#acorn missives

[folkdances]

hiiii margot. thinking about merilance and valerie. the GIRLS

YAYYY well i've officially made it if people are thinking about my girls when i'm not talking about them here is a silliness for you:

[butchdarling]

grem i love the boisvert questions u ask me they're always so good ... MWAH!

bit for you

jumping and frolicking yaaaay thank you for the bit Margot! I'm glad you enjoy answering my questions bc I have fun asking them! MWAH!!

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

warmth

For @praetorqueenreyna

AO3

   Tamlin stumbles slightly as he winnows into the clearing. His magic was still a wild thing that he fought to reign but he’d mustered up enough strength to achieve a stable winnow. His drab tunic and dirt stained boots were a far cry from the finery befitting a High Lord, but he wasn’t befitting High Lord at the moment.

   The dust pink envelope had emerged from thin air, landing smack dab on his face while he’d been taking stock of the Manor’s repairs. He’d been apprehensive at first, awaiting a night-silk voice coming to taunt him yet again; he’d waited two nights before opening it, still expecting someone to come along, but the envelope had arrived, and remained, alone.

   It contained a wine dark card with the same dust pink lettering reading: Arrive at Tolos’ Clearing by the full moon.

   Tamlin didn’t know why he’d listened, but there had been something urging him to come anyway.

   So here he was, in the frigid night. The air was cold, due to the Clearing’s proximity to Winter, and nipped at his face. Tamlin resolved to wait only an hour more before returning to the warmth of Spring. Whoever had demanded his presence here would have to learn punctuality.

   He paced around to fight the cold, boots sinking into the moss covered ground, a moss that was quickly growing since he could not be bothered to contain his magic.

   The air swiftly changed, the scent of spiced acorns and crisp apples filling the air. Finally, he thought.

   “You realize when you invite a guest, you should be here to greet them,” he said, turning around to meet whoever had arrived. Tamlin stood shock still, as brown and red filled his vision.

   “Beron?”

   For that was Beron Vanserra in front of him, tall and staunch, his signature I-Am-Better-Than You sneer fixed on his face.

   “Was it you that sent the ridiculous missive?” he demanded.

   “No, it was me,” a voice called out.

   Tamlin whirled again to see the newcomer. A figure emerged from the trees, cloaked and unfamiliar. “I am glad you chose to respond,” they said.

   “And who are you?” Tamlin quickly asked. Beron looked inclined to accompany his next inquiry with a fireball.

   “That matters not, it is my message that’s important,” they said, pulling out a scroll from somewhere in their cloak, and unrolling it.

   “An Ode to the Lady Elain Archeron is to be held. It shall commence on the Day of Labor and shall end on the seventh day of the ninth month. You, Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, and Beron Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn, are henceforth banned from any involvement with this Ode in any way. You shant do so yourselves, or deceive another party to include you.”

   Tamlin stood in confusion. “What would I have to do with Elain Archeron?” He’d never thought about any of Feyre’s sisters beyond their financial safety when they’d still been human. He didn’t  think much of any Archeron at all, lately. He looked at Beron who looked well on his way to send the fireball without asking a question.

   “I would not associate with that filth,” Beron hissed.

   The figure rolled their scroll back up, smoothly placing it back in their cloak with a tilt of their wrist. “You’d better not,” they said, “both of you.”

   Tamlin tensed. Or else? “What would happen if we did?”

   The figure shifted, almost fidgeting. Were they nervous? “That’s not important.”

   Beron finally released that fireball. “No, it is quite important if you think yourself strong enough to threaten me,” he said through gritted teeth.

   The figure had jumped back just in time to avoid being cremated, though the same couldn’t be said for the hem of their cloak which was now nothing more than ash.

   “Just don’t get involved,” they said, a slight panic in their tone.

   That was strange. No one confident in a plan would react this way, but why- Wait.

   “You,” Tamlin started, “You’re not going to do anything, are you?”

   Quiet, but the scent of the nervous sweat the figure just broke out in was answer enough.

   “Just stay away,” they snapped and leaped back into the shadows.

   Tamlin shook his head, how ridiculous, he’d come here for nothing. He turned to Beron whose sneer had upgraded to his patented Stare-At-Me-Wrong-And-You’re-Dead glare. “Why did you come anyway?” Tamlin asked. For Beron to have even considered leaving his Court for a reason he would, should, have considered trivial was… peculiar to say the list.

   “No one commands me.”

   But you were commanded to come here. Tamlin sighed. He should’ve just winnowed back. Why wasn’t he winnowing back?

   Beron’s warm, his mind supplied, practically a furnace. Yes, yes that’s why he was still here.

   He stared at Beron again, taking him in. There was a new gleam in those mahogany eyes. “You’re going to get involved out of spite, aren’t you?”

   Beron’s glare morphed to his Yes-I-Am-Planning-Your-Downfall smirk. “That’s no business of yours, beast. Go hunt for your dinner,” he said and left in a whirlwind of that addicting acorn and apple scent.

   Addicting? Tamlin shook his head. The cold had gotten to his senses. Warmth, that was all.

   He looked to the Clearing once more, and winnowed back to Spring.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Rewatching MOTA and cackling thinking about how in one of his many letters Egan probably told Acorn about how Major Dye got the clap 😂😂

If he was that much of a little shit to Lil about it?! I can only imagine the laborious and thick missive he sent Lana on the matter 🤣

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 10

Hubert looked up again as the door opened, scrambling to his feet to bow as he recognized Edelgard. She shook her head.

“It’s absurd when you do that when we’re alone, you do know that?” she said, shaking her head before pulling the door shut behind her. Hubert muttered a spell under his breath to ensure no one could eavesdrop as she sat herself down in the comfortable chair across from his desk.

“I’m sure you have more of an idea than I why my uncle is currently on the warpath. Did you have something to do with it?” She asked as he sat back down.

“Two of his outposts in Hrym were decimated and I, unfortunately, was not the architect.”

“But you know who was, don’t you?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“As do I. What are we going to do about it?”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said, the words more effort than they ever should have been. He was Edelgard’s vassal, little more than a tool for her to wield as she wished. Trivial things such as his feelings should never amount to a moment of hesitation. 

“I fear if we continue to ignore it, my uncle will take his own action and we’ll be forced to support it or play our hand, which would be a shame, considering her skill set will be of particular use after the war.”

“So something that both stops her killing Those Who Slither and protects her from them until the end of the war.”

“You forgot that she has to agree to it without giving away our hand. And if not—“

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Hubert. I truly am.”

“Whatever for, your Majesty?”

“You know what for, Hubert.”

He took a deep breath. “It has been a long time.”

“And yet I still see its weight. Hopefully—hopefully you will be able to have her see reason.”

