#also thank heavens she hasn't died yet

[catsidhesilvie]

Ahhhhhhh Zilvra got big character development tonight in session!!

Long Zilvra lore and motivation musings!

She finally met her patron, after attempting to touch a shrine that granted visions to answer your most burning question/worry. Zilvra forced everyone else to go before her because she was nervous and afraid of what she might see, only for a wild fox to scurry in just in time and grab her skirt hem to stop her. (The question, by the way, would have been either "Who was it who kidnapped me to the feywilds in the first place" or "What happens when I regain my memory?")

Her patron then materializes and says that he has been pleased with her service and wishes to offer her a choice to stop her from digging around in her history -- he could either consider the contract fulfilled, take back the powers he granted, and and restore her memory (as was originally promised) now........ OR, extend the contract, since his last warlock didn't work out all that well and Zilvra was particularly useful. If she agreed to remain his for the occasional errand, he promised her all kinds of power and even to help with her friends who died (whose players are currently playing other characters...... hmmmmm something doesn't add up but Zilvra wouldn't necessarily know that), but asked in exchange that she handle the last remaining evil druid left in the woods. Then, he said he wished for her to rejoin him in the feywilds and serve him from there.

Her whooooole thing was that she wanted to escape the feywilds! That's what started her whole adventure in this game. She made the deal with this patron to get out, getting her warlock powers essentially just to complete his mission since she wouldn't have her memory of her druidic powers. The thought of her going back willingly would be totally against her motivations since the start............... but. He promised even more power, which would be useful (seeing as the party is about to fight a dragon), and said that she might like it in the feywilds more if she was as strong as she would be with a resealed pact -- that she could control some of the feywilds herself, even, to shape her own desires into reality.

It wouldn't have tempted her initially, because the whole ordeal has made her highly value freedom. Now, though, having learned of her past from a fellow surface drow in town who chanced to recognize her, she knows that she doesn't have much to return to post-adventure. That makes her slow down and actually consider the offer.

Her entire goal since level 1 was to escape the feywilds and complete her patron's task so that she could be done with it all and return to her old life and an important task she had been working on - she couldn't remember what it was, but that it was her duty. Thanks to this chance encounter with the other drow, she learned what that duty was.

She had been a druid, albiet a Circle of Spores druid -- which still placed her as "other" in her drow village in the underdark. When their home had been included in an attack by mindflayers, Zilvra had been sent to the surface to try to fetch assistance, since mindflayers were too powerful a foe for the drow alone. Being a druid, Zilvra was deemed most likely to be able to find surface allies. Instead, she vanished, and the help she was supposed to bring never arrived.

She had been trapped in the feywild, or otherwise unaccounted for, for 200 years. Now, her former home in the Underdark was in ruins -- the drow had succeeded in their fight against the mindflayers without her, but not before their town was leveled. The drow the party met explained that the matron of their house and other members of their town had recently returned to rebuild, but others had, like him, scattered to the wind, so she was free to do as she wished.

Zilvra's thirst for freedom turned into a curse of options. >:)

Where would Zilvra go, when this is all over? Her cleric friend has other friends and a place to return home to. Her wizard friend is only part of the party to finish the business of their deceased friend, and also has a home far away. The new barbarian in the party is still mildly standoffish and seems to be a mercenary only helping them for the coin. She does care for Mab, but even Mab had chosen to join the party for a particular goal -- to avenge his clan and retake his former home in the mountains from the dragon. Zilvra couldn't just invite herself to stay with any of them, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to return to the underdark as a deserter, or worse, a failure.

If she regained her druidic powers and memory, perhaps she could join a local circle and help to protect the forests.... if she could find a group that would accept her as a drow. Her warlock powers had granted her the ability to appear as a wood elf (or anyone else) at will, so getting by on the surface would be a fair bit more difficult if she only had her own humanoid face.

There was also the building anxiety of what she would be like with her memory restored -- was she still her? Did she think and act the same way? Would she still care for the friends she's made (the only ones she's ever known, given the technicalities)?

Her patron being fey, she was limited in what questions she could ask without giving offense, but he did elaborate that her tasks, should she decide to stay his, would primarily be related to protecting the wood from humans and others who would try to over-hunt or otherwise over-harvest the forest sacred to the fey -- something that, as a former druid, she assumes that she would be totally in line with.

Swearing her servitude to her patron indefinitely by doing what she would already be drawn to doing in exchange for purpose, power, and maybe even a chance to save her lost friends.... it suddenly became far more tempting than she could have considered.

SO now, two questions remain:

Can she trust her patron?

And

what does she want in the end?

Initially, Zilvra was unfalteringly loyal to and completely trusting of her patron, because she remembered that SHE had agreed to the deal to escape the feywilds. She trusted her own judgement, and his by extension. She initially kept her pact a secret, was focused on her mission above all else, and simply joined the party to try and increase the strength at her disposal with which to complete her patron's unknown mission -- but as time passed, she slowly started to see things didn't add up. Finding that she was a druid now cursed to make flowers wither was like a twisting knife, a cruel joke. Was it from her patron? Was it from another fey? Her patron being silent after her friends died and she had thought she'd completed her patron's mission also made her frustrated and wary, and the question of WHY she needed to have her memories suppressed continued to fester.

