#bloodquills

[edaigoa]

u have like 15 million asks from me already but here’s another: how do Si’iohema and Velix feel about their grandsons being enlisted in a militia? Do they worry, or think it’s irresponsible with so few of them left? What do they think of Shalyndr and Aruenna?

RIP I have so many old asks in here…Si’iohema and Velix both had a small twinge of Disapproval over the militia thing - not because they think it’s irresponsible, but because if you’re going to serve Quel’thalas why not join up with the regular military/navy/etc??? Velix himself is a long-retired city guard, and they view serving and protecting Quel’thalas, especially in it’s weakened state, as a honorable thing, even if they desperately want their remaining family to stay safe. But since that means they get to be full-time babysitters…well. They aren’t exactly complaining about it now.The thought of Shalyndr’s fate grieves them both. They have yet to run into her since returning, but Kalyanar rather than Lori was the one that told them that she was still ‘’’‘alive’’’’. They would both be terrified to see her again - but they would attempt to welcome her anyway. Aruenna scorned and was scorned in turn by them and the rest of the family a long, long time ago. Si’iohema is glad that she is still alive but has zero desire to seek her out or meet with her again at all. If Aruenna had children that might be another story. Velix however is a softhearted old man, and would reconcile with her if he thought she was sincere…but Aruenna is a far better liar than he is at seeing through lies, so it would end…poorly.

[moireia]

@hughstheforcelou kindly requested that I gush about Julien Fawley and here is the results. thank you so much for asking about my qudditch obsessed hufflepuff. There is a read more because I got carried away. 

Julien is truly the light to balance out Rue’s heavy and dark story.

His wand is redwood, dragon heartstring core. Redwood wands are popular because they bring good fortune to their owner; the wands themselves aren’t lucky but they are drawn to wizards who always manage to fall on their feet and make the most out of a bad situation. Dragon heartstring wands have the power to produce the most showy of spells.

Julien’s greatest love of his life is flying and related, quidditch. His favorite aunt gifted toddler Julien a small broom and he has been obsessed ever since. His favorite team is the Montrose Magpies. His favorite position is Keeper, but he starts off as a Chaser for Hufflepuff in Year 2.

He sucks at studying anything that isn’t Quidditch stats. Julien is one of those people who is almost infuriatingly lucky when it comes to passing. He doesn’t study but can get by. Except for Potions. He is terrible at Potions. He and Snape mutually dislike each other. It’s by Rue and Tracy’s efforts that he manages to get an Acceptable on his OWLs. 

Julien is incredibly friendly and can talk to anyone and wants to talk to everyone. In year 1, he notices how Rue often sits alone and he believes everyone deserves a friend and makes it his mission to become Rue’s friend. He earns her friendship because he never treats her, or Harry, any differently. He grew up hearing stories about the Potters because his father had played James in Quidditch when they went to Hogwarts and also he been part of the Order. The Potters were always just family friends, not mythical heros, in Julien’s mind.

He’s an only child, but has always wanted siblings. Cedric Diggory becomes a big brother figure for Julien. Julien was nervous as a first year, being away from his parents for the first time. But Cedric was very kind and showed him the secret to get to the kitchens. 

In year 4, Julien starts crushing on Harry and its a little agonizing to see Harry crush on Cho. But Julien is a loyal friend first and does his best to a be wingman to help Harry worked up the confidence to ask Cho out. Julien ends up going to the Yule Ball with a very cute boy from Beauxbatons. 

Julien tells Rue about his crush on her brother first because he values his friendship with Rue so much and doesn’t want to make things weird. Rue is surprised (but just cause she’s basically oblivious to regular teenage relationships) but very supportive. She thinks Harry and Julien are the best people in her life and that they would make each other happy, and that is what she dearly wants for both of them. 

Julien adores the Burrow a lot. The first time he visits is during the summer before fourth year. Harry and Rue are staying with the Fawleys and Julien’s parents allow them all to visit the Burrow as much as they want. It’s Julien’s favorite summer because it’s near constant Quidditch games with Harry and the Weasley boys and they all get to go to the World Cup. Also Mrs Weasley teaches him knitting spells and he starts making hats for the people in his life as Christmas gifts. 

Year 5 is a rough year for Julien and his arc parallels Harry’s and they grow close. Cedric’s death hits hard and Julien refuses to say that it was an accident, meaning he is in constant conflict with Umbridge. The bloodquills have a strong effect on Julien. 

Year 6 gets better. Julien makes Captain of the Hufflepuff Team and there is new romantic tension between him and the new Gryffindor Captain, Harry. And he doesn’t have to take Potions any more. And he drops DADA as soon as he hears Snape is the new professor. Cause fuck that. He doesn’t need DADA to be a quidditch player. And he will just let Harry tutor him if he wants to learn any new defense spells. 

