#folly of the fountains

[starfacedstudio]

Hey hey! I've seen your grown up lancer doodles! I have a question, it looks like he has horns

Are they horns?? Or just part of his crown??

ID: A page of sketches featuring an adult version of Lancer from deltarune. The design notably features a fur-trimmed, hooded cape and he has three horns. End ID.

they are in fact horns! The crown fits over top of them :)

[dozydawn]

[queer-ragnelle]

Sir Yvain before and after his victory in The Follies of Sir Harold by Phyllis Ann Karr

[sinswithpleasure]

The Devils Send Their Regards — Giselle

—---------—

Warning: Coarse Language, specifically in the liberal use of it while disrespecting women. A lot of the use of "slut".

Finally finished because @midnightdancingsol complained there weren’t enough Giselle fics, which I agree.

A very early Christmas fic <3

—---------—

"Tis the season to be slutty, fa la la la la~"

Uchinaga Aeri admires the throng of drunken revelers dancing beneath her feet from her balcony. She drinks from her wine glass, the alcohol sending warmth down her throat as she swallows. Loud techno beats blast from the overhead speakers, the multi-colored lasers waving in their arcs across the walls. The dance floor is as full as always, just as it is every night. 

"Miss Uchinaga."

A waiter appears behind her with a bottle in hand. Aeri raises her glass, and he refills it with more red wine.

"Mm. Thank you, dear."

"My pleasure, Miss Uchinaga."

Even on Christmas, the club is just as busy as it would be on other days. Aeri giggles to herself—it just meant more prime specimens to scout out for. She takes a glance at the giant neon sign bathing her club in a deep red. 

La Fontaine De Jouvence

Aeri downs the glass of wine and leaves it on the parapet of the balcony. She takes in a deep breath—multiple scents register in her senses. Nothing escapes her notice, not when she owns the entire building. She has eyes on every nook and cranny of her club. 

'Oh, the folly of youth. Drugs, alcohol…'

Eyes flash bright green.

'Sex.'

She'll definitely have her share of the fountain tonight. 

—---------

Christmas Day means nothing to the wild youths of the party scene—it is nothing but another excuse to live hard, party harder. After all, holidays should be celebrated to its fullest extent, right?

You step into tonight's nightclub of choice—'La Fontaine De Jouvence'. You scoff at the idea of the pretentious name. The Fountain of Youth? It's just a nightclub, nothing fancy about it. Who, in their right mind, would name a club like that? 

A shake of your head, and you dismiss the thoughts. You're not here to ponder the intricate thought processes of a nightclub owner anyway; you're here to drink, maybe do some drugs, show your moves on the floor, and pick up a bitch whose pussy you're going to fill with your cum for tonight. It is with that thought that you step down to the bar for your first drink of the night. 

Reach the bottom of the stairs. Take two steps to your left to move past the couple making out. Take another two to the right to slide between two partygoers with snow still on their nostrils, dancing. You're right at home in this chaos. Christmas parties at the clubs are always pure fun due to the relaxed societal restrictions—the women are allowed to dress as slutty as they want to, and you're definitely leering at any of the Santa girls dancing around you. You drool at the sight of one of them drunkenly twerking to the loud bass emanating from the speakers, your cock hardening as her skirt rises up to reveal bare skin, her pussy out for all to view. Another girl next to her grinds against a man, and you're wishing you'll be as lucky as he is when she grabs his hand and slides it under her top. You reluctantly tear your eyes away from the free porn and hop onto one of the seats at the bar. 

"Gin and tonic, please."

You eye the bartender up and down when she turns to prepare your drink. Light brown locks cascade down her back. She's dressed in a Santa outfit, just like most of the other girls here are wearing, and you stare at the little strip of skin between her top and skirt. Your eyes roam next to her thighs—the skirt she has on ends mid-thigh, and you smirk at the thought of this girl, bent over the counter as you fuck her with that skirt on. 

When she turns around to you, you're met with one of the prettiest faces you've seen. Bright doe eyes above a cute button nose, with a pair of red luscious lips, you're instantly enamored with whoever this bartender is. The cherry on top is the red bunny ear headband she wears, topping the look off with a seductive finish.

"Here's ya gin and tonic, handsome!"

The wink she sends you has you almost drooling. 

"Thank you, beautiful."

The bartender giggles, and she bats her eyelashes, a coquettish grin across her angelic features. 

"You're welcome!"

When she busies herself with other orders from other patrons, you sip your first drink of the night slowly as you check her out. Your eyes follow her every step of her way—you whistle softly at the sway of her hips in that sinfully short skirt, your eyes devour the peek of cleavage whenever she bends over to pick up something from under the counter, and her long legs have your cock twitching as you imagine them wrapped around your waist during sex. Sure, she has knee-high boots on, but you're damned sure she's definitely fucking hot from top to toe. You grin at the bartender when she turns back to you, and she returns a seductive smile, her eyes somehow bright in the dim venue.

What escapes your notice were her eyes flashing orange when she looked back.

—--------

The more time you spend sitting at the bar, the more you feel your lust growing. All of it is directed at the bartender whose name you still don't know, and you're feeling exceptionally warm. The cool air of the strong air conditioning helps a little, but you're definitely feeling hot and bothered. 

"Is there somethin' wrong, dear?"

The bartender appears in front of you when you're wiping your sweat. The shock has you jumping, and the girl giggles. 

"Oh, sorry~. Ya looked a lil' sick, are you okay?"

You're drooling way too much at the way she bends over the counter, her deep cleavage right in your field of vision. 

"Uh…"

"Mm, you're quite warm…"

She raises her arm, the back of her fingers resting against your skin. You're inhaling copious amounts of her sweet scent—the fresh smell of tangerines is all you can register… 

God, you want to lick her armpits so badly. 

"I'm gonna getcha some water…

"Are ya sure ya okay?"

"S-Sure I am, beautiful."

There's a tinge of disbelief in her grin, but she doesn't bother to call you out. Instead she passes you a cup of iced water, and bends over in front of you again, her chin resting on her palm, a smirk over her face. 

Her eyes flash orange—

No, that must be a trick of the light.

"You've been staring a lot, handsome…

"Do ya like what’cha see?"

The scent of tangerines grows stronger—

You're drowning in it—

"How about you come meet me at the back after my sh—"

"Ning."

Both you and the bartender look to the source of the interruption—

Your jaw drops.

Straight dark brown… or red—no, that's the light—hair flowing down to mid-back, framing a round face with wonderfully done makeup. You're enthralled by the eyeliner and lashes, the glossy lips, but her eyes—her gaze is mesmerizing…

"Unnie!"

The call from your left brings you back to reality, the sounds of the loud techno music suddenly blasting around you once more. You stare at the two beautiful women as they look at each other—the bartender's—Ning's—grin never faltering, and the other nameless woman maintaining her impassive gaze. You take the chance to check the other hottie out.

A dark choker around her neck, adorned with gems of some sort. A short… dress-corset mix, maybe, is her clothing choice for the night, which leaves her meaty thighs exposed for your viewing pleasure. You gaze at the knee-high stockings she has on, the two bows at the top where it ends giving it a little seductive vibe. Black boots complete the look, and you want this fucking slut on your cock already. 

"... but—Un~nie!"

You return from your lustful adventure to Ning's whining. Ning’s pouting and stomping the ground like a petulant child, a far cry from the seductress earlier. She folds her arms and sulks.

"No, Ning."

"Fiiiine…" Ning somehow sulks even more when she gets her answer from the lady in front of you, and she gives you a little flirty wave and wink as she leaves to go serve another customer. You're starstruck by how hot she is again, and you resolve to come back and finish the job in the future, after you're done with the lady in front of you. 

"Hi, dear."

This woman's voice just drips sex—

"Are you having a wonderful night?"

She sinks into the empty seat next to you, and you sip on the water given earlier. 

"Well, I was… until Ning left—"

"Don't worry about her, dear…"

She reaches out a hand to shake.

"I'm Uchinaga Aeri, but you can call me Giselle."

Oh, a Japanese slut?

The smirk she has when you shake her hand unsettles you—

Did her eyes just glow green—?

You're left with no time to ponder the thought when she begins to speak. 

"And your name…?"

—--------

You're drowning in pussy, you think, as you join the youths on the dance floor. Giselle leads you in, your hand in hers, and the both of you start moving to the beats. However, you're more preoccupied with checking out the women around you. Being in the middle of all of these sluts has your cock straining against your pants, and you just want to tear the Santa dresses off them—

"Quit staring at them and just focus on me, dear."

Giselle raises a hand to push your head back to her. She's close—very close. Her body brushes against you as she dances, and you swear it's on purpose—her ass is definitely pressed against you, and she grinds herself against your bulge. With how close she is, all you're smelling is her. You don't know if it's perfume, and neither do you know if it's her natural scent. Whatever it is, Giselle smells fucking amazing, and you have to resist the urge to bury your nose into her neck and take a deep whiff. As you dance with her, your hands slide down to her hips, and Giselle turns and grins at you. She presses even closer, and soon enough, you're grinding against her, right there on the dance floor. It's warm, it's crowded, and it's a little uncomfortable, but you don't care—you're grinding against one of the hottest women you've seen, and she's reciprocating, even moaning softly as your hard cock glides between her fucking thick asscheeks. 

"Fuck, you're so damn hot, Giselle."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you're making me wanna fuck you right here, baby."

Giselle bites her lip and grins, and your cock twitches at such a sexy sight. 

"Do it."

Your jaw drops.

"What?"

"Do it. Fuck me right here."

"But the people—"

"I don't care, and neither should you."

