#I know nothing about heraldry

[adhd-merlin]

choosing to believe the de bois crest and ygraine's sigil depict two different birds. it's like her personal badge or something

[etherati]

Belmont crest and colorrrrssss

I have a lot of thoughts and feels about the colors used in various versions of the Belmont crest in the netflix show, and how it fits into traditional heraldry. I have decided to make that everyone else's problem. So.

In Leon's portrait, we see him in a surcoat of white with the Belmont crest rendered in azure blue.

In traditional heraldry the "white" component of this would be synonymous with the metal silver/argent, as matte white was not a meaningful color choice and all colors had to be combined with a metal (silver or gold) rather than another color. Now, I know that in the Doylesian sense, this color choice was made because of Leon's original character design, which utilized different tradition imagery and had nothing to do with the Belmonts specifically:

But the text is what it is and the show gave us the first Belmont in an azure and argent version of the Belmon crest. Color meanings vary depending on your source, but azure typically referred to truth, loyalty, and unwavering morality. Morality is, of course, a construct--you can imagine that for the rebellious ex-church-knight Belmont it probably had some input from the bible but moreso was informed by his own oath--to "battle the night". Yeah, this gets made fun of--he's the dumbass who wants to fight an entire time of day--but we know what he means, ok. He's swearing to defend the daylight world against the things in the night that would harm it. He is defining his moral position going forward very specifically--he will uphold humanity and destroy that which would cause it harm. In a fic of mine he described it as representing the daylight sky, which given that he's a vampire in that fic carries even more poignancy, but even in the canon version it works, because that is the moral field he is aligning with.

Meanwhile argent/silver generally refers to purity, sincerity, and faith, which yeah, this is definitely a character who has purity of purpose. This combination of colors suits a vision of the Belmonts that served humanity unerringly, who had faith even when the church itself seemed flawed, who defined their morality by the divide between daylight and night and executed it with sincerity and dedication.

Fast forward to Trevor's time. The family has risen and fallen. At its height it was considered a great noble family--a warrior dynasty, as Alucard put it. Trevor's tunic and his armor both bear the crest in gold; once we're in the hold, we see that it's set against a deep burgundy in the official banners and standards. 

Why the change? What does it mean? Red is obvious--it's the warrior side of them, the military might, the weight of generations of fighters and all the blood they've spilt. It's the most common color in heraldry because conflict and war were themselves so common, but the Belmonts (to our knowledge) weren't besieging neighboring Lords' territories. They defined themselves by their fight against the creatures of the night, defined themselves to the point that they became The Fight. The warrior is the largest part of their identity. In the same fic I had Trevor say that the red represented family to him, like bloodlines, which is not the traditional meaning--but given that nothing defined his family or his relationship with them as much as The Fight, I still think he was onto something. Additionally, red can carry the meaning of sacrifice and martyrdom, which also fucking fits, unfortunately.

As for the gold, usually this refers to faithfulness, nobility, constancy, and glory. On its own, it's a statement of those qualities--particularly nobility and faithfulness. Combined with warrior's red, the glory piece of it starts to assert itself. A family of martyrs and warriors, noble and glorious--that's how they saw themselves, anyway. The family had gotten so far up its own ass that it cared more about perpetuating those ideals and standards than it necessarily did about the original purpose and duty of its existence! Eventually Trevor re-finds that purpose, when he drops the cloak in Gresit and re-dedicates himself to protecting the people--but it's worth noting that the crest he displays in that moment is gold alone, without a specific colored field. The version of the Belmonts that defined themselves by the amount of blood they'd shed are dead and buried, their flags tattered; the one who survived has taken their steadfastness, their faithfulness and constancy and nobility, and managed to reconnect it to what they always should have been.

Which brings us full circle, back to Leon's portrait--because there's another crest, there.

Azure and gold. All the steady dedication of a long standing nobility--much less fragile than one man's personal purity of purpose--applied to moral defense of humanity and the daylight world, rather than simply to fighting and glory for its own sake. There's a reason this is the color scheme I plan for Leon to end up in, in my fic-verse, and is the one that I think may have been in between the other two, chronologically. It conveys all the Belmonts are meant to be and do, without reducing them to simply violence. They fight, not for the fight's sake, but to protect the people they've sworn to protect.

Anyway. Yeah. Uh, colors!

[ikuzeminna]

What's up with the wolves?

This post made me want to talk about Duo and how he was initially conceived as Gundam Wing's protagonist, but instead of derailing OP’s post with my ramblings, I thought it better to make them a separate post.

We all know this shot of Duo in the first opening, and like many others I, too, have wondered why on Earth the American street urchin character would be sporting heraldic wolves on his jacket as though he’s European nobility.

They never show up in the series proper, just the opening. And there is absolutely nothing about Duo that could remotely relate him to nobility. He's pretty much the furthest thing from it.

...unless we count Deathscythe H's design, which does sport a strong romantic death theme. But that's about as European as Duo gets.

So what if this is the creators being cheeky and including it as a nod to his initial protagonist status before it was given to Heero? Because if Duo was the protagonist, that would mean he would have been Relena's foil, who is of royal blood. And then we would have had the same juxtaposition as this:

Oh, look, another orphan wearing fancy clothing.

But back to Duo. The precise term for what Duo has emblazoned on his jacket is a wolf rampant. Well, two actually. Would that make them combatant..?

When they're mirrored like that, you expect them to hold a shield. Like these two unicorns here:

Do you recognize it? It's Romefeller's crest. Romefeller has two white unicorns rampant on a red background while the guy who fights them gets two golden wolves rampant on a black background.

Wait a minute. White, red, gold, black?

Really?

Someone must have had a field trip with the designs.

Back to the wolves. According to Wikiwand, wolves in heraldry "typically symbolised the rewards of perseverance in long sieges or hard industry." A long siege is definitely what the colonists were going through. Doubly so regarding Duo's crappy childhood.

So is Duo really connected to wolves?

Well, here's a fun fact.

The wolf (French: loup) is often used for canting (meaning heraldic bearings that represent the bearer's name in a visual pun or rebus) by families whose names feature some variant of the word 'lou/wolf'. Examples include Videlou, de Lou, Lupus, Wolferston, Wolseley, Lovett, Lowe, Lovell, Lupton or Wolfe.

Lowe. As in, Odin Lowe. This dude:

Heero got cheated out of fancy wolf crests.

And here you have it. Before Heero stole Deathscythe's parts for Wing, Duo had gotten Heero's wolf crest. Then again, they would have been wasted on Heero's green tank top anyway, so good for Duo.

[ann-atar]

Was watching parts of season 1 and now can clearly see Sauron's mind at work when he meets Galadriel and the Numenorians:

Meets Galadriel and they're fighting for resources on the raft, and since she's stronger than the others he puts her in the temporary ally category (much like that poor old soul he took the heraldry from despite that man's kindness)

They get to Numenor and he tries telling her to fuck off because he wants to reinvent himself, which works for about five minutes because

... surprise, surprise, he can't reinvent himself (join the Smith's guild)!

It's Deceiving Time! Manipulates Galadriel's need to find a cause, in this case saving the Southlands and returning them their king

And during the Southlands episodes you can see his shitty little smirk when he sees how readily Galadriel and the Numenorians buy into that cause.

Does he give an actual crap about Galadriel, the Numenorians, or the Southlanders? No, but he sees a concentration of orc (Uruk!) power and that *does* intrigue him

Further manipulates Galadriel by faking a more human connection with her, why? Because despite her trauma-informed response to the idea that she can save the Southlands through him she's very smart, and Sauron's not stupid either and knows that at some point she will smell a rat

Meets Celebrimbor and hears about the elves' potential project. And now in those early scenes I think we do see some of the best of what [good] Sauron might be capable of because he is genuinely excited about making something new, unique, and powerful. Creation does thrill him, which is why he went in so hard for the smiths' guild in Numenor. If there is any light left in him we get to see it during those early days at the forge in Eregion, but ...

Galadriel is smart as hell and she finds out the truth, and Sauron tries to murder her in cold blood, then cuts and runs.

When I watched the "reveal" scene with Galadriel I was even more infuriated than I was the first time because he does everything he can to put an illusion in her mind and deceive her in that scene, and why? Not because he actually thought she would join him, no: he wants to pull her into a dream not to win her over, but because it would make her easier to kill. Easier to dump in the river like trash, so he could get away.

And he feels nothing about that except momentary irritation, and maybe a little thrill at Galadriel's horror when he impersonates her brother. It's almost too creepy.

I have to say that I was unprepared for how hard that hit during the rewatch even though in retrospect it was obvious that any bond they had -- or would have had if Sauron was anyone but Sauron -- was carried entirely by Galadriel.

Like, Sauron put hardly any work in, was just smirking on the sidelines while she elevated him into the position of Lost King of the Southlands.

Any then? Oh well, Sauron's little game is over, time to go! If Elrond hadn't saved her she would have been cold and dead.

All this to say: they really set everything up so well because when you go back to those early episodes his otherworldly coldness is right there. And so is Galadriel's pain; she was an easy mark, was low-hanging fruit for Sauron and it sucks, but also makes one really appreciate these actors.

And now in season 2 you can see those moments of disgust and self-loathing where Galadriel must be thinking: why didn't I see it, when the truth was right there?

I hope next season's Galadriel can forgive herself because this season has been rough.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Full Speed Ahead

Prologue =-= Next

Author's note: More of Karlsor per poll request! This is his Husbandry Debut.

Summary: Karlsor arrives on Ancient Terra and decides to cause Problems on Purpose.

Warnings: Swearing, let me know if I need to add anything more. Okay?

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Karlsor was stalking after some Loyalists that he's spotted on this random ass planet that he's landed on. He doesn't remember being flown to this planet. The last thing he remembered was getting in a drop pod, ready to fight Ultramarines on McCragge, per the orders of his nearly fucking insane Primarch.

He noticed the large fuckers, one in Raven Guard colors, one in a strange heraldry and colors he doesn't recognize, but equally, unfairly massive as fuck. A third Scout-ling of the line of Dorn- from his silver hair, fair skin and blue eyes, with a medkit- and the fussy-clucking of an Apothecary.

