#give elain a spear

[merymoonbeam]

Spear?

CC3 spoilers

This is just a manifesting post and more connections I found from cc3 🫡

In my wild hunt post I talked about narben being a spear for... reasons.

I think Gwydion and Truth-Teller are inspired by King Arthur's weapons. In myths it is talked about how he has a sword, a knife and a spear...

Other weapons have been associated with Arthur. Welsh tradition also knew of a dagger named Carnwennan and a spear named Rhongomyniad that belonged to him. Carnwennan ("little white-hilt") first appears in Culhwch and Olwen, where Arthur uses it to slice the witch Orddu in half. Rhongomyniad ("spear" + "striker, slayer") is also mentioned in Culhwch, although only in passing; it appears as simply Ron ("spear") in Geoffrey's Historia. Geoffrey also names Arthur's shield as Pridwen; in Culhwch, however, Prydwen ("fair face") is the name of Arthur's ship while his shield is named Wynebgwrthucher ("face of evening").

So other than excalibur Arthur has a dagger and a spear.

To me it looks like

Excalibur= Gwydion

Carnwennan= Truth-Teller

Rhongomyniad= Narben

So why? Lemme explain.

With Excalibur it is about who is worthy to pull it out of the stone.

Excalibur is the mythical sword of King Arthur that may possess magical powers or be associated with the rightful sovereignty of Britain. Traditionally, the sword in the stone that is the proof of Arthur's lineage and the sword given him by a Lady of the Lake are not the same weapon, even as in some versions of the legend both of them share the name of Excalibur.

Romance tradition elaborates on how Arthur came into possession of Excalibur. In Robert de Boron's c. 1200 French poem Merlin, the first known tale to mention the "sword in the stone" motif, Arthur obtained the British throne by pulling a sword from an anvil sitting atop a stone that appeared in a churchyard on Christmas Eve.[18] In this account, as foretold by Merlin, the act could not be performed except by "the true king", meaning the divinely appointed king or true heir of Uther Pendragon. (As Thomas Malory related in his English-language Arthurian compilation, the 15th-century Le Morte d'Arthur, "whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England."[19][d])

And we have Gwydion/Starsword

That your son, not you, retrieved the Starsword from the Cave of Princes in Avallen’s dark heart. That your son, not you, stood among the long-dead Starborn Princes asleep in their sarcophagi and was deemed worthy to pull the sword from its sheath. How many times did you try to draw the sword when you were young? How much research did you do in this very study to find ways to wield it without being chosen? (Hoeab)

So it matches even though at the end it is Bryce who can access the real power of the sword not Ruhn bc it is sarah and we have the females as a main character.

And now the dagger—Carnwennan and Truth-Teller.

In myths the dagger is described like this.

Carnwennan, or Carnwenhau ("Little White Hilt"), was the dagger of King Arthur in the Welsh Arthurian legends

In Culhwch and Olwen, Arthur names it as one of the few things in the world which he will not give to Culhwch. Later, he uses it to slay the witch Orddu, the daughter of the witch Orwen, by slicing her in half.[1] In the Welsh Triads, Carnwennan is listed alongside Arthur's spear Rhongomyniad and Arthur's sword Caledfwlch as sacred weapons given to him by God: "the sacred weapons that God had given him: Rhongomiant his spear, Caledfwlch a sword, and Carnwennan his dagger" (Bromwich's translation).[2]

The fact that Arthur would not give the weapons to Culhwch when we know Fionn didn't give the Gwydion and TT to Theia? Kinda similar.

My father had never shown himself to be giving—long had he kept Gwydion and never once offered it to my mother. The dagger that had belonged to his dear friend, slain during the war, hung at his side, unused. But not for long.

