#I think its pate

[l0starl]

ARANSÓ TASTE SO GOOD

[sparring-spirals]

indulge me for a moment here:

Matilda, drawing a bird, dreaming of something that can pick her up and carry her away from here.

Paté De Rolo, as a bird skull on a rats body. A dead bird on a rats body. A body bound to the ground and scurrying through streets, unassuming and common and- to many, lowly pests, scarely able to be anything more. With a bird skull on its head- dreaming of flight, of escape, of faraway places, of bigger, better things.

(The bird is long gone and dead, only the bones left behind, puppeted by sheer will and hopeless dreams.)

[thequietkid-moonie]

S/O greeting them after their fight

[ SCENARIO ] [ Thor, Sasaki, Jack, Shiva, Buddha, Qin ]

[ Records of Ragnarok / Shuumatsu no Valkyrie ]

⚠️ This contain spoilers

I decided not write about about Zeus, sorry if someone wanted to read it

This take me longer that i expected! Wow! Anyway, enjoy!

Thor

He sees you waiting for him at the gods' entrance before being stoped by Lubu's army

After take care of it, he go and greet you pating you head with a sweet smile

He doesn't say much in his way to the infirmary while been followed by you, but you can tell there something diferent with him, he looks thoughtful

While his injuries were been treated he makes sure you stay by his side (the nurses don't dare ti say something about it)

After that he will tell how he would have liked to meet Lubu in other circumstances. Thor doesn't say much, but he keeps that soft expresion and smile, that human truly surprised him

After that you two stay together to see the rest of the fights, now seen the humans in a diferent way, with more respect

Sasaki Kyojiro

He was injured and bleeding, but he was smiling

After greeting you Sasaki practically fall in your arms, he doesn't have more energy, you and Hrist have to guide him to the to the infirmary to be treated

On your way he can't stop smiling and giggling, telling you how much fun he had in the fight

Both Hrist and you will congratulate him and scold him for worring you so much

After his wounds were treated you'll stay with him to make sure he rest, in the meantime he will tell you about his experience in the fight and how happy he is for his first victory

If you still worried about him and his injuries he will reassure you that he's fine, it doesn't hurt anymore.

After that you stay by his side, and with the others to see the rest of the fights. Sasaki offer you (and to Hrist too) to explain things you may not understand about the fighting techniques

When they go to help Buddha (when he meet the Gods of Fortune) he probably do it behind your back so you won't try to stop him he's too stubborn anyways

Jack the Ripper

He was injured, bleeding and people were throwing things at him and yet he walked calmly and elegantly. When he notice you in the humans' entrance he greet you with a soft smile.

In your way to the infirmary he didn't say much and he looks very thoughtful. If you offer your help he will try to denied but at the end he acepted

You wait until his wounds are treated to talk to him

When you ask him about the fight and how he feels he will tell you, but offer you some tea while both talk

This become a long talk about what happen and the colors he saw in Heracles

Its notorious that this affected him but in a good way, Jack himself expresed that he's happy to had the oportunity to met him

After his wounds were treated both of you ended up going where Hlokk she wasn't happy to see Jack but she don't force you to go away

Hlook offer you a sit and she start making a convesetion with you, that ended being she complaining about Jack, she even ask you why you are with him, to which Jack just laughed

Shiva

When he sees you at the gods' entrance he greeting you with a proud smile, as much as he would love to embrace you Shiva makes sure to keep distance (he was in fire a moment ago after all)

In his way to the infirmary he doesn't stop talking to you, asking you if you saw him fight and what did you think

While his wounds are treated you probably have to wait outsite the infirmary, but after you'll stay by his side, sitting in a comfy sofa beside him (along side with his other wifes)

Both of you will have a long chat about the fight, he had to wait long to finally fight and got excited, now he can't stop talking about it

And, for sure, Shiva will tell you how great fighter Raiden was and how he gave his best until the end

He even mentioned how he heared all your voices cheering him and that help him continue and, of course, will tease you for that

Buddha

When Buddha greet you he see how worried you was for him, he embrace you and give you a soft kiss in the forehead. On his way to the infirmary he keeps a soft smile.

His wounds were treated pretty quickly. If you were with him when he left the infirmary (with the excuse that he was bored) he just tell you to follow him, if you ask him where you're going he won't tell you. But if you weren't there he won't tell you, for sure you'll know where to find him

If you scold him for leaving the infirmary he will just laugh and tell you not to worry about it, he is fine!

He promise to take proper rest only if you stay with him, both of you ended up cuddling and eating candies

Buddha will talk about the fight just if ask, you can notice how this truly affect him, but in the end he is happy for Zerofuku (i mean he ended happy again). If you say something about how he changed to humans side he will laugh at it, to him is funny to remember it (especially the gods' reaction)

If you seem afected for this too he will reassure you that everything is fine don't worry your pretty head

Qin Shi Huang

He sees you for afar in the humans' entrance and smile at you brightly

He was helping Alvitr stand when Qin himself falls to the ground

Alvitr inmediatly start screaming for help and you run to their side, helping her carried Qin. Don't take much for the nurses to came and carry him to the infirmary while you help Alvitr

Since they were serious injured you have to wait outsite the infirmary while they are treated

Being that his condition is so delicate you will have to wait outside the infirmary. Brunhilde reassure you that he and Alvitr will be fine, thanks to the medicine of the Gods

Once he wake up one of the first things in his mind is you, he wants to see you. When you greet him Qin call you name with a big smile and a cheerful voice, he is acting as if he didn't just wake up after putting his life in risk, you'll have to make him stay still, remember him that he need to rest!

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

pls give adhd tips that have worked for you 🤲

Oh I do not think we can say that ANY of the way I live this life is recommended, but:

✨ Attitude ✨

I blamed myself a lot for not 'bucking up' or "buckling down" or "just doing it"

It never improved anything and it makes me sad. I stopped doing that and I achieve the same about of shit but I'm happier

💩 Boring tasks 💩

It is simply not a choice between "get it done properly right now" and "get it done half arsed at a weird time while wearing a silly little hat, singing a silly little song and rewarding yourself with a silly little sticker"

Its either half arsed or it's not done, so I'm half arsing it. My apologies that your task is boring as shit, I did what I could to make it bearable and you'll be thankful that I did that (me to me about the dishes)

🔊 Sound 🔊

I have a bell in my keys so when I think 'do I have my keys tho' for the 50th time I can just shoggle my jacket and know they're in there

I set a 30min audiobook timer, I can tidy because I can't watch anything because someone's talking, when it ends I can guilt free stop or I can ego boost keep going, but doing it often enough means sometimes I finish BEFORE THE TIMER (unmatched smugness)

I sing the "got my (something) got my (that thing) got my (thiiiing)" song while pating important things like dog lead poop bags headphones before I leave the house

Work video conferencing filters out background music, you can just play tunes all day and it makes 'tell me when you can see my screen" silences bearable

🦄 One little thing 🦄

Every work day I set myself one task I WILL do today, it needs to be no more than 20mins with no pre work

No matter what happens that day I can take 15 and achieve one actual small useful thing and if I do I put a little "good job" sticker on my to do list notepad.

I am both the struggling student and the teacher cheering her on. I have the power to buy £1 unicorn rainbow motivational stickers and by God I will use that power to email Ken from statistics

[apteryxparvus]

truth beneath the spell

Pairing — Lyney / Reader

Word count — 5865

Content warning — mild cursing • idiots in love • mean pranks

Summary — For years, you and Lyney have been locked in a fierce rivalry, constantly one-upping each other. But when Lyney’s latest stunt results in the destruction of your cherished garden, revenge is the only thing on your mind.

Driven by a desperate desire to settle the score at the upcoming Fontaine Grand Gala, you devise a cunning plan — you infuse Lyney’s favorite Pate de Fruit with a potent dose of truth powder.

However, what you don’t anticipate is your plan going awry as emotions buried deep within both of you begin to surface.

“Don’t you think this is a tad bit excessive?” Mona muses, casting a lazy glance your way, as she reclines on your plush couch. She idly flips through a weathered spellbook, her once neatly tied hair cascading freely around her shoulders. “I mean, if you keep retaliating to every prank, you’ll forever be stuck in this endless all-out war.”

You huff dramatically from your spot on the floor, attention fixated on the pile of journals chaotically scattered around. “He started it first,” you retort, completely ignoring your friend’s advice.

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “And you just had to get back at him, didn't you?"

“Yes! My reputation is on the line!”

She sighs, a hint of exasperation evident in her voice, as she joins you on the carpet. "Why yes, you're totally not trying to hide—really badly at that, by the way—your extremely obvious crush on Lyney."

“No!” you deny too quickly, shoving the first heavy journal you find against Mona, catching her off guard. "Just — just, shut up and help me, or I swear to the Archons above, I will tell the Old Hag who read and misplaced her precious journal."

Mona gapes, her light blue eyes narrowing as her teasing smirk fades away from her soft face. “This is blackmail,” she declares, gaze fixated on your menacing, yet cheerful expression. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You say nothing in response, and a silence envelops the two of you, lingering in the air, broken only by the rhythmic sound of pages being flipped. Each turn feels like an eternity as you scan through the books.

“Aha!” you exclaim, eyes gleaming with triumph as you point towards a page adorned with scribbles and intricate diagrams.

Mona’s gaze shifts from skepticism to intrigue, and she leans in, studying the page with genuine interest. Her eyes flicker between you and the diagrams, and she shakes her head.

“I think that one is too much, even for your standards,” she remarks, furrowing her brows.