[killinbills]

briar is literally the sweetest character ever (but isabelle is lowkey my favorite,, oops,,) and i'm wondering- did you plan out briar way before you wrote blue and included laurel, or was it laurel then briar & livvy?! (also they're all babey and blue was lowkey the first full-length hp fic i read on wattpad lmaoo)

thank u!!! originally i posted briar the year before i even thought of blue and she was a muggleborn and i ended up deciding to make laurel and remus her parents instead, but yeah when writing blue i knew the plotline with the bloodquills and briar’s death (she was gonna die in ootp but i wanted her to have more time with fred lol) apart from that though, i planned most of briar out when i finished blue!!

[faeriegardenz]

have you read the name of the wind by Patrick Rothfuss my brother got it for me for christmas & i just started reading it and ahh its so good

i’ve never read it !! i’ll check it out !!!

url: 8/10 ( nice domain !!! )

icon: 5/10

mobile: 5.5/10

theme: 5/10

posts: 6/10

overall: 6/10

do i follow: no sorry

blogrates !! 🌹🌿🌹

[tsaomengde]

What Is Owed (3)

(Part 1) (Part 2)

           After a night on the stone floor of the guest quarters given her by the King, Alia is awakened by the appearance of a serving woman. The woman takes one look at her and says, “Is there an issue with the bed of which I need be made aware, milady?”

           With a low growl, Alia sits up.  Her head hurts, her mouth is dry, and everything is too bright and too loud.  This is not atypical of her mornings, but she is still in no mood for visitors.  “No.”

           “Milady, then why –”

           Alia climbs stiffly to her feet, turns, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

           There are low, ominous creaking noises, followed by sounds of splintering.  She keeps eye contact with the serving woman, watching the horror and understanding blossom on her face, wondering if she will demand Alia stand up before the frame cracks completely through or if decorum will win out and keep her silent.

           “Milady, please!  I do beg your pardon.  Spare the bed my foolishness.  I was told you were consecrated of Yeda, but I thought not what it might bode.”

           Alia pushes off the balls of her feet, impressed. The bed holds, and assuming its next inhabitant weighs less than she does, she doubts there will be an issue. “So, my good maid.  Are you here to insist I bathe and change my clothes once more, or simply to ensure that I am awake for our departure?”

           Her intruder actually cracks a small smile.  “I heard tell of your grand entrance yesternight, milady.  May I remark that none amongst us are over-fond of Nadia.”

           Alia puts on a shocked look.  “It surpasses me to envisage why.”

           “To make an answer to your question, milady, the good ship Astes does depart in two hours. It was thought you might desire to make acquaintance with His Highness Prince Andral aforetime.”

           Considering the proposition of sleeping for another hour, Alia is sorely tempted to just tell this woman to go away.  But she decides that if she is going to be stuck on a skyship for two weeks with this boy and his retinue, she should make the attempt to ensure the voyage is not too unpleasant.  That probably involves talking to him at least once.

           This, she decides, can be the once, if once it indeed is.

           “I must refresh and make myself ready,” she says. “You may wait for me outside. Then I will go with you to the Prince.”

           That interaction temporarily concluded, Alia goes and carefully uses the indoor toilet.  It is not a thing she is used to, but the maid has done somewhat to soften Alia’s feelings toward the Palace staff after her encounter with Nadia, and consequently she feels little desire to make their lives difficult.  Across from the indoor toilet there is a basin, and some device of smooth, curved marble which brings forth cold, clear water into it.  A recent invention, she knows; the last time she was in this Palace, some twenty years ago, none of the guest quarters had anything like it.  She does not know what they are called or how they work.

           Alia splashes some of the water onto her face, and drinks some until she feels refreshed.  The water is somewhat brackish, but it is serviceable.

           Feeling slightly more human, she allows the serving woman to lead her up through winding staircases and steeply sloped halls to the Palace aerodrome.  It is an ambitious space that also did not exist twenty years ago; Stryga has added much to the Palace since his coronation, it seems.  The top of the tower has essentially been sliced off, and a steel floor the size of a city block has been laid flat atop it.  Tall, arched pillars of black stone rise out of the floor high into the air, supporting a glass dome lined with airsteel struts.  The structure is truly massive, capable of engulfing even the largest skyships.

           Alia knows this construction is not just for its own sake; though she is mostly uninformed about the mechanics of skyship flight, she does know the conventional wisdom that it is easier to climb than descend. Most aerodromes are constructed as high up as possible, and this one is no exception.

           The aerodrome could accommodate several vessels the size of Astes, which is the kingdom’s largest civilian skyship, but it is currently the only one docked.  Alia quietly wonders at the wisdom of not sending the Prince aboard a military craft, but then considers the prospect of Oallans breaking the surface of the waves to look up at a vast floating fortress bearing down on them.  Friendly hands behind the guns or no, Alia knows firsthand the experience of looking up into the sky and seeing the black mouth of a hellcannon gaping down back at her.

