#Ostia has been through a lot

[saijspellhart]

Lyndis x Hector and number 46

46. Kisses that are interrupted by an unsuspecting party walking in. (Hector x Lyn)

“Ow, ow ow…” Hector held the saddle horn in a death grip as they crested the last rocky moor overlooking the low forests of the Caelin march. They could finally see castle Caelin in the distance. Without much prompting his horse started down the winding, rocky trail towards a dense forest below, where there was no doubt a stream with fresh water.

Eliwood and his steed followed Hector’s lead, starting down the path with a little more care than Hector’s mare exhibited. “You doing alright there, friend?”

“Peachy,” Hector grunted as the horse barreled none too gracefully over a particularly rough patch of path.

“Won’t be long until we reach castle Caelin. Lady Lyndis will no doubt have meal and a room waiting for us.”

Eliwood and Hector had come to visit for both a Caelin rain festival, as well as a newly implemented Sacaen Moon and Sky celebration. Lady Lyndis was fighting tooth and nail to incorporate a part of her culture in this new march she’d inherited; Hector and Eliwood came to show their support. They would be staying in Caelin for the next month.

Hector hoped they had a doctor that could amputate his saddle sore ass. “She’ll have a room for you.” He told Eliwood, “I bet six gold pieces that she puts me up in a chicken coop.”

Eliwood laughed, and patted the side of his steed. “And put out the chickens?”

0000

Lyn was going through a mountain of paperwork when a big blue-maned berserker stormed into her study.

“Lyn!”

She tried to catch a wobbling stack of papers before it toppled over the edge of her desk and onto the floor. She failed.

Lyn ran a hand through her bangs, and looked up as the man stalked over to her massive cluttered desk. “Hello Hector, an elegant entrance as always.”

“What are you doing in here? Eliwood and I have been here for nearly two hours and we’ve not seen hide nor hair of y—gods this place is a wreck.” Hector shook one of his boots to dislodge a letter that had attached itself. He tried to carefully step around the flurry of papers on the floor.

“Not all of us have an Oswin to manage our affairs while we galavant across the countryside.”

“Oh,” Hector leaned a giant palm on Lyn’s desk. “Kent not working out? Tell Sain to pick up the slack.”

“If I did that the only papers leaving this office would be raunchy love letters.”

“A marked improvement over the letters Ostia has received from Caelin of late,” Hector snipped back. He revealed a beautifully carved and stained oak box and slammed it down on Lyn’s desk. He opened the box, plucked out a letter, and waved it at Lyn.

“Why Hector,” she raised her brows and smiled coyly, “I wasn’t aware you desired raunchy letters from me.”

Hector sputtered, and attempted (and failed) to hide the blush that stained his cheeks. She could see him trying to quash an embarrassed smile.

He proceeded to unfold the letter in his hand, a letter marked with the Caelin seal. In fact every letter in the chest was marked with a Caelin seal. “‘Dear Hector,’” he read “‘I find myself at a loss for words that you would propose becoming pen-pals. Delighted as I am, Sir Oswin is busy enough with Ostian affairs, surely he doesn’t have the time to transcribe these letters for you.’” Hector tossed the letter on her messy desk. “Implying I can’t write, Lyn?”

She opened her mouth to answer with a barbed remark, but Hector didn’t even finish the first letter before opening another letter from his box.

“‘The coffee stain footnoting your recent letter was a bold flourish to compliment the elegance of your brigand prose.’” He proceeded to dump the entire contents of his box over the top of her desk. There were a lot of letters. “Say it to my face, Lyn. Tell me again how my penmanship brightens your day like a parade of drunken caterpillars.”

She turned her face, an attempt to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

While Hector prattled on about the contents of her letters, Lyn slowly and carefully placed a hand on her own stack of letters sitting on the corner of her desk. Every letter in the stack bore the Ostian seal, and the bundle was tied up neatly and lovingly with a ribbon of dyed and woven Sacaen grasses. She very slowly slid the stack to the edge of her desk, where she had toed open a drawer to receive them.

“‘It’s lonely in Caelin these days.’” Hector unfolded yet another letter in his quest to make up for lost time. As if she hadn’t written these all herself, and knew exactly what she’d put in them, “‘The castle is so dreadfully quiet since Grandfather passed. Sometimes I find myself reminiscing about our adventure, longing for the companionship we had then. Tragically I’d even prefer your snoring, that could shake the walls of a tent, over this mind-numbing solitude.’”

She didn’t normally keep the stack of Ostian letters on her desktop where anyone could find them. But she’d just recently received a letter from Hector, mailed off just before he and Eliwood had departed for Caelin. It had arrived just the other day, but she’d been so inundated with paperwork, she’d only just managed to sit down to read his letter and really appreciate the message today. And like every other letter she received from Hector…it joined a slowly growing collection.

But Hector didn’t need to know that.

Actually, there was a giddy flip in her stomach to find out that Hector kept all her letters in such an ornate box. Or maybe the box was just for the ease of transport while they traveled.

“‘I miss those late nights~,’” Hector quoted in a ridiculously wistful impression. Lyn made a choking noise, ears catching fire, and fumbled her stack of letters, flinging them over the front of her desk instead of into the drawer. Hector continued reading as he blindly bent to scoop the stack of letters from the ground, “‘sparring with you under the stars. Exhausted but determined, pushing ourselves to our respective limits. There was a language between us in those moments that I fear I lose a piece of day by day.’” It was from one of her more recent letters to him. A letter she wrote on a night when she’d been more sentimental and melancholy than usual.

Her face heated when she thought of the letter Hector had sent her in response. She buried her face in her hands and willed the fire in her skin to die out. It still made her heart stutter thinking about it. Regardless of his boorish prose, he certainly had knack for…

“What’s the matter Lyn, can’t stomach your own words?” Hector loomed over the desk, sneer pulling his mouth. “What’s this anyway?” He held up the bundle of letters he’d rescued from the floor.

“They’re nothing!” Lyn bolted up from her seat and made a grab for them.

Hector dodged her. “Ostian seal…” a spark ignited behind Hector’s eyes. She swore his gaze was burning as it shifted between her and the bundle of letters. The biggest grin spread across his face. “No way…is this a Sacaen ribbon? This has to be imported, unless… you made this yourself? But then you definitely imported Sacaen grasses to make it…”

“Give them to me!” She practically leapt over the desk at him.

Hector danced away, escaped papers crunching under his boots. “You keep all my letters!”

“So what,” Lyn snipped, “you kept all mine! In a fancy box no less. I thought for sure you’d burn them.”

“But you’re my best friend.”

Lyn about tripped, and actually did slip on a few papers. Her heart hammered erratically within her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. When she found her voice she said, albeit roughly, “I thought Eliwood was your best friend.”

“He is. I can have two best friends. Don’t put me in a box.”

Clearly the definition of “best” eluded Hector. Despite herself, Lyn began to shake as she broke into a fit of silent giggles. She shut her eyes as tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Leave it to Hector to say something so recklessly sincere.

“Wh-what’s wrong.” Hector crossed the room in a couple of strides, he placed a large hand on Lyn’s shaking shoulder. “Gods, I didn’t say something stupid again did I?”

Of course not you oaf. Somehow you say the exact thing I needed to hear. She couldn’t put into words how worn thin she’d felt, running Caelin all by herself after her grandfather passed. How she’d had to hold everyone, even Kent and Sain, at arms length while she erected an icy barrier around herself bit by bit; her only defense from the other nobility and their ever present scrutiny. Everyone around her was pretension. Their words a dagger dipped in honey and poison. She realized quickly she couldn’t trust anyone no matter how flowery and sweet their words.

Hector’s letters were never that.

They were brutish and playfully antagonistic, much like the man himself. But they were also honest and heartfelt. And the longer they traded letters the funnier and sweeter his words had become. She’d be lying if his letters weren’t the highlight of her every week.

She wanted to tell him he was the only person she felt like she could be “just Lyn” with.

Instead, her near hysterical giggling just devolved into straight up sobbing when Hector pulled her into the most awkward hug. He held her like his strength might break her.

Lyn buried her face in his shoulder, blotting tears against his shirt. “H-hug me f-f-for…real, mo-oron.”

The air was forced from her lungs as Hector wrapped her in a crushing embrace. He smelled of horses and sweat and fresh clean linen. A mix of scents that were as grounding as they were familiar.

She needed this. Gods, she needed this. Lyn buried her her fingers in the front of hector’s shirt. In his embrace she finally felt safe enough to let out all the tears she’d kept bottled up inside. Vulnerability she could never let anyone else in Caelin see.

Hector’s body was so warm, radiating heat like a furnace.

Lyn didn’t want to let him go.

He held her until her sobs abated. Until all she felt was the heavy weariness coming down from the emotional high.

“I’m here,” Hector whispered into her hair. “I’m right here.”

“Everyone is so…fake,” Lyn whispered hoarsely back.