We learned in cc2 that Gwydion and TT are twin blades.(I went into detail about this and how it connects to elriel in several posts > light and dark, sing me, alpha and omega)

The male drew it, and Bryce flinched. Flinched, but—“What the fuck?” The knife could have been the twin of the Starsword: black hilted and bladed. It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger—.The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega. “Gwydion,” the dark-haired female whispered, indicating the Starsword.(hosab)

And in cc3 we learn that when you use Truth-Teller...there are shadows.

Bryce threw her power into the Starsword, light ripping through the black blade, willing it to tear this fucking monster apart— She willed it into Truth-Teller, and shadows flowed—

Seems...weird that Truth-teller has "shadow powers" and in acowar we have Elain literally stepping out of a shadow. And we never learned the reason why???

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

So how these connect to Arthur's dagger? (Just gonna add here that @riddlecrux told me about this before so credit goes to her 🫡)

In addition to his other magical items, Arthur had the invisibility granting Carnwennan. The dagger was providing a kind of presence concealment to Arthur or to its wielder. In European folklore, invisibility-granting items are rather prevalent. These are often recognized as caps or invisibility cloaks. The invisibility attribute of Carnwennan was probably the main reason Arthur named his dagger among the things he could never give up for any reason:

Invisibility? Shadows? @silverlinedeyes made a post before how elain could get a cloak made of void? And we know with Gwydion and TT you can make a portal to nowhere—the void.

“The Starsword is Made, as you called it.” He waved an idle hand, sparks at his fingertips. “The knife can Unmake things. Made and Unmade. Matter and antimatter. With the right influx of power—a command from the one destined to wield them—they can be merged. And they can create a place where no life, no light exists. A place that is nothing. Nowhere.”

It had been a gamble. But she’d seen what the Starsword and Truth-Teller had done to Polaris. They had created a void that had sucked the Asteri in—the only sort of prison that might destroy a being of light. The only force in the universe that ate light, so strong no light could ever escape it. A portal to nowhere. To a black hole. Wasn’t that the unholy power that Apollion possessed? The power of the Void. The antithesis of light.

So maybe we are gonna see elain and the void connected?

Also more about the dagger in Arthurian legends:

Carnwennan, or Carnwenhau, meaning "white hilt" was the dagger belonging to the great King Arthur. It is attributed with the magical power to shroud its user in shadow. This dagger, it is said, was one of three sacred weapons given to King Arthur by God. Arthur names it as one of the few things in the world which he would not give to his cousin Culhwch. King Arthur used this very dagger it to slay the witch Orddu ,daughter of Orwen. by slicing her in half. It is also possible that this is the dagger he once used to kill a giant.

So there is that.

And lastly we have the spear—Rhongomyniad.

There is not much we can use from the myths because the only things we have are its name and it was given to Arthur by god.

Rhongomyniad, or Rhongomiant (variously translated as "Slaying Spear," "Cutting Spear" or "Striking Spear"), was the spear of King Arthur in the Welsh Arthurian legends. Unlike Arthur’s two other weapons, his sword Caledfwlch and his dagger Carnwennan, Rhongomyniad has no apparent magical powers.

In the Historia Regum Britanniae, Geoffrey of Monmouth calls Arthur's lance Ron,[2] presumably an abbreviation of the original Welsh name. Layamon also calls it this in his Brut. Geoffrey states that Arthur carried this lance with him at the Battle of Mount Badon. Layamon states in a passage (without naming the weapon) that Arthur's spear was forged in Carmarthen by a smith called Griffin. He also adds that it formerly belonged to Uther Pendragon.

The wiki says it has no magical power but...if sarah took inspo from Excalibur for Gwydion and the dagger for TT...I wouldn't put it past her to use the spear as an inspo for Narben... especially with her love for 3s.

Also like the spear we dont have much to go on for Narben either. We have so little information.