           The Astes is like a silvery dart, chopped in half along its horizontal length so it is flat-topped, and then magnified to several times the size of a red whale.  At a glance, Alia estimates it can hold seventy people, including the crew, and several tons of cargo.  More people could take the place of cargo in its hold, but she has been aboard enough skyships to know that they would not be comfortable. She notes the cunning concealment of its heat vents in the craft’s smooth lines, its broad windows, the lack of any visible armament.  Like most civilian skyships, it has no top deck, containing the crew and passengers entirely within its hull.

           Ramps extend from the ship’s belly, its bow, and its stern.  Men in grey and brown uniforms are loading cargo through the belly ramp, while occasional knots of colorfully-clad civilian passengers – noblepersons, merchants, and artisans, Alia guesses – embark through the stern ramp.  The bow ramp seems reserved for the ship’s crew, and is unused, at least for the moment.

           Prince Andral and his retainers are standing at the base of the bow ramp, apparently having a discussion with the Astes’s captain, an older woman in sharp blue trousers and doublet.  Andral is only slightly taller than Alia, sharp-featured, imperially slim.  His skin is a shade lighter than his father’s, though still rich and coppery; his charcoal hair is long, braided, and gathered in a knot at the base of his skull to hang between his shoulder blades.  He wears a smart beard, neatly trimmed.  Instead of the traditional doublet and trousers, he favors a long, white overcoat, a green waistcoat and breeches, black hose, and thick-soled, practical boots.

           The serving woman bids Alia goodbye and scurries off. Alia watches her go, wondering at the seeming suddenness of her departure, then shrugs it off and heads for the Prince.

           As she draws closer, Alia can hear what he is saying to the captain.  His voice is controlled and precise.  “I desire no special regard aboard ship, Captain.  I require only that we come to Oalla as soon as may be.”

           The captain shifts her weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable.  “Your Highness, by this do you mean we must make course for Oalla first, letting our other destinations fall by the wayside until such time as we have discharged our duty to you?”

           Andral crosses one arm over his belly, rests the elbow of the other atop the first, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “How much time might be gained if you should do this thing?”

           “Perhaps five days, Your Highness.”

           “I sense reluctance.  Wherefore?”

           The captain looks down at her feet.  “Spoilage of certain goods we have taken aboard ship, Your Highness.  The rancor of certain travelers whose passage we secured with promises of swift deliverance to journey’s terminus.”

           “Gold may serve to assuage such rancor and soothe the sting of goods lost.”  Andral snaps his fingers, and one of his retinue, a middle-aged woman wearing the flowing robes of a scribe and numerologist, steps forward.  In one hand she holds a sheaf of paper, in the other a bloodquill.  “You may relate your potential losses to Ora, here.  My father will make recompense to you upon your return.”

           Alia sighs.  She was so hoping this might not be painful.

           Clearing her throat, she speaks up.  “Your Highness,” she says.  “I think that an ill turn.”

           Expression clouding, Andral whirls and scans her from head to toe in one glance.  “Who are you that should assume to dictate thus to me?”

           “Alia the Steelblooded,” she replies, not liking to use her full title but knowing she needs moral authority here and hoping that martial authority will do instead.  “His August Majesty King Stryga has charged me with your protection on this voyage.  To that end, I must caution you against this.  You risk the displeasure of the crew and your fellow passengers.  The captain cannot say these things to you, but I may.”

           Andral narrows his eyes, which for the first time Alia realizes are an unusually light shade of hazel.  “You presume much upon your relationship with my father, it seems.”

           “I hope not overmuch.”  Alia holds that bright gaze, not flinching.  She is as far from afraid of Andral as it is possible to be without being actively contemptuous.  He is, after all, just a boy, not even twenty years old yet.  She vaguely recalls people in the streets discussing the ceremony of his coming of age, some months ago, but that does not make a boy a man.

           With a slight sigh, Andral looks back at the captain. “Should I heed the words of Alia the Steelblooded, Captain?  Speak freely, with no fear of rebuke.”

           “Were I in your place, Your Highness,” the captain says, still looking at her feet, “I should be mindful of her most excellent advisement.”

           Andral looks back at Alia, holds her gaze a moment longer, then inclines his head.  “So shall it be, then.  I thank you for your wise counsel, Alia the Steelblooded.  Take sup with me this eve in my cabin.”

           Pursing her lips, Alia nods, deciding to ignore the peremptory tone.  He did thank her, after all, and she does not want to strain things any more.  “Until then, Your Highness.”

           He turns away with a sweep of his long coat and marches straight up the bow ramp, his attendants scurrying to keep up.

           “I must extend my sincerest gratitude, milady,” the captain murmurs quietly once Andral is aboard.

           Alia switches to the merchants’ jargon.  “Royalty are hippos.  Large mouths, large wakes, many attendant little birds.”

           That gets a chuckle out of the captain.  “And fierce tempers.  And no patience.  And a large number so dumb they shit where they eat.”

           “This one is a little smart.  He sees when he is being dumb, with help.”

           “Aye.  Gratitude again.  You are welcome on my boat.”  The captain gives her shoulder a squeeze Alia does not feel, and turns to go.