As if Hector finally understood, the tension in his body relaxed. He pressed his cheek to the top of Lyn’s head and replied, “I know.”

“You’re not.” She turned her face until her nose brushed his throat.

Hector swallowed thickly and she could feel it. “I’m not,” he agreed. “I promise you, I’m not.”

“Your last letter…” Lyn trailed off, she struggled to say out loud what he’d written.

“I meant it all. Every letter, it was me, Lyn.”

They both fell into pensive silence then, their breathing punctuating the moments. Lyn was pressed so close she could feel Hector’s heartbeat in her own chest. It was a steady thump-thump that comforted her.

Hector loosened his hold just enough to run a hand down her back, smoothing the fabric of her Sacaen clothing. So touch starved, Lyn had to resist the urge to arch into that touch like a cat.

Normally, while in Caelin she wore Lycian fashion. Mostly to appease the Lycian nobles. But lately, homesickness had set in, and she’d begun blending Sacaen and Lycian fashion. Today though, she wore a familiar ensemble. Clothing she’d kept from her late tribe, the Lorca. She’d wanted to dress in something familiar to greet the boys; something from the time she’d spent traveling with Hector and Eliwood.

“The Lycian nobles,” she started to say.

Hector gave a hum of acknowledgment, his hand caressing her back paused briefly to comb through her long ponytail. She shivered, and he must have felt it.

“I’m so tired of the feigned niceties, their insincere flattery; flowery but otherwise shallow talk.” She tilted her face to trace her nose along the corner of Hector’s jaw, causing his breath to hitch. It was a modicum more forward than appropriate, but given the contents of the last couple letters he’d sent…well. When her nose reached his ear she spoke lowly, “I’d trade a million pretty words for one touch that is real.”

Hector made a very tortured noise in the back of his throat.

All at once he twisted his face down and to the side to press a kiss to Lyn’s cheek.

Had her mouth not been at his ear, he might have kissed her lips.

Regardless, the chaste kiss sent a pleased shock from the base of her skull down to her toes.

“Lyn…” he breathed, voice low and throaty at her ear. “Can I touch you?”

Lyn could only nod, pulling back just enough for Hector to capture her mouth in a proper kiss.

It was all the confirmation he needed.

Months of pent-up restrained emotions—having been stoked to a fever pitch by their respective letters—boiled over and set ablaze.

Hector’s fingers dug into her back as he kissed her with all the desperation of a man drowning. She met his enthusiasm in kind, throwing her arms around his neck and burying one hand in his stupidly coiffed hair.

He let out a covetous groan, both his hands running down her body, over her hips, until they reached her exposed thighs. His touch ignited fire against her skin. With strength akin to a bear he gripped her thighs and hoisted her up off the ground effortlessly.

Lyn unconsciously hooked her legs over his hips. She pressed her body to his, chest flush against him, delighting in the touch of someone real.

Nights spent fantasizing paled in comparison to this moment.

Hector tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His lips were rough, almost chapped, no doubt from elements during the long trip from Ostia. But Lyn didn’t mind because this too felt so real. It was him, and he was actually here in Caelin, and he wanted her the way he’d alluded in all his letters. The same way she wanted him.

She tugged at his hair as she kissed him back, matching his energy. When he gasped into her mouth she savored the noise.

Lyn took the opportunity to slip her tongue past Hector’s lips, drawing a throaty moan from him. His grip on her thighs tightened.

Hector took a step back towards her desk, his boots crunching papers.

She should have been concerned about those papers—and she had no idea where Hector had placed her bundle of letters—but found herself too blissed out to give a damn.

She knew the moment his backside reached her desk, because her shins struck it too. The scandal of making out on her desk sent a crack of heat straight to Lyn’s stomach.

With the added support of the desk, Hector shifted her weight to his hips and one arm, so his other hand was free to tug at the saffron colored sash around her waist.

With the shift, their kisses lessened to a series of smaller sweet sensual ones. The glide and pop of lips pulling over lips.

Hector was struggling to find the ends of the sash, and Lyn dropped her hand from his hair, fingers over his, to guide him where to start.

He made an appreciative noise against her mouth, and they both felt the fabric begin to fall away when the door to the office creaked open.

“Excuse me, Lady Lyndis?” A familiar shock of red hair poked into the study. “I don’t mean to intrude while you’re busy, but have you seen Hector, I can’t find-“ Eliwood froze in the threshold, hand still on the door handle, and words stuck in his throat.

“Shit!” Lyn cursed, breaking away from Hector so fast that pain lanced through her neck. She pushed against his chest.

The brute of a man didn’t release her.

Instead he had the audacity to give his best friend an exasperated look.

“I-I am—excuse me. Gods, I’m sorry.” Eliwood clapped a hand over his eyes, “I should have knocked!” He fumbled blindly for the handle of the door with his other hand. The speed in which he slammed the door caused a rush of air that displaced a bunch of the papers littered over the floor. “You have my blessing. Carry on!” They both heard his muffled call from the other side.

Lyn’s whole face, ears neck and shoulders all burned with shame.

Honestly the state of the room looked about as compromising as their position.

“Someone put me to death,” she whined, pushing once more against Hector’s immovable chest.

Hector frowned, turning his cobalt gaze to Lyn. “Why? It was only Eliwood.”

Lyn fixed him with a glare that could have cleaved steel, “because the Marchioness of Caelin was just caught in a compromising position with the Marquess of Ostia! This is a scandal. Never mind that I’ll be seen a Sacaen “dog” whose seduced the most powerful Marquis in Lycia. The other Lycian nobility have been waiting for me screw up, be given reason to depose me from Caelin. Hector, we’re neither engaged, nor courting!”

“Then let me court you,” Hector stated bluntly.

Lyn went slack jawed, stunned silent.

0000

Thank you so so much for the ask! You’re the best CapnQuaggles! You’ve always been so supportive and kind. Following me through every fandom I’ve been in over the last decade. You’re so dear to me. Thanks for indulging my rekindled interest in these old Fire Emblem games. I hope you like both the art and the fic.

[semper-legens]

115. The Assassins of Rome, by Caroline Lawrence

Owned: Yes Page count: 198 My summary: It’s Jonathan’s birthday, and he’s not having a good day. Everything seems to be going wrong - especially when his family gets news of a dangerous assassin heading towards them. But the assassin turns out to be his uncle, and he has a dangerous mission for Jonathan. He’s heading to Rome, to the Golden House…where Jonathan’s mother Susanna is alive and well. My rating: 3.5/5

More Roman Mysteries! We're getting into the meaty stuff now, as well as including more real historical figures like Emperor Titus, Berenice, and Josephus. This is where the series starts to dabble in these-four-kids-are-present-at-every-notable-event style writing - sure, we've already had Vesuvius, but a lot of people were affected by the eruption and it's reasonable for these kids to have just happened to be in the area. But now, they're dabbling in the Emperor's affairs, something that will have wider-reaching consequences as the series goes on. I don't say that as a bad thing (one of the goals of this series is to teach kids about history, after all, and it certainly worked on me) but it is worth noting as we progress through the series that the stakes are getting higher, and more political.

This book centres Jonathan, and hoo boy, it's a doozy. Poor Jonathan's naturally pessimistic, but when he predicts that something bad's going to happen on his birthday, I don't think he's expecting to discover his mother is alive thanks to his assassin uncle, be part of an assassination plot, get caught, get branded as a slave to the Emperor, learn that his mother is the Emperor's slave/lover, lose her again when she refuses to come home with him, and return to Ostia without her. It's a lot for a poor kid. I like that Jonathan reacts appropriately to the situations he's in, while still keeping some of his sarcasm and wit. He could so easily have fallen into that trap of becoming so morose that he isn't interesting anymore, but instead he remains sympathetic and engaging to read about. It's a fine line to walk, and Lawrence does it well here!

Again, I have to praise the maturity of the series. Simeon risking being tortured and crucified is portrayed in a matter of fact manner, and Jonathan's transition into slavery is almost banal in its evil, to creepy effect for the modern reader - but this is just what it was like back then. Similarly, Mordecai's poor treatment when he is arrested is a bureaucratic evil, and one that Aristo and Lupus can do little about. And the series doesn't shy away from referencing the fact that the Jewish slaves in the Golden House were likely raped when Jerusalem fell. Rispah, a child Jonathan meets in the Golden House, very pointedly tells him that she belongs to a cohort of almost thirty kids born near exactly nine months after the fall of Jerusalem. The narrative doesn't linger too long on the point, but the implications are clear. Now, my six-to-eight year old brain would not have fully got this when I first read it, but at the same time, I understood it as 'these women were made to have babies by the Romans', which is basically the truth. Kids are smart, and pick up on implications even if they don't fully get it; the book gets to portray the whole evil of the Roman Empire's assault on Jewish people without necessarily exposing kids to concepts beyond what they can understand at their age. I didn't know anything about sex or sexual assault, but I got the gist of what had been done to these women regardless. And in a series meant to teach about history, I like that it's being explicit about the darker underbelly of Ancient Roman life.