He nodded, rather than trying to find the words.

~~~

Cecily leaned on the tavern counter, waiting for Briggs to notice her. She was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to pick up the mail she’d been waiting on and sleep for three days straight. 

The journey back to Rowe had been mostly uneventful—she’d sabotaged an Empire supply wagon she’d happened to run across, but mostly she just wanted to return home, to check on the birds. They should have been fine with Yuri away, but something sat heavy in her chest, urging her homeward. He should be home by now, anyway—she’d stayed longer in Leicester than she should have.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sylvain, how serious he looked. So much different than the little boy who’d pelted her with acorns and helped her collect all the herbs for the kitchens, from the boy who’d spent his time at the academy chasing skirts and loafing about. About the boy her mother had always snuck an extra treat to when he passed through the kitchens and ruffled his hair, the boy who had sat at her bedside after they’d been attacked and read her all the picture books he owned to keep her entertained while she healed. 

About the boy who’s brother sold her to Arundel, who killed her mother in front of her for trying to stop the Agarthans from taking her. 

“There you are, deary. Do you want a pint before you go?” Briggs asked, handing her a small stack of envelopes. She shook her head, handing her a few coins before pushing out of the busy tavern. She flipped through the envelopes, there were less than usual, which wasn’t surprising considering they’d just lost a third of their routes with Brennius. 

She froze as she stared at the last envelope, at the seal she’d intercepted on more than a few missives, set carefully into blood red wax. She glanced around, looking for anyone watching her but found no one outside the usual crowd. She slipped into an alley, away from the main thoroughfare and slipped into the shadows, making it back to the Roost in record time. She didn’t stop and say hello to any of the others, just locked herself in the War Room, sliding down the door as soon as the lock clicked. 

She stared at the envelope for a long moment, her hands shaking.  Then she ripped it open, her blood running cold as a silver chain slid into her palm, a familiar pendent hung from it. She’d given it to Yuri when she was fifteen, had saved and stolen and bargained to be able to get him something actually nice, the sort of thing one of the nobles he schmoozed would have been able to get him without thought, even though it cost well more gold than she’d ever held at that point. Yuri nearly always wore it, tucked into his shirt, even though he had much nicer ones and it was tacky, considering the fact she’d picked a mockingbird in flight. 

Still, she knew he wouldn’t have given it up willingly. 

She choked back a sob, clutching it in her fist. If he wasn’t okay, if they’d hurt him, or—she forced herself not to think of the worst, couldn’t, because she couldn’t bear it. She’d kill them all, raze the Imperial palace to the ground, finally let the tether she kept on her power snap until she was nothing more than a beast tearing into flesh for the mere taste of blood.

She couldn’t lose Yuri, not the only family she had left. Not her best friend, her confidant, her brother. Not after everything they’d been through.

She unfolded the letter, her heart in her throat and read it with shaking hands, immediately recognizing the elegant slant of the writing. How many times had he scrawled across her page, correcting her calculations in the hope that she’d figure out how to cast a spell properly? How many notes had he slipped into her stacks of books recommending further reading, or highlighting something he thought would be of particular interest?

And now—no would it be a threat or gloating? Had he been decent enough to at least give her a chance to save him? He knew—he must know she’d do anything, absolutely anything, no matter how heinous or depraved, how agonizing, how extreme. If he wanted her to kill for him, if he wanted to kill her, there would be no hesitation from her. Even if he’d give her back to Arundel, she’d walk back into that hell with her head held high, knowing she’d finally paid Yuri back for taking her in all those years ago, for saving a broken, dying thing��even after he knew it was a monster. 

Dear Cecily, 

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have enclosed a memento to ensure you know that I am indeed quite serious and above any sort of bluffing. 

I am holding the Mockingbird in Enbarr. He shall be kept confined, comfortably and without injury, until I hear from you or a month has passed. 

My terms are simple: I shall release the Mockingbird unharmed into Imperial service should you come to Enbarr and surrender yourself to my custody. If you do not, he will be publicly executed in a month’s time. Any attempt at breaking him out will be met with immediate death for all parties involved. 

Should you wish to agree to my terms, there is a carriage at Whitmor Stables that has been hired to take you to Enbarr post-haste and that will be expected. Simply present my seal.

I shall await your arrival.

Yours,

Hubert

Cecily wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry and scream and rip something apart with her bare hands. She could feel her knees giving out and crouched down, rather than fall, pressing her palm over her mouth as she sobbed to muffle the sounds. 

There wasn’t a question of a choice—she’d go to the stables tonight and deliver herself to Hubert to be made into a weapon, the one thing she’d always feared more than anything. If she was lucky she’d burn out like a comet, the cost of her power killing her before she could do too much damage. 

Unless he wanted her blood. Then he could just chain her in a room and bleed and beat her like Arundel had, keeping her too weak to fight back, even with her shadows. 

Would he let her see Yuri one more time before caging her, let her say goodbye?

She buried her head in her lap, slumping down against the wall. She’d known something bad would happen in Enbarr, felt it in her chest. 

She should have done more to stop him, should of begged him not to.

Not that any of that mattered now. 

She swiped at her eyes, taking a few steadying breathes. Her crying would do no one good, at least not now—she’d have plenty of time to feel sorry for herself on the carriage ride to Enbarr. She crossed to the desk, to Yuri’s desk, and rifled around for some spare paper and a quill. 

She couldn’t just leave. No, she needed a lieutenant, someone who would step in until Yuri returned, someone who would step back down without issue, someone who would look after the birds and the Abyssians and not just run off with the gold. She had contingencies and plans and runs and everything to make sure nothing fell apart before Yuri got back. 

She took another deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. She could do it, just one thing at a time. 

She picked up the quill and started scratching out her first letter. 

~~~

Yuri’s heart sank as Cecily shouldered her way into the room, eyes cataloguing the way her hair had been half-torn from its braids, the dirt and bruises that covered her skin, the blood painting her temple—he was on his feet before he could note the rest of the crew she’d left with filing in behind her, before he registered the thing in her hand.

A head.

Rhyder’s head. 

The room had gone deathly silent. Cecily raised the head, high enough that everyone could make it out for what it was. Then she opened her hand, letting it hit the floor with a truly awful squelching thwack. 

“Anyone else got a problem with management?” She asked, glaring at each of them in turn.

“What happened?” Yuri asked, fighting to keep his voice even, disinterested, even as his heart beat wildly against his ribs.

“Rhyder thought he could do a better job. Thought he’d ransom the boss’s sister to get him to step down. Thought he was reeeeeal clever. Any one else feeling clever? Go ahead, I dare you. Just know, you gotta get through me first. Rook, tell them how it’s going to work out for them.”

“Bad,” Rook replied, voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were still locked on Rhyder’s head, though Yuri wasn’t sure if he was really seeing anything or just in shock. None of the other four that had been on assignment with them looked much better. 

Cecily clapped her hands together, her smile lethal. “Any takers? Anyone think they can do better than Dead Weight? No? Good.”

Yuri surveyed them all, brow raised, noting who avoided his gaze.

“Someone had better have that cleaned up by the time I get back,” he snapped, shooting Cecily a look. She followed him as he stalked out of the hideout, weaving through Enbarr’s narrow streets.

As soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the gang Yuri grabbed her by the elbow and started dragging her towards the safe house. She tried to yank out of his grasp but he didn’t let her. 

Once the door slammed shut behind them, he rounded on her, expression somewhere between panic and fury.

“You want to explain that little stunt?”

“I told you—“

“Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you just come get me? Why did you drag his decapitated head into the hideout?”

“To make a point.”

“Cecily—“

“You can’t expect me to always come running to you with my problems!”

“A coup is not your problem. You should have gotten out and gotten me.”

“That would have made it worse.”

“It would not—“

“It would have just solidified to everyone that that was the right play. That that I was your weak spot.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, as much as he wanted to. 

“Still—“

“No one is going to fuck with me after that! And they’ll assume whatever Dead Weight can do, Boss can do ten times worse. Besides, it would be expected for you to kill him. No one would have ever expected me to.”

“You’re not dead weight.”

“Well, now they all know that,” she replied, eyes narrowing. 

He swiped away the half-dried blood at her temple, healing the gash underneath with a flash of white magic. She still looked so young for her age, still too small, too fragile, even if he knew she could hold her own. 

“I don’t want you killing.”

“I’m good at it.”

“You’re a kid.”

“I’m a monster. And you were working as an assassin at my age.”

“I was fourteen. And you are not.”

He already knew what she was doing as soon as the lights flickered, watched the familiar way the shadows flocked to her, forming razor-sharp claws over her fingers, settling in a way that made her appear ethereal and skeletal and inhuman. She bared her teeth, teeth blackened with shadow and lengthened into fangs.

“Cut it out. I mean it,” he said, smacking her upside the head.

“Ow,” she cried, clawed hand cradling her cheek where she’d been struck, her voice strangely doubled. 