Giselle reaches a hand around to your bulge, and she runs her hand along your clothed length. Her fingers grip onto the zipper, and you feel the vibrations of the track being undone, then her hand sliding under your pants to rub your shaft over your underwear. 

"Wai—"

"Shh…"

Giselle turns around, and without warning, her lips are on yours. You waste no time in making it an openmouthed kiss, and when Giselle's tongue glides against yours, lust envelops you. The kiss feels so amazing—Giselle kisses amazingly well, and you can't help but moan into the kiss when she grabs your bulge. Fingers slide beneath your pants again, but this time, Giselle pulls at your underwear, and soon enough, she has your cock out of the zipper. 

"You're so big, dear, wow… You'll stretch my pussy good, won't you?"

Her lips reconnect with yours, and you groan again when she begins to jerk you off. You don't care that it's on the dance floor. You don't care that people might notice—not that they do, magically. In fact, you don't even care about any ramifications. Hell, you don't even know or care about how you can hear Giselle under all that loud music without her even raising her voice at all. All you care about is that you're about to have sex with one of the sexiest sluts you've ever met.

"Oh wow, you're really wet, aren't you?"

Giselle raises her hand. Her fingers glisten with your pre-cum, and she licks it off while staring at you. 

"Mm, healthy…

"Come on, fuck me."

You watch in sheer lust as Giselle turns around and bends over. She pulls at the hem of her dress, and your cock twitches at the sight of her dripping pussy exposed for your viewing pleasure. 

"Surprise, dear. I didn't wear any underwear tonight."

Giselle grabs your shaft and leads you to her entrance. She rubs your cockhead against her slit, and she smirks when your cock presses against her hole, almost entering her.

"Put it in, baby. I wanna see how men like you fuck sluts like me."

Without any warning, you thrust into her with one hard stroke. You groan loudly in pleasure, as does Giselle. She arches her back when you push in, and you wrap your arms around her body to pull her close. Finally, you push your nose right against her nape and take in deep breathfuls of her scent. 

An impossible heat takes over your body—you feel so warm, almost too warm, yet very comfortable right where you are. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you know you're still in the club, right on the dance floor, but somehow, it doesn't matter. No one has noticed you and Giselle, and no one's filming anything. Everyone is dancing and drinking as per normal, even when right next to them, you have Giselle in a standing doggy position, your cock hilted deep in her pussy, your connection to her exposed right for everyone to see. You don't know how or why no one's noticed—but it doesn't matter at all, not when your cock's deep in a slut's pussy. That's all you care about—no one's looking, and you can fuck her in peace. In fact, it's even better if no one's looking.

"Stop thinking and just fuck my slut pussy, baby."

And fuck her, you do.

You pull yourself out from her cunt, then shove it all back in with one stroke. You can't help but moan loudly once more, as does Giselle. Giselle's pussy feels like paradise—you've never fucked a cunt that somehow molds around your cock just right. Every time you thrust in, her walls magically feel heavenly—she's warm, tight, wet, divine. The world around you melts away and the pleasure of sex with Giselle becomes the only thing you care about. Gradually, you begin to pound her right where you stand, which draws the sexiest and most wanton, obscene moans you've ever heard a woman moan. It only fuels you to fuck her faster, harder—you can feel your abs burn, your thighs almost cramping up. None of it matters—the pleasure that Giselle's tight body brings you overpowers the discomfort. 

"That's right, fuck me just like that! Fuck my slut pussy just like that! I love it, I love the way you fuck me! Keep fucking me, fuck me until you fill my slut pussy with cum! Empty your balls in me, pump me full of your cum! Feed me all of your cum!"

Giselle's words fuel the flames of your lust—what was already there is only empowered, and you take the chance to give her thick ass a hard slap, which draws even louder moans from her. 

"Yes, yes, spank me, make it hurt! Punish me, punish me for being such a slut! Punish me for fucking you right here in front of everyone, show them all how you're taming me!"

With a loud roar, you spank Giselle over and over. However, the thought you taming her sits right in your mind and you only last another three hard thrusts—

"FUCK!"

"Yes, yes, yes, YES!"

On the third thrust, you force your entire length into Giselle, and you explode into her cunt. You've never had an orgasm so intense—your knees nearly buckle and send both you and her tumbling to the floor. While you fight to keep both of you standing, your cock fires off shot after shot after shot of thick, hot semen right into Giselle's cunt. You don't know how many jets of semen you deposit into her waiting pussy—all you know is that it is enough to overflow around your connection and drip to the ground where you stand. At the same time, Giselle moans and shudders, her hips bucking intensely, her body convulsing under your touch as her orgasm arrives right after yours. Her pussy milks your cock for every shot of your cum, and you can hear the loud hisses of release as she squirts all over the floor and on your pants. Gush after gush after gush of squirt sprays all over the dance floor, and her juices mix with your semen in a puddle below your connection. 

You have no idea how long your orgasms take to pass, but when you finally pull your softening cock out of Giselle, you see that your cum runs down her thighs and stains her stockings. The girl in question turns around and crashes her lips to yours in a torrid kiss, then she asks you the question you've set out to hear for tonight. 

"My place or yours?"

—------—

"Nngh, fuck, that's right, keep fucking me like that, yes!"

The taxi ride back to your place isn't free of sin either—Giselle's naked and bouncing on your cock. You're naked under her too—your clothes and hers mix in a pile to your right—and you thrust up into her over and over. 

Once you'd gotten into the taxi with her, somehow the driver only focused on driving. Even as Giselle suddenly mounted you and started undressing, the driver didn't seem to notice. You were wondering why earlier, but once Giselle's pussy enveloped your cock again, none of that mattered any more. 

"God, fuck, your slut pussy feels so good, oh fuck…"

"I'm gonna cum, baby!"

Giselle screams out loud when her sentence ends. She shudders and falls back on you, and your cock springs out of her pussy as she squirts hard against the front seat of the car. Gush after gush of her juices drench the leather—your fingers rubbing her clit extend and strengthen her orgasm, and the pleasure she draws from it. You don't even wait for her orgasm to subside before you shove your cock back in her and start thrusting again—nothing can and will tear you away from being balls deep in Giselle's perfect cunt.

"Oh God, yes, that's right, it's your turn, cum for me, cum inside me!"

"Argh!"

With a low growl, you rail Giselle with your hard cock. You can feel the exertion across your body—sweat drips from your forehead and chest, your heart pounds against your ribcage, and your muscles work overtime to keep up with the fucking you're giving Giselle. You have no idea where this energy comes from—you're fucking her harder than you have any girl and you feel like you're on top of the world, no exhaustion at all.

You don't even bother announcing your orgasm—you just let yourself burst deep into Giselle again. Her walls almost seem to massage your cock, as if to coax more and more of your load deep into her. Giselle shudders as spurt after spurt of your warm cum is fired deep into her womb with every thrust of your cock deep into her cunt. 

"Oh God, yes, fill me more, fuck yes!"

Your orgasm might as well be never-ending, with how much cum erupts from your cock. Your thick semen overflows from Giselle's cunt, and with each burst of fresh cum, you feel your load drip out of her cunt and stain your skin, as well as the floor of the taxi.

When the taxi slows to a halt, Giselle pulls out her wallet and throws a few bills in the direction of the driver. She grabs the pile of clothes and steps out of the taxi naked. She pulls your hand to lead you out of the vehicle, and when the door closes, it drives off into the night. Neither of you care about the mess you've made—it's not your issue to bother about. The only thing that is important to you is to get into Giselle's home—you're going to have sex with that slut all night. 

"Let's get in quick, baby. I miss that cock already."

—-------—

Giselle's had fuckings like the one she's getting right now from you. She's no stranger to sex, that much you know from how hard she fucks herself back on you. You have her bent over her couch, the bottle of lube she had lying around thrown onto the other side of it. The expensive leather bends under her knees, and you pump harsh thrust after harsh thrust of your cock deep into Giselle once more. 

"Mgh, fuck, that's it, fuck my ass harder, fuck it like you fucked my pussy!"

You're buried balls deep in Giselle's asshole now. Her idea, really—she wanted you to use her body fully, and she's also the one who led you to the couch. Your cock twitched hard watching her spread her ass for you, and you'd wasted no time lubing your cock up and pushing it deep into her. Right now, you're well on your way to thoroughly using her asshole—you make good on her instructions and fuck her just as hard as you did earlier. Dimly, you wonder how you can keep going like this—you're not tired at all.

In fact, you feel like you're on top of the world. 

The thoughts that keep you occupied are broken when you orgasm again, unexpectedly. Once again, jet after jet of semen is pumped deep into Giselle's ass, and you thrust recklessly into her to fuck your load deeper into her. When you slip out of her ass in one of your strong pulls backward, you stroke yourself as you give her backshots, leaving her skin glistening as you stain her body with your semen. 

"Shower, baby?"

—------—

Even in the shower, you can't escape Giselle's clutches. 

You have the Japanese girl pinned against the glass, one of her legs lifted up as you thrust with reckless abandon into her perfect pussy. The water doesn't even hit your body—you're wasting all of it right now, but you don't care at all. Trails of white cum stains the glass and Giselle's skin as it leaks out of her ass and cunt with every thrust you send into her body.

"God, yes, make me cum, yes, make me—!"

Giselle's broken moan is accompanied by the strong geyser of squirt that gushes against your skin. Her orgasming cunt spits your cock out, and you waste no time forcing yourself back in her and fucking her through her orgasm. Hot spray after hot spray of the Japanese girl's squirt drenches your skin every time you pull out, and her tight, warm walls mold so perfectly around your cock. You're not far from another orgasm, and Giselle's pussy feels like heaven as usual, with its sole purpose to milk you dry of all the semen you had. Two more hard thrusts, and you explode deep into the creamy mess that is Giselle's cunt. Your semen overflows and drips off your cock, every spurt you send into her pussy displacing more and more semen from all of your past sessions. 