They were being led by another Larger than normal Scout-ling, this one covered in mud from head to toe, and he doesn't see any obvious indicators of which legion the big shit belongs to. They head to, yet another giant fucking Scout- this one in the colors and heraldry of those uppity Blood Angels, he rears back silently- spotting the Wings, but as he shifts his weight, the Blood Angel with wings is too small to be Primarch Sanguinius.

He narrows his eyes as he tries to recall if any of the Blood Angels have ever had wings, or if he's heard of such rumors. Then again, such rumors and knowledge is kept from the 'insane murderous butchers' of his Legion. Still a whole bunch of Loyalist Scoutlings, unaware of him, his grin is sharp and vicious, and his eyes gleam with a dark joy.

Oh- he's going to enjoy hearing them scream as he gets answers of where they fuck they are and how he got here from where he'd been. Then- one of the little shits- the one in Raven Guard colors suddenly turns and looks in his direction- having spotted him. Karlsor gives him an unhinged, sharp grin and waved at the little Raven.

Who looks gratifyingly spooked as he hisses at the others. The other little birdy with wings, will be fun to pluck the feathers out of. Sons of Sanguinius have such a pretty-shiny reputation, after their Primarch showed up, before they'd had a reputation and style of fucking shit up worse than his Legion had before.

The bastards had been lucky to get the shiny-pretty Holy Great Angel, while he and his legion were stuck with the mad-bastard who barely understood who friend or foe was and hated all of them. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them. Now is not the time to brood about the past as he stalks closer to the strange too-large Scouts- and the bundle of them, after patching up the Blood Angel were trying to skitter out of the forest and evade him. Cute.

Not for nothing is he a Raptor Lord of the Night Lords as he chases after the scout-lings. Allowing them to run, to see where they would go. The Apothecary in no armor- which is fucking stupid has a conflicted expression on his face, before he murmurs something, turning his face so that Karlsor can't read his lips.

Which is a rude thing, clever, but rude of him. One of the others rumbles something in return and they seem to send a vox to… someone. It's cute how they think that they can call for help, they are stuck in this forest with him little Scouts- he ensures to croon that out, pitching his voice so that they can hear him.

Oh- that spooks the bundle of them. The Little Angel's wings flaring in alarm, trying to block the view of the rest of the Scouts. Like that would do much, more fuck all then stop Karlsor. Which has him chortling and taunting the Scout-lings.

As he approaches, he stops for a moment, as a truly Horrendous scent suddenly hits him like a punch to the gut and his eyes almost water. He's smelled death, and dead things rotten- but that overripe scent is by far one of the worst things he's ever smelled in his life as he tries not to gag or throw up as he hears a strange voice warble out.

"Now, Night Lord," A voice croons at him, his head snapping in the direction of the… Thing- it looks like a Death Guard. Sort of.

"What the fuck are you?" Karlsor asks bluntly.

"My, you are a rude one," Hura says, "I am a Death Guard Apothecary."

"The Fuck you are!" Karlsor says bluntly, "I know hygiene isn't Death Guard Astartes best trait, but fuck you are a nasty, gaint fucker ain't ya?"

Hura's smile behind his helmet has him frowning. "Do you know about Chaos, little cousin?"

"… The way you say Chaos, sounds like it should mean something," Karlsor says eyes narrowing at the strange, stinking Thing.

He's got both eyes on this new threat- the little Scoutlings are scampering out of his sight. Clever bastards- avoiding two Larger Threats. He's still going to hunt after them later. He has to deal with… whatever the fuck this is.

"It does mean sommething," Hura replies, still patient, just less amused. "When are you from? What was happening before you got here?"

"I was in a drop pod headed to fight on McCragge," Karlsor replies.

"Ah, you are from during the failed Rebellion of Horus." Hura muses.

"The fuck? So it doesn't end well. Fucking perfect," Karlsor groans, "Wait… what do you mean failed?"

Hura chuckles and explains when and where they are. As well as about how there is an… Alliance between the Chaos, Renegade, and Loyalist factions.

"So I'm not allowed to go after those Scouts then?" Karlsor asks unhappily, "And just why should I listen to you? Or to this so called grox-shit alliance?"

"Because you will be hunted down, punished and likely tortorously killed for breaking the alliance," Hura replies, his voice still sounding so amused and patient.

There was a darker turn to his words, and his giant fucking frame seems a bit more… ominous.

"… You make a good point. Death Guard," Karlsor replies reluctantly eyeing the … other 'Astartes' with careful caution.

[heraldic-shields]

About:

I make heraldry crests and shields as a hobby. I mainly use drawshield.net for this, as I've found it to be the most versatile of the heraldry generators online, but I use a few other tools like GIMP where needed.

Asks are always open for questions pertaining to the blog, but please check whether shield requests are open before you send one! my main is @sushi1056. My askbox is completely open there, so please keep asks here on topic or a shield request.

Current Request Status: Shield Requests are currently closed.

A few guidelines for requests: - if you have a pinned post, I'll use information from that unless you say otherwise. - generally, what I'm looking for are favorite colors, sexual identity (if that's important to you), favorite animals/pets, and hobbies and/or interests. I also take blog themes into account - if you’re a gimmick blog who has had an OC made by @important-question-anon (sorry for the ping, happy to remove if you want), I will try to make the general aesthetic and vibes match. - if you would like a specific color scheme used, include it in the ask and I'll see what I can do. HOWEVER, the shields I make (usually) use only classic heraldic tinctures—dyes and paints that could be made in medieval times and applied to either wood or cloth, plus a few metals—so that means that the color palette is quite limited. Custom colors are possible but a serious pain and generally discouraged. - If you include a decently sized png or svg in your ask (or link to one), I can use that as a custom charge on the shield. My generator tool has a lot of charges to choose from, so if you just say "I want a dog" and aren't picky I can usually do that too with the ones provided. - nothing crude or offensive please.

A note about pride flags: I have figured out how to do most of the pride flags at this point! If you don't see one you're looking for, feel free to drop an ask requesting it! My goal is to eventually figure out a way to do all of them. I still need to post a master list of all the ones I’ve done.

Unless otherwise noted, all shields are under the Creative Commons license and are free to use. You don’t have to credit me, but I’d appreciate the notoriety if you did.

If I put a link in an image or a blazon, you can play around with skin effects and color palettes (To keep custom charges visually consistent, I stick with the flat effect and Drawshield palette, unless a specific palette matches a desired look, but Inked/CC3 and shiny/Bajuvarian are pairings that both always look nice). If you see one you like, let me know and I'll get you a full-size image of it! (The save image button on Drawshield is broken and/or janky sorry lol)

If you appreciate anything I create and want others to see it, please please reblog it! Likes are nothing to the algorithm

My profile pic will change regularly. I lied. Too much hassle. My pfp will only change for special occasions now

[nthspecialll]

The Lady Of The Manor

The Lady Of The Manor is a book written in red dead two by Mary-Beth and as the nerd I am I read the one chapter we have access to. Overall it is a story about the fair lady Susan Grade whose husband was murdered by the criminal David Vincent, however she falls in love with him, and in this book there are some striking similarities to the gang.

Firstly, the names, the very first thing I noticed was the fact that Susan Grade and David Vincent sound a lot like Susan Grimshaw and Dutch Van Der Linde and the fact that their personalities match as well. Susan is an independent woman who is fair but strict, David is criminal but he is charismatic and it is made quite clear in the story things are not the way that they look.

We don't know a lot about Grimshaw's past but we do know she had a fiance who died and whom she loved, I cannot say that the characters are a representation of what really happened between Dutch and Susan and her fiance, but it is Mary-Beth that Susan talks about her him with.

In the story, we are also introduced to Mr. Mellon who is a police officer, again the name matches up to Agent Milton and Mellon actually proposes an offer similar to Milton. Telling the David character that if he surrenders then maybe he could survive and not get executed, similar to Milton offering to Dutch that if he surrenders then the gang might be allowed to go.

Another interesting thing about Mellon is that while he is a police officer he is described as "the most hated and feared man in all of England" and David, a criminal who is "the most wanted man in England and France" is seen as charismatic and noble, which reflects the way Mary-Beth viewed the law as a criminal herself.

David also lets Susan know that it is actually in fact not him that Mellon wants dead but Susan due to the fact that it would rise Mellon in the hierarchy, while it does not reflect what happened with Grimshaw and Dutch, it reminded me of "it is you they want Dutch" "always is" although Susan replied "me?"

As previously mentioned, it becomes clear that the situation with the dead husband isn't as seemed, because you get hinted at the fact that the husband might have been a bad dude and that David killed him to protect Susan, this is quite similar to how Dutch kills when he sees a cause in it and that they both love to save pretty ladies in need.

Another link between David and Dutch is the very last line "David Vincent smiled and led the lady away across the rooftop of the castle, to the safety in the islands," a dream very similar to the one that Dutch fed the gang with Tahiti and the pacifics.

Now to a few smaller things I found interesting, the line "I am a thief, a murderer, a sinner and your only hope of survival, follow me" which immediately made me think of the line that Arthur spoke to Sadie int he first chapter where he tells her "we are bad men, but we aren't them."

Secondly, we have "Susan Grade, born a peasant and risen up to the lady of the manor," a line which would not reflect Grimshaw but instead Mary-beth who was a run away and a gang member for many years but in the end got a big house with beautiful decorations due to her books.

Lastly, a few lines I found interesting and found too meaningful to mean nothing but can't quite put my finger on.

"She would destoy David Vincent in order to stop loving him." I find it quite chilling especially when those two characters have so much in common with Dutch and Grimshaw.

"David Vincent, the infamous Black Knight." Black Knight? Calling someone a Black Knight means someone who "[...] is a literary stock character who masks his identity and that of his liege by not displaying heraldry," aka a person who hides their identity so that their acts are not traced back to them. Dutch was, as John said, "quite a colorful character" going directly against the Black Knight idea, however that said there were many years in which it seemed Dutch did in fact not do any crimes. Or who knows, maybe he did? With a character that is so based on a person Mary-Beth had known it seems strange to put something that is so out of line for them.