“Now.”

“Fucker,” she spat, shadows falling from her form like sand.

“Idiot,” he replied, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his cheek on top of her head, not caring that she smelled like sweat and blood and dirt, only that she was fine. 

“Ow!”

Fine enough.

“What else hurts?”

“Other than you smothering me?”

“Other than that.”

She paused a moment before holding up her left hand, three of the fingers very broken. 

“The rest is just bruises, I think.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, taking her hand in his. “This is going to hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

He always hated that flippant edge to her voice when it came to pain, an edge he knew she earned by enduring far worse for far longer. Sometimes he thought she almost relished in it, like something familiar, something she knew she could endure, like a badge of honor.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before jerking her pinky back into place and setting it with another flash of white magic. She hardly whimpered, staring dead-eyed at the peeling paint on the far wall. He smoothed his hands over hers, half to soothe, half to make sure everything bent as it should. 

She pulled her hand from his grasp, squeezing it into a fist before wrapping her arms around his middle, burying her face into his shirt. 

“Magpie?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged him tighter. He hugged her back, smoothing back her hair like his mother had done for him, hoping she found it soothing like he had. 

~~~

She cornered Rook, pulling him into the dining room and shutting the door. He was nearly a foot taller than her and broad shouldered, with tan skin and chestnut hair he wore overlong. She’d known him since she was twelve and they’d moved back to Rowe from Enbarr. He was one of the few left from the original crew, the one’s she’d run with while Yuri was off playing heir, who’d followed them to Abyss after their disastrous run in with the Knights of Seiros. It had used to be the two of them and Dove, back in Abyss—the dream team, as they’d jokingly called themselves—but since Dove had died, they’d hardly worked together. They’d see each other at the Roost, trade notes, but they went on their missions alone, or helped the greener birds learn the ropes. 

She knew, more than anyone, she could trust him with what needed to be done and knew he wouldn’t cross her, if not for her sake, then for his own. He’d seen what she’d done to Rhyder at twelve when he’d turned on Yuri. 

“Um—Mags, you okay?” He asked, brows deeply furrowed. She was sure he could tell she’d been crying, sure she looked a disaster, not that it mattered.

“Something came up, I need you to make sure a few things get done.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I need you to get Lark to bring this to Derdriu,” she said, handing him an envelope with her seal. “And I need you to bring these to Enbarr and give them to Peregrine personally, and tell her to sneak them to me as soon as she can.”

She handed Rook the pouch that contained all the remaining vials of her refined blood that she’d managed to track down. 

“Wait—if you’re going to Enbarr, why don’t you just bring them?”

“Because it’s a bit of a hostage situation, and I have to play it very carefully. I can’t risk them being taken from me.”

“What are they, anyway?” He asked.

“Poison. One that the wrong people can’t get their hands on. I need you to promise me you’ll get it there safely.”

“Yeah, yeah—just, can you explain exactly what’s going on?”

“They have Yuri,” she said, surprised she was able to keep her voice even, even though a tear dripped down her cheek. “I’m going to get him back.”

“Wait, who?”

She just stared back, watching his face whiten in realization. 

“No—you can’t go alone. I’ll go with you, Weaver can bring the poison to Peregrine, we’ll break him out, it’ll be fine.”

“No. I have to go alone. If we try to break him out they’ll kill all of us. If I go, nobody dies.”

“And what happens to you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just—I need you to make these get where they need to go. And this one,” she said, pulling a third envelope from her pocket. “This one goes to Piper. Other than that, have Lark take over my runs to Derdriu, make sure she stays out of Charon, and somebody needs to take over Gloucester, someone with manners, maybe Robin? You’re going to have to manage the money until Yuri gets back, you have to make sure everyone from Abyss—“

“I know. I know, okay? Everyone will be fine here when you get back.”

“Don’t—don’t count on me coming back.”

“You said no one would get hurt, that means you too.”

“It’s a trade. Me for Yuri.”

“You can’t—“

“There’s no choice, Rook. If I don’t he’ll publicly execute him, you know what that means.  He wants me alive, that means it’s a long game.”

Rook just stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “He’s going to be furious with you, you know that.”

“But he’ll be alive. I’ll relish his fury if it means he’s alive.”

“What do you want me to tell the rest of the birds? To tell Paloma? To tell everyone?”

“Tell them whatever they want to hear. Whatever keeps moral up. I just—I have to. You know I have to.”

He nodded. “Just—just stay alive, alright? Stay alive, get Yuri out alive, we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile she knew didn’t meet her mismatched eyes. 

“When are you—“

“Tonight. Now. Here,” she said, tossing him her coin purse with everything she’d made from Leicester. “Put it to good use. The twins need new shoes and Paloma needs a new coat. A good one.”

“I’ll see you again, okay?” He said, still weighing the coin purse in his hand. She wondered if he’d ever held so much. She nodded, throat tight, as she turned, preparing to leave the Roost for what would likely be the last time. 

It was just like any other mission.

She tried to convince herself of that as she packed.

It was a long game, not a slash and burn like she’d grown so adept at. Everything from the moment she stepped into that stable mattered. Her first priority, of course, was to get Yuri out and as far from Hubert as she could manage. As soon as she was playing only with her life she would be able to make moves. 

If she was clever it wouldn’t be hard to get the Court to play right into her hand. After all, Hubert was not well-liked among the other nobles and reveled in it. His cultivated villainous persona already put her at an advantage—she could be charming, when she liked. Not in the same way as Yuri, but charming nonetheless. 

It was a game, she thought as she traded her practical tunic and trousers for a patched dress from her trunk. It was a game and she was going to win it, and he was going to be sorry for ever crossing her. 

Next

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 9107

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[bogleech]

Hello Mr leech I work near a harbor and I go out on my lunch breaks and see these handsome fellows

Which iNaturalist tells me are northern acorn barnacles (Semibalanus balanoides) and I wanted to know what you knew about barnacles. How do they eat? What do they eat? I know they have the greatest penis to body size of all animals with a tentacle thing but how do they reproduce? What eats them?

Thank you for reading this missive

This is my favorite animal to explain because I could explain it almost every week and there's always a new 200 people who can't believe anything evolved like that.

A barnacle is a crustacrean like crabs, isopods and shrimp, but in its mobile larval stage is finds a spot it likes and glues the top of its head down. Its body reorganizes itself until it's just a squishy shrimp creature dangling from the inside of a big house that is also more of its body, with some of its organs inside the walls and a sunroof it can open and close. It even has a single eye (dark dot on the model) so it can tell when to close up, like when a threatening shadow passes over it! They're obviously difficult to eat but there are fish with strong enough teeth to crack them open, mantis shrimps can break them (of course), and there are ribbon worms that can just ooze a proboscis into the shell. The spiraled part in the model is the giant penis, and all acorn barnacles have both penises and ovaries so they can mate with other barnacles within reach. They tend to follow the chemical scent of their own kind so they can find appropriate neighbors! Later they release their microscopic larvae into the water, which may ride currents long distance or just settle down right nearby and expand their own community.

(jim auzins)

The barnacle's legs also grow these long, thin, hairy extensions, cirri, that they reach out of the sunroof to catch microscopic plankton in the water, which they then just suck up into a little jawless toothless mouth. But acorn barnacles are just one kind of barnacle! I outlined different varieties of them here! Stalked barnacles are another major group, and they work a little different. Most notably, stalked barnacles have distinct sexes, but the ones we can see are the females, and the microscopic males live inside them.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 1 Hobbit Plot Bunnies

Title: Journey to You

Summary:  Everybody Lives AU. Bilbo made his peace with returning back to the Shire, but starts to become bored and finds himself longing for Thorin. He leaves to go back to Erebor only to never reach his destination. Thorin must retrace the hobbit’s steps to find him, and bring him home before it’s too late.

