#and now the bard too

[sweet-milky-tea705]

I <3 having fictional children

[bacchuschucklefuck]

forest 02

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[wheatcak3]

little nose kisses from little guy 🥺💖💖

[shrews-art]

I really love how separately Lila, Kell and Holland are literally the most powerful people between all worlds and also smart and resourceful and skilled but. You leave them together in a room for TEN MINUTES and disaster follows

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

i broke so here's from crowley to his angel

I danced through all the fires, and I was so free

I was so unfettered, I was so unheld

Angel, I only stumble when you look at me

Why won't you touch me with more than eyes

Do more with your lips than just smile

It's only for you that I would ever plead

Angel, don't ask me to follow you to heaven

I don't need your forgiveness, I need your love

I don't need them to save me from damnation

Because when I fell from heaven I fell for you

And if you'll just for once try to understand

You've tempted the tempter and stolen the thief

So when after thousands of years I find the courage

To reach for you, to hold you to my dark heart

Forget the world that came between you and me

Don't choose to save it, choose to save us

The world will end in fire or ice, heaven or hell

But all that will matter is that we could have been us

So when they ask you to leave for heaven

Don't walk away, promise you're staying with me

Angel, tell me you said no

-Asmi

@neil-gaiman expecting that therapy money any day now, sir.

[theladysunami]

Many other people have already posted their thoughts on the various peaks of Cang Qiong Mountain sect, so I figure I might as well throw my own thoughts and preferred headcanons out there.

First, my thoughts on the peaks we know exist but don't know much about in terms of their specialties:

Xian Shu Peak: Textiles Peak

This is my favorite headcanon for the all women's peak! The textiles industry is a big part of Chinese history, and was traditionally considered to be women's work, so it would only make sense for it to be Xian Shu Peak's peak specialty. It's not just one specific skill either, as spinning, weaving, dying, garment making, embroidery, rope/cord-making, etc. are all a part of the industry.

As they are a cultivation peak, I expect some of the products of their work to be defensive robes with talismans or incantations stitched into the fabric, Qiankun bags or sleeves, spirit trapping pouches, etc. If rope making is included in their preview, they could also be involved in making immortal binding cables, nets, and so forth.

Ku Xing Peak: Rites, Rituals and Purification Peak

We don't know much about Ku Xing Peak except that they live an aesthetic lifestyle. As it's common for individuals to take on certain aspects of aestheticism (simple clothes, restricted diets, abstinence, etc.) before engaging in many types of rituals, I'm inclined to believe a peak that practices aestheticism at all times would be particularly well suited for such tasks.

I tend to imagine their peak being similar to the Gusu Lan Clan, minus the music aspect (music being Qing Jing's purview). They could specialize in things like summoning spirits, communing with the dead, dispelling resentment, exorcisms, purifying objects or locations, properly laying the dead to rest, etc.

Since SVSSS predominantly focuses on demons, not ghosts, it's only natural a peak that deals more in spiritual cleansing and laying the dead to rest wouldn't be involved in the plot much.

Zui Xian Peak: Potions and Elixers Peak

While lot of fanfics make jokes about Zui Xian being a peak for alcoholics (which is completely fair, as this is the dick joke filled world of SVSSS we're talking about), my first thought upon learning of Zui Xian Peak's specialty was the immorality granting heavenly wine in the Journey to the West. Looking into the matter more, I've since learned that wine has actually been a huge part of Chinese medicine since the Han Dynasty. The traditional character for medicine even includes the radical for wine!

With this kind of precedent, it seems only logical that Zui Xian Peak doesn't merely make alcohol for social and/or enjoyment purposes, it's quite likely to be the ‘external alchemy’ peak of Cang Qiong Mountain. I expect they grow and process at least some of their own herbs and ingredients, along with performing other alcohol and potion making tasks like brewing, distilling, extracting, fermenting, filtering, infusing, and so on.

Next, my thoughts on what the three mystery peaks might be:

I am not going to try and name these peaks, as I struggle with naming things even in my own native tongue.

