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prythianpages · 10 months ago

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Give 'Em Hell | Part Two

beron's daughter OC x eventually Azriel | Beron Vanserra is a man with many sinful secrets but there is one that desires to punish him. His daughter. His true firstborn and heir to the Autumn Court.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Some of the country folk of Autumn are protesting Beron's rule and there is talk of rebellion. The Phoenix. And Beron begins to wonder if the enemy is among his inner circle.

Warnings: bullying, violence, harsh insults thrown oc's way/ brief mentions of sexual assault (groping)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me forever to update. This has been in my drafts since November omg. I got this idea/motivation to write this at a time where I was at the peak of my female rage lol and now things in my life are better. However, I did always want to write a character who is "evil." Using quotation marks because that's still up to be decided on. For this OC, I'm drawing huge inspiration from Game of Thrones, especially with Daenary's character. Also, I know that birth order does not dictate who inherits the title High Lord but in this fic and probs in canon too, Beron hates the idea of Autumn having a High Lady.

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.

Deaths, heartbreaks and traumatic events may pass but the memory lives on, lingering like a haunting and tormenting spirit. The Pryalis family has been threatened to become a distant memory, torturing the remaining patriarch of what was once.

Once a strong and powerful big household, the Pryalis family was now reduced to just one. Edmund Pryalis. Or so he thought.

Among the wreckage of his beloved son’s home, remained a young female. She had been found, a couple of feet away from the house at the edge of the surrounding forest, with signs of struggle etched onto her pale body, bruised and scarred. She had been trembling and terrified when Edmund had approached her, demanding to know who she was and what had happened. He had not been prepared for the words that had broken off from her quivering lips.

She was his son’s bastard daughter. His bastard granddaughter.

Edmund had not questioned it. His son was known for being disloyal to his wife. It was inevitable to not sire a bastard child and if his son’s scandalous endeavors were not enough to convince him, the female strongly resembled his late wife and daughter with her sun-kissed auburn hair, high cheekbones and striking eyes. However, the color of her eyes were not the infamous emerald green the Pryalis family was known for but a chestnut brown instead.

If it weren’t for the deaths of his son and family, his heirs, he would’ve done Prythian a favor and rid it of one more bastard. But he didn’t. He refused to allow the Pryalis name to fade into memory and so now there were two.

“May their ashes rise and flames persist in eternity.”

The air carried the scent of damp earth as the leaves rustled with the wind, whispering their final farewells to the departed souls resting beneath. Edmund pulled his gaze from the tombstone below and to the young weeping female. He gestured for her to follow him and they silently made their way to the entrance of the cemetery, where a carriage awaited them.

As Edmund placed a foot on the carriage step, a sudden realization compelled him to pause. There was one more question he had yet to ask of his bastard granddaughter. “What is your name?”

“Emilia.” The female had replied.

And if Edmund had bothered to turn around, he would’ve caught the flames flickering in her eyes.

“Two will soon become three until there are finally eight but one will not be true to you and only one shall come to be.”

Beron found himself surrounded by the weight of the soothsayer’s prophecies, uttered nearly three centuries past, as he surveyed the grandeur of his Autumn Court's council chamber. There was more truth to the soothsayer’s words than he’d like to admit. To his left, his four eldest sons occupied their appointed seats, a testament to the continuation of his lineage. On his right, the key figures of his advisory council – chief advisor, spymaster, master of coin, and army commander – assumed their positions

His two younger sons were away, honing their skills in the art of war, preparing for a future fraught with uncertainties. And Lucien…

Well, Lucien was doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t and Beron couldn’t bring himself to care for it at this moment. There were other pressing matters to attend to.

"Mistwood grows restless," Fenrik, the spymaster, began cautiously. "Whispers of an uprising persist, and while rumors can be as fleeting as the wind, this tale echoes persistently…”

Beron's piercing gaze bore into Fenrik, a silent command for the truth to be unveiled.

“I am uncertain whether it is a person or a group but there's mention of a Phoenix. A harbinger of a brighter tomorrow. Faced with the specter of an impending famine, some villagers may be swayed to rebellion against our presence."

A tense silence falls upon the room as Fenrik’s words hang in the air like a foreboding mist. That is, until Eris, the heir to the Autumn Court, decides to break it.

“Perhaps, we should provide them with enough sustenance to quell their thirst to riot,” Eris suggests, his voice resonating with wisdom beyond his years. Beron should be proud but instead, his eyes narrow as he assesses the situation.

“Gain their trust so they remain loyal to you, High Lord,” Edmund, Beron’s chief advisor, agrees as he waves his hand, beckoning his cupbearer forward.

Eris’s eyes widen ever so slightly, lifting his gaze toward Edmund. It’s the first time the two have ever been in agreement. He then turns his head toward Edmund’s cupbearer, a spark of curiosity flashing in his amber eyes.

As the cupbearer delicately pours a substance, presumably more potent than wine given its acrid scent, Eris can’t help but wonder why Edmund subjects his own granddaughter to a servant role when she is beyond the age of marriage. Granted, Emilia is a bastard. But still his blood nonetheless. His only blood.

Edmund brings his cup to his lips and takes a swig. He sputters almost immediately, throwing his chalice to the floor and drawing everyone’s attention to him. The dark crimson liquid splatters onto the floor, staining the soft fabric of his granddaughter's dress. Emilia shrinks back, fear flashing across her features as Edmund shifts toward her with a scowl.

“This is not what I asked of you!” He seethes with furrowed eyebrows. “I asked for the russet elixir, not this.”

“I’m sorry, grandfather. I thought this was the russet elixir.”

Emilia drops her gaze, a frown tainting her soft features, as she presents the bottle of liquor to him. It is clearly labeled as crimson nectar. “You imbecile. Go back to your station,” Edmund orders hastily, no longer desiring a drink.

“Illiterate bastard,” Hunter mutters under his breath with a chuckle, elbowing Eris.

Eris does not humor his brother. Though his fingers tense around his own chalice, he maintains a stoic silence, his gaze following Emilia. She retreats to her designated place in the council chamber, head bowed low. Her silhouette merges seamlessly with the servants clustered around the table of refreshments.

“Let them starve.”

Eris’s gaze shifts back toward his father and he swears his heart skips a beat.

“But my High Lord–”

“I refuse to feed the mouths of potential traitors,” Beron interrupts his spymaster sharply yet his gaze is focused upon Eris, brown eyes shimmering with disappointment. “The seed for rebellion has already been planted. It does not matter if I send them sustenance or not, they may still revolt. I’ll turn the town of Mistwood into a lesson.”

Beron then rises to his feet, signaling that he will hear no more from his council for today. “Anyone who lends credence to this alleged Phoenix shall be branded as traitors and punished. No exceptions.”

Beron strides out of the room, the council trailing in his wake. Eris, however, lingers, reluctant to vacate his seat. He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue, stomach filling with dread from the look Beron had given him before leaving. He sits there for what feels like an eternity but given the fact that some of his brothers remain, harassing Edmund’s poor granddaughter, it couldn’t have been for too long.

When Eris rises from his seat, he catches a glimpse of Oliver, his younger brother, trailing a hand a little too low down Emilia’s body. From where Eris stands, he could see Emilia’s every muscle tense under the unwanted touch and harsh words whispered into her ear. Yet, Emilia remains quiet, her gaze fixed forward, even as Oliver finally frees her of his torment.

Silver lines her dull brown eyes and Eris can’t help but pity the female. He knows the look on her face all too well. It's a reflection of the emotions he often carries within himself. Hatred. Fear. Anger.

The room is quiet, save for the measured cadence of Eris’s footsteps. They come to a stop right before Emilia, causing her brown eyes to widen in surprise. Still, she remains steadfast in avoiding eye contact with Eris.

“Lord Eris,” she addresses him, her voice a masterclass in practiced restraint, as though she has honed it over centuries of servitude.

“We should arrange for someone to teach you how to read.”

Emilia blinks, caught off guard and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability flickers in her dark eyes. It’s not the first time Eris has been kind yet she still can’t comprehend why he continues to express concern for her. She hesitates before regaining her composure and slowly lowers her gaze.