Meeting her patron now and having it confirmed from his own mouth that HE didn't want her to remember anything to keep her useful to him caused her suspicion to compound. For him to not want her to remember, to go so far as to travel into the material plane to stop her moments before touching something that would give her an answer to a question she hadn't stated, there must be something he has her doing that would go against her true self -- she just can't imagine what, unless she either wouldn't have been willing to work with him specifically, or if she did have something else important out there waiting for her. There's also the possibility that I haven't had her think of yet where she could have been a Talos-following druid herself -- not all druids are good druids! And oh man that would be a twist, having her hunt down and murder the druids that she had been seeking :O

Ultimately, she made a smaller bargain with him: she continues to serve him for now, and will defeat the last remaining evil druid in the area. The party will use her warlock powers as well to try and make progress in defeating this dragon. In one month, her patron will return with the same offer, and she will decide whether to give up all her warlock powers in exchange for her memory, and possibly returned druidic powers.... or, she will choose to sign a permanent contract in exchange for greater powers and assistance with her deceased friends, and eventually return to the feywilds with her patron.

Knowing the way time works in the feywilds, she warns the party she doesn't know if they will see him in a few days or a few years -- but that she has bought time. If it seems that they won't be able to defeat the dragon that terrorizes the area on their own, she could take that power to help.

I think, character-wise, it makes the most sense for Zilvra to reject her patron's offer. While she is tempted by her friends being somehow savable from death, the cleric of the party pointed out to her that it sounded fishy, so a seed of doubt exists to compete with her guilt over their deaths coming from a fight for her personal quest.

She will always be curious about her past, and she wanted to leave the feywilds. I think if the party gives her any indication that they will support her when she gets her memories back, or gives any idea of where she could go after this fight is over, she will choose to regain her memories, hoping that the experiences which she has gone through with them will stay with her and prevent her from being aggressive to them as non-drow.

That said, I don't anticipate that the DM will be swapping her class just before the final battle.... so I'd imagine that she won't hear from her patron again until at least just before the final confrontation with the dragon, and she might be able to ask to keep the powers for just one more fight.

AND there is always the chance that the DM is tricky and makes it so Zilvra doesn't reallly get the choice -- either she thinks she has to take the power to succeed, or she learns more about her past and does NOT jive with it.

Ofc then there is the bit where I decided to make Zilvra's downtime activity for the next few days as they await the Festival of the Moon researching local druidic groups and drow druids, sneakily, to see if she can discover any bit of history about herself from the surface before she was kidnapped by fey. If her patron catches her, that could be a whole ordeal bahaha.

I'm down for anything but ahh this is so fun :D

[theerurishipper]

I think one of the worst things for me right now Ladynoir wise is that I just have no faith left in Marinette not blaming the outcome of the finale on Cat Noir to some degree. The last Ladynoir scene is setting off every alarm bell in my head, I just can't help it.

She's never gonna talk to him alone anymore from here onwards.

If Adrien will have any negative feelings about having lost his father then I can't help feeling like Marinette is gonna subconsciously put it on Cat. For not being there in the finale and for the cataclysm event in Destruction, even though it was her plan she gave him no heads-up on for no reason, but hey, it's Marinette...

I have no faith left in me to hope that she will at least warn Cat Noir that she HASN'T retrieved the Butterfly miraculous (damn, she'd probably blame that on his absence too, huh?) and not just leave him in the dark about it until Lila rises as new Butterfly which is the worst way Cat could find out about that.

And besides, the smartest thing Lila could do now is simply... wait. Postpone rising as new Butterfly until not only Ladybug will be forced to lie to the world about having retrieved the Butterfly (since she would NEVER say that openly unless she has to) which would make Chrysalis rising even worse because LB blatantly lied to the whole world

Lila should also simply wait because no way is Marinette gonna tell Cat about not having the Butterfly and that would mean that he's quite likely gonna dare to ask for a reveal and the longer Chrysalis waits the longer Ladybug has to lie to him with excuses for why they can't do it yet. At some point it would simply come across as her playing with his feelings by keeping his hopes up despite her having no intention on revealing, which, I mean, that's the case. (hello, Ephemeral. I wished you weren't so accurate to all this...)

The longer Lila waits the more Ladybug is lying to Cat and playing with his hopes whne their bond is probably already gonna take a massive bruise from the finale. And the longer it goes on the worse it'll be whne Chrysalis eventually rises and Cat, as per usual in the worst possible way, finds out about Ladybug's secrets regarding the butterfly and that she truly never had any intention on revealing. She just played for time for the Butterfly to rise.

I have no faith left in her giving any kind of hsit what actually happened to him in the finale. Adrien could have memory loss a la Marinette's backstory in Derision (which actually would explain him remembering his father so lovingly at the end), heaven knows the circumstances were horrific enough for that to happen, and even if Cat would mention it towards Ladybug that he can't remember it anymore

I just have no faith left that she wouldn't react the same way as in Wishmaker at best or just brush it aside at work cause she doesn't want to hear an excuse for why he failed her, when "her" ADRIEN is now paying the price for it and the rest of Paris taht she was alone and therefore couldn't retrieve the butterfly.