Hunting, Trapping and Scouting Peak

Having read MDZS before SVSSS, I found the distinct lack of archery in SVSSS to be quite peculiar. As the peak of scholars and strategists, I suppose it's only logical Qing Jing Peak focuses on the four scholarly arts (the guqin, strategy games, calligraphy, and painting), rather then the six arts of Confucian gentlemen (rites, music, archery, equestrianism, calligraphy, and mathematics), but that does leave several ‘arts’ free to be claimed by other peaks! This inspired me to think up a hunting and scouting peak, where disciples excel at archery and equestrianism.

Since mounted archers became a significant aspect of Chinese warfare in the 4th century BC, thanks to King Wuling of Zhao, I'd say having cultivators of this sort in a Xianxia setting is perfectly reasonable. Giving Cang Qiong Mountain sect scouts also nicely fills the gap in their martial capabilities. Without this peak they have strategists, weapon craftsman, ground troops, and suppliers, but no reconnaissance forces!

I also consider this peak to be the rough equivalent of the ‘Beast Taming Peak’ so many works are fond of. Who else could breed and control hundreds of spirit eagles for the Immortal Alliance Conference but a group of cultivators focused on scouting missions? As supernaturally superior mounts and spirit (hunting) dogs would be incredibly helpful to them, they'd likely engage in horse and dog breeding programs as well! Their skill as hunters and trappers would also permit them both to provide game for Cang Qiong Mountain sect, and to aid in the rounding up of various living monsters for both alchemical ingredient harvesting and for releasing at events like the Immortal Alliance Conference.

In summary, this peak would produce disciples skilled at equestrianism, archery, falconry, animal husbandry, scouting, herb gathering, hunting, trapping, etc. For anyone familiar with D&D, I did basically make a Ranger peak here, but I stand by that decision!

Artifacts, Arrays and Invention Peak

Every time I read a work with some variation on the "Mad Scientist Peak" I adore it, so naturally I have to include this type of peak as well. This peak would be for the Wei Wuxians of the cultivation world, hoping to revolutionize cultivation society!

Their focus would be mathematics, spell geometry, arrays, talismans, non-medicinal alchemy (aka ancient materials science), engineering and of course artifact recovery, study and creation. The crystal mirror ‘surveillance equipment’ from the Immortal Alliance Conference? These guys would be the ones that developed it!

Agriculture, Earthworks and Architecture Peak

While I admittedly don't know the nuances of feng shui, I am at least aware there is far more to it then what you usually see in western depictions. In MDZS, it's noted that an area having bad feng shui (like Yi City) can cause premature death, disaster, and an increase in all sorts of nasty supernatural phenomena! With this in mind, a peak that focuses on connecting to and harmonizing with one's environment seems perfect for the final Cang Qiong Mountain peak.

I don't imagine this peak doing much of the actual building in the sect (that's An Ding's job) but when it comes to designing the sect's buildings, or altering its geography through earthworks, they're the ones to talk to. I also see them as producing at least some of the sect’s food supply, using their skills to encourage a positively supernatural abundance of plants.

In short, disciples of this peak would be skilled with things like architecture, earthworks, geography, topography, irrigation, agriculture, element manipulation, etc.

If SVSSS’s heavenly realms have anything akin to TGCF’s elemental masters, there is probably an unusually high chance they come from this peak.

[novuit]

I love being an bard main as a player, but I hate being an bard main as an artist..... (accept my botched attempt at drawing a bow.)