"What do you mean? It's perfectly acceptable!"

She looks at you, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "You cannot just open an extradimensional portal and send him tumbling into an unknown domain! Are you out of your mind?"

"Fine, fine. I'll look for something else," you grumble, resuming your little quest. You skim over the pages with renewed determination. Each time you eagerly point towards a spell, Mona shoots you a disapproving look, shaking her head.

Finally, you stumble upon the perfect spell — one with easily obtainable ingredients and a straightward diagram and incantation. Your face lights up as Mona nods in approval.

"Mockingbird's Echo," you begin to read, your fingers delicately tracing the frayed page. "Transforms the fauna in proximity to its target into impish mimics, compelling them to emulate every gesture and vocalization in a sarcastic and mocking tone. These enchanted creatures persistently trail the subject."

"I suppose that's an interesting tactic to silence him," Mona comments with a sly smirk. “Will you need my help gathering the ingredients?”

You inspect the list of items mentioned — a generous amount of dried Tongue Grass, a combination of Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, along with century-old Mayflower bark, three purple candles, and a moon-charged Septarian.

A brief moment of contemplation passes over your features, and your eyes shift to your herb corner comfortably nestled on your windowsill.

“Perhaps you can ask Jean if she’s willing to part with one of her quality blends of Swine's Snout and Lion's Tooth."

A few days later, after Mona had successfully procured a high-quality blend of herbs from Jean — whose only response was the thinning of her lips along with a deadpan expression at the mention of your plan — you’re sitting, legs crossed, in your ritual room.

The moon bathes the room in its ethereal glow, revealing your altar, cluttered with numerous hanging smudge sticks, spell jars, and a multitude of colorful misshapen crystals and stones. The air seems to shimmer with a subtle energy, carrying whispers of ancient magic. All the necessary ingredients are neatly arranged next to you, catching the moonlight that reflects their textures and deep colors.

The silence is interrupted by the soft rustle of pages as you look over the instructions for the spell. Following the guidance, you carefully place each herb in your trusty mortar, grinding them into a fine powder. As you add the century-old Mayflower, you grimace at the memory of haggling for a cheaper price, recalling the heated argument with the pink-haired merchant. You transfer the powder to a small bowl, placing it in the center of the altar.

With a swat of your wrist, the candles next to you flicker to life, their flames dancing in response to your command. You meticulously draw several runes, ensuring each one is somewhat connected with the burning candles beside them.

Reciting the incantations, you hold the charged Septarian close to your chest. The air around you crackles with energy, the temperature growing hotter with each uttered word.

Moments later, the candles die, their flames extinguished abruptly. The room plunges into sudden darkness, and only the residual warmth and charged energy lingering in the air is left.

You let out a sigh of relief, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, and your limbs feel heavy, as if gravity is pulling your body harder and harder to the ground.

Performing spells has always taken its toll on you, and ever since Lyney's remark about your limited mana levels — sparking the beginning of your little rivalry — you've been dedicated to surpass your own limitations, improving and strengthening your energy, determined to prove him wrong.

With a proud smile, you place the ground herbs in a small sack, expertly wrapping it with cotton twine.

“That’ll teach him,” you mumble to yourself.

Slipping the enchanted sack of herbs into Lyney's coat proves to be amusingly simple; a bribe for his familiar — a fluffy black cat with red eyes and a sly feline smirk — involving a bag of catnip and a few morsels of fatty tuna seals the deal.

"Rosseland, come here, boy," you whisper-yell, propped against the fence that separates your house from Lyney's. The cat glances at you, then at the tempting bag of catnip in your hand.

He lets out a loud meow, and you see his expression shift into one of mischief, perfectly mirroring your own. The cat trots over to you, skillfully climbing the wooden fence.

“Good boy,” you murmur as he purrs, affectionately headbutting you. You scratch behind his ear, earning a satisfied meow.

It's amusing how much Lyney's own familiar adores you; he’s constantly overjoyed to see you, and you are the only other person apart from the trio of siblings allowed to give him belly rubs.

Rosseland climbs onto your shoulders, playfully biting into your hair, anticipating the promised treats. "Yes, yes, my boy." You wave the catnip in front of his face, and his whiskers twitch happily as he takes a whiff. He gracefully jumps off you, landing on the grass. You crouch next to him. "Listen, you'll get all this — maybe even some Pate de Fruit — but on one condition." The cat perks up at the mention of his favorite jelly candy, staring at you expectantly. "I need you to place this in Lyney's coat, yeah?" you say, presenting the enchanted sachet.

Purring once more, the cat headbutts you in agreement, his long bushy tail brushing across your face. You laugh softly as you offer him the promised pieces of fatty tuna. Once he finishes the treats, you let him play with the catnip, observing him as he rolls around the grass, meowing and growling loudly.

You release a sigh. "It's a mystery how such an adorable familiar ended up with such an annoying owner like Lyney..."

The same evening, as you prepare a simple vegetable stew and savor a glass of dandelion wine for dinner, a loud, insistent knock echoes from your front door. Glancing at the oven clock, you realize the only person who would be knocking this late could only be—

"Open the door right now, or else!" Lyney yells, and you smirk at the evident frustration in his voice, his words echoed by several mocking tones.

“As if,” you mutter under your breath dismissively, ignoring his shouts. You carry on stirring the simmering mixture, checking the thickness of the stew and tenderness of the potatoes. Licking the wooden spoon, you release a contented hum, pleased with the spiciness level of your creation.

Just as you're about to turn off the stove, the room grows unbearably hot, the flame of the stove flares for a moment, and a scorching breeze envelops you. Swirling around, you brandish the wooden spoon like a weapon.

“How dare you!” you shout as Lyney materializes in your kitchen. “You just had to come and ruin my dinner, didn’t you?” You point an accusatory finger towards the now-blackened dish.

“And you really had to cast such an annoying spell on me?” he fires back, his voice mirrored by the two ravens swirling around him. You can't help but giggle at the mocking tones of the birds. Lyney only shoots you a glare, his violet eyes narrowed into slits.

"Remove this spell right now," he demands, crossing his arms.

“No,” you answer bluntly. “You trespassed into my home, scorched my floor,” you continue, pointing towards the now-charred floorboards around Lyney, “and ruined the dinner I was looking forward to the whole day.”

"And anyway, shouldn't you be the better one of us, huh? Why not get rid of the spell by yourself?" you smirk, enjoying the flush that colors his face.

Lyney stays silent for a few moments, then releases a grunt and turns around without uttering another word. The birds follow, hovering nearby. One of them pecks at his hat, and he swats the raven away, fists clenched.

You wait for the inevitable sound of your front door slamming shut, and as it does, you sink into a seat at the table. Cheeks ablaze, you hide your face in your palms, and let out a groan. "Of all the people, why did I have to develop a crush on you?"

“Barghest, Mama’s home!” you holler, your familiar dashing towards you, tail wagging. The large wolf-dog leaps into your arms, and you both tumble onto the grass, laughter bubbling out as he showers you with slobbery kisses. “Bargest, enough — enough,” you giggle through his affectionate onslaught, running a hand through his short, silky fur. “I missed you too, baby.”

"He was very obedient while you were away," Clorinde remarks, leaning against her front door. "How was your trip to Mondstadt?"

"Tiring as usual," you sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fischl roped me and Mona into yet another commission. This time, we ended up getting lost in a labyrinth-like domain… and chased off by wind spirits.”

Clorinde's laughter fills the air as she gives you a thorough once-over. Her gaze lingers on the eye bags beneath your tired eyes and the fading bruises scattered over your body.

"Go home and rest; you'll need it if you want to be at least partly presentable for the meeting this Wednesday."

Your eyes widen for a split second, and your stomach plummets—the meeting, oh shit, Fontaine Grand Gala.

In the midst of the ongoing prank war and the recent commission in Mondstadt, you had entirely forgotten about the bi-yearly gathering between the Fontaine magical society members. The last one had been absolute chaos — arguments had erupted between different factions, and neither Lady Furina’s authoritative commands nor Monsieur Neuvillette's diplomatic skills could calm anyone down.

As the cherry on top, you and Lyney ended up in an elemental brawl that echoed through the grand hall. The sizzling magic and the crackling flames did not only set a few ancient artifacts on fire but also managed to engulf a couple of innocent coats and dresses in the process.

"Maybe this time it'll be less eventful," Clorinde offers optimistically, though the subtle raise of her eyebrow suggests she's not entirely convinced. "But seriously, take care of yourself before Wednesday."

As you traverse the familiar forest path leading towards your home, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of your familiar’s heavy paws, your mind is haunted by the vivid memories of the fiasco. And you can’t help but cringe at the thought of how your fiery clash with Lyney had quickly become part of the gossip fodder of the community.

"Barghest, I am so utterly screwed.” Your companion’s ears perk up at the mention of his name as you lament. “This stupid rivalry is only fueling my crush. Am I some sort of masochist?" Barghest, of course, remains silent, but responds with a look — his red eyes slightly narrowed, as if silently calling you out on your own stupidity.

The evening air is cool, and the dimming sunlight is hidden behind the canopy of tall trees, casting a gentle shadow over the path leading to your home. As you approach, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, and goosebumps prickle your skin. Beside you, Barghest snarls, revealing his sharp fangs, his eyes aglow in an ominous red.

In the distance, you notice several small creatures circling your garden, an unsettling dark aura barely cloaking their presence.

"He wouldn't have," you whisper, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before your eyes.