Meanwhile, there's two shining stars in this book that I've saved until last. The first is the uncomfortable realisation that maybe the reason I like damaged men in fiction so much is because of Mordecai ben Ezra? Poor man loses his wife and home, flees to a foreign country where he's treated as a second-class citizen at best, and in the events of this book his son runs away to Rome and is enslaved. It's a nightmare for any parent, and yet he still approaches everything with kindness and grace and understanding. There's a story behind Mordecai that could definitely carry an adult novel, and it's always interesting to see an adult character being given this amount of depth and understanding in a book that is for children. Second is the prince of my heart, the gaycoded character I never knew I needed, Sisyphus. He's enslaved to Flavia's aunt's family in Rome, acting as her uncle's secretary. As the uncle and aunt are away, he takes in Flavia and the gang when they come to Rome and help them find Jonathan. He could easily have been a very drab, nothing kind of character, but he's honestly one of my favourites. He just sparkles from the page, full of wit and enthusiasm and silly over-the-top mannerisms and, yes, barely-subtle gay coding. I love him to pieces and I always wanna see more of him.

Next, a man from a cannibal clan tries to fit into the human world.

[thatbeeperson]

Ok so since @chronicler-of-narrative doesn't know much of it and I'm assuming exactly 0 of my followers do either, time to infodump about Dauntless's universe in the hopes that I at least convince a few people to look into the world of dauntless

The World

Dauntless takes place in the world of the "Shattered Isles", a land of floating islands. An event known as the "Upheaval" is to blame for this, we don't know much about the Upheaval or what caused it. But we can assume that it was a cataclysmic event which tore apart the planet.

Aether

Aether is a fictional substance with strange, gaseous properties. But most notably it is an EXTREMELY potent power source, is seemingly sentient and is capable of evolving at a rapid pace. It also seems to be hazardous to the average person whom hasn't built up a tolerance to it.

Aether comes in a 'Spectrum' quite similar to light. Neutral Blaze & Frost Terra & Shock Radiant & Umbral

Frequencies of Aether will oppose their counterpart, however, non-opposed frequencies can blend and resonate. Blaze can blend with Terra & Radiant, meanwhile Frost can blend with Shock and Umbral.

Aether is capable of creating creatures, powering weapons, and keeping islands from falling out of the sky.

Aetheric Lifeforms

Behemoths. Giant biological war machines designed by humans, now free to wreck havoc on the shattered isles, their bodies are frames made of pure Aether. Though not outright malicious, they require constant feeding on Aether to support the high energy needed to exist. This is a problem, as Aether is a limited resource.

If behemoths are not stopped, they will feed until every island falls out of the sky.

When killed, behemoth's bodies become pure Aether yet again fading away and leaving behind only small pieces.

Many behemoths are capable of "swimming" through the Aether. Being creatures with no proper physical properties, they can temporarily rejoin the Aether that surrounds everything to teleport short distances. Some use this only for escaping, some, like Riftstalker or Stormclaw, are capable of using this teleportation offensively.

Slayers

Slayers are anyone who is willing or able to pick up a weapon and fight. They wear aetheric armor and wield aetheric weapons made from Behemoths. Their constant proximity to Aether affords them a higher level of tolerance for it. Using sky ships, they travel across the Maelstrom, slaying Behemoths to keep the Shattered Isles safe and acquire better gear.

Factions

There is 3 main powers at play in Dauntless,

Ostia

An industrial empire known for their steel work, they are the strongest military in the Shattered Isles, with the main government having been overthrown in a military coup. Ostia '''''recently''''' broke a major tabuu by beginning the creation of new Behemoths and unleashing them on the Shattered Isles

Orrery of St. Avellaine

Not much is known, other than the Orrery being a very research driven faction who has risen to oppose Ostia

Ramsgate

The home of the slayers, the original town of Ramsgate was lost when a large island cluster known as the Umbral Deeps crashed into it, Ramsgate is on the frontline, holding back the behemoths from taking more of the shattered isles

The Maelstom

A massive aetheric storm within which the Shattered Isles revolve. The closer to the heart of the Maelstrom, the more deadly behemoths get, with the islands closest to the heart being the escalation chains. Island clusters filled with behemoths, charged aether, and "keystone behemoths". Massive and incredibly powerful behemoths capable of great feats.

There is a lot more specific lore, like the lore behind individual behemoths and events, but this is the important stuff

for further reading: Look here

[potato-jem]

hello nero my beloved soulmate!! <33

i’m back and i am already suffering from severe PHD (post holiday depression, i decided it is a thing). my friend left last night and i hate this. it’s so unfair that we live in two different countries and we can’t see each other as much as we would like to. i’ll probably see her soon, i should have another week off in august and we were talking about me visiting her this time so hopefully i’ll be able to go.

anyway, on to the trip!! it was so cool!! i mean the first week we stayed in tuscany, we went around florence and a few other cities around here, and we got tattoos!!! i told you about this already but they are so cute!!! our little irish dinosaurs (they’re irish because we met in ireland <3 they’re named saoirse and niamh).

then for the second week we went to rome!! oh it was so nice!! we found the perfect weather. it was always sunny and warm enough to go around in shorts, but never too hot not to be able to explore. we went for the usual places: the colosseum, the pantheon, the squares and fountains, all that. but also we accidentally found ourselves into the roman forums and they were amazing!! i’d never been in them, only seen them from above, but they are so big, you can see a whole city. but the highlight was ostia antica. it was this archeological site near rome and it’s so quiet because not may people know it. it’s an 84 acres site where you can literally walk into houses and shops and temples and theaters from the roman period. and it’s amazing because usually rome is very protected, like there are fences and barriers everywhere, you can’t get too close to a lot of stuff, but in ostia antica we could literally touch the ruins, walk through them and find our way back in a maze of doors and corridors. it was so cool!!! also that’s where i found the cats!! they were so cute and friendly 🥺

last thing before i close this letter. the food!!! oh the food. we found this little restaurant on the very first night, which was actually so close to the trevi fountain, and it was so cheap and good (very rare combination to find in the middle of rome). they had some of the best spaghetti i’ve ever tried. also we kept going back there in the next days so they recognized us and they were so nice because they offered us appetizers and wine and they always remembered that we liked to order three plates of pasta to share between the two of us. they were so nice!!

i really needed this trip. i needed to be off work for a few weeks and just disconnect from all the drama and stress. and the good food and wine helped a lot with that lol. but seriously i’m so happy, it was an amazing trip and it was so good to see my friend again after so long <3

but enough about me now!! how are you doing nero?? what have you been doing these last two weeks??

also, about our last letter, i am very happy that you are following my orders and planning a very relaxing trip :) you deserve to not even think about uni when you’re on a trip. and it’s gonna be so fun to dance to that kind of music!! can’t wait to hear all about that one!!

and i’m very happy you’re obsessed with me getting tattoos because this is turning into a sickness. i can’t stop now :’)

but here are my other two tatts!!! the little rainbow one is very simple but very personal. i’ve been waiting forever to get it and it looks perfect 🥺 (yayyy you can start booking stuff!!! that means tattoos coming soon!!!)

i’m enclosing a hug and a really big plate of cacio e pepe (a kind of spaghetti with cheese and black pepper) just because one can never have too much pasta <3333

hi cece my beloved soulmate!!!!

i believe phd (post holiday depression) is a thing, i get it every time. it’s sad that your friend has gone home, but think about august!!! that should be so fun!!!

i’ve seen pictures of tuscany and it’s so beautiful!! and yes tattoos!! the fact that they are irish dinosaurs named saoirse and niamh because you met in ireland is the cutest story behind a matching tattoo ever 🥺🥺

oh rome!!!! that weather sounds lovely, i’m glad it was around for the entire trip!! sounds like you got up to quite a lot!! i’m literally imagining you walking around and pointing out these little tourist attractions 🥺 but ostia antica sounds so beautiful. a whole 84 acres to explore and experience the ancient roman life?? i would go crazy in there, especially with all the cats!!

oh the food sounds incredible!!! it’s so amazing you found something good and cheap!!! but those people sound so nice 🥹🥹 i’m glad they also added to such a wonderful break you had! i feel like pasta now…

you definitely needed that trip!! just a refresh is sometimes all you need, and good food and wine are recommended to help relax by doctors actually 😌😌😌 but i’m so happy you got to see your friend after so long and i’m so glad that you enjoyed yourself!!!!