[bardicblast]

Van der Linde Isaac - "CoS is actually a western" is such a concept ever since i saw somebody pointing that out i kept thinking about it

i rant about the redesign a bit:

so i went ahead and redesigned him to fit the rdr2 setting entirely, i cant give him a full on wolf arm, so i gave him burn scars on his face, that he hides all the time with a scarf or a bandana. hat in the back to replace the hoodie's shape. he is most comfortable using the rolling block rifle plus a knife. he would probably play a lot of five finger fillet.

plus, he gets his arm blown off at one point (not from finger fillet!! i swear), probably during the saint denis robbery, then dies during the guarma chapter, bc there is no way he would survive longer than that

also i cant have him choose sides at chapter 6 when i know he has blind loyalty

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 111

`Jaskier and Geralt are playflirting a lot more than they used to. Geralt allows more touches than normal. They had a heartfelt talk one inebriated night about intimacy and longing for someone to hold. Clearly, they're ready to move forward from friendship into romance, right? Geralt's finally caught wind of Jaskier's hints and is dropping his own? Geralt gave him a custom ring the other day! They're clearly about to embrace each other and make out wildly and it'll be the best day of Jaskier's life! Even if Geralt had just grunted when Jaskier confessed, Jaskier would prefer it to Geralt being disgusted and hating him forever. Jaskier finally plucks up the courage one night to tell Geralt how he feels. Jaskier picks wildflowers and makes a clumsy bouquet, and ties it together along with a handwritten poem about how much Jaskier loves Geralt, and how beautiful he finds him. He finds Geralt sat by the fire, and Jaskier stares at his back for a moment, before clearing his throat, and softly asking Geralt what Geralt thinks about love. Geralt speaks of grief, and loss, and pain. About how it's not worth it in the end. Jaskier is heartbroken but he laughs it off and hides the bouquet deep in his bags. He goes to bed early, and prays that Geralt can't smell his soul-crushing devastation.

Geralt is beginning to panic. Jaskier and him have been flirting, and Jaskier touches him more and for longer, and That One Talk they had that night. But everyone to ever love Geralt has died. Quite horribly. Sometimes by his own hand. He can't love Jaskier, for it'll end with his bard's beautiful lively blue eyes unseeing as he lays dead on the ground. He has nightmares about it for four nights straight. One night, he's poking around at the fire at camp when Jaskier from behind him asks him what he thinks of love. He gives his honest answer. Loving Geralt just isn't worth it. It always ends with pain and heartache.

A few nights later, Jaskier asks Geralt to grab him something from Jaskier's bag. It's nothing. It's simple and unassuming. And yet while Geralt rummages through the bags, he accidentally stumbles across a crumpled little withering bouquet of flowers, complete with a beautiful poem about loving... Him. Jaskier wrote a poem about loving Geralt? Were the flowers for Geralt? Why is it in Jaskier's bag? Did Jaskier lose his nerve? Did Jaskier think better of it? Or was- FUCK. The night at the campfire! Shit, he always does this- This is precisely why he didn't want them to fall in love in the first place! Jaskier would get hurt. But it's too late to stop them falling now, he supposes... He'll think more about the repercussions about it all later. First thing's first, Geralt has to make a bouquet and try his hand at writing.

[fbfh]

your daughter Rose is obsessed with the cartoon adventures of the gummi bears. Eddie is too, if you're being honest. he's just so over the moon that there's fantasy shows and movies that aren't too scary for kids. if he had to wait until his Rosie posie was older to show her all the wonders of fantasy magic and dungeons and dragons, that would be the longest wait of his life. so while the band is working on corroded coffin's next album, Eddie starts to get an idea. he pulls some strrings and starts working on a super secret surprise, so secret that not even you know what it is. After a few months, Eddie takes the day off. He makes up a mess of popcorn and candy - and of course, gummy bears - and gets you and Rosie settled into your squishy cozy couch together just in time for the new adventures of the gummi bears special. for the next 40 minutes you watch the two part special, "bard day's night". when you see the words in the credits special guest stars, corroded coffin, you scream in excitement. Rosie, who's still learning to read screams right along with you. then again when you read it out loud to her. the second you hear the cords of the cartoon electric lute on screen, you know who's playing. Rose practically tackles Eddie, glued to the screen as she watches his cartoon counterpart and the rest of the animated band get up to all sorts of hijinks and shenanegins right alongside her favorite cartoon characters. at the end, when the gummibears and the magical metal minstrals save the flower fairies, you notice the flower fairy princess with a sparkly rose motif bears a striking resemblance to your little girl, and Rosie notices the flower fairy queen looks just like her mommy.