POV: Mostly Thorin with Bilbo at the beginning.

Bilbo heaved a huge sigh as he collapsed into his favorite armchair with his pipe in hand and a book on the table beside him. After months of being on the road, and weeks of tracking down his furniture that had been prematurely auctioned off, he was finally where he was supposed to be. Safely tucked away in his cosy Hobbit Hole, comfortable and relaxed at last.

He shifted in the seat and lit his pipe. He flipped open to the first page of one of his favorite stories and began to read. He was only a paragraph in when he had to fidget once more. He was barely done with the page when he realized how oppressive the silence was. He wasn’t even remotely through the first chapter when he plopped the book back down on the table hard and herded himself into the kitchen. He was just hungry was all. Nevermind he was still trying to acclimatize himself to a hobbit’s eating schedule again, and found himself stuffed full after four meals every time.

He pittered around in the pantry, but never could settle on something that sounded remotely appetizing. It must be the stale air inside the smial then. He was still used to the road’s gentle breeze. A nice sit out on his bench would be enough to settle him. So without further amble, he settled himself outside in the warm and green garden. The Shire’s rolling fields and endless blue skies, a welcome sight.

The exact shade of Thorin’s eyes. He mused.

It was that single thought that broke through the domestic bliss around him causing him to choke on the smoke he breathed in. He clutched at his chest as he tried to expel the extra pipeweed from his lungs. It still did nothing to relieve the aching hole that was newly exposed to him. Thorin Oakenshield.

The dwarf he ran off into the wild for. The dwarf he killed an orc for. The dwarf he riddled a dragon for. The dwarf who held a hero’s feast for him after the Battle of the Five Armies, yet still sent him back home with a pat on the back and a box of meaningless jewels.

It’s not like you would have said yes, if he asked you to stay. A voice in his head tried to remind him. His place was in Bag End. He made that intention clear to everyone throughout the journey. What would he do in a mountain of dwarves anyhow? All of that stone couldn’t be comfortable, and he could hardly see in the dark as it was.

It didn’t matter that those thirteen dwarves made him feel more included than his fifty plus years living in the Shire. It didn’t matter that he was stared at in wonder and admiration there versus the politely concealed animosity and judgement he found here. And a certain dwarf king’s almost death on the ice almost certainly had no bearing on his emotional state. 

His gaze flitted to the east where he pretended he could just barely see a single, solidary peak rising over what would be the Misty Mountain range. With a final exhale, he knocked the ashes out against his bench, and watched as the wind picked them up to carry them away. He turned back towards his cheerful little round door, heaved another sigh, and went back inside.

The next day, he decided he was going to start writing down his adventure, but he barely got a few sentences into it before realizing what a terrible idea that had been as Thorin was once more fresh on his mind. He decided to organize his study instead.

The day after, Bilbo went down to the market to buy some fresh produce only to notice a traveling dwarven caravan headed east. He ignored the whispers of ‘Mad Baggins” as he ran back home as quickly as he could, afraid he was going to tear off after them.

The day after that, his young cousins came over to hear the “Troll Story” again. He managed just fine until he got to the Carrock, and then his throat closed up and he had to excuse himself. 

A week later, Bilbo had been invited to a party where he found himself inexplicably irate that no one walked across the tops of the tables or held belching contests. He stopped accepting invites after that.

Another week went by where Bilbo finally broke down and decided to write a letter to Thorin. After all, they were still friends, and friends wrote each other. He had to throw away the first draft due to underlying longing in his words. Fifteen drafts later did not improve his skills, and the water stains that started to appear would have been hard to explain away. That was about the point Bilbo had enough of his ‘comfortable’ life in the Shire.

“You’ll not be the same hobbit as when you left.” Bilbo mocked Gandalf’s words from before as he threw clothes out of his wardrobe looking for something acceptable to stuff in the growing pack on his bed.

“He never said I would be unable to readjust back to Shire life! Blasted wizard! And blasted dwarves! I would have been perfectly fine living the rest of my life in an ignorant bliss of the outer world!” He cursed moving on to gather food for the journey.

Bilbo finally left his hands resting behind his head after he moved them through his hair and stared down at the bulging pack before him. Was he really going to run out his door after a dwarf with blue eyes and a soft smile once more? He went over to his chest where he almost reverently pulled Sting out. With a quick nod, he strapped on the sword, shouldered his pack, and locked his door. He left the key inside the postbox along with instructions of who to hand his childhood home over to as he was most likely not coming back. The only other post being a letter that was sent out in the mail the next day.

Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, Erebor

Dear Thorin,

I hope you are up for receiving company because I am coming home to stay for good. I have already started on the road, and shouldn’t be far by the time you read this missive. I’ll do my best to arrive promptly by four for tea time. In the unlikely event that I would not be welcome, at least spare me a night before that uncomfortable conversation. 

With the deepest of regards,

Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, formerly of the Shire

***

Thorin had been rather impressed with how well he was able to keep his thoughts from drifting towards a certain Burglar who stole more than just his Arkenstone. Aside from still healing from a grievous injury, there was much to do with the restoration of Erebor and the moving of his people back to the mountain. A job that had taken decades the previous time around.

However, after the first month or two, work for him somehow managed to slow down. With less than two thousand in the mountain, there wasn’t much that required his direct supervision. Dis was handling all the relocation efforts from her end at the Blue Mountains, and any plans, disputes, or consultations that required his attention were done before the midday meal. So it was during his afternoon training and walk around his kingdom that his mind began to wander and freeze upon the little hobbit from their journey.

His smile, his eyes, his bouncing curls, his clever mind. Over and over, Thorin would imagine the hobbit next to him in the mountain. Agreeing or disagreeing with the decisions he made, stepping up onto the ramparts to turn his face to the sun, eating and laughing with the company at their evening meals. Every day his heart seemed to ache a little more, and every day he managed to convince himself it was for the best.

After all, what had he done for the hobbit? He belittled and degraded him every step of the way. He frequently forced him into perilous situations where they had to rely on his quick wit. Lest he forget, he tried to kill him under the influence of a hereditary illness that he never properly apologized for nor had any idea if it would return. No, Master Baggins was better off far away from him which is why he did his best to send the hobbit on his way with enough gold to live the rest of his life in luxury. He never doubted this was the way it must be.

Or was it he didn’t want to hear the negative if he did ask for the hobbit to remain? The thought pierced through the self-sacrificing haze of his internal monologue. He wanted to scoff for it sounded like a drunken ballad: the brave and noble warrior king afraid of rejection by the soft and clever mouse. Still, the burning in his gut seemed to indicate that was exactly it.

Therefore, Thorin made his peace with his yearning heart. There was just one small miniscule thing standing in his way: he missed his friend. It was the sheer fact that he was half a world away that kept him from hopping on a pony, and dropping by for the visit Bilbo promised they were all welcome to. He had tried to pen a letter, but the written word was never his strong suit. Nor was the spoken word for that matter, not like the talented tongue Bilbo possessed. So he found himself waiting for the hobbit to make the first contact. And waiting. And waiting. And Thorin was really tired of waiting.

When Balin discussed the idea of an embassy to Dale, Thorin agreed immediately, much to the surprise of the old advisor, just so he would have something to do again. Besides, he owed Bard much and felt obligated to be a part of this delegation personally.