This conversation "I am sorry about your husband but it was a fair fight," "a fair fight? You shot him in the back!" "I never did but we shall come to that later." A reminder that her husband was not yet cold, meaning it happened recently, and if she is there so soon she was most likely also in the area while it happened. Did she not see what happened but assumed that David shot her husband in the back?

[idkjustletmescroll]

I've been really embroiled in hotd fandom lately, and I switch teams by the day based on vibes and vibes alone, but I always felt so bad for alicent hightower, and I just thought I'd talk about something I've seen a lot--the idea that alicent is raising her kids as hightowers or is preventing them from learning about their targaryen culture.

Probably a lot of this comes from Alicent praying at the dinner and putting up religious symbols instead of Targaryen heraldry, but...there's nothing really to suggest that Alicent's kids have no knowledge of their targaryen heritage?

Alicent suggests the prayer at dinner and Viserys agrees that she should do it...which I personally thought implied it was just their habit to let Alicent pray before eating. Was it just me? And we can point fingers at Alicent for a lot of things--the main thing that gets me is the whole asking-for-joffrey-right-after-rhaenyra-gives-birth thing--but wanting to practice her faith in her own home isn't one of them, like...? The same goes for wanting to teach it to her kids. (If Viserys didn't want it that way, maybe he should've been more involved with his kids, idk). Sure, they're Targaryens, but they're also Hightowers, and it's hardly a crime or an insult or a scheme for Alicent to want her kids to have some of that with them. And we know that Aemond, at the least, is fluent in High Valyrian, so she at least wasn't stopping them from learning about their valyrian heritage--also, marrying sisters to their brothers is literally the most traditionally Targaryen thing ever, whatever your opinion on heleana and aegon's relationship is. Did my girl heleana deserve better than a rapist? Yeah. Does alicent only embrace "queer targaryen customs" (if I were living in westeros, I would also constantly wonder wtf is up with these dragon riders and their sexual attraction to family members?) when it suits her? Likely.

But like...we can have those discussions all day, but the fact remains that IT IS NOT AN INHERENTLY BAD THING for Alicent to try and educate her kids on their mother's religion and culture. I get the Hightowers don't have dragons, but it's still valid. We don't get any actual evidence that Alicent is actively trying to prevent her kids from learning about their targaryen culture.

idk if this counts as being "team green" or whatever cause people get way too obsessed with these teams, but like...team asoiaf women deserve better, ig.

[autumnbrambleagain]

del's finally finished her time in the character creator for playing Islands

[chyn] Are you trapped in character creator hell? Are you stuck there forever? Does someone need to rescue you? [del] No, I think I'm just about done. I'm going for a something like an enfield heraldry beast with a sort of alchemy slant. Like what the heck, alchemy themes seems to be what the rest of you are doing. [v] Wait we're doing alchemy. No one told me we were doing alchemy. [del] Cheyin is the sun. Aren't you and the other you doing something like the Rebis? [v] Wait. Shoot. Heck. And also: dang. Are we doing the rebis??? [s] Yeah. You didn't know? [v] You're just talking like you knew this the entire time to save face don't act like you knew you didn't know! This is news to you too! [s] You can't prove it. You can't prove a negative. [chyn] I mean I'm doing the sun because I'm already the sun that's just kind of a coincidence. But you know what they say about coincidences. [v] That isn't even what "you can't prove a negative" means. [chyn] It's a cidence that does ins, but coly. [s] Yes it is. It's "you're being really negative right now" which means as the other half of the rebis I'm positive, which means I'm cooler. I'm like the proton and you're just the fucking, little, bitchass electron in my fucking valence field. Get fucked I'm gonna use you to bond with other atoms on a temporary basis form some molecules. Maybe trade you off. Whore. slut. [del] No one says that about coincidences. [chyn] I just said it! Am I not a person? Do I not count ;~; [v] You're mixing metaphors now! Also if you just have one valence electron (me (one)) then you can't get rid of me you fucking hydrogen looking bitch what the fuck are you going to do as hydrogen without an electron you know what that is we call that a proton you're nothing you're not relevant no one's gonna be bottling raw protons and using them to float a blimp you just crashed and burned all your dreams like the hindenberg [del] Look, I'm pretty satisfied with what I have going. One part of the enfield heraldry beast is a lion, and I'm green, so I'm like the green lion that eats the sun as the act of transformation. It's not super on the nose, but it fits. It's cute, it's sporty, I'm good, I'm done. [v] Oh you're a voresona now. [s] She's going to eat Cheyin nice can we watch [del] soft or hard [chyn] Do I get a say in this? [del] No. [v] nah [s] lol

[furys-mercy]

- | Disowned | -

Word Count: 837 Characters: Marcette de Lamoreaux, Sebastian de Vairemont Sebastian Greystone, Dacien de Vairemont (Mentioned)

__________________

As it pleases his lordship, the Baron Dacien de Vairemont, Sebastian, formerly of the House of Vairemont shall be known to all as Sebastian Greystone. Any and all claims to the titles and estates held by the House of Vairemont have hereby been rescinded.

“Why in all of the seven bloody hells are you here?”

Where most would have had the good sense to steer clear of the newly minted Sebastian Greystone, Marcette had been preparing herself for his wrath since she’d received Dacien’s edict. Even going so far as to don her best crimson dress for the occasion, a not-so-subtle nod to recently lost houses and heraldry.  

“Why, my dear brother, might a sister not…” The cold little smirk fell from her lips as she entered the parlor. This was not at all what she had expected. 

“Might what? Come to gloat?” Sebastian lay draped across his settee, shirt open and cravat discarded. “Go ahead. Say your piece.” He took a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been resting in his grip. “But, do choose your words carefully, my Lady Lamoreaux, for they will be the last I shall ever be forced to hear.”

“Is this how you greet your guests, Sebastian?” Marcette gathered her silk skirts and traversed the maze of clothing that lay strewn about the floor. “Mother would be most upset to find that you have forgotten the most important of her many lessons.” 

“You, Marcette, are not a guest. You are a pest. And if I were not absolutely certain that you would howl like a couerl in heat if left on my doorstep overlong, I would not have allowed you entry.” He stared up at her, blue eyes rimmed in dark circles. “Now, was that all?”  

Marcette let out a disgruntled little huff as she perched herself on the edge of the nearby wingback chair that was almost always occupied by her now overly morose brother. The thought had crossed her mind that seating herself upon his proverbial throne might oust him from his stupor. For he had yet to truly rise to her challenge, and she didn’t come all of this way to be disappointed. “Who are you? And what, exactly, have you done with my brother?”

Sebastian nodded towards a piece of parchment on the floor. “You may read for yourself. I am, it would appear, Sebastian Greystone.” His words were punctuated by another swig of wine straight from the bottle, an act that Marcette silently attributed to his recent associations with soot-covered brume rats.

“That is who you have always been.” Her words were matter-of-fact. “Do not act as if today is the first time you are hearing the true nature of your birth. You are a bastard. You have always been a bastard and that truth has never reduced you to…” She wiggled her lace-covered fingers in his direction. “Whatever this is.” 

“That is not the issue at hand and even you are not dense enough to think otherwise.” He pushed himself up onto his elbow, eyes narrowed at her. “Is there no part of you that cares for her wishes?”

Marcette was caught off guard by the question and it showed in her eyes. “She is dead, Sebastian.” A fact that she still struggled with. “Her wishes carry no weight here.”

“And why not? You know as well as I do that Dacien would not have so much as a single cushion to sit his pampered little arse upon if it were not for her. She built our house from near nothing!” He sat up further with each word until he was looming over her, bottle still in hand. “She is owed respect!”

There it was. The rage she had been searching for. Though, she would be loath to admit that it did not truly bring her joy. “Respects were paid and she was sent to the Fury’s halls in fine fashion. You and I can only hope for a mere fraction of the same.” The usual sweetness in her tone was all but gone, destroyed by the weight of the conversation. “She left behind a legacy, I will not argue that point, but you seem to be under the rather misguided impression that said legacy is you when it is most certainly not.” 

Sebastian moved to interrupt her. She raised a single gloved finger. “Ah. Do not worry, dear brother, I do not mean to suggest that I have found myself in the enviable position of filling Ysabel de Vairemont’s rather enormous shoes. I, unlike you, am well aware of my precarious position.” Marcette gracefully rose from her seat, straightening to her full height, which was at least two ilms taller than Sebastian, as she liked to remind herself. “I am also aware of our brother’s position in this family and the power he wields. We rise and fall at his bidding. You must come to be at peace with that.”

The Bastard of Vairemont squared his shoulders and raised his head to meet her gaze. The boy who had been set to drink himself into a stupor was nowhere to be found, having been replaced with the man Marcette had expected to meet. “I have no interest in peace.” 

[cream-and-tea]

HEYYY so. scanning a menu rn. pallas & agnes 11 12 14 and 56 because it's been half a day and i'm still incredibly abnormal about them 👍

well i’m abnormal about them too this is very effective symbiosis 👍 (questions from here!)

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

hmm. when it comes to pallas i think it’d come down to how whoevers doing the impersonating acted around other people. because from the outside pallas seems like they act the same way around everyone, but in reality they really don’t??? like they are openly hostile to almost everyone but often in slightly different ways. how they interact with fiver (who they hate) and calliope (who they also hate) might come across as very similar to someone who’s only observed them, no matter how closely, but if those two interacted with a doppelgänger one after the other they would probably be able to put together that something was Up. either that or agnes could ask about any of the shit that happens in chapter ten of the book bc literally no one knows about that except the two of them.

agnes has a lot of niche interests and hobbies that would make for easy testing but it’s also entirely in character for her to sometimes not remember obvious details/facts about them or mix things up, so i think watching how the imposter acted as her in a stressful situation would be the most surefire way to tell. if the imposter can’t replicate the specific way she snowballs from placating and peacekeeping to denial that anything remotely bad is even happening it would be a hard sell to the people (especially pallas) who know her. also she’s allergic to strawberries and i feel like that would be a hard thing to fake effectively lol.