[flowercrowngods]

Suggesting/Requesting Eddie having a crush on the valiant knight Steve Dustin goes on about, not realizing it's Steve "the Hair" Harrington and the way he reacts when he realizes they're the same dude. Cue adjustment period.

hi! first of all thank you for the prompt 🥰 i slipped and kinda decided to take your ‘valiant knight Steve’ quite literally and made this a medieval/regency au with knight steve and bard eddie, kinda enemies to lovers. it totally got out of hand, so this is part 1, with all my apologies to your original prompt 🤍🌷

Eddie smiles as the fields and forest that surround Hawkins come into view, kissed by the early afternoon sun with more affection and richness than the city probably deserves. It looks different this time of year, the green seems deeper than he left it, and nostalgia paints him a picture of glory and welcome that would make any traveller linger at the sight. 

He knows it’s only the magic of coming home, the thrill of having been gone so long that he needs to learn his town a-new, and the curiosity of a poet that makes his heart beat faster; but it’s his life’s blood to embrace all of that. So he spurs on his trusty horse to make it home even just a minute sooner. 

The people’s reactions to his arrival come in multitudes, though Eddie can respect the healthy dose of mistrust with which they regard him. He has made a name for himself after all, a bard more than a jester these days, but most people don’t tend to forget the pretty face they chased out of the city on multiple occasions. 

He lifts his head in greeting as he passes the elderly Wheelers as they’re tending to the flowers lining their windows, and grins with glee at both the disapproving scoff and the wary nod he gets in return. 

He’s in good spirits. Great spirits, in fact, the sun shining down on him, welcoming him and lighting familiar paths for him to tread again after years of absence. Hawkins will see his glory, his success, his victory, and it will pale in jealousy and regret. They cannot chase him away this time, not with the title of royal bard and winner of the bardic competition three years in a row. 

If his travels have taught him anything, it’s that he is pettiness acts as a wonderful motivation.

Of course, he shall also see his friends again. One of his saddlebags is half full with their letters that have accumulated over the years, all of which Eddie has kept for reasons of muse and a heart entirely too soft for his own good.

Most of all, though, even more than proving his worth and success to his city and its people, it is curiosity that brings him home. 

Dustin and his friends have been mentioning a most valiant knight, waxing poetic about his glorious deeds and his kinder heart — or, as poetic as they get, which is hardly at all. Which consequently made Eddie write no less than five ballads about the stories they told him, three of which have made it into songs yet, one of which he was made to play in every tavern on his long journey back to Hawkins and to Princess Nancy herself on more than one occasion.

The Knightmærs, as he calls his little collection of poeterey, his pride and joy about a man he has yet to meet. Tales about maidens saved and brothers defeated, hearts stolen and retrieved with the gentlest gestures, and children protected against the evils of night, expecting naught but friendship. And friendship he got. 

If Eddie’s heart picks up yet another notch at the thought of meeting this knight as the familiar city walls tower before him, he allows it for a second before announcing himself to the guards. They looked wary upon his approach and blanch now as they hear his name; Eddie does not hide his laughter this time and preens as he is told to ride on. 

“Oh, Hawkins, old friend,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to hide his smile. “You and I shall have so much fun, shan’t we?” 

~*~

He barely makes it to the home he has been sharing with his uncle since the ripe age of twelve with minimal fuss, unsaddling his horse and guiding her to the trough, when he hears it. 

“Eddie!”

Halting in his motions the currycomb, he looks up from the rusty brown that shines red like embers in the sun and spots Dustin racing down the street towards him. 

He lowers the comb and steps around his horse, grinning at his rapidly approaching friend. 

“Why, good day to you, young traveller, what brings you to my humble abode?” 

Dustin doesn’t falter in his approach, doesn’t even slow down, and Eddie braces himself for impact. Years of experience have made him quite practiced in handling tackle-hugs, but Dustin has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, and they both stumble backwards when Dustin’s arms wrap around Eddie in a way that seems to press all air out of his lungs. Eddie laughs as he hugs his friend back with as much ferocity. 

