye peeps up at him.

“It’s silly, but you hang it up over a doorway- it’s got these spiky green leaves and cute red berries on it- and if you pass under it with someone else you have to kiss. It’s just the rules,” He smiles, lost amid her explanation though enamored by the wonder in her voice as she speaks. “I've never been kissed under the mistletoe, you know…”

“Hmm, you haven't? Seems we'll have to change that in the future.” She giggles under the kiss he presses to her forehead, careful and full of promise. When he stands he strokes her cheek once more before adjusting the blankets.

“Get some rest, I’ll bring back some soup in a little while.” He whispers, taking her device from her to set back onto the nightstand. She pouts up at him, curiosity in her gaze, and he finishes tucking her in. “I’ll be back, promise,”

Once out in the main room, he finds the rest of his travelling companions speaking in hushed voices around the fireplace, Scratch pacing near Astarion’s feet. The dog quickly ducks in before Astarion gets the door shut, and he smirks knowing Ofelia will at least have some company before he returns to bed. Nearly every morning that mutt’s laying between them or with half his body draped over her legs. She doesn’t seem to mind, and he’s starting to grow accustomed to the beast as well, much to his disdain…

“Vampire- what are we doing about this Christmas?” Lae’zel demands as soon as he’s within a few feet of them. He simpers and sits on a lush ottoman, draping one leg over the other as he accepts a glass of wine from Gale.

“Gods, Lae’zel. We’ve only been travelling together for the last few months, I’d expect you’d have remembered my name by now.” His sly remark is met with the githyanki’s signature Tchk! before Shadowheart grins.

“Now, now, try to get along you two. Your mediator isn’t here,” The half-elf snickers, and Astarion sighs, waving a hand towards the others.

“So, what were you all murmuring about before I came out here? I’m assuming it has something to do with dear Lae’zel’s questioning?” He takes a sip of the wine- an expensive sort that flows easily down his throat- and casts his eyes amongst the others as he watches them exchange nods.

“We want to put it on anyway,” Gale explains, the dark liquor in his glass catching the light of the fire. “She spoke so fondly of it this morning, and to get sick now… it isn’t fair.” Astarion hums, pondering the silence that settles over them once Gale is finished.

He’d been of a similar mind as she’d shown him her pictures- it’d be no easy task to find a tree, especially with them being in the heart of the Gate. Then there was the tinsel he’d seen… they’d perhaps be able to find something like that in the city, the baubles…

“My, my, it’s odd being amongst you all once you actually experience an intelligent thought.” Their murmurs of disbelief and annoyance fuel the smirk that spreads over his lips as he waves a hand “I’ve been snooping through her photos and I’ve got some references we can likely use, though wrestling her away from the damn thing will be a feat in and of itself.” Astarion grumbles around another swig.

“Leave that to me,” Shadowheart assures, clapping her hands together once. “I’ll run her a bath in the morning and make sure she stays in it for a few hours. To ‘leech the toxins’ so to speak. It isn’t as if she’s well versed to our healing methods to know I’m making it up,” Astarion nods, pondering, as the others chime in.

“The tree… we won’t be able to sneak that into the city,” Wyll laments, forefinger stroking over the fine hairs on his face.

“If you were able to secure a sapling, I’m sure I’d be able to encourage it to grow quickly enough.” Halsin adds, earning a nod from the Blade.

“I’ll help with that as well,” Jaheira offers, smile on her softly lined face.

“What about the decorations?” Minthara asks, frowning.

“We’ll figure something out- I’m sure there are plenty of merchants with trinkets and baubles around- Sundries may also have something. We should ask Rolan and his siblings, as well. I seem to remember that Lia had some dolls and things made for the children once they got to the city.” Astarion nods at Gale’s words, contemplating.

“And do not forget gifts for her,” Astarion murmurs crossly, eyes flashing around the room. “At least have the common sense to wrap them first,”

“Course not,” Karlach grins a wide, toothy smile, the likes of which sets his teeth on edge. He'll never let on that it does somewhat please him, however. “We'll get gifts for Ofelia and each other!”

They scatter to their personal rooms or beds, plan worked out in the dim candlelight and hearth as if they’re a secret society. He crawls into bed with his lover, her’s and Scratch’s soft snores filling the room much to his amusement. He checks her temperature, sigh soft on his lips as he rests back against the pillows when he finds it unchanged.

As he lays in bed, his mind spins with the possibilities of all the gifts he could possibly get her- if it were up to him, he’d likely not get one at all. Perhaps steal something.

Images of her adorned with pretty scarlet jewels and glistening pearls flood his vision, though something about jewelry feels almost cold and distant- too obvious a choice. Or possibly even too meaningful, something he isn’t ready for…

No… despite her expect-nothing nature, he’d like to at least try to make this sentimental and meaningful. It could be their last celebration, after all, and gods does he care for her too much not to indulge this simple, saccharine wish. He’ll need to put in the effort- just as she puts in the effort to make him feel cared for each day. He wouldn’t be where he is now without her… without her kindness. It’s a blessing he tries not to take for granted, though he does slip up from time to time. He cannot make that mistake now.

He rises from the bed, trancing left for later, as he pulls some items out of his pack and retrieves a tool kit from the main stock supplies. He’s not sure if he’ll be any good at this, but he doesn’t trust someone else to do the job.

***

“I feel better this morning, I swear…” Ofelia grumbles as Astarion kisses her awake. For the umpteenth time, she thanks the gods that he can’t catch her cold. It’s nice to indulge in a tender kiss first thing, though she’s sure she looks positively awful. Pale skin, scarlet cheeks, sweaty and clammy. She huffs a laugh and pushes him away, making to sit up and use the restroom, but her vision tilts and she stays seated, clutching her head.

“You feel better, hmm?” He trills softly, last syllable enunciated with a haughty laugh. Smug bastard.

“I swear, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re actually enjoying this.” He stands above her, back of his hand pressing against her forehead, and she lets out a soft moan at the relief. The heat behind her eyelids slowly recedes beneath his touch, and she clutches his hand to hold it still as he hums quietly.

“Well, you do push yourself far too much, darling. Though your pain is something I do not take pleasure in, under these circumstances at least,” She rolls her eyes at the smirk over his lips, longing curling low in her belly in spite of the state of her body.

“Yeah well, you and me both.” She sighs, kissing the back of his hand, and he stoops down to place one of his over her forehead.

“I have some errands to run with Gale of all people- Shadowheart volunteered to stay with you, said she would like to try some kind of healing bath? Silly in my opinion, but who am I to question a cleric’s healing skills?” She groans, lying back on the mattress to stare at the ceiling. She’d really wanted to see if she could convince them to let her go out and find decorations, at least put them up… but it’s not looking probable. That and she’d lied about feeling better to worm her way out of staying in today.

“Ughhhhh,” Her long drawn out groan pulls a light chuckle from the elf and she reaches up to pull him down, knee between her thighs on the spare bit of mattress available, hands at either side of her head. She wraps her arms around his torso and clings to him, trying to absorb as much of him as possible before he leaves for the day.

“I’ll be back later, just relax and enjoy your bath. Maybe there'll be a reward in it for you,” She sighs into his neck, pressing a hot kiss to his skin fueled by the promise of his words, and she smiles when his muscles stiffen. “Patience, dear,” He murmurs as he pulls away and she squeezes him one last time before letting go. There’s a knock at their door and Shadowheart appears, arms laden with towels and supplies. Ofelia smiles forlornly at her, her own far too empty in Astarion’s absence.

She doesn’t notice as she’s ushered into the washroom Astarion’s quick swipe of her phone off the nightstand, or his soft smile in her direction. She doesn’t see that smile widen into a pleased grin as his fingers snake around the gift in his pocket, clutching it with a light squeeze.

***

“Do you think she’ll like it in the morning?” Gale asks Astarion softly, the fruits of their labor casting the main room in a festive glow. Somehow, he’d been able to obtain a lighting spell scroll- something Rolan had insisted upon them not paying for once he’d heard it was for Ofelia’s benefit. Astarion had rolled his eyes- that tiefling wizard ever hopelessly infatuated despite Ofelia’s vehement denial- and they’d stopped for some books as Gale’s gift to her before Astarion had found something for the man as well. His eyes also caught on a crystal carved into the shape of a crescent moon for Shadowheart, and upon realizing his gaze was tracking items for his companions, promptly huffed in annoyance. He’d grabbed the item anyway.

“I think a twig in the corner with lights on it would send her into a fit, but this is much better.” Astarion sighs, thanking the help from the Midwinter celebrations going on around the city for the garlands of pine and the berries that now hang in the frame of every doorway. It’s not as gaudy or brightly colored as the decorations in her apartment from the photos he’d shown them all this morning, but it’ll do. Even he’s feeling a bit of wonder gazing at the lovely spruce the two druids in their group had spent nurturing, as well as cladding in brightly colored glass sphere’s Karlach procured from a friend she’d known before she’d been cast into Avernus.

Presents wrapped in paper of varying colors sit beneath the full branches, a blanket protecting them from the cold floor as Scratch paws restlessly at a long, stick shaped present wrapped in blue paper with his name penned gracefully across its front. Astarion smirks- she’ll get a kick out of that one.

“Great job, Fangs. I almost forget you don’t have a functioning heart sometimes.” Karlach’s teary voice scrapes against his nerves and he sneers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Don’t go spreading that around,” They poke fun at him some more, and thankfully he’s saved by Minthara’s short temper as she demands they all get to bed. It’s almost midnight and she’s not missing a stop from the old geezer- much to his amusement. He just barely manages to duck into his room before they dissolve into a debate about whether or not she’d paid attention to Ofelia’s story, shutting it with a soft click as he stalks over to the bed, shedding clothes on the way.