           Alia does not initially intend to stop her.  But she eyes the bow ramp, considering the prospect of dinner with Andral that evening.  “Captain,” she says, switching back to Fillorel.  “Before you away, there is a question I would ask.”

           “Yes, milady?”

           “In which part of your vessel do you keep the bar?”

[ao3feed-snape]

You're Not Supposed to be Here?

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3fEVS6R

by pretty_scary_vampire

Muggles can't see Hogwarts in all its glory. Instead, they see smoking, crumbling ruins that they avoid at all costs in fear of being crushed to death. What happens when a young woman decides that she's going to explore Hogwarts? Chaos, an annoyed Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall being ignored, and never ending giggling, that's what.

Words: 1849, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Cordelia Jinx (ofc), Dolores Umbridge, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, Hogwarts Students

Additional Tags: Muggle stumbles upon Hogwarts, Minor crack fic energy, Seriously though. Someone sticks their tongue out at Snape and glares at him, And then they destroy Umbridge's bloodquill, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chaos Chaos and more chaos, A muggle causes classes to be cancelled, No mudering today thank you, Let's not be killed by a territorial ghost, The lemon drops are not poisoned even if it may seem like it

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3fEVS6R

[everything-tony-feared]

Bucky Barnes/James Barnes/The Winter Soldier imagines

Hi all! This is a pretty long list of possible situations for you and our darlin' Plum. Feel free to use them however, and if possible, tag me! I love reading Bucky x Reader (or Bucky x Tony, ikik..) and there's just never enough of it around.

I'm thinking about doing some of these so let me know if you're interested in reading one!

You are a consultant on cultural behavior, which means you detail the best appearance, attitude, and quirks for an undercover agent to have. Given your indepth knowledge, Fury assigns you the arduous task of bringing Steve Rogers and James Barnes up to speed on history post-1949.

You have known Tony for 15 years. You were born on August 1st, 1980, and attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After the war, you found yourself numb and detached from life, with your only surviving close friends and family being Harry James Potter and Ron Weasley. After suffering through apathy and depression for five years, at the age of 23, you throw yourself through the Veil. Unsure if you will encounter a blissful void, screeching hellfire and your righteous maker, or some other world, you put all your belongings in an extended bag and welcome the final step. Funnily enough, you fell face-forward into a gutter. 15 years later, Tony calls on you to consult on the portals opening at random. Unsure what to expect, seeing as you are the last magical being on this earthly realm, you agree. What you find brings back memories of parseltongue, bloodquils, and man with 7 lives. Bucky x Reader.

Born into an impoverished family, Y/N Y/L/N is the last in a long line of witch-hunters. Your father was already well into his 60s when you were born, so when he passed, it was just your mother left to instill the family doctrine in you. Despite this all, you eventually turn to a life of normalcy, and become a historian specializing in occult artifacts (that's normal, right?). Stephen Strange is a close friend, and eventually asks you to help him in his research kickstarted by Jane Foster. You come into contact with all of the Avengers although you've barely held a conversation past "Hi, how ya doin'?". With Darcy as your new best friend, and her ridiculous affair with the God of Lies, you find yourself reciting the words your father had carved into his flesh. "For our King, our God, and the Righteousness of Divinity, may God have Mercy upon your Filthy Soul." Would be very interesting with a fictional twist on a religion or faith of your choosing. Bucky x Reader where eventually Reader is the only person in the tower/compound who can successfully defend herself against attacks by the supernatural without heavy firepower- Bucky being the exception of course. Horror!theme?

It had been a nice sunny day in Manhattan. You thought to yourself, "You know what, this is gelato weather. I deserve gelato." And instead you get shot by some asshole with a red star on his shirt, kidnapped by a blonde man with a shield, and then told it was your fault for telling the red star asshole to leave your landlord alone.

Peter thinks he's sly- that you don't know about his spandex-wearing cobwebby bullshit. Ha! You'd lived next door all your life. Your WINDOW faces his. Who does he think he's fooling? Doesn't matter, he got you into a Stark Expo VIP tour. But hey, that tall brooding dude looks like he needs a laugh. Wait, what do you mean you can't say "Who pissed in your cornflakes?" to the Winter Soldier? He's not the Winter Soldier, he- oh. Shit. Haaa..haha.. "PETER!!"

As Tony Stark's assistant, you've seen a lot of stuff. You've seen him butt naked, you've seen him so drunk he thought you were Rhodey (somehow), and you've even had your heart in his chest. You and he trust each other completely. One day, you get a call and it's a hospital in Y/Home/Town. They say your grandpa had a heart attack. And so you're on leave for 2 months making sure he's okay. Ol' Dirty Dugan doesn't go down easy. When you return, there is a strange split in the team. Tony spends even more time in his lab, he smells awful, and there's bags under his eyes. The team doesn't mention him and you notice they don't call him out for missions anymore. Wtf? After some digging you find out that Clint, Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Wanda are convinced Tony is a piece of shit. They think he's selfish, a coward, and a pervert, all because of misinformation and his public image. Hell fucking no. Thank god they thawed Barnes out, at least he isn't partaking in Bully-Tony-Tuesday. In fact.. he seems to be just as distant and despondent as Tony. You have a lot of work to do.