"God, that felt so good, Giselle."

"As it should, baby. I'm the best fuck a man will ever have."

—-------—

You're feeling a little dizzy from the hedonistic activities of the past few hours. The elevated heart rate probably does you no good, and you're feeling a little hungry after expending so much energy fucking the slut that clings to your arm still. You have no idea how she's still so insatiable. 

"Come on, baby, you've only cum once in my ass. I want more of it!"

Neither you nor Giselle have bothered to get dressed—you knew you were definitely having more sex with her, but you just want a break for now. You’re definitely not getting that break though—Giselle somehow has unlimited stamina, and she’s hell-bent on unleashing all of it on you. You’re seated on a chair in her room, and she bounces on your lap, impaling herself over and over on your cock with her tight, lubed asshole. Your hands rest on her hips, and you thrust upwards into her slick hole, grunting with each time you hilt. The pleasure that Giselle’s ass gives you is comparable to that of her cunt—somehow, you swear it’s just as tight and feels almost similar, though you have no idea why or how. All you know is that Giselle’s the best fuck ever, and you’re more than happy to keep filling her body with cum. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

With a loud shrill cry, Giselle orgasms for the umpteenth time. A huge gush of juices spray from her pussy as she squirts all over the floor, semen and slick dripping from her thoroughly used hole. At the same time, you release yet another thick load deep into Giselle’s ass, fucking spurt after spurt of hot pearly white cum deep into her once more. You’ve lost count of how much cum you’ve pumped into her tonight, but you don’t want to stop at all. You want to fill this goddess with your cum over and over and over.

Before you can move to get up from the chair, Giselle’s already a step ahead of you. She has your slick cock, stained with cum and lube, in her hands, and you stare in burning lust as she deepthroats your shaft, uncaring that it was just in her ass earlier. Giselle stares right into your eyes, and you swear she’s reading your mind with the way her gaze screams “that’s right, i’m a filthy, filthy girl that’s addicted to your cock tonight”. You can’t resist grabbing her head, and next thing you know, you’ve risen to your feet, your hands gripping her head to steady it as your fuck her face. Drool drips from her lips, down your balls and down her chin, but you don’t care, not even if Giselle sounds like she’s choking. All you care about is emptying another load into her mouth and down her throat. Of course, it doesn’t take long before the familiar sensation comes, and you’re filling the Japanese girl’s mouth with another thick load, which she swallows almost greedily, as if she can’t get enough of it. 

“Thank you my dear~,” Giselle’s sweet smile as she rises has you grinning back unconsciously. When she draws close, you don’t even care that she still has your cum on her lips—you’re kissing her back harshly, your tongue swirling around hers as she sits on your lap, a hand guiding your cock towards her pussy once more. When she sinks down on you, you can’t help but moan out loud, and that’s when she takes the chance to pull you in for another kiss. 

“I’m going to fuck you dry, babe.”

—--------—

Make good on her promise she does. 

You’re lost as to which round it is with Giselle. 

Right now, you have her bent over your desk now, her hair gripped in your palm tightly as you yank her head back with it, your hips slamming relentlessly against the Japanese girl’s ass. However, you’ve had her in that position in many other places now—on the countertop, in bed, on the couch, in the bathroom, in bed again, and the list goes on and on and on…

Your heart pounds in your chest as sweat drips from your brow, down your body, all from exertion. You’ve gone without a break ever since the club, and you still feel fresh, as if it were the first round. At least, you’re still fucking Giselle as if it were the first round. The desk beneath the both of you crashes against the wall with every thrust.

“Fuck me harder, harder! Use me, fuck me, fuck my pussy like I’m a fleshlight! Shoot your cum deep into me again!”

Giselle’s demands are your instructions, and you follow them to a tee. You force yourself to go faster, harder, quicker, even more than before, and the pleasure you derive has you delirious. Giselle’s pussy is the best you’ve fucked, and you don’t want to stop—you want to keep fucking her until you die. 

“That’s right, fuck me, fuck me until you’re dead! Fuck this pussy until you milk yourself dry! Feed me!”

It is with Giselle’s words that heralds your orgasm—this time, you feel bursts of cum explode out of your cock, and the excitement comes to a head when you feel the same bursts in your chest. You can’t breathe, no matter how hard you try, as sparks fly in your vision, the pleasure overwhelming you with every shot of cum that explodes deep into Giselle’s thoroughly used cunt. 

The last thing you remember is seizing up, then falling backwards, then black.

—-------—

“Thanks for the meal, baby. You were such a great fuck.”

Aeri stares at her now former partner for the night, lying on the ground behind her. He still twitches as the last of his life force evaporates from him, and then he stops moving. Forever.

With a snap of her fingers, the corpse beneath her feet bursts into green flame. Flesh begins to char underneath the extreme heat of the soulfire, and in a matter of seconds, any evidence of the man’s physical existence is erased, as if he never came over to her home. With a wave of her hands, her usual sweatshirt and pants combination clothes her bare body, and she leaves for her in-house bar to pour herself another glass of wine.

Vrrrt.

Her phone vibrates.

[Jimin | 03:15am]

Meeting. Now.

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[mind-travel-er]

The Sun's Course [Part 1]

the empire's slumber

— Pairing: Brother Day (13th) x Female reader

— Synopsis: A story in which a Genetic Engineer is recruited by Brother Darkness, in secrecy. At the wake of his death and the rebirth of his Dynasty, Cleon The Painter dares to ask questions. However, Brother Day (12th) won’t tolerate to bring those matters into the light, and especially by the one person capable of understanding its ramifications. You. 

— Warning/Content: Hurt/Comfort, Cleon 13th, Touch-Starved Cleons, Character Study, inspired by S01E03.

— Word Count:  2.7 k

[read me on AO3] · [PART 2]

12,086 Era Imperial | 19 years after the fall of Star Bridge | Rule of Cleon the 12th; The Ruthless “It is treason,” you say. “I know,” answers Brother Darkness, gazing at the glass separating him from his younger self.  There, in a tint of sky blue that only Surfacers had seen, was floating a little cloud. The fetus of Cleon the 14th. “That’s precisely why you are here.

You look at the rumpled traits of the third brother, in his simple linen gown made of ocean. If his younger counterparts were wrapped in royal blues, it seemed that with age, the specter of the color was sinking deeper and deeper, like his melancholy. But it’s not only age that shrivels the face of Brother Darkness. There is a glint in his eyes that only comes with the dread of one’s end. The glint falls on you. “Will you do as I ask?” Your ears have to devote themselves to truly understand his words. “Of course, Empire,” you respond before your next heartbeat. One should not refuse Empire. No one dares. And you have to close the parting of your lips and compose yourself; rewinding his request in your head. As if he were asking permission. Hands clasping the strap of your medical kit crossing your chest, you turn yourself completely towards him, making sure your eyes don’t falter when looking into his own: “I will do as you ask.” A small smile brightens his face for a moment; like a meek, flickering flame. He turns himself towards you, putting his hands behind his back, and your memories echo Brother Day and Brother Dawn with the same mannerism. Countless times, you have seen his holograms do the same ritual during public speeches. You just hadn’t pictured seeing it one day in front of you. As if we had only collectively dreamed of the Empire’s presence, never experiencing it for ourselves.  “Call me Brother Darkness, Engineer. It is my place in the shadows that allows me such folly.” And it is. Terribly so. But you can’t say that, of course.  You swallow, but no saliva comes. You respond nothing, your lips cautiously sealed.  “Surely, you have questions. No one has come here for four thousand years, except for Demerzel and some of the Genetic Dynasty. I myself was not allowed.” He turns his head again, slowly, towards the glass. And one of his hands, gnarled and speckled, comes to rest on the barrier. If only for this obstacle, death and birth would be reunited at last. You dare to look at him, and it tames the slight freeze response gripping your body. He’s not as harsh as you imagined. There’s a softness about him that you could never hope to find in his other versions. At least, that’s your hypothesis.

Then you look around. Even for an artificial womb, with water coming up to the ground, it feels methodical and emotionless. The artificial tranquility of the sound of the fountain mixes with the harsh lines of the brutalist concrete. Even at the heart of the Dynasty, you find no warmth. You wonder if it’s perhaps one of the reasons that led to the destiny of Thespis and Anacreon. The day the only heat to be felt was fire raining down on two planets. You have to remind yourself that this Brother too has the potential to make those same decisions. No one likes doubts, and it could be argued that the foundation of all nations is stability. And stability requires certainty, not questions we do not dare ask. You think of your teachers and colleagues. Friends. Almost family for some. Streeling University suddenly seems like another planet altogether at this very moment. So, you hope this Brother can stomach uncertainty. And you ask:  “Why weren’t you allowed here?” “We had rules,” he responds, perhaps not to you specifically. “Apparently, witnessing one’s own origin can lead to madness.” His head bows, and his thin, white hair acts like a blinding shield.  “Perhaps…” He lifts himself again and scrutinizes the cords floating from the little body, attached to no mother and no belly. “Perhaps the same fate awaits me. Perhaps I’ve seen too much already.” You don’t comment on that last confession either. But you still have questions.  “What do you hope to find, once all the samples are collected?” The white shield goes away, and a mix of blues and greens observes you. Do his younger versions have the same nuances in their eyes? “Two things, Engineer,” he says now, truly focused on you. “First, if we are indeed all the same, just as Cleon the First dreamed. I fear time and experiences change us all, despite our … common bases.” He smiles, but there are no crinkles around his eyes.  “An egotistical search, no doubt. To answer if I’ll be remembered for my particularities… and if they even exist on a genetic level.”