“Amarantha destroyed one,” Amren said. Cassian started. “I never heard that.” Amren amended, “Rumor claimed she dumped one into the sea. It would not come to Amarantha’s hand, nor the hands of any of her commanders, and rather than let the King of Hybern attain it, she disposed of it.” Azriel asked, “Which sword?” “Narben.” (Acosf)

"Narben was even older than Gwydion,” Rhys said. “Where the hell was it?” (Acosf)

Narben’s powers had not been the holy, savior’s light of Gwydion, but ones far darker. (Acosf)

Rhys studied her blade. “Narben is a death-sword. It’s lost, possibly destroyed, but stories say it can slay even monsters like Lanthys.” (Acosf)

So that's all we know.

Another point...Fionn connection.

In myths there is a HUGE part about Fionn using a spear to defeat a giant.

Also known as the Spear of Fiacha (or Fiacail), Birgha was an enchanted, venomous spear. The warrior Fiacha, a follower of Cumal (a leader of the Fianna), gave the spear to Cumal’s son Fionn mac Cumhail so that he might defeat Aillén, an evil creature/former member of the Tuath Dé Danann who resided, three-hundred-and-sixty-four days a year, in the Otherworld. Each and every Samhain the monster—nicknamed “the burner”—would wreak havoc on the royal residence of Tara (also: Teamhair) with his fire-breath after lulling its defenders to sleep with enchanted music. Specifically, Aillén plays—or weaponizes, I should say—the suantraí (lullaby) strain of ancient Irish music, which is frequently deployed by gods, druids, and other musicians in the myths in order to incapacitate opponents. That’s where Birgha comes into play. In Lady Gregory’s version of events, Fiacha teaches Fionn how to unlock the power of the spear, instructing his pupil as follows: “When you will hear the music of the Sidhe, let you strip the covering off the head of the spear and put it to your forehead, and the power of the spear will not let sleep come upon you.”

Just saying...with all of a new character singing...having some effects on others...IDK. WEIRD. 🫣

Another point is Four treasures of Tuatha de danaan. ( @offtorivendell made a post about them before )

Dagda's Cauldron

pretty self explanatory...cauldron.

Claiomh Solais (the sword of light)

Gwydion.

The sword may be rendered in English as the "Sword of Light", or "Shining Sword".

The Sword of Light or Claidheamh Soluisis a trope object that appears in a number of Irish and Scottish Gaelic folktales. The "Quest for sword of light" formula is catalogued as motif H1337.

The Starsword sang with light, her power flowing into it. Activating it. And nothing had ever felt so right, so easy, as plunging the blade into the bony chest of the wounded Reaper. It arced, bellowing, black blood spurting from its withered lips. (Hosab)

Narben’s powers had not been the holy, savior’s light of Gwydion, but ones far darker.(acosf)

Lia Fail Stone

My whole wild hunt post is about this. You can read it there. Basically I think this is the inspo for the stone on top of Ramiel.

The Spear of Lugh

And here is the reason I think Narben might be a spear.

Lugh's spear (sleg), according to the text of The Four Jewels of the Tuatha Dé Danann, was said to be impossible to overcome.

Interesting that Amren said this about Narben in acosf:

“I don’t know, but she found it, and when it would not bend to her, she destroyed it. As she did all good things.” It was as much as Amren would say about that terrible time. “It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war.”

More info for Spear of Lugh.

In a full narrative version called [A]oidhe Chloinne Tuireann (The Fate of the Children of Tuireann),[51] from copies no earlier than the 17th century,[52] Lugh demands the spear named Ar-éadbair or Areadbhair (Early Modern Irish: Aꞃéadḃaiꞃ) which belonged to Pisear, king of Persia. Areadbhair's tip had to be kept immersed in a pot of water to keep it from igniting, a property similar to the Lúin of Celtchar. This spear is also called "Slaughterer"[53] in translation.

Narben is a death "sword"

Rhys studied her blade. “Narben is a death-sword. It’s lost, possibly destroyed, but stories say it can slay even monsters like Lanthys.” (Acosf)

Also the spear of Lugh is connected with lightning.

Lugh's projectile weapon, whether a dart or missile, was envisioned to be symbolic of lightning-weapon.