Barghest doesn't wait for your command, already leaping towards the boggards. The creatures, sensing the imminent danger, emit squeaks of terror. In panic, they release their grip on the plants they were holding, fleeing into the distance. You command your familiar to stay put as you take cautious steps towards the now disturbed spot.

The soil beneath your feet is upturned, and the once vibrant plants lie trampled and torn. There is a lingering malevolence tainting the air, intermingling with the putrid smell of sulfur.

As you lower yourself to the ground, a wave of emotion washes over you, and a few tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Gently, your fingers trace the once vibrant, now crumpled petals of a bluebell.

Amidst the disarray, a lone tansy stands tall, slender stem unwavering against the chaos. The petite yellow blooms stand out against the aftermath. 

You narrow your eyes, a simmering anger bubbling within you. The significance of the plant isn't lost on you — after all, herbology is your strongest subject. Could Lyney have intentionally left this flower as a declaration of war, knowing full well its meaning? You shake your head, dismissing the notion, but the uncertainty lingers on within you.

Barghest moves closer, his furry form leaning in, and with a gentle nudge, his wet snout presses against your cheek.

"Don't worry, we'll get back at him," you murmur soothingly into his fur.

"Try this on," Mona suggests, gently fastening a choker around your neck. The piece is adorned with a large amber gemstone, encapsulating the fossilized remains of a spider.

You run your fingers along the delicate lace of the choker, observing your reflection in the mirror. You’re elegantly dressed for the grand gala, light makeup accentuating your features. Mona had offered to help you get ready, preaching how the best revenge is appearing uncaring and looking your best.

And while you agree with Mona’s sentiment, you’ve kept your true intentions hidden from her — how you intend to make Lyney confess all his wrongdoings and embarrass him before the community.

Your friend had seemed wary upon spotting the assortment of desserts in your bag — pate de fruits, conch madeleines, and colorful macarons. But you had swiftly explained it as an apology for the previous incident. Mona had raised an eyebrow in suspicion but chose not to press further, and you had sighed internally, relieved.

There was no way in Celestia you’d disclose the fact that the fruit jelly slices — one of Lyney’s favorite snacks — were discreetly laced with a potent dose of truth powder, cleverly mixed with the sugar.

"Promise me, no arguments, no fights, and especially no more pyro brawls with Lyney.”

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping a bit. "Yes, I know," you mumble, pouting. “Chiori still shoots me icy stares whenever she passes by. The coat was apparently a family heirloom or something.”

Mona gives you a pointed look. "I know you're plotting something to avenge your garden, but promise me you'll hold off until after the gala."

Rolling your eyes, you assure her, "I'll behave, alright?” Raising your right hand dramatically, you declare, "cross my heart, Mona. I'll be the picture of perfect behavior."

A soft, monotone voice calls your name, and you turn around to find Lynette approaching. “This bow looks really cute on you,” you comment, eyes flickering to the teal accessory adorning her hair.

She responds with a quiet thanks, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks. "I should go look for Freminet. He's probably feeling overwhelmed from the party by now," she states, glancing around the bustling gala. You nod in understanding.

"Also, I would recommend not going near the punch table. A feral cat is on the loose there," she warns and you cannot help but laugh, knowing full well who she is referring to. She's been aware of her older brother’s antics since the beginning of your prank war, maintaining a neutral stance despite Lyney’s persistent attempts to enlist her help on multiple occasions.

As Lynette makes her way through the crowd, you take a moment to admire the lively atmosphere of the gala.

The grand hall, with its soaring ceiling and arched doorways, exudes an air of timeless elegance. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, and the polished marble floors reflect the shimmering lights above. As you walk around the room, you pass by tall columns, embellished with sophisticated carvings, depicting scenes that capture the rich history of Fontaine.

Ignoring Lynette’s warning, you decide to make your way towards the punch table, where the “feral cat” supposedly roams. As you approach, you spot the magician engaged in an animated conversation with Aether, their laughter filling the air.

Lyney, as if possessing the hearing of a wild cat, detects the sound of your approaching footsteps and swiftly turns around. He offers you a cheerful smile that doesn’t fully mask the challenge lurking in his eyes.

Aether, the embodiment of warmth and light, greets you in a friendly manner, his eyes a rich glowing amber hue.

"I brought some desserts," you announce with a hesitant smile, presenting the carefully arranged selection of sweets. “As an apology for last time.” Your gaze flickers away in an attempt to appear shy and humble.

Aether’s eyes light up at the sight of the intricately crafted macarons. You generously offer him a few, suggesting he shares them with his gluttonous fairy familiar. Grateful, he thanks you and departs, leaving you alone with your rival.

The atmosphere between the two of you thickens, the tension palpable.

"You're not going to share some with me?" Lyney teases, a mock pout on his face.

"After you ruined my garden, no, not really."

"Then would you like a glass of punch as an apology?" he suggests, pointing to the fruity mixture.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. "A drink from you? No thanks, I don't trust you."

Lyney's playful demeanor doesn't falter; instead, he takes a deliberate step closer, his gaze holding a challenge. "Come on, don't be so uptight. It's just punch."

"And why would I take anything from you?" you question, suspicion lacing your words. "How can I be sure that you wouldn't have poured something in it?"

"Because why would I drink it myself, too? And look," he points casually to a few figures engaged in lively conversation near you. "They’re also drinking from the punch. Why would I risk angering the rest, especially today?"

You pause, considering his argument.

If you're going to endure this gala until Mona decides it's time to leave, a little liquid courage would not hurt. You look away from Lyney's captivating violet eyes, snatching the glass he is holding. With a sly grin, you pour yourself a generous amount of the sparkling liquid.

“Well, it was unpleasant meeting you, as always,” you say with a smirk, your hair swaying as you turn to leave. Unbeknownst to you, Lyney’s eyes follow your every move, a faint pink hue dusting his cheeks.

His lively façade noticeably deflates as he witnesses you greet a dark-haired man whose muscles strain against his clothes. Lyney clicks his tongue disapprovingly, downing his drink in one swift gulp — he doesn’t care that you’re talking to Wriothesley, and he is absolutely indifferent about your little crush on the older warlock.

The magician refuses to acknowledge the subtle shifts in his emotions, trying his best to avoid the implications they carry.

He pours himself another glass of the punch, scanning the various tables. His eyes lock onto a plate of jellied fruits, sitting there untouched, the tempting delicacy calling out to him.

Wriothesley casually leans against a column, sipping tea from a delicate cup.

"Has Barghest been giving you any trouble?" he inquires, his voice smooth.

"Um…" you start, feeling your tongue dry up, the words unable to leave your mouth. "Actually, yes," you stammer, and you gape, not believing your own words.

"Oh? What's wrong?"

“To start off, anytime we're at the dog park, attempting to blend in with normal people and play fetch with a stick, he insists on bringing me enchanted — and by that I mean cursed — artifacts. Not only does he refuse to let go, but he hoards all his little finds and won't even let me touch them!" You rant, voice rising. "And don't get me started on his behavior during the full moon. It would've been fine if the only problem was his howling — I could easily cast a spell and soundproof the room. But no! He gets the zoomies and has to run around for hours!"

Wriothesley arches an eyebrow, motioning for you to continue. His expression is of mild curiosity, partly entertained by your unusual behavior.

You gasp, hands instinctively flying to cover your mouth. The words had spilled out unintentionally, and it takes you a moment to grasp the bizarre nature of the situation.

“Ask me what’s two plus two,” you implore in an attempt to make sense of the situation, eyes pleading.

With a bemused expression, the Duke obliges.

Summoning all your willpower, you try to say “five”. However, each attempt feels like dragging your tongue through sand, rendering your voice mute before the incorrect word can escape. After a brief struggle, you give up with a reluctant "four."

"Congratulations, you can do basic math," Wriothesley deadpans.

"Lyney, you little shit!”

Your eyes sweep across the hall, searching for his unmistakable figure amidst the crowd. His figure seems to grow more prominent as he gets closer and closer. The room seems to narrow down to just the two of you, the distant chatter and laughter fading away.

Lyney is now just a few paces away, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You!" The accusation erupts simultaneously from both of you,

"You think you can just ruin my night and get away with it?"

"You ruined my garden, and now you're trying to ruin my reputation at the gala!”

The onlookers, previously engaged in light-hearted conversations, now turn their attention towards the spectacle unfolding before them. The entire grand hall holds its breath, sensing the growing hostility, awaiting the next move.

Lyney smirks, seemingly unfazed by the attention. "Well, if you're looking for a fight, you've got one."

Before you can formulate a response, a voice echoes through the hall, cutting through the tension. "Enough!" The commanding presence of Monsieur Neuvillette silences the murmurs in an instant. "The two of you, out now."

Attempting to explain yourself ends up being futile, as Chevreuse firmly grasps your shoulders, propelling you towards the exit. You find yourself unceremoniously dropped on the grass outside, protests lost in the scuffle. Clorinde follows suit, pushing Lyney out with a force that sends him stumbling besides you.

"You are not allowed to re-enter until you've resolved this petty drama between you," Clorinde declares, tone unyielding, as she forcefully closes the door behind you, the latch clicking shut.

"You drugged me with a truth serum!" you shout as you nurse your aching tailbone. Lyney ignores you, nonchalantly standing up and brushing off his clothes.

"And you didn't do the same?" he retorts with a sharp edge to his words, his nostrils flaring.

"It was payback for my garden! An answer to your little declaration of war!" you snap.

The male in front of you appears taken aback for a split second. "Declaration of what? What are you even talking about?”