Brother Darkness makes a few small steps towards you. Palms behind his rounded back now coming before him, opened.  “Second, I want to know. Will this one be different?” You can see how wide his eyes are and how the rim of white around his iris tends to take up more space than it should. The last time you saw such a display was from a sub-level worker at the weekly market. An orange in his stained hand, crossing eyes with the Imperial Guards. You look briefly at the fetus of Cleon the 14th, brows frowning.  “How so? I thought the replication was flawless. Aren’t such tests conducted again and again?” “No anymore,” he answers. “Do Luminists open the Script every time they apply their beliefs? The raw genetical code has remained untouched for centuries.” “You fear that corruption of the original material might be an issue?” You articulate. Again, his feet valiantly pace forward despite the smallness of their steps. His hands, slow and gentle, take yours. They can only feel the cold of the Aura separating the two of you. How could such a little thing prevent the most basic human interaction?  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”  “Brother Darkness?“ “Like the Sun behind the horizon just before it rises. I cannot see it. But, it’s here. Do you understand? You must conduct the tests.“ Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice the faint tremors of his fingers while he let them slip from yours. But you’re a researcher, and paying attention to details is the core of your practice. All speaks of Cleon the Painter and how he recorded history, producing the most exquisite murals ever made in Trantor. Masterful techniques that you had studied at school; moving patterns embedded in your digital manual. The cold is gone, but something much warmer stays with you. He rolls one of his navy sleeves with application, just as a child might have done during a medical exam. And suddenly, the knot in the pit of your stomach relaxes. The realization blooms in you as this version of Empire folds his linen tunic to offer the veins of his arm. Decades had reduced him to a frail figure that could barely walk without the help of a simple stick. If the man before you was responsible for an entire Galaxy, he was a man nonetheless.  You examine how his bent and rigid fingers fail to grasp the unyielding fabric. How the sides of his index and major, the same ones used to sign peace, are still covered with nano-pigments that swirl and curl on themselves. Your heart tightens. And memories flow from your grandfather, usually tucked away for rainy days. Perhaps you could join and help? But the Aura is there, hanging on his wrist, guarding him jealously. You don’t want to feel the cold again. Instead, you say:

“There’s no need for blood. A simple lock of hair will do.”  He stops. And his brows arch themselves. “Or… saliva, if you prefer. But I doubt that spitting in a tube would be dignified.”  You feel yourself lightly chuckling. He notices your hands; coiled and away. And he’s letting out a small scoff as his eyes wrinkle. The tips of his fingers come to press on the silver bracelet, and in response, a low hum raises the hair on your forearms as it does when a summer thunderstorm is ready to burst with lightning.  “You’re quite right. We can’t let that be my last contribution to this world, can we?” Empire has a sense of humor. It seems that not only color but the kindness of Brother Day would someday deepen as well. Or was it always there? Lingering just under the surface and waiting to take a breath? While searching for a more comfortable place to rest your equipment, only the sound of rippling water comes to you. The room is barren. There’s nothing to sit on. A far cry from the nursery of your little brothers, all in pale shades of apricot. Twins and twice as many teddy bears to fill the space. But here, nothing is soft or comforting. There are only three grey steps at the feet of the tanks. This will have to do. When the heat of Trantor was settling down, long walks at the end of the day were your favorite moments with your grandfather. Habits die hard and survive many, so without a second thought, your arm treads around the old man next to you, offering to slowly sit down. For a brief moment, he looks at you with something holds you in his green and blue eyes. Something you cannot quite pinpoint as you’re focused on opening your medical kit. There, amongst scalpels and test tubes, was hidden a reminder of your mother’s love. A wooden comb carved into the shape of a Ghillie raptor.  “Wood,” he comments with a whisper, now looking attentively at the relic between your hands. “I thought only the Palace had that privilege.”  All objects made of organic matter were indeed banned on Trantor. Those kinds of primary resources were too scarce to be transformed into commodities. The comb was a paradox: priceless because of its essence, and unsellable because no one was wealthy enough to buy it. It was just meant to exist.   “My mother was a horticulturist here. She was in charge of the wild woods before her retirement.”  “I know.”  A smile blooms on your lips. Of course he knows.  “Even wild woods on this planet are painstakingly crafted and engineered, aren’t they?” he says with a low tone. “Nature and Human-made don't have to be opposites. My mother guided life, and so am I. Tweak it and make it better. Not with trees and branches, but with threads of DNA.”  Holding the warm woods between your palms, your eyes are called by the creature deep asleep. Naked and unprotected by any womb. Devoid of touch. And as you follow the invisible link between the dormant unborn baby and Brother Darkness, you observe the carefully crafted bracelet. A protection that had continued the tradition born in this tank.  “Shall we?” At your question, Brother Darkness releases the gentle hold in his gaze and turns himself to offer his spine.   While the carved comb brushes his hair, strings of snow intertwine briefly with your fingers, weaving unintentional caresses. A sniffle is all you hear in response; the sound that someone makes when tears are at the brim, ready to tumble. If they do, you cannot see. But a life without true touch must be a lonely one. Some scars are invisible.  Time stretches itself. 

True, you could have gotten the scalpel out of your kit some time ago. Instead, you comb strings after strings until there’s nothing else to do but take the surgical blade into the palm of your hand. Your fingers select a lock of hair at the base of his neck, one where the disappearance is susceptible to going unnoticed. An unsettling thought grows in your mind, whispering that you could take advantage of the inactive Aura. Make the blue linen red. Nothing to stop your surgical tool, and, no doubt, countless people had dreamed of such an opportunity. Thespis, Anacreon… And how many worlds have been wounded in 400 years? How many mothers crying out after their sons and daughters? How many deaths at the hand of his three fingers signing peace?  However, in front of you, stooped and patient, there’s only an old painter. And he’s a dead man walking anyway, isn’t he? So you tuck away the intrusive thought. The blade glints, and the lock falls.  “You’ll soon ascend.” You speak softly, with a simple observation at the tip of your tongue that you don’t dare quite make.  Your hand clasps the genetic material into darkness. “Ah,” he rasps, “yes.” And he sighs shortly, like filling his lungs might be difficult. “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful…  It's the transition that's troublesome, you see.” “Aren’t you afraid that the end of the week will come too soon?” “That is just the thing, Engineer. Despite your best efforts and those of your kind, it will always come too soon. Even for those like me.” You wanted to ask if he could promise that your own time, and the life span of your family and friends, wouldn’t be shortened. That he would make sure, even guarantee, their safety and well-being; only for you to focus on the research. Your underfunded Faculty could receive a substantial donation for the risks you were taking. All of this was possible… if unsanctioned studies on the Genetic Dynasty was not considered treason. More so, you fear that betrayal amongst Brothers will steepen the price of your involvement in it. You don’t dare speak because answers will give you neither assurance nor security.

Instead, you place the milky lock in one of your sterile containers. From tank to test tube. Who would have thought that the time in between those two moments would be so defining for the whole galaxy? “I’ll always leave. But I fear one day I might not return.” Science is supposed to be the heart of your work; devoid of political influences or subjectivity. There’s no loyalty toward Streeling University. But it would be foolish to assume you can afford a lack of allegiance towards Empire or its lesser versions. So, you respond: “That’s why I’m here, Brother Darkness. Rest your worries on me.” Saying there’s only the obligation to help him would even be a lie, you realize gradually as your eyes fall on the wooden comb back in your pouch. There’s something more: you want to.  “In the meantime, maybe you should hold on to this …” A faint blush warms the surface of your cheek. You hadn't planned on this. Yet, between your hands lies the little Ghillie raptor, waiting to be gifted. “I know it has no monetary value. Especially to the only person on Trantor that has access to timber.” He turns himself as far as his old bones might allow, wincing at the twist. You can immediately tell the waves are back in the ocean of his eyes as soon as he sees what you hold.  “That’s perhaps the most precious thing someone has ever offered.” “It’s worthless wood,” you comment with a slight smile to lighten the exchange.  His voice stifles, and it breaks.  “It’s priceless comfort, Engineer.”  Silence lingers for a few minutes as he grazes his thumb over the ridges of the wings. Then, it disappears into the abyss of his linen wear. The procedure is done, yet he doesn’t get back up. As if he was maybe waiting for the ghost of the comb to come back in his white hair. Instead, with shivering fingers still stained by swirling pigments, he touches the bracelet, and a warm light embraces him. How many times had he put this armor back on? Had he ever had the liberty to truly take it off? “I have one final question concerning your endeavor.” He only inclines his head slightly towards you, but you know he listens attentively. This is the one question you didn’t dare ask all along, until now.  “Brother Darkness… What will Empire do when he finds out?” 

[to-the-stars8]

Affairs and Letters

Jason Todd x Reader Regency AU! AO3 Chapters

Part XI

The ink of your pen was the water to Mr. Todd’s choking thirst for you. With every letter you had given him before your parting, you proved to be a coy lover, with gentle jabs at his brazenness in his approach followed by the taunting dare to love you as deep as he could. Jason soon found himself pondering ways to get back to you sooner and sooner, crafting schemes unbefitting a man of his station. You had successfully turned him into your most desperate devotee, and the feeling was an addiction he would not break soon. 