“I’ve missed you! I was writing to you this morning when I remembered you said you’d come this week. I didn’t think it would be today!” 

“I came as soon as I could. Such is the Munson way, or did you forget?” 

Dustin shakes his head and finally lets go, though Eddie yearns for another hug. It’s been too long. The boy has grown. He’s hardly a boy anymore, though he shall always remain as such in Eddie’s heart. He smiles and ruffles Dustin’s locks, realising with a pang that they’re almost of a height now. 

An ache like homesickness settles in his gut and wears on his heart heavily. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smoothing out the curls he’s put in disarray. “It’s just been too long. And I’ve missed you, too. You’ve grown quite a bit since last we talked.” 

“I have!” And he looks so proud of it, too, preening a little under Eddie’s faux scrutiny, and it’s what makes him pull Dustin against his chest again. 

Eddie continues taking care of his horse, feeding her, combing through her mane, making sure she has as much comfort as he can provide after their long days of travel. Dustin sits on the fence and watches him tend to her, feeding her the occasional apple when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. He hides his smile and pretends not to see. 

God, but he has missed his friend. 

Their twosomeness is rudely and entirely too quickly interrupted by Lord Harrington of all people, who hurries down the street in search of Dustin. 

Eddie never did like the lord and his pompous appearance coupled with his rude personality. He always acted like a prince among men, subject to many a jest in Eddie’s younger days. On one memorable occasion, Eddie managed to steal the lord’s clothes and swap them with his own, making him walk about in linen rags and torn-up trousers. 

Days later, all of his lute strings ripped just as he was getting ready to play at the tavern, and he never messed with Harrington again — even though there was a parcel three days later with new lute strings and his old clothes he had made the lord wear. No note attached to it, because Lords didn’t stoop down to converse with lowly peasants even for revenge. 

So, seeing Harrington now on the very first day of his being back, it sours Eddie’s face and his humour. 

“Why, Lord Harrington,” he speaks before the man can get a word in. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here? Have you suffered a fall from grace yet, or was it a hit in the head that left you disoriented, bringing you to my humble abode?” 

Harrington frowns at him, though Eddie deems to detect confusion more than distaste. 

And then he has the audacity of not even answering to Eddie’s ruse, simply ignoring him and instead turning around to Dustin. 

“Dustin, Master Clarke is expecting you. I will not cover for you once more.” 

“But—“ 

“Spare me,” Harrington says, hands on his hips now, and Eddie is starting to feel defensive over Dustin. How dare his lordship come and steal his best friend away when he hasn’t even been home for an hour yet? 

Before he can get so much as a word in, however, Dustin is already jumping from his perch on the fence and trudging towards Harrington, rounding the man and leading the way up the hill towards the castle. 

“I’ll come back later, Eddie,” Dustin says over his shoulder, and then he is gone, rounded the corner, out of his sight. 

Harrington, however, lingers. Eddie raises his eyebrows in question and challenge, and the Lord scoffs a little. It’s like he wants to say something — but what could it be? What could Lord Harrington have to say to him, years after they last saw each other? 

He does look stunning, Eddie has to admit with a grudge against his self and his integrity. The golden light of the afternoon sun catches in his hair, likening it to strands of gold that kings and queens pay alchemists across the world to procure. Eddie, for a moment, feels like he has found it in Lord Harrington’s hair and the skin of his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, cutting off that particular train of thought before it can run away form him. 

“I hear you are a bard of great renown these days.” 

The words catch him off his guard, for Eddie was sure that the Lord would not attempt to converse. Yet it seems that propriety still has a tight grip on him. 

Does Harrington like his ballads, his plays, his poetry and sonnets? Has he heard them? Or has he heard of them? Has word travelled across the countries, telling of Eddie the Bard and his brave-hearted muse his soul yearns for and his quill bleeds for?

Eddie is not sure which option thrills him more, but whichever one it is, it makes him smile, feeling quite bashful and yet proud. 