Bucky is your best friend. In the sense that, you don't have any real friends, and he doesn't let people close. But you bring him coffee, he shares his protein bars, and sometimes you two watch youtube together. Then one day an office clerk slaps your ass. What does Bucky do? He fractures the guys jaw.

"Happy Birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.. Happy Birthday, dear (Y/N), happy..birthday..to me.." Nobody remembered. Again. Your parents didn't call. Your sister didn't call. Your old friends didn't call. Nobody on the team said anything, but then again, they probably didn't know.. you are just a lab assistant anyway. Oh, well, Jarvis 2.0 did say Happy Birthday. That was nice. Bucky overheard Jarvis, though. So he goes out and buys some flowers, a bottle of sake, and a cheesecake. And then you cry and doesn't know why. Happy birthday to me. Oneshot. Fluffy angst.

They didn't know you were sick. None of them. You were conveniently out of town when the medical check ups took place, and never allowed the pain to show on your face. But one day at work you collapse, and they can't wake you up. Cho discovers you have kidney disease. You're dying and have been for a while. Tony pays top dollar for an immediate transplant, but it will still take a month or two. You used to have morning chats with Barnes after his run. You always were an early bird. But now he's on assignment somewhere secret, and you feel even more numb. Bucky couldn't handle the thought that you'd die (you won't but he doesn't know that), so he runs. He runs and immerses himself in a mission, believing you'd never feel the same way.

You came home and discovered your boyfriend of eight years in bed with a woman you'd never seen before. Turns out they'd been having a secret affair for nearly 5 years. You are arrested for punching him in the face- not that you remember, you blacked out in rage- and humourously enough, Barnes is the one who collects you from the station. It's okay, you hadn't been in love with Jerry for a long time, but it still hurt. So when you see Jerry with his 'side chick' three months later, you also discover Bucky had a sense of humour. Apparently you're now married to James Barnes, have been for a while, and are pregnant. Of course you're not but somehow Bucky knew just what to say and do to piss Jerry right off.

[goaprose]

.15 Thieves | SG SW 2.2017 | Sunspear Quest: Stop the Thefts

15th: FREE WRITE. Congratulations on making it halfway (+1 day) through the month!

Free write done for the Sunspear Quest: ‘Stop the Thefts’

Armor clanked heavily as the figure made her way through the opulent halls of the Dawnspire, no sword or spear but a humble clipboard and parchment clutched in a gauntleted hand.  Shalyndr Bloodquill worked her way down the list, personally visiting storerooms, cold rooms, wine cellars, and even the rooms of a few minor-ranking officers. All locations where items had been reported missing.

She skirted around the infirmary and its missing medical supplies, for personal reasons.  But a check of the list showed a similarity with the others.

Food, was the most commonly listed, missing from inventory.  Easily transported, non-perishable food, like dried meats, hard cheeses, and hardtack.  Field rations, already packed and ready to be shipped to the front. The issues with the officers missing...personal effects, she quickly realized, was unconnected, and discarded from her own search.

She searched the storeroom from top to bottom, while a guard waited impatiently from the doorway. The storeroom had outside access, the in the form of a tiny cellar window. Curiously, a heavy crate was already in front of it- not that the tall death knight needed it to see up to it, but for someone else… The window was far too small for her, even with her armor off- but it was just the right size for a child to squeeze through. The crate gave a shorter person perfect access to and from the window.

She smiled grimly when a quick inspection showed how the latch on the window could be jimmied open- from the outside.  Carefully, she replaced it as it had been.

“Guard.  I’ll need a maintenance request form, if you would show me where they are kept.”

“Ma’am.  And the window?”  He frowned.

“A trap, for the culprit, or culprits.  I believe I’ll take a watch, tonight.”

--

Shalyndr returned near dusk after completing her rounds through the other rooms on the missing inventory list. All had reported their missing inventory on the same days and within the same area, but she had not located any other obvious entry points.  And the first storeroom, she found, did not lock from within.

For these thefts at least, the storeroom was the access point.

Still clutching her clipboard, Shalyndr took up a silent vigil within the unlit stockroom, making sure the glow of her eyes would be invisible from anyone attempting to come in through the tiny window.  It was a perfectly reasonable choice - she was dead.  She hardly needed to sleep, and could maintain a watch all night. Pinfeathers, her eagle companion who was even more dead and scraggly than she was, sat with her as always, his unyielding stare locked on the little window and the hint of the moon showing through the glass.