His affection had not gone unnoticed, either. Dick took every opportunity to dress down his brother’s approach to you, telling him not to fall to follies of fancy, but he heard none of it. Jason oft turned the sentiment back to his brother, reminding him of his infatuation with particular red-haired women.

One day, while Jason was writing a letter, Dick burst into the study, proclaiming that he would never guess who had arrived with dearest Barbara Gordon and young Master Jon. 

As he assumed himself to be smarter than his brother, Jason bothered not to guess. 

It had been some time since had last seen you, and not a moment had passed when you did not cross his mind. Mr. Todd had attempted to sway his father to call upon the Kents when they passed Kent House for business, but Mr. Wayne could not be influenced to do so without noting his son’s intentions.

Pushing away from his work, Jason made his way to the sunroom. 

There, you exchanged pleasantries with his father and Miss Kyle as Barbara entertained Cassandra with a memory. Outside the glass windows of the sunroom, Jason could see Damian and Jon playing amongst the rose bushes while Alfred, the butler, stood watch over them. 

“Ah,” Mr. Wayne said upon his son’s entrance. “I was wondering when you would make an appearance!”

“Father,” Jason said, letting Mr. Wayne come over and kiss him upon the cheek. 

“Come say hello to our friends.”

Jason instantly took to you, greeting you warmly before remembering it would be polite to greet everyone else. Dick snickered, mumbling something to his father who only gave him a pointed stare in return. 

Miss Kyle, ever the clever lady, smirked as she turned to you. “It is such a pretty day is it not, Miss?” You hastily agreed, blushing. Pleased, she turned to Jason. “Mr. Todd, don’t you think it’s a pretty day, too?”

“Yes, yes,” He subconsciously nodded toward the window. “A fine day, indeed. I thought of taking my horse out this afternoon, but now I am glad to have decided against it.”

Miss Kyle ‘tsked’, “Do not deprive yourself of such a day on our account. Why don’t you and Mr. Grayson take Miss Gordon and her friend here for a turn about the gardens?”

Mr. Grayson beamed with happiness. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea. Come, we should observe the boys in hopes of preventing them from mischief.”

You laughed, taking Mr. Grayson’s offered arm as Miss Gordon took the other. “Ah, is it not odd that we punish children for things we also did as children?”

Jason snickered, only remarking once the four of you left the room. “That is where we differ from the boys— we never got caught.”

The day was sunny and bright, and it made perfect sense that you, Barbara, and Jon had made the trip to visit as it was a rare autumn day not to be wasted. Mr. Grayson let you go the moment Barbara made the gesture that the two of them should look upon the fountain in the center of the garden. 

Jason excused his brother’s rude leave and offered his arm, which you took as he guided you toward the children. Mr. Todd stood as close to you as societal rules would allow as he thought it to be rare to be close to perfection—And such a thing did not exist in his mind until he saw you. 

“How is sweet Jon fairing?” He asked to break the easy silence. 

You smiled to yourself, looking at Jon prancing around Damian, before answering, “Well. He’s recovered so much that Lady Kent wanted him out of the house today. The boy has been bouncing off the walls with excitement.”

“Very good. And, how are you?”

“I am well, and I have managed to survive Lady Kent’s anger.”

“Oh?” Jason sounded amused. 

You snickered, sarcastically remarking, “Do not seem so surprised!” When your laughter died, you grew quiet, as though you were wondering something. Suddenly, you took your arm from his. Mr. Todd almost protested before he saw you reach into your bag, taking only a moment to glance around, and then pulling out letters. It was not a hefty stack, but he was surprised the number of letters you had in your hand could hide so well in such a small pouch. 

“I was kept so busy, Mr. Todd,” You said as you put the stack inside his coat pocket. “That I had no time or excuse to call upon you. Yet, I found that it provided me plenty of time to think of you.”

Jason could not get out the words he wished to say, and his silence seemed to make you proud. You stepped back, walking around him toward Jon with the declaration that you wanted to participate in their next game. When he gathered his thoughts, he joined you with hope and a smile. 

[sims4t2bb]

weekly update

New year, new update! With another fruitful year for 4t2 enthusiasts now gone, we hope 2024 will be even better and brings even more fun new items for our dear game (which turns 20 this September!) 💚 We wish all the best to all of our wonderful cc creators and players - as always, onwards and upwards! ✨

— Base Game

Café Immodéré and Joe Jockey conversions by @jacky93sims have been added.

— Expansion Packs

High School Years

A Facetnating Shade, Beat Seat Pro, Canopy of Light - Short, Dashing Deco Desk, Gently Used Textbooks, Hobby Holders, Lux Corner Cubby, Luxury Dining on the Go, Makin' Make-Up Magic, New Aged Cubed Wall Display, and more conversions by Ladysimplayer8 have been added.

— Stuff Packs

Romantic Garden

Artisanal Lattice, Climbing Rose Lattice, Dining Alfresco, Don't Look at Me Monkey Bars, Fountain of Gluteus Maximus, Perennials for Millennials, The Folly of Lady Chloris, The Wellspring of Felis Leo, Triumphal Arch of Gluteus Maximus, Whispering Wishing Well, and Windowed Climbing Rose Lattice conversions by Ladysimplayer8 have been added.

[ladyduellist]

WIP Thursday

Tagged by the ever cool @verbenaa @elinorbard @xxnashiraxx @inkymoonbunny @roguishcat! You guys spoil me with your tags. Thank you always for thinking of me.

Here's the opener for Chapter 20 of Epistles of Saints & Sinners. Just some fun Shadowheart and Astarion interaction. I really believe these two goofs would be huge gossipers with each other.

Frankincense faintly wafted from the aging copper coin as it flipped round and round in the air like an aerialist, attempting to dazzle its one person audience despite an oxidizing teal grime coating its shine. It landed, as intended, on top of Astarion’s knuckles. He rolled the coin off each one, descending it as if his fingers were a set of moving stairs. When it finally reached its destination on his last knotted joint, he snatched it betwixt his thumb and index, putting into the funnel he created with his other hand. With an engaging grin and a maestro’s fluidity to his fingers, it was gone! Snap. Clap. Disappeared!  “Do those parlor tricks actually work on wowing people?” Shadowheart snickered, offering him a meager handclap for his demonstration.  He showed her the front and back of his hands, proving it was out of sight. “When you’re one of Cazador’s spawn forbidden to have any pastimes that invigorate visible delight, you have to get creative.” Rubbing his fingers together, he reached behind his ear to make the coin reappear, giving it a dramatic toss back into the air before letting it plop into his palm. “Unsuspecting street rubes were never the wiser. I emptied their pockets for my own amusement, while they were beguiled by my sleight of hand for theirs. An equivalent exchange, if I do say so.” Astarion flicked the coin back into the dried up fountain they discovered, tucked away in an alcove outside the monastery, from whence it came. Shadowheart mentioned it was likely to have once run with fragrant oiled waters, anointed by Rosymorn monks for those that wished to pay a coinage tithe to sprinkle upon their foreheads for renewed baptismal covenant. “Worshippers of Shar have similar traditions we uphold to the dark mistress,” she had told him, “except it’s typically paid in blood.”  “What hobbies did you have aside from your fangtastic follies?” she jested. “Another person that’s failed their comedic audition I see,” he sneered, turning his nose up at her as he remembered both Gale and Tav’s poorly executed jokes at his expense. “Though, if you must know, hand-stitching and books became silent pleasures that my master paid little attention to.”

I think everyone else has been tagged, but if not, pretend I tagged you and show your WIP.

[starfacedstudio]

ID in alt!

A little something for Deltarune's 6th anniversary and a way to say im still working on this even though its been ages (though im sure everyone in this fan space is used to that kind of thing lol)!

happy birthday deltarune, i look forward to seeing where this story ends up no matter how long it may take! :D

[katlyntheartist]

Ok i need to know the bros reaction to each otgw episode pls!!!

(to anyone who's confused, anon is referencing this pic)

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF OVER THE GARDEN WALL!!

"The Old Grist Mill": The bros walked in on Marilyn watching the second episode and asked what it was. She told them that Over the Garden Wall was about two brothers lost in the woods trying to get back home. Mario and Luigi were intrigued and asked if they could watch it with her. She said whatever and after popping popcorn and grabbing some mugs of apple cider, they started the first episode. Both bros liked it, with Mario enjoying the art and atmosphere and Luigi liking Greg and finding him adorable. Both bros' were put off by the Woodsman and that dog was going to haunt Luigi's nightmares but they told Mary that they wanted to keep watching, even though Mary warned Luigi that things were going to get scary.

"Hard Times at the Huskin' Bee": Mario noted how much Beatrice acted like Mary and Luigi would never look at pumpkins the same ever again.

"Schooltown Follies": not the bros' favorite episode but Luigi thought it was cute.

"Songs of the Dark Lantern": Mario spent most of the episode yelling at the tavern people about how unhelpful and annoying they are, all while Luigi kept calming him down. Marilyn enjoyed watching the bros' unnerved expressions when The Beast made his first appearance on screen.

"Mad Love": Both Mario and Luigi liked this one and thought that Fred was funny. And Mario laughed the loudest when Greg threw the pennies that they needed for the ferry into the fountain.

"Lullaby in Frogland": Luigi really liked the music in the show but the melody playing in this episode is his favorite. Both brothers were shocked and hurt by Beatrice's betrayal.

"The Ringing of the Bell": Both brothers were scared during the whole episode, especially Lorna's transformation. Luigi asks if this is as scary as it gets and Marilyn replies with an evil grin.