"The tansy, you asshole!"

"Tansy? What even is a tansy? Have you gone mad?" he responds, a furrow forming on his brow as he struggles to comprehend your accusations.

"The only flower the stupid boggards you summoned left alone in my whole garden. Do you even know what it means?" Your voice echoes in the stillness, punctuated by the distant sounds of crickets and the passing night breeze.

"I really don't know what a tansy is," he admits, his confessions handing in the air, the admission catching you off guard. Despite your initial reluctance to believe him, the truth serum’s influence prevents him from lying — and you’re left grappling with the realization that perhaps he is genuinely unaware of its significance.

You groan, the weight of the chaotic evening bearing down on you. "Seriously, why did it have to be you?" you mumble into your hands, your words muffled by your palms.

"Me what?" Lyney asks, leaning in slightly.

Your eyes widen, and panic courses through you. You quickly press your hands against your lips in a desperate attempt to keep them closed. The truth serum is still affecting you, and you’re acutely aware you’ve almost revealed more than you intended.

Lyney narrows his eyes, sensing that there's more to your words than meets the eye. "Come on, spill it," he prods, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing past your ear.

You gulp, squeezing your eyes shut. "It's unfair that I had to like you of all people," you confess quickly through gritted teeth, your fists clenching the grass beneath you. "What idiot falls in love with someone who clearly hates them and sees them as weak and useless?"

Lyney is stunned, not expecting your answer. He stumbles back, and you feel a few tears pricking in your eyes at his obvious rejection.

"You love me?" he slowly asks, confused. You take a look at him — the moonlight accentuates the contours of his face, revealing a vulnerability you've never witnessed before.

"Yes, how many times do you want me to repeat it and embarrass myself? I think this was more than enough."

"An infinite amount of times," he states softly. You meet his gaze with damp eyelashes, taken aback by the sudden flush of his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, drawing a shaky breath, he murmurs, "I want to hear you say it again and again."

“Why?”

"Because—because I love you too.”

His confession hangs in the air, every vulnerable emotion laid bare before you.

“You must be lying,” you mumble, shaking your head.

Lyney crouches down to meet your averted gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs gently as he reaches out to brush away the lone tear tracking down your cheek. “You know I cannot lie.”

As his thumb wipes away the dampness from your skin, you find yourself leaning into his touch. “Then why do and say all these hurtful things?”

A tense silence hangs between you as Lyney seems to search for the right words. He takes a steadying breath before meeting your eyes. “Fear… Fear made me lash out in stupid ways. When I first saw you, it stirred memories of my own immaturity and overconfidence, back before I realized I could depend on other people, too.” His shoulders slump. “I didn't mean to hurl those hurtful remarks towards you — I really didn't — but I wanted to shield myself from caring for you.”

His eyes plead for understanding, hand reaching for you, but he lets it fall limply to his side when he sees the turbulent swirl of hurt and anger in your eyes. 

"You are so stupid, Lyney!" you cry, hot tears coursing freely down your cheeks now. "Instead of facing your true feelings, you chose to lash out and say cruel things, just to drive me away! Clearly that didn't work out, did it?”

Your ragged breaths echo in the tense silence between you both. Lyney offers no defense, unable to justify his actions.

"I should've been honest from the beginning. I wanted you to become stronger... and while doing so, I hurt you," he says, eyes downcast, and you notice how the fight he had in him has left him. “I saw my own weakness reflected in you…”

"Wow, thanks for noticing," you bite back, the hurt in your words hidden by your simmering anger, veiling the vulnerability underneath. "So, all those times you cast spells on me, all those attempts to humiliate me in front of friends and superiors—what was it all for? To help me grow? Get over yourself, Lyney."

He looks down, unable to meet your eyes. "I truly am sorry," he murmurs, “and I wish I could take it all back.”

You stand up, your body surging with conflicting emotions as you close the distance between you and Lyney. As you draw near, your face is mere inches away from his; nostrils flaring, you grit your teeth, and without breaking eye contact, you grab him by his shirt.

"Sorry won't fix it." Your fingers dig into the fabric. "And yet, I still love you."

With those words left hanging in the air, you press your lips to his.

Your mouths collide in a frenzied dance, all the bottled up emotions pouring out. Your hand moves from his collar to the back of his neck, gripping him tightly, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer to you.

Lyney responds with a fervor that matches your own — his lips move against your with a hunger that mirrors your desires, his pent up feelings coming undone. His hands find their way to your sides, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. The pressure of his touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter with each passing second.

The kiss is not gentle; its rawness — a proof of the unspoken tension that has defined your relationship.

You feel the wetness of tears streaming down Lyney’s cheeks, and his grip on your sides tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he deepens the kiss. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a breathy moan escapes your lips.

"I love you so, so much," he whispers as he moves his lips away from yours, leaning his forehead against yours. "I will do my best to repent for my actions until the day I die."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, and you can't help but let out a choked sob, heart feeling both heavy and light. You reach for his face, your trembling hands gently cradling his cheeks.

"I know you will," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, "and I know I will forgive you."

You press your lips against his once again, this time tenderly. Your bodies draw closer, molding together as if they were made to fit each other perfectly. The heat between you intensifies, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and time becomes irrelevant as you lose yourselves in the intoxicating passion.

“—rinde, Clorinde, wait” a distant voice calls out.

"They’ve been out there for a while. I must make sure no property is destroyed, again."

Clorinde flings the heavy door open, eyes narrowed, body crackling with purple electricity that dances around her. Seconds later, Navia follows suit, appearing slightly out of breath with her intricate dress billowing behind her.

Caught in the act, you and Lyney spring apart at their entrance. The two women's eyes scan your disheveled appearances — your lipstick smudged around your mouth, with marks matching its shade plainly visible on Lyney's collar and neck, both your clothing rumpled, and his hairdo now a tangled mess.

"Damn it," Clorinde's groans, her hand pressing against her forehead in apparent frustration. "You couldn't wait — I don't know — a few more weeks until Mabon. Now I'm down 72,000 mora."

"What?" you ask, puzzled by your friend’s outburst.

Navia sighs, offering a sympathetic pat on Clorinde's shoulder. "A few people had a betting pool running."

"A betting pool? About what?"

Clorinde crosses her arms, her expression softening. "How long it would take you and Lyney to finally confess your feelings," she reveals. Lyney's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and realization. "I bet that it would happen after Mabon. A few others had different predictions, and of course, there was Wriothesley who bet on tonight. That smug asshole was so sure."

“Well, then, we will leave you two lovebirds alone," Navia teases, giving you a playful wink.

"Wait," you yell out, feeling a sudden surge of curiosity. "What did — what did Mona bet on?"

Clorinde's laughter fills the air. "Oh, Mona? She bet that you'll always be at each other's necks," she reveals, unable to contain her amusement.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mona," you mutter under your breath, exasperation evident in your voice.

Clorinde waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't take it too seriously. Just remember, I expect an invitation to the wedding."

"We're not even officially together yet, and you're already planning our wedding?" you exclaim.

"Let's take it one step at a time, shall we?” Lyney teases, his voice filled with warmth as he presses his lips against your cheek. “But I must admit, a wedding would be quite the celebration." Lyney teases, pressing his lips against your cheek.

"Anyway, I will leave you two alone now, just try to keep it PG in here," Clorinde teases once again before shutting the door behind her, leaving you and Lyney alone.

Your whole body flushes. On one hand, you feel a tinge of embarrassment and anger at the thought of your friends betting on your love life — particularly your best friend betting against you. But on the other hand, you can’t deny the contentment swirling within you, knowing that you’ve finally broken down Lyney's walls and glimpsed at the raw emotions behind his eyes.

"I think before we go in, we should have a proper talk about us," you murmur, meeting Lyney’s gaze with a determined expression. "Just so you know, I'm not toning down on the pranks even if we are together. I have a score to settle."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect anything less," he replies, a hint of challenge in his voice. "But remember, love, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve as well."

Author's note: My brain is completly fried from the amount of RedBulls and painkillers, so sorry for any mistakes. This was meant to be around 2k words, but yea... 💀

Some extra information for the curious 😋

English folk names for the herbs used — Chickweed (Tongue Grass), Dandelion seeds and roots (Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, respectively), Hawthorn (Mayflower)

Dragon's Egg — another name for Septarian, a brownish-red stone that "enhances communication abilities", a healing stone

Rosseland — in-game name for Lyney's cat

Barghest — a monstrous black dog from English Folklore; I like to imagine Barghest was from the same litter as Wriothesley's familiar (Cerberus), which is why the two of you are close friends

The Fontaine Grand Gala being hosted on a Wednesday — supposedly this day of the week is associated with "communication"

Lyney did not spike the punch, but the empty glass he was holding (which was rudely snatched) was coated in the truth-serum powder

Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) — a perennial flowering plant; "I declare war on you"

[calisources]

GEORGE R.R MARTIN'S FIRE AND BLOOD QUOTES. all sentences here were taken from the book fire and blood which in part was adapted to hbo's house of the dragon. change pronouns, names and location as you see fit. warning for some foul language and mentions of inc*st.

“Then the storm broke, and the dragons danced.”

“A ruler needs a good head and a true heart, a cock is not essential.”

“Words are wind, but wind can fan a fire.”

 “My father and my uncle fought words with steel and flame. We shall fight words with words, and put out the fires before they start.”

“The seeds of war are oft planted during times of peace.”

“Only you could have won me away from the sea. I came back from the ends of the earth for you.”

“The Iron Throne will go to the man who has the strength to seize it.”