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

oooo okay okay. for pallas i think there’s a painting in one of The Library’s art halls that’s some very simple pastoral scene of like. a girl sitting by a window with a cat on her lap. except. except. it is so clear that whichever artist did it could not paint animals for shit and the cat in the painting is medieval heraldry levels of weird looking. they probably found it while exploring as a kid, lost their mind laughing over it, and even now have to suppress a smile when walking past it. tbh not much makes them laugh but i do think they have a fondness for irony or observational humour, if only under very specific circumstances.

agnes struggles A Lot with jokes (itsthe autism ain’t it!!), she’s always laughing at the wrong things or not laughing at all or asking questions that ruin the punchline and it’s generally just a bad time for her, so i think for comedy to work for her it has to be very obviously intended as comedic and she has to know what exactly makes it funny, stuff like puns or even knock-knock jokes. she’s also someone who laughs a lot in general, either when she’s very happy or very nervous it’s kinda her go-to response. sometimes the circumstances of your life get so absurd that you just have to laugh at it all and she has loooong since passed that threshold

How do they put out a candle?

pallas does the “lick your fingers and pinch the wick” move but they don’t lick their fingers because they’ve got bloodflesh magic. except pallas almost never uses their powers for healing they just always think that hypothetically they could use their powers for healing, which means they’re accumulating reckless little injuries all the time bc technically they can fix them later. they like never remember to actually do that though.

agnes doesn’t “put out” candles if she lights one she is letting that thing burn to nothing so she can mess around with the melted wax. she’s also the kind of person who’d have more than one scented candle going at once so her room smells like a particularly tiny stuffy occult store

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

pallas generally doesn’t want comfort when they’re scared because that would require another person seeing them be scared and they would rather be dropped headfirst into the marianas trench than submit themself to that. but when they do want it they almost always want it from the director (<- head of The Library who became their personal tutor at age 13 when their powers started flaring out of control) (<- more succinct way of saying ‘who metaphorically stuck their brain in a blender and turned it onto the highest setting’)

this desire mostly stems from how they do view the director as a parental figure, despite her always insisting that all she has ever done for pallas is teach them and that is all she will ever do (<- things said by a woman about to obliterate any boundary in her relationship with this kid while still insisting on a facade of chilly professionalism.) and despite hating themself for viewing her that way. like that is their boss and their principal and their handler and their colleague and their god but that’s also their mom! and sometimes all they want when they’re scared is for her to tell them it’s not real it can’t hurt them and everything is going to be okay! the thing is that the director knows this and will occasionally offer parental comfort to pallas so that they have to choose between refusing it or accepting it and being punished for doing that. shits bad in here.

as for agnes she figured out pretty early that she couldn’t really turn to either of her parents (her mother would never take her seriously and her father would offer her comfort but then inevitably tell her mother who would get angry with her for upsetting her father. rinse repeat) so for years she ended up seeking out the ghosts she saw in the abandoned town her family were based in. bc of the nature of how ghosts work in lay me down they couldn’t be much help when it came to talking her down or empathizing with her emotions, but she developed a habit of finding the most frightening one she could (like someone who had died a particularly gruesome death) and focusing on that instead of what she was afraid of, which usually worked, and if it was only going to make things worse there were plenty of more peaceful-looking ghosts who it’d be easy to pretend to have a very soothing nice conversation with. flawless system!!!

now that she’s away from home and in The Library pallas has become her go-to person for comfort which they are. um. remarkably bad at giving. but the comfort they provide is a lot more tangible in agnes’s mind (even if something is coming to kill me pallas will kill it first. even if something out there is bad pallas is worse. pallas needs me so they can’t let me get hurt.) so she can handle their TOTAL lack of understanding and sympathy. they’ve also never outright denied her or turned her away when she comes looking for comfort no matter how uncomfortable it obviously makes them (i mean. they’ve never actively welcomed or encouraged her doing it either but that doesn’t matter to agnes at all) and she sees this as a promising sign that she’s making progress towards her eventual goal of Getting Pallas To Be Vulnerable. she gets to feel safer and she gets to make pallas express an emotion in front of her it’s a win win in her books. everyone is always saying ‘agnes why do you keep sticking your head in the lions (pallas’s) mouth’ and never how was the mouth was the mouth fun the mouth looked fun. also the lion (pallas) literally promised her it would never ever bite down. so there <3

[trishacollins]

Picnic

@nyhoo @paracosmicat

Media: Art or playlists or writing or anything at all

Characters/Ships/Ect: Marinette x Kagami I would love 🫶🫶 but also Adrien x Marinette, Chat Noir x Marinette, Felix x Kagami....... Or like any content of Kagami and/or Kagami at all

Have fun! Let me know if you have any questions.

Media:

Art or playlists or writing or anything at all

Characters/Ships/Ect:

Marinette x Kagami I would love 🫶🫶 but also Adrien x Marinette, Chat Noir x Marinette, Felix x Kagami....... Or like any content of Kagami and/or Kagami at all

Have fun! Let me know if you have any questions.

GiftFic for Anarchist Gang Server

*~*

Marinette had to admit, the view was pretty nice.

Why Kagami had dragged her to watch ‘the boys’ practice, she didn’t know. But sitting on a blanket in the shade watching Adrien and Felix do what seemed to be their level best to beat the snot out of each other with sticks was certainly entertaining.

Adrien paused, panting and grinning, hair wild and eyes sparkling. He looked like Chat Noir right now, completely in his element.

Felix had settled into an odd stance, grin a wolfish mirror of his cousin.

The Kwami were spread out on the blanket around them, Longg and Plagg in the sun, Tikki and Duusu inspecting the last of their lunch.

Kagami was sketching, head on her lap, lifting her gaze every now and again to look at the boys. She had transformed them into a pair of knights, the staffs into swords, heraldry for a cat and a peacock – which meant no one else would ever be able to see them, Felix was more or less known, but Adrien was most certainty not.

“How long do you think they’ll be at this?” She asked, pressing her shoulder lightly to Kagami’s.

Kagami smiled at her. “Until one of them manages to win, I suppose. They do this weekly. I only found out about it recently.”

‘Working on their relationship’ Adrien had claimed, which apparently meant ‘trying to kill my cousin with a stick’.

“They’re both high energy, it helps.” Plagg offered without opening his eyes. “Plus, it lets them air their grievances without getting overly emotional about it. They’ve still got baggage.”

“Baggage? Is that what we’re calling it?” Marinette snorted, scooping Plagg up and rubbing the top of his head. The Kwami grumbled, but didn’t try to fly away. “I think we could use a stronger term.”

“But they don’t.” Kagami smiled, watching them start up again, the rythmic clatter of their sticks. “They like the term ‘baggage’. It hurts less than the years apart. They were always meant to be together.”

She felt a pang at that, turning her attention back to the boys. “When everything came out.” Messily, terribly, with not a few tears and so much pain. It had felt like her world was ending because it was colliding. Because nothing was right and everything was wrong, but she had loved the boy behind the mask as much as she ever had, and that love had been enough to push through – through the screaming and the anger and the agony of knowing.

When all of their secrets had become known. When everything was laid bare between them, when it wasn’t *them* until they could sort out who *they* were.

She had never talked to anyone about it, not even Alya. She knew that Kagami and Felix knew, because Adrien apparently had talked to them about it. But she hadn’t felt worthy of leaning on anyone.

Her fault, her mistakes. She had let Gabriel win. She had let him dictate how he was to be remembered, and she had kept it from Adrien – who deserved to know – and Chat Noir – who absolutely should have always known.

She just hadn’t known they were the same people.

“We did similar. Of course, we did it transformed. But…”

“They’re not trying to reconcile that part of themselves with who they are. They’re both themselves under the masks.” Kagami glanced at her, sly. “You aren’t.”

She ducked her head. “I’m working on it.”

“We know.” Kagami nudged her shoulder gently. “That’s why I thought you might like to come and watch them be ridiculous together.” The echo of Chloe was clearly deliberate, and Marinette laughed.

“We’re so lucky. To have so many second chances.” Kagami mused, when the laughter had faded. “All of us together.”

She kissed the top of Plagg’s head, settling him back on the blanket. “I always thought I had to keep my secrets, or everything would go wrong. But. Keeping them almost ruined everything.”

Her relationships with her friends, with her partner, with her boyfriend.

“That doesn’t mean we have to tell everyone. Just a few is enough.” Kagami offered gently. “Being the Guardian – they were an entire order, weren’t they? They had each other to lean on.”

“From hearing Master Fu, I don’t think there was much leaning.” Adrien was breathing hard and sweaty, but he kissed the top of her head and circled the blanket to get a towel rather than dripping all over it. “Actully, Su-Han too. It seemed they had very high expectations.”

“But they were also gone for nearly two hundred years.” Felix did not kiss Kagami before he toweled himself off, and then he settled on the blanket facing her, she lowered her book, and they kissed like it was their first and last time.

She looked away to find Adrien watching her, a wolfish smile settling on his face. “You’re a stinky boy.” She pointed at him.

“But Marinette-” He was grinning, prowling closer.

“Nope. No. Bad kitty.” He scooped her up despite her protests, rubbing his still damp face all over her while still damp.

She squealed and fought with him, as the face rubbing turned to kisses on her belly and his laughter rasped over her like a warm purr.

So maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Even if he was completely insane. “You really smell.”

“I smell like Adrien: the Fragrance.” He teased.

“I think they need to update the formula, because wow.” She shoved at his shoulder, then put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“I have it on good authority that you liked both the ad and the product.” His eyes were bright with mischief again.

“Alya is dead to me.” She retorted. “And nothing she says should be trusted.”

“She’s going to be so sad when I tell her you’re denying your innocent wonder.” He teased back.

“Keep your clothes on.” Felix ordered from the blanket, watching them. “We’re in public.”

Adrien snickered. “The amount of times I had to strip in public-”

“We’re not at a runway, you animal.” Felix rolled his eyes.