"Babes in the Wood": Mary warns the bros' to brace themselves but they weren't prepared for this one. They didn't care much for Greg's dream sequence but when Greg sacrifices himself for Wirt and goes with the Beast, Mary had to pause the show because both brothers started to sob uncontrollably. It took her almost an hour to convince them that everything was going to be ok and that the ending was worth it.

"Into the Unknown": After Mario and Luigi composed themselves, they kept watching. Luigi liked Wirt's crush on Sara and thought it was sweet and Mario liked Greg's little antics and funny sayings. They both were shocked when Wirt and Greg fell into the pond and were shaking Marilyn like, "wait does that forest mean death???" and they had a million questions for her but she just told them to shut up and keep watching. Also when Wirt left Beatrice's family to go search for Greg, Mario started to tear up again.

"The Unknown": Luigi is horrified of The Beast and never wants to go into the woods willingly ever again. And Mario is happy that Wirt uses logic when tempted with The Beast's offer. Both brothers cheered when The Beast was destroyed and they both sobbed again when Wirt and Greg woke up safe and sound in the hospital. They told Marilyn that they liked it and now they make it a tradition to watch it every October.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Wise and Foolish Sons

1 A wise son heareth his father's instruction: but a scorner heareth not rebuke.

2 A man shall eat good by the fruit of his mouth: but the soul of the transgressors shall eat violence.

3 He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his life: but he that openeth wide his lips shall have destruction.

4 The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing: but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat.

5 A righteous man hateth lying: but a wicked man is loathsome, and cometh to shame.

6 Righteousness keepeth him that is upright in the way: but wickedness overthroweth the sinner.

7 There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing: there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.

8 The ransom of a man's life are his riches: but the poor heareth not rebuke.

9 The light of the righteous rejoiceth: but the lamp of the wicked shall be put out.

10 Only by pride cometh contention: but with the well advised is wisdom.

11 Wealth gotten by vanity shall be diminished: but he that gathereth by labour shall increase.

12 Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.

13 Whoso despiseth the word shall be destroyed: but he that feareth the commandment shall be rewarded.

14 The law of the wise is a fountain of life, to depart from the snares of death.

15 Good understanding giveth favour: but the way of transgressors is hard.

16 Every prudent man dealeth with knowledge: but a fool layeth open his folly.

17 A wicked messenger falleth into mischief: but a faithful ambassador is health.

18 Poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth instruction: but he that regardeth reproof shall be honoured.

19 The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul: but it is abomination to fools to depart from evil.

20 He that walketh with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.

21 Evil pursueth sinners: but to the righteous good shall be repayed.

22 A good man leaveth an inheritance to his children's children: and the wealth of the sinner is laid up for the just.

23 Much food is in the tillage of the poor: but there is that is destroyed for want of judgment.

24 He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.

25 The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want. — Proverbs 13 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Exodus 9:20; Judges 19:30; 2 Chronicles 10:8; Ezra 9:12; Job 18:5; Psalm 18:5; Psalm 111:10; Psalm 119:1; Proverbs 1:31; Proverbs 6:6; Proverbs 9:7-8; Proverbs 12:11; Proverbs 12:23; Proverbs 14:24; Proverbs 21:6; Proverbs 23:13-14; Proverbs 25:13; Ecclesiastes 7:5; Isaiah 47:11; Luke 12:20-21; Luke 15:14; Colossians 3:9; James 3:2; Revelation 2:7

What does the Bible say about parents leaving an inheritance for their children?

[wistfulcynic]

here in the land of mud and fire

every time i think i'm done posting gentlebeard fic, some new interesting event crops up and my fingers just start typing. This particular folly is for @ecclesiasticallatinfest and their Continental Challenge. It's a two-shot set in Azerbaijan, a country that spans Europe and Asia. First part posts today for Europe, part two will arrive on Tuesday for Asia.

this is by far the most self-referential thing i've written for this fandom. i lived in Azerbaijan 2013-2014 which is when the fic is roughly set. Ed's thoughts and feelings here are basically my own. There's also references to other places i've lived and visited, all real except for the sea turtle sanctuary which does not exist. There is however a Sea Turtle Museum on Kume-jima in Okinawa and it is worth a visit.

aside from all that the fic is basically just a meet-cute, a silly adventure, then sex. Boom, bing, bang.

5k for the first part, rated M

-

“…and I still can’t figure out how to get out to Qobustan!” 

With a crisp, economical movement of shoulder, wrist and elbow, Ed makes his shot. The tip of his cue hits the eight ball at precisely the angle he’d intended but Ed doesn’t watch to see if the ball sinks into the pocket. He knows it does based on that angle and on the sound of Izzy’s irritated huff, but Ed’s attention is elsewhere. 

Specifically, it’s on the blond who’s just entered Hops Pub—an only slightly dive-y sports bar near Fountains Square in Baku, popular with locals and Baku’s tiny expat community alike. The blond fits in here about as well as a cut diamond might in a handful of gravel but the man himself doesn’t appear to notice this, or much else around him. He’s gone to stand at the bar now, wearing a turquoise jacket and a bitchy expression, mobile phone pressed to his ear, actually tapping his foot with impatience as Ilya serves other customers. His hair frames his face in flawless golden waves and the pleat in his trousers could cut glass. 

Ed’s fascinated. 

“Another game?” he vaguely hears Izzy say. “Fang, rack ‘em up. Ed? Hey? Edward! You up for a rematch?” 

“Nah.” Ed doesn’t spare him a glance. His eyes are otherwise occupied. “Let Fang have a go.” 

“C’mon, Ed—” 

“He’d just kick your ass again anyway,” Fang points out. Ed chuckles as Izzy splutters. 

“Perils of playing pool with an architect,” he says absently. “We’re all about the angles. Hey, I’m gonna go to the bar, you guys want anything? My round.” 

They all accept of course and Ed heads for the blond. Er, the bar. He heads for the bar. If in doing so he comes extremely close to the blond, well. The man is standing right in front of the bar. Which is where Ed heads. 

“A taxi?” the blond is saying as Ed settles in beside him with his forearms resting on the familiar scarred wood. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that already? None of them are licensed, I don’t think there even is such a thing as licensing here, and the minute the drivers see me coming they form a sort of wordless pact to quote me absolutely absurd sums. It’s pure corporate collusion is what it is.” 

Ed catches Ilya’s eye and indicates with a gesture he’d like another round of their usuals. Ilya acknowledges this, then attempts to catch the eye of the blond. Who entirely fails to notice him or indeed anyone or anything else in his immediate surroundings.

 “What do you mean what was I wearing?” he demands in a testy voice. “The same things I always wear… Well, in this particular instance it was my teal jacquard… No, Lucius, I cannot ‘just wear different clothes’. My clothes are the only clothes I have… No, I didn’t repack after Osaka, why would I… Obviously I brought a proper adventuring outfit but I’m hardly going to wear that until it’s actually time to go… Well, yes, I believe there is a shopping mall around here somewhere but Lucius I simply refuse to lower myself to the gruesome depths of poly-blend suits just to get a reasonable taxi fare. There are limits… No, I’m sure there’s got to be another way.” 

By now Ilya is all but waving his arms in the air to get the blond’s attention and at last he succeeds. “Oh, yes, um.” The man blinks, apparently only just coming to the realisation that he’s in a bar and certain social customs must be observed. “A mojito please, if you have that.” 

“Of course.” It’s impossible to tell from Ilya’s straight face or toneless reply whether he’s annoyed or not but Ed rather suspects he is. “One ‘mojito’, coming right up.” Oh, he’s definitely annoyed. 

Ed shifts his body so he’s facing the blond directly and observes him with unabashed interest. Predictably, it takes him a moment or two to pick up what Ed’s laying down but once he does his reaction is deeply gratifying. His eyes widen, then travel slowly from Ed’s face down his body and back up to his face again. Ed unleashes his most mercilessly sexy grin. The man swallows visibly.

“Lucius,” he says, “I’ll call you back.” 

A tinny voice from the phone’s speaker squawks in protest then is silenced as the blond cuts the call. “Hello,” he says to Ed. 

“Hey,” Ed replies. “So, I heard you say you’re going to Qobustan.” 

“Trying to.” The man pulls a face. “I didn’t think it would be quite this hard.” 

“Yeah? What are you finding hard about it?” 

“Well, my original plan was to hire a car and drive there myself. But I’ve been travelling a lot in the past few years you see and in all the confusion of being away from my usual routine I sort of… forgot to renew my driving licence. Turns out it’s been expired for six months.” 

Ed makes appropriately sympathetic noises and the man continues. “So then I thought, well, surely there will be a bus. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site! But, well.” 

“Yeah, mate, there’s no bus. Not outside Baku.” 

“Which I soon discovered. And then finally there were the taxis.” 

“I heard what you said about the taxis.” Ed can’t keep the amusement from his voice. “You’re absolutely right about them, they charge foreigners extra and you’re probably the most foreigner they’ve ever seen.” 

The blond gives him an odd look, a sort of bemused scowl. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult,” he says. 

“Wasn’t meant as one. Just a statement of fact. There’s not a lot of Western tourism in Baku so most of the foreigners here are Russian, Georgian, or Turkish. The ones that aren’t are probably oil rig workers or English teachers. Hardly surprising they haven’t seen anything like you before.”  

The blond sighs. “I actually get that a lot.” Ed believes him.

Ilya sets Ed’s drinks down on the bar then with exaggerated ceremony places a beautifully constructed mojito on a bar napkin and slides it over to the blond. “Sir’s mojito,” he says, deadpan. “Ten manat.” 

“Oh, right, um—” The blond begins to fumble for his wallet. 