“Grandfather says reading will only taint the female’s mind and that I do not need to know how to read in order to fulfill my duty.”

“And what duty is that exactly?”

“I’m the last Pyralis female. I’m sure you can take a guess, my lord.”

Eris exhales heavily, as if he too was wearied by the harshness of her world. “Suit yourself then.”

For centuries, the Pyralis family stood as a formidable force, characterized by its size and strength. Even amidst the transformative shift in magical favor that propelled the Vanserra family to High Lordship, the Pyralis clan endured without faltering. True to their name, they rose from the ashes, mirroring the resilience of the Phoenix they were named after. They maintained their high status in politics, taking on the role as the Vanserra’s chief advisors. Speculation lingered that the only force capable of bringing down the Pyralis family was the family itself.

The Pyralis family's decline began long before Eris’s birth. Still, he couldn't help but reflect on the strange sight of witnessing such a once-mighty and expansive lineage reduced to a mere two living members.

It made him worry if the same grim fate would befall upon his own family.

“Mother’s tits, what happened to you?”

“Your brothers,” is all Emilia says followed by a huff, the small gust of frustration sending the dark red fringe framing her face tumbling forward like a curtain of shadows. Weariness etches across her features, shoulders slumping, allowing a glimpse beyond the facade she meticulously maintains.

Lucien furrows his brow in concern and gently reaches out to tuck the loose strand behind her ear. “You look like you’re in need of a pick me up,” he remarks, his russet eyes lighting up at the idea. “A little trip to Thornwood might lift your spirits.”

Emilia pauses, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m sure it’ll lift other things too.”

Lucien laughs, his lips twitching upwards into a grin. Though Thornwood sounds like a good idea, given the hard day she had, she recognizes why Lucien is more than eager to go. She knows him too well. As they step out of the forest house, he hooks his arm through hers and winnows them both to Thornwood before she could even question if it was safe to do so, given the current volatile state of the neighboring town, Mistwood.

Thornwood is a breath of fresh air.

Both Lucien and Emilia feel a sense of comfort as they fall into step beside each other. Lush orchards and vineyards surround the small town nestled in the countryside of Autumn, their branches heavy with golden and crimson fruits. They walk along the cobblestone pathways, leading to a central square where various vendors are selling goods. Residents, adorned in cozy layers to protect from the autumn winds, go about their daily routines with a sense of unhurried contentment.

An elderly female rests against the weathered water well, rattling a worn cup that holds a few gold marks toward any passersby. As Emilia walks by, the female’s eyes follow her and with a sudden urgency, she rattles her cup harsher.

“Something wicked this way comes,” she mutters, the words slipping from her cracked lips like an ominous whisper carried by the wind. “Something wicked this way comes…”

With a glare directed at the older female, Lucien steps around Emilia, shielding her from the female’s sharp gaze.

“Em!”

Emilia's head whips around, her guarded expression softening as her gaze fixes on a blonde figure drawing nearer with each passing second. Before she knows it, strong arms envelop her. Emilia finds herself wrapped in a comforting hug and returns the gesture.

"Hey, Jes," Emilia greets, the corners of her lips hinting at a rare smile.

"You haven’t come to visit in awhile. I was getting worried," Jesminda remarks, pulling away from the hug with a concern-laden expression.

Lucien, feeling neglected, huffs in mock offense. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

Jesminda giggles, but she redirects her attention to Lucien, throwing her arms around him. He responds with equal enthusiasm, pulling her close and twirling her around, evoking a delighted squeal that he silences with an affectionate kiss.

“Gross,” Emilia comments, a slight grimace crossing her features.

Jesminda, despite Lucien's protest, untangles herself from his embrace. "Never been in love before?"

Emilia's gaze shifts to where Lucien and Jesminda now hold hands. "No, and I don’t plan on it." She pauses, her eyes lingering on the intertwined couple before she adds, "It’s not worth the price.”

“You say that now–”

"Yeah, yeah," Emilia cuts off Lucien before he delves into the cliché notion of finding the right person to fall in love with. Blah, blah, blah. She slips her hand into her pockets, withdrawing a handful of goldmarks and tossing them toward Lucien, who effortlessly catches them. "Go fetch us some apple cider, please?"

Once Lucien is out of earshot, Emilia turns to Jesminda with a cautious look. "This is a dangerous game you're playing."

"I'm not scared," Jesminda replies, her eyes scanning the town square before she leans in closer to her friend. "Just like I'm not scared to stand with Saoirse."

Something flickers in Emilia's eyes, and with a soft smile, Jesminda adds, "I love him."

“He’s the High Lord’s son,” Emilia whispers a bit too harshly for even her own liking yet Jesminda remains unfazed by the reminder.

“One of many,” Jesminda simply points out. “I’m sure he could spare one.”

Emilia sighs. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” Jesminda promises and then winks at Emilia. “I’m good at sneaking around.”

Emilia watches Jesminda's determined expression, a mixture of worry and reluctant acceptance in her own gaze. It’s not that Emilia doubts Jesminda. Lucien and Jesminda have kept their relationship secret for many years. Albeit, they often used Emilia as the perfect excuse to venture off together such as Lucien planned to do so tonight.

But, for Emilia, it's the haunting memory of past losses that casts a shadow over her protective instincts. She can't help but feel an innate need to protect her cherished friend, especially given the fact that she was the one who introduced Lucien to her. If something happened to Jesminda, it would be her fault.

Before Emilia discovered the truth of her heritage and was taken in by her father, it was Jesminda's family who she lived with. They plucked her from the harsh streets and took her in as if she was one of their own. A stark contrast to the way her blood family welcomed her. She wasn’t allowed to visit them after she moved into her father’s estate but now that she lived in the Forest house with her grandfather, it was easier to sneak off to visit them.

Lucien reappears, bearing three mugs of hot apple cider that smell like heaven. Emilia happily takes hers, savoring the steaming warmth that envelops her as she takes a measured sip.

“I’m going to find Brienne,” Emilia says and then she flashes the two a pointed look, dark eyes lingering on Lucien for a moment longer. “We can’t stay out too late tonight unless we want to raise concern.”

Beron's eyes were deep pools of darkness, simmering with a livid intensity that mirrored the turmoil within the realm. His hands were clasped behind his back. He stood by the window, an emblem of brooding power, his gaze following the departure of his best men on horseback toward Mistwood.

"There's a mole in this court," Beron declares, his voice cutting through the silence, and he turns abruptly to face Edmund. “And I won’t rest until I have their head on a spike.”

Edmund leans forward, concern etching lines onto his wearied features. "Do you have any suspects?"

"I have a few," Beron responds, his gaze piercing into the very soul of his chief advisor.

Edmund's eyes widen in disbelief and he shifts forward in his seat. "Are you accusing me, my High Lord?"

"Given your family history, I'd be a fool not to suspect you. The phoenix is your family's sigil."

"I have no desire for a coup d'état," Edmund retorts, a humorless laugh escaping him as he averts his gaze. His laugh morphs into a cough, eyebrows furrowing in pain as he brings a handkerchief to his mouth. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet Beron's. "What must I do to prove my loyalty to you?"

Before Beron could answer, the door to Edmund’s room opens. Emilia slips in and at the sight of the High Lord, a visible shiver runs through her, causing her to instinctively shrink back. With a harsh swallow, she bows her head in respect and then turns to address the older male.

“You called for me, grandfather?”

“You were out late last night,” Edmund glares at the younger female. “Again.”

“Let’s finish our conversation later this afternoon in my study.” Beron says and without acknowledging Emilia’s presence, he gracefully exits the room.

“I’m sorry, I was–”

“You went to go visit them, didn’t you?” Edmund interrupts sharply and when Emilia lowers her head, he rises from his seat. “I am your family. Your only family.”

“You are forbidden to go to Thornwood from now on.”

“But grandfather–”

“Have you not heard?” Edmund raises his voice. “The High Lord has sent his best guards to Mistwood to obliterate the growing threats and Thornwood is sure to follow.” His voice falters as he falls into another fit of coughing.