“So you hear,” he says, approaching the stiff Lord. “What exactly is it that you hear, my Lord?” 

He swallows, following Eddie’s steps with his eyes, turning his head when the bard circles him slowly. “I hear you sing of beasts slain and brothers banished, a knight at the heart of your ballads.” Eddie smiles at that, knowing that Harrington has at least heard of two of his Knightmærs. I hear it sounds like mockery, the knight but an object of your hyperbolic fascination and flowery imagination, his pain and bravery nothing to you.” 

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet planted right before Harrington. The Lord looks like he is taking personal offence to his works, and it irritates the bard. 

“And what, Lord Harrington, would you know of fascination, pain and bravery? I cannot imagine you have faced a lot of hardship in your life, and the only acts of bravery you had to chance upon were mislead in the name of false honour.” 

“False honour,” Harrington repeats, his words like poison, sharp and dangerous as the sword’s blade at his hip. “You would know something about that, I imagine, telling stories of which you have no idea. Immortalising glory where there should be sympathy.” 

Eddie studies him, the frown between his brows, the hard line of his jaw, set and calmed to keep more words from spilling. Imposing, this Lord is. A sight for sore eyes even in his  purely misplaced anger. 

Eddie huffs, his eyes travelling between the Lord’s where they are standing so impossibly close. 

“Sympathy,” he repeats. “Nobody, my Lord, wants a ballad of sympathy. It is glory that the people seek!” He steps back from Harrington, gesturing with his arms as he dramatically recounts the lessons he has learned over the years, passionate for his craft. “Glory, heroism, heartbreak and love! Yearning and longing and deeds of an aching heart, that is what the people want to hear. That is what deserves to be immortalised in art, in poetry, in song! I shall forgive you for being so painfully unaware of this, my Lord, but I shall not stand to be in your company much longer, calling my work lacking or a mockery when it is borne out of nothing but loyalty, fascination and love.” 

They are close again, because Harrington did not step back when Eddie approached him once more, his feet planted like a tree, fierce and strong and unbudging. 

It is intoxicating, though Eddie blames half of it on the passion and the rage, on the bravery that possessed him to send the Lord away, or the fierceness with which he came to his muse’s defence. 

Harrington swallows again, his eyes wandering over Eddie’s face once more, lingering at his lips, both their jaws set in determination and perhaps a sudden tension.  

“Forgive me for insulting you with my company,” he speaks at last, his voice nothing but a rasp. “You will find there is an irony to your words soon. I shall not rob you of that discovery. I ask you do not take it out on our mutual friends when you do, Munson.” 

And with one last glance, Harrington turns on his heel and hurries up the hill, too, leaving Eddie puzzled and quite dazed upon the lingering warmth of their close proximity. 

When did Harrington become so handsome? There was a fire in his eyes that Eddie got to witness for just the blink of an eye, but he wonders where that comes from, what it means, and what other secrets he holds. 

Perhaps, if he cannot meet his muse, the knight Dustin has only ever referred to as Steve, Harrington might serve to inspire a ballad or two himself.

~*~

Harrington catches his eyes on more than one occasion over the next days. Eddie is invited to the castle to play for Princess Chrissy, though she greets him like an old friend and makes him sit close to her at the banquet. Right beside Harrington, who merely nods at Eddie, his fists clenched as Chrissy asks the bard about one of his ballads — the one about the valiant knight slaying a horde of monsters to keep the kingdom’s children safe. 

The Lord must really hate Eddie’s work. It fills him with spiteful glee, for some reason, and he makes sure to play and recite all of his Knightmærs that night. Harrington excuses himself when Eddie hasn’t even made it halfway through his songs, and he doesn’t return that night. 

He takes personal offence now and vows to make the Lord’s life as difficult as he can. 

But still there is no sign of Steve. 

Eddie is starting to get frustrated. 

He was supposed to be here, stand tall and proud with a smile on his face upon seeing Eddie, sweep him off his feet, make him swoon, dare Eddie to fall in love with the face long after the name. 