[haste-waste]

Zelink Week 2024: The Baker and the Seamstress (Chapter 5)

Sorry for the late updates, folks! I will be posting three chapters here today. Day 5's prompt is "Spellbound" Enjoy! @zelinkcommunity

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

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The baker searched the woods for an hour, but couldn't find her in the encroaching darkness. He wouldn't dare call out her name within the trees, for that was a precious secret he wouldn't share with anyone.

What did he do? What did he say?

The following morning, he replayed the previous day in his mind and over kneaded his dough. She seemed shocked at first, and then, she stared off into space with a happy little smile. It was like something flipped in her thoughts and her old self returned, distrusting and terrified. This wasn't just about her scars. But what? And why did Zelda mention the seamstress? He had never met her in his life. The seamstress didn't know about her. No one knew about her. It was his selfish idea for her to stay, that's all. And look at how well that went.

When dawn arrived, he hoped to see her standing there at the back door. Of course, she was absent. It was so empty in the bakery, even before he opened. She could still turn up, though. If she returned, she should know that she was welcomed.

He brought her stool outside and put it next to the door and returned to work. Minutes later, he stuck a basket with a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in one of her mended towels on top of the stool and finally continued his work. At the end of the day, when he checked the stool, he saw the bread being picked apart by a pair of birds.

He wouldn't give up so easily. Once he closed up shop, he grabbed another loaf of bread (she must be starving at this rate), a torch, strapped his mother's sword to his back, and took the path to the woods and searched the area where they had their picnic. There was nothing. There was only a beautiful, lush, and empty field. She left no footprints behind in the surrounding forest. For two consecutive days he combed the evening woods in silence, hoping for any hint of her presence. The third morning, he brought out the stool, filled the basket with rolls, walked away, and somehow managed to not over knead the morning batch of bread.

There was more unwanted gossip today from the village barmaid; a lone horseman arrived at Fort Hateno. Judging by their heraldry, they were from Akkala, a region far to the north. He didn’t care about that. He needed some sort of clue, anything.

"Have there been any ghost sightings?" He ended up asking when she finally stopped talking.

The barmaid scowled at him, likely at his audacity for speaking aloud. Her eyes trailed over his form. She seemed confused. "You believe in that superstitious bunk? There never was a ghost to begin with." She swiped her bread out of his hands, slapped her rupees on the counter, and strode out the door with an annoyed huff.

He really needed to stop glancing toward the back door. But his thoughts always returned to Zelda, his seamstress, no matter how hard he tried. Was she injured? Was she starving? He remembered her sitting at her stool, with a flower tucked behind her ear. What a beauty. The thought, even now, tied his stomach into a pretzel. Maybe he should make a batch of them to take the edge off of all these feelings.

He had to run to town for some produce after closing the shop. But what if she came while he was gone? He went to his bedroom, scrounged around for a piece of slate and chalk, and scribbled something quickly. If he put too much thought into it he'd stand there all day.

He left three things beside his back door. Her stool, the bread basket, and the piece of slate that read: No one else knows but me. I swear it.

--------

The seamstress hid in the boughs of a giant tree. She should have left two days ago, having cleared out her cave, plotting to escape the country out of Lurelin Village. For some reason, she hadn't. Food was getting hard to come by without being spotted, though, so she should make up her mind soon. She thought she'd never forget the feeling of hunger. She was sorely mistaken, and the pain of it was amplified by her acute longing for him. Her thoughts were twisted up and in disarray since she fled that night. At least she found her way back to her cave after stumbling for hours.

The leaves rustled below her. Someone approached. She hid beneath the foliage, thankful for the natural camouflage. "The baker actually talked this morning!" A feminine voice rang.

Zelda grit her teeth. So that's how he was. Pretending to be silent just to play with her trust? She was no stranger to her trust being broken, even if that trust was superficial, like promises of a meal after a punishment. Her anger agreed with the assessment, but her heart did not. He wasn't the type of person who would do such a thing, was he? He didn’t seem like it. Didn’t he go out of his way to make sure she remained hidden?

So why was she so angry?

"He asked me about seeing a ghost," the woman continued. "Me, of all people! He doesn't speak to anyone, Reginald."

She heard a masculine huff from below, likely Reginald. "You dragged me out here just to gossip about the baker?"

"But why would he ask about that?"

"Hasn't everyone?" the man countered, sounding bored.

The woman growled. "He always looks so shabby. His clothes looked better today. Strange, right? Maybe he finally realized how unkempt he looked. I asked Bettie if she mended them, but she never heard of Link in her life! He must fix them himself. That's pretty talented of him, actually. But honestly, how has he never been to a seamstress?"

Zelda's throat went dry.

"You could use a visit to Bettie," Reginald said. "Your stomach is starting to show."

Zelda heard a giggle and a swatting sound. "And who's fault is that?" The woman teased. "But dear, what if there's a ghost?"

Reginald laughed. "You'd toss it out of the pub just like everyone else. Come along now, it's getting dark." She heard the leaves and sticks crunch under their feet, and after a few minutes, she looked down at the forest floor and confirmed their absence.

Zelda's heart raced in her chest. Was she wrong about him? Things didn't make sense. Maybe a walk could help sort out her thoughts. Mindlessly, her feet took her through the hidden route to town through the old caves that sprawled underneath it. Before she knew it, she appeared from underneath a pile of rocks in the forest behind the baker's house.

Why did she come here again? For information. And maybe…to catch a last glimpse of him from afar.

Carefully, she crept toward the bakery, nestled in the trees. For such an important building, it was a little ways off the beaten path from town. She supposed she could see the main street from the front door, but that was a risk she wasn't willing to take. Even so, the windows were dark and lonely in the back.

A few steps later, she was past the grain shed, and stopped in her tracks. Besides the door was the wooden stool she always sat on. Why was it out here? There was a basket and something flat on top, acting as a lid. Hesitancy disregarded, she went and investigated the contents. The flat shape was a small writing slate. She read the words written in chalk—No one else knows but me. I swear it—the guilt compounded, and within the basket were several perfect bread rolls waiting for her under a towel she mended for him.

Zelda was completely wrong about everything. What he said was genuine. And she ran off without thinking, leaving her only friend in this world behind. He was a friend, absolutely, but their bond felt different now, like a permutation of friendship, but more?

It was love, she realized. She loved him, assumed the worst, and ran off without a goodbye. Goddesses, she was thinking of leaving the country for this?

She heard the squeak of a door shutting, it was him, it had to be, and she fled into the cave entrance before she could think, scraping her knee in the process.

Tomorrow, she vowed, once she made it inside. She'd come at dawn and fix this entire mess. But for now, she'd wait in the woods and attempt to find some food to eat with the moonlight as a guide. And maybe, she'd take a roll, even if she didn't deserve it.

--------

Lord Yuga stopped his entourage just before the ramshackle gate of the rural farming village came into full view. Several of his guards lit torches and held them aloft for him to investigate the enchanted map. The spell was bound to her blood, and it shone brightly on Hateno Village. She was here, irrefutably. Why would she, of all people, flee to a village known for their textiles? It was like she wanted to be found. What a strange, unpredictable woman.

"Leave no stone unturned. Find her and bring her to me, no matter the cost," he ordered. A small platoon of knights on horseback and foot waited obediently for their charge.

"Agahnim," Yuga spoke to the wizard at his side, "Do what you must."

Agahnim nodded, waved his staff, and an ear-splitting screech erupted from the ruby orb at the top. From the woods came three red bokoblins. That should be enough to cause a stir, but not kill the girl outright. The pig-nosed beasts stopped in front of Agahnim's horse. He threw them a piece of meat; they squabbled over it. He whistled and they stilled.

Agahnim removed a piece of fabric from his robes and unfolded it. He plucked out the contents, two golden hairs, and with a wiggle of his fingers, the hair caught fire. He blew the smoke toward the pathetic monsters, and they sniffed the smoke in interest. Then, their eyes glazed over, and an orange fire lit in their eyes. They turned synchronously, and barreled toward the woods beyond the town; they must have caught her scent.

"A trail!" Yuga called. "Leave them for a time."

Time passed as the bokoblins continued their search. One minute became five, and five became twenty. Agahnim could feel the air around Lord Yuga begin to itch from his frustration. "Those useless pigs must have lost track of that useless girl," he muttered, giving Agahnim an annoyed look. "Onward, men!" He called loudly. "Search the village and bring her to me!"

Agahnim clipped his reins, and followed the Lord through the front gates toward his prize.

--------

The baker awoke to loud sounds of commotion: shouts, squealing, clanking metal, and horses. It must be a dream. But as soon as he heard a scream, he knew it wasn't.

He burst out of bed, snatched up his mother's rusty sword, and listened, creeping downstairs on high alert. What was going on? A raid? Raids never happened in Hateno. The last one he had been in was his childhood home, which he never saw again.

He made it downstairs and crouched, scanning his surroundings. A shadow took shape in the window, emphasized by the full moon.

He steadied himself. The door rattled ominously on its hinges.

He readied his sword, and waited in the darkness.

He heard a click, and the door burst open. He lunged toward the intruder, preparing to swing his sword to protect his home. To his absolute bewilderment, he saw the seamstress rush in and slam the door behind her, plastering her back against it in fright. When she saw him, she yelped and dropped a sizable stick covered in something dark, purple, and wet, and shielded herself with her arms.

Goddesses above, she was here! He hastily sheathed his sword and rushed to her, spellbound at the miracle of her standing there by his door. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. "Link!" Her relief didn't last for long. He had never seen the seamstress look so grim when she met him in the center of the kitchen. "You need to run!"

He was immediately on edge. First and foremost…"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He glanced her over and noticed a gigantic, reddened scrape on her knee. She must have fallen into the dirt at some point. A nasty set of bruises and scratches bloomed on her forearms. She still had the bandage on her finger, too.

Ste stammered, and her fear and frustration was clear to see. "That—that doesn't matter! You need to leave!"