He hears even breathing- her airways finally starting to clear- and just as he slips beneath the sheets he nearly yelps.

“Hiding from me all day- what, I’m sick and you’re out there looking for a replacement after I wither away?” Her tone is playful and he smirks, admiring the color returning to her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes beneath the light of the full moon. Beneath him.

“Hmm, yes, I was shopping for a new lover today. Pity they all didn’t seem to match your prowess at being irritating. And none of them had these- seems I’m doomed to solitude.” His hands cup her breasts, separated from him by the thin layer of her cotton shirt, and she rolls her eyes and pouts.

“All you’d miss are my tits and my attitude. Rude,” A smile at the corner of her lips betrays her and he grins, fangy and wide, before claiming that smile with a kiss. “Missed you…” She hums, arms winding around his waist, and he matches the sound with sincerity, finding that his day while busy was severely lacking her presence. A travesty, indeed.

“Your fever’s gone,” He mumbles, enjoying the taste of her mouth and the way her hips slightly buck into his own, the hands still firmly anchored to her chest kneading softly. She sighs, baring her throat, and it’s all he can do to not sink his teeth in. Just a bit more recovery, and he’ll indulge in her blood again. He’s holding over with animals in the meantime.

“Mmm, whatever was in that bath made me feel a lot better. And whatever the hell concoction Jaheira made me drink earlier, too- tasted awful but I think it helped.” Her eyes find him and he brushes the hair from her face, slowly sinking onto his side and off of her.

“Good, perhaps we can get back on schedule tomorrow since you’ll be done lazing about.” She scowls and smacks his arm away before yanking the sheets up beneath her chin.

“And I was going to offer you my mouth- jerk.”

“I’ll still take it.”

“Haha. Goodnight.” He smirks and presses a kiss to her lips before lying back, eyes tracking over the beams on the ceiling as she snuggles up close and rests her head over his bicep.

“Goodnight, love.” He whispers, heart tethered to the small gift he intends to give her tomorrow, hope brimming at the fringes of his mind as he pictures her opening it.

***

“Astarion! It’s snowing look, look, wake up!” He does with a start as her hands shake his shoulders, startled out of the trance and back into the real world. For once, his reverie was clouded in visions of her and not nightmarish memories, and as he opens his eyes he yawns.

“It’s been snowing the last couple of days,” He murmurs, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he rises and lets her drag him to the window.

“Yeah, but this one’s stuck,” Her grin is nearly contagious and he fights back the compulsion to instead press his cold nose to the back of her neck as he pulls her into his arms, hands resting over her belly.

“It’s cold, white, a pain to deal with… I’m not sure what you’re so excited about.” He mouths lazily at her pulse point, delighted as her heart beat speeds up, and she laughs.

“You realize you’ve just described yourself, right?” His lips idle over her skin and with an annoyed sigh he bites enough to leave the impression of his teeth but not pierce, earning a satisfying gasp of surprise from her.

“Get dressed, I think you can leave quarantine for breakfast, today,” He knows the plan- pretends that the routine is back to normal. She slips from his arms and goes to her pile of clothing- gods, is she messy- and pulls out some comfortable pants and flashes him a look.

“Get out, I’m going to change.” She demands and he scoffs.

“I’ve seen you naked more times than I can remember, why can’t I stay?” He plays the part of mock dissatisfaction, though he’s silently pleased. It’ll give him an opportunity to check and make sure the dullards outside are ready.

“Just- out!” He huffs, pulling on a pair of pants before making for the door. His tadpole seeks Gale’s, and upon confirming that they’re aware it’s just Astarion exiting the room, he slips out and closes the door behind him.

“She almost ready?” Wyll whispers, tweaking some of the garlands over the mantle as Lae’zel places little rocks in each sock. She’d been far too amused at the prospect of coal for naughty behavior, and had been adamant that none of them deserved candy and would all get a piece each to keep them in perspective. He has to admit, it is a little amusing.

“Getting dressed- should be any moment-” Just as the word leaves his mouth, the door behind him opens and he steps to the side with his heart in his throat.

She’s completely silent, hair brushed into soft waves laying down her back, proper attire donning her body save for the slippers on her feet, and they all hold their breath as her gaze sweeps over the room.

“Hu-huh…?” She mumbles, breath catching, and he watches intently as moisture begins to bead in the corners of her eyes. They all exchange glances, frozen in anticipation, before her hands cover her mouth and she starts to sob. “You guys? Are you serious?”

“Merry Christmas!” Most of them chant- Astarion forgets, Minthara’s nose is buried in a fragrant chardonnay but she tilts the glass in acknowledgement- and they all rush her before he has a chance to dodge them. He’s swept up in Karlach’s large wingspan as she tucks them together and squeezes until white blotches dot his vision, yet the delight from Ofelia keeps him from complaining too loudly about it. Mostly.

She turns to him between embraces, eyes round and soft, and his chest goes tight as he offers her a smile reserved for no other but her. It’s sweet when she returns it- steals the breath he doesn’t need from his lungs, and when she goes to pull him in she clings to him and whispers little reverent ‘I love you’s into his ear as if he’d hung the moon itself. Pride and affection blooms within, and he presses kisses to the side of her head where the others can’t see, though he wouldn’t mind if they did. He’s long past the notion of hiding his feelings for her. From himself or otherwise.

They push her into the best seat- one the others usually fight over- and Karlach excitedly pulls gifts from the pile to start passing around. Astarion’s gift to her is tucked behind the tree and hidden- saving the best for last. Hopefully. No, he’s confident.

Ofelia laughs at the coal in the sock, munches on fudge from the bakery near the entrance to the upper city, enjoys the books Gale’s gifted her and the plush dog that Lia had sewn and stuffed. She remarks about the lights, face brighter than he’s ever seen it, and forces Minthara into a tight hug and kiss on her plum cheeks as Ofelia clutches the necklace adorned with a single ruby charm and spider etched into its stone. The drow protests and growls in annoyance, but it’s all really just for show. Once turned away, she smiles into her cup and quickly clears her throat afterward.

They all offer her small trinkets or treats, and he’s content to just sit and watch, but he’s swept up by the spirit of it all as he opens small packages with his name on it. A silver pocket watch from Shadowheart, a silken kerchief from Wyll, a new scabbard for his dagger in dark leather from Lae’zel. He’d not expected anything, even vehemently enunciated that this is for her, not him, but despite his claims it seems no one listened to him. What else is new?

“That’s it!” Karlach proclaims from beside the tree, tossing candy and pastries in her mouth by the fistful as the others sip on warm beverages or partake in alcohol around the heat of the fire. His eyes go to the frosted window, the entire city covered in a blanket of white. He decides, for the first time, that it looks much better this way.

“You didn’t get anything for Ofelia?” Gale asks, and Astarion’s hackles raise as he feels the ire rise and claim the atmosphere.

“I saved the best for last,” He stands with a flourish, calming the mood before his head ends up on a pike. “Besides, who went to all this trouble?”

“Don’t take all the credit!” Shadowheart snaps and he smiles as he turns his back to them, going behind the tree to pluck his gift from beneath an alcove in the wall. His eyes linger over shiny red paper- this, at least, he'd stolen. For a moment, he hesitates. His fingers wrap around it, her name glaring back, and he wonders if this will be good enough. He'd seen everyone's carefully thought out gifts, hells, had even managed to hit the nail on its head a few times for the others. But Ofelia? She's the one he needs to get right. Above all else, he can't fail.

He steels himself and turns, each step towards her smiling face making him question the object in his outstretched hand, and when she takes it he stands stiff and still- making no move to breathe or blink or talk. She gingerly unwraps it at the seams, her pulse racing in his ears as she continues to pry back the paper, and he watches her stop as a soft breath vacates her lungs.

“Star…” It feels as if a century passes before his eyes when she finally speaks, pulling the dagger from the paper to hold up and admire. The metal flashes, light glancing off the engraving near the hilt- one she speaks in hushed tones as if in prayer.

“Nin anor,” Her lips shape around the elegant script as if she's painting it in the air, and once it's hanging around them he knows it's right. Knows it's right in the way she looks at him, in the way the sun, through a break in the clouds, casts a golden glow around her. It breaks on her skin and sinks in, frames her like it did that day in the sand, that day he'd first tasted freedom. The first day he'd met her and had heard her heart quicken beneath the sharp edge of his blade- the blade she now cradles in her hands.

Purpose, like a compulsion, stole his mind the moment chisel met steel. Illuminated by candles, he'd carved in elvish the words he's said to her over and over, again and again. Against her lips as he makes love to her, into the crown of her head as he pulls her into an embrace. Softly, against her forearm as she returned to herself enough to let go of his neck and fight the urge…

“My sun…” He breathes back, and she's out of the chair faster than he can blink. With a laugh that's no more than a huff, he wraps his arms around her and squeezes back, smiles as she laughs and sniffles and sighs.

“I love you,” It's quiet against his ear, and a barely perceptible shiver trembles through his limbs in reply. He'd been worried for nothing, and that's cemented further when she pulls back and the grin on her face renders him speechless.

“A knife? You got her a knife?” Karlach asks, bewildered, and the tension in his limbs falls away when Ofelia looks at him and laughs. This time, he doesn't fight the impulse to join her and it's freeing and juvenile, but worth the joy it brings.