“I fed my last husband to my dragon. If you make me take another, I may eat him myself.”

“Let no man think that the fire of the Targaryens did not burn in his veins.”

“We are as the gods made us. Strong and weak, good and bad, cruel and kind, heroic and selfish. Know that if you would rule over the kingdom of men.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“Thrones are won with swords, not quills. Spill blood, not ink.”

“Such a fierce little thing she is, she has no need of comfort. They are wrong in that, I fear. All men need comfort.”

“When the gods are silent, lords and kings will make themselves heard.”

“I do not have the time for tears.”

“Pride goes before a fall.”

“It is always winter now.”

“I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that.”

“But we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.”

“Surely the Mother Above loved my children more. She took so many of them away from me.”

“The tradition amongst the Targaryens had always been to marry kin to kin. Wedding brother to sister was thought to be ideal. Failing that, a girl might wed an uncle, a cousin, or a nephew, a boy a cousin, aunt, or niece.”

“ This practice went back to Old Valyria, where it was common amongst many of the ancient families, particularly those who bred and rode dragons.”

“The blood of the dragon must remain pure, the wisdom went. ”

“Familiarity is the father of acceptance.”

“Brother, you need never kneel to me again. We shall rule this realm together, you and I.”

“All men are sinners.”

“You rose up in rebellion against your lawful queen and helped drive her from this city to her death.”

“We came here to be free of Old Valyria, and your Targaryens are Valyrian to the bone.”

“They practiced blood magic and other dark arts as well, delving deep into the earth for secrets best left buried and twisting the flesh of beasts and men to fashion monstrous and unnatural chimeras. For there sins the gods in their wroth struck them down.”

“She has such a tender heart. Give me time, and I will find a lord to cherish her.”

“Not every Targaryen needs to wield a sword and ride a dragon.”

“I would sooner she wed a lord, but if she prefers a hedge knight or a merchant or Pate the Pig Boy, I am past the point of caring, so long as she picks someone.”

“If she wants I can find a hundred men and line them up before her naked, and she can pick the one she likes.”

“I'll have no songs about how brave you died, Kingmaker. There's tens o'thousands dead on your account.”

“Who can presume to know the heart of a dragon?”

“The Red Keep has its secrets, known only to the dead.”

“He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one.”

“Sixteen Targaryens followed Aegon the Dragon to the Iron Throne, before the dynasty was at last toppled in Robert’s Rebellion. “

“Dorne has danced with dragons before, I would sooner sleep with scorpions.”

“Winter’s here. Time for us to go. No better way to die than sword in hand.”

“The High Septon was the true king of Westeros, in all but name.”

“I will leave the making of law to you, brother, I would sooner make sons.”

“And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.”

“Paying coin to the usurper is proof of naught but treason.”

“Poison was regarded as a coward’s weapon, and lacking in honor.”

“For both the blacks and the greens, blood called to blood for vengeance.”

“It was a good time, a golden autumn, a time of peace and plenty. But winter was coming.”

“The confidence of youth counts for little against the cunning of age.”

“Thankfully I proved too small for the wolf to notice.”

“Such stories make for charming songs, but poor history.”

“Why be a lord when you can be a king?”

“Only the gods truly know the hearts of men, and women are full as strange.”

“Whatever her powers, it would seem Daemon Targaryen was immune to them, for little is heard of this supposed sorceress whilst the prince held Harrenhal.”

“They called themselves the Winter Wolves.”

“We have come to die for the dragon queen.”

“Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.”

“For the rank and file of the City Watch still loved Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of the City who had commanded them of old.”

“We are done with writing letters.”

“The North was too remote to be of much import in the fight.”

“The Dance of the Dragons is the flowery name bestowed upon the savage internecine struggle for the Iron Throne of Westeros fought between two rival branches of House Targaryen during the years 129 to 131 AC.”

“His mount was blood-red Caraxes, fiercest of all the young dragons in the Dragonpit.”

“The bells began to ring on the tenth day of the third moon of 129 AC, tolling the end of a reign.”

“These happy bastards were said to have been “born of dragonseed,” and in time became known simply as “seeds.”

“House Tyrell would take no part in this struggle.”

“For all the vaunted strength of its walls, King’s Landing fell in less than a day.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“How many came to see the crowning remains a matter of dispute.”

“This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling.”

“Here I have you to myself, day and night,when we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you."

“I have the dragon’s bastard in me.”

[go-go-devil]

Pate and Patches: What's the Difference?

As an avid Patches Enjoyer, I had initially found myself a bit underwhelmed with Mild Mannered Pate after completing his questline in Dark Souls 2, particularly with his overall lack of any truly devious trickery towards my Bearer of the Curse.

However, I didn't think it was fair to him to completely compare his role to Patches's. So after much assessment and taking in all the gameplay & environmental clues I could, I think I may have finally deduced how Pate's differences to Patches help him fit into his own niche in this game.

Y'see, while Patches is a predator, Pate is a parasite.

Patches goes after his victims directly. He lures them in with the promise of treasure only to flip a switch that'll send them into dangerous/fatal areas or will straight up kick them down there himself. If they somehow manage to get out of his traps then he'll start groveling and offering gifts for forgiveness. He also uses this predatory tactic to determine which of the people around him are both resilient and forgiving enough for him to trust, which leads him to becoming a merchant and thus a kind of ally to you. A sketchy, devious ally, but one who actively benefits you and gives you his occasional musings on the world and its characters.

Pate, on the other hand, doesn't seem to want to get his hands dirty at all when it comes to scavenging his victims' loot. Instead his strategy is to directly attach himself to anyone who proves strong enough to get through any dangerous areas he stumbles upon. He does this by playing the role of an unassuming, cautious treasure hunter who gives you helpful advice about the immediate area and wishes for your safety. It can even be seen through his choice of clothes; Pate dresses in the armor of a common warrior, unlike Patches who proudly wears the thief's set.

I remember at first finding it strange how he of all NPC's was the one who gives you the white soapstone, contrasting how in DS1 it was Solaire, one of the kindest characters in that game, who gave it to us. Looking back, however, it does fit his strategy well. Summons directly benefit from their summoners by getting souls & items for their participation, and so Pate can offer his help by turtling with his greatshield and stabbing the boss safely with his long spear to get his fill of the large number of souls you acquire.

Once he becomes his next victim's "ally," all Pate has to do now is just mosey alongside them and keep finding areas where they can acquire great treasures. But only for them, of course! He's just too nervous about what terrible traps await, but surely his ally is brave and strong enough to persevere while he watches from a distance. If they were to die by a swarm of hollows, or fall into a pit of poison, well, it wasn't HIS fault that it happened! He did warn them, after all...

With that in mind it's easy to assume that Pate was pulling this parasitism on Creighton for a good while, tagging along with him and benefiting from all the undead, hollow or sane, that the man slayed. The two even stored their treasures together in the same hovel. Why exactly he locked him up is never directly explained, but if I were to guess I'd say it had to do with Creighton's claim of wanting to set up a trap for Pate. He began to grow wise (or maybe moreso paranoid) to the fact that he was being used, and once his mild mannered "friend" figured it out he tricked him right back, took what he could from him (that being the Ring of Thorns), and booked it!

And even after all of that, this man still has the gall to share this story with strangers by twisting it around and turning the guy who tried to kill him into this poor, foolish little warrior that Pate tried so hard to stop from falling into such an obvious trap.

That's what separates the two tricksters. Unlike Patches who defines himself by living independently from others, Pate cannot function without hooking his claws onto the trust of more daring individuals to do all the dirty work for him. After surviving Patches's tricks he becomes your merchant and ally, but Pate wants nothing to do with you after surviving all of his traps. While Patches locked up and warns you about Yurt and Lautrec in DeS and DS1 respectively because he was genuinely afraid of how cruel and violent they were, Pate locked up Creighton upon realizing he wasn't beneficial to him anymore and doesn't even bother warning you about the fact that he's a convicted serial killer, instead pretending he doesn't even know the guy.

There's also the fact that if you summon Pate for The Last Giant boss fight, he'll give you his clothes, spear, greatshield, and even the ring (or at least copies of them, he doesn't strip down in front of us). Since this is also when he tells us he's heard of a man who's out hunting for him, it's more than a little suspicious that he would want us to dress to his likeness. Especially if that certain someone might end up mistaking us as him.

All-in-all Pate may seem less harmful than Patches on the surface, but in the end he proves to be far more cowardly and arguably WORSE than him from a moral standpoint.

[unicyclehippo]

For the one-word prompts, glutted?

post 67

the hound lay at the entrance to their hideaway, glutted on scraps and slumbering, content, under laudna’s stroking hand.

it was, it had to be said, a wretched thing. what skin it had was mottled and torn to reveal grey flesh; what grey flesh it had was ravaged and split to reveal bone; what bone it had was brittle and cracked, missing pieces of itself to reveal the hollow hurting ooze of marrow and shadow; what shadow it had menaced in eye hollows and the depths of a growling throat, it was a flicker of dark purpose linking bones and ragged tendons. it was also just kind of gross. the shadow bled out of the hound as they rested, a creeping pool of black that was starting to be soaked up in the hem of laudna’s new skirt. she didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she didn’t mind. long pale fingers scratching behind a tattered ear.

‘does it have a name?’ imogen eases herself down at laudna’s side, a full plate for them both to share in one hand. she uses the rock wall for help instead of laudna’s shoulder; that would only end in disaster or dislocation and she figures they’ve both had enough ouches for the day.

two pairs of inky eyes blink over at her. the hound growls, low in its chest.