He heard a horses' whinny out of the windows, but it didn't register as much as it should have. He stood there in amazement at her return. He didn't lose her and he wanted to hold her and—"There are monsters!"

"Monsters?" He said, stepping closer to her.

She nodded shakily. "I fought one off, but they're still out there!"

He reeled at the mental image of her fight. She had obviously succeeded, given the state of that stick she dropped, and he felt a burst of pride at her capabilities, but goddesses! She could have been killed!

"The village is in danger! You're in danger!" she cried, flinching away from his approaching hands. It wasn't the first time he'd been in danger. It had been too long without any threats to his life. He took out his torn handkerchief, placed it on one of her arms, and turned.

"Stay there," he ordered, fighting every instinct to stay by her side, and went to the front windows of the bakery. He peered into the night. He saw torches and horsemen in the main streets, villagers running around in fright, but nothing was on the path to his bakery for now… was that Akkalan heraldry being held aloft?

The sight of that coat of arms made him shiver for reasons unknown to him. He raced back to the kitchen. Thankfully, she remained there, and she stood with a bowed head. His handkerchief was stained as she held it fast to her skin.

"I cannot see you again," she said, the words landing on her feet and his heart.

An acute sense of dread built in his chest, even more intense than that day when she fell ill. If he didn't speak now, he'd lose her forever. He just knew. "I swear on my life I told no one about you—"

"I know now," she said penitently. "I shouldn't have doubted you. I'm sorry." When she glanced up at him, her eyes were filled with tears. "But I cannot see you anymore."

She was here. She was more terrified than the morning he first met her. He had to do something, and he had to understand. No more secrets. "Why?"

She didn't answer. Her shoulders hunched, and she wrapped her arms around herself. He couldn't stand it anymore, this awful cycle of fear. He reached; his hand found her cheek, soft and warm, she froze, and he gently tipped her head up to face him.

"Why, Zelda?" He traced his thumb across her cheekbone. Her eyelids fluttered, she sighed into his touch, and the look of grief the movement created broke his heart.

He watched her grit her teeth. He watched her as she panicked, and he watched her choose to be honest. "They're here because of me," she said brokenly.

"What?" His fingers pressed lightly into her skin, a purely instinctive motion.

Zelda kept glancing toward the door, her only means of escape. Then she stared at him, straight on, as direct as he'd ever seen her. "He will stop at nothing to get what he wants."

He? Who was he? The secrecy, her skittishness, her fear, her scars… "Whoever he is, he wants you," he surmised. The dread met a new emotion, anger, and it began to combine dangerously in his heart. He dropped his hand from her face. Whoever did this to her, whoever he was, he'd make them pay.

She wilted at his expression. "I'm so sorry…I dragged you into this and…" She removed the handkerchief and stared at him determinedly. "But I need you to be safe." She grabbed his sleeve. "Promise me that you'll run and be safe!"

Her words were heart shattering. His past and present blurred, and her face was the only thing that grounded him. "Promise me!" Take it and flee, his mother begged. She died soon after. Then, Zelda, asking him essentially the same. He was always running.

"Go! Before it's too late!" Zelda pulled him frantically toward the door while he stood, at a loss.

How many more people would he lose? How many more would die to keep him safe?

"No," he growled. She pulled him harder. The sounds outside his bakery grew louder, a cacophony of textures and pitches, and it all swirled and concentrated into a singularity of resolve.

He grabbed her wrist. "I can't."

She shuddered. "Don't do this to me," she pleaded, and he'd never been this furious in his life as the past and present blended together. "Link, you need to run—"

"I'm not leaving you!" His hands went to her shoulders, keeping her from disappearing. Zelda's eyes filled with shock, she choked, and she stared.

He stared back, and made every effort to memorize the details of her face; the depths of her eyes, the tiny scars across her nose and chin, the slope of her jaw, the color of her lips…Then, he saw fondness stirring in her eyes, followed by sadness, and consolation.

"I thought I lost you," he sighed, and hung his head for a moment, still coming to terms with it all.

He looked at her imploringly. Where there once was fondness came something far more potent. "Link…" Then it turned to despair, and he never wanted to see that expression on her face ever again. He'd move a mountain, he'd swallow the ocean, he'd wish upon the Triforce, a thing of legend and fairy tales, to protect her.

"I can't lose you, either." Her grief seemed to seep past his feet and into the earth. Link's eyes widened at her admission—his hands twitched in their grip on her shoulders. He watched her place her hands on his chest; she swallowed thickly, took a step closer to him, and if she took one more step she'd be in his arms, right where he wanted her.

Horses whinnied and clopped outside, their harnesses jangling outside the bakery. He heard them all the way from the kitchen. "FIND HER!"

"They're here—" she gasped, and everything went wrong. The baker did not have a chance to speak before he heard the sound of splintering wood, his front door breaking down under the weight of an axe.

"Hide!" she hissed. "Flee! He will find me instead! Go!"

"No—!" The baker protested, but he was pushed into the pantry as the front door broke open.

The pantry door remained slightly ajar, leaving a sliver of visibility. That's all he needed to witness his worst nightmare coming to life right before his eyes.

"You," the baker heard from the shop room. It was a masculine voice full of hatred. "There you are…"

The air in the room cracked with the sound of a whip, and was followed by Zelda's blood curdling scream. Something rope-like wrapped around her torso, she hit the floor hard on her knees—he unsheathed his sword, moved to fight, but something scruffed him by the back of his nightshirt and tugged him into a shroud of darkness.

[gi-nathlam-hi]

do you have any particular headcanon about elrond's cloak? it's so worn there are holes in it so obviously it has history and significance and I hope we'll get to know it in the show. and that pin - is it supposed to look like feanor's star?? I'm not sure how to feel about it if it is. I mean I get that elrond's fond of his kidnapper dads but still. or maybe it's earendil? like on that tapestry in lindon? I like that option better:)

HI HELLO

sorry it took me so long to get to this one! I assume we're talking about the teal/blue cloak which I have a lot of thoughts about. Thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble.

The production have all been very clear that they've hidden allusions to Elrond's heritage pretty much everywhere in his costuming, so I've spent a lot of time picking it apart and thinking about it. As far as his blue cloak goes I've seen the headcannon that it's either originally from numenor or possibly even used to belong to Elros, and while I like that idea for the Feels(tm) I don't think it holds up due to the fact that in this scene below, it seems to be a shared item among Gil-Galad's entourage.

The Cloak:

the cloaks the others are wearing aren't an exact match and seem significantly newer, so it's not guaranteed they're related (and may just be there for the scene's color palette), but considering how much work this show has put into the costuming across the board I don't think its insignificant that the fabric seems to be the exact same. Elrond kind of seems to almost be wearing his inside-out though? Anyway this leads me to think that it may simply be a signal of a specific function in Gil-Galad's court. I think these women may be pursuivants, which is the court position directly under herald. The position has a similar set of duties (cataloguing genealogies & lore, running diplomatic messages, issuing warrents, attending personally to the king, etc. etc.) but they just aren't as highly ranked.

That isn't a particularly exciting answer but it does offer an interesting clue as to how long Elrond has been a member of Gil-Galad's court/how old he might be. This hasn't been specifically mentioned yet but considering his "work cloak" seems old and worn we can infer he isn't brand new to his position of herald (further supported by how familiar he is with Gil-Galad/confident in asking for favors. They seem to know each other very well on a personal level and have rapport, even if Gil is being a cranky this season).

Being a kidnap fam enthusiast there is a lot of fun to be had with the fact that there is a giant Feanorian star on the back, which I personally like to imagine is a jab at everyone who might have qualms about Elrond's background. A big ol: "deal with it! I was kidnapped and fostered by Feanorians and NO that does not make me a traitor but also they are part of me & raised me & I don't hate them sorryyyy. However I am in fact very loyal to the king thank you very much and have no kinslaying urges" -- and also an interesting distancer from Earendil. HOWEVER the cirth on the cloak seems to read "Earendillion" so...

(which again, leads to fun headcannons about how much of this specific clothing item has the potential to be Elrond going 'yeah, I have a very messy and mixed background and I accept all parts of myself. deal with it' ... but that may just be wishful thinking on my part).

Everyone's been pretty up in arms about the usage of "Feanorian" stars across the costuming, but I've been examining Elvish heraldry recently and to be quite honest I don't think it's a Feanorian star specifically. It does look UNCANNILY like what all of us, as a fandom, have collectively decided Feanorian heraldry looks like, but despite what collective Silm fanon would have us believe, Feanor doesn't have a monopoly on the usage of eight pointed stars, and actually Feanor's heraldry looks like this:

sure, it's an eight pointed lozenge technically, but it looks nothing like the symbol the show is using -- and again, eight pointed stars are everywhere among the ruling noldorin houses because in Tolkien's heraldry 6-8 pointed stars simply signify royalty.

I wondered if maybe it's Earendil's sigil all over everywhere, but Earendil has a six pointed star, not an eight pointed star. So that rules out Earendil's heraldry.

Upon further digging the symbol the show's been using nearly universally looks a LOT more like Finarfin's sigil:

Which I find especially interesting considering Elrond wears it and Elros seems to have adopted it EVERYWHERE. Elros and Elrond are descended from the line of Fingolfin (via Turgon on Earendil's side), not Feanor or Finarfin, however the show has made a pretty big deal about their showcanon (headcannon????) of just how close Elrond and Galadriel are and how maternal she is toward him (to the point of possibly even raising him and Elros for a portion of their childhood depending on where you interpret the "beach event" to have happened in the timeline) so I'm wondering if this perhaps is another way to signal just how deep that affection and loyalty runs. That seems most likely to me.

The Pin:

The pin is another puzzle as it didn't seem to match with any of the major shapes. The four-point is unusual. Again, upon further digging, the only heraldry that uses a four pointed star with that really long tail is Gil-Galad's.

So my guess is that the cloak designates that he's in service to Gil-Galad as a member of the heraldric "division" for lack of a better term, and the pin is a sign of status of being in direct service to Gil-Galad as chief herald-at-arms.

Thank you for the ask!