***

“It's the one he threatened me with when we first met,” Ofelia smiles as she finishes off her plate of roast meats, fresh greens and potatoes. She pushes it towards the center of the table, leaning back in the chair as she admires the way the fire looks as it dances in his crimson eyes. He's beautiful, and her heart slams into her ribs like it's trying to break free- that look he gives her never failing to stir an ache in her chest that feels like it consumes just as much as it grows.

“Hmmm… and how is that romantic?” Gale asks around the cookie in his mouth. Ofelia chuckles at his muffled words, about to speak when Minthara beats her to it.

“Is it not provocative to feel the sting of your lover's blade against your skin? The dance between pleasure and pain, the testament of your trust in them not to supply too much pressure lest they end your life?” Gale swallows thickly, stiffening when the drow places her hand on his arm. “If you do not understand, I will show you tonight, wizard.”

Their group laughs, partaking in drinks that almost remind Ofelia of home. Something that tastes like hot chocolate fills her belly as Astarion holds her close, swaying softly to the music that pours from Ofelia's speaker- an old favorite.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” She murmurs against his shoulder, echoing the melody as he squeezes her hips.

“You liked your gift?” His voice is quiet- almost shy. Her arms circle him tighter, letting him guide her through the room as their companions slowly start to filter off to bed. The entire day had been like a dream- a perfect, beautiful reprieve from pain or worry. Something rare and sweet- sorely missed in the years since and filling the empty hole in her heart with so much that it almost hurts to contain. Family. Love.

“I'll cherish it forever, Star,” She smiles, pulling away to stroke her fingers over his cheek. It's cool beneath them, and his smile is relaxed as it spreads over his face. She bumps the door frame to their room with a soft laugh and his gaze lifts up above her head, causing her to redirect hers and stop almost disbelievingly over green leaves and white berries.

“There weren't any red,” He hums softly, but her throat is dry and her ears are filled with cotton when she looks back at him. Moonlight turns his hair to silver and his skin to marble, and as she looks at him and watches him lean closer, she's not sure if she'll ever deserve the affection he now presses to her lips.

Hands tangle in her long hair, chest to chest, the taste of wine on his tongue- her stomach clenches in fear of the future, of losing it all, of making a mistake or failing to free them from the brain. All of it looms like a dark cloud, trying to swallow her whole, but then he's pushing them into the room, shutting their door and latching it. He's driving her back, legs folding until she's forced to collapse onto the mattress, heat pooling in her belly low and needy when he goes to push her sweater up over her head.

“I feel bad I didn't get anyone else a gift,” She whispers and he snorts, discarding his shirt onto the floor as he starts to untie the shirt barring him from further access.

“Anyone else? What did you get me?” She laughs when he stops, frozen at the sight beneath her clothes.

“I got these a few days ago… was going to at least do this since I couldn't get presents or decorate.” His irises narrow into thin lines between the enlarging of his pupils, gaze dragging down her form as he tugs her pants down and off. Ribbons and lace, scarlet and black, cradle her breasts and expose the underside of them while big red bows conceal her nipples. Her underwear leaves nothing to the imagination, either, and his lips part around a raw hum of appreciation when he discovers with his eyes the way the fabric conveniently vanishes beneath the waistband.

“Gods…” It's brittle and needy and she smiles wickedly when his clothes fall to the floor.

“Unwrap me?” She whispers.

“Yes,” He breathes.

She laughs as his fingers find give on the bows and he pulls them apart, mouth chasing his touch as he pushes her thighs back and sinks inside. She sobs his name as he sets a feverish pace, mind nothing but foggy desire and heady affection. Affection for him, for this, for them. She clings to him like her life depends on it, canting her hips in time with his, every sensation as intense and lovely like she's experiencing it for the first time.

She leans in and kisses his ear, revels in the shivers that shake through his body when she tightens her grip. They're teetering over the edge, now- drawing to a close. But even so, she knows it won't be the end. Not when she's right where she's supposed to be.

Like the phantoms of quivering tree limbs, the warmth of the sand beneath her body, the flash of a blade while rubies danced in her vision she feels him. Feels him in every pore, every beat of her heart as he meets her eyes and opens his mouth to speak. Soft and full of promises they never knew were made that day on the beach.

“Nin anor,”

[turnwheelofthetwelve-if]

Back when the world was whole, it was presided over by the Celestial Twelve. Each held a Relic that bestowed abilities onto it's chosen Warden and provided life and magic through the land and for a while, there was peace. But greed and jealousy corrupted the people and wars broke out over the Relics. Then the Great Fracturing occurred, ripping the world into twelve shards, extinguishing the powers of the Twelve from the world completely, and the Relics were lost to time. Without the powers of the Twelve, the world was plunged into a centuries long Dark Age, suffering from famines, plagues, and wars. Until 500 years after the Fracturing, when all across the world, new Wardens began emerging from the shadows. But without their Relics, their abilities were useless. Enter the Guardians, people born with a connection to the Wardens who were tasked with protecting them as they searched the world for their Relics. For centuries, Wardens and Guardians worked in tandem to search for the Relics, but as they kept returning unsuccessful and the disasters got worse, tensions rose and bubbled over and the powers of the Twelve were once again lost. Now, 1000 years after the Fracturing, Wardens and their Guardians have started to appear again just in time as worse disasters have started to ravage the world. But with the world rife with danger and in such disarray, truly restoring the Twelve seems more like an impossible goal than reality.

The Turnwheel of the Twelve Saga is a WIP collection of 13 interactive CYOA stories all taking place in the fictional world of Astelle, a world that was once lush with life and magic, now relegated to dry empty deserts and dense industrial pollution. Each of the books follow different characters on their journeys to recover the respective Relic.

Note: Because this is still a WIP, some names of characters or places may change during development. Also, this blog serves mostly as a hub to reach all of the other planned books, so there won't be much original content added here and just reblogs.

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Fantasy Post-Apocalyptic

Rating: 18+

Tracked Tag: #turnwheel of the twelve

Current Book: Chalice of the Scales

Status: Writing Book 1

Current Book Demo || FAQ || Ask Guidelines || Tag Navigation || World Lore || Dev's Main Blog ||

Book 1: Chalice of the Scales ( @chaliceofthescales-if )

Book 2: Ballad of the Maiden ( @balladofthemaiden-if )

Book 3: Sword of the Lion ( @swordofthelion-if )

Book 4: Tome of the Moon ( @tomeofthemoon-if )

Book 5: Fruit of the Twins ( @fruitofthetwins-if )

Book 6: Ring of the Heavens ( @ringoftheheavens-if )

Book 7: Horn of the Ram ( @hornoftheram-if )

Book 8: Mirror of the Sea ( @mirrorofthesea-if )

Book 9: Vessel of the Waterbearer ( @vesselofthewaterbearer-if )

Book 10: Sickle of the Harvest ( @sickleoftheharvest-if )

Book 11: Key of the Archer ( @keyofthearcher-if )

Book 12: Crown of the Dark ( @crownofthedark-if )

Book 13: Return of the Twelve ( @returnofthetwelve-if )

[doodle-pops]

Insufferable Beginnings

Turgon x reader

Request: Turgon x reader, enemy’s to lover in Valinor, angst?… (help I live the enemy’s to livers trope to much 😭😭) - Anon

A/N: I originally wanted to keep this short, like under 3k, however, dialogues became my weakness and I fell in love with the hating each other a little too much. However, I do hope that this was good enough to your liking. Apologies if it’s too long. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au, angst/comfort, arguments, insulting one another, a knife gets drawn (a butter knife), kissing, confessions, since it’s set in Valinor I used Quenya names

Words: 4.6k

Synopsis: Arranged marriages when you and your millionth reason why were at each other’s throats was always the best way to introduce a new emotion on the battlefield and seek victory.

“Must you look so disparaging? It is our wedding, after all, cheer up and have a drink!” Turukáno sat beside you, or rather two feet away and towards the end of the table, leaving you to wallow in your bitterness. He managed to find your expressions throughout the entire day more entertaining than ever, it made the wedding interesting.

Casting a dreadful and bone-chilling side eye at your newlywed husband, your fingers twitched in your lap with unbridled rage to wrap them around his obnoxiously long neck and choke. However, he remained aloof under your threatening gaze and took another gulp for his sixth cup of wine for the night. Anything to avoid going home, sane, to a shared house.

“I’ll only smile if you disappear and leave me alone.”

He paused with the chalice against his lips, pondering before scoffing and taking a violent chug. Emptying the cup with an enthusiastic exhale and slamming it on the table, he reached for the vat of wine to refill. “So you can find yourself in the arms of one of your pathetic suitors or my cousins since you enjoy kissing their asses so much.”

“Anyone else would be a better company.”

“What’s stopping you then? I thought you loathed me with an unbridled passion to the point that you would do anything to make your life less miserable,” he half-heartedly muttered while gazing at the ruby liquid in his cup. “Or maybe you didn’t want to humiliate yourself knowing that no one else would accept you and your terrible personality.”

“What makes you think that one of your cousins would not accept me?”

“So it’s my cousins you’re interested in. Well, I think you and Tyelkormo or Atarinkë would suit each other well, especially with the similar personalities you all share.”

You growled through bared teeth, “Do not ill-speak of the House of Fëanáro. They are far nobler, skilled and of better status than you can ever be.”

“Ah, so you admit that your personality is dreadful then?” Awed by the revelation of your words, he flashed a blinding grin at you.  

“You act as though your personality is perfect, and do not make this about me when it is not!”

“My personality isn’t perfect, but it’s better than yours,” he snickered and sat upright. “Besides, it is your wedding day, you are the centre of attention, so everything is about you.”

“You’re simply bitter and jealous that I would never choose you in a world of standards because you are as poor as your insults.” Flipping him off with a triumphant smirk, you crossed your arms and performed a mental victory dance at your comeback.