‘don’t be foolish,’ laudna chastises. for a moment, imogen can’t be sure who she’s talking to. ‘this is imogen. if you growl at her again i’ll unravel you.’

it ought to worry her, the way laudna’s been talking to them. pate, the hound. and it does, a little—the scolding, the rebukes, the dismissing. it doesn’t matter if pate dies, he’s already dead. let me throw him, let me use him, he’s mine i made him. that coiled tacky knot of pride and disgust. look at what i’ve made.

imogen lifts pate onto her shoulder and settles their dinner on her knee.

‘it’s alright. it’s brand new.’

‘no it’s not. it helped kill a judicator.’

imogen hums, nods. ‘and you told it all about me during the fight.’

‘well. no, but,’

‘so how could it know?’ she clicks her tongue st it and, when it lifts its head, curious, she pats it. it was cool to the touch, something imogen was quite familiar with, and slimy. if tar had a dead cousin, that was what the shadows were fashioned from; it left a grey film on her fingers that laudna groaned about but imogen only laughed, burned it away with a flicker of lightning. ‘are you going to name it?’

laudna grimaces. pats it a moment longer before her fingers curl around a black current of energy, a leash, and the hound sighs and collapses in on itself. when it’s over, there’s nothing left but a black stain on the rock.

‘we shall have a menagerie soon,’ laudna jokes. her mouth stretches in a pretty smile. her eyes stay locked on her lap, her twisting fingers. ‘pate, mister, the dog.’

‘chet.’

it startles a chortling laugh from laudna, that really wonderful one, boisterous, gleeful. ‘that’s wicked,’ she scolds, grinning.

imogen grins back. ‘i love your laugh.’

laudna’s eyes widen. she laughs again, nervous. glances over to the rest of their party clustered closer to the smokeless flame, orym with his sister. when she looks back to imogen, shadows slink through her shadow-black hair, and secrets creep behind her eyes, soft and hazy. ‘m-my laugh?’ she asks, softly. ‘truly?’

‘yeah. always. i like how you can tell how genuine it is.’

laudna ducks her head. ‘i have always enjoyed yours as well.’

‘i sound like a horse,’ imogen grumbles. laudna nods, very sweetly, which earns her a gentle slap on the shoulder. ‘you’re ‘sposed to say no, imogen, you don’t sound like a horse,’

‘darling, you do. it’s very…’ laudna tilts her head to an uncomfortable angle. ‘cute,’ she says slowly, word awkward and uncertain, like she isn’t sure of it, sure she should be using it. ‘it’s - well - it has always been such a treat. you don’t laugh nearly enough, in my opinion.’

‘i don’t remember laughing before i met you.’

laudna smiles again, eyes soft. it’s sad and a little awful, to admit it, to think it—surely there was a time, some friends when she was younger, but the memories are staticky with hurt and fear piled over them. there’s something so nice about laudna, her cheer of course, but also her teeth, her chill, the way she can reach out and menace someone to their very soul. with laudna at her side, hurt and fear can’t do very much.

‘i was considering truffle. for the dog.’

‘truffle.’

‘yes! it has such a prominent snout, perhaps it was a truffle hunter in another life.’

imogen settles their dinner plate between them, moves so she can be close to laudna. tuck herself into her side, almost as protected as she had been, wounded, shielded. ‘i like it.’

‘but you don’t love it.’

‘i just don’t know if it fits.’

‘no? hmm. i’ll give it some thought.’

[danwhobrowses]

Okay so we are doing a very rare third post about the events of Critical Role campaign 3 episode 91 so avoid if you still haven't watched it because there will be spoilers again

Right. So I'm not gonna talk more about the Reincarnate vs Stay Dead debate with FCG, I still prefer Reincarnate for reasons I put in my last post but now I'm gonna talk about the other route, if FCG stays dead, what becomes of his remains?

It is almost ironic that a PC death happened a few episodes after Matt created the Ruidian custom of making weapons from a loved one's remains, something Ashton and Fearne were quite intrigued by, so I wonder if the Hells would do the same - in a way carrying a little bit of FCG with them to continue the fight. Outside of his loot it's hard to tell what the Hells can use, if it were me I'd have each of the Hells have a bracelet from his hair at the least, but the rest would probably need to be left in the hands of tinkerers to create things that may enhance the Hells' combat; maybe a conductive whip for Imogen to use for her more lightning-based magic for instance, I can also see Ashton fixing FCG's head onto their outfit or hammer and Chetney and Laudna maybe making little FCG dolls for each of them too.

Loot-wise I had to look at the wiki to remind myself of all the stuff FCG had on them, as well as see what Otohan had but outside of the backpack and swords it wasn't quite descriptive at this point, and even then there's no guarantee it'll all be undamaged from the blast, but there were some notable things that could end up in the Hells' hands to use. I feel like we're all in agreement that if FCG doesn't come back that Ashton keeps the Coin of the Changebringer, perhaps even have it affixed to their hammer so to feel like FCG is still fighting with them. The full extent of its magical properties were not shown outside of the Yes/No question and 1 bout of Lucky per day, but on Ashton's hammer the daily reroll might end up being helpful, though they are not a fan of the gods a little FCG-aided divine buffing could go a long way. Other than that, Ashton probably should claim the two Potions of Possibility FCG had, my earlier post mentioned my belief that Otohan's backpack should go to them because Dunamancy (I didn't however mention how echoes can work as temporary meat shields for Ashton to better negate enemy attacks that'd otherwise be aimed at the party) and the logic is the same here, Matt would probably have to try and balance Ashton's Dunamancy and Titan buffs so to not take all four potions (or more, think Fearne and Orym have one too right? *checks* oh and Laudna so that's 7 potions!) at once but those seem to be key loot Ashton should keep a hold of.

Outside of combat FCG would be helpful in using Identify when the Hells came across new objects. While Chetney has Grim Psychometry to do something similar, the Goggles of Object Reading that FCG used could be taken by Imogen - which in turn may provide Laura and the fandom a means to canonize glasses on the character - along with the Staff of Dark Odyssey that she has used before.

Fearne is another who could hold the Staff, but I find it unlikely. She would probably take the rod used to plane-shift to the Fey Realm, in a way being a key to home if she needs it. I can see her taking the Ivory Branch as well, albeit temporarily until a new healer presents themselves, due to the +1 Spell attack and +1d4 Healing. She might keep the Ruidian mood ring but I feel like that wouldn't survive the blast, same with the recipes FCG collected, though it'd be nice if someone were able to carry on his memory that way; Fearne, Ashton or Orym would be likely candidates for that.

Laudna would perhaps be able to use most of the scrap remains of FCG for her constructs, perhaps a little buffing for Pate is in order plus she doesn't use Sashimi often. Chetney only really works in wood so he probably won't take the remains, stuff such as his saws and propeller could be used to empower Laudna's own creations, maybe even the fake legs too.

One weapon I think will not end in Laudna's hands however is the Grapple cannon, which could suit either Orym or Chetney. Orym is the better candidate to use it though, given the 20 Dexterity compared to Chetney's 14, additionally there is the +1 Mithril Half-Plate Armor, which could be an improvement for either.

If Orym were to get both I could see it being a trade for Chetney not getting anything, in turn granting Chetney both of Otohan's swords to use - since Orym may want nothing to do with her equipment given her role in killing their family. Otherwise I can see Chetney maybe grabbing the saws ahead of Laudna, maybe the goggles but he does already have the monocle, and any utensils he can repurpose for crafting. There is also the possibility of him getting the Aeoran Scrambling Devices that we know little about, maybe adding a little 'this wouldn't happen if it were wooden' catharsis for Chet if he used them on machines.

The only other thing that is left from FCG are the bolt thrower and the All-Minds-Burn drugs. The latter could go to anyone but Ashton, Fearne and Imogen are more likely (she still needs to plant that seed), the bolt thrower could go to Laudna, she never used Bor'dor's slingshot with the Draconic Rune that Prism added to it, or to Chetney to fire a chisel. His coat he designed like FRIDA's would probably be kept for her to be given too. Outside of that the only other specific loot we currently know from Otohan is the Fake Treshi Ring for Scrying (not its official name), which won't be of use to the Hells since the next time they get close to a major enemy they will be fighting, but perhaps it could be placed in the hands of Liliana Temult, either to keep track of her or to plant on Ludinus so the Hells can track his movements instead.

[jozor-johai]

some thoughts on identity as a motif in asoiaf. feel free to add on!

mostly just thinking about this because of how anything in asoiaf gains meaning from continued repetition, so it's interesting to keep track of these things, and see how different approaches to the same idea give more depth to the meaning.

Sometimes, these ideas are so similar that people create theories to argue that they are literally the same character. I think most "secret identity" theories are often misinterpretations of thematic parallels; yes, these characters have a lot in common thematically, but it does not need to be the case that they are literally the same character.

However, I recognize that playing with identity is its own motif in ASOIAF, so some thoughts:

Jon Snow's false identity; Young Griff's false identity, along with his whole party: Griff, the mysterious Septa Lemore, Duck, etc. Quentyn Martell (also a prince!) and his assumed identity, also in Essos, along with his entire party posing as sellswords. Barristan Selmy posing as Arstan Whitebeard. Alleras / Sarella. Asha pretending to be Esgred. Mance being glamoured as Rattleshirt, and later Mance as Abel. Varys as Rugen, and his other disguises. Ramsay Snow posing as Reek, and later Theon being forced to become Reek by Ramsay. And Theon-as-Reek "pretending" to be Theon again.