“You will stay here, where you are safe,” he manages to wheeze as he slumps back into his seat.

“Are you alright?” Emilia gasps out in horror.

She rushes to her grandfather, falling to her knees beside him. He brings his handkerchief once more to cover his cough. “I’m fine,” he huffs out breathlessly.

When his hand drops to his side and head falls back in exhaustion, Emilia notices the dark red stain on the light fabric. The sight pleases her more than it should and with his eyes closed, Emilia allows her mask to fall.

A faint smirk taints her lips and once again, there's that flicker of fiery malevolence in her eyes. Edmund Pyralis is not fine.

He's dying...and the Vanserras are next.

A couple of weeks later...

Mistwood is now nothing but ash.

Though the townspeople fought with heart and might, they were no match for the High Lord’s soldiers who had trained for centuries. Beron gave strict orders for no survivors to be left behind as he’s done so many times before. It’s not the first time there’s been uprisings and rebellions and it certainly won’t be the last. Those disloyal to him may win battles here and there but Beron will always win the war.

His soldiers did not return this time. Instead, Beron ordered them to disperse into neighboring towns along the countryside and act as peacekeepers. However, they ushered in anything but tranquility to the towns they’ve forcefully settled into.

All was well. There was no longer talk about protests or potential uprisings. No more whispers about the Phoenix. What a foolish hope that had been.

Beron sighs as he enters his bath chambers. The anticipation of relief courses through him as he closes his eyes, immersing himself in the cocoon of steaming warmth that envelops the air. His tired muscles, worn from the weight of responsibility, already yearn for the comforting touch of the hot water against his skin.

Upon opening his eyes, however, the tranquility he sought is shattered. Tension grips his muscles even tighter as his gaze falls upon an unsettling sight. There, floating ominously in the bathwater, is a single red chrysanthemum. The vibrant hue seems to mock him, triggering a surge of pain that stabs sharply through his chest. He doesn’t dare think of her name, forcing images of her back into the corner of his mind he had shoved her into.

He plucks the flower out and flames lick at his fingertips. They burn through the flower with ease, reducing it to a small pile of ashes onto the floor. He uses his magic to dispose of it. He shakes off the unsettling feeling threatening to seep in and settles into the bath instead. He’d deal with the servants who prepared his bath first thing tomorrow.

The following morning, just as he’s about to call for his servants, he’s met with an even more appalling sight.

His eyes widen as he steps out onto his balcony. There’s a sea of red chrysanthemums blanketing the palace grounds, their vibrant petals ablaze in the early light. A small piece of paper floats above him, calling his name in a sinister whisper. He reluctantly takes it, unfolding it.

Burn us and we shall simply rise again from the ashes.

-The Phoenix

It's instinctive. The way he sets the paper ablaze in his grasp. As the last ember of paper dissipates, the sea of red flowers catches fire as if on cue. Beron watches in astonishment as the flowers transform into ashes, only to burst into flames once more. The flames intensify, swirling together in mesmerizing patterns, shaping an unmistakable silhouette. A phoenix.

A shiver races down his spine.

There’s only one person he knew who loved red chrysanthemums. Desperate for an answer, he reaches out to the threads of fate that he had severed. They hang loosely but they’re still there. Only this time, he feels nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A profound emptiness washes over him, rendering him numb. She’s dead. He should not be surprised. Afterall, he had ordered it.

It’s as if the Cauldron, offended by his defiance of its predestined connection, has forsaken him upon opening his side of the bond. The bond he denied and closed off for centuries. His body weakens, forcing him to fall onto his knees.

Silver lines his brown eyes. His eyes that were once dull are now lively with pure grief and heartache. His hands grasp at his chest as if they could close the gaping hole she left behind. It’s useless.

The memories of her, his mate, begin to rise just as the ashes of the red chrysanthemums did. He can see her smiling at him in a way he does not deserve. He can hear her calling his name in a hushed whisper that burns into his skin. More and more memories of her infiltrate his mind, tormenting him in the worst ways imaginable.

“Beron.”

“Beron,” the voice repeats again and it takes him a while to register that the voice is not his mate’s but his wife’s. “What is going on?”

Beron is surprised at the concern laced into her tone. He grasps onto this feeling, pulling himself out of the depth of the own hell he created. The bond in his chest slowly closes once more. His breath begins to steady and though shaky, he rises to his feet again.

“I need to find her,” is all he says as he walks past his wife.

Lady Aurelia blinks, eyebrows knitting together. “Find who?”

Beron does not answer her. He strides further into their room and toward the area where he keeps his sword. He secures it to his waistband, determined to never go out without it from now on.

Not when his daughter, thought to be lost to the shadows, was alive. Not when she is the one who stands at the helm of the rebellions that echo through the Autumn Court. And for the first time in centuries, a spark of fear ignites within him.

How is he supposed to fight an enemy that prospers when burned to the ground?

a/n: I feel like I suck at writing about politics/conflict that isn't romance related so I hope this came out okay and not confusing. More will info will be given in the next parts.

It feels like I've read ACOTAR ages ago so I've forgotten some details and am going off of what I find on reddit/ACOTAR wiki so if I happen to make a mistake in terms of canon things, let me know. Also, I was too lazy to find new names for some of Eris's brothers so I'm reusing the ones I used in my Like An Angel series. I honestly can't wait until Az shows up but it will be 2-3 parts until then. For now, you get a lot of foreshadowing (:

tagging: @mybestfriendmademe @waytoomanyteenagefeels @janebirkln, @acourtofbatboydreams

(it's been awhile since I updated so I tagged some of y'all, just in case y'all were interested in reading more. Please let me know if you'd like to remain on the tag list, no worries if not (: Or if you'd like to be added)

#acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar x oc #acotar fanfic #azriel x oc #vanserra oc #eris vanserra x oc #gem

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wolfiafuntime · 1 year ago

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About The Cultists I

How some members of The Church of Mondstadt joined the cult, what they did in the cult, and where they went when they were told to leave.

The Brainrot that started it all

Ft. Aether, Albedo, Amber, Barbara, Bennett, Diluc, Diona, Eula, Fischl, Jean, Kaeya, Klee, Lisa, Mika, Mona, Noelle, Razor, Rosaria, Sucrose, Venti

Tw: Cults, Children being in cults, Child Abuse

Published: September 3, 2023

Words: 1,704 (1,667 w/o the names)

Pages: 5.1 (4.8 w/o the names)

Aether Via: Was introduced to it by his sister and daughter shortly after waking from a five-year coma. But didn't join until two months later, when he met a third member of the cult; a police officer named Amber. Shortly after joining, he became the one and only mailman for the cult. Or rather, one of the only mailmen, as he prefers to take his daughter with him. Because he doesn't have a car, and it takes a day's walk to get from one compound to another. Was one of the few members that didn't get their own place when everyone was told to disperse. Currently has no job.

Albedo Kriedeprinz: Was introduced to it by his mother's friend Alice, during his college years. Joined shortly after graduating, and after a visit to the Temple of Liyue, he dedicated himself to perfectly recreating Their Grace's appearance. He learned several different forms of art to do so, from crafting stained glass portraits to carving concrete statues. When told to get his own place, he got a two-bedroom suburbian house between his job, a park, and the Church, to make things convenient for him and Klee. Currently works as the Head Forensic Scientist for the Teyvat City Police Department.

Amber Outrider: Was introduced to it by her superiors, Jean and Kaeya, when she was in police training. Joined shortly after her grandfather went missing. She didn't have much to do there, until some teens and kids moved in, which is when she appointed herself as their unofficial PE teacher. A job that she continues after she's commanded to move off-property. She moved into an apartment near the heart of Teyvat City, which she shares with her friend Eula, and Eula's friend Yanfei. Currently works as a patrol officer for the Teyvat City Police Department.

Barbara Pegg: Was introduced to it by her sister Jean, and a nomad named Alice, not long before she became an idol. But didn't officially join until her father found out and kicked her out of the house for "Betraying God". After quite some time there, she became both the Deaconess for the Church, and a nurse for the people living there. Is one of the few that didn't move off the compound when everyone was told to move out. Currently works as an Idol on YouTube.