It was fine for the most part. Bard eagerly showed him the changes they were making, and how much the city has already grown thanks to the dwarrows labor trade. Thorin was really only half-invested until they came to a curious alcove where a single green sprout was growing inside a circle of stones. When he asked about it, Bard gave him a sheepish look.

“I thought you knew. That’s the spot where Bilbo planted his acorn. My people are committed to seeing its growth as a symbol of hope for years to come.”

Thorin’s feet stopped moving as his eyes remained trapped on the little green plant. He knew this acorn very well, and in fact, the words Bilbo spoke at the time were swirling Thorin’s head on replay.

“One day it’ll grow, and every time I look at it I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened. The good and the bad, and how lucky I am that I made it home.”

He was supposed to take it home to plant in Bag End. Why did he plant it here? When did he plant it here? Unless…

Every time I look at it...I made it home.

Thorin apologized to Bard for having to end their tour so abruptly, but he had to get back to Erebor immediately. The man didn’t seem to put out, and Thorin was racing back to the mountain where he called the company into an emergency meeting.

“I’m an idiot.” He began. “We have to go and bring Bilbo back home immediately.”

“FINALLY!” Kili cheered. “I thought we were going to have to put up with your moping for the rest of our days!”

Thorin tried to glare at his nephew, but it didn’t come across very well. While Balin was all for the return of their Burglar, he was very reluctant against Thorin’s personal involvement in the retrieval. However, Thorin would not budge on the issue, especially when Fili was more than capable of taking on his duties for a few months. After much arguing back and forth, it was agreed that Dwalin, Nori, Bifur, Kili, and the two guards Dwalin was training, Goram and Tul, would accompany Thorin to the Shire.

He ordered them to pack because he was wasting no time and wanted to leave first thing in the morning. It would take them three months, which considering the long and grueling journey to get there in the first place, was no time at all. Thorin felt like his soul was soaring the closer they got to that little green door that hid his clever and fussy hobbit. 

The afternoon when Hobbiton came into view, Thorin spurred the pony into a full gallop much to the amusement of Dwalin and Kili. He didn’t care, he was about to see Bilbo again. He knew exactly what he would say as soon as he saw him. He would apologize for being a rock-headed king who should have never sent him away and ask him to come back home. Bilbo would probably agree that he is rather stubborn, but forgive him and get started packing immediately. 

He jumped from the pony’s back clearing the picket fence in one smooth move much to the startlement of the passing hobbits. He could hardly bring himself to care as he knocked on the door, unaware that he was panting until he was waiting in the charged tension. He focused on catching his breath, inhaling sharply when the door opened.

“Bilbo, I-”

He nearly swallowed his tongue in mortification when the hobbit behind the door was revealed. He had the same button nose and muddy blonde hair, but otherwise his dark eyes and chubby cheeks were a stark contrast to what he was expecting. Thorin couldn’t believe it. Did he get the wrong hole? It had a green door, but then again there was nothing saying that Bilbo had the only green door in Hobbiton. An apology was on the tip of his tongue for a whole new reason when the hobbit tilted his head in curiosity.

“Are you by any chance Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin nodded still unable to comprehend what was happening. The hobbit gave a wide grin before turning back into the smial.

“Prim! You’ll never guess who’s at the door! It’s Bilbo’s dwarf. It’s Thorin Oakenshield!”

A voice from inside squealed when a female hobbit with dark locks and sweet blue eyes appeared with a wide grin. Something about being called Bilbo’s dwarf ignited something in him which allowed him the function of creating words again.

“At your service.” He gave a small nod with a hand crossed over his heart. “I’m looking for Bilbo. Do you know where I can find him?”

The couple shared a look. Thorin felt like he had been dunked in a bucket of ice water. Something was wrong, and he’s learned to trust his instincts over the years. The only thing he could plead for was not to hear of his death. Please Mahal above, don’t let me find out this way.

“Bilbo left months ago.” The male hobbit answered.

“Left?” Thorin repeated numbly, his heart gradually remembering how to beat again.

“Put in his will that he was going back to Erebor.” The female added.

“Wait. What?!”

[nevofthewilds]

S56: On The Meaning of Power

Rucker awoke to find himself alone- all of his Mudwang allies had already vacated their beds. Only Rat, snoring and drooling over a book of law texts, remained. Vax left a note behind explaining he was following a hunch, while Taerus had business to attend to at ConsMyst. The goliath found the final member, Shakan, practicing his movements under the great Copperleaf Tree. Taking in the gifts from his journey to the Feywilds- his neon t-shirt, an engraved acorn, a glowing bracelet- he pondered how much he'd changed since he first met his new tribesmen.

Shakan finished his rituals and joined Rucker, still anxious despite his meditations. With the trial approaching and little progress made in gathering evidence or momentum, he was troubled. Rucker shared a story from his goliath tribe, a lesson in honor and strength of character. Shakan appreciated the tale, and the two friends waited for Taerus to rejoin them before heading up to meet with Elder Gikandi. As the men began walking in the chilly winter air, Captain Galva shares what he learnt from meeting with Syster Odimin, (older sibling to Biose student Odimar):

The two spoke of Thelandria, and how the goddess of storms found each of them. Sharing a recent dream of his featuring lost allies and a Stag Mountain besieged, Taerus listened to the cleric's theory how this vision supported her fear that the gods power in Virpresque was fading. She then tested his faith by blasting him with wind and lightning (and, in doing so, releasing him from the curse placed on him by the Delta hags coven.) Having proved his conviction, she challenged him to spread Thelandria’s word by acting the guide for souls lost in the tempest.

They are eventually seen up to Gikandi’s quarters in the Tower of the Archives, where Shakan is greeted coldly by a former classmate who blames him for their masters fall from grace. On edge again, the genasi introduces his allies to his former instructor. Speaking casually and warmly, the tortle wizard welcomes the group and provides drinks of choice. Gathering around his study table, piled high with books, journals, and missives, the four men begin to share their thoughts on the upcoming trial.

Having seen and studied much over his many years, Gikandi's concern was not about influence or legacy. Rather, he had agreed to stand in Shakan’s place on a matter of principle- allegations needed to be answered for. For that reason, he was pleased that Shakan had returned so that the matter may be truly settled. He further emphasized the trial is a reckoning for Shakan as a representative of the Academy itself: what damage has he done to not only the rectory, but Bøfkasmaur’s reputation?

Gikandi then offered to help the men with any personal challenges they were facing, reasoning that though it may not be related to the trial only calm minds could make sound decisions. Dictating the questions and answers to a glowing orb of magic over his shoulder, the master listened as Taerus shares his concerns regarding Thrembreglaxx and his followers. Gikandi too pondered what designs the followers of the god of entropy might have, and that normally such anarchists had historically had trouble organizing.

Rucker then took the chance to ask about the curse he carried, explaining his history with the lich that had left some vestigial powers within him. Rucker also shared he'd recently learned the name of his enemy- Balefroar. Speaking the name, the room instantly darkened as the studies candles' winked out and the sky outside began to cloud over.

The turtle’s affable tone ceased, and Gikandi very carefully chose his words as he warned the three men to never utter that particular name on the campus of Bofkasmaur again. The magic of Names was mysterious and powerful, and this name could be ruinous. Respectfully, the Mudwangs resolved to only refer to Rucker’s lich as… Tracy.

With personal queries satisfied, the group resolves to help defend Shakan and Gikandi. If the Academy placed such high value on the merits of its students and members, then how could they build a case to show Shakan an asset rather than a liability? Perhaps by finding who hired the Open Hand, though their leads in that department were slim. Maybe by demonstrating his good acts across the Stag Lands, with summoned witnesses to speak to his integrity? However they proceeded, they had only 7 days to bring it all together, and Gikandi gave them a pair of scrolls to aid them as they prepared to leave. 

It was at that moment that a knock at the door revealed Gikandi’s next meeting was with none other than Larry Dennit Jr. himself. Speaking brusquely to the men, he set down a tray of food for he and Gikandi to share, urging them to run off. Taerus and Rucker began to challenge the Acting ConsArc Elder, even threatening him with a Zone of Truth before Gikandi effortlessly quelled the spell and the fight, ordering them to cease squabbling in his quarters. 