i’ve been doing alright!! i had my trip to sydney and my twice concert, and it was so much more fun than i thought it would be!!! so i took my best friend and a family friend of mine, and my manager from work came too, but we all booked our concert tickets together so it was me and my friends, my manager and her brother and his partner. (don’t even ask me how stressful buying six tickets was)

the japanese place opened up again, and we were staying somewhere even closer to it. we basically walked everywhere, because the train station is in the shopping centre next to the japanese place, and that was only ten minutes away. so i took my friends to eat more ramen than we could see and we shared a bottle of soju (my friends are lightweights and it was VERY funny to watch. i had to finish the bottle off though)

and then we did lots of activities on the tuesday before the concert and we went to that album shop and book shop again and i spent way too much money, cece’s orders 😌😌 i spent so much money in the album shop they gave me a free album and preorder benefit photocards (which are really rare!!) and i had to show my id in the book store because i bought a level one restricted novel (actually banned in my state, but my professors made me too curious), which was quite funny

the twice concert was so fun, literally everyone in the audience were dancing and singing, and i was gay panicking and it was wonderful! each of the members of twice also had a solo performance and they did so well! one of them, momo, had this dance where she HAD A POLE?!?!? AND SHE HAD NEVER POLE DANCED BEFORE?? she was so good, i will save your eardrums by not sending the video i took 😌

anyways, here’s the photo they posted at the end!! we are in the centre and slightly to the right <3 (i’m sure you’ll see me 😂😂)

and then we actually got the chance to go to the harbour bridge and the opera house, which are in the same place, so we didn’t waste too much time there! and then we went to this room of claw machines near the eateries and i managed to win two things!! (one of them i spent way too much money to grab out, but he looked so lonely and i had to get my son out 😭😭) and then we had gelato mochi, which my friend found. so they get a scoop of ice cream and wrap it with mochi! we all got two, because none of us can make a decision and it really was a good end to the trip 🥺

other than that, i am running a little behind on uni, but i decided to use some of my leave and take the week off work. i’m just going to smash out the essays i have due (and overdue) and i’ll probably be able to rest better during the big exam session 😌

i’ve been looking forward to seeing these two and you didn’t disappoint! the rainbow one is adorable and the font for the script on your ribs is beautiful!!! i think i might be addicted to your tattoo addiction 😂 (yay!!! i’m so excited!!)

i really wanted this cacio e pepe, all this talking of food made me hungry! i’m squeezing you back real tight and i’m giving you a bowl of ramen <3333333

[higaneion]

your character in 5 quotes

Repost, don't reblog.

Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends.

"Come on…be brave. Take that first step to live without fear…"

"So…everyone should have told me, you know…? They’re just…too considerate… I’m not…that weak…"

"Roy…please… Don't fail…"

"I just feel that you're not a bad person. I…trust you."

"I shall make Ostia a country in which our children can always be happy."

I was gathering her lines from FE6 and decided now is a good time as any to post them. There are extra notes on my thoughts below the cut because I feel like a lot of these need context.

This first one comes from her recruitment conversation with Gonzalez. I have read her supports a lot and honestly forgot about the recruitment conversations, but they are some of my favorites.

This is right after Hector's death, she is not having a good time, but she's trying her best! What else is significant about this quote is that before this she eggs on Eliwood about fighting and joining Roy and she gets shot down twice, painting a small glimpse of how she (and women in Elibe) are treated. Granted, she is 15 at the start and he is saying this because he doesn't want her to get hurt for fear of telling Hector, but he also sends his 15-year-old son to be the tactician and leader of the army, different circumstances I guess, but I don't know really. Tangent aside, I think this also means something to her because in her mind, she was going to find out eventually, but she just feels hurt that no one told her sooner, allowing her to believe that things were (sort of) fine outside of the walls, pointing once again to that bubble she's lived in all her life.

Okay so this is her death quote. HAHA But the way I interpreted it is that she basically says: keep moving on for the sake of Lycia, for peace, even when I'm gone, keep moving forward. Obviously this is a mouthful for someone dying unless you're an Engage character, so it keeps her last words short and bittersweet.

So, the context here is this is part of her support chain with Garret. She tries to befriend him, or at the very least make conversation with him as she does with many members of the army, regardless of station. The reason for me choosing this one is that thinking about what she's been through and what trust and honesty mean to her. You could look at it through two different lenses, one being she is just pure-hearted and believes there is good in everyone; this is true by the way. And the other being that she was betrayed by rebels under Ostia's banner, so I'd imagine that there is at least some reluctance to trust others, though her natural instinct is to do so anyway according to her supports/conversations. But to this end, she does give reasons later about why she does aside from "just a feeling"/intuition, that if he was going to kill her, he would have done it already. As she talks to people in the army from different walks of life, this aids her understanding and emotional maturity we see throughout the game.

This one is almost a red herring because the real star of this support chain is Ogier/Oujay. He has such banger lines that make me c': For a boy so young to have such sad but powerful lines... when in Fire Emblem... But anyway, talking about the quote, this one is kind of my least favorite out of the ones I picked but dialing back from the emotional maturity she does eventually develop, we see in this support just how out of touch she is with the rest of the world. She's very concerned in the moment with making friends and learning more about him that she doesn't consider the world they live in. Like, he says their family was poor and he's the breadwinner and she presses him with casual questions about his family like the small talk you would hear in school or something. Girl... But I think it works out in the end as it shows not only her flaws, but she admits to being so hasty and ignorant and tries to be more open-minded.

[ostianshadow]

This one he had even less reason to dance around with. What was the point, really, when they both knew only what they needed to of one another? Spy. Assassin. Their lot only ran in the same circles when coin was involved. Not only that, but he was of Ostia and Lloyd was of Bern; they'd not frequently seen eye to eye even on the political stage.

And what was this but a smaller version of that?

"I'm surprised you came along, I have to admit. Stuck in such close quarters, it doesn't seem much like your favored working environment."

Once they arrived in Elibe, however, it would be a different story. If it was tracking down information, sorting out what was true and what was not, the spy would be integral to them.

"You knew nothing of this, then? If there were whispers, even faint ones, that someone else was capable of opening the Gate, I would have thought Ostia and its network would have been right on top of it."

"It isn't, but I don't mind. People like to talk. I like to listen."

Curious. He should have felt angry, should have felt his blood grow hot same as it had when he'd spied Ephidel earlier. Yes, some time ago, he'd have lumped them in the same boat (...ha) with nary a second thought.

The Fang weren't innocent,

but it could just have easily have been Ostia's network manipulated and chased, dragging Ostia herself along for the ride. Lord Uther and Hector were merely human - and thus, susceptible to being tempted and tamed.

"There've been whispers, of course." Even in times of relative peace, the shadows knew no quiet. "Nothing quite along these lines, however. This does, as you might've guessed, trouble me."

With a sigh, the spy ran a hand through his hair, pausing to scratch idly at the nape of his neck. Curious indeed, this strange feeling of neutrality, of being unsure exactly what to think of his current company.

"... Surely it can't come as surprising that I'd follow m'lord home though, can it?" Here, he breaks a moment, even going so far as to chuckle. "... Come to think of it, did your brother then opt to stay behind? Feels like the ship's been awfully quiet."

Too quiet, really.

[braveryinblue]

Of all people, her father should be the easiest to gift, and yet, she finds herself stumped until nearly the last minute. It wasn't as if she had forgotten and she was uncharacteristically scrambling to find something that might please him. No, quite the opposite.

           Should she host a large party of all his friends here at the academy, a large banner and feast? Or would he think that suspicious? She had been saving the biggest surprise celebration for when he turned the golden age of forty, but as history has it, he barely had a gray hair to commemorate his short-lived tale.

           Armor and new weapons he may like, but... he could surely get those himself, nothing to write home about. In her younger years, a crudely drawn, handmade card would have sufficed, but that would not be as acceptable these days...

           ...

           Finally, she approaches him box in hand. "Happy birthday," she thrusts it forward, "May today treat you well." Inside the box rested two things: one being the standard axe maintenance kit, the necessary a polishing cloth, whetstone, oil, a more obvious gift and failsafe. The other was encased a small separate box containing a steel circular pendant that he could carry with him, in his pocket, around his neck, wherever he pleased. The other, she waits for him to examine before explaining.

           "It's a device to tell time, Fódlan time and the smaller circle is Ostia time. A little piece to remind you of home. And to remind you to spend each day to its fullest. Ah.. um, while you're in your prime now of course," she chuckles awkwardly, glancing to the side. You'll understand later.

It's still weird,

knowing that she's real.

She's not just some figment of his imagination, some child born of a dream, of many dreams. She's here, attending Garreg Mach the same as he is,

and Hector knows Lilina to be his daughter.

He's heard of this. There have been those in the past who have frequented the academy two generations apart and yet one looking scarcely a day older than the other. He doesn't want to think on it overmuch. Part of him is curious to know what the future might hold -

but there's a nagging feeling in his gut that he's better off not asking too many questions. It's an instinct he cautiously heeds, for the time being.

It's still weird,

learning that the council eventually get their wish. One way or another, he gives them an heir. Good for them, he wryly supposes - though he can't help wondering, in the meantime, exactly what kind of mother he's meant to look for. That'd make his job here a lot easier, really. . .

but it's another one of those questions he feels he's better off not asking.

Wouldn't want to go breaking time or whatever.

(As though that hasn't already happened here in Fodlan... multiple times...)

It's a headache, is what it is, though he does not begrudge her the pain in the neck.