Also known as the Lightning Spear, or simply Lugh’s Spear, the Gae Assail was one of the Four Treasures or Jewels of the Tuatha Dé Danann

And to me it is interesting that Ramiel means "god has thundered" maybe there is a connection?

Lugh's sling rod, named "Lugh's Chain", was the rainbow and the Milky Way, according to popular writer Charles Squire.[57] Squire adds that Lugh's spear which needed no wielding was alive and thirsted so for blood that only by steeping its head in a sleeping-draught of pounded fresh poppy leaves could it be kept at rest. When a battle was near, it was drawn out; then it roared and struggled against its thongs, fire flashed from it, and it tore through the ranks of the enemy once slipped from the leash, never tired of slaying

So thanks for reading.

I NEED A SPEAR 😭😭

[elrielsgarden]

“Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

‘Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”’

-ACOFAS, SJM

Elain’s response to this small, gentle gesture of gratitude and “I know you can, but let me” is to leave the room to freshen up with the cutest little flustered blush. You can’t convince me this girl doesn’t have a crush.

‘Azriel set the potatoes in the center of the table, Cassian diving right in. Or he tried to. One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice.

... Azriel didn’t let go. “Wait until everyone is seated before eating.”’

- ACOFAS, SJM

Rhys explains to Feyre that Azriel has some scars in regard to how his mother was treated, and one of them clearly surrounds this moment with Elain.

What’s more important is that Azriel chose this point in time to give this moment of caring to Elain. He saw the work she put into this meal, and chose to offer her a little extra care and respect. It’s really such a sweet moment, and the perfect way for Azriel to show to Elain his genuine care for her.

[secretlovelygarden]

Elriel in ACOFAS

• “You honestly think he’d ever give up truth-teller?”

“He gave it to Elain,” Mor said, admiring a moonstone necklace in the counter’s glass case.

“She gave it back,” I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the king of Hybern’s throat, but Elain had given it back - - had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into her hands before. and then walked away without looking back.

Mor hummed to herself.

•“Send Lucien, then, as our human emissary.”

I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

Az’s brows rose. “Where?”

I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “i don’t make a point of looking after his movements.”

“Why?”

Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited.

“It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

To know when and if Lucien sought her out. what they did together.

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly.

Azriel’s siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea.

“Where did Lucien go?”

• “And you?” I made myself say. “Are you - all right?”

Elain looked over a shoulder at me as we entered the foyer then turned left - to the dining room. In the sitting room across the way, all conversation halted at the smell of food.

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, a smile lighting up her face. I’d seen those smiles before, on my own damn face. [… ] Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

• I strode to my seat - nestled between Amren and Mor - in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.”

Az said nothing.

No, he just moved toward her.

Mor tensed beside him.

But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. with a blink, she lowered them and noticed her apron. “I-I’ll be right back,” she murmured, and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one cared if she showed up to dinner covered in flour and that she could just sit. Azriel set the potatoes in the center of the table, Cassian diving right in. Or he tried to. One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice.

Mor gaped wide enough that I was certain the half-chewed green beans in her mouth were going to tumble onto her plate. Amren just smirked over the rim of her wine glass. Cassian gawked at him. “Wait for what? Gravy?”

Azriel didn’t let go. “Wait until everyone is seated before eating.”

[…]

“I never knew you were a stickler for manners, Az.”

Azriel only released Cassian’s hand, and stared at his wine glass.

Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. […]

But Cassian waited until Elain had filled her plate before he took another scoop of anything. As did the others.

• Beyond the windows, darkness had indeed fallen. the longest night of the year. I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it. The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s - the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy solstice.”

• “Az, this one’s for you.”

The shadowsinger’s brows lifted, but his scarred hand extended to take the present.

Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.”

Azriel’s face didn’t so much as shift at the words. not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed -

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained, Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you, since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the glass bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said.