The only noises for most of the night was the sound of her quill, rasping on parchment as she filled out her report, and the occasional thump-thump-thumps as the Dawnspire guards went about their rounds outside the door.  There was no guarantee that the tiny thief would strike again - but it had been nearly five days since the last irregular inventory count.  Whoever they were, they had to be getting hungry once again…

She was halfway through the maintenance request form for the finagled lock when Pinny perked up.  Even dead and missing the most of the flesh on his beaky head, the eagle somehow still maintained better hearing than her. She motioned him silent, and waited.

“-uick!  Get the lock!”

“I got it!  Shhhh!  Hurry up!”

The faint creak of the windowpane lifting up- followed by three faint -thumps- as small feet in cheap leather soles landed down on the crate in front of the window. She waited, but no more seemed to be forthcoming.

“Come on! I’m hungry!”

“I got my bag!  You better not have forgotten yours!”

A boy and a girl, and another she couldn’t discern, perhaps from their extreme youth. Barely more than children, she could tell from the tones of their voices and the sounds of their quick rummaging through the supplies.  The couldn’t reach up past the third shelf without straining on tiptoe.  Orphans, more than likely.  A bit young for gang members, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t already been pressed into service as ‘runners’ or pickpockets, in addition to breaking and entering.

A pity she was going to have to give them the scare of their little lives, but it was better than letting them ruin their futures. Or starve to death, once they were cut off from their source.

Stepping out from behind the shelving she had been hidden behind, it took the first child a almost comically long moment to notice her. A soft gasp, a burlap sack of dried beans falling from small hands.  Shalyndr opened her mouth-

“-Scatter!” The ringleader howled, and three little bodies blurred into motion.

Ah.  That’s how it was going to be.

A sweeping gesture sent a wave of ice across the window the children had come in through- as well as the other windows, wall, and part of the ceiling, prompting startled, high little screams.  Whoops. Immediate escape route blocked, the children bolted for the door-

And ran face-first into the watch guard waiting outside.  They squirmed and shrieked, and the guard only had two arms. The third nearly slipped away- only to be caught by the scuff by chilly gauntlets at the last moment.

“Child.  You are in serious trouble-”

“Don’t eat us!”

“I want my mommy!”

“I was just hungry!  I wanna go home!”

“Oh, for Light’s sake, child, I am not going to eat you,” Shalyndr grumped, pinching her nose even as the guard chuckled, a gentle sort of pity on his face as he kept up a careful but firm hold on the children.  She was glad for it; at least he could the humor in the situation. The children were young enough and scruffy enough looking that they could surely be given a new start and new opportunities elsewhere...

“I’m not going to eat you, but you really are in serious trouble,” she said, helping the guard match the trio off.

“I agree,” said he guard. “To the brig, with the three of you. Prisoners get three square meals a day and warm beds, at least.”

“And I’m sure some sort of jobs can be arranged, to work off the cost of what you children stole.”

There were still tears aplenty, but the notion of food kept the poor children from becoming hysterical.  Shalyndr nodded, satisfied with the catch, and getting hungry children off the streets. Yes, new opportunities for the lot of them...after they were done being thoroughly scared straight.

edited

[killinbills]

can you tell us a bit about what you had planned for briar's first version (the muggleborn brandy one)? if you remember of course

so:

she was scottish

best friends with the twins then i realised she would be cute w fred

she uses a bloodquill BUT she DIES from it and like just before she croaks she says that she loves fred

tbh it.... needed a lot of work but it’s where briar started. like i think the good thing about unpublishing fics and revamping them is that you can really understand what works and what doesn’t, and you can bring out the best story because of it, and yeah :-) thx brandy for briar

ask me questions!!

[feverfudqe]

bloodquills replied to your post:bloodquills replied to your post:bloodquills...

that kinda depressin #missingnick

same, does he have a new tumblr?

[tsaomengde]

What Is Owed (8)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

            It is a pleasant day in the capitol of Randra.  Xora of House Daon has decided that she will be handling business on the balcony today; her servants have moved her desk and chair, and positioned a parasol to shade her from the sun.

           She frowns down at the papers spread across the mahogany of her desk.  Even in this age of decreased demand for skyship parts, production from the family manufactories is down.  There have been persistent issues with the workers’ union; the new union head is an idealist who has proved insufferably immune to any attempts at bribery or other enticement.  If this continues, Xora fears that she will have to turn to cruder, more direct methods of coercion, and she dislikes such things.  They smack of a lower-class attitude.

           There is a familiar, heavy tread on the marble floor behind her.  Xora puts down her bloodquill and sighs to herself.  Clearly, there is going to be more than one disappointment to deal with today.

           She gazes out at the magnificent view of the city afforded by her balcony.  The Daon estate is one of the highest-floating in Randra, located at the end of the aristocrats’ way.  From her seat, she can literally look down on all the other mansions, gently straining against their tethers in the midafternoon breeze.  Sweeping her gaze east toward the Palace, she then stares past it at the vast farming plains, golden with wheat yet to be harvested, and the orchards, vineyards, the jostling collection of moss enclosures…

           Past all of those, nearly three days’ walk away, dark against the slopes of the Red Mountains, are the skyship manufactories.  Their effluvium makes them noisome neighbors, and by decree of the throne they cannot sit within the bounds of the city itself. Xora is forced to house her workers there because of this distance, and as part of her agreement with the union she provides skyship transport for them back into the city every fourth day, to see their families.