Bennett: Was introduced to the cult by his childhood friend Barbara, and joined after running away from his abusive foster home. When he's not studying or sparring, he's either wandering the fields that surround the Church, or exploring the distant forest behind it. Due to still being a minor, he never moved out of the Church. Currently has no job.

Diluc Ragnvindr: Was introduced to the cult by his boss, Varka, but didn't join until years later, when the Church of Snezhnaya saved his life. He stayed there for a bit, before discovering that several old friends were members of the Church of Mondstadt. That, combined with the fact that the Church of the first-born was closer to the Dawn Winery than that of the seventh-born, inspired him to move compounds. Sells wine to the cult at a 75% discount. When he was told to get his own place, he simply had a small renovation done to the Dawn Winery and moved in there. Currently works as the CEO of Dawn Winery, and the Restauranteur of a bar named Angels Share.

Diona Katzlein: Was introduced into the cult by Kaeya after he saved her from a fierce winter storm, and joined them shortly after. She was disturbed to learn that the majority of the members drank alcohol, but pleased to learn that none of them were abusive like her dad. She has taken it upon herself to create a drink so disgusting that it would turn her new family away from drinking, but has yet to do so. Due to her age, she never moved off the compound. Currently has no job.

Eula Lawrence: Was introduced to the cult by Amber shortly after becoming a cop, and joined after discovering how geniunely nice a majority of the members were. Teaches the teens how to navigate the wild after noticing them go on multi-day adventures. Gets an apartment for her, Amber and Yanfei to move into in Teyvat City. Currently works as the Captain of Teyvat City's Fourth Precinct.

Fischl Luftschloss-Nerfidort: Was introduced to the cult by Bennett, and joined when she realized that it would surround her with kindred spirits. Was almost overjoyed that they let her crow familiar, Oz, stay with her inside the Church as opposed to outside of it. Often goes on adventures with the other teens, which aid her in remembering tales from her homeworld. Still lives in the Church. Currently has no job.

Jean Gunnhildr: Was introduced to the cult by Varka, but didn't join until after a curropt cop drove her childhood friend away. After joining, she slowly but surely worked her way up to High Priestess of the Church of Mondstadt, and as a reward, became one of the few people in the cult to know who Barbatos was disguised as. Her position as High Priestess gave her permission to stay at the Church when everyone was told to move out, but she decided to get a house in Teyvat's suburbs with Lisa. Currently works as the Deputy Police Chief in Teyvat City.

Kaeya Alberich: Similarly to his brother, he was introduced to the cult by Varka, but didn't join until after Crepus's death, when the Church of Mondstadt saved his life. Out of all the members, he spends the least amount of time on the compound, as he's either busy working, or busy spreading the word of Their Grace. Got himself a one-bedroom apartment when he was told to move out. Currently works as the Captain of Teyvat City's First Precinct.

Klee Hexenzirkl: Was born into and raised by the cult, although it did take her a few years to become an official member, as no one knew what kind of Vision to give her. Spends most of her time creating fun shows for the other members, all of which are loud, colorful, and accidentally destructive. Is the only- if not, then one of the only- members to move out of the Church when the adults received the command. Currently has no job.

Lisa Minci: Was introduced to the cult by her old college classmate, Cyno, but didn't join until after she met and befriended Jean. Is the founder of the Church of Mondstadt's library, and spends her time either managing it, or teaching the teens and kids inside of it. Is currently renting a house in Teyvat City's suburbs with Jean. Currently works as the Head Librarian in the Teyvat City Library.

Mika Schmidtt: Was introduced to the cult by his brother's, Huffman, coworkers back when he was a teen. But he didn't join until after he graduated from police training. His job at the cult is to scout for new members to join, and report all he finds on them to people like Varka and Kaeya. Currently lives in a studio apartment in Teyvat City. Currently works as a patrol officer for the TCPD.

Mona Megistus: Was saved from homelessness by the cult- The Church of Fontain, to be specific- who helped her get back onto her feet. But later moved into the Church of Mondstadt to spare herself from the COF's High Priest. Spends her time predicting either day-to-day events, or bigger, slow-moving ones. Currently lives in a studio apartment in Teyvat City. Currently works as an astrology/zodiac writer for a news company known as The Steambird.

Noelle Maiden: Was introduced to the cult by Jean and Kaeya while at the police academy, but didn't join the cult until she failed her training for the third time in a row. Spends most of her time either cleaning the Church of Mondstadt, or cooking food for her fellow Worshipers. When told to move out, she got herself a job as a full-time nanny for a rich family in Teyvat City. She lives with them in their penthouse.

Razor: Was introduced to the cult when Barbatos and his followers chose their Church of Mondstadt, but didn't join until he befriended Varka and Lisa. Spends his time showing the other teens, and sometimes the children, how to navigate the forest behind the Church. Never moved out because of his age, but technically never moved in, either, as he prefers sleeping in the woods.

Rosaria Church: Was introduced to the cult by Varka, but didn't join until they saved her from a life of crime. She adored the cult's endless kindess to her, and decided to repay it by becoming the first nun of the Church of Mondstadt. But after Morax's disappearance, she was contracted by Varka and Jean to keep the cult safe. Currently still lives in the Church with Barabara and the children.

Sucrose Bio: Was introduced to the cult through Albedo during her college years, but didn't join until after she lost her only two friends. Is constantly trying to invent things to make her fellow Believer's lives easier, or constantly trying to improve the things she's already invented. Is currently living with her coworker, Timaeus, and works as a Forensic Pathologist for the TCPD.

Venti Himmel: Is the first member of Creator's Grace, and was granted the position of Anemo Archon, a vessel of the deceased firstborn, Mondstadt, due to recruiting thirty new members within a month. And is also the only one of the only still-remaining Archons. Prefers to keep his identity secret so he can a) relax more and b) get a closer and more personal look at his follower's lives. As the Archon of the Church of Mondstadt, he was allowed to stay, but decided to move out to keep the appearance of him being 'just another member' up. Is currently living in a homeless shelter, and gains his money by performing street art.

My Masterlist

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girlactionfigure · 4 months ago

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🟧 Thu - events from Israel

ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

▪️DISTURBING JUSTICE REVELATIONS.. disturbing revelations: Ch. 12 brought evidence of prohibited meetings and secret activity surrounding the appointment of Mandelblit to the position of Attorney General. The recordings that were revealed paint a difficult picture of manipulations, conflicts of interest, and improper interference in appointment procedures for the most sensitive position in the law enforcement system. (Movement for Quality Govt.)

.. Revealed: The chairman of the Bar Association put someone on his behalf in the search committee and passed on to Mandelblit the questions that would be asked by the committee.

.. Revealed: The chairman of the committee, Mandelblit's friend, made sure to talk to the judges of the High Court and make it clear to them that they should reject the petition against Mandelblit's appointment because whoever is appointed in his place will be bad for the system.

.. Revealed: Mandelblit made it clear to the top of the attorney's office what would happen if they were not in his favor, he would be replaced by a candidate who would not align with the system.

▪️US & HAMAS.. A report in the US: the Americans are considering a unilateral deal with Hamas to release the hostages with American citizenship.

▪️HOUTHIS - YEMEN THREATEN.. The Houthis announced an operation to transport soldiers to Gaza. They are currently in the Sada Mountains not far from the border of Saudi Arabia.

▪️THE TUNNEL THAT LEAD TO THE MURDERED HOSTAGES.. entrance was in a children’s kindergarten, with walls covered in Disney characters. Children shields.

.. Examination of the hostage remains: they were starved.

▪️UN.. After 11 months, the Security Council discussed the situation of the Israeli hostages for the first time.

🔸DEAL NEWS.. Hamas demands Israel's withdrawal from the buffer zone surrounding the Gaza Strip - the defense belt that Israel created within a kilometer of the border, in order to protect the surrounding settlements. This may be an even more fundamental issue than the Philadelphia axis.