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

• It was three by the time the others went to bed. by the time Cassian returned, quiet and brooding, and knocked back a glass of liquor before stalking upstairs. Mor followed him, worry dancing in her eyes. Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

No wonder antis “recommend” to skip ACOFAS

[yennas-stuff]

As a huge Percy Jackson fan, I decided (totally unprompted and unasked) to devide Acotar characters into their cabins.

Acotar characters as demigods:

Cabin 1 - Zeus, the god of the sky, lightning, and thunder

Zeus' children are known to be natural leaders because their father is the king of the gods. They are extremely ambitious, persistent, intelligent, and goal-oriented. They are often labeled as "control-freaks" because they like to be in control of every situation. They are friendly most of the time, but when angered, they erupt like a storm. Children of Zeus are often drawn to storms, finding comfort in the sounds of lightning and thunder, and the intense emotions they evoke.

Demigods: Rhysand, Nesta

Cabin 2 - Hera, the goddess of marriage, family, and birth

As the goddess of marriage, Hera upholds her union with Zeus, which prevents her from having any demigod offspring.

Demigods: none

Cabin 3 - Poseidon, the god of the Sea, Storms, Earthquakes, Droughts, and Horses.

Poseidon’s children are known for having a deep passion for water. They usually love the ocean and anything that involves being close to water. They tend to not like following rules or obeying just because they are told to, just as the ocean does not like to be contained. They are friendly, loyal, and usually have a good sense of humor. Poseidon's children can also experience mood swings and be unpredictable, just like the sea. They also tend to have an outgoing and welcoming personality, but hey, do not try to irritate them: testing their patience is ill-advised, for it is not inexhaustible, and the consequences may be regrettable.

Demigods: Gwyn, Tarquin

Cabin 4 - Demeter, the goddess of harvest and agriculture

Demeter’s children are known for loving nature. They are free-spirited, kind, patient, competent, nurturing, and loving. They usually have a shy personality, but they can be fiercely protective when their loved ones are threatened. Their connection to nature infuses them with a sense of peace and harmony, and they often find solace and joy in the beauty of the natural world. They are usually seen as motherly figures, people usually seek comfort in Demeter’s children. 

While their generosity, patience, and kindness are admirable traits, it is wise to avoid intentionally provoking them. Otherwise, you may wake up to find poison ivy flourishing in your sleeping bag.

Demigods: Elain

Cabin 5 - Ares, the god of war

It is easy to recognize a son or daughter of Ares. They tend to exude bravery, power, and confidence wherever they are. The children of Ares are known for their immense courage and strong temper, and they are typically assertive, energetic, and independent, with a natural inclination towards impulsiveness and courage. They thrive on competition, displaying honesty and passion in their pursuits, but may struggle with patience and impulsivity. Adventurous by nature, they eagerly embrace new experiences and challenges. They tend to think they are naturally better than others. Children of Ares can be hot-headed, arrogant and stubborn. They don't take things lying down, they aren't afraid of practically anything, they hate taking orders and tend to start fights for silly reasons. Still, they are very protective of those they love and would do anything to keep them well. Ironically, since their personality is usually quite the opposite, they tend to get along very well with children of Aphrodite.

If you want advice, try to stay in a good position with these demigods, or you might end up with a spear pointed at your face.

Demigods: Cassian, Feyre

Cabin 6 - Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war

Athena's children are known for their intelligence, strategic skills, creativity and courage. They tend to be trustworthy, like to lead groups, and have good ideas. They are also proud people and do not like to admit to their mistakes. If they do not excel at something right away, they get frustrated and give up on what they are doing. They can be messy at times, but they accept the mess they have created and can function well in it. While they may seem distant from society at times, it is not because they lack social skills. Rather, Athena's children are just selective about their interactions and prefer meaningful companions for their life. In fact, if they are called upon to discuss a subject they like/understand, an endless discourse on the subject will ensue.These people also tend to work well under pressure, they hate being ignored, they always want to show their responsibility (even unconsciously), and some people may have the impression of them being stuck up.