Or if Cat said that he is feeling incredibly guilty that an innocent man died because he wasn't there, what's realistically gonna be Ladybug's reaction? I don't wanna be pessimistic towards her but at this point being realistic means asking how much she would care for him saying that and not just brush it aside? She doesn't need to do it maliciously for it being fucked up.

I just...

Have no faith left for Ladynoir. Or superficially Marinette in Ladynoir.

What's realistically to be expected here?

Honestly? This. I don't think she'd blame him for anything, but considering her characterization across the last two seasons, I don't expect her to consider being honest with Chat Noir one of her priorities anymore, let alone telling him stuff at all.

Thank you for your ask!

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 3

Enjoy @kriskukko​ and @punkhorse96​ 

Blood For Gold

Part 3

Wednesday morning came all too soon. Out of everyone in the Morrigan family, you and Jane were closest, since you were only older than her by a mere five years, she only 17 and you, only 23, but she was incredibly sweet and kind and you insisted that Jane also get a new dress or two for the occasion. 

“This was supposed to be all about you Audra.” Jane gently argued from her spot in the next dressing room in the back of the shop. 

“Who says I can’t share my limelight- at least a little. I would much prefer to see you married off and matched with someone who would treat you like the treasure you are, than myself.” You told her as you peeled your first and frankly hideous dress off your frame. 

“But not for another two years at least, I do not think I’m ready yet.” She meekly replied. 

“Then that is what you should hold to. Do not marry until you are ready, too much disaster can happen when you are not.” You advised. 

“But I don’t think you can last that long.” She murmured quietly. 

“We shall see,” You answered her with a heavy sigh. 

“I was mistaken for you when I came back from Kent.” You informed her nonchalantly. 

“By who?” She asked. 

“Duke Voyambi and Count Jabire.” You answered. 

“But I do not know them personally. I know of them, but not them.” Jane frowned. 

“But what do you know of them?” You asked curiously. 

“The Count only recently became a Count, I believe that title has only been in his family for less than three generations, it was given to them when their grain storehouses were full enough to go through the mill and make enough flour to get the whole of London through a hard winter after a bad drought of the summer, but otherwise it’s a humble family and according to Father, they are nowhere good enough for a Morrigan.” She murmured quietly. 

“And Voyambi?” You asked. 

“Oh, he’s a purist, he’s for union, which Father says is foolish, he’s very involved in making sure all orcs get better… everything, from treatment, to housing, to wages, to food and clothing. Father says he’s the only nobleman foolish enough to throw the classism that brought him so high away and in his efforts to raise all orcs up, will lower himself, but yet we still buy his soap because it’s the best quality around and to buy any other made outside the country is unpatriotic.” She repeated. 

“How did his family get the Duchy?” You asked. 

“Oh his grandfather was the king’s personal body guard and saved the king’s life repeatedly in the last war, he was made a Duke and his family has had the Duchy ever since, the soap had just been a family thing they always made for themselves that the king also enjoyed and when they received the Duchy, the king made the family the official soap makers of his realm, the Voyambi’s and Jabire’s both got their nobilities at the same time, along with the other half of the new money, a great many fortunes have been made and lost since industry has taken off. And both owe their wealth to their industries, that can come today and be gone tomorrow, their fortunes are not stable. So they are also not good enough for a Morrigan.” She answered before you both came out of the dressing rooms in the new gowns. 

“Besides, to lay with an orc is to kiss your cunny goodbye because they’ll destroy it and rip it to shreds, or so I’ve heard.” Jane whispered into your ear as you did your best to not burst from trying to contain your laughter. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Well, Mother always says that the bigger the cock, the smaller the brain too.” She continued to breathe into your ear. 

“Ah, ok. Thanks for letting me know.” You thanked her. Oh, if only she knew that it was an orc cock that finally rutted you right but just thinking about it sent a shiver down your spine. Demsey Draft’s orc cock had been just what you needed, and his mouth, and hands, and amazing body and passionate spirit. And he had smelled like that Duke’s soap too and he was remarkably clean for a male prostitute, even dressed nicely too. Well he had been a moura, all moura’s liked to keep clean at all times in all things and always dressed resplendently. 

“So what do you think of the dress Audra?” Jane asked, pulling you out of your reverie. 

“It’s beautiful.” You answered as you looked down and appraised it. It was much prettier than the last dress as you walked out into the show room to see none other than Duke Voyambi come in with a few orc women with him and your excitement at recognizing a friendly and familiar face died in your chest as Jane’s words were recalled into your mind. He would most likely only marry an orc woman, you didn’t stand a chance as you looked away just as Duke Voyambi noticed you were here and froze at the sight of you at seeing you there in a new and very fashionable dress, your gold moura marks a sharp contrast of the dark and rich burgundy magenta of your gown and especially to see them around your chest and your back, neck and shoulders and down your arms as you had been turning away from him, he was reminded of his own rutting the night before which he had tried to put out of his head and had hoped that his rutting had been the end of it, but now, all it did was fuel his own flame of desire for you to burn brighter and fiercer. 

“Countess Morrigan.” He greeted you which pulled your attention back to him before you smiled politely at him.  