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Hasten to Church

Author's note: Ramiel's next chapter. Thank you @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow your OC Cedric. Thank you @kit-williams for letting me borrow your OCs Arnault and Roland. Thanks to @kit-williams for helping me with getting Roland and Arnault's voices right and Intense Bond Stuff.

Past =-= Next

Warnings: None that I can think of. Let me know if I need to add any.

Summary: Ramiel meets Roland and Arnault.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Cedric had come to Ramiel, eyes bright and happy and a smile of genuine joy on his face as he tells Ramiel that a couple of Very Important (personally) Black Templar brothers are in the area. Their names are Arnault and Roland, and they’ve taken Cedric under their wing a bit, nothing so formal as an Apprenticeship (neither of them are Apothecaries or Chaplains) but they are Battle Brothers, First Born Marines. 

Both of them are from After the Heresy, but before the Primaris Roll out. Ramiel’s Worried at first, but as Cedric explains more of what they are like and how they treat him, the knot of anxiety in his stomach slowly unclenches. As he hears about how they talk to, and with him, and feed him Bread- which is tasty and amazing. 

Ramiel was happy that Cedric seemed to be recovering from the near miss that had been his Mentor showing up at the base. albeit only briefly. They had been careful to hide away from where the honorable Chaplain Captain Petras was going to be.

Their luck had held out, by the grace of the God Emperor, and a potentially fraught meeting between Ramiel, Cedric and The Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras hadn't happened. Yet. There was still the terrifying possibility that he could come back, or that their older brothers and cousins in the base would plot that they'd have to meet him sometime soon. Which caused terror and dread to well within his hearts.

He shakes himself, mentally out of his funk, ramiel hasn’t had much of a chance to taste baseline human food, content with Nutri-paste. Ramiel’s in his armor, but he has his skull helmet- which denotes his specialty as a part of the Chaplaincy hooked on his belt as he follows after Cedric. 

“Brother Arnault, Brother Roland!” Cedric calls out, “One of my fellow Primaris brothers has come here recently. I’d like you to meet him.”

Ramiel comes into their view, just as large as Cedric is, seemingly a touch larger in his full armor, rather just in Apothecary scrubs. He nods to the elder brothers with a respectful nod. He eyes the two older Black Templars. 

Arnault has longer hair and is wearing a sword strapped to his side and is wearing fitted, nice quality clothing. While Roland is in civilian clothing, he’s the only one in armor. But… he doesn’t… feel comfortable outside of armor unless he’s asleep in the base. With Cedric or one of their fellow Primaris brother-cousins on watch.

He’s trying to learn to trust the First Born Space Marines that he’s now surrounded by on Ancient Terra. He’s careful to be polite and obedient, and to be quick about it. Not to question orders, but… personal trust is… his chest stings a little as his newly healed scars catch a little as he breathes. He wasn’t armed, more than a bolter that was carefully maintained and tucked on a thigh holster. 

“Elder brothers,” he says, eying the two of them assesingly. 

They both have the platinum blonde hair, fair skin, and piercing blue eyes of the Sons of Dorn. Arnault’s hair is longer than standard, but since Arnault’s an Elder Brother, it’s not his place to nit-pick his appearance, besides so long as it doesn’t inhibit his ability to fight, it’s not his place to say anything.

He’s not hiding his skull helmet, but it is tilted in a way that it’s harder to see the specific heraldry of a Chaplain. He’s learned on Ancient Terra that Chaplains (even ones as new in their path as him, inhabit a… certain place of responsibility for most chapters, not trained enough, which he’s not Authorized, not old enough, not good enough to inhabit, yet).

“It’s an honor to meet a couple of brother’s that Cedric cares for so much,” Ramiel continues to say. 

His new scars on his chest tingle a little, he ignores it, his armor has been repaired and buffed out. So while there are scratches in his armor. Hopefully they don’t notice that he’d been stabbed through the chest by a chain sword before coming to Ancient Terra.

Arnault eyes the new younger (and So Tall) little brother with assessing eyes. He’d been curious to see what Primars Marines in Armor look like. Ramiel looks taller, larger, and slightly younger than Cedric. His armor looks like he’s seen battle before. He’s got a similar quietness to him that Cedric has at times. He’s curious to see how sparring with this one will go, it helps him assess how his brothers and cousins are like to spar with. Even if they curse him out for his unique battle style.

“Hello there little,” He grins as he looks up into Ramiel’s eyes, “Brother, it’s nice to meet you.”

Ramiel’s ears go a little pink at that. Ah- he’s expressive, even if his face is impassive, his ears give away his emotions. Good to know. Roland notices something about his helmet that seems off for a normal battle brother.

“Do you have a Specialty as well, Ramiel?” Roland asks.

“Yes sir,” Ramiel says shifting a little, “I’m a Judicar.”

“What’s a Judicar?” Roland and Arnault ask. That’s not a title they’ve heard of. That sounds like some Future-bull shit.

“Ah- sorry sirs,” Ramiel says, ducking his head a little, his ears going bright red, “It’s something that came about due the Primaris Roll out. A title our older brothers and cousins give to those of us Primaris that have been chosen to start on the path of being Chaplains.”

Arnault seems to have stepped back a little at that, while Roland cocks his head and steps forward a little bit. “Have you been in contact with other Black Templars besides us yet, Ramiel?”

“No sirs, I was found by Imperial Fists and Salamanders.” Ramiel says, tilting his head a little. Their reactions to his speciality seems… Interesting. “Besides Cedric, you two are the first Black Templar’s I’ve met since coming to Ancient Terra.”

He notices that Arnault’s shoulders shift down a little, he wonders what it was that had his elder brother so wary when he’d realized the path of Ramiel’s education had gone. He can tell by the set of their shoulders that they seem a bit Excited about something. He’d learned early to read even the smallest of signs and movements of his elder brothers for their emotional reactions. Especially if it was his Mentor.

He wrenches his thoughts away from the Honorable Veteran Chaplain Captain Mephisteil Petras. He’s… he should focus on Cedric, Ramiel and Arnault. They are in front of him. That… that person is… is he focuses on what Elder Brother Arnault is saying, keeping his thoughts from going down his past.

He keeps his Tempormortis with him, tucked on his belt, carefully maintained. Not that he’s explained what it is to anyone who doesn’t already know what it is. Partly because he’s concerned if the Elder Cousins in the base he works at will allow him to keep it or not. It’s part of his equipment, and Very Important part of his Judicar armor. 

Cedric and his fellow Primaris Marines (and those First Born Brothers and Cousins) who are from M42 know what it is and what it can do. He’s earned some beads for his Rosarius, but not a full ring. He knows that he won’t be able to earn more on Ancient Terra (because they don’t have the supplies to make it).

“It’s nice to meet you, sirs,” Ramiel says to Arnault and Roland.

Roland and Arnault seem amused as Roland says in one of the local languages, “I think it’s a trend among our Future Little Brothers to be Polite. Far more than you deserve, Arnault.”

Arnault punches him for it, and he slugs him back. Ramiel and Cedric blinking at them, tilting their heads a little at their communication. Roland switches back to High Gothic, he’d a gift of bread when he’d heard that they were meeting another Primaris Black Templar younger brother. His backerin had happily made him more bread as gifts for his brothers. Even for Arnault, although the other hardly deserved some.

He hands over the bread, Cedric perking up and starting to eat the bread. Ramiel carefully takes it and stares at it and then back at him. Carefully holding the bread. He had the same look Cedric had.

“It’s bread, you eat it.” He says watching the younger brother take a bite at his ‘command’. 

“Thank you for the bread, it tastes really good,” Ramiel says after a few bites of the soft, delicious food. He’s not had something so good in his life.

“You’re welcome, my Backerin, made it,” Roland replies faux-casually.

Both Elder Black Templars are watching the young Chaplain with sharp eyes. 

“Backerin?” Ramiel asks quietly.

“My bonded human,” Roland admits, bracing himself. Arnault is also watching this interaction very carefully.

“I’ve got one as well,” Arnault says, his voice going… slightly strange, almost… Defiant, no- he seems more wary, than anything, or bracing set to his shoulders. To both them, if he’s reading them right. They seem to be… waiting for something.

They had both noticed that Ramiel hadn’t reacted poorly to Arnault’s name. But it might be due to needing time to realize who Arnault was. Most Chaplains, at least among the Black Templar warbands, know what he did and why he’s exiled from the Black Templar’s bands. At least most of them.

“Are you happy?” Ramiel asks him with earnest large blue eyes.”I’ve heard that other First Born cousins are happy with having a Bonded human.”

While he’s uncomfortable with how The Warp is a large part of how these Bonds with humans are formed. So long as they aren’t Heretics, Traitors, or Renegades. So long as the human and the Astartes are Happy, healthy and it doesn’t seem to be hurting them. He… won’t say anything negative about it. After all, as a Judicar, it’s not his place to judge, merely listen and comfort as needed. Through his actions he shows his faith and encourages his brothers and cousins. 

Arnault’s face becomes animated and expressive, his eyes fog over with warm emotions as his lips curl into a dreamy smile as no longer seems to be seeing or looking at Cedric or Ramiel at the moment, memories of his beloved Angela filling his mind. “Oh, Ja, I am the happiest I’ve been in such a long time with mine Quilterin.”

Ramiel and Cedric look at each other and then back at their love struck older brothers. Roland speaks up next, his expression is almost exactly as luck struck and dreamy as he lets out a bark of laugh and a most joyful, large smile as he excitedly responds to Ramiel’s question with, “Oh- Ja! Wunderbar! Bakerin makes me the happiest man in this world or any other.”

Ramiel is taken off guard a little at the strength of emotions that they show. But he’s willing to listen. He’s listened to other First Born cousins talk about their bond. Their reactions haven’t been as strong as Roland or Arnault’s. That is something to monitor, and he’ll speak with one of the Imperial Fist or Salamander Chaplains.

“I’ve heard a little bit about these… Bonds,” Ramiel starts hesitantly, “but no one seems to really explain them. Other than it’s ‘warp made’ or something.”