“Put his on my tab,” says Ed in Russian. “Спасибо.” Ilya nods curtly and turns to the next customer. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” The blond picks up the mojito. “I’ve got manat of my own, you know. I didn’t come here entirely unprepared.”  His lips purse around the stripy straw in his drink as he takes a sip and Ed is momentarily distracted. 

“Wait,” he says, once his ability to produce language returns. “Do you speak Russian?” 

“Understand it mostly. Read it a little bit.” He shoots Ed a little smirk. “See? Not entirely unprepared.” 

“And did you know they spoke Russian in Azerbaijan before you came here?” 

The blond’s cheeks pinken. “Not precisely.” 

Ed starts to laugh. 

“Look, I know! This whole trip is a mess. In my defence I’m actually very good at what I do but the logistics surrounding my work are not something I normally have to manage. That’s my assistant’s job but he’s been down with the flu for two weeks and I’ve had to muddle through on my own. Not very well, apparently.” He gives a rueful shrug.

“Why don’t I take you to Qobustan?” Ed offers, casual as you like, as though this is merely a friendly gesture and not the object of the plan he’d formulated about three seconds after first laying eyes on this man. As though it were not the opening salvo of what he hopes will be be a quick and successful campaign to get himself into those sharply pleated trousers. Figuratively speaking, obviously. Pleats are not Ed’s style. 

The man looks taken aback but Ed can see he’s also considering it. “I don’t even know your name,” he says. 

“Ed Teach.” Ed holds out his hand. 

“Er.” The blond takes it in a firm and confident grip. Something ignites low in Ed’s belly. “Stede Bonnet.” 

Ed nods, swallows, forces himself to withdraw his hand. “Well now that we’ve been introduced, Stede Bonnet, can I give you a lift to Qobustan? Tomorrow’s my day off.” 

“Really?” Stede brightens. “On a Thursday? That’s a bit of luck.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

Tomorrow’s not Ed’s day off, of course. He doesn’t really have days off. But what’s the point of being the fucking boss if you can’t skive when you feel like it? Life is short and there are shiny blond men to fuck.  

“Well, if you’re sure it’s not an imposition,” says Stede. 

“Definitely not.” 

“And you aren’t some sort of deranged killer?” 

“Never on a Thursday. That’s my day off.” 

Stede laughs. It makes his eyes sparkle and his nose crinkle, exposes the line of his throat as he tilts his head back. Ed wants to devour him. “Then I’m delighted to accept your generous offer,” he says. “Thank you.” His beaming smile lights up the dim pub and Ed’s insides alike. 

“Cool,” Ed manages. He’s cool, everything’s cool. “Can’t wait.” 

continue reading on AO3

[elains]

✾ chapter 2  — magic

❧ Summary: The way Elain and Lucien discovered their mating bond was perhaps not ideal, and the road towards falling in love and accepting their feelings full of thorns — but throughout challenges and adversity, they have made it work. Now, eternity awaits them.

A series of connected ficlets for Elucien Week 2023, set post the end of the series when all villains are gone, following episodes of Elain and Lucien's sometimes quiet, sometimes agitated, life together.

For @elucienweekofficial

Read on Ao3! • Chapter one

 Built on the shores of a glistening turquoise sea, Haemera was a thing of beauty: the lower city rested on white sands like shells on a beach, painted in bright white colors and with gilded roofs. The quays of the rectangular harbor speared the calm, deep water of the sea, where ships from all over the world came to moor, seeking knowledge only the Day Court held. The libraries and the palace district themselves, as well as the Temple of the Risen Sun and the sprawling estates of the nobility, lay perched atop the cliffs, ever-haloed by the blazing sun.

Velaris was the City of Starlight, but Haemera was the City of Sunlight — the entire metropolis shimmered in different colors as the sun rose and set, yellow and orange and pink and purple. When the sun was at its brightest, the white paint seemed to reflect all the colors of the rainbow.

Yet, for all its beauty and bustling activity, Elain and Lucien had elected to move away from it. After years in court, they wanted their own private space, far from prying eyes. Phoebe and Helion had not been keen on the idea, discontent to part with their son and daughter-in-law, but eventually, the four of them came to an agreement.

So Helion gifted them ownership of the Red Palace and all its surrounding lands. It was located on the outskirts of Haemera, far enough that the city walls and its lights were no longer seen, but close enough as to be reached by winnowing once. The construction stood on the slope of a hill flanked by sprawling vineyards and olive trees, a ruby set against the verdant earth, its intricate mullioned windows and latticed walls making for an airy but intimate space.

And the courtyards. The Red Palace had more courtyards than Elain knew what to do with, fountains and pools of water with ivy climbing the elegant columns and archways. They were positioned strategically to allow sunlight and the salty breeze to sweep in, and she could not wait to make every one of them more beautiful than the next. 

She had, of course, immediately invited Nuan to see what mechanical improvements she could think of for the Palace's irrigation systems.

“This is insanity,” Nuan said with a shake of her head, taking a look at Elain's elegant handwritten scrawled all across the parchment. 

Elain huffed, shifting in her seat. “Well, no need to be so blunt. It's merely an idea.”

“An insane idea.” Nuan put down the parchment and removed her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It has been tried before, you know? In the continent, in the long lost fae city of Ashnan.”

“I do know the legend, thank you very much. Ashnan, the City of Pillars, whose fae dug too deep and too hungrily into the sands for water to feed their mighty projects and awakened something they should not, unleashing a maelstrom that dragged the city to a grave at the core of the world.” She waved a hand, wrinkling her nose. “We were told this story as babies as a cautionary tale of greed — ours and the fae's.”

“And even though you know how Ashnan ended, you still want to try and recreate its hanging gardens?”

“I don't want to recreate the hanging gardens of Ashnan, but rather something inspired by it.” Elain picked up her teacup and sipped the warm apple tea. “Besides, the Red Palace is hardly Ashnan. There's water aplenty, no need to dig so deep, and we are not trying to commit folly against the very laws of the world. Which, I believe, might have more to do with the city's downfall than the gardens proper. But most importantly, they didn't have you to think about the mechanics of it all.”

Nuan snorted. “This is madness.”

“Perhaps it is.”

“It will take years to be completed ”

“Most likely.”

“It will also be costly.”

“Not a problem. The treasury is overflowing.” 

“And it will require the brightest, most brilliant of inventors and crafters to pull it off.”

“Good thing then she's a friend of mine and is sitting right in front of me, isn't it?” Elain set down her cup, a smile breaking across her face. 

The other female let out a deep sigh and got up, leaning over the plans and Elain's annotations with furrowed brows.

“To recreate the work of the ancients into something everlasting…” She rubbed her chin with her thumb, biting her nail, thoughtful. The corner of her mouth lifted. “Yes, that is doable, I think.”

“You will do it then?” Elain asked, eyes lighting up.

“Elain, please. I made that decision the moment you first unveiled your plans.” She smirked at Elain, playful and mischievous, the gears in her head already turning, working full speed. “You will need my special kind of magic to pull this off. Why, someone else may get it wrong.”

༻ ❁ ༺

After Lucien and Elain were well settled in the palace and the main living areas properly redecorated and renovated, Helion and Phoebe invited themselves to stay the whole week. The Day Court, Helion said, wasn't so unstable and devoid of administrative talent so as not to handle one week without its High Lord and High Lady.

Elain woke just before dawn, when the sky was still that deep, fathomless blue darker than any black, broken only by the distant reds, oranges, and purples of daybreak. Soon the sun would rise and chase the shadows away.

She was a light sleeper, had always been, and their time living in the cottage had accustomed her to rising with the birds and the wildlife. In Velaris, Elain hadn't let go of her old habits, not in the least because the early morning was the only time of the day the Inner Circle wouldn't be around and she could enjoy some moments alone with her thoughts.

Seldom did she sleep the morning away, and even rarer did she stay awake late at night: that was reserved for when there were parties and revelries. 

Elain turned on the bed, coming face to face with her mate. Lucien was still soundly asleep, shirtless, his chest rising and falling with the tranquil rhythm of his heartbeat. Much like her, he was an early riser and a light sleeper, one forged by necessity, by a lifetime on high alert, expecting a blade between his ribs.

Though he probably wouldn't wake up anytime soon today, Elain reckoned with a chuckle. Lucien had tried — and utterly failed — to beat Helion in a drinking contest and had to be carried to bed like a baby. She ought to ask Feyre to paint two canvases of the scene so she could give one to Lucien and one to Helion.

With a contented sigh, she rose, pulling away the gossamer curtains that separated her dressing room from hers and Lucien's chambers. Her handmaids were nowhere to be seen, as Elain demanded they only start fussing over her after the sun was already up and high in the sky. Mother knew that if they tried to follow Elain's sleeping schedule, they'd get no rest at all.

She grabbed her pink silk robe from a hanger put it on, tying it around the waist with a ribbon. Then, she left the room through the side door, emerging directly in front of one of her moon gardens. The sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine and the newly bloomed rhododendrons clung to the air, carried by a tranquil breeze.

Elain crossed the garden, running her fingers over the marble edges of the fountain, coming to stand at a balcony overlooking a sheer drop in the hill. Down below, the laborers were already up, all set to start harvesting the ripe grapes. She leaned on the balustrade, resting her face on her hand, and closed her eyes. 

She stood like that for a while, listening to the nightingales sing, the wind whispering as it brushed through the vines, the rushing streams sneaking through the nearby woods. 

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and she opened her eyes, turning to where they were coming from.

Helion grinned at the sight of her, shining faintly on the half-light. She smiled back in response and moved aside, making way for him to stand beside her.

“That habit of yours remains?” He inquired, searching her face.