“Of course I am,” he muttered half-heartily as he slammed his chalice on the table once more and slumped deeply into his chair. As much as he wanted to leave the table, his grandfather and father were eyeing you down like hawks. “No power and no high status. Yet I was still chosen to be your future husband by the King.”

Not caring that he was being stared at, Turukáno exited the hall and rushed out of the palace to find a secluded spot for a bit of fresh air. He didn’t care about what became of you during the rest of the night. You could have returned to your parent’s house and left him alone in your supposed shared home or run off with his half-cousins, he would surely find something worthwhile to fill his time with.

Making his way through the half-empty streets of Tirion, he slid his body through a few alleyways before breaking into the hills and entering the outskirts of a small forest. A familiar path he took which led to a small pool—a place where he and Findekáno formerly commuted before his successful marriage—now became his fortress of refuge to his unbearable hater.

Being petty, bitter, and judgemental were common traits of the second son of Ñolofinwë, however, you brought the worst out in him. It was only the day you entered the picture with your desirous hatred towards him, his boring life became infuriating. There wasn’t a day you didn’t make his life a living hell.

Wanting nothing more than to refrain from continuing his thoughts on you before his head exploded, he undressed and took a midnight swim, spending the rest of his wedding with peace of mind. He would deal with you another day with the guarantee to make you regret hating him.

**

The first year of marriage was always described as challenging and for God’s sake how fucking true it was. You weren’t even past the first three months without wanting to launch objects at him, which you had already done numerous times before. But the point was that you wanted to launch the entire dining table at him for interrupting your peace of mind. Why did he have to show up at the same hour? Did he not have something more important to do like die?

“Can you not eat so loudly? It is breaking my concentration?” you retorted sharply.

“Then cover your ears. To eat I must; to hear, you can choose,” he lazily replied in a bored tone.

Your left eye twitched as did the cutlery in your hands as you pressed the knife and fork into the porcelain plate to evidently create a hairline fracture. Casting a look at the servants lined up on each side of the room with a monotonous expression, you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“What, no counter to my response? Finally realised how foolish you appear hating me unnecessarily?” he mocked.

Deeply inhaling, you managed, “I merely asked you to cease chewing so loudly. Is that not a possible task, something a Prince of your lowly status can adhere to?”

Countering without waiting for a second, he stated with plainness, “I must chew if I am to eat, don’t you know that or have you forgotten the fundamentals of eating?”

“Then don’t eat, starve and die.”

Turukáno’s lips twitched as he fought a sarcastic grin, instead, scoffing as his breathing fumbled before he lifted his head to gaze at you across the table. Your seated presence at the opposite end, surrounded by an array of candles left a glowing aura casting a glow on your figure to appear as some omnipotent being…a demon in sheep’s clothing.

“My dear, have you not paid attention to the tranquillity of the room? A pin drop can be heard; thus you will hear my chewing, same can be said for yours.”

“I do not chew loudly!” you snarled, visibly vibrating in your seat.

“Of course not, how rude of me. Where are my manners?” he satirically replied, casting a mocking smile at you; his turquoise eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles. “Allow me to clarify, you yap like a goat.”

Springing from your chair, your palms came crashing down on the table, prompting the ornaments to tremble, even the servants shifted on their feet at the intemperate tension. “You should have care how you speak; it might be your last.”

“What are you planning on doing? Launching another poor object at my head and missing like you did in the last fifty attempts? Best of wishes, may your aim be true, or would you prefer I stand within three feet, so you don’t miss?” he snickered with a shake of his head.

Darkly whispered, you picked up your butter knife and stabbed it into the napkin. “I could end you right here and now,”

“How terrifying?!” he dully muttered and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Somebody save me!”

“Would you stop that!”

“Ah, so it would appear that I have struck a nerve?” Turukáno grinned delightedly and took a sip of his wine while appreciating the sight of you pointing your knife at him.

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you!” you rumbled, jabbing the knife through the air towards his figure peacefully sitting unbothered.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in the glory this unnecessary argument brought, he rose from his chair and strolled around the table. Fingers gliding along the tabletop as he took his time to approach you, he appeared smug. “What you are telling me, is that I’ve always been on your mind? I’m touched. No one has ever thought of me so much as you did, my number one supporter and hater. Makes this union worthwhile because you can continue to think of me even more while allowing it to consume your every thought.”

At this point, Turukáno was standing before you as your body had turned to meet him head-on, the knife in your hand still focusing on him. Despite his towering figure, you were able to match his height with the passion in your eyes that made you grow. Those turquoise eyes of his darkened and narrowed into slits as the gazed down at you. No one dared to whisper a word, only the sound of heavy breathing which was still too soft for the other’s ears.

Suddenly, his left hand gingerly reached out to grab the wrist of your right, which held the knife and brought it to his throat. He knew you couldn’t cut him with a butter knife, yet he wanted you to realise your folly. The action urged the servants in the room to break their formation and panic as they looked on. He felt the trembling of your hand as he held onto it, steadfast, while the expression on your face spoke the reason for him. All bark and no bite.

“Do it,” he taunted with s whisper, gazing his playful eyes at your paralysed ones and pushing the knife harder against his skin.

You wanted to reply. Counter as equally as petty as his insults or even take actions, but the wheels in your body weren’t rotating. You didn’t know why, but the longer you stared into his slithered eyes; you noticed the ring of green around his iris, the small mole under his left eye and his neatly shaped wine-stained lips. His change in demeanour made him appear ridiculously attractive and you fought to deny it, but comparisons between him and the sons of Fëanáro’s beauty had already crossed your mind.

It outmatched a few of them.

You struggled to catch yourself the longer you focused on his face, grip on your knife slipping, yet the grip around your wrist tightened and tugged. Your lips parted and your head inched closer, grateful for your height, you were able to lean into his personal space, breathing in his air. Wine and spearmint. The alarms were blaring in your head that it was a precarious move you were making, but his standstill stature encouraged you to persist and bridge the gap.

Turukáno didn’t know who moved first, he or you; all he knew was that his hand gripping your wrist had tossed it over his shoulder, with the knife still intact, as his lips moulded against yours. It was full of anger, confusion and hidden truths as your bodies were entangled in an unceremonious form of solving the argument. Lips breaking apart to gasp for air, catching your breaths before returning to the task, his hands were busy cupping your cheeks to tilt your head to increase the vigour. He forgot—or rather, didn’t care—about the knife in your hands behind his neck as he pressed his body closer, wanting you to experience his heat, raging from the passion you sparked tonight.

Yet nothing was ever long-lived as you caught your biting his luscious lip and pulled away, gasping. Casting your eyes downwards, a questionable frown appeared. Unable to take the confusion and possible humiliation of the suddenness of the scene, you muttered a curt, “Excuse me,” and slipped out of his embrace, vacating the room while leaving him hoping.

**

You began to avoid him even more; more than what you normally would, yet failure was the start of something different. Your mornings were clashing, him showing up at the same time for breakfast, exiting and entering the house, and needing to share the same space. It was as if fate was playing a sick joke on you to remember your kiss. He appeared the same, refusing to bring it up and make any eye contact, however, his persistence to irritate and aggravate you never ended. The night of the dinner was just the beginning of him goading you to commit your desire.

Standing at the entrance of the drawing-room, you fixed your body behind the pillar that rested a vase and observed him. He appeared relaxed and a level of comfort you wished to achieve in the shared household. How was he able to be unbothered? Didn’t your presence usually provoke him? Was he not thinking about you the way you always thought about him?

“Cease your staring from behind the pillar, please. I know that I’m not the best-looking elf compared to your idolised house, so spare me your soft gaze as though you considered me,” he huffed and turned the page of his book without lifting his head to make contact.

Soft gaze?

“I was not gazing at you, I was glaring…” He was right, whether you were gazing at him or not, you were silently observing him. Clearing your throat to avoid making a fool of yourself, you stepped into the spotlight and clasped your hands together. “I was coming to call you, There’s an invitation addressed to you…and I.”

“My grandfather?”

“Hmm, a dinner party.”

The room fell into silence as you both took in the silent meaning behind the invitation. This was the first event after the wedding that would display the depth of your relationship with his family and others.

Turukáno’s eyes lifted off the pages to fall on your nervous figure standing in the doorway. No animosity or disdain was held in his eyes as they softened on your appearance; he almost felt sorry for the discomfort you were about to be placed in, similar to himself. Gatherings involving the entire family usually made him cautious and uninterested due to the typical outcomes.

“You can stay at home if you are uncomfortable attending. I’ll make up an excuse that you’re unwell and request tranquillity,” he suggested while shutting his book and placing it on the table.

Puzzled at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, you wrinkled your forehead. “What about your grandfather when he questions why you’re not at home looking after me?”

“I’ll make up some lie, whatever comes to mind,” he monotonously muttered, drifting his eyes to meet your astonished ones.

“Why?” Your question lingered heavily in the air like it weighed a ton. A sudden increase of pressure showered over you, leaving him wondering if he had made a mistake in his response to warrant your opposition.

“Why not? You’re not interested in meeting my family for known reasons, and if you want to stay at home, you are welcome to.”

“But don’t you hate me?” you delicately uttered. “You shouldn’t be concerned about how I feel or whether I desire to stay at home; you should ignore me like you have always been doing.”

Opening his mouth to counter, he closed it and dropped his gaze to your feet. The look of puzzlement decorated his face the longer he contemplated a response while reasoning with himself for the corner he was backed into. There was never a discussion he wasn’t able to counteract, but here you were causing him to fumble. A sharp look at your face, the squinting of his eyes and a nervous chuckle he conjured a response rattled off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t hate you; I don’t particularly like you, but ignoring you is incredibly difficult when you have an unmistakable aura that causes me to consider you in whatever way I can.”