           She meditates on the great sacrifices required of an industrial noble house in this day and age as she waits for her professional killer to speak.

           “The skyship is downed, Milady Daon.”

           Xora returns her attention to the papers before her. There is a request from the union head for an additional day of rest every third return trip to the capitol. She can deny it, of course, but then it will become a demand, and demands are often backed up by production decreases and even outright strikes.  “What of it?” she asks.

           “Your orders have been fulfilled.”

           Carefully, Xora begins drafting a formal response to the union head, suggesting an additional day of rest every fourth trip, and a per-day increase of wages to those workers who choose to forgo it and return early.  “My orders were that Prince Andral should be killed, Aya.  Have you his body?”

           There is that telltale hesitation.  “No, Milady Daon.”

           “Have you something of his without which he might not live?  His heart, perhaps?”

           “No, Milady Daon.”

           Xora puts her bloodquill down again.  “Then how is it you speak to me of my orders being fulfilled, when you have naught but word of a skyship crash?  Does it not occur to you that a person might survive such an incident?”  She finally looks over her shoulder at Aya.  The woman is too tall, too broad, her hair and eyes too red.  Her very personage is a distraction, even an offense.

           And now she is missing the fingers of her right hand.

           Aya visibly swallows.  She tucks the hand, which is extensively bandaged, beneath her other arm, as though hiding it will make the evidence of her incompetence less damning. Looking at her, Xora also notes similar bandaging along the muscular curve of her neck and shoulder.  

           “It does occur, Milady Daon.”

           Xora rises, smoothly rotates her seat, and sits again facing her tool.  “Then give explanation of yourself.”

           “The Astes went down into the Diroc Sea, Milady Daon.  Far from shore.  Even if any survived –”

           “What befell your hand, Aya?” Xora asks her.

           Aya’s eyes flick down to her injured appendage, then back to Xora’s face.  “I fought the Prince.  He used a counter-spell and exploded one of my bolts of power.”

           “Interesting.”  Xora taps a manicured finger against her chin.  “The Prince, a mage?  It seems he has concealed his true potential.  I find I am curious wherefore.”

           “Milady Daon, he – I do not believe he is a mage. The counter-spell he used – I have never seen the like.  I believe him…”  Aya glances around, as though afraid that they could possibly be overheard here, in Xora’s place of power.  “I believe him a Feyblood.”

           Xora actually leans forward in her seat. “Such an idea is impossible.”

           “But Milady Daon –”

           Feeling herself grow irritated, Xora flicks a finger at Aya.  The woman staggers back as though she has been struck.  Her lower lip splits and begins to slowly weep blood.

           “Andral,” Xora says, quietly and implacably, “is not a Feyblood.  If he were, he would be the heir appointed, mayhap even King afore now.  He would not be Stryga’s sacrificial piece in this game of alliances and peaceful politicking.”

           “Milady, you have just said yourself he seems to have concealed his potential.”

           “There is a difference between keeping hidden the fact that one knows something of magic, and keeping hidden that one’s very being is joined to the roots of magic itself.”  Xora narrows her eyes.  “You know naught of nobility and royalty, Aya.  We are ever enclosed in walls of eyes.  There are well-recognized signs of being a Feyblood.  Andral could not but reveal these to his attendants.”

           “Might they not keep his secret?”

           Xora actually laughs, a bitter sound full of scorn. “Cachet is all in our circles, Aya, and secret knowledge is leverage.  What attendant would forgo the use of such leverage to obtain cachet?  There is not one attendant, not a one, who would keep such a thing from all others, seeking not to use it for their own gain.  For a hired killer, you strike me as disturbingly naïve.”

           Aya lowers her gaze to the ground and says nothing.

           “Now,” Xora says.  “Andral is a mage.  We will thus assume he at least still lives.  We will further assume he intends to continue to Oalla, by whatever means.  Therefore, you shall send out your hunters, and make ready to intercept him wherever he may come.  This alliance must fail.”

           To her credit – the first time today she has displayed any sense, Xora thinks – Aya does not ask why.  It is, after all, not for her to know the reasons, only to obey.

           She does say, however, “Milady Daon?  There is one more detail of which I think you should be made aware.”

           “Speak,” Xora commands.

           “The Prince has a bodyguard we did not expect.  Alia the Steelblooded.”

           Xora stares at her.  “Stryga exhumed that withered corpse of a warrior?  I truly had thought her dead these past ten years.”

           “She killed many men without visible effort or wound. And, as I felt when I laid an enchantment on her, she did this while stone drunk.”