“It seems like I'm doomed to awake at dawn or in the early morning, no matter my best efforts.” Elain lifted her shoulders, long since resigned to her fate. “And what of you? Is the Lord of Day out to bring daylight for us fae or did you just not sleep?”

“You know quite well that telling the sun when to rise and set is far beyond my powers, though I might be able to light up the night for a time if I tried hard enough,” Helion answered with a chuckle. “No, my dear. As you are doomed to awake early, so am I doomed to sleepless nights. It has grown better with my Phoebe with me but… We all have our demons.”

Elain said nothing, staring at the horizon as the light blue color of the morning skies began to emerge and the sun hung over the land like a crown, allowing a companionable, deep silence to settle between them. She could never understand the depth of Helion’s scars, torn away from his mate for centuries and trapped beneath the darkness of the middle, watching helplessly as Amarantha slaughtered his kin. Lucien still had nightmares from it; she assumed Helion did, too.

“Sometimes when it is too dark and too quiet, I fear falling asleep,” she confessed, tightening her grip on the red stone. “I keep thinking that if I sleep, he will be back, waiting in my dreams with that terrible, terrible magic of his, playing with my sense of self until I can no longer distinguish what is real and what is not.”

“Is that why you closed yourself off to your visions?” Helion asked, the famous day court curiosity getting the better of him.

“In part,” Elain admitted, “but not solely because of it. The future is always in motion, always changing. Few things are set in stone. You pull a thread and suddenly, a whole other path opens. Some futures are dreadful, nightmares only. Others are the opposite. Still, constantly seeing ahead can become a burden, and I’m done living in what-ifs and could-have-been.”

Helion threw his head back with laughter. “Who needs those when we have this moment, this beautiful palace and our mates with us, a whole future ahead? I think we are quite well served, aren’t we, my dear?”

“Yes.” She stood on the tip of her toes and breathed in, releasing the balmy air with a chuckle. “And I wouldn't change it for nothing.”

Her father-in-law watched her carefully, with slightly narrowed eyes, calculating his words.

“I wasn't going to give you both this palace, you know,” he said slowly. “I planned to give you both the Sunburst House in the eastern district, where I resided in my younger years, before the war.”

Elain furrowed her brows, head askew. “And why didn't you?”

“Lucien asked for this place instead — he thought it was fitting. You should ask him yourself why he thought that, though. Perhaps there's a reason to it you do not yet know.”

༻ ❁ ༺

“Not that I’m complaining about waking up like this, love, but would you mind explaining?” Lucien asked, mirth dancing in his russet eye.

Elain lay above him, her knees beside his torso and her long, thin, callused fingers wrapped around his hands, pinning them to the mattress just beside his ears. Her hair fell over her shoulder in unbound waves, casting a shadow over the pale skin of her shoulder blades visible from her loose silk robe. 

She didn’t look very happy though, not with her squinting brown eyes and pink mouth twisted into an annoyed pout.

“Your father said you asked for this palace for us. Why?”

“Elain!” He gasped, faking outrage. “Gossiping with my father already? So early in the morning?”

“He isn’t the one keeping secrets from his mate!”

“That you know of, perhaps.” 

Elain gasped and sat on his belly, leaning down, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she brought her nose close to his. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Lucien chuckled, closing his metal eye and turning his head. “That is for you to figure out.”

“Lucien! That isn’t fair!”

“Neither is ambushing me like this, is it now?” She pressed down on him and he groaned, heat gathering between his tights. “Now you are just being mean.”

“I have a reason.” She said with a little smirk, seemingly satisfied with the reaction she elicited. “Now, the truth: why this place?”

“It has lovely gardens, it’s far enough from the city to allow us some privacy whilst being close enough to return for emergencies, the wine weather is excellent and it's a beautiful, historical building that is well suited to us.”

She rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue. “Well, yes, but I already know all this. Helion wouldn’t have mentioned it to me if there wasn’t more. So please, Lucien—” Elain let go of one of his hands, placing a finger on his lips. “— won’t you tell me?”

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, cursing his father inwards. Lucien had planned to tell Elain the whole story of the Red Palace eventually as a part of a grand romantic gesture to celebrate the anniversary of their mating. He still had a treasure trove of ideas for the date proper, but it would require some maneuvering and improvisation. Perhaps he ought to ask Nuan for — no, she would just murder him for the added commission in her already full agenda. Vassa and Elain’s sisters, then.

And his mother, if only so she could give Helion grief for ruining his carefully laid plans.

“I didn’t mean to keep it a secret,” he said, “but the right time to speak about it was never right. Not for me, in any case.” Lucien waited to see if she was going to say anything, but Elain only watched him with her honey gaze, patient and attentive. “Right. So, many centuries ago, long before the war, one of my ancestors, High Lord Hyperion, was arranged to marry a Princess from the continent, Nahida. Their partnership wasn’t a happy one at first. Nahida didn’t speak our dialect, nor did she know much about the Day Court and its traditions. No matter how much her husband tried, she felt like an outsider in what was supposed to be her new home.”

Elain gulped, lower lip trembling. Lucien raised his hand, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Hyperion was an honorable man, determined to keep his vows to the Mother to love and cherish his wife. But how could he, when Nahida had wrapped herself so thoroughly in her own misery, not allowing anyone close? There had to be something he could do. Hyperion went to the Oracle of Mount Astreus, the highest of peaks between Day and Night, and asked how he could show his wife his sincerity? But you know how prophecy works.”

“A riddle wrapped inside an enigma encased in a question,” she agreed with a wet laugh. 

“Yes, and one even Hyperion, with all his libraries and knowledge under his domain, couldn’t unveil. It was not until he saw Nahida gazing wistfully at a desiccated lotus, the symbol of her homeland, that he understood that more than anything, his wife missed her home. He wrote to his sister-in-law, asking for her best architects and masons. Hyperion had the Red Palace built in secret and after it was done, he brought Nahida here.”

“And what did she say? What was her reaction?”

“By then, years had passed them by and Nahida had learned the language of her new home, if not perfectly. She was speechless, at first, staring at this little piece of her homeland nestled on the slope of the hill, but when Hyperion went to his knees before his knees and poured his heart out, Nahida broke down into sobs. She threw her arms around him and they both cried for all the time they had lost. Then, they decided to make the most of the years ahead, to fill this palace with happiness and laughter and joy. My family likes to say that the magic of their promise will cling to these walls until we are no more.”

“Oh Lucien,” Elain pressed her eyes close, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“I know you didn’t. I had a whole plan to tell you about it, or at least the beginnings of one.” He offered her a tremulous smile. 

“I would have liked to see it too.” She bit her lip and glanced at him from under her thick eyelashes. “Will you pretend you never told me this story and tell me again the way you planned? All your plans for the future, all your hopes, and dreams, all the magic in these halls — will you share it with me? ” 

“Only for you, Elain,” he whispered reverently against her lips, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Only for you.” 

[existslikepristin]

This is more of a funny thought I had than a real fic. It's tiny LIKE SOMETHING ELSE HA

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Chaein, groping

“You dare… You dare look at me and tell me that these aren—”

“Chaein, it’s not an insult!”

Chaein shakes as she holds your wrists. “How could you say such a thing?! These… Why, these are the pinnacle—”

“Dammit, don’t start.”

“The pinnacle of titties! Boobs, perfected! Crafted by the gods themselves and bathed in the waters of the fountain of youth!”

“There’s nothing wrong with having small boobs.”

“Jugs! Unparalleled! Admit that you cannot tear away your eyes!”

“I’m reaching to grab them! I wanna touch them!”

“My boobies are the ultimate! The alpha and the omega!”

“Don’t say that… That’s a thing, and this isn’t it.”

Chaein yanks you in closer and your hands are fully palming her bare chest. “Feel your folly, fool! Comprehend the power contained within these tiddays with your simple hands!”

You squeeze halfheartedly, unsure if you want to encourage this ridiculousness. Chaein squeaks and lifts her shoulders as high up as her silly smile.

“Wow, so much power…”

“Heehee, they’re the best, r—”

“In such a small package.”

“You dare?!”

[a-lwni]

i had a conversation on here years ago, i wish i could find it.. and maybe i could - i saved a copy of that blog before pressing delete. an archive of several previous mes. it's on a harddrive stashed in the back of the bottom drawer

their name was cypress? or maybe they didn't have one, we talked about names - how necessary is one, what does a name really mean? sweetgum is the tree w palmate leaves and spikey seedpods, mourning cloak is the black butterfly w yellow at the edges, [ ] is the human body i live inside of, the one i see in the mirror

anyways we talked about dignity, the importance of it. tact is the dance we do to maintain each other's. maybe humanity's main folly is that dignity is worth dying over, but that's where ---- and [ ] disagreed

what sparked the conversation? i was working in a movie theatre at the time and maybe had written about it.....

the memory feels just out of reach now. everything's clear right up to it, the bar, the soda fountain, the smell of the popcorn, but the sound's all muffled. someone suffering, something about wanting to see it, bear witness, like it was the only thing i could do so i would do it.

but this didn't make sense to ----. who would avert their eyes. why suffer too, the pain of having to see it.

i realize i'm conflating two conversations. one about the importance of dignity, another about an instinct to bear witness, catholic upbringings.

we talked for about 8 months. perpetual motion machines, forests, upstate new york, deserts, colorado, baader meinhoff, clarice - they said reading clarice felt like looking into an empty elevator shaft.

then less and less. they posted about ending it, deleted the tumblr account. i sent an email. what could i possibly have said then. but i sent something. some abbreviated response. i sent something else, what do you say? and that one bounced back, account deleted.

the internet