“Yes Duke Voyambi?” Agnes greeted, thinking he had greeted her, curtseying in place as she plastered on a pleasant smile as you stood just a little straighter before you and Jane also curtsied respectfully to the Duke and his party who also curtsied in response as Jane came to stand closest to you as the Duke could now clearly see the difference between you and Jane, while Jane was also blonde, and fairly pretty in her own right, she was just a little plain next to you. 

“Audravienne, this is Duke Demsey Voyambi, his sisters, the Duchesses, Amara, Kiera and Callie Voyambi.” Agnes introduced as she practically dragged you over to them, her fist tight like a vice over your forearm before she let you go once you were close enough to them.   

“Your Graces, allow me the pleasure to introduce you to Sultana Audravienne Saharrazat, Divana of Kilan of Dorierra,” Agnes introduced you with quite the flourish as your eyes got wider as you looked at Jane who had come with you and was now flanking your left side as you two shared a meaningful look as your cheeks flushed and your ears burned while your moura marks flashed a rose gold for a moment as Jane stared in shock at her own mother. Normally her own mother turned her own nose up at them, but now she was practically pushing you onto them and no longer doubted her parent’s insistence that they needed to get rid of you, she thought they meant only get rid of you to who they deemed worthy, not just...anyone. 

Meanwhile the Voyambi’s were giving each other meaningful looks too as they looked you over curiously while Demsey tried to keep his composure as he realized all mouras must have marks like yours, he just never noticed. You had been stunning in black on Monday but now in brighter colors you were even more ravishing. 

“What beautiful tattoos you have Sultana,” Callie, his youngest sister praised as she noticed them. 

“They aren’t tattoos, they are my moura marks,” you gently corrected her as your marks pulsed rose gold again. 

“You’re a moura?” Callie asked, her eyes and her sister’s eyes growing wide with excitement as smiles bloomed on their faces. 

“Yes, that’s what Dorierra is- is a Moura country.” You answered, letting your moura accent become thicker than usual, since you had worked for the last two years stomping it down to try to sound more English but you could tell Agnes was going to “resell you” as pure moura, so you were sure your moura accent would probably be accepted again in this instance, instead of punished the way it usually was with the Morrigans. 

“Oh, do all mouras have marks like these?” Callie asked curiously. 

“No, most have markedly less, usually just the collar, maybe a feather or two on their backs and shoulders, I am one of the few remaining ‘true mouras’ the purer a moura’s blood, the more gold moura marks they will have, these moura marks would have been my moura cloak and wings before the Gold Death a hundred and sixty seven years ago- that wiped out the entire heavenly moura population and killed off roughly 80% of the world moura population, my family line was spared because we were mixed with human and elven races, but any purer, we would have died out too. So instead of flying the heavens, I just get to wear the reminder of what mouras used to be and what we used to have.” You answered somberly as Jane held your hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“Sultana, you really shouldn’t be so dark, especially with new acquaintances,” Agnes tried to pleasantly chastise you with a forced lighter laugh. 

“Forgive me then your Graces.” You offered as you gave the Voyambis an apologetic smile as Demsey and his sisters were doing their best to remain composed as Demsey’s heart practically crushed inside of his chest as he wondered how a moura as decked out in moura marks as Audra's had been could be found in a brothel of all places. 

"Let's try some more dresses on Ladies." Agnes encouraged as she pulled you away and practically pushed you into the dressing room as she whispered some harsher criticisms to you along the way. 

"Your Graces, I really should apologize for her. She spent her whole life in Dorierra and she hasn't learned our manners and customs as well as she should have by now. But surely your Graces will forgive the Sultana's rudeness." She soothed as she came fluttering back over to them. 

"Oh she wasn't rude at all, she was just being informative. She's really very lovely." Amara reassured her. 

"Well I must say the Sultana would still make the ideal bride. She is so incredibly sweet and kind and caring." Agnes tried to praise.

"Is that the way she was with the Late Count Edward then?" Kiera inquired, doing her best to hide her suspicions from her tone so as not to openly offend the Countess. 

"Oh absolutely, she never left his side and she made sure his final years were spent in the greatest of comfort because that's what she has been bred to do- to cater to a husband and make him feel like a king or a sultan or an emperor even. No one can do better for breeding or brains or beauty than a moura. And the Late Count Edward even afforded her a dowry for her upon his death of 50 thousand pounds. She'll be the catch of the century and her mourning period ends in only twelve days, barely a week and a half from now and she'll be free and clear for the taking." Agnes informed them brightly. 

Now upon hearing that all the Voyambi's practically had their eyebrows shoot up into their hair line. 

“Don’t most people usually have to pay handsomely to the stables for a moura bride?” Kiera countered as in her own mind, red flags were being thrown all over the place.  

“Oh she just fell in love with England, she didn’t want to return.” Agnes lied as the Voyambi’s looked at each other meaningfully again but were discrete about it. 

“Yes, that’s why the Sultana is such a fantastic find!” Agnes insisted.

“Was there a reason why she didn’t return to the stables? I thought most mouras always return to the stables, especially in the case of widowhood.” Kierra probed, trying not to sound too suspicious. 