           Tapping her chin again, Xora muses, “Andral a mage, and the Steelblooded with him?  I shall multiply your budget, Aya.  Hire whomsoever you deem capable of overcoming these difficulties.  Price is no object.”

           Aya shuffles.  “And my own share?”

           “I shall duly increase your compensation for your woes.” Xora turns her chair back to her desk, indicating the audience is over.  “And see my house artificer, Aya.  He will fashion you a dwimmerlike to replace your hand.  We cannot have you maimed.  It is unseemly.”

           “Milady Daon, it is only the fingers which are gone.”

           Xora raises a hand and flicks a finger.

[dracosferret]

lokishappysolstice said: Danish person here, who doesn’t have any more classes, ONLY EXAMS :’(

aww you'll be okay sweetie :))

@bloodquills said: i’m about to go to school sooooo

aw lol. 

@agoldenrosewiththorns said: Hi

Hi :))

[hagridspumpkin]

do you prefer white chocolate or dark chocolate?

answer: dark chocolate i actually like dark chocolate like nobody does but idk? its so good

Icon: 9/10

Theme: 9/10

Overall: 9/10 :)

[aryeastark]

bloodquills said: oMg gurl you’ve never played it??>????!??!?!?!?!?!?!? ok download faster

NOOOO IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO IT SAYS 13 MORE MINUTES THOUGH AKJGLA

[goaprose]

.02: Doting | SG SW 2.2017

2nd Day: What is/was your character's relationship with their parents? How do they express their feelings towards one another -- or, if their parents are deceased, do they carry on their legacy in some fashion?

-Approximately 35 years ago-

Shalyndr sighed, shifting in place at her post. Nights in Silvermoon were generally quiet, which was a good thing of course, but it also meant that a guard had little to do in between rounds.  Glancing up toward a nearby rooftop, she watched her bloodquill eagle doze at his own perch; the breeze coming in from the sea left a soft chill in the air, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and take a nap herself.  Armor clanking softly as she shifted, going about her rounds around the block, then resettling again. Bored. But alert, and dutiful.  But bored.

Then her eagle perked up abruptly and let out a soft warning cry, just as a shiver went up Shalyndr’s spine.

“Who goes there?” The spellbreaker reached for her polearm, wary but unafraid.  A familiar laugh rang out, and she spun instinctively as the soft tread of shoes sounded out behind her. She gasped.

“Lori!”

“Whoa! Minn’da!” Her son laughed, appearing out from the shadows dressed in dark leathers, and deftly dodged the blunt end of her spear. She nearly swung it at him again on principle, before swiftly sheathing it and bustling forward.

“Iiloridan!  Don’t do that! Foolish boy!” She chided even as her voice turned to a low laugh; she cupped the young elf’s cheeks in her gauntleted palms, pressing a kiss down onto his forehead and giving his ear a sharp tweak.

“Aw, minna…” He blushed but didn’t bother to pull away, covering his ear protectively as he leaned up on tip-toe to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek.

“What are you doing over on this side of the city?  And at this time of night?”

“Well, I brought you some tea, for one” he said, offering her a steaming mug pulled from the depths of one of his bags. The spellbreaker took it gratefully, but frowned, staring at her son.

“Lori, dear, I love you, but you didn’t just come all the way over here to give me tea. You’re going away again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, biting his lip. “I’ve got my next set of orders.”

“How far?  For how long?”

“I’m not sure how long.  As long as it takes to complete my task.  Far South,” Iiloridan said, pointedly evasive. He patted at the thin blades sheathed at his waist, glancing off into the darkened alleys around them. Shalyndr winced, but nodded in understanding.  They both served Quel’thalas in their own way, and for now his task was likely sensitive.  She’d probably get an earful about his mission later.

“Thank you for letting me know.  Be careful.  Please.”

Iiloridan smiled, slipping his mother a easy, teasing salute, before he began to vanish back into the shadows. “Of course.  You too, minna.  Love you.”

“And I you, my dear.”

minor edits from original submission

[manlymandrakes-blog]

I decided to make another one of these, just because I've followed so many great people and wanted to make something to show them how wonderful I think they are! If you guys ever need anything or just want to get to know each other, please feel free to say something. <3 

☆ A - F: accioknickers; anondracomalfoy; bloodquills; buckbeakisback; darkmarks; dearhufflepuff;  deatheaters; draco-do-you-mind-if-i-slytherin; dracosferret; ehverdeens; expectoopatronum; explliarmus;  fantasticremus;               f-irebolts; fredweasleyislove

★ G - L: gingerginny; hellodraco; hogsmeads; -hungarianhorntail;  iamiweasley; lovinggranger; lunaloveqood 

☆ M - R: mountaintrolls; mydraco; ohlumos; ohtonks; potters;  prongsandhisflower; purebloodraco; riddlesbitch; r-lupins;  ronsandharrys; -rowling;

★ S - Z: sirepotter; sir-potter; sybilltrelawneys; the-last-enemy;  toddsfall; triwizardry; queenriddle