His mood is sour, and only sours further when Harrington rounds the corner and stumbles upon Eddie who is tuning his lute for tonight’s banquet. The annual royal tournament is set for the next morning, so everyone is in a good mood. 

Well, everyone except Eddie. And Lord Harrington, by the look on his face. 

“Munson,” he says, straightening before he bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, I was looking for some quiet. I shall look somewhere else.” 

And, somehow, that is enough to snap his patience that was already wearing thin. “Why can you not stand being in my presence, sir?” he asks, rising from his seat. “Does it disgust you so to be around mere peasants?” 

Harrington looks taken aback, shock and confusion clear on his face before a frown takes its place and washes away all further emotions. 

“It is not your presence that bothers me, nor the nature of your birth.”

“And yet you leave every time I so much as strum a tune, Lord Harrington, ready to throw both caution and propriety to the winds. Leaving me to wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such treatment.” 

Eddie finds himself walking closer and closer to the Lord, coming to a stop not one foot before him. He is drawn in by his presence, his charm as alluring as his cold silence. Everything about Lord Harrington intrigues him, horrified as he is to admit it. But with Steve not around to catch his eye and captivate his heart and mind alike, he simply has to find inspiration elsewhere. 

And the way Harrington’s face is taken over by a dangerous expression is the most inspiring, alluring thing he has seen in a while, even though it is directed at him. 

“How can you have the audacity to feign confusion over my disdain, bard,” he hisses, and Eddie shivers slightly. Harrington does not even have the sense to step back, staying right where he is, so close, so improper. “How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own, singing songs and telling stories, making into nothing but a jaunty tale recited by drunkards with no regard to the blood it was written in.” 

Eddie blinks, not quite catching up with the point Harrington is making. 

“What—“ 

“You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.” 

Lord Harrington speaks to him as though he takes offence at the content of Eddie’s ballads, offence at the reality of their background. But what right does he have to take offence when his songs are based on heroic deeds, recounted to him first hand by his very best friend. What right does Harrington have to question the truth behind them? 

“If it is a matter of truth that concerns you, let me reassure you, my Lord, that all of my ballads are based on true events. I ask that you do not call me a liar, no matter how great your dislike of my craft.” 

“It is not a liar that I call you, but rather a thief.” 

Eddie gasps, offended now. “What do you suggest I have stolen, then?” 

“A person’s right to their own story. To their own nightmares. A man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.” 

“How dare you call his deeds horrific,” Eddie hisses now, feeling protective over his knight. “How dare you accuse me of ill intent when every word out of my quill is written with nothing but love and admiration.” 

“For whom?” Harrington challenges, disdainful and cold. “Only for yourself, your vanity, your overgrown sense of artistic ambition.”

“No,” he shakes his head, hands clenched into fists as he finds himself incredibly close to Lord Harrington, their faces only inches apart now. “It is love for this person I have never met, whom my dear friend has told me about. A man who has kept me awake at night as I was pouring over letter after letter, hoping he should be well. It is a love so strong it has to be turned into art, into song, love that should be sung in every voice of the kingdom.” He scoffs, stepping back to catch his breath. “I do not expect you to know such a love when all you have in your cold heart is disdain for all things beautiful. You would never know bravery if it looked you in the face, you would never know love if it was the very fabric that makes this world. It would slip through your fingers, my Lord, for you would be busy yearning for the day your life found its meaning.” 

He is seething, heaving breaths, out of control over the words tumbling out of his mouth. Insulted in his pride and his muse, offended, hurt. Confused, still, as to why the Lord hates his songs with such vigour. 

“Is that your opinion of me?” Harrington whispers, though even in that toneless voice of his lies so much that Eddie cannot begin to decipher. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, the fight leaving him now, the very air sucked out of the room they share. “I believe I made that clear just now.” 

Harrington takes one step closer once more, but Eddie does not budge. 