“Well then it’s a shame that the Duke is already attached to Lady Whitesale, but I’m sure you’ll find an overabundance of suitors for the Sultana.” Kiera urged firmly, even though that was in itself a white lie also but the last person she wanted the Morrigans to prey on was her brother, wolfish people as they were.  

“Oh, I didn’t realize that, forgive my interference then, I would just hate for someone who would be exceptionally worthy to miss out on such a prize as the Sultana,” Agnes offered to save face before she left to return to the dressing rooms to see how you and Jane were getting along. 

“I’ve never seen a trap so firmly set or a more falsely appetizing bait in my life.” Kiera muttered to her brother. 

“It does make me wonder why she didn’t return, the mouras always return, even if they have children, especially because they have children, mouras only leave the nest for a time before they return, they always return,.” Amara mused. 

“Maybe they are waiting for her to marry another and then have a child to bring her back then. Edward was older but not ancient, he could have had another ten or even fifteen years. But he only lasted barely a year with her. Besides, a moura’s beauty is always outmatched by their greed for wealth and power, of which we have little of either, especially compared the wolves of Broadcove. She would probably burn through such a fortune in less than a year because there are no greater golden leeches than mouras, there’s good reason why only royalty have them, for they are the only ones with enough funds to upkeep them, for however long or short you get to have them around.” Kiera practically sneered as they walked over to one of the displays, not knowing you were just on the other side of the very thin wall and could hear every word as you pressed your back against the wall as your gold moura marks seemed duller than usual as you simply pressed your head back against the wall and tried to blink back your tears as you did your best to remain composed. 

“Audra? Are you alright?” Jane asked as she came out to the other dressing room in her next gown which caused the Voyambi’s to gasp softly and hush themselves from over the small wall. 

“Yes of course,” you sniffed and put on a brave smile for her sake. 

“You should definitely get that dress Jane, it’s so becoming, blue is definitely your color, it brings out your eyes, and if your mother will not buy it for you then I insist I will. You deserve to look just as pretty as I do, if not prettier and I have the perfect jewelry to match at home.” You insisted before you brought her closer. 

“For who knows how long your parent’s generosity will last.” You murmured to her which made her erupt into a giggle as she readily nodded in agreement. 

“If it ever stops, promise me, whatever happens, you’ll come visit me yes? Our family ties are about to be broken but hopefully our bond of friendship never does.” You implored her as she eagerly nodded yes as you walked each other out of the dressing room to see the Voyambi’s in the process of discretely scattering away. 

You weren’t sure why you cared so much of what the Duke and Duchesses thought of you, but you hated for them to believe lies, even though you were sure that even if you could scream the truth, they wouldn’t believe you now. They were set against you. 

But at the same time, Callellea’s words still rung in your head, beware of who the Morrigan’s introduced you to, even though you technically already had met at least Duke Voyambi earlier while Jane’s words also weighed heavily on your mind. If the Morrigan’s would not approve of the Voyambi’s, even if the good Duke was interested, if anything happened further, there would be no way for you and Jane to remain friends, for you were sure Agnes and Richard would never let Jane visit you if you became a Voyambi. You had to admit that it was a bad fit all around as you looked over to see the Voyambi’s looking at stockings from across the dress salon’s sales floor as the Duke turned his head to cast another glance your way and your eyes met again. He did not look dangerous to you though. He looked...kind, and pleasant and amiable and a gentle-man, and now all you could do was hope that Lady Whitesale would be good to him and help him build a proper empire and not tear it down as fast as he could build it. 

“Ugh, don’t waste your time or your thoughts on the Voyambis Audra, they’re purists, and would only ever want an orc bride or groom, and Whiteales is one of the very few orcs in high society they are not related to and she is a piece of work and you’ll see that for yourself at the ball at Havenfield.” Agnes urged you as she puffed out the sleeves on your shoulders as you nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t worry Audra, we would never part with you over anyone not worthy and the Voyambis are a far cry from. Come, we will get these gowns too.” She insisted as you could tell it was her feathers that had gotten more ruffled than yours because her plan of dumping you on the first available gentlemen had practically spit it back into her face. 

“Of course Countess, thank you.” You thanked her softly before she grabbed your chin to have you look up at her but the action caused you to rear your head back and out of her reach, looking at her with frightened eyes, fearing she was going to smack you again and that was observed by Demsey and his sisters, all of who had their eyes widened at the implications of that. 

“Like a head-shy horse she is.” Callie breathed as she tried to discretely stare at you from around her brother.  

“Horses only get head-shy when they’ve been hit or hurt. She’s clearly been hurt.” Amara realized. 

“And maybe it’s that- that is the reason she is not welcome back to the stables, head-shy horses are nigh impossible to get into gear. If she’s head-shy, that means she may have been broken beyond fixing and no longer usable by the moura stables, they are a stable after all, they’d sooner turn a horse to glue than rehabilitate it.” Callie empathized. 

“All the more reason not to have anything to do with the Morrigans and especially the Sultana.” Kiera insisted before her brother and other sisters turned to glare at her as Duke Voyambi was ready to march across the shop and take you away from Countess Morrigan in that instant so you would no longer suffer at her hands because you were a victim in all of this, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know how to help as he just watched as Agnes gathered you and Jane up and left before his sisters felt comfortable to try on dresses themselves before Amara took the dressing room you had occupied and found your purse on the floor next to the chair and grabbed it and tried to catch you again but the note from Callellea fell out of it as Kiera practically pounced on it and ran with it after Amara. 