.. The head of the political department of Hamas abroad, Sami Abu Zahari: “We will not fall into the circle of fraud, and that is why we boycotted the last round of negotiations. The American administration is not serious about reaching any real agreement and its goal is to cover the Israeli position."

⭕Over 100 ROCKETS fired by HEZBOLLAH at northern towns yesterday, and 3 rounds of ROCKETS since our last report.

⭕ROCKET from HAMAS at Nachal Oz.

♦️IDF ATTACKS LEBANON.. A wave of attacks that began at night and continued until dawn... the air force attacked and destroyed targets that were hidden in the forests in southern Lebanon, rocket depots were clearly destroyed.

♦️IDF ATTACKS SAMARIA.. helicopter airstrikes in Tubas and Fara. 5 named terrorists killed.

#Israel #October 7 #HamasMassacre #Israel/HamasWar #IDF #Gaza #Palestinians #Realtime Israel #Hezbollah #Lebanon

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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The collapse of the Afghan state amid the United States’ withdrawal in 2021 gifted the new Taliban government with more than $7 billion worth of U.S. military equipment. Afghanistan’s new overlords suddenly found themselves with fleets of Humvees, mountains of machine guns, and forests of radars and satellite dishes. The vast hardware hoard also included dozens of aircraft: a motley mix of Hind and Blackhawk helicopters, cargo planes, and close air support props.

Before the Taliban even had time to inventory their new arsenal, Egyptian filmmaker Ibrahim Nash’at arrived in Kabul. From his home in Berlin, he had seen the scenes of civilians storming Kabul’s international airport in a desperate attempt to flee, and he had managed to obtain permission to come to Afghanistan and film. But his plan—to record the suffering of ordinary Afghans—was swiftly dashed. Accompanied by a Taliban minder at all times and forbidden to film anyone other than a Taliban commander and his men, Nash’at was forced to switch tack. That commander happened to be Mawlawi Mansour, the Taliban fighter in charge of creating a new Taliban air force from the equipment and pilots who were left behind.

Under orders from Mansour, Nash’at became the unexpected chronicler of a high-profile facet of Afghanistan’s regime change. The result is Hollywoodgate, a 90-minute documentary named after the sprawling U.S. base in Kabul, where the Taliban created their new air force after U.S. forces fled. In a total of seven months in the new Afghanistan and assisted only by a lone translator, Nash’at shot 220 hours of footage, later culled down with a team of five producers and nine Afghan translators. Overcoming his subjects’ extreme suspicion, Nash’at managed eventually to blend into Taliban meetings, inspections, and military missions, becoming so invisible that his subjects forgot about his camera and relaxed.

Mansour takes command of the former U.S. air base and immediately sets to work. He inspects his new force and is impressed by the scale of U.S. resources. But he is appalled by their Spartan aesthetics; “plant some trees here” is a constant command to scurrying subordinates as Mansour strides across the base. Taliban conversations show a sudden inversion: Off-screen holdouts against the new regime are “the insurgents” opposed by “our special forces.”

For Mansour’s men, the order of the day is repairing aircraft, many of which were purposely disabled by departing U.S. forces. After a perfunctory grilling, a handful of pilots from the old Afghan air force are welcomed into the new force. (Many others had fled with their aircraft to neighboring countries.) Training new Taliban pilots will take time, but Mansour gets a course up and running, his lecturers aided by a cardboard mock-up of a cockpit.

Women are immediately pushed to the margins of the new Afghanistan. With a whiff of amusement at their past effrontery, Mansour dictates that women in his ministry may return to work, but only if they are veiled. His own wife, he brags to his staff, is a doctor, but he restricted her to the home upon marriage.

The mood among Mansour’s future Taliban airmen is upbeat. We see low-ranking fighters exulting in their victory over the Americans and “the Jews.” An ambitious lieutenant is showered in confetti to celebrate his acceptance into the new air force academy. A gleeful door guard flags every comrade passing him in the hall with his U.S.-made M-4 rifle—the cocktail of frivolity and danger that characterizes many an insurgency or militia in the poorest parts of the world.

At times, the new overlords can verge on endearing. Mansour and his men visit the base’s well-appointed gym, where one Talib struggles to press a pair of dumbbells above his head. The boss steps on a treadmill and happily plods along, ordering one sent to his home “to make my belly smaller.”

I witnessed a very similar scene when I was deployed to Afghanistan as a U.S. Marine more than a decade ago. When we handed over a coalition patrol base to one of the Afghan government’s paramilitary forces, the incoming commander breezed by the fortifications, operations center, and mess hall. But a derelict elliptical trainer in our sandy outdoor gym fascinated him. He hopped aboard with a big grin and churned away, to the bemusement of the handful of watching Marines.

Outside the tight circle in which he was permitted to film, Nash’at was far less welcome, he told me in an interview this summer. In his wordless brushes with Afghan civilians, he felt indicted by their stares. He was convinced that they saw him as an Arab propagandist—a voyeur who had come to Afghanistan to see and celebrate the Taliban’s triumph.

Despite the restrictions placed on him as an outsider, Nash’at managed to get glimpses of ordinary Afghan life. Children occasionally appear onscreen, and we get a sense of the extent to which they have been formed and traumatized by a lifetime of war. Hanging on a tow ring of a hulking mine-resistant vehicle, one boy in a camouflage shalwar kameez mumbles that he will “take a weapon and kill you all.”

After months of maintenance, training, and reorganization, Mansour gets his triumph. Toward the end of Nash’at’s filming, the Taliban stage a military parade for their own men and a handful of Russian, Chinese, and Iranian dignitaries. After a show of marching infantry, armored vehicles, and a battalion intended for suicide bombing on motorcycles, Hinds and Blackhawks fly past the grandstand. It’s a successful first operation for the Taliban’s new air force, even if the fly-by is bit too fast for Mansour’s liking.

In the film’s final scene, Mansour is seen on his cell phone berating an official at the Tajikistan Defense Ministry for harboring the Taliban’s enemies. Nash’at told me he believes that many Taliban have aims beyond Afghanistan’s borders. One high-ranking leader told him, “I can’t wait until we conquer Egypt.” The Taliban believe they and their forebears have turned Afghanistan into the graveyard of empires, defeating the British Empire, the Soviet Union, and now the United States. One fighter exults that “with American weapons we will rule the world!”

Whatever their intentions, the film also leaves viewers skeptical of the Taliban’s ability to wield meaningful military power. Like many journalists since then, Nash’at immediately picked up on the boredom among the Taliban fighters that followed on the heels of military victory. While negotiating Kabul’s traffic in a sedan just weeks after the city’s fall, one of Mansour’s lieutenants tells the filmmaker that he already longs for war: the return of the Americans, 500 bullets, and martyrdom. Late in the film, an enthusiastic crowd of Taliban tries to pile into an aircraft for a VIP test flight and are beaten off with curses by Mansour’s men. Afghanistan’s new rulers are likely to have their hands full just keeping discipline among their own former fighters.

Nash’at likened the realities of governing after fighting to coming down from a narcotic high. Building a bureaucracy seems much harder work than winning a war. Staff meetings and wrangling over budgets are a poor substitute for ambushes and assaults. Early in the film, one Talib waxes nostalgic for the life of an insurgent, showing Nash’at the cave he and a few other men took refuge in.

Despite his fear and disgust of the Taliban, Nash’at believes that the West should engage them. He said that if they are ignored, they will act out for the world’s attention, to the detriment of their own people and the region. But he harbors no illusions that such engagement will yield swift changes in the character of the Taliban.

With Hollywoodgate, now streaming after a limited theatrical release, Nash’at may not have made the film he originally set out to make. The suffering of the Afghan people was walled off from him. The Taliban’s strictures confined him to a narrow lane and, as he notes in an introductory voice-over, to the story they wanted to tell the world. But if the Taliban thought that they had put Nash’at on a short enough leash to force him to produce a piece of propaganda for the new regime, they were mistaken, too.