Demigods: Amren, Eris, Jurian

Cabin 7 - Apollo, the god of archery, art, medicine and the Sun and light

Apollo's children are known for their aptitude for art, especially music and poetry. They also tend to be quite sociable and communicative. Furthermore, they love helping and advising their friends, always indirectly bringing insights from their own lives. Apollo children tend to act on emotion rather than reason. They are extremely emotional people. Apollo kids always use sarcasm in all dialogues. They also have a special connection with sunrises and sunsets because they resemble a beautiful painting and obviously, showcases the sun (they take pictures of it whenever they can). They also love quality time with their friends and value nature around them. Children of Apollo tend to get along with children of Hermes, as Hermes was the inventor of Apollo's precious lyre.

Apollo: Tamlin

Cabin 8 - Artemis, the goddess of hunting and wildlife

Artemis has made a vow to eternally remain a maiden, which means she has no children. Generally, her cabin at the camp remains unoccupied. However, the goddess is accompanied by a group of gifted followers with excellent ranged capabilities and hunting skills called the Hunters of Artemis, and occasionally these young women visit Camp Half-Blood. Whenever this visit occurs, there is a traditional, not-so-friendly capture the flag game. The Hunters are currently leading the Campers roughly 47-0 in the capture the flag game (ouch!).

If you're a girl, of course, and you think your destiny is to become a hunter of Artemis, it is important to keep a few things in mind as you seek her out for recruitment. Huntresses must show bravery and a good heart. Furthermore, you have to promise eternal loyalty to Artemis, which means no boys. Ever. Additionally, you gain immortality upon being recruited.

Demigods: Emerie

Cabin 9 - Hephestus, the god of blacksmiths and fire

The children of Hephaestus have a natural gift for building things; they are true mechanics. They have a more reserved personality and prefer to be alone, or in the company of a machine. If they could choose to be alone for all their school work, they would. Despite this, they have a friendly side. They are good listeners and can be very funny, but only the people closest to them tend to know this. They are also friends for life, who can always be counted on. Hephaestus' children are truly passionate about robotics or architecture, and since they were children they liked building toys and more complex things. They also always feel out of place, as if they do not belong. Hesphaestus' children are quite peaceful and do not like violence.

Demigods: Nuan

Cabin 10 - Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty

For the children of the goddess of love, socializing is essential. They usually take a long time to get ready and they value beauty and love more than anything. They often fall in love quickly and enjoy being the center of attention or “the hot topic in other people's conversations.” They are sometimes considered “frivolous” because they care a lot about their appearance and love to gossip about who is dating who, but many have admirable characteristics, such as a good heart that genuinely helps to increase the confidence and self-esteem of those around them. they. Aphrodite's children are often underserved or underestimated, but be careful, Aphrodite started the Trojan war and her children have a strong power of persuasion. They usually get what they want.

Demigods: Mor

Cabin 11 - Hermes, the god of trade, wealth, thieves, and travel

The children of Hermes are known for loving to travel. They are true explorers of the world and are very extroverted. They like to play pranks on others and tell jokes to brighten up the atmosphere. These people are usually more “street-smart” and have a mischievous personality; they see no problem in lying a little, but sometimes they end up abusing this philosophy. The children of Hermes believe that the more friends the better.

Important advice: Hold your belongings tightly around them, after all they are children of the god of thieves. And, if you spend a night with them, do not be surprised if you wake up with a face full of shaving foam.

Demigods: Lucien

Cabin 12 - Dionysius, the god of wine and parties

Dionysus' children are known for being the life of the party and great extroverts. They are extremely communicative and persuasive, due to their father being the God of the Theater. These demigods tend to get along well with the cat family---after all, their father is also the god of big cats. Dionisio's children are also seen as "drama queens and kings”, as they often exaggerate all situations in their daily lives and are often sarcastic. These people appreciate all products made from grapes.