“Sultana!” Amara called after you as you were about to get into the carriage as Agnes was losing patience for you to actually climb into it so she could. 

“You forgot your purse Sultana,” Mara said as she finally handed it off to you once she caught up with you. 

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much.” You thanked her as you readily took it back. 

“And this flew out of it?” Kiera said as she held up the note from Callella from her spot several paces behind her sister which made your eyes go wide in fear which Amara definitely noticed. 

“Uh, that is only a receipt, you can throw it away Duchess, thank you so much for returning this to me,” you thanked them before you quickly got into the carriage as Kiera looked from the note and back to you with a frown. 

“What was that all about?” Kiera asked. 

“Here, give it to me,” Agnes insisted as she reached out for it.

“Oh it’s only a receipt. We’ll throw it away for her, it’s the least we can do.” Amara said as she took the note and discretely threw an actual receipt away into the garbage bin next to her while she pocketed the note herself before they waived you all off as Amara noticed you seemed relieved yet saddened by it, giving the trash bin a longing glance as you passed it before Amara ushered Kiera back into the store. 

“Did you not see the way Aurdra became white as a sheet at the prospect of the Countess having this? It’s important that the Countess not have this.” Amara insisted as she pulled the note out of her pocket to see what it was before all of her siblings gathered around her to try to read what was written on it. 

“I knew it, those Morrigans are wolves.” Amara whispered hatefully as she read it. 

“It still doesn’t explain why the Morrigans are so eager to push the Sultana off.” Kiera argued as she took it and read it for herself before Demsey took it and read it too. 

“I know why.” Demsey volunteered before his sisters looked at him eagerly. 

“When Count Edward died, he left a living for the Sultana and that living which I heard a rumor Count Richard contested, and is most likely how she can afford to keep Mirador on her own as a widow. I don’t know how much it is, but it must be enough for the Morrigans to not want to pay it any more than they absolutely have to, they’ve been stuck with having to pay it while she’s been in mourning. The Count and Countess Morrigan hoard wealth and resources like the world is ending tomorrow, and the Sultana is obviously a leaky drain they wish to stop up. They’re going to be pushing the Sultana off on anyone they can and they’re hoping that putting a price on her head as high as fifty thousand pounds, that it will be enough to tempt anyone and everyone, come that ball and every other social event from now until the end of the season, the Sultana will be the bait in a dog fight.” Demsey realized. 

“But that is not our fight,” Kiera insisted. 

“If she was a jewel orc, which is what one gets when they mix orc and moura together- which we all know are one of two breeds of orcs allowed in the stables, your tune would be completely different Kiera. You’d be the first one to push me towards her and rescue her from them because you don’t like Lady Whitesale any more than I do which she is barely tolerable at best. But because the Sultana is human, elf and moura, you’re against it when she is still, obviously, the victim in all of this. Moura brides have no say so in who they marry, she was married for a year, widowed overnight and then immediately shipped off because it took less than a week between Edward being known as having passed and her moved into Mirador. There is obviously interference between her and the stables for other letters from them to go awry before they reach her. Mouras are social creatures, you isolate one, you weaken it. She’s clearly been on her own for two years by my calculations.” Demsey firmly countered.  

“How would any of us fare if we were isolated from our own kind, shipped off to a country that was alien to us, match us with a stranger and expected everything to be ok? The fact that she is just now learning she has a people here, and it is probably that- that has her fearing Countess Morrigan. It’s what abusers do, they isolate their victims, then make them completely dependent and then dump them and leave them devastated. That is what is happening here. And it also means someone other than the Sultana is keeping her from the stables and other mouras and my bets are on the Morrigans because if she was to go back there, they would not be able to silence her so effectively, you saw her, she couldn’t breathe without the Countess correcting her and breathing fire down her neck. The mistreatment she has obviously endured at their hands must be so great that it threatens what is left of the Morrigan family honor. But the Morrigan’s are obviously fed up with paying for it and because they are old money and old nobility, even if the Sultana and us were to speak out about it, who would believe us let alone her? But it must still be- threat enough, for the Morrigans to try to play nice for now.” Demsey reasoned. 

“So what we are going to do, is we are going to get whatever ribbons and lace and whatever else we need from here, we are going to get lunch, and then we are going to wait for the Sultana to return home, we are going to give this back to her, because this is the only touchstone she has of home she has because while she’s in mourning, she can’t reach out to others, as are the customs here, and then we are going to ask if we can help in any way. Because she obviously needs our help. If she is going to be bait in a dog fight, at least we can deter a dog or two if we can’t pull her out.” Demsey insisted as he folded the note back up and put it into his breast pocket for safe keeping as that seemed to settle the matter as Callie and Amara were proud and pleased for while Kiera simply huffed in annoyance. Her brother’s bleeding heart was going to get him in trouble one of these days.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Normal Raichu's tail serves as a ground to avoid auto-shock, meaning this one is constantly frazzled from its own voltage.

Doesn't carrying his fat self hurt? Are they tears of liquid gold welling up from the strain?