His eyes widened at the acknowledgement of his words. Unable to feign his mistake, he rose immediately off the sofa and marched to the opposite exit of the drawing room.

“You…You don’t hate—”

“Forget what I said. Simply do whatever you want for the dinner, it doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he departed the room and rushed to his chamber, slamming the door.

In the following days, Turukáno had done his best to avoid you after his slip-up while you became fixated on decoding his grand speech and his nonchalance towards his actions. It wasn’t like him to use words which didn’t coordinate with his enmity-like personality. All the screaming, shouting, slamming the doors and throwing objects at each other died down, and all you received were his typical smart-ass comments which started carrying a two-meaning message. You were positively sure that he was not aware of his choice of words; he never mixed his vocabulary.

For the prim and proper Prince he was, he was enunciated.

Hence why you were gawking at him all night from behind a pillar, avoiding interactions with his siblings and cousins to observe his mannerisms. His face seemed to be a lot more relaxed, visibly pleased, lips stretched into a grin, and laughing. You had never seen him like this around you, it was a side he withheld during your arrangement, and it stung that you would never be fortunate to experience it due to his hate towards you. No sweet moments exchanged, smiles and words reserved only for you, or another kiss like that night.

Licking your lips and biting it, your fingers touched your lower lip as you held eye contact with his figure. The events of that night were still unexplainable.

“Staring at my brother.” The teasing voice of Princess Irissë came from your left before you felt her arm linking with yours and pulling you closer to her. “Well, you should be, especially after how great your relationship with him is going. Look at how much my brother is smiling; he’s talking about you.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

“Relax. You can drop the formalities for now. It’s a family dinner and we’re all family, so call me nésa,” she laughed which resembled crystal bells tinkering.

Feeling overwhelmed by the plethora of information you consumed, your chest felt tighter all of a sudden, as though the dress shrunk. “I uh, do not understand what you mean by your brother. He is talking about me?”

Surely not good things, no wonder why he was smiling. Prattling his cousins’ heads about how terrible you were to live with. You felt your heart sink to your stomach, not realising how much you hoped for good things to be spoken about you.

“Of course he is! You’re his wife!” she exclaimed and gave you a small shake before guiding you away from the pillar. “He was asked to produce grandfather with a report at the start of the dinner in private, we were all there, and we heard him speak about how things are looking brighter, and that he’s pleased. So that means you two no longer hate each other and grandfather’s idea worked.”

Holding eye contact with her before looking at the wine in your hands, you felt uneasy at the explanation. “I guess it did,” you uttered in disbelief.

It didn’t take long for interrupting footsteps to break your concentration. Knowing the echo and presence before the voice rippled into your ear, your head snapped up to gaze at him already looking upon you with softer eyes and a tender smile. Your lips quivered as you bit back the urge to cry the longer you held his gaze, unable to focus on the sound emitting from his lips.

He was cruel and unkind to make you feel such a way.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t responded to a word I said,” he inquired worriedly, inching his head closer to yours. At this time, Irissë had slipped free and sauntered away to annoy her cousins, leaving you two to embark on your hateful-love relationship.

“I um, I.” Why was speaking so trivial? Just spit out your words for they were at the tip of your tongue. “I must speak with you, immediately.”

You had no time to witness the painful frown on his face as you swivelled and marched out of the ballroom with him following a few metres behind, confused. Exiting the room and meandering through the corridors, an earful away from eavesdroppers, you fumed in your mind at how careless you were to allow things to escalate to immeasurable heights. You couldn’t undo what had been done, not even the sea could wash it away. Though Turukáno hoped he had not said anything during the day to disrupt your tranquillity, he was most mindful of his words and behaviour due to his joviality.

“Have I said or done something to displease you, Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” you shouted and spun on your heels to stand in the middle of the corridor and face him. “You, You, ugh, you infuriate me on levels beyond comprehension! How can you say those things so openly without disgust?”

“What things?! What have I said about you?!” he cried and took steps closer, still maintaining his distance.

“You–…I hate you! I hate how you…how you were talking about us and the house and how things are getting better! Or how you were smiling and happy and laughing and making everything seem like it is perfect and great when it’s not because I hate you!” Your temper flared as millions of reasons raced across your mind, and yet you were able to stutter out jumbled words, making a smile stretch across his face. “I hate the way you look at me with those eyes and I hate the way you look at others because you’ll never genuinely look at me like that. I want your eyes on me, but you’ll never because of how I hate you!”

“You hate me?” he questioned in an affectionate teasing voice.

“Yes, I do! Because ever since this arrangement began, you made me feel crazy and I found myself unable to think of anything else! I am utterly consumed by you, and I hate it! I’m supposed to hate you!”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe and glared at him through the crystal droplets. You knew he was looking at you the same way you wanted and hated. Your emotions were truly a bitch who couldn’t make up its mind.

Turukáno grinned and took more steps to bridge the distance between you both. Standing three feet apart, he looked down at his boots as his voice rumbled in his chest. “I know and I accept this,” he softly whispered. “I’m not the best at emotions, but I also hated you till it was aggravating. You were constantly on my mind every second of the day, consuming and leaving me thinking about you more than I breathed. I thought of everything about you, even your insults. You were able to contest me, a feat no one else could muster and still stand facing me; I enjoyed the pleasure it brought, drinking and desiring more. Then I started seeing you as my equal and no longer my source of hate, but my reason to look forward to each day. I considered you and thought about you too much, I bent the knee before you…”

Standing there baffled, you wanted to know who this individual was.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged. “I’m not great with emotions so it was impossible for you to notice my changes. I thought I was subtle, and neither are you.”

“Excuse me?! You’re telling me about how I feel?” you sniffled.

“You claim to hate me, but you don’t,” he breathed as he finally bridged the gap, standing in the same proximity as the kiss. His fingers twitched with urgency to hold you again as they remembered the last time they held you closely. “You don’t tell someone you hate them; you show them, make them feel it. And how you feel for me is what I feel for you, it was only masked by hatred.”

Scoffing with a teary eye roll, allowing a few drops to roll down your cheek, you countered with a teaspoon of attitude, “What do you know about how I feel? You’re just a foolish Prince who thinks he knows people better than themselves.”

Lifting his hands, he was allowed to cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Smiling along with his thoughts, he felt relieved that your flame had not been diminished. “Of course I am, but you’re no different. Foolish for hating me till it makes you look ridiculously in love.”

“You should stop talking because you’re not making any sense like you always do.”

“Then silence me if you dare.”

The silence that followed rang sharply in your ears as your eyes locked and dropped to each other’s lips.

This time, you were aware of who had made the first move when your lips moulding against one another. Grinning into the kiss, this time you were able to bite his lower lip without feeling disgusted as it only deepened the kiss, causing him to groan from your actions. Turukáno’s hands cupped your cheeks and tilted your head higher to allow him to take over the kiss while your arms contently encircled his slender waist. There were a few blissful sighs and breaks to take in air as you lazily kissed in the open corridor, unconcerned by the possibility of being trespassed upon. Regardless, Turukáno had the decency to break away first with his soft turquoise eyes roaming your face, landing on your lips one last time before exhaling.

“Tell me,” he muttered affectionately. “Do you still hate me?”

“Irrevocably.”

“And do you hate me for getting us into this arrangement?” he asked again.

“No,” you gently murmured. “I can live with it.”

“Then that is enough for me.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

If you wish to be tagged, click the Taglist link to join.

[followfire]

I was wondering how Jean's name had been chosen, and really maybe she just needed a name and there's no need to write a whole essay about it, but anyway there are two main theories/analyses that I like that also involve Barbara because I think they have common themes and their names match each other more than it seems so here goes...

Etymologies of Jean and Barbara's names

First theory: the saints

Jean looks like an obvious reference to Joan of Arc, and her name sounds like it. It's the pious white knight in charge of an army and saviour of her people vibe. (I think there is also something to say about the theme of freedom but I'll talk about it in another post)

Barbara could also be a reference to a saint: Saint Barbara. I think the comparison is less obvious or maybe I just don't know enough about it, but one of her attributes is the chalice which is similar to Barbara's constellation.

I think it fits both of them to have the name of saints known for the strenght of their faith given their family and occupations.

Second theory: Lyre and Barbatos

Barbara's name has a striking resemblance to Barbatos' name. It's never said that there's a link between the two and maybe there isn't, but I think "Barbara" kind of sounds like a possible female version of Barbatos. Not if you look at the real etymology of the two names, they're not related in our world, but I mean in Teyvat where Barbatos is the name of Mondstadt's Archon, Barbara could sound like a name derived from Barbatos'.

In Chinese, Jean's name is 琴 (Qín) which can be translated as "lyre", which is exactly the same word as the Holy Lyre der Himmel. It's completely lost in translation though and the fact that her name was translated as "Jean" and not "Lyre" means that maybe it wasn't really the goal to call her Lyre in the first place but it's still hard to ignore and there even was a pun about it in the Chinese version!

So there'd be one of the girls named after the Archon and the other named after his instrument! It's totally fitting for the very pious Gunnhildr-Pegg family! (Also I think "Lyre" would have been a very good name for Jean, I think it really fits her to have the name of a musical instrument with such gentle tones 🥺)

I think both theories could hold some truth on how Jean and Barbara were named, whether it's a reference from historical figures or for more lore related reasons. But I really like finding a connection between their names and that despite not sharing the same family name anymore, they still have something in common when it comes to names...