“Also that you will know if you get bonded,” Cedric says, “And that it will happen.”

Both of them are more than a little nervous and uncertain about these Bond Things. A lot of older cousins seem to like or want them. Some are not so eager to be bonded. It seems a Strange thing.  

Ramiel doesn’t think he wants to seek out a bond, but he’s heard stories about what happens, helped those who were trying to Reject Bonds and give consul as they Suffered. Also- called in Cedric as their physical ailments grew worse and his alarm had grown.

Arnault speaks up, his voice has a dreamy quality to it, his mind still not fully in the conversation, his ears are a bright red as he says, “They are wonderful things to have.”

Roland seems to come back to himself shaking his head a little, his ears are also red, but it’s fading a bit as he continues the thread of conversation, “They are nothing scary.”

He is firm on this, as he can tell they are both Concerned about The Bonds. “But they are… warp based. That much we have been able to determine. It all depends on the strength of the Bond. Some can be… Broken, others are not.”

Roland looks towards Arnault, rolling his eyes as he realizes that Arnault’s still Lost in Love and continues to speak, his eyes glazing over for a moment or two as a smile reappears on his face, “Arnault and I could not break our current bonds. Indeed I wouldn’t want to.”

He seems to recover as he snaps out of his thoughts and he punches Arnault’s left shoulder to help snap him out of the Fog of Love the other was happily immersed in.

“Ja, You will know when it happens,” Arnault punches him back just as hard as he clears his throat, ignoring how much his ears are burning, “It’s a feeling that you get deep in your chest, right where you feel your soul rests. I would not suggest trying to break a bond.”

Arnault grimaces as he lightly touches that place, remembering the pain coloring his words and serious look in his eyes as he looks to Cedric and Ramiel. “It’s painful and well.. We’re unsure if the human also gets hurt if we break it like an Astartes does.”

Roland winces a little, he’s heard about the mess that can be his fellow Black Templar’s reaction to Bonds with humans. Arnault continues to speak, “I had gotten so sick trying to break my bond with Angela, ‘til I came back to her. I got better instantly.”

Ramiel and Cedric’s eyes go wide with surprise. They hadn’t realized just how important and potentially life altering the Bonds are for Astartes. It’s information that they are glad to know. And will keep both of their older brother’s words in mind. Also- they are going to warn Catius, Jophiel, and Claude so that they won't be doing something potentially life threatening in their panic, to themselves or potentially to an innocent human.

Arnault and Roland had come to the silent agreement that they wouldn’t talk about what other Black Templars viewed their Bonds with their humans, and how they’ve basically been exiled for having Tethered Bonds, one that a certain Chaplain Captain had sneered at them as having ‘slaaneshi-disgusting bonds’ with their humans. 

That curdled a spark of Rage in Roland as that Chaplain Captain Punk ass, no, Pol-ass… it might be Petras or something. He was particularly hard on Black Templars who formed a bond, and pushed for them breaking it. Also he didn’t seem to care if the Black Templar suffered for trying to break the bond.

He knows that Arnault’s had difficulties with that particular Chaplain in the past, who seems to delight in ensuring that both of their reputations, especially Arnault’s is Not Good, especially among as many of the Chaplains of the Black Templars as he can find on Ancient Terra. 

He’s glad to have Cedric and Ramiel around, it’s been… terribly lonely, not being among a Crusade of brothers. Sure the Imperial Fists are similar, it's not the same. He wonders if Ramiel would be willing to lead Vespers. It would be nice to have a Black Templar Chaplain (even an Apprentice) lead one for a change.

While Roland and Arnault have occasionally met a friendly to neutral Black Templar Chaplain, it didn’t tend to last once they learned of their bonds, and how strong they are. Also, somehow Petras found out and would … ensure those Chaplains were no longer so friendly to them. Neither of them have any idea what Petras is being such a hard ass about bonds.

[vondieerde]

Gods be damned, please tell me this isn't an endless maze of doors leading into other peoples homes.... I...I'll just go ahead I suppose... Specifically Harlowe: 🎻💯🍎🎂🤔 Choose whoever you feel like talking about: 💍🖊️🐉 💜(Maybe one of your OCs has a really special ancestry!!!!????) 😊😓👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 It'd be weird if I unsummoned myself at this point so I'll just take the next door.....

I see you're trapped in my gay and stupid maze again! There shall be no escape this time, fool! Not until I have answered your riddles!-- wait a minute this isn't how this usually goes. Wait, this is not my gay and stupid maze. This is not my gay and stupid wife. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME--

For Harlowe Hornbeam - 🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)? Harlowe's older brothers had more of a musical education than he did. By the time his parents got around to having him, they were a little sick of dealing with the cacophony of children playing instruments poorly at all hours. There was a brief moment where Harlowe was taught to play the fiddle, a traditional instrument for his people, but he didn't stick with it, instead keeping to his trade of sewing. This has been a (not serious) point of contention with his bard brother Hamish, who always wanted to start an obnoxious family band, but did not succeed. It is of note that Harlowe is true appreciator of music, despite his own lack of playing skill. He loves it, and does have a rather good ear and memory for songs. His live-in maid was a harpischord prodigy from an incredibly young age, a true wunderkind, and he encourages her to keep playing to the point of having an instrument commissioned and installed in his home just for her. Despite his general dislike of mages, he has a soft spot for bards. He'd kill me for saying, but he has a very pleasant and unique singing voice, too. Don't tell anyone I told you.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know. He's ambidextrous. He's pangender (any pronouns, but defaults to he/him because of society's perception of him. he doesn't mind this.). His clan's heraldry is "purpure a unicorn rampant argent in full, gyronny or", which is fancy talk for a reared-up silver unicorn on a pizza-slice pattern of purple and yellow colours.

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace? Harlowe was born in the town of Yarlford, the "capitol" of the Pales, the county of the Old Kingdom that's cordoned off by his people, the Lightfoot halflings. Yarlford is actually incredibly close to the human-ruled City of Vitroneaux, where he lives now, but the halflings take the border very seriously, and do not allow outsiders in under any circumstance (with the one exception of the Vit royal family during times of distress). The Hornbeam clan owns huge swathes of land in Yarlford and the Pales, and hold power as a sort of dynastic political force. His brother Hudson is the Mayor of Yarlford, which is their highest political rank. His father, Hemmingway, was also Mayor for almost his entire adult life. This has mired Harlowe into the politicking of the county, which can get nasty (we're talking blood feuds, arranged marriages to cousins, etc)… he has never been overly fond of his home because of this. He lived there because his immediate family was there, and when circumstances got bad and the ties of family became frayed with trauma and strife, he left. It was rather simple for him to do, as he had nothing left to keep him there anymore. He swore to himself to never return, taking on a There but for the Grace of the Gods go I attitude about the place… So, naturally, I forced his hand. Recently in his story, duty compelled him, and he entered the Pales for the first time in 30 or so years (though under heavy disguise and with the help of a friend). It was a very strange moment for him, especially because he expected any sort of return to be more painful than it was. It was rather bittersweet for him to look upon the hills and streets of his childhood, and strengthening to not be tempted to stay by nostalgia. He met a good group of folks there, and for a moment, he could almost appreciate halfling culture again. Almost. Mostly because the lunch was very good.

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs? The calendar of Harlowe's world follows the same time frame as ours (365 days, 7 days in a week, 12 months, 4 seasons), but the dates, months, holidays etc are different. He was born on the 5th of Iustary, roughly analogous to September 27th in our world. He is a Libra, and because his religion is based on a pantheon of the Zodiac, he worships the Libra god he was born under, Iusthimaat. I designed much of his personality around him being a Libra and the stereotypical Libra traits, so yeah, I'd say he fits his sun sign at least! His moon and rising ended up both being Cancer, which i feel suits him, too. He's an emotional lil guy, and does NOT react well to being made fun of. He's infamously moody, but he's got a level head over it all. He prefers when things are as comfortable as possible for everyone involved, and will go out of his way to accommodate everyone despite his prickly demeanor. Get to know him, and he's actually a very loving and nurturing man.

🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? Harlowe taps his foot very often when he's deep in thought. It's the ADHD. He's a quirky guy, but he masks hard… and this ends up with him being rather grouchy, as I said in the last question. He tries to act normal, but ends up being a different flavour of weird. Oops.

For Anyone - RAPID FIRE 💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings? Another DnD character of mine, Mugera, has ear gauges that he wears ivory tusk earrings through. The provenance of these tusks are dubious at best…

🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos? My oc Grimwilt V has almost an entire body of tattoos, with grotesque scenes of chaos, murder, demons, war, etc. They run on both sides of his body, leaving a line from his head, face, neck, down to his groin untouched. The rest of him is saturated with ink.

🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature? Hard to say with so many ocs that live in fantasy worlds… Mito, a druid of mine, takes on the form of a Tanuki very often. Surely that counts? Hm.

💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background? Gorgoa is a half-orc. Not much is known about her mother, a human who died shortly after she was born. Her father is a pureblood orc from a northern Orcish clan that diminished in power before moving to the south. There are no more members left of her clan alive other than her and her father.

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life? Harlowe's career has changed a few times in his 64 years. He initially trained to be a tailor, but joined the Vitroneaux city guard (Gendarmerie) instead. After his son was born, he took an interest in the Magistratus, an organization in his world that does all sorts of political work, as well as defense against magic threats. He joined up with them, specifically in the Arcane Defense corps, where he now holds the rank of Inspector. As for what he wants in life, well... He thought he knew, once upon a time.

😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge? Harlowe may seem stubborn (once again, it's the moodiness) but he's actually one of the most open-minded people you'll meet in Vitroneaux. He values diversity and fairness more than anything else, but his hatred of the dangers of magic can make him come off as a bit of a zealot.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family? Harlowe has 5 siblings, 4 older brothers and a younger sister. Of these siblings, he is closest with his brother Hamish and his sister Alice, though his proverbial distance from them means he hardly sees them anymore. He still writes them affectionate letters. He is closest in life to his maid, Gorgoa, who is like a daughter to him.