After Mansour’s air show, Taliban secret police demanded that Nash’at come to their office and show them all of his footage. As he told IndieWire in an interview, he knew then that his work was done: “I was filming the transformation of a militia into a military regime, and I realized at that moment the transformation was complete.” Through empathy, patience, and not a little audacity, Nash’at succeeded in capturing a story of Afghan nation-building—but a far different one than almost any Westerner could have imagined 20 years before.

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maneaterwithtail · 6 months ago

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Senshi x maizuru:

Not too plausible but just fun.

From the few minutes of screentime they have they go from apathetic strangers (even hostility on maizuru's part, senshi is too good for hostility) to somewhat respecting eachother's worldview through food.

The rest comes post story: Laios visits shuro, there is not question about that, senshi and the rest >! of his court!< accompany him. Senshi is looking forward to trying out some of the local flavors. They meet again, polite exchanges, she happens upon senshi in the kitchen, polite banter,

"its good to see your people put such care into their food, love is an ingredient that shouldnt be used sparingly."

"it is pleasing to see your haven't changed, dwarf"

" 'Dwarf', am I now?"

"Senshi."

More banter, maizuru is appointed his guide for the duration of the stay, she has loosed her grip on shuro, proud of the man he has been showing himself to be. Long walks through the forests gathering ingredients, hunting. she shares her love of her home with him, he admires its wonders, complimenting it for all the beauty it bears up. Did he just...maybe, maybe not...hmm? Another week passes, more meals are prepared together. Small compliments. Deepning respect. Acknowledgment and admission of flaws while only in the most private moment out in the forests. He is not of here, a stranger to these lands and customs, no harm or risk confiding in such a man, right?

Final day, senshi gifts her with a small mithril cooking knife, as sign of appreciation for her time and to aid her in expressing her love in one of the few ways available to her. Very sweet, blink away tear? She gives him seeds of this land, so he will remeber his time here with every new harvest and so he may find new ways to share his love with those he cares for. .....A final gift, a short soft kiss on his nose, to empart thanks...for all he has done. Unspoken but understood senshi feels thanks for someone seeing *her* without any trace of animosity or superiority. Thanks for someone seeing her as their equal. The ship departs, one final wave, until we meet again.

Edit: changed some wording, thought something there might be interpreted as having explicit connotations. I'm ok if you want to see it that way though.

#shipping #delicious in dungeon #senshi of izganda #senshi x maizuru

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tomionefinds · 2 years ago

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Hey do you have any fics where it's set up after the war either Voldemort died or disappeared but he comes back.

It can also be fic where Hermione doesn't know she's helping him because he changed his identity etc....

Thank you!!!!!

Hey Anon,

I definitely have read/currently follow a couple like this. I'm sure there's more so if any followers think of some as always feel free to drop them in the comments! -JD

Tom, just Tom by Ciule E/Ma | Complete | 121k Lord Voldemort slithered out of the Veil on New Year's Eve in the year 2000. Still bent on world domination, he decided that Golden Girl Granger would be the perfect accessory on his arm.

Shared Flame by Lady Miya M | Complete | 311k It all started when two normally clever individuals both had a really lousy day.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement by devdevlin M | WIP | 19k What if Voldemort survived the Battle of Hogwarts? Flight instead of fight? Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is appointed to the team given the task of tracking him down. But when an attractive young man, who Harry is strangely suspicious of, is appointed as her boss, things quickly get out of hand...

When Lines Get Blurred by Arodain M | Complete | 168k The Battle at Hogwarts did not reach its conclusion as expected, and the Second Wizarding War takes on a new direction. Canon compliant until the last part of The Deathly Hallows. HG/TR without the time travel.

Tertius Vita by Shan84 M | WIP | 124k Post war and Hermione is struggling to deal with all of the public scrutiny. She decides to escape and attend muggle university for the time being. Who's the handsome stranger in Hermione's classes and why are Draco & Blaise here?

Second Chances by Anneeny M | WIP | 47k Tom Riddle has never been one for mediocrity, so when given the chance, he seeks out the one person able to tell him the future; a blind hag living in the Black Forest of Germany. However, he does not like what he is told one bit. How is he supposed to change it and who the bloody hell does this Hermione Granger think she is?

Belladonna by LadyMiya E/Ma | One Shot | 17k Her parents had always warned Hermione against getting a tattoo. She probably should have listened to them.

Ministerial Response by Shan84 E/Ma | One Shot | 17k Instead of dying in the final battle, Voldemort simply disappeared. Now nineteen years later, life is not as perfect as it seems. When Hermione is finally promoted, she gets a congratulatory letter from the person she least expects.

Fics where she's aware who he is when encountering him again:

The Prisoner by NerysDax E/Ma | Complete | 182k Imprisoned, Lord Voldemort is considered a threat of the past. His knowledge is desired by many. Yet, his offer is for one person only: Hermione Weasley-Granger.

The Art of Genius by WildKitsune Series: Art Trilogy [1] E/Ma | Complete | 61k Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is working on a team of healers to help find a cure to a new wizarding disease. An imprisoned Lord Voldemort offers the help of his considerable genius but only if Hermione consents to be his handler.

#tomione #volmione #post-war #post-battle of hogwarts #mistaken identity/identity unknown #smut #tom: dark #met: as adults

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linked-history · 1 year ago

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Was going to post Shade but then realized none of what I was going to say in their information was going to make sense without this context so here is the updated First Trio with the information under the cut. Sorry if it's kinda jumbled, I tried to include as much as I could without getting too long winded or giving too much away so this is what you get.

The life created by Faore was vast though most inhabited the surface; across the desert, hidden in the forests, or spread across the plains. There were other races though who inhabited the sky or dwelled deep underground.

THE BEGINNING

As the Golden Goddesses completed their work on the creation of the world they left behind two relics for the inhabitants that the youngest, Faore, created. Din, gathering the broken shards of their power that they left behind, created the Triforce. While Nayru, melding Golden Flesh from all three of them together created Hylia, who would protect the Triforce. Faore as a final act of love for the lives she created imbued the Triforce with a portion of her own power before the three departed from the world.

From their first meeting the two grew closer and Hylia warmed up to her self-appointed guard, with his help those who lived around the temple no longer shied away from her gaze and Hylia found herself learning more about the world she inhabited instead of what she was only able to see from her place at the temple.

THE MEETING

The inhabitants would frequent the temple erected around the resting place of the Triforce, viewed as a Holy Ground and the last place touched by the Golden Goddesses, though most were weary to remain due to the silent vigil of the Triforce's protector. One day a man from the desert appeared, one who did not shy away from Hylia's golden gaze and rather seemed to house a portion of gold in his own gaze.

The one day, someone new appeared, one with a strange appearance the likes of which no one on the surface had ever seen. They had fallen at the steps of the temple near death by the time Hylia and Ganon had found them. After they had regained some strength and woke up they explained to Hylia and Ganon that their name was Link of the Zonai and that they had fallen to the surface from their home far above the clouds. After learning a bit more about his home and telling him more about the surface Link was given one of the available rooms within the temple and later introduced to those who lived around the temple.

Time passed and the three grew closer, learning more about one another and Link learned more about the new world around him, unable, or unwilling, to return home

As the corruption spread and gained power it took longer to kill but corrupted to the point of control, and those who it controlled would begin attacking loved ones and it was around this time that the corruption took hold of Ganon completely.

CORRUPTION

About a year or two after Link had arrived at the surface a plague began spreading across the surface, corrupting and quickly killing any afflicted by it. The people of the surface, unsure of where else it may have originated from, grew weary and rumors began that it was due to Link's arrival. These rumors spread and Link was soon imprisoned by those who feared the spreading corruption. It was at this time that Ganon had become afflicted by it, though hid it from Hylia so as not to worry her.

In the end Link was freed from his imprisonment to help Hylia fight against the corrupted Ganon. Though they were unable to kill one they had grown so close to, so Link presented a solution. The Zonai were all born with latent abilities, his was one that would help for the time being, until they were able to find a better solution. So Link, with Hylia's help, was able to seal Ganon away in a prison the two made together, though his Soul was shattered in the process. Hylia then made a wish upon the Triforce for herself, so that she may be reborn when the time came that his soul was reformed and the two would one day be able to save their friend in the future.