[galactic-academia]

Love One Another (As I Have Loved You)

Continuation to Finding God and Divine Wrath

Rating: M; minors, pass your way.

Category: F/M

Fandom: The Young Pope

Relationship: Lenny Belardo x F!Reader

Tags: language, sexy times drowned into metaphors, angst, unrequited (?) love, Chrismas mass, Reader smokes cigaret and has hair long enough to get pulled; TW: rejection, loneliness. Read as "The author chose not to warn for content, or Archive Warnings could apply, but the author has chosen not to specify them" on AO3. Don't hesitate to message me to get more informations if you want to read this story but don't feel like starting it without full warnings.

Words: 873

Notes: Set before Lenny became pope, but after he became Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York. Don't blame me, blame the Noots (don't, for I love my Noots).

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines |

This is ridiculous.

You and Lenny… It has always been complicated. You’re both piggy-headed and have far too much pride for anything between the two of you being a bed of roses, even without considering his situation. But this outdoes all the shit you’ve come through.

There, on a Christmas day, you’re chain-smoking on your couch while glaring at your TV. Monseigneur Belardo is celebrating mass into St Patrick’s Cathedral before thousands of believers, since the whole affair is broadcasted on TV. And truly, this is ridiculous. 

He’s been babbling for almost an hour now, about love, and peace, and forgiveness and you would laugh your heart out if you weren’t so goddamn mad. Please, Lenny Belardo doesn’t know shit about peace and has never practiced forgiveness. As for love… He shouldn’t be authorized to even spell the fucking word.

The first time you fucked Lenny, long before he became the a Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York, it wasn’t about love. Transgression, yes; sacrilege, certainly; but “love” was never mentioned. But when he cupped your hips in his large, almost trembling hands to receive the bestowal of your body like he would hold the chalice with the wine become blood of Christ; when he came to your altar as often - in not more - as he went to Jesus�� one, maybe it didn’t need to be told? Maybe Lenny didn’t need words and labels to love you.

What a fool you have been.

When Lenny’s been called to a “higher destiny” than the one he had in your humble city, you followed him. No question asked. You left your job and you sold your house and you came to New-York, ready for a new life, and you weren’t afraid, for Lenny was with you. Should have been with you.

But you wouldn’t believe what a fucking cardinal has to do. Meetings, business trips, phone calls to one end of the world and then the other. Masses, benedictions, public appearances, preachings… Maybe he has some time to pray, while he’s brushing his teeth… 

He didn’t have time for you, and his secretary was beginning to be rude with you; when she hung up on you after one too many calls to his office, you lost it. You went to his place and cried for him until the security came and tried to make you leave and Lenny stopped them. For the first time in weeks, he finally was before you.

You weren’t prepared to get sermonized.

“This is my life, now”, he has said, “I’m a servant of God and I must honor Him”.

And it hurts you to think back about it now, the tears in your eyes and the tremor in your voice when you told him “I thought you loved me”. What a stupid thing to say in the first place…

“I only love God.”

Now, it seems laughable how, the closer to God he thinks to get, the more his heart desiccates. It didn’t make you laugh, then.

To see him spout all that nonsense in front of an adoring audience, it riles you up. You can feel it simmer low in your belly. Isn’t he pretty, that bastard, all in white; an albino peacock doing a cartwheel in front of its court. And that smile… You’ll never get tired of that smile. It calls troubles, fun troubles; a bratty behavior met with a few, powerful slaps and a punishing pace. You can almost still feel his hand pulling on your hair.

Fuck, you liked it when he lost control over himself and get a little rough with you. You suspect he came harder when he could see tears rolling down your cheeks.

As the choir ends and Lenny comes back to his pulpit, opening his arms and making his voice vibrate through the cathedral, you can’t help but rub your thighs together. It’s been too long. And why not, after all? Isn’t Christmas about love? It would be relevant, for once, giving yourself some love on Christmas day, yeah? So you drown out Lenny’s soliloquy - the man has always been his better audience, anyway - and let your fingers play another anthem; your eyes never leaving his angelic face.

You push yourself over the edge quickly, never better served than by yourself, yeah? Well… It’s efficient, at least. In a haze you see the assembly get up and turn to each other to shake hands, kiss on the cheeks - sometimes both - and Lenny stays there, petrified. Alone, standing high in a storm of people bending toward each other, let in peace to witness his fellow human beings show affection to one another. Just as he asked them to.

And, once again, you would laugh - if you couldn’t feel your heart shattering into your chest. He looks both so majestic and lonely in the center of that magnificent cathedral, surrounded by those ethereal lights. You miss him.

Not five minutes after the end of the Service, as you’re still breathing a little hard, your phone lights up and starts to vibrate. You shouldn’t pick up, not after the crap he dumped on you.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shoul-

Back to The Young Pope Masterlist

[seaweedwolf]

Also can we talk about the difference in the show about the importance of the chosen one?

I love it every other kind. Even this book has the chosen one be this amazing and super important character that has just joined the world, and they'll automatically save everything?

Here, you have percy constantly believing he won't survive. He is going to slow the quest down?

And it makes sense right? He has been training for less then a week, even chiron made it sound like his role in the quest was to be the sacrifice. The one who died to let the others get away to succeed.

Thalia now she seemed like the chosen one? She the daughter of the king of the gods. She was older and more experienced. She was overly certain.

Percy? He was alwaysplan b. He says in the show about the fates and how they can choose to do it themselves?

He's right? The prophercy doesn't pick him, he picks the prophercy because he won't let nico or anyone else suffer.

You're not the hero.

Everything leads to that line.

He wasn't the hero to stop Kronos. (Hero in quotation marks because fuck Luke)

He wasn't the hero to stop gaia.

Yet somehow they say he is the best hero of the generation. The most powerful. Why? Because he will truly do anything to help people. He will make sure he will do anything to succeed but not at the expense of others.

Poseidon said in the chalice of the gods. He was impressed by his lack of selfishness. It is what makes him the hero. And it is.

Leo, Calypso, (don't get me started on the Calypso thing it was so unfair to blame on percy) nico, and others will make percy believe he doesn't keep his promise and he can be selfish. He's not. He either doesn't have the time because everything is happening or needing time to live his own life but because they can and its easier they will blame him.

[crossdressingdeath]

Astarion: It feels so good. Freedom - true freedom. Finally. I can feel my strength growing. Every day that passes, I gain new abilities. You know, now that our enemies have fallen, I might be the most powerful person in the world. And as you're my consort, that makes us the most powerful people in the world. Kyvir: I wouldn't want it any other way. Astarion: And neither would I. Together, we can do anything. The world is ours for the taking. So, what would you like? Kyvir: I want to sit on your lap, sipping blood from a chalice, ruling the Gate from our foul throne. Astarion: Oh, darling. I love the way you think. We will need to be careful, of course. There are still powerful forces in the city. We can start slowly - quietly charming and manipulating key figures, building up our network of puppets. Before long we'll have our hands on every string in this city, and they will dance however we tell them to. We have a beautiful, bloody future to look forward to, my love. I can't be sure what it holds for us, but I know one thing. This is going to be fun.

The worst husbands in Faerûn continue to be the worst, yes. I love how unrepentantly awful you can be if you romance ascended Astarion; yes, you saved the Gate! But mostly because if the illithids take it you can't have it. I also love how you can be all for the whole "sitting in his lap on your throne" thing that he mentions if you go Chosen Durge; I guess as soon as you get out of the incredibly preachy section immediately after ascending him wiser heads in the writers' room prevailed and reminded everyone that a given PC might be totally okay with this situation, actually. This relationship may not be healthy but both parties can be having a wonderful time despite that and it's grand. Codependent possessive jackasses making that everyone else's problem! I get why so many people write it as fucked up and miserable and the PC having to suffer through it because they've trapped themselves in this situation, but honestly I find a dynamic where the PC went into this with open eyes and knowing the risks and consequences and finding that they are in fact quite pleased with their situation just as compelling. If not more so; I won't lie, I find horrible people being a genuinely loving power couple in their own ways much more interesting than one partner being the other's innocent victim.

[acquired-stardust]

Game Spotlight #10: MediEvil (1998)

Spooky season is upon us, which means two themed spotlights! Join Ash as she takes a look back at a game from her childhood in this Halloween edition of Acquired Stardust’s gaming spotlights!

Often discussed here is the legendary year of 1998, a year in which it seemed like pop culture at large was firing on all cylinders, and a big one in my childhood personally. It was the year of the one and only Disney movie I’d seen as a kid, Mulan, which helped me feel a little bit closer to my Chinese immigrant great grandfather, a figure that loomed large in my family. The world of video games saw heavy hitters with enduring legacies such as Spyro the Dragon and Burning Rangers. Sandwiched between a lot of all-time classics is SCE Cambridge’s MediEvil, a game that despite being noteworthy at the time has fallen off in terms of relevancy steeply.

Combining a Tim Burton-esque aesthetic and gameplay inspired by Capcom’s Ghosts n Goblins and Nintendo’s Legend of Zelda, and much like Megaman Legends was released before Ocarina of Time. MediEvil stars the reanimated skeleton of Sir Daniel Fortesque, revered ‘hero of Gallowmere’, revived in an unwitting coincidence by century-past nemesis Zarok who’s magic creates an army of the dead, gives life to stone statues and corrupts the living into doing the evil sorcerer’s bidding. An interesting turn of events in the opening of the game reveals that the moniker ‘hero of Gallowmere’, ostensibly earned by Sir Dan in the past fight against Zarok a hundred years before the start of the game, is actually completely misattributed to him, having actually been struck down in the opening moments of the climactic battle. This detail serves as the motivating force for Sir Dan’s quest, seeking to redeem himself and banish Zarok once and for all. It also touches on a very interesting concept as a hobbyist historian, the cliche that “history is written by the victor” is a very real thing and something that multiple fields of history grapple with - many things in the past (especially the very distant past) are tragically unknowable and our understanding of accepted history can be shaken by discoveries that have literally laid beneath our feet all along. It’s a small hook but one that’s always been fun for me and compelling enough.