Another year down.

Hector hopes his friends appreciate that he's relatively easy to shop for. (Or so he thinks, anyhow.) The kit is appreciated, even if it's not unexpected as far as gifts go.

(That she brings him a gift at all... That, he is not sure he expected.)

He grins up at her from where he's sitting, hopes his appreciation comes through. He's curious, though. What's this second box...?

Oh.

"Woah." Wow. "This is..."

Eyes are fixed on the clock's ticking hands. Fodlan... And Ostia. Dear Ostia, home sweet home. Land of his people - those he desperately hopes to do right by.

"Thank you, Lilina."

Fingers clutch at the device just a smidge tighter, albeit nonetheless gingerly, for fear of breakage.

"I'll definitely cherish this."

A pause.

There's something to the mournful look about her he remembers just now, the demeanour she'd worn in that strange, too-lifelike dream. He can't place why, but he gets a similar impression here and now, if fleetingly. Hm.

He won't ask.

But... would this, instead, be a safer question to ask?

It should be all right, yeah?

"... When's your birthday, Lilina? ... I'm told I'm not very good at choosing gifts, you see, so I'll need ample time to prepare."

What kinds of things has his daughter grown up enjoying, caring for? What does she value? What does she fear? Are there foods she dislikes?

Come to think of it, there is much he'd yet like to ask, and much of it, he thinks, would be worth the potential consequences.

[sacaeblade]

If anyone knew how he felt, it would be she - displaced from her home as she was, and to hear the wind tell it, House Caelin dissolved, absorbed into Ostia, as all things eventually were, a little voice in his head added bitterly. She might have shared in the rage, in the disdain for the politics, for the playing of the great noble game, might have turned her nose up at the prospect of putting her life on pause to come to the rescue of the land that had failed her so badly.

But she didn't.

She was better than he was.

It was clear to anyone who spoke with her, for any period of time, that Lady Caelin's heart was good - that although perhaps she did carry those embers with her wherever she went, she stoked them with kindness and made them into a hearth, welcoming where she was able, willing to give what she had not been given herself.

She was an easy employer to fight for, all things considered, and while he did not lay in his lot with her when she had taken her sworn men to the Dread Isle, there had been some measure of relief to see her well when he arrived at Garreg Mach.

"Lady Caelin," he said with a nod, then, catching himself, he corrected, "Apologies. ...Lady Lyndis."

Raven extended his hand to shake, the tacit offer of his sword and the skills of his body along with it. He would not wax on about what a pleasure it would be to work at her side again - she had enough of that, he remembered - but it was a relief to know that of the lordlings who had answered the call, he could trust in her sword.

Aboard the ship bound for Elibe, most faces are tense, although considering the circumstances, that much may be a given. The sullen man that approaches Lyn, however, has worn that same expression ever since she met him. His auburn hair burns a more reddish hue under the sun, but the endless blue waves reflected in his eyes do nothing to extinguish the embers burning there.

"Raven!" Lyn responds in kind, though her tone is lighter, more playful. His misstep is one she couldn't completely train out of even her most dedicated knights, much less a hired sword, but the two of them both have their respective names they don't wish to be called. "Apologies, Raymond."

It would be a lie to say she isn't surprised to see him come along. A mercenary such as himself with no strong allegiance to any nation has no real obligation to lend their skills without the promise of coin afterword. Relief overpowers that concern, however. She already knows firsthand that his skills are a valuable asset and she isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She takes his hand, sword calluses tangible even through the gloves on both of their hands, shaking firmly.

"I'll be counting on you once more, then."

Lyn need not ask if she can depend on him when she already knows the answer to that question.

[amicidomenicani]

Question Dear Father Angelo, the bodies of San Padre Pio and Saint Leopold were recently transported to Rome at the behest of the Holy Father. This event, which received a lot of publicity in the media, left me confused and disoriented. Why does the Church allow, or rather promote, the exposition of corpses or sometimes parts of corpses for veneration? Let me be clear: I understand the importance of the cult of the Saints and even relics, but wouldn’t it be the same if we buried the dead and let the faithful pray on their tombs? Folkloristic traditions aside, is it barbarism to leave the bodies exposed and, oftentimes, even mutilated (I’m thinking about the body of Saint Catherine of Siena) in order to allow them to be venerated in different parts of the world? I’ll be honest, this form of worship leaves me dumbfounded and I find it extremely difficult to comprehend. Thank you, Viola Priest’s answer Dear Viola, 1. I agree with you that the exposure of corpses isn’t pleasant. But the exposure of the bodies of the Saints, especially if they are uncorrupted, isn’t the same as the exposure of a corpse. People flooded Saint Peter’s Square not to see corpses, but to meet Padre Pio and Father Leopold. The bodies of these saints radiate something that normal corpses don’t. God is active through these bodies, which will one day rise up again and be full of His power and His glory, in the same way He was active through them when they were alive. 2. Since God keeps giving signs and operating miracles through their bodies in order to fortify the faith of the Christian people and He keeps using them to show an example of a life well lived, why shouldn’t people grow fond of the mortal spoils of a Saint? We read in Acts that, when the people found out that Paul was leaving Ephesus for good and would never be back, they brought face cloths and tissues, touched them to Paul’s body and then applied them to the sick who recovered and the evil spirts left them. “So extraordinary were the mighty deeds God accomplished at the hands of Paul that when face cloths or aprons that touched his skin were applied to the sick, their diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them (Acts 19:11-12). 3. I would like to recall what happened when the skeletal body of Saint Dominic was exhumed. Blessed Jordan of Saxony, his first successor, who had previously been a professor at the University of Paris, testifies to what happened: “The venerable archbishop and a host of bishops and prelates are present. The devotion of numberless people from many regions is expressed. The armed troops are on hand so as not to lose the protection of this hallowed body. But the brethren are uneasy and fearful; they pray anxiously, "they have trembled for fear, where there was no fear." Perhaps the body of St. Dominic, so long a prey to rain and heat in its paltry tomb, will be swarming with vermin; perhaps its horrid stench will offend the populace and arrest their devotion to him. Not knowing what to do, they had only the recourse of abandoning themselves entirely to God. The bishops approach the tomb and the workmen take out their tools. They first remove the stone embedded in the hard cement covering the tomb. They then dig up the wooden box in which the venerable Pope Gregory, as bishop of Ostia, has buried the sacred body. From a small opening in the box a marvelous odor issues forth as soon as the stone is removed. The bystanders are struck by its fragrance, but are unable to tell what it is. The lid is removed from the box and lo! a storehouse of perfumes, a paradise of fragrances, a garden of roses, a field of lilies and violets, a hillside of sweet flowers could not match what filled the air. When the wagons make the rounds of Bologna, the city reeks with stench; but when the tomb of glorious Dominic is opened, the air is purified by a fragrance surpassing the sweetness of all aromas. The bystanders are overcome and fall in fear to the ground.

Tears inspired by God mingle with feelings of joy; fear and hope arise on the battlefield of the soul and wage marvelous war, as the fragrance continues to spread its sweetness. We were among the many who perceived the sweetness of this odor, and what we saw and sensed we are here describing. And, although we stood for a long time near the body of the Lord's herald, St. Dominic, we never grew tired of its fragrance. It was a fragrance which dispelled weariness, aroused devotion, and produced marvels. If a hand, a cincture, or anything else touched the body, it acquired an odor which lingered for some time. The body was transferred to a marble monument to be enclosed there within its own fragrance. This remarkable odor emanated from the holy body so that all could understand what a good odor of Christ rested there. The Solemn Mass was celebrated by the Archbishop. Since it was the third day of Pentecost, the Introit sung by the choir was "Receive the joy of your glory." In their joy, the brethren took these word as sounding from heaven. Trumpets blare and the countless multitude raise their candles. As they march in procession, "Blessed be Jesus Christ" is heard everywhere. This event took place in the city of Bologna on March 24, 1233, in the sixth year of the cycle, Gregory IX being Pope and Frederick II, Emperor.” (The Libellus of Jordan of Saxony, 127-129). 4. Something similar happened in Rome. The presence of the bodies of those two Saints dispelled weariness, aroused devotion, and produced marvels in those who came to see them. We can only say: fortunate those who experienced it. People – from every background – rushed there and were happy to have done so. The papers spoke of miracles that happened at the passing of Father Leopold. Those were certainly days of grace. I thank you for having inspired me to write these things. I recommend you to the Lord and bless you. Father Angelo 28 February 2017 | A Priest Answers - Liturgy and Pastoral - Liturgical Section

[peerlessscowl]

Raven's gut pitched and shifted with the movement of the ship, with his own discomfort at his comrades, at the very idea of returning to Elibe, for what remained there but ashes, but he managed, for the time being to reconcile the war in his heart, the complicated feelings of one who had left home behind, of one who would have done anything to preserve it anyway. 

His lips dipped into a frown at being approached, but less in irritation than confusion – the Imperial princess. She and Raven had fought side-by-side during the illusory training exercises, what seemed like so long ago. 