Thus humbled, the Mudwangs left Larry and Gikandi to meet as they continued their search for the truth amidst the towering stone monolith of the Academy…

[suffernotindoubt]

Quixidiotic

Sorry I disappoint, I have preexisting engagement that each year I prey on alone, solemn, to exhort from anniversarial esteem of being among humanity's darkest deigns ineffective aesthetic stencils and shoelaces, taking to multitude of nations better to wake, less lassitude wrest forth bondage's salve, pacifist dreamings through to day when light delivers quake encumbrance to anyone specter luring memory holes gleeful gasps celery stick garnishes mid-week peaches leaving always a wicked birth mine: evil's magma virtual and proud glad faces stick torn shredded acorns faceless grape lasts even to done been climactic, yet for dreaming careful not to think careful of caring corralling and writing choruses dawg, I am going exploring ...even a partial harvest, returning is meant to get to be getting lost is getting going there or go far from this this this remembrance agog shedding trying-try career evict tricyclic icicles sharp blazing lisp all them going then I am goodbye to going get lost get hoing get long gone we done with doing, gettin'a go but not if Im'a say try better again: boy try try me twine, burl no long year wherein we thusly are not one more yu nor flailing I noone never seems unforgettable have weighs in: go tending to bye not getting but going forget to chip in step up somewhere, top lock forgetting to get locked key in it, kinda just sticking out we been people long enough for to share/support investments mutual/individual made towards/out of transformation in stealth in relation to others or our world wondrously shimmers like interesting, kind, honest felon intrigued by opportunity to learn alongside a certain hollow woods: approximate liberty in a vigor fervent with which against yu never nor prostrate less alight from labours alone and my baby cock surging as in a limerick even one evening as ass tapped, them had missive heat's further how far for that then how who he getting to expect to be will until whimpering lets spread 'em cheeks widely deepening whole perfumed, rank, tender belles quixidiotic, ain't yu heard he run da joint yes eyes yes as eye slick clenched reddening red perineum quenched, vertical pregnant just one breath ho, see

[folkdances]

FORGIVE ME FOR ASKINF AGAIN but what was the plot of boisvert and its time period? whats the fashion like in the universe?

IT'S OK because i love talking about boisvert more than ANYTHING in the WORLD! ok so boisvert is about merilance, a changeling, and her sister valerie, who both end up stolen away to fairyland because of their aforementioned status of changeling and unclaimed child. they are taken by two fairies claiming to have been sent by merilance’s ‘mother’. they’re taken in by a fairy named braughen, who lets them live in his home with his children: roscobell, andrias, daghain, and floralee & florabell.

braughen lives in the fairy court of the quagmire which is in a period of political instability because it is in the process of planning the annexation of the smaller court of boisvert. quagmire is doing this because the treacherous true ruler of quagmire, pasrsifal priorhark, is believed to be hiding somewhere within boisvert’s borders. merilance and valerie grow up here (they’re taken when they’re about 13-14, and then there is a vague time jump to when they’re in their early 20s) with vastly different goals in mind: merilance wishes to become a knight for quagmire in order to prove herself and protect valerie and get her back home, while valerie wants to stay in fairyland and continue studying magic, which is a science in the world.

merilance meets a scholar by the name of carrier who promises to help her become a knight in exchange for her help in his research into a particular branch of magic known as siphoning. as the story moves on, merilance becomes more and more disillusioned with quagmire’s political agenda, but all of this comes to head when braughen is murdered presumably due to his involvement with an anti-annexation group of radicals known as the priormancia, and his son, andrias, is wrongfully convicted of the crime. much of the first book revolves around merilance, valerie, and roscobell attempting to solve his murder which they learn is inextricably linked to quagmire, its ruler the rosenthral, and the ever-looming shadow of the ever-unknowable parsifal!

time-wise: fairyland exists outside of time. there's a whole diagram i drew but basically fairyland is only able to exist thanks to time that has passed and time that will pass, and so exists sort of next to the 'real' timeline. things move differently there. this reflects in the general structure of fairyland, which is vaguely medieval but more heavily lies on the imagination and what people think a fairyland would look like ^.^ as for what time merilance and valerie are from, they're taken some time in the early to mid-2000s.

i LOVE the fashion question. it's super stuffy and formal but really it can be whatever because fairies are silly! when drawing, i reference a lot of older illustrations for fairy tales, pantomime and other stageplay costumes, and generally strange and whimsical fits for strange and whimsical fairies. here's some choice picks from the pinterest board for u.

[aion-rsa]

Bridgerton: Best Shows to Watch After the Netflix Series

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Netflix’s Bridgerton has swept viewers off their feet with its lush blend of romance tropes—fake relationship, forbidden love, “we could be together if only we could stop misunderstanding each other”—anchored by the soapy, searing gossip of one Lady Whistledown. Those eight episodes went down like tea sandwiches, doubtless leaving viewers hungry for more Regency romance and timeless drama. Thankfully, you can sate your appetites with these nine TV series. A mix of adaptations and original series, they reimagine famous figures as compelling heroines and transplant viewers into immersive towns and households, with new scandals and love stories to get obsessed with.

Dickinson (AppleTV+)

Alena Smith’s brilliant, queer dramedy series audaciously reimagines the historically reclusive poet as a Millennial soul stuck in 19th-century societal constraints. It’s delightfully anachronistic, with artful contemporary music choices—like one sequence set to Lizzo’s “Boys”—and gleefully meta cameos like John Mulaney as Walden naturalist Henry Thoreau and Zosia Mamet as Little Women author Louisa May Alcott. The sophomore season (which premiered January 8) sees Emily grappling with the fear of losing her sight, yes, but also something far worse: writer’s block. The reason for her creative dampening? Her poems may finally be published. But fame proves a fickle creature, as Emily struggles with an attraction to her editor Samuel Bowles (Iron Fist’s Finn Jones) while her dear Sue (Ella Hunt) retreats into the glittery world of out-of-touch influencers. This season, expect seances, spa days, and more than one fabulous house party.

Outlander (Starz)

Daphne Bridgerton has to survive the season, but Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser (Caitriona Balfe) has to stay alive across several historical wars, not to mention the realities of being a 20th-century doctor sent back in time two hundred years to where she’s little more than property to be traded or kidnapped. Thankfully she’s got the romance hero to end all heroes in sensitive Highlander Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan)—and their sex scenes rival even Daphne and Simon’s romping honeymoon. If you’ve never gotten into Diana Gabaldon’s sweeping romantic epic (with Ronald D. Moore’s adaptation touch), get ready for a breathless adventure. And if you’re tuning in for next season, you’ll appreciate how like the Bridgertons, the Frasers nurture a big, close-knit clan—blood and chosen—whose own adventures in time travel, spywork, and war spin out into various triumphs and high drama.

Sanditon (PBS Masterpiece)

Adapted from Jane Austen’s final, unfinished novel, Sanditon takes place in the eponymous seaside town, a sleepy retreat poised to become a Regency resort destination. An accident of chance brings the unconventional and impetuous Charlotte Heywood (Rose Williams) to Sanditon, where she bonds with the bold Georgiana Lamb (Crystal Clarke), Austen’s first and only black character. And of course, Charlotte clashes with the hunky Sidney Parker (Theo James), part of the family looking to change Sanditon. Andrew Davies, the writer behind the classic Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice and other Austen adaptations, uses the unfinished manuscript to set up the pilot, then takes those characters in new directions. That means engaging with England’s colonial history in surprising ways, but also includes an ending to the eight-episode series that challenges readers and viewers used to the genre’s conventions.

Harlots (Hulu)