MediEvil’s action-platformer gameplay is fairly standard for the time, featuring a number of strongly themed levels spread out across a world map which allows the player to tackle batches of levels in any order they choose. True to its Zelda inspirations the player will collect a variety of weapons and items that allow for new methods of attack along with new exploration opportunities, often allowing backtracking into previous levels to access new routes that are further populated with gold, health recovery or yet more items. Hidden in each level is also a ghostly chalice, normally inaccessible even if found, that is made obtainable through the defeat of enemies in the current level and will grant access to the Hall of Heroes, a Valhalla-esque realm in which Sir Dan’s former allies in the battle of Gallowmere now reside with their spirits bound to statues bearing their likeness. Each chalice collection offers a conversation with one of Dan’s many past allies and a gift, in many cases upgrades to overall health capacity or gold but many encounters also see the ally bestow their legendary armament to Dan to aid in his fight against the returned evil sorcerer. Chalice collection isn’t particularly difficult or involved, but adds a wonderful sense of progression to the game along with its great rewards.

While it may not be especially difficult to physically collect the chalices, fulfilling the qualification for it can prove slightly frustrating. Combat is very simplistic and slightly clunky, the player often not able to avoid taking damage depending on the weapon chosen as Dan and an enemy frantically bump into each other causing damage to the player. The camera can also be an issue and was even back in 1998. Most of these issues are remedied by familiarizing yourself with the way health and revival works, and realizing it’s actually very simple to spend a few minutes farming the first level to replenish your health stock before tackling a new level with more limited resources. Level design is also largely good, though these issues do come to a head in a later stage (the dreaded ghost ship). Despite some blemishes and minor frustration MediEvil is a game that rewards familiarity well and can take experienced gamers (and ones who adjust to its particular feel) very little time to beat. For the purposes of giving this game a spotlight my run of MediEvil only took four and a half hours, and the Playstation 4 remaster, released in 2019, took under four hours.

On the subject of the PS4 remaster, it’s a largely improved version of the game and in many cases a straight upgrade. Controls have been smoothed slightly, the graphics have kept their Burton-esque charm without straying too far visually or tonally like the 2005 Playstation Portable remake which looks and comes across a lot closer to Spyro the Dragon than MediEvil proper, which can be genuinely eerie at times especially as a child and especially in 1998. Replacing the text-only tomes that give lore and gameplay advice is new narration by veteran voice actress Lani Manella which also adds to the experience quite well without changing it into a more comedic or childish one which unfortunately crops up in detrimental ways in both the 2005 PSP remake and MediEvil’s 2000 sequel, MediEvil 2, also on the Playstation console.

Speaking of being a child in 1998, MediEvil has a special place in my heart for being one of the few times I can remember my whole immediate family bonding over an experience. In an especially difficult early childhood, this game is one of the only things I can remember bringing together my entire immediate family to bond and gush over. To this day my mother vividly remembers attempting to dodge the boulders of early level Cemetary Hill, as well as the eerie possessed villagers of the Sleeping Village. Although the 2019 remaster is a straight upgrade in many areas there is still an unmatched charm that the original brings largely through its visuals. There’s just something so charming about Dan’s low polygon count depiction along with many other enemies and locales. The remaster is still very strong visually and may fit more modern sensibilities (especially those who have a hard time visually with the distinct polygons featured in many Playstation titles). Both versions are worth playing, and the relatively low playtime for those who adjust to its gameplay means you can indeed tackle both the original and 2019 remaster in pretty short order if you so desired.

A gem hidden among the stones, MediEvil is undoubtedly stardust.

- Ash

[normalmonsterfight]

here's some Normal Monsters i think are cool! (mostly just ones that i like the artwork of)

Power Pro Knight Sisters Chosen by the World Chalice Wattaildragon Gem-Knight Garnet Alexandrite Dragon Mekk-Knight Avram Luster Dragon 7 Colored Fish Suppression Collider Frostosaurus Angel Trumpeter Galaxy Serpent Guardragon Justica Crowned by the World Chalice Doll Monster Miss Mädchen Doll Monster Bear-Bear Dragon Core Hexer Divine Dragon Ragnarok Digitron Rabidragon Metaphys Armed Dragon Flash Knight

I might have more later.

also, one question. If a monster is Normal/Pendulum, but it does have a Pendulum Effect, does it count for the list? If so, i'd like to nominate Dragonpulse Magician and Hallohallo.

All added!

I'm a little mixed on Normals with pendulum effects, but for now I'll allow it unless a significant number of people feel it's unfair.

[resquices-of-godhood]

III THE EMPRESS

The Empress is the most feminine card in the Tarot, and greatly encourages compassion, beauty, and love. She is deeply connected to Mother Nature, and her influence is powerful when you absorb the energy of the natural world around you.

Violet was chosen by June to be the next bearer almost a full decade before the crown was passed down to her. In fact, Narinder had chosen her specifically at the time because the cult needed a new figure to start growing again after it nearly ceased to exist. June ensured it would survive during its darkest time, but now it was time to thrive once again.

Violet is a very feminine white unicorn, often wearing flowy dresses to accentuate her femininity. Her white fur coat accentuates well her curves, and her movements are gracious. Her eyes are cat-like when she is focusing on something.

Much like her predecessor, Violet was appointed to be the last vessel's disciple and apprentice, though she did not get engaged with June. She was prepared to assume the position of cult leader and the sacrificial ritual she would go through to meet with The One Who Waits. When the time came, June gave her the crown and a chalice filled with poison. The previous vessel instructed her that, once she got to the land of the dead, she should keep hold of the crown, for it would bring her to their god. Afterwards, she drank the poison, which led her to the panther on the other side. After a few questions to make sure he chose right, he officially transferred the vesselhood to her and gave a message to be delivered: Witness Aries might still live.

Upon her return as a vessel, Violet conveys the message to June, who leaves the cult grounds the following day, leaving the unicorn lady as the uncontested leader. From there, she started making changes in the doctrines, getting the cult ready to expand, before leaving on her first crusade a year later.

For the following century, she would venture into the lands of the Old Faith, recruiting dissenters into her cult to replenish the numbers. While compassionate towards her followers, she was nonetheless ruthless in making sure faith remained high, keeping them nearly constantly high on menticide throughout her time with the crown. She was no less brutal on her enemies, using poisons that flowed from her chalice, which she had adopted as a vessel to be her symbol. Some say she is the one responsible for the creation of the bane weapons for that same reason. This left the cult in a state of disarray, however, prompting The One Who Waits to select the next vessel. She remained by his side as advisor and enforcer, before they both left the cult a century later to live in a secluded cabin around Pilgrim's Passage, where they reside to this day.

Violet's favored weapons are the dagger and her chalice. She is a master of poisons, using curses to generate them from her chalice to then spill onto her enemies directly, or imbibe her blade with it. Her fleece was fashioned as a shawl.

Of the vessels, she was the one Narinder kept the most distance. Even if she was loyal and devoted to him, there was just something that rubbed him the wrong way about her. This girl is toxic.

[clevermird]

Review: Chalice by Robin McKinley

I enjoyed this book way more than I expected I would and I’m not at all sad about that.  Only a little while ago, Mirasol was just a simple girl with no greater goals than to continue taking care of her woods and her bees. But that was before the Master and the Chalice, who maintain the land via their mystical connection to it, both died suddenly and without proper successors. Chosen as the new Chalice, Mirasol must figure out the complexities of a role that supports an entire nation with nothing more than books to guide her. Further complicating matters is the new Master (who’s more strongly bound to fire than he is to is people), the politics of the rest of the land’s magical rulers, and the ripple effects of the previous Master and Chalice’s mistakes.  Chalice is far less about plot and far more about worldbuilding and vibes. Although the magic is ill-defined in many ways, what information we are given paints a very interesting picture that holds interest even when not much is happening and there are plenty of tantalizing tidbits about the world and characters beyond the scope of the book that also held my attention. The main heroes of the story are all very likable people and the story’s focus on caring for land and animals and on improving the lives of ordinary people gives it a very warm feeling. I genuinely enjoyed reading this one and following Mirasol’s and the Willowlands’ journey.  The book isn’t perfect, though. The beginning of the book throws a lot of terminology at the reader and doesn’t explain what it means until much later and while it is possible to do this in a way that builds tension and intrigue, in Chalice it mostly just serves to make the book feel confusing and needlessly difficult to read. Mirasol’s interior monologue gets a bit repetitive at points, the romantic subplot, while sweet, still felt a bit underdeveloped, and the ending was slightly rushed.  Really, though, this book was pretty darn good. Worldbuilding familiar enough to feel welcoming but unique enough to be intriguing, characters you want to see succeed, and enough lush descriptions of animals, food, and countrysides to set you smiling

Warnings: There are a few descriptions of burn injuries and insect bites that, while not especially graphic, do stand out in a relatively non-violent story. Additionally, a plot point revolves around the threat of a forced marriage.

Rating: 8/10

[blood-orange-juice]

More Narcissenkreuz lore leaks because I have zero self-control.

Mostly for myself and future reference.