She was strong. In body, and in heart. There had been more than one occasion during the gauntlet where she and he had struck at the opponent, one right after the other, battering against the onslaught to give their comrades time to get their breath, get their feet under them, a wall against the crashing wave. 

It seemed she had formed a similar opinion of him from that time, though he'd been unaware that she had wanted to speak to him. 

Raven remained silent as she spoke, regarding her coolly, assessing. She wanted information? About Elibe? He huffed a breath through his nose at the request, cocked his head, gathering his thoughts. 

The reports, those hurried letters in increasingly desperate hand, dated closer and closer together as their authors' plight shifted from harried to frenzied, heralded another Scouring. A fairtyale. Raven had scoffed, when he heard it being discussed – dragons on the horizon indeed – but to hear it told, the myth was closer to life than he understood, his perspective protected from the spectacular reality during his time, wandering aimlessly. 

He chewed his cheek for a moment, considering, then shifted along the bench where he sat, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

"I suppose I'll start at the beginning. The Scouring..." Raven shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The Scouring was...during an age of heroes, the legends of our continent coming together to defeat the evil of the dragons. It's a myth. The legends that noble families tell themselves to feel more important about their lots in life." 

He frowned. His own family was descended from Roland – not directly, as Ostia claimed, lording over the rest, a mere offshoot, but the blood of heroes sang in his veins just the same. But...it wasn't just a legend, was it? His eyes flicked to the Lady Caelin and her knights, to the nervous fluttering of a flame-haired boy – a Pheraean if he'd ever seen one – to the unnerving pair of lilac-haired girls and the woman hovering nearby, whose eyes raked across the deck. 

To the whelp, milling about. 

They all seemed to know something he didn't, seemed to be of the understanding that the danger was very real. 

"There was...a period afterward that drained the magic from the dragons that remained. They were...sealed? I guess, by the weapons wielded by the legendary heroes."  

Despite his fellows' disquiet, he still could not fully reconcile the tales of his childhood interpreted with such sincerity. Nevertheless, something was happening, and even if dragons hadn't magically come back to Elibe, there were other monsters that he knew were real, and would have taken advantage of the chaos with relish. 

"It seems that there are those who believe that...seal has broken." 

depths and dreams

[marcusmettalus]

Where Land And Myth Tread (Part One).

It has been some weeks now since the convoy left Karseille, its compliment of dignitaries, serfs, cargo and tourists keeping themselves occupied within the confines of the halls and vaulted chambers. This journey was no different from any other that Lady Ostia Haldus had taken with the Imperial Guard, Rogue Traders and Astartes,, were it not for the destination being presented.

Outside Imperial controlled space.

Ostia rested her chin wearily on her arm, looking out into the whirling twisted yet vibrant Immaterium through the wide diaglass porthole, her mind going through the events of the last year. The numerous conflicts with the Iron Warriors, the growing relationship with R'Tan, the revelation that her Sister Lucelle was not only alive but was now the soul of WARDEN, and had been protecting her all this time. Loss of allies,, friends,,

Ostia rubbed her eyes with her free palm, grumbling at why her mind decided to retrace her steps of late, like it was trying to find a singular point that led her to this moment and always coming up empty. "I need some recaff,," muttering with a scowl, her metallic prosthetic clicking and ticking when they swing down to pick herself up from the window sill.

Her guest chambers aboard this cruiser was,, soft. It smacked of low imperial nobility with its tapestries and ornate rugs, and for some cursed reason a four post bed with more textiles hung from its posts. Why could these people not just given her a more rank-n-file bunk room with a cot and called it a day? Ostia sighs as she tries not to aggravate herself further, her metal limbs carrying her out of the chambers and out into the hall, mindful at least not to rip the fine woven rug on the way.

Dampened treads now a rhythmic clicking as Ostia navigated through the corridors, the Imperial having collected her large mug of recaff with no real destination in mid though,, her mind yet again doing the insufferable thing of reminiscing of past events.

She idly chuckles at the thought of how R'tan might be reacting when he finds out of this sudden trip Ostia has undertaken, knowing the large oaf would no doubt be trying to get to her in all manner of ways. Ostia had left some vox-messages for him prior to the departure, ensuring they would at the very least reach his company, updating on the current happenings at Karseille and her well-being as well as this trip towards,, well, outside of Imperial Space. (She had to phrase this carefully so not to actually say it was that far away,, but is not sure she succeeded.)

"Mademoiselle Haldus? Do you wish to enter la soute?"

Ostia blinks as she finds herself having walked all the way down towards one of the cargo hangers, where WARDEN was being held during this journey. Her mind being brought back by thanks of the Karseillais Guard who had been tasked with this entrance, the young man appearing a little confused by the distant gaze Ostia had when walking towards him.

"Ah, yes please. Uhhh,, Merçi." Ostia responding hesitantly, attempting a bit of Karseillais that she has picked up from her numerous talks with Noémie Durand and her peers. The guard gives a warm chuckle before thumbing the access panel with his free hand, offering a welcome answer to Ostia's honest attempt of his native tongue "Á l'aise."

Ostia leaned against support struts of Warden's foot, sipping her now honestly lukewarm recaff, enjoying the more neutral mechanical hum and noise from within the hanger than the hubbub of the upper decks and mess-halls. It was not too quiet to make her uneasy nor too loud to be a nuisance, a welcome middle point for Ostia to enjoy during the repetitive days onboard the cruiser. Lucelle appeared to be resting at the moment within her silica and plasteel home, something that Ostia envied a little,, not all her dreams were quiet or peaceful.

The woman stared into the dark swirling drink in her grasp, the faintly oily surface reflecting a muddled reflection of her tired gaze,, a mockery almost. How long has it been,, since she last smiled, laughed, been allowed to be herself, bare her soul without shame? Weary, tired, worn out like too little jam spread over a wheat-bread. Ostia did not even notice as her body slowly slid down till she was sat against the cool metal of the Knight's foot, her hands locked in grasping the ceramic mug and its tepid contents.

Throne on Terra was she tired. Not just from lack of slumber, but from the constant conflict over the years, the old blood stained on her hands, groxshit politics and bureaucracy, numerous visits to the medibay when her prosthetics start being rejected, old scars sending shocks of searing pain for no apparent reason,, nightmares of what she had seen in the caverns. It never seemed to end,, she could do tha-

"Ow! Fekking,," Ostia snaps back into reality when she feels a stab of pain in her hand, almost dropping the mug of recaff when she jerks her hand free. Finally noticing that her mug had a small crack in its surface, and a small shard of it was now poking into her palm. Ostia grumbles lightly under her breath as she sets the mug down gently on a cargo crate near her, before delicately extracting the ceramic shard from her skin. She inspects the sharp little nuisance that had broken her from her stupor, wondering how such a little thing could cause such pain.

",,, huh, I guess even little things can have some bite."

Ostia muses in a whisper, turning the small shard over in her fingers, seeing how the pale red blood stained the dark grey sliver.

Her musing gets interrupted once more though as the vox hailers in the scaffolds crackle into life, giving a short klaxon call prior to its announcement. *All stations, all stations, prepare for warp transit. All hands, double up all lines and secure. Repeat, prepare for warp transit.*

Ostia curses as she downs the remainder of the tepid recaff, the shard getting wordlessly tucked into a pocket while she gets herself up to anchor on one of WARDEN's shin plates, bracing herself for the incoming jolt that always comes with transitioning back into realspace.

Not even a minute later the entire vessel jerks as the cruiser decelerates, returning back into reality and its innumerable laws of physics. Cables whine as they hold down cargo while bulkheads groan as they try to keep the ship together. WARDEN tips slightly from the shift in gravity and change in momentum, but thanks to the numerous cables (and Lucelle waking up to adjust her balance), the large Knight does not fall over.

Ostia breathes a sigh of relief as nothing seems to break or get flung about, recalls numerous times onboard Imperial vessels of cargo getting yeeted through the air due to being not tied down, and sending a crewman or Imperial Guard into the air.

A short klaxon is heard once more through the vox hailers, while the hanger blast doors sink into the floor as their task of protecting the cargo has been accomplished. The twisted scape of warp-stuff had been replaced,, with the sight of a massive world below with wide stretches of ocean and mountains, and over its pole hung a web of orbital installations and docking arms, the silvery metal reflecting the light from a hidden sun beyond the planet.

*Warp transit complete, successful drop to destination co-ords. Captain Treudo welcomes all passengers, to Valgrind Station. Welcome to the Kingdom of Midgård, where Land and Myth tread.*

(Ostia Haldus belongs to @rowscara !)