#alternate universe #linked history #redesigns #legend of zelda #zonai #goddess hylia #ganon #first hero #links meet au

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itosevenito · 1 year ago

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I wrote a small Christmas-themed Aralas short :

Chapter One

It was that time of year again. The members of the Fellowship had ridden in from their respective realms to join in celebrations with the Lords and Ladies of Imladris. Lord Elrond had insisted on holding the Yule commemorations in his house due to the overall friendly attire of the realm. Legolas himself was ecstatic, in the past present years, Mirkwood – having been now renamed to its original name of Greenwood – had been preoccupied with keeping the enemies out of the palace. But this year was different, now with the threats to their peace eradicated, beings such as himself were free to celebrate in bliss.

Legolas could not wait to see the newly appointed King of Gondor again, ever since his crowning a few years ago, the Elven Prince had begun to see his love less since he’d set his heart on restoring the woods of Ithilien. However, all his beloved members and friends were finally gathering to share in the happiness. He was one of the last to arrive, having had some commotion amongst his elves that delayed his departure– Gimli did not tire of the subject.

Once he had rode through the gates, the hobbits, Gandalf, Gimli and Boromir were standing there in wait for him, whilst the twins, Arwen, Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir – who had been preparing for the last month – were already there to greet them. Legolas was confused upon finding Aragorn missing from their meeting place– just before the gates of Imladris. “Aye, My King sent me forth with ill tidings…” Boromir spoke up, after everyone had fully gathered that not everyone was indeed present. “And just when were ye gonna tell us about this, laddie?” Gimli grumbled, setting himself down on a nearby rock. Legolas glanced towards the man of Gondor with anxious eyes, he had not heard of Aragorn’s setback. Was he alright?

Boromir in return, rolled his eyes at Gimli, before responding, “He had an urgent case to take care of before he could leave. He believed to make it two days from now.” He explained, causing the hobbits to sigh sadly. “Thou shalt not be so disheartened!” Glorfindel then cried, his golden hair waving in the wind. “A feast there is tonight! We will have it merrily and wait therein for King Elassar to arrive in our homely house.” Erestor rolled his eyes at his partner's proud and confident tone as he dramatically led the hobbits towards the hall of fire. Legolas smiled. Soon Gimli, Boromir and the twins departed also, with Elrond and Gandalf (deep in conversation) made their way towards the thick and rich gardens with Lindir trailing languorously behind them. Soon Legolas was left in Arwen’s presence, and the two shared a warm embrace.

“All is well in Ithilien?” She asked, peeling away and fixing him under her piercing azure eyes. “Most,” Legolas replied, intertwining their arms together as they walked into the house, “The elves are delighted to work on nurturing a forest so much like their own, however homesickness is quite a striking disease.” Arwen laughed at the joke. “Yes, I do believe I remember your reaction to being away from Greenwood on your first visit here.” She giggled at his dismayed expression. “I was just five-hundred!” He cried, forming quite an informal pout. “Such a measly age for a great warrior prince.” She said, smiling wide. “Oh dear, was I not informed that ‘such a great warrior prince’ was meant to skip that age? I need to have a word with my teachers after this holiday.” Legolas asked, frowning. “Yes, I should have a serious word with them.” Arwen nodded sternly before they both burst into a fit of laughter.

Four days passed in a mere blink, and soon enough, Aragorn rode through the stone arch of Imladris, dressed in his ranger gear. Legolas barely repressed an eye roll at the choice. “Really, Estel?” Elrohir cried, exasperated, “You have this giant wardrobe full of fancy, rich clothing and you wear…. that.” Elladan shook his head beside his brother. “I think there be nuffing wrong with Mr. Strider’s clothes.” Samwise spoke up, crossing his arms in a display of dominance. The twins giggled at him and the hobbit soon blushed in embarrassment before hiding himself behind Frodo. “See, Samwise approves.” Aragorn said, swinging himself off his horse, grinning like a dork.

“Yes, because Samwise is too polite to say otherwise.” Legolas voiced, moving forward to embrace his love. Aragorn accepted the hug with little hesitation. Gimli gagged from somewhere to their left, “Get a rooommmm.” He moaned and everyone laughed at him. Soon they all went off to their respective rooms whilst Gimli complained to Meriadoc and Peregrin about “Havin’ to deal with ‘ose two was a rough nightmare!”

Aragorn snorted and pulled Legolas in closer. “You look beautiful.” He murmured, kissing him on the cheek. The Prince flushed, he didn’t really look all that stunning, he was wearing a simple white gown with a silver belt and brown shoes. “I couldn’t say the same about you…” he said in turn and the King’s jaw went slack. “Legolas! Does thou mock me so?” He asked, pushing Legolas away from him. “Yes,” he replied after being pushed away. “How could one not mock you?”

“Samwise didn’t.” “We’ve been through this.”

“I’d like to properly go through it again.”

“How was the first time not properly!?”

“Because I said so.” “Oh, apologies, Your Highness.”

“Bow down to me, peasant.”

“I think you’ve forgotten who you speak of.”

“Who are you again?” “A peasant, apparently.” “You look like one.”

“At least I’m a beautiful one.”

“Who lied to thee?”

“THOU JUST SPOKE IT!”

“I have no memory of this… do you deem to make a fool of me, peasant!?”

“Oh my Eru…” Legolas sighed before tugging at Aragorn’s arm and pulling him in for a kiss. “Needy peasant…” the King mumbled and Legolas slapped him, “Sorry, sorry!”

“PIPPIN YULE!” Pippin yelled, jumping up beside the tree. “PIPPIN!” Merry cried “It’s Merry Yule. Not Pippin Yule!” He cried. “No fair! Why do you get a title!” Pippin voiced his disappointment. “I didn’t choose it!” Cried Merry in disbelief. “TRAITOR!”

Whilst the two hobbits argued back and forth, the others were busy moving around from table to table, enjoying the foods of the fine elven chefs in the kitchens. Legolas sat on the floor beside the tree with his head resting upon his lover’s shoulder. Gimli and Boromir were speaking of their own love lives because they thought that everyone should know (in reality they were jealous of all the coupling around them and brought the attention to themselves), Elrond and Arwen were dancing together as the Elven band plucked at their string instruments merrily in the background, Gandalf was watching whilst smoking his pipe with a newly arrived Biblo, Frodo was holding a crying Samwise after he had received his present which happened to be the finest gift for a gardener; a pair of cutters. Meanwhile on the opposite side of the hall, the twins were harassing Erestor whilst Glorfindel watched on, incredulity amused.

“Lord Glorfindel might return to the Halls of Mandos sooner than any would have anticipated…” Aragorn murmured, taking Legolas’ hand in his own. The Prince laughed, “Aye, the famous Balrog slayer, hero of the realms, reborn, and the bane of the Nazgul taken down by a fuming partner.” Legolas giggled, adjusting his head position. “Sounds like a fairy tale.” Aragorn replied, casting a look over to Erestor. “Might become a reality soon however.” Legolas smiled.

The day went on like this for hours, until Gandalf eventually roped everyone onto the dance floor and got the band to play – in Gimli’s words – ‘less depressing music’. Everyone danced with sounds of cherry laughter and blissful sounds as they all tried to manoeuvre around one another without toppling down to the ground. After ten minutes, Merry and Pippin ended up falling over Aragorn’s feet and declared that the dancing should become a competition to see who could last the longest.

Around another hour the only left standing were Legolas and Aragorn, Elrond and Arwen, and finally Glorfindel and Erestor. “Stupid elves…” Gimli muttered, crossing his arms over his red undershirt. “Not an elf!~” Aragorn sang smugly. The dwarf tossed a gold mug at the King’s head which he gracefully dodged and stuck his tongue out at the fuming dwarf. “Yes, this be the greatest Gondorian King, first to sit upon the throne in years, the saviour of realms, the–” Legolas began before Aragorn silenced him with a kiss. “Enough of that, peasant.” Everyone in the room groaned. Legolas pouted as they danced around the floor, “My rights are being taken away! Lord Elrond!” He whined. “Pity…” the Elven Lord replied, twirling his daughter around as she laughed.