Which brings me to the chapter titles: identity is such a strong motif that it is also communicated in a structural way through the chapter titles, which begin to describe the characters rather than name them, or else take on the assumed name of the POV character.

Theon becomes Reek and the chapters reflect that. As he escapes the notion of Reek, the chapter titles reflect his changing identity. Sansa loses her identity, becoming Alayne, which is reflected in the chapter titles. Victarion goes in the opposite direction; he is the Iron Captain, the Reaver, and the Iron Suitor before his last chapter title becomes Victarion. Arya's identity changes as early as the second book, becoming Arry aka Lumpyhead, then Weasel, then Nan, then Squab, then Salty. Then she joins the Faceless Men, who heavily question the notion of identity, and cause Arya to question her notions of identity as a major plot device. Arya's chapter titles become Cat of the Canals, the Blind Girl, the Ugly Little Girl. We also get insight into other character's sense of identity, as well, even if they never get a chapter of their own name.

Plenty more to be said about the chapter titles, I'm sure, but Arya brings us to the Faceless Men, and Jaqen -> the Alchemist -> Pate, as far as we know.

On the topic of "anonymous organizations", there's the mystery of the identity of the Harpy, and the issue with the anonymity of the Sons of the Harpy, as well as, arguably, the equal issue with the anonymity of the Brazen Beasts (as the Shavepate is able to infiltrate his personal men into their ranks secretly).

Some identities that fundamentally change with death: Catelyn becoming Lady Stoneheart, and "Robert Strong", assuming he was the Mountain originally.

Beric feels like he's losing his sense of self with each time he dies, which is interesting because as that happens more and more of the Brotherhood Without Banners pretend to be Beric—he loses himself at the same rate his person becomes a symbol instead of a man. Also fitting for the Brotherhood Without Banners—no banners means without an identity in the way that most of Westeros conceives of it.

Because one's banners are their identity. Lannisters are "Lions" and Starks become "wolves" and there is a need to distinguish between wolves on two legs and wolves on four. The Tyrells are "roses" complete with thorns. "Dragons" refers to Targaryens just as often as it refers to actual dragons if not more. Obviously this continues ad infinitum.

And insofar as House names are identity, there is the voluntary renunciation of identity when becoming a Maester and losing one's last name, or taking the Black and forsaking one's familial ties, or to a lesser extent joining the Kingsguard and renouncing one's claim to lands. All of these are a loss of identity; one might argue that exile is a forced loss of identity in the same vein.

Which makes the Golden Company especially interesting, because they claim Westerosi names but without any real need to back them up with lineage.

And there are other voluntarily assumed identities that are not necessarily meant to be disguise, just self-chosen names. Bards often are specified as taking on stage names of a sort, like Rymund the Rhymer, Symon Silvertongue, and Tom Sevenstrings aka Tom of Sevenstreams aka Tom o'Sevens. Lem Lemoncloak. Cersei is especially bothered by the idea that the "Blue Bard" is really just a smallfolk man named Wat.

The "High Sparrow" might be more like a stage name, more important as the symbol of an identity than as a person. "The Hound" is also like a stage name, and the mystery of the Hound raiding Saltpans shows how the identity of the Hound can be separated from Sandor Clegane himself. Interesting that Lem, who already has a sort of second identity, will don the Hound over that in WINDS.

There is the mystery of identity even when assumed names are not into play, as with the Kettleblacks; they mystery of who they are and where they come from is important even without fake names (as far as we know).

Then there is the identity as reflected in prophecy. Melisandre sees a girl who she thinks is Jon's sister but then Alys Karstark appears. Melisandre sees Renly attacking Stannis' host at the Blackwater who turns out to be Loras in Renly's armor. Arguably, this applies to the symbol-identities we get: we understand that someone "is" the Mummer's Dragon, we understand that someone is the "giant" that Sansa will slay.

The "Three Eyed Crow" might be part of this category, and the idea of an assumed "dream identity". Maybe the weirwoods and warging are more identity-issues; Varamyr talks about how wargs take on the animal characteristics—so warging itself is about identity, too.

Which is then doubly potent with Hodor, who is a whole person that Bran is stealing the identity of.

There are tons and tons more but this is just a collection of thoughts on the idea.

[antlereed]

i think its because laudna is such a physical character, she exaggerates and emotes with her hands and face and hair so much, that i think she just. contains all of this emotion until she physically cant anymore. laudna cant sit still or else she explodes. she plays with her hair or makes cats cradles out of ichor, she grooms pates gross ass fur and tries to braid the long ichor-hair of her hound until they fade into nothing. laudna sways on her feet like she still hangs from a tree

[sunday-halovian]

*In about half an hour, Aventurine pushes Sunday's door open, carrying a tray topped with squares of chocolate tiffin.*

*The blonde has been careful to use digestive biscuits to pack some extra nutrients into the squares, as well as adding dried cranberries and raisins. The chocolate icing is dark, probably hinting at a large portion of its primary ingredient.*

I'm back! Turns out I didn't use the oven after all~ *Aventurine giggles to himself.* Sorry it took so long! I wanted to wash all the dishes I used.

*He places the tray on the side table, lifting up a couple squares with a spatula and placing them onto a plate before handing it to Sunday.*

You know, when you said you might not have everything, I still had a lot to work with! Some things I've never even seen before, it was interesting~ The kitchen is so pretty, too! So large and spacious... *Aventurine seems to notice he's rambling, clearing his throat and setting the spatula down on the tray beside the tiffin.*

Anyways... let me know what you think~!

~ @aventurine-official

[As he came in, Sunday was lying down, a hand over his eyes as he tried to focus on other things. He sat up as he was handed the pate.]

It is a manor in the dreamscape. Were you expecting it to be small?

[He took a bite before giving a nod.]

[utilitycaster]

You nailed why I'm having trouble with Laudna. Another moment for me is her shortness with Orym when pleading to FCG, some of it potentially explained by Marisha in 4SD: how fucked up the lack of intervention + nod were, Laudna's feelings on it all, potential conflict down the road, etc. But when you see the episode itself, Marisha is pretty clear Laudna isn't really aware of her friends at all, that nothing was going to stop her from killing Bor'Dor. 1/2

I usually don't mind inconsistencies at all, because as people we are never realistically consistent 100% of the time, we aren't always in character, so to speak. But some of this feels inconsistent with what has actually happened and is happening, with the text itself, so it feels so jarring. Anyway, I understand if you don't want to post this, just happy you can put to words what I have trouble articulating myself. 2/2

----

Hi anon, thanks! Yeah...I don't actually mind Laudna having conflicting feelings about Bor'Dor, but she doesn't know Orym's underlying motivations (I don't actually find the lack of intervention to be remotely fucked up. Nod kind of is, but I think that's the other thing. We're just guessing at who she's lashing out at, if anyone in particular.)

I think. if I may, the reason all this discussion of Laudna's weaknesses as a character is coming up now is because it was always an issue, but between how much stronger her concept seemed during the Team Issylra arc, the return of Delilah (always a weak point) and the fact that the story itself has hit its stride and a number of other characters have sharpened their focus while she's in many ways taken a step back, conceptually.

I think as others have pointed out, it's 65 episodes in and Marisha's answer in 4SD to any questions about the character concept is still "nightmare about creepy girl." Like, that's fine as a starting point, but what is Laudna trying to achieve? What are you exploring with this? What is she going to do about Delilah now? Will we get any sustained payoff of her grappling with the fact that not everything is fine, or will proximity to Imogen continue to act like a rapid dose of sedative?

What did she do in 30 years, because all we have is "made Pate", "got kicked out of a bunch of villages but also this hasn't been consistently backed up by people's responses to her during the campaign so it feels off", "and got to Marquet" (NO understanding of how she got here, which is pretty egregious). Again, the comparisons that keep being drawn in a matter intended to bolster her relationship with Imogen constantly keep detracting from it - Fjord and Jester had known each other for a few weeks or so prior to the campaign and it felt like it, as did Caleb and Veth's several-month friendship, as does even FCG and Ashton's vague cohabitation of convenience. There is simply no sense of knowing each other for two years. I talked about players who are masterful with negative space recently, and this is the opposite - the missing pieces do not suggest a shape we cannot fully discern. They just fall unused onto the floor.

Even the mechanical build feels mostly designed around a directionless aesthetic. Like, genuinely, why is her base level warlock if she showed signs of magical talent prior to Delilah possessing her? It's not even particularly mechanically superior for her to have done this! Warlock/Sorcerer isn't a strong multiclass anyway, and leaning into sorcerer in a party with a different sorcerer whose engaging with that thematically far more, and not really doing any other work into her opposition of Delilah makes it worse. When you add in that Pate is both one of the more recognizable aspects of the character but Marisha at one point said she had no original intentions of taking that third level in warlock (the one that granted him existence), it all becomes more baffling. And to be clear, characters can take unexpected turns; but there wasn't work done within the story that indicated a level of warlock would make sense (and in fact it would have made more sense to have fought it harder!) There's such a passivity to her warlock side - it's not even an open embrace of darker power, despite what she's said, it's just losing control, which to be honest destroys everything interesting about it, while simultaneously making the stakes of her breaking that pact low. Like, oh, you lose 3 levels and you still have 7 levels of sorcerer? Why haven't you done it then. You were level 7 like a month ago. You'll get better.