Anthony Bridgerton’s opera-singer lover Siena would have fit right in with the pragmatic, hardworking women of London’s seedier districts a century before the events of Bridgerton. Alison Newman and Moira Buffini’s series similarly builds its drama on circulated pamphlets that, like Lady Whistledown’s missives, could make or break a young woman’s future prospects—only these ladies are sex workers. The short-lived series tackles sex work, abuse, secret societies, racism, and a mafia-like war between the city’s top two brothels.

The White Princess (Starz)

Before she dazzled (and terrified) on Killing Eve, Jodie Comer’s breakout role was as Elizabeth of York, mother of Henry VIII, in this miniseries adaptation of Philippa Gregory’s historical novel. Forced into a political marriage with the new king Henry Tudor in order to unite their houses, Lizzie realizes that she can wield her own brand of power through pregnancy and heirs. The White Princess will scratch that “enemies to lovers” itch while dramatizing a turning point in England’s royal history.

The Great (Hulu)

Like Daphne, Catherine of Prussia (Elle Fanning) approaches her marriage with alarming naïveté at the start, only for her idealized hopes for life at Peter III’s (Nicholas Hoult) court to be smashed like fine crystal with a mocking “huzzah!” Instead, she must learn to navigate the cutthroat Russian court of simpering and sabotaging ladies, while convincing the tantrum-prone Peter that she is interesting enough not to be killed. All this while fomenting a revolution with the help of her street-smart maid and various sympathizers who may be willing to consider that Catherine could be good, perhaps even Great. Tony McNamara’s Hulu series takes the brilliance of his 2018 film The Favourite and expands it over series arcs (season 2 is forthcoming) that will make you cheer and even cry.

Downton Abbey (Peacock)

The one thing Bridgerton could have used more of was the “upstairs/downstairs” dynamic of servants commenting on their employers’ ridiculous interpersonal drama. We got a little bit of that with housekeeper Mrs. Colson laughing at Eloise Bridgerton’s accusation that she is Lady Whistledown (as if she had the time!), but Downton Abbey serves up plenty of shade through the eyes of the valets and maids who keep the Crawley family comfortable at their country estate. Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of scandal, from diplomats dying during sex to real-world events like the sinking of the Titanic and the assassination of archduke Franz Ferdinand. And those missing Bridgerton’s Queen Charlotte will delight in Maggie Smith’s scathing Dowager Countess.

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (Acorn TV)

If you found Daphne’s lack of sex ed and real-world knowledge a tad tiring, you might find the company of Miss Phryne Fisher (Essie Davis) as refreshing and heady as a whiff of exotic perfume. Melbourne’s most glamorous lady detective spends the 1920s solving all manner of murders—at society functions, on trains, at the dance hall—with nary a hair out of place. But the best part of the series is Phryne’s refreshingly modern attitudes about sex and her simmering banter with the stern Detective Inspector Jack Robinson (Nathan Page). Despite all the death and unrequited attraction, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries is a spectacular romp that will be over all too soon—but then the cast reunited for a movie, Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, to keep the fun going just a little longer.

Gossip Girl (HBO Max)

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Hear us out—the Upper East Side in the early 2000s definitely gives the Ton (that is, Bridgerton’s high society) a run for its money. You’ve got sex tapes, secret children, faked deaths, and the unlikeliest of matches, between golden girl Serena van der Woodsen (Blake Lively) and “Lonely Boy” social outcast Dan Humphrey (Penn Badgley, prepping his stalkery writer skills for You). After all, Gossip Girl walked so Lady Whistledown could run. And with a reboot coming to HBO Max this year, there’s never been a better time to catch up on the original.

The post Bridgerton: Best Shows to Watch After the Netflix Series appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/38rWARd

[xenodross]

Greenest, Scattered

Eleint 1489 DR, 4th Day

Time is strange, Scholar of Tomorrow. 

I see from my journal it has only been six days since my last entry, but I feel as though more than half a year has passed before my eyes. The sundry wounds on my body are knitting and I am safe, along with my companions, in what remains of the once proud town of Greenest. So strange that with a single page turn of this journal Greenest is turned to rubble and ruin. A turn - we sit comfortably in the Green Rest Inn, drinking terrible tea and laughing over breakfast. A turn - we sit together in a small corner of the Keep, drinking water and listening to the quiet dirges of the survivors. The memorial for those lost was this sundown. If only I could so easily bring them back as turn the pages of this account!

It has been two days since the dragon and the gathered bands of mercenaries departed. I have thrown myself into study: the identification of some various artifacts we discovered, my own neglected studies of essential spellcraft, and even some small sorties across the expanse of the Tome of Katra. Ah, but this will never do, please forgive me Scholar. I begin at the end and that will not serve. It as been a comfort to spend my hours among the clean and abiding wonder of my arcane studies, but tonight I -- I feel it is important to speak to you and at least provide the bare essentials of what has transpired.

I shall endeavor to be brief, to force the unruly events of the past days into concise order. Now, with a few hours to breathe, I feel that these events are signs that I have not read carefully enough - that I have missed some essential pattern. Perhaps with the advantage of your perspective you will glean the heart of the matter - how I wish you could return a missive to me from your vantage!

- Accompanied Lord Goldhaven to Ambush Site, in search of his Missing Property. Found nothing but more aberrant dragonoid canines and some black-armored mercenaries. Master Bellamy fell off a cliff.

- Returned to the outskirts of Greenest the following day, to Discover the City under attack by a Blue Dragon and several bands of mercenaries, loosely allied. Mercenary groups encountered: Red Sash, Black Armor, Blue Boar

- Did battle with mercenaries, narrowly escaped death by Blue Dragon attack. Odd blue kobolds sighted, Some Connection with Dragon?

- Assisted some Greenest Citizens in their escape and made our way to Keep. Castellan informed us of long forgotten tunnel underneath that would allow us to move in and out of Keep undetected. Tunnel was full of some small dangers, but we Dispensed with them.

- Mill investigated. Overheard conversation between Master Bellamy’s black-armored Paramour and some guiding Leader behind attack. Mercenary bands are searching for something specific beyond normal plunder, but unclear what their Objective truly is.

- Sighted large dragonborn warrior of Ominous Bearing.

- Made way to Temple of Chauntea, where some Hundred Citizens were sheltering. Mistress Tambledorne and Master Binderwall lead half down through (another!) secret tunnel, the remainder we made parley with the Blue Boar commander to allow them safe passage under our protection. 

-Escorted Citizens to Keep, then Mistress Mouse consulted Local Wildlife for information on other secret tunnels. Helpful Creature suggested a place with an odious stench, leading us to the foul Staggered Goat Inn. Where we reunited with Mistress Tambledorne and also found Master Sildare. The ranger led citizens from temple out of town for safekeeping. We returned into catacombs to find Master Binderwall.

- Discovered Master Binderwall in a State of Excitement, believing he had found the lost fortune of Darva Scatterheart. We also found the odd guide from our adventures at Durlag’s tower (who having escaped from the mercenaries) - joined us, but a fortunate use of Arcane Detection by me revealed their true nature - the third hag!

- Defeated the Final Hag. Claimed treasure of Darva Scatterheart (details in Research Journal, pg. 89). Also some various boxes of rubies - company agreed to keep some small portion for travel expenses, but then gift the remainder to the people of Greenest to aid in their relocation or rebuilding efforts.

-Discovered hidden chamber of Loesin, the bard - the strange quarry that had brought us all together at the outset of our company. It seemed he had been researching for many days or weeks many of the same mysteries we had - but most of all how to enter safely into Scatterheart’s Trove. The use of one of her descendants (Mistress Tambledorne) was his plan, casting their entire relationship into the most troubling and enraging light. We all have made compact to question this bard most fiercely on this point when at last we bring him to heel.

-Emerged from catacombs. Blue Dragon was shockingly rude. We fled back into tunnels for safety.

- The last portion of town left to search was the Green Rest - we found some dozen men and women being held hostage by the dragonborn warrior, Cyanwrath. He offered to duel one of our party in return for their safe passage. Mistress Mouse accepted the challenge and was very nearly victorious. Cyanwrath limped away, but kept his pledge. I know from experience that even the darkest of hearts understand the meaning of honor.