Or is it the punishing light ever reflected, burning his black eyes blue and blind?

The modern obsession with softness, of symbolically filing down all corners as a message of intent, gets right on me wick.

Raichu had sharp ears and a jagged tail, being, you know, a bolt of lightning, but now he's as swollen and inflated as a balloon animal.

And what are these visible veins in his paws? Is he tapping 'em like Amy Winehouse in her bloodied-ballet-pump prime?

So 'getting high' doesn't mean levitation?

Hours of work went into this drastic image change of the same thing but with three hairs.

The Pokédex says he prefers a subterranean life, wilting under excessive heat, rendering him entirely suitable to thrive in the tropics.

Diglett's become a slaphead concealing the truth with an unconvincing comb-over.

Oh no! How shall I live in such a savage climate?

I know! Blond frizz in the midst of brown fur! That'll block heatstroke!

Dugtrio once featured in many a budding Trainer's squad, so beloved was Dig as the finest move around.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

If hairy moles made the final games, what horrors were rejected?

Such beauty in the Kardashian family.

Sweaty proximity of triplets is a trial itself, but consider all the strands coming loose, wedged and itching in the crevices, yanked right from the roots by constant friction, wrapping round their necks like cheese wire, and you unable to brush the damp cascade away, on account of having No Bloody Arms.

Oooh, make yer beady eyes weep, it would, and Dugtrio daren't move in case it slits throats like razor blades.

Born to die garotting himself and all those he knows!

That's why Oasis were so furious.

Plus, Geodude carrying eight hairs gives the opposite impression: that of a baldy desperately clinging on to the last paltry vestiges of a once-crowning glory.

It'll be those iron filings you always see lying about.

There Geodude and Graveler go, ready to flaunt hirsute manliness to their bearded womenfolk, only for it to involve social disgrace in the shape of gorilla arms, sideburns, and monobrows.

Why stop there? Why are they not coated in spines like a furled hedgehog?

Now magnetic, iron ravished their bodies, meaning they also share the pain of moles in sprouting a wig.

But they're Electric, not Steel. Nature avenged Pikachu by removing their invincibility.

And that molten sun's only gone and fused their fingers together!

Geodude salvaged a single digit, but Graveler's gotta make do with mittens!

What hope for mere fleshy beings, when Alola weather melts stone?

It's gonna boil yer inter soup, man!

Even Pa, master of the art, would look enviously on such achievement.

That said, I feel for Lady Golems having a shave every morning.

A diet of electrical rocks somehow erased the Ground element, and with it the resistance enabling Golem to eat 'em in the first place.

But didn't he have more toes than that? And some arms?

Of the three, Golem boasts the best sense of style, proudly displaying a hairy shell passing for a chest, besides a most debonair moustache.

Oh! Removing his earthly powers now makes him vulnerable to electrocution. It's blackened and blown bits of him off!

How's Golem meant to go wee-wee with malformed stumps?!

That's not claws, that's the jagged splinters of his humerus bones.

Marowak died during evolution. Must've got bone cancer from all the radioactive Muks slithering about.

It's based on the ghost from Pokémon Tower.

Quaint bit of euphemism, using 'based' rather than 'ripped off'. Yer'd burst if troubled with an original idea.

Ah, memories: traipsing up the many levels of said stacked sepulchre, brandishing me trusty Silph Scope, ready to tackle whatever spectre blocked the stairs to the summit.

He's got No Bloody Arms!

There I becalmed Marowak's anger as her soul passed to Heaven.

It was special.

Well that's gone. Turns out Marowak was sucked into the septic tank of Alola instead.

Bit of a downer, assuming I'd gifted eternity, only for this humdrum retcon to saunter up, stripping away the mystery.

Has she not suffered enough, man?!

Anyway...

How can one murder matter to the breed living thousands of miles away?

And up til then, all Alolan Marowak looked normal, then mutated in tasteless tribute, with their weapons spontaneously combusting?

UV rays will be the death of us!

The bone wielded is from its mother. Her spirit acts as protection.

Eh? But Ghost Marowak was the dead mom. She can't be both bereaved child and maternal avenger, else Cubone didn't just lose Ma, but Nana too!

In my day we were happy with the simple pleasures, like wearing Momma's head, and we were glad of it.

I don't know why Millennials have a prissy reputation. It certainly wasn't like that in me youth.

I well recall sitting in the back of Pa T.A.P.'s car, looking out the window, and seeing two lads playing catch with a human skull, since we had to make our own entertainment then.

But oh no, that's not good enough for today's entitled kids, they dug up Momma's mouldering corpse and rifled through her vitals, because it's just take, take, take with them.

And what bone is that meant to be, so casually set alight? Femur?

How bloody big was she, man?! It's longer than Marowak's entire body!

Don't you lie to me! That's a human leg if ever I saw it.

Eee, it ain't half hot.

You can say that again.

I wish I knew a way to cool down.

Well I find growing another head outta me arse does the business.

Exeggutor shot up via the sunshine overload, but his bonus coconut is green, unable to ripen thanks to extreme temperatures.

Marowak's been raiding hospital bins for amputated limbs!

Make yer mind up!

All this time, Exeggutor's suffered a secret head in his arse, just bustin' to be free, and I was none the wiser?