Demigods: Helion

Cabin 13 - Hades, the god of the dead and the king of the underworld

The children of Hades tend to be introverted and some even prefer to completely isolate themselves. They do not know how to deal with their own feelings properly nor are they very communicative, but are exceptional listeners. Furthermore, they are loyal and like animals. They often use dry sarcasm in dialogue, hate being the center of attention and get very nervous about it. The children of Hades also have their greedy and ambitious side, being particularly intelligent and resourceful. It is not always easy to unveil a son of Hades: they are discreet and don't let their deepest emotions show easily. Furthermore, they are overthinkers by nature and usually do not have a regulated sleep schedule. These demigods are also very stubborn and hate admitting they are wrong. Lastly, they do not fear their own death.

Demigods: Azriel

[the-lonelybarricade]

We Bleed the Same - (5/?)

Summary: The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

A gift for my darling @belabellissima💝

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

The emerald eyed beast watched Feyre from the shadows of the ash wood grove.

She was frozen, shaping words of warning but unable to give any of them voice.

Elain’s back was turned, blissfully unaware of the looming threat as she tended to the garden on Lord Nolan’s estate. Her head was tilted mid-laugh, joy shining on her face, until the pleasant sound pitched into a scream when she spied the beast launching from its hiding spot. There was no time to evade its massive body as it tackled her to the ground, its brutal teeth tearing into her flesh.

Feyre couldn’t move. She wanted to lunge towards one of the ash wood trees and pry off a branch to use as a spear. She wanted to cry. She wanted to beg the beast to take her life instead. But all she could do was watch as the beast swiped a claw over Elain’s throat, cutting through her skin like butter.

Elain’s lips parted, fighting for breath in a series of wet, desperate gasps of air. Each of them were futile, catching and dissolving at the slit in her throat. Blood gushed from the wound—so bright against her pale skin—and trickled down to wet the earth. Feyre couldn’t look away as Elain’s head lolled into the growing dark puddle, her struggle tapering.

It was a slow, miserable death. And Elain held Feyre’s eyes until it claimed her.

Then a noise rose from behind, drawing the beast’s attention away from Elain’s corpse. It raised its bloodied maw to the mansion’s front entrance—and only once she recognized the voice did Feyre pry her eyes to where Nesta now stood, wailing at the sight before her.

Run, Feyre tried to beg, but Nesta didn’t. She collapsed to her knees, her face slackened with grief, and she made no move to defend herself as the beast darted past Feyre to strike down the eldest Archeron sister.

Nesta turned her head away from the beast, those fierce, burning eyes meeting Feyre’s.

“You did this,” she said, the words bathed in contempt. “You brought them here. You damned us.”

-

Feyre thrashed awake, hissing when the motion jerked at her stitches. She was covered in sweat and gasping for air as her eyes flitted through the dark bedroom, searching for any details that could ground her. Remind her that the nightmare wasn’t real.

It was just a dream, she told herself, rubbing away her tears. Elain and Nesta are fine. They’re asleep in their beds. Rhys is going to find the High Lord and…

And what? Kill him? Was that even possible?

Feyre groaned as she threw her sweat-damp blankets aside and reached for the small vial Rhysand left on her bedside table. The pain in her shoulder had steadily returned since he’d left the estate, and was now slicing through her with a vengeance.

She tipped the tonic into her mouth, swallowing past its acrid taste in the delusional hope it could clear away her restless mind just as effectively as it would ease the throbbing. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat and warmed her chest. She sat still, counting her heavy breaths as she waited for it to do something, anything.

It denied her any instant relief.

Fingers shaking, Feyre lifted the blankets to rise from the bed. Silver light poured through a slit in the heavy velvet drapes hanging from the windows. She knew if she pulled them aside, she’d find the estate cast in darkness, the morning still hours off.

But Feyre wasn’t brave enough to pull aside the drapes. Not at the risk of peeking out and seeing those emerald eyes flash at her through the shadows. She couldn’t shake the horror of her nightmare, the sight of all that gore.