I know this all sounds harsh but I think the most recent episode just showed that, pun unintended, there is a hollowness to the characterization and when significant changes to the status quo or thorny philosophical conversations occur, there isn't a solid enough foundation to support the improvisation. There's no sign of intentionality beyond the initial "be spooky." Like, why bring in Whitestone and never consistently explore what it was like living under the Briarwood occupation as a commoner, or what it means to have Delilah in your head? Every piece of the arc feels like it's dropped and picked up when convenient and stops existing when it's not. Like...I don't dislike Laudna, and she has good scenes with characters other than Imogen, and there have been characters I have disliked either for a stretch of episodes early on, or for their entire run, but it just feels like an unprecedented lack of thought into how this character will actually exist and do things for a full campaign. I can't dislike her for her personality or ideology because there's not enough of it to dislike.

[dilatorywriting]

Now I can't help but think about the scene where

The Reaper!Rook tries for the first time the liver pate prepared by the Baker!MC.

Baker!MC. is just researching some new recipes from time to time for a seasonal menu. Rook with bliss looking at how the Baker!MC. flutters in the kitchen reading a recipe from an old book taken from the library. The Reaper has a great opportunity to be a taster on a permanent basis, pushing Ace and Deuce into second place.To their general displeasure and annoyance.

-What are these diligent, elegant and hardworking hands creating today? Ah, I'm looking forward to what will happen~

Listening with half an ear to Hunt's chatter, the Baker!MС. spreads some pate on fresh fried bread and passes it to Rook.

-Try and find out..I think I'm missing a little salt?

Curiously accepting the "offering" more like a piece for a sandwich, Rook, with all its inherent grace and dramatic, bites off one piece with a pleasant crunch of fried bread and immediately freezes. His pupils dilate and he can barely take a breath from delight.

Watching this little show to which the Baker!MС. was mostly indifferent, it seemed to them tha Rook at this moment looked like a cat that was gently stroked for the first time and given valerian.

-So?

As if in slow motion, chewing his first bite, the Reaper looks with the most sincere delight that could only reflect his face.

-What was this food of the gods that blessed my mouth?!May I dare to ask for some more of this divine ambrosia created by your hardworking hands?

-It's liver pate. Did you like it that much? - Thinking that at the moment the Reaper who scares the whole neighborhood like a local devil driving everyone to fear and devils, the Baker could not get rid of the thought that now Hunt is more like a child who first got into a candy store.

Now the Baker!MC. knows some of the preferences of this strange guest. Likes to try - whatever they give. Delighted and will not be silenced for the next forty minutes - liver pate with toasted bread. ***

One day the Baker!MC. made for the Reaper!Rook some sandwiches with liver pate. "So that he could have a snack with them later or between his business" And immediately, Rook without any thought dropped to one knee, taking off his hat, making the most pompous verbal marriage proposal that this city has seen and heard. ***

And more.

Baker!MC. probably also showed off from time to time in front of the Reaper, showing off their skills.

Like this guy from "Kiki Witch Delivery Service"

Baker!MC probably: Ah yes. Finally. a proper bribe to get him to shut up forever

Rook: *get's worse*

Baker!MC: I should have expected this

[apocketfullofpoesis]

topic of rant: the unnecessary hatred that "toppers" get

don't even get me started on the whole stereotyped notion that people have towards students who are nailing it, esp in a brown household and society.

1. Do you understand what a 9 CGPA is? THAT TOO IN ESTEEMED GOVERNMENT UNIVERSITIES??? THAT TOO, THE MAIN CAMPUS??? no. You don't. you also don't know how a 9.0 is generalized in a middle class Indian household. it is excruciating that you keep running your arse against sand paper and when nobody takes interest in knowing how much you scored and you go and show them on your own, they be like "I knew you could do it" like?????? 😃 YOU DID NOT KNOW IT. WHILE I WAS STUDYING YOU KEPT COMPLAINING HOW I DONT HELP YOU WITH THE HOUSEHOLD CHORES AND JUST KEPT MYSELF BUSY WITH MY BOOKS. YOU DID NOT KNOW SHIT FAMILY. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU TOOK INTEREST IN MY ACADEMIC ACHIEVEMENTS DO YOU KNOW THE RESPECT IVE GAINED IN THE EYES OF THE BEST PROFESSORS AND HOW THE WORST ONES KEEP TARGETTING ME??? but you knew it.

2. I keep seeing these reels wherein the so called influencers act like "toppers" (BECAUSE THEY CAN ONLY ACT LIKE ONE) and do the stereotyped scene of how toppers lie about how they're studying. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE EVIL EYE THINGY? ITS BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE THESE INFLUENCERS WE DONT BOAST ABOUT OUR SCHEDULE BECAUSE IT SCARES US BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY WE ARE INDIANS AND SOMEWHERE IN OUR HEARTS THESE KINDA SUPERSTITIONS ARE DEEPLY-ROOTED. Aur kahi toh tumlog "Nazar shit is real" kehke cool ban jate ho what happens to y'all while talking about this??? Fucking hypocrites.

3. It is appreciable if you work hard on yourself and rise from say, a 4 gpa to an 8.5, in Desi terms, "zero se hero banna" BUT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HERO BANE REHNA IS AN EMOTIONALLY DRAINING JOB?? NO.

4. "Are tum to B.A wale ho." NAHI, HM WO LOG H JINHONE APNI POTENTIAL KE HISAB SE APNE INTERESTS KO CONSIDER KARTE HUYE EK CAREER CHOOSE KIYA WHERE WE'RE NAILING IT. unlike you, jo drop leke kuch naa ukhaad paane ke baad bhi "at least I tried" bolke pvt colleges me admission leke ek 8 bhi nahi laa pate. unlike you, we don't regret our choice, unless it wasn't your choice iykyk.

5. "But nobody forced you to throw yourself into too much study." Sis, unlike you, we're actually trying to improve ourselves and manage to at least excel at one good thing. unlike you, we're actually doing something to make our lives better. unlike you, we don't whore around the campus and club during the entire semester only to cry during exams and give excuses based on baseless criticism of the "toppers" of whom we're just insecure and jealous because they're actually good.

6. It is exhausting. The entire process. Esp when you don't get appreciated enough. This feeling of insecurity and envy is everywhere among everyone we're surrounded with. People think we must be proud. But even if we are, is there something wrong with it? They are ready to criticize us the moment we suffer a minute downfall. Remember Shylock's monologue from The merchant of Venice? Replace the Jew and Christian words with topper and average/below average students. It's that deep. If mocking us behind our backs and bitching about us when some of us are really kind and try to mingle with you, help you out - gives you peace, so be it. But please do not stereotype our efforts like that. Do not spread anymore negative emotions towards us. It honestly doesn't help any better.

[unicyclehippo]

crackle?

Laudna and her daemon crept along the outskirts of town. They hadn't been in Gelvaan for long but already it was clear it would not be like her last home—she had stayed there very happily amongst the welcoming town for several years. Well, mostly happily. And, well, not welcoming so much as they were friendly. Not to her, naturally, but to one another, which was always nice to see! And they had been content to ignore her right up until that terrible business with the farmland blight. She didn't blame them for it; they were starving and strained and needed someone to blame and she...she wasn't one of them, in the end.

But Gelvaan!

'What a fuckin' dive,' Pate croaked from his place on her shoulder. He was hiding from the rain beneath her hood and hair—Laudna wished dearly she could do the same—highland rain didn't sprinkle or drizzle, it fell from the sky in big, stingingly cold droplets and her cloak wasn't really up for the task.

'Pate!'

'What? No one can hear us.' He nipped at her ear, as reproachful as he was gentle, and then flickered. Feathers gave way to clammy paws and oil-black fur with an unseemly pop. As a little black rat, Pate stood as tall as he could, one paw clutching in the tendrils of her hair for balance. Sulkily, he added, 'You were thinkin' it too.'

Laudna tutted. 'Nonsense! I think it's perfectly lovely!'

'They threw stuff at us. I saw a kid huck an apple!'

'Oh? An apple?' Laudna tickled his belly with one long, crooked finger. 'Did you see where it landed?'

'Splattered,' he informed her, mournful.

'Shame. Regardless, no one hit us. What do you think that means, hmm?'

'That they're shit at throwin.''

'That they weren't trying to hurt us!' she corrected, wielding optimism as one might a hammer. 'Now, for all that it hasn't been the most welcoming town, they aren't going to turn us away tonight. Not with that storm on the horizon.'

As if summoned by her words, the storm gods began their assault; not far from where they stood, a ladder of lightning dropped from the clouds. The earth shook with its impact, thunder booming across the sky. Laudna, startled, nearly fell over her sodden skirts and tired feet. She was quick enough to catch Pate, though, when he dove off her shoulder and into her hands. Curling protectively around him, she stroked his back, sheltered him against her chest, murmured quiet reassurances as he shook, tiny heart racing in his little rat form. He would be alright, he would always be safe, she would always look after him, her Pate, her darling boy. It reassured them both when she held him like this; a daemon, after all, was nothing less than her very soul made manifest and while other might find him unsettling or repulsive, even, she adored him. At the moment, he was little more than a blob of shadow and two glittering, beady eyes watching nervously from between the cage her fingers made for him. The sky that had seemed endless vast that morning menaced them now, clouds dense and low, lightning crackling in the distance; they had to leave, they had to make it to shelter, but he was not sure - even as Laudna stood and gathered her skirts up with one hand, pressing him tighter against her chest to protect him from the stinging rain - that the township of Gelvaan was anything other than what he feared it was. He hoped, for Laudna's sake, that she was right about them. Someone there would help them.