[semper-legens]

136. The Enemies of Jupiter, by Caroline Lawrence

Owned: Yes Page count: 202 My summary: The plague that has raged through Italia has struck Rome. Jonathan’s father, Doctor Mordecai, has been called upon by the Emperor to help treat the victims - but there’s more going on under the surface. Jonathan has been behaving very strangely. And his mother is just there, in the Golden House. Will Jonathan bring them back together, or will his actions doom all of Rome? My rating: 4/5

More Roman Mysteries, and things are going to get dark. Poor Jonathan's books are always the edgiest, and the most melodramatic. That's not necessarily a bad thing (who doesn't love a bit of pre-teen melodrama?) but it is a present thing in this book. We've got the fever from the previous book still running rampant in Italia. We've got a great fire on the horizon. Titus is about to kick off a hundred days of games in the Coliseum, rampant bloodshed and slaughter. And he's getting headaches, making his mood more and more erratic. As the Emperor of Rome, that's something of a red flag…so let's see what happens under the cut.

As I said, this is a Jonathan book, and a Jonathan book where everything comes crashing down for the poor kid. Thanks to an ill-advised attempt to get his parents back together by forging letters from the Emperor, Jonathan ends up inadvertently helping to set the fire that threatens to destroy Rome. It's heartbreaking to read as an adult, because here are the two sides to Jonathan's personality - on the one hand, he's a jaded, depressive fatalist who organises things to work to his best interests, and on the other, he's a bruised kid hoping beyond hope that he can get his mum and dad back together because he loves them. Jonathan's ongoing cynicism about Titus is well-founded, too. The story takes pains to point out that, though Flavia and her friends have found themselves in his favour, Titus did awful things to the Jewish community - sacking Jerusalem, burning the Second Temple, and enslaving and killing countless people. While the series never necessarily comes to the conclusion that killing Titus, as some characters want to do, isn't bad, it does portray sympathetically those who would wish him ill. Like Agathus here, or Rizpah in earlier books. It's a surprisingly balanced approach for a kids' book.

And really, this book deals with a lot of complex, more adult emotions. Beside the mystery Flavia and her friends are trying to solve, there's Mordecai's heartache, Susannah being torn between her sort-of-lover and her family, Jonathan's near-suicidal pain towards the end - all of it is handled with a maturity that befits the audience. Sure, the books aren't going into all the complex details, but they're not sugarcoating or dumbing them down either. There's this lovely understated moment between Jonathan and Mordecai before it all breaks bad; Mordecai asks Jonathan if he's finally bringing him to Susannah, and Jonathan reacts with shock, but Mordecai gently points out that Jonathan had spoken about Susannah in his sleep and that he was waiting for him to decide it was the right time to bring them together again. There's so much emotion in that little exchange, and it's played brilliantly.

This is, however, the book where the kids getting involved in every major event in history starts to get a little silly. Jonathan accidentally causes Rome to burn, all the kids are hanging out with the Emperor, Jonathan interferes in the Emperor's love life…it's justified in one sense with the fact that this is a series for children, meant to teach children about history, but still, if you stop and think about it for long enough it begins to stretch credulity. However, the book builds up to this crescendo. Mordecai is a respected doctor in Ostia, it makes sense that the Emperor might invite him to Rome to treat patients, and the kids investigating a mystery for him makes sense given that he's seen their prowess on the previous occasions that they have met him. It's not so much that it would necessarily break immersion for older or more savvy readers, is what I'm saying, but it's still a factor in the story as-told.

Next, the aftermath, as Flavia searches for Jonathan amidst the rubble of Rome.

[fantasyinvader]

Beat Binding Blade tonight

So, right off the bat I'm going to admit. I abused the arena and save states. This is a really, really hard game. And while I enjoyed it, I'm going to give three things I didn't like about it.

1)Enemy reinforcements arrive at the end of the player phase, and can attack during the enemy phase. That is unfair, especially when I assume that parking a unit on the spawn point will prevent them (It doesn't) or my healer just happens to be in the area. I like difficult games, but when I fail at something in those I want to feel like it's my fault for doing so. When I die in Bloodborne or lose a unit in Fates Conquest, I'm willing to accept it because I felt it was fair (plus I'll just restart the chapter in Conquest anyway). I could have not died if I had played a little better. This game was not fair when it did that.

2)The supports. A lot of the stuff about the characters is locked away in their supports, since this is one of the old Fire Emblems where it throws units your way because it's assuming you didn't reset the game when one died. They don't get cutscenes to be important, and with only five supports per character (barring if one dies, then any unit that had supports with gets those supports back). And even then, getting an A rank doesn't pair up any units except for Roy. So you don't get to play love doctor here, it's only really there for the stat boosts. But in the case of my boy, he needs those supports in order for his character to fully come through.

3)I can take 8 units into the final battle, and they're the only ones who get full ending cards. Everyone else just gets a single line. Kinda weak if I use someone like Fir for most of the game, but bench her at the end to give Rutget Durandal.

Even with my cheating, I still enjoyed this game. Mostly for the story. When Fire Emblem first appeared in Smash Brothers Melee, as a kid it instantly caught my attention. Roy and Marth just looked so cool with their swords and armor (true fact: My favorite design for Link is the Skyward Sword design, simply because it has chainmail under the tunic. I get it, the tunic is iconic but SS's Link just looks practical), and I preferred Roy because I though his fully-charged shield breaker hurting him was cool. I even keep a Cipher card of his in my wallet for good luck. I wanted to know what Fire Emblem was, what kind of game it was. My friend showed me a screenshot of the upcoming GBA game in Nintendo power, which I got for the following Christmas (sadly, I didn't get Sacred Stones as I got a PS2 the following year). I loved that game, but the idea that I was playing as Roy's father always was a bit of a sour point for me. It's because of that game when I got a 2DS a decade later, because I wanted to game but kept getting pulled away from my console, I eventually went back to Fire Emblem.

And, I'm going to admit, Binding Blade hurt me because I played Blazing Blade first. It really did. I mean, Hector dies early on, Lyn is presumably dead hell a lot of my old comrades probably died in this war, Eliwood's wife dies shortly after they are married while Eliwood is more useless than ever, the kid I saved in Bern becomes a genocidal maniac, and the fact that the characters of Blazing Blade kinda caused this to happen by releasing the seals on the Legendary Weapons in their own quest... It kinda bugs me that the Legendary Weapons I used in Blazing Blade are in their trap filled storage places. Like, who returned them there? And if I have characters from that game returning in Binding, I find it strange they don't comment on needing them again. But this is a case of the game trying to be a prequel to a story that wasn't written with it in mind.

But at the end of the day, one thing just kept popping up in my mind. Binding Blade is the antithesis of the Crimson Flower route from Three Houses. I know they said Genealogy of the Holy War was an inspiration, but I can't help it. I've seen so many people try to praise that said route as some sort of denouncement of the rest of the franchise. That it's about putting power in the hands of the people (it's not) instead of having some Lord be the good king. Granted, the Mandate of Heaven seems like it's a running theme of the series, so without understanding what that is I can understand why people don't grasp what that part of the message. But Binding Blade, it just hit so many things on the nose that I needed to say something.

So without further adieu, I'm just going to bring up a few points.

With Regards to Humanity

It's interesting how both Zephiel and Edelgard come at this from different angles. Sure, they both lead wars of conquest across the entire continent, and I'm guessing Zeph didn't tell his troops what he was planning on doing once he won so there's likely a level of deception going on there as well. He really doesn't care for his fellow man, and the game goes out of it's way to show us why. Hatred, greed, or even selling out your people in the name of self-preservation. The game doesn't shy away from showing us any of this, saying that it's wrong and thus why Roy has to kick some guy's arse. Zephiel knows this, but in Edelgard's case? She's out there fighting for absolute power, destroying anyone who won't bend the knee to her while those who do out of self-preservation like House Gloucester are rewarded for it.

In essence, Edelgard is everything Zephiel saw wrong with the human race, she is why he felt we needed to go extinct. The very things he condemns humanity for are the things she reward. Zephiel would have actually handed over power to those he felt deserved it if he had won, whereas Edelgard is demonstrably shown to hold onto power until near the end of her life. One wants humanity dead, the other wants all the dragons. They even oppose each other in their classes. Edelgard is based on the red emperor archetype, she wears red, her class is the heavily-armored Emperor and her weapon of choice is an axe. Zephiel is a king, armoed but wearing purple and he uses a sword in battle.

Even if they both have screwed up history with their family's due to their father's inability to keep it in his pants, they're both presented as villains despite being ideologically opposed which goes to show with Fire Emblem the method IS the message.

Ancient Wars, Super Powered Weapons and Lies.

War of Heroes vs. The Scouring. The former is an event where the full details are shrouded in mystery, up to the player to piece together the clues and figure out the truth for themselves...or in Crimson Flower's case, ignore the truth and act out in your ignorance.With Binding Blade though, when the truth starts coming out, it hits hard. I mean, right from the beginning of the game we're told man was the one who broke the peace by attacking the dragons, but then we learn that those legendary weapons messed up the environment, resulting in dragons needing to use human forms only to be slaughtered by man. Dragons were blamed for the environment, the people who used those weapons were revered as heroes. We don't know why mankind launched their attack, but we do know that they weren't able to slay the Demon Dragon, one who had her soul destroyed in order to control her, because the Heroes felt sorry for her. It's making dragons out to be the victims here, much like the dragons in Three Houses. But Crimson Flower only serves to demonize them, acting like they can't understand humanity when the dragons in that game are a lot closer to humans emotionally than the ancient dragons in Elibe.