Soon Aragorn’s measly human legs gave out and tripped Legolas onto the ground. The Prince ignored all the King’s pointless apologises as they watched the last two pairs. Soon, Glorfindel stepped on Erestor’s toes and got a painful cry, and a fuming partner as they were instructed to sit out by Merry. Lord Elrond and Arwen were crowned the winners and offered a pipe from Bilbo. Both respectfully declined.

As night drew nearer, Legolas stood on his balcony, gazing up at the stars high above. He whispered a prayer to Varda before going in and sitting down beside Aragorn, who had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. The Elven Prince smiled softly before dousing the blaze and finding a spare blanket before snuggling in beside his lover and placing the blanket on the both of them and falling asleep blissfully leaning on Aragorn.

#aralas #samfro #glorfindel x erestor #lotr one shot #my wriitng #writing #its not very good but it was kind of last-minute sooo #christmas #christmas tree #happy holidays

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floydleart · 1 year ago

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I would like to see more of your aus *holds out hands*, k thanks <3333

Ooh you’ll have to be more specific because I have a lot of aus. Most of which I’ve not made content for either 😅. I’ll give you a run down of them all. (All are Xephna in some way or another because I’m ill in the head.)

Royalty AU: Lalna is the crown prince of a kingdom on the verge of revolution due to the king’s (his father’s) ban against magic. After his primary guard Rythian attempts to assassinate him and is ousted, Xephos is appointed from a neighboring kingdom to be his new head knight. Features Rythian (magic enemy), Nanosounds (long time friend of Lalna’s, peasant), Lomadia (another knight on the guard), and Honeydew (neighboring kingdom’s king).

Fairy AU: Xephos is a fairy that lives in Lalna’s backyard/in his walls. Essentially just a story of them befriending each other despite being unable to communicate. I just like g/t stories lol. Features Zoeya (fairy) and Rythian (normal Rythian) a lot.

SCP AU: Lalna is a low-level scientist assigned to take care of a block of specimens at a supernatural facility. He quickly befriends many of the prisoners and realizes things are not as they seem. Features Xephos, Rythian, Zoeya, Teep (prisoners), Angor (head of facility), Bedgar (facility worker).

Mermaid AU: Lalna is an ocean marine biologist rooming with a plucky lighthouse keeper named Honeydew. He works at a facility in town at a research department and scorns his fellow worker Rythian for believing in supernatural things such as mermaids. That is, until he meets one. Features Xephos, (mermaid), Honeydew (lighthouse keeper), Rythian (coworker), Ridgedog (mermaid guard).

Twilight Forest AU: Lalna enters a new dimension of the Twilight Forest. On one of his expeditions he loses track of where his portal is, and a peculiar buck leads him back to it. He then also befriends a curious deertaur named Xephos. As they get to know each other, the true threat of the politics in the forest become more and more pressing. (Xephos is deertaur prince in this.) Features Strife (deertaur guard), Rythian (human guard for Mushling kingdom), Zoeya (Mushling princess), Honeydew (twilight forest dwarf).

Circus AU: This came out of @spacedoutsoap and I having one conversation but I still like it enough to mention it. It’s 1894, Angor runs a traveling circus full of wondrous characters. Is it all wonder behind the scenes though? Features Angor (co-owner and ringmaster), Honeydew (co-owner and strongman), Bedgar (mermaid-prisoner), Xephos (alien prisoner-acrobat), Lalna (pyrotechnics), Rythian (magician), Zoeya (magician’s assistant), and others.

#floyd answers #i play with these characters like dolls you must understand lmao #yogscast #aus #royalty au #mermaid au #scp au #twilight forest au #fairy au #circus au

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atotc-weekly · 6 months ago

Text

Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter VIII. Monseigneur in the Country

A beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly—a dejected disposition to give up, and wither away.

Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was occasioned by an external circumstance beyond his control—the setting sun.

The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. “It will die out,” said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, “directly.”

In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.

But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home.

The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All its people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. Expressive signs of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed.

Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women, their choice on earth was stated in the prospect—Life on the lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little village under the mill; or captivity and Death in the dominant prison on the crag.

Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilions’ whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening air, as if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-house gate. It was hard by the fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. He looked at them, and saw in them, without knowing it, the slow sure filing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagreness of Frenchmen an English superstition which should survive the truth through the best part of a hundred years.

Monsieur the Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before Monseigneur of the Court—only the difference was, that these faces drooped merely to suffer and not to propitiate—when a grizzled mender of the roads joined the group.

“Bring me hither that fellow!” said the Marquis to the courier.

The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at the Paris fountain.

“I passed you on the road?”

“Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed on the road.”

“Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?”

“Monseigneur, it is true.”

“What did you look at, so fixedly?”

“Monseigneur, I looked at the man.”

He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under the carriage.

“What man, pig? And why look there?”

“Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoe—the drag.”

“Who?” demanded the traveller.

“Monseigneur, the man.”

“May the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you call the man? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who was he?”

“Your clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part of the country. Of all the days of my life, I never saw him.”

“Swinging by the chain? To be suffocated?”

“With your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, Monseigneur. His head hanging over—like this!”

He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow.

“What was he like?”

“Monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered with dust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!”

The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but all eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur the Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his conscience.

“Truly, you did well,” said the Marquis, felicitously sensible that such vermin were not to ruffle him, “to see a thief accompanying my carriage, and not open that great mouth of yours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur Gabelle!”

Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other taxing functionary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this examination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in an official manner.

“Bah! Go aside!” said Monsieur Gabelle.

“Lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to-night, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle.”

“Monseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your orders.”

“Did he run away, fellow?—where is that Accursed?”

The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. Some half-dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis.

“Did the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?”

“Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as a person plunges into the river.”

“See to it, Gabelle. Go on!”

The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still among the wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save their skins and bones; they had very little else to save, or they might not have been so fortunate.

The burst with which the carriage started out of the village and up the rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. Gradually, it subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the many sweet scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a thousand gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, quietly mended the points to the lashes of their whips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dull distance.

At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with a Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was a poor figure in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the figure from the life—his own life, maybe—for it was dreadfully spare and thin.

To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been growing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. She turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly, and presented herself at the carriage-door.

“It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition.”

With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face, Monseigneur looked out.

“How, then! What is it? Always petitions!”

“Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, the forester.”

“What of your husband, the forester? Always the same with you people. He cannot pay something?”

“He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.”

“Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?”

“Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor grass.”

“Well?”

“Monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass?”

“Again, well?”

She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knotted hands together with wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-door—tenderly, caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be expected to feel the appealing touch.

“Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my petition! My husband died of want; so many die of want; so many more will die of want.”

“Again, well? Can I feed them?”

“Monseigneur, the good God knows; but I don’t ask it. My petition is, that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husband’s name, may be placed over him to show where he lies. Otherwise, the place will be quickly forgotten, it will never be found when I am dead of the same malady, I shall be laid under some other heap of poor grass. Monseigneur, they are so many, they increase so fast, there is so much want. Monseigneur! Monseigneur!”

The valet had put her away from the door, the carriage had broken into a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, she was left far behind, and Monseigneur, again escorted by the Furies, was rapidly diminishing the league or two of distance that remained between him and his chateau.

The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, and rose, as the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, and toil-worn group at the fountain not far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of the blue cap without which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man like a spectre, as long as they could bear it. By degrees, as they could bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights twinkled in little casements; which lights, as the casements darkened, and more stars came out, seemed to have shot up into the sky instead of having been extinguished.

The shadow of a large high-roofed house, and of many over-hanging trees, was upon Monsieur the Marquis by that time; and the shadow was exchanged for the light of a flambeau, as his carriage stopped, and the great door of his chateau was opened to him.

“Monsieur Charles, whom I expect; is he arrived from England?”

“Monseigneur, not yet.”

#a tale of two cities #atotc weekly #charles dickens #june 25 #the golden thread

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