Ah, Scholar. My fingers and eyes ache, though there is candle light to spare. It seems so incomplete, such a bare sketch of what has transpired. We have faced down death - under the earth, from the skies. We have uncovered secrets hidden from the waking world for a hundred years - but I fear there is still so much that we do not know.

The hag spoke of some hidden thing in the catacombs, some relic that Scatterheart found in Durlag’s tower, but kept all unknowing. We found a strange disc, black and white. On one side words of life, on the other words of death - elvish against the stern runes of the dwarves. Could this be the secret thing? Could this be what the dragon and the mercenaries sought - that they burned and killed to obtain? It sits even now in the bottom of my pack, as drab as a cast-iron pot, wrapped in the remnants of my travel-cloak. (which I must mourn, for it shall never be in wearable condition again!)

I am proud of my fellows. If not for their skill and strength, many more would have died in the attack. Much of Greenest is despoiled, but blood cannot unspill as my uncle would sometimes say. How fortunate for the people of Greenest that the four of them were here when needed.

One last thing, then I feel the tendrils of sleep will no longer loosen their grip upon me. Mistress Mouse accosted me yesterday with a most interesting argument. She asked what was different between my magic, and the magic that she and Mistress Tambledorne bring to bear. She asked what was different - and why I was so dismissive of it. To my chagrin now, I WAS dismissive of her argument at first - but her unshakeable faith ground me to a halt. I have for some time now been consumed by the theory that the walls that separate the arcane spells of wizards and the ‘divine’ ministrations of acolytes and clerics are not so solid as we think. But now I must consider the walls that were before now invisible to me. The power that stands behind my spells, the force that gods can command and bestow -- could it be the same energy that bards and druids and --- whatever Mistress Mouse does with that acorn -- employ?

A startling perspective. One, I admit, I would never have found behind the walls of the Veneficium! All these distinctions, these names, these masks -- all illusions before the true source of Magic Itself.

Perhaps I will read some few small minutes into the Tome of Katra before I sleep after all. I felt at times that I was crossing a river that none had dared before me - and now I feel that I may be on the shore of an ocean. I shiver with wonder. The possibilities are blooming in me like daffodils in spring.

[operasofmind]

Spirit of Oak

I often wonder who I must disown,

Who writes in lines of poetry like this?

For ‘tis not me, this pen moves on its own,

I’m like an oak who’s overjoyed with bliss.

He looks out over fields instilling cheer,

These missives are like acorns falling down.

Sometimes you pitch an apron, picnic here,

Enjoying peace and calm, this day to crown.

When right beside you falls a small green seed,

Attention piqued from your sweet reverie,

You pick it up and there unfolds indeed

To your surprise, a tiny note for Thee.

Dear One, the spirit trapped within this tree,

Loves you so truly his words can break free.

[wwwnewunificationchurchcom]

(via Wantok, Squaw of the Cinders part II: "the Dead in Christ Rise First", Lamb's Reward | "Measure 144" Missive # 20)

The Home Church of New Hope:

Bethlehem Ephraim

And the New Unification Church of Synanon:

Resurrection Inc.

".....I would rather be mad with the Truth than sane with Lies..."

Bertrand

Russell

               When Thee Unicorns Came Down; and Why

Mark 8:34 - 9:1

8:34     And he called to him the multitude with his disciples, and said to them,

"If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.

35       For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it.

36        For what does it profit a man, to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?

37 For what can a man give in return for his life?

38 For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation,

of him will the Son of man also be ashamed, when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels."

9:1 And he said to them,

"Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see that the kingdom of God has come with power."

Theodore Roszak and the Wise-woman of the Wintu Tribe of California. On page 245 we have the simple but profound words of a Wintu woman in the book "Making of a Counter Culture"; having written in the Chapter entitled "Eyes of Flesh, Eyes of Fire" some observations dealing with the environment in a remarkable section comparing our environmentally lacking vision, in contrast to how the native consciousness of the American Native population disagrees with the unnatural and scientifically driven view kept in place by the dominant European culture now currently in place; but it is more than that; it is an authentic representation of the "Voice of the Earth" that gave birth to the Ecology Movement. The "organic" revolution that came after "The Silent Spring" by Rachel Carson followed by a flood of our own material about chemicals in our bodies from pollution for "the Greening" of My Generation was also adopting the concept of the "balance of nature" defined by the Native Indian philosophy they tried to emulate  in hundreds of communes when they "got back to the Land" and indeed; set their souls free from the Materialistic,  Atheistic and Consumerist Flood of the Great Red Dragon seen in chapter 12 of the Revelation, and who represented Great Britain as well, the First and Last Global Empire.

It is no great stretch to view the "spewing" of violence against this youngest of the nations was indeed a "destructive sending"; and the "river" from the mouth of this Serpent is of the commerce by this Global Empire by which they tried to "drown" America economically, after they could not destroy us militarily; but could not even then, as we had Tobacco, which the world, including themselves, had become addicted to. Here are her words; "......The white people never cared for the land or deer or bear. When we Indians kill meat, we eat it all up. When we dig roots, we make little holes....We shake down acorns and pine-nuts. We don't chop down the trees. We only use dead wood. But the white people plow up the ground, pull up the trees, kill everything. The tree says ''Don't. I am sore. Don't hurt me." But they chop it down and cut it up. The spirit of he land hates them.....The Indians never hurt anything, but the white people destroy it all. They blast rocks and scatter them on the ground. The rock says "Don't! You are hurting me." But the white people pay no attention. When the Indians use rocks, they take little round ones for their cooking.......How can the spirit of the earth like the white man?......Everywhere the white man has touched it, it is sore..."                               Here is what is written of this exchange in the Revelation at Chapter 12, verses 12-16; to wit,

12

Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.

13

And when the dragon saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought forth the man child.

14

And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.

15

And the serpent cast out of his mouth water as a flood after the woman, that he might cause her to be carried away of the flood.

16

And the earth helped the woman, and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed up the flood which the dragon cast out of his mouth.

The Divine Tipponi of my Father's servant John:

the Eagle of the Revelation

Synanon; the Emergent Church of the Transcendental Life

Part One: The Native Americans

and the Voice of the Earth

The  Testimony of Black Elk......The prophecy of the Advent of the Pahana......the Barley Harvest of 1917 and the Wheat Harvest of 1967....the Ending of Time at the New Age..... the 144,000 Baktun of the Maya and the 144,000 Virgins of the Lamb........ The Eternity that arrived December 25th, 2012 after Three Days and Three Nights in the Heart of the Earth.....my Wedding as Wantok of the Cinders with the Great Spirit as the New Earth .......the Kingdom of the Great Spirit and the Double Sabbath at the Feast of the Great God

[folkdances]

Does anyone in bvert have any pets?

I ANSWERED THIS QUESTION!!!! memory win !!!! to copy paste the text:

umm ok pets are a bit complicated in fairyland because many of the creatures there are in fairyland are like normal animals even if they aren’t animals you’d find in the real world but a lot of them are like fairies in disguise or fully sentient and so and so on so it’s really a game of chance unless you’re really good at figuring out what’s what. there are like people that catch and sell animals but as a general rule they’re probably trying to trick you in some way or the other … and as for domesticated animals in general the most common are steeds and messenger birds ! but this also varies depending on where you live :-) so in the undersea instead of messenger birds it’s sturgeon ^.^ there are also fairies who can speak to animals but that’s less a domestication situation and more my friend Moose that hangs out sometimes. so tl;dr there’s all kinds of animals in fairyland and people have relationships to them but u have to be careful or you’ll get eaten crazystyle