Yer think yer know someone, and then BAM! It's upon yer: illusions shattered.

Am I to understand Proper Exeggutor's walking around belaboured by arse coconuts?

Yer can get cream for that. Modern medicine is a miracle.

And it's buried for eternity, unless exposed to equatorial light?

But that's precisely where the sun don't shine!

I assumed two Exeggcute merged into one face, but this is a sign the remaining couple are secreted somewhere.

Specifically in his arse.

Poor Exeggutor hasn't completed puberty yet. If we linger we may well witness the emergence of the final duo to complete the sextet.

Out of his arse.

Many Alolans consider this its ideal form.

I bet they do. Perverts.

Besides haemorrhoids, it's not so ideal when Eggy can't fit in the living room and has to sleep outside, or its neck snaps during hurricane season.

O Game Freak, thou knows not what thee do!

[isabellasroberts-archive]

for the fic prompt - blue and malec (if someone hasn't already sent these two combinations in lmao) 💛💛

warning: this fic discusses alec’s death so if you don’t want to read those kind of things, just scroll past this (i Know they’re immortal husbands but magnus doesn’t know that yet!!)

also, this is somehow even sadder if you have this song in mind.

There were days when Magnus just couldn’t get out of bed. The mere thought of being awake made him want to bury his head in the pillow, cover himself with the bed sheets and close his eyes hard, as if that and only that would make him stop existing. (That was sadly untrue.) There were days when everything was just so much, so unbearable, so heavy in his chest. He just couldn’t stop thinking about all those he’d loved and had died, about Camille, about his mother (and about his father, too.)

Most days he let himself rest. But today, just one look at the dark-haired shadowhunter sleeping placidly by his side, his expression perfectly serene and his chest moving at the rhythm of his breath, made him realize that he’d have to postpone that crisis. Fighting against his own body, against every limb that was today weighing more than it usually did, he got out of bed as silently as he could.

He made coffee. Sometimes it helped to deal with things. This time was an exception. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his mother. Hundreds of years after, the fact that her face had looked finally at peace on her deathbed made shivers go down his spine. She had never looked that calm while she’d been alive. And how was he going to live knowing that the only thing that, in the end, had brought her peace, was death? A death that he himself had caused?

He swallowed his stepfather’s words with a sip of hot coffee that, hand by hand with sadness, burned his throat. But they stayed there, painful in his chest. You’re an abomination. He bit his lip. The son of the demon that had raped his mother, an abomination was the least he could be. And it hadn’t been a characteristic, an exaggerated (or not so much) way to describe a person, it had been an actual demon. (A Prince of Hell, Magnus thought.)

A small, almost invisible smile was drawn over his lips as he remembered Alexander’s words, his eyes staring deep into his own, and how their bodies felt against the other, warm and soft; and how he had hidden his face in the curve of Alexander’s neck, tears streaming down his eyes. His smile widened because he wasn’t sure what he’d done in his century-long life to deserve that man, he wasn’t even sure he deserved him, but their paths having crossed somehow was something he thanked to whatever divinity left in heaven. And then it struck him.

Alexander.

Alexander was mortal.

Alexander, sooner or later, was going to die.

It was so easy to ignore now, with the liveliness of his youth. Camille’s words resonated in his mind almost as if she were standing right there next to him; would he still love him when he was no longer young and beautiful? He liked to tell himself that he would, of course he would, he loved Alexander more than he’d ever loved himself, so why something as stupid as physical appearance would change a thing? But now, that answer was obvious when the man was just twenty. Would he still love him in his thirties? His forties? His fifties? Would he still love him with every wrinkle that would appear on his face, when his hair had gone white or when he’d gone bald? Would he be able to survive the feeling of seeing his boyfriend age and looking at himself in the mirror, discovering that his own body hadn’t changed in the slightest?

He still remembered how it had felt when they’d broken up. He had willingly taken away a part of himself for the greater good. He was still at peace with the decisions he’d taken, but he knew that in his whole lifetime he wouldn’t be able to forget the aching in his chest, his heart tearing itself apart while he walked away from the Institute, tears flooding his eyes. Even if he survived Alexander getting old, even if they both did, how was he supposed to handle the pain of him being taken away from Magnus, this time with no possibility of coming back together? He bit his lip at the memory of his boyfriend’s words, “I don’t think I can live without you.” He’d wanted so hard to say the same thing, but he couldn’t. Because he knew that, someday, he’d have to. He couldn’t see the future, but he could imagine. He shut his eyes hard at the image of Alec’s lifeless body, rubbed his face with his palms when he felt burning tears and, before he could stop himself, said out loud, “What are you doing?”

He shook his head, as if that movement could make those thoughts disappear, and finished his coffee. He’d manage. He always managed.

He heard footsteps, and he looked up. There he was, tall, handsome, and very much alive and breathing, with his eyes tired of sleep and his hair a mess, absently passing a shirt through his head. That alone was enough for the High Warlock of Brooklyn to smile. Alexander Lightwood walked through the loft, kissed his boyfriend on the cheek and, caressing his neck softly with his thumb, asked him, “Is everything okay?”

Magnus’s smile widened as he said, “Yes.”

Because it was. For now.