The Elites in comparison weren't heroes, and that lie has been confirmed as Rhea trying to make peace.

The good ending for Binding Blade is being able to save the dragon whose soul was destroyed, whereas Crimson Flower ends with slaying a dragon after you've spent the entire game triggering her (and is the ending that leads to oppressive rule under Edelgard, in addition to the only ending without sunlight. What? You thought you'd get the good ending when her final boss theme was playing on the last stage?). Also, you need all the Legendary weapons in order to unlock the final stages, which all play into the big mystery. Crimson Flower requires the player to not understand that the world-building was done to support fighting against Edelgard instead.

Merits of a leader

Let's not beat around the bush here, Roy will not carry you through Binding Blade. His bases are low, and while he has good growths he is unable to promote until the very end of the game. Even then, you need to save the Binding Blade's usage to ensure you get the good ending. Roy is also very unsure of himself, thrust into a position of leadership despite his young age. But look at what happens when he succeeds, he manages to overcome the odds and take down the mightiest army on the continent. At the end of the game, he's shown himself as more than capable of leading. Not to mention, he also believes that humans and dragons can live together, even seeing this in Acadia (and if Ninian was his mother, he's unknowingly proof of this as he is 1/4 dragon himself. May explain his poor bases). If he marries Liliana, he even becomes a King for likely much of the same reason Byleth does in SS/VW (most leaders are dead following the war, plus combining his territory with Ostia which had already taken over Lyn's land after she abdicated/married Hector). Roy learns the truth as already established.

Compare this to Crimson Flower Byleth. Byleth leads the Black Eagle Strike Force, but credit for it goes to Edelgard. Byleth never gets any recognition for this, no position of authority despite proving themselves, instead that goes to Caspar Jenkins of all people, and ends the war continuing to fight TWSITD from the shadows to support Edelgard's regime. And if you read between the lines, Edelgard is NOT a good leader, resorting to bribes, threats, cronyism, secret police, propaganda, and even TWSITD's support and later stolen tech in order to maintain her rule. Byleth lost whatever emotional development they got from White Clouds during this route, once again becoming the Ashen Demon, and is even willing to let themselves die if they can't keep their “humanity” in check showing a distaste for their own draconic heritage (showing humans and dragons can't live together in this timeline). They didn't grow into being a leader, they devolved into being Edelgard's unthinking muscle. Byleth never learns the truth in this route, falling for Edelgard's manipulations resulting in them losing Enlightened One/Nirvana status.

Not to mention, Heroes Relics have really low weapon levels. In theory, they can be used by anyone but only safely by those with Crests and most fully with a matching Crest. Legendary Weapons, on the other hand, can be used by anyone with an S rank in their type. Your characters have to EARN the right to use those things and you'll need them to deal with all the Manaketes during the final level, whereas Relics aren't exactly that level of broken.

Honestly, seeing the ending of Binding Blade and Idunn recovering put at least one tear in my eye. Crimson Flower's just made me feel like the game was calling me an idiot (which considering the Nirvana/Enlightenment thing, it kinda was). I would love if Binding Blade got the Echoes treatment, or even if they just did a GBA collection for the Switch. But after all these years, one thing is as certain now as it was when I was a kid.

In this house, ROY'S OUR BOY!

[higaneion]

@sacaeblade asked:

There is no shortage of people on the boat setting sail for Elibe. Even so, Lyn finds her eye drawn to one of the other passengers. A petite girl who nonetheless holds herself with the poise of a noble even as waves rock the ship. Indeed, it is her appearance that draws Lyn's eye, but it is not her bearing that she finds noteworthy. Rather, it is her resemblance to someone else aboard that makes Lyn stop in her tracks. It would be a disservice to her delicate features to say that she resembled Hector, but to say they didn't look anything alike would be patently untrue. Deep blue hair, just a few hues lighter than Hector's, and blue eyes to match. Big, bright eyes that seem to flit over to the Ostian every so often, either by their own accord or force of habit. Approaching her, Lyn regards the girl curiously, "Are you related to Hector, by any chance?" As far as she was aware, Hector did not have a younger sister and Uther had been unmarried. A cousin, then? Some distant relative? "My name is Lyn. I'm one of Hector's friends." A beat. "Why not go over there and talk to him?"

Since boarding the ship, she has passed by a handful of people. Some she knew as students or faculty, some she knew from her homeland. While in most circumstances she might try to go out of her way to be friendly and talk to others, she found herself more withdrawn. Nerves were coiling inside her and not even the presence of Roy or her father could ease her. She didn’t want to bother either of them right now. They had their own worries, she was sure.

           Even still, she finds her gaze drifting to them every now and then. Lilina had at least grown alongside Roy, but as for her father, this version of her father, she had no idea what he was thinking, what he had been through. Or what he’s going through right now. 

           She is caught in the act of staring, not by who she thinks though, but a surprise all the same. Related to Hector. “Um… You… could say something like that,” she mumbles. 

           Her father’s friend? Then could she possess information she does not? The striking green hair as well. She had to have been from Sacae. The gentle and strong demeanor reminded her of another Sacaen around her age in the army, she even favored her a little.

           A glance back at him before returning and recognizing how tightly she has wound her arms around herself. “It’s.. complicated. He might have a lot on his mind with this whole thing, you know?” She knows she did. 

           “Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself as well. I am Lilina,” she pauses, almost as if she means to say something else. Of Ostia, Hector’s daughter, neither of which she could seem to vocalize. “...Um, it’s nice to meet you.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

[braveryinblue]

He sees the whelp in the halls, sometimes. It's unavoidable – they're in the same house, after all. They attend many of the same classes, though the whelp has rather a larger social circle than Raven does, and he suspects it's enough that he has been able to slip by the whelp's attention unnoticed.

For the better, he thinks. He still cannot quite control the rage that comes over him at the sight of Hector of Ostia, the blood filter which tints everything in view when he sees the lummock stomping around, laughing and cavorting as though the world hadn't burned to the ground all those years ago.

He gets his practice in, though. Inoculating himself to the whelp's presence in small doses. He'll pass behind the whelp as he eats in the dining hall, slipping out as the other is coming in and holding his breath to mask the fact that his heart is hammering wildly in his chest, that his limbs tremble in fury.

Or he'll stop by the training hall when he knows the whelp is there, going through his paces with the dummies in a far corner, watching from the corner of his eyes. It would be so easy, he thinks. The blade is in my hand, the fool is distracted, he could bleed out before he realized...

It is with herculean effort that he stays his hand.

There are days, of course, when a force overcomes him, so brutally incoherent in his rage that he does not understand what is happening until quite the last moment and he is able to course-correct, to tamp his anger for another time.

This is not one of those times.

Coming out of the library, he sees the sheen of blue-black hair walking in the same hallway, the same tight quarters, and in his brusqueness to walk by his shoulder finds the other's, spraying the air with whatever sheaf of paperwork he was carrying.

"Oh, my lord!" His tone is all polish, falseness creasing his expression. "I must apologize. I fear I was not paying attention to where I was going. Here, let me help you."

Kneeling, Raven helped the Ostian whelp gather his belongings, piling a stack of paperwork neatly together before handing it over, his smile a knife. "There we are, good as new. By the way, my lord, I'd like to wish you the best of luck on the field during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion."

Sometimes, Hector feels a tingle at the nape of his neck. It's not an unfamiliar feeling by any means, no,

but is it just his imagination, or is it getting to be a bloody common occurrence of late?

Well. Whatever.

If someone's got a problem with him, they have but to speak up. (... It does, however, somewhat soothe his nerves knowing he's got Matthew (and Serra... to an extent) watching his back.)

Really, it's just another day for Ostian's young, yet-ignorant marquess. Lots to learn, can't please everybody, and so on.

Hector isn't even thinking about any of that when his materials are knocked from his arms. Rather, he'd been contemplating today's dinner, followed by this eve's proposed training regiment. All such thoughts dissipate like so much smoke as he pauses, debating between a tact indignant or vaguely apologetic.

The other beats him to the punch.

Lightly furrowed brow is the compromise he settles on as he turns to study the man.

"... No harm done," he notes, neutral, as he too stoops to gather his things. There's something about this he can't put his finger on. If there's any of his abilities Hector's ever trusted in, it's his instincts.

He feels as though he's seen this bloke before. Maybe out in the training hall, or the dining area... Around, anyroad.

"... Yeah, you too. Might just be the Lions' year."

He can't help the uncomfortable pit in his stomach. The man's been naught but polite and yet...

Whatever the case, what is for sure is that Hector will be paying Raven a little closer attention from now on. With but a nod, he goes on his way.