“Then I suggest you forget that knight of yours,” he says, quiet and final. “And forget the idea you have of love. To love someone is not to turn his nightmares into song. To love someone is not to look him in the eye and insult his very existence even further. You love yourself, your craft, your mind. But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.” 

Eddie huffs, just barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you so sure of that, Lord Harrington?” 

A smile twitches his lips, though there is no mirth, no glee. “You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.” He takes a step back and evades Eddie’s eyes. “I believe you should return to the fest now. Good night.” 

And with that, he turns around and leaves. 

Eddie finds himself rooted to the ground, air returning to the room now but still he is unable to catch his breath, staring ahead as he is. 

Words echo in his mind as the picture paints itself and a horrible, horrible realisation dawns on him. 

You will find there is an irony to your words soon. 

How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own?

But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.

You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.

But… There is no way. There is no way that Dustin’s friend, Dustin��s knight and protector, his saviour, Steve, should be the same as Lord Harrington with his careful, quiet, disdainfully quirked eyebrow. 

Except, Lord Harrington collected Dustin from Eddie’s home, speaking with him in a tone filled with such familiarity, they cannot be mistaken as anything but friends. 

And Lord Harrington had listened with such rapt attention when Eddie played his jaunty tunes and the well-known classics at the banquet days ago, looking like he enjoyed Eddie’s play. His face had only soured when people started requesting his newer original songs, his fists clenched upon the opening chords of The Knight and His Nightmare, leaving the hall altogether when people requested more. 

You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. 

Eddie’s heart falls when he realises what he has done. How blind he was to the frowns and the tension, how deaf to the hints and insinuations, how ignorant he was of the pain he inflicted on Lord Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington. Steve. 

His Steve. And yet not his at all.

He falls back onto the bench, dazed, as the weight of his realisation settles inside his chest. 

onwards to part 2

[lokh]

its finally happened. all because i kept thinking 'bet they would quadrant vacillate'

theyre all a bit younger than canon (the hashira maybe around 16 or equivalent). kind of an alpha kids situation with muzan attempting to take over earth, where muzan is a mutant troll who can use his powers (maybe his blood???) to mutate and control others. muzan came from a null session and in search of the ultimate reward goes around stealing players (ie making demons). his search for a winning session brings him to earth

BUT WHO CARES ABOUT THAT. have black-red vacillating human-troll renkaza

detailed description and notes under the cut

notes and descriptions in first image:

akazas fetch modus is compass: have to face certain direction to fetch. at most basic thats probably four items, but it could go up to 360 for every degree (which he can definitely do) but imagine going smaller....

kyojuros fetch modus is charades: have to act out captchalogued item. if hes not clear enough then he'll fetch the wrong item. i just thought it was a fun nod to his liking plays LMAO

my attempt at their sprites lol. kyojuro bringing that camp counsellor vibe

naturally their strife specibi are fistkind and bladekind

sketch of hakuji as a candy blood troll before becoming akaza

kyojuro as knight of hope. never god tiers in the main timeline =) his planet is land of fate and blaze

akaza as maid of doom. hates the outfit and refuses to wear it. his planet is land of snow and fireworks. as hakuji definitely fits 'bard of life' more (the inverse)

small doodle of kyojuro and akaza sleeping. kyojuro is a prospit dreamer and akaza is a derse dreamer. i feel some argument can be made for prospit dreamer akaza but i like the contrast here lmao

kyojuro and hakuji as ghosts meeting in a dream bubble. i imagine they would be somewhat apprehensive about meeting each other

with akaza being a maid of doom, i imagined muzan might also be a doom player, which would make kagaya a life player! to be opposites =3c

muzan killed and turned hakuji in such a way that he became god tier. so when akaza blows himself up it counts as just and he dies for real

[bacchuschucklefuck]

pygmalion and galatea for aroace people

you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.

[wheatcak3]

oooo im too excited about this wip I gotta share a snippet of it now >:0 ✨

[grapetriip]

anyone up for bg3 aftg au w dark urge neil

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

No, no...that's...that's not funny. But then why do I have to laugh so much?

Sorry, a little bit sorry 😅🫣😉