The Tower of Self

"The Narzissenkreuz Ordo believes that people continuously refine themselves through samsara cycles. These include Hyperborea, Natlantean, Remuria, and the first half of the fourth samsara (Clauria), which we are presently experiencing. Please take note that these are just names given to these eras by the Ordo based on ancient texts, and this evolution refers to spiritual evolution. There is no intent here to antagonize any research results obtained by the Akademiya. The human spirit undergoes the loss of paradise, the defeat of evil dragons, the original sin and baptism, and finally, freedom from the gods."

The pocket watch, cute Alice in Wonderland references.

Sacred Chalice

"The specialized refinement material for the Sword of Narzissenkreuz. Conches were often favored materials in ancient Fontainian civilization for making ritual implements, and the sacred unguents within this conch chosen as a sanctified chalice have finally emerged. Symbolically, this chalice is the primordial word, the oils are the honed will, and the holy sword itself is reason, which breaks through all."

Holy Blade of Narcissenkreuz

A sacred blade indwelt with great enough reason and will to create and destroy a universe, or a dream.

Root Cycle

"One of the keys designed by the Narzissenkreuz Ordo for the tower. When combined, the keys form a peculiar shape of three and a half circles, for which there is a special explanation. The innermost circle is the Cycle of Hyperborea, symbolizing the age when the world was frozen and the lost paradise."

[inkwell-intrigues]

Writer's Log: Back to the Basics

(Time - 12:30AM) "Just about an hour ago, I posted what I'm guessing ended up being probably a very poorly written post announcing that I am going to be rewriting The Strength and The Sight.

Now, here I am, already scribbling out my first "writer's log".

I guess finally putting my rewriting announcement out there took a massive weight off of my shoulders. It's quite relieving and I find myself being able to think about Cuphead again without becoming anxious.

But, now here's the real hard part of what I've set out to do: Actually rewriting The Strength and The Sight.

It's both exhilarating and utterly terrifying. I get to start over, which sucks, but I get to do so with all of the knowledge I've gained along the way.

So, I guess it's time to kick off these writer's logs- which if you didn't know, are going to be me documenting my process of writing TSTS in a blog post-esc fashion.

Since we're starting from square one, I think it's time to go back to the basics and recreate/redefine a foundation that the entirety of my new version of TSTS will be built upon:

First and foremost, I need to define TSTS's main focus, or in other words, the core of the story. This is immensely important and the entire story will be meticulously crafted around said focus. (Note to myself: This time the focus will not be something that I end up changing multiple times as the story progresses. I'm glaring at my past self very accusingly right now.)

For today's log, I'm going to write out my raw/unfiltered thoughts as I go about developing TSTS's Main Focus.

To start, let me define what I mean by "Main Focus": For me, the main focus is an idea that serves as a foundation for a story. The main focus must be compelling, carry emotional weight, and be a reasonable idea to tell a story around.

(Additionally, the main plot, all of the subplots, side character's motivations, etc... must all point back to the main focus. This helps the story feel more cohesive.)

For instance: The main focus of Cuphead (the game) is the clash between Cuphead and the Devil. (If I was still in school, I'd say the main theme of this game is Good v.s. Evil.) Now, when I talk about the focus being a clash between Cuphead and the Devil, I don't necessarily mean the conflict of Cuphead losing his soul. While that definitely is a part of the main idea, I'd define that as the story's main conflict- not the main idea. The clash between the Devil and Cuphead is bigger than just the main conflict. Their differences span from the two characters' morals and their chosen friends to their in-game designs. Every aspect of the game's story/atmosphere/etc feeds back into the clashing comparison of Cuphead and the Devil. While Cuphead's home is warm, cozy, and safe, the Devil's is dangerous, malicious, etc. Cuphead's "right-hand man" is his brother: the lovable and cautious Mugman. Meanwhile, the Devil's right-hand man is the sleazy, scammy, and manipulative King Dice. When these two characters clash, the result is an emotional reaction from the player which serves as a motivation to keep them playing. The player should want to save Cuphead, to preserve his good and happy world in the face of evil. This reaction and subsequent emotional reaction is made possible because of the story's main focus and Studio MDHR's dedication to keeping said focus front and center.

I hope that my word vomit made sense, lol. Trying to write out my beliefs on storytelling is a LOT harder than I thought. XD

Now that I've hopefully defined my concept of a main focus, it's time for me to put this concept to the test by looking at it in the context of The Strength and The Sight. Luckily for me, when looking at the story the main focus became crystal clear to me:

TSTS's Main Focus is the Cup Trio: Cuphead, Mugman, and Ms. Chalice. More specifically, their unbreakable & incredibly deep familial love and care for each other.

Without the novel being grounded in the trio's sibling dynamic/love, we lose the story. So much of the angst and feeling in TSTS comes from the pain of these siblings being ripped apart and their determined attempts to be reunited once more.

Let's write it out and I'll try and show you what I mean:

First, let's look at the plot TSTS in the context of the focal point from Chalice's POV: Ms. Chalice, who's just found the family she never had in her new brothers, is suddenly pulled apart from Cuphead and Mugman. Once again, she's all alone and the Devil is to blame. (Now that I think about it, Chalice's POV ends up being a secret parallel to a reveal at the end of the 2nd Act of the novel. I won't say what, but MAN is it depressing.)

Now let's do the same exercise from Cuphead and Mugman's POV: Cuphead and Mugman have been unexpectedly (and violently) torn away from their happy and peaceful life and their big sister. Now trapped in a hostile new world, they must learn to survive. While they do have each other, the boys feel very lost without their big sister and role model: Chalice.

With this in mind, let's look at the main conflict: Cuphead and Mugman's kidnapping. (Minor spoilers...? Idk, it literally happens in the first chapter. xD) When the focus is on the torn-apart siblings and their desperate attempts to reunite, it makes the kidnapping somehow even more painful. Perfect for an angst writer like me. ;) Now, when writing my outline, I can use this focus as a lens for each chapter. Does it point back to this main idea? If it doesn't maybe it's time to rethink or rewrite it.

TLDR: The focus/core of TSTS is the Cup Trio and more specifically- their sibling bond/love. This dynamic drives the story forward and sets up the major conflict as well as the climax. ;)

So, that was it for my first writer's log!

Hopefully, you all liked it and/or found it interesting to read. I have no idea if they will all be like this, making these types of posts is entirely new to me, but it's nice to finally be making some content for you guys again- even if it isn't a new TSTS chapter.

I'll try and post these writer's logs semi-frequently. I'll have to see how much I feel motivated/inspired to do concerning TSTS over these next few weeks.

In any case, thank you guys for being so kind. I'm reading and will try and respond to every one of your kind comments + messages. I see them all and I'm reminded why I chose to write this in the first place. For you guys.

-- Your Friend, Ink"

[fallseidol]

Notes of thanks.

A letter and package is delivered to the temple. The paper lightly perfumed with patchouli, the script a delicate loop of letters with only a few ink blots where the quill rested on the page for a little too long.

To my benevolent savior,

I was unable to truly express my thanks to you the night that you allowed me to sup from you. Words aren’t really enough to express everything that you gave me with your divine vitae. I have been undead for a very long time, but after drinking from you and for a few weeks after the fact I was left invigorated in the most intense ways. I did not hunger for quite a long while, which is not something I am used to. I am more used to the gnawing in my gut and soul that I need something to sustain me and you quieted that.

There was warmth in the air as the temperature turned and I was able to sit and really enjoy it where before there always seemed to be a sort of chill barrier between myself and the world.

I did not attempt to withstand sunlight, because I didn’t wish to risk the final death. But even without sunlight, you gave me life in a way I have not felt in eons. I thank you for that. It means so much to me.

To that end, I thought it only appropriate to give you an offering. I’m afraid I’m not terribly familiar with your preference. I sincerely hope that these suffice to your tastes and that we may meet again in the future.

Noctume Amita,

Amara

The package, when opened would show that it was in two sections. One to hold a pair of golden challices and the other to hold a large bottle of wine. Everything packaged with an embroidered scarlet silk length of fabric to ensure nothing chipped on the way.

Cronus didn’t like the mention of sunlight. He REALLY didn’t like the sorrow and loneliness dripping from the page.

His eyes flitted briefly to the chalices. The wine was exquisite, the sort to be sipped and horded, stretched out as long as possible.

He disregarded them.

A quill and paper appeared in his hand, and he sat down quickly, writing.

To My Dearest Amara,

It does my heart well to hear that you have been so healthy since last we parted. I hope you continue to reign over your hunger, I know better than anyone how unholy appatites can bring about ones downfall. The wine you have chosen for me is absolutely exquisite, how you know I prefer them sweet is a wonder. Is it true that Vampires are innate sommeliers? Or is that pure fantasy? I’ll be puzzling over the matter for weeks.

He touched the quill to the tip of his tongue, then back to an inkwell that wasn’t really there. He was drawing the ink from the same place he’d summoned the paper and quill. Magic.

While your thanks are more than proper recompance, and the wine a most generous gift, I fear I must impose upon you, should you choose to pass through my kingdom. I have a matter of the utmost secrecy that requires a certain level of power to deal with, and you and I both know at how fierce a vampire can be in repaying a debt. If you happen to be by Latium’s Way, please, do not hesitate to see me on this matter. Should you indulge me in this, I would be willing to negotiate another draught of blood. Otherwise, I wish you well.

-Yours Truly, Cronus.

He signed the S at the end of his name with a flourish, like a dragons tail, and whispering a small spell into the paper, he folded it, dropped it into the envelope in which she’d sent her letter, and cast it away in a puff of fire.

He hoped it would find its way to her, before she did anything foolish.