If it were an ordinary day, back in the cottage, she would be waking by this time. Preparing for a day of hunting before the sun rose so that she wouldn’t miss a moment of precious sunlight. Her sisters would be grumbling their displeasure at being woken so early while Feyre untangled herself from their limbs.

An odd ache bloomed like a bolt in her chest. She never thought she’d miss sharing a bed with them, feeling the warmth of their bodies and hearing their steady breathing, knowing they were okay. Alive.

She pushed out her bedroom, telling herself she would feel better once she checked on her sisters and saw them each sleeping peacefully in their beds.

Of course, that required knowing where they were staying. Feyre glanced hopelessly down the branching passageways, each lined with dozens of doors, and for the first time she was struck by the sheer size of Lord Nolan’s fortress. She hadn’t bothered to ask Rhys where her sisters were being kept, and he hadn’t bothered to show her.

It was dim in the hallway. Feyre didn’t dare light a candle at the risk that Lord Nolan or his son might see the light passing under their door and decide to investigate. She didn’t want them to think she was snooping—and she promised herself that wasn’t what she was doing. But her eyes did wander, marking the weapons and trophies mounted to the walls, mentally keeping track of each of the turns she took through the dark halls so she could find her way back.

She paused when she came across a portrait hanging on one end of the corridor. It was too dim to admire the art in any detail, but the sight of it pulled at a longing she’d once believed would lay permanently dormant.

Perhaps… perhaps if they were truly to remain here, fed and unharmed, then Feyre would have the luxury of picking up a paintbrush again. Now that she could hang her bow without worrying where her family’s next meal was coming from.

Once, that was all she’d ever dreamed about.

Somehow, it still felt too far out of reach. Like it was all placed so neatly for her atop a frozen lake, but if she stepped towards it, the cracks would set in and she would watch everything collapse in front of her.

“Creepy, isn’t it?”

Feyre jumped at the sound of Nesta’s voice.

She spun around, finding her sister standing in the middle of the hallway, her arms crossed tightly over her dressing gown to keep it from exposing the nightgown she wore underneath. Silver light flooded from one of the windows at her back, haloing Nesta in an unearthly glow that, for a moment, caused Feyre’s heart to stutter. As if she were staring at an apparition.

Her sister was scowling at the portrait over Feyre’s shoulder. “That’s Lord Nolan’s late wife. The Housekeeper says she haunts this place.”

Feyre fought a shiver. “And you believe her?”

Besides the iron bracelet clasped around her wrist, Nesta had never acted overly superstitious. If not from a lack of belief, then from a lack of caring. What did ghosts and faeries matter when the most likely thing to kill them would be starvation? At least, until recently.

Nesta shrugged. “It’s clear she haunts Lord Nolan—or something does. I’ve heard rumors that he’d been descending into madness since she died. Now I can see what they meant. It’s like he’s become a ghost, too.”

There was a harshness to the words, a certain scorn that Feyre understood wasn’t entirely directed towards Lord Nolan. They’d seen the same happen in their own father. His steady decline after their mother’s death. While he lacked the unsettling, vacant stare she’d seen in Lord Nolan, there were still plenty of moments where it felt as though he wasn’t there at all. Moments where they’d needed him to be.

Knowing that words of sympathy would only stir Nesta’s temper, Feyre opted to change the subject.

“Why are you up so early?”

Nesta’s scowl swiveled from the portrait to Feyre. “I never went to sleep.”

There was something vulnerable there, hidden beneath the thorns and thistles.

Feyre’s expression softened. “You’re safe here, Nesta.”

“Why?” She hissed. “Because your mercenary says so?”

“Because there are dozens of guards patrolling the massive iron walls surrounding this place,” Feyre said, keeping her voice steady. “This is the safest place we could possibly be.”

The assurance rang hollow, even to her own ears. And Nesta’s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on that doubt.

“And we’re supposed to just trust that we’re welcome here indefinitely? Out of the goodness of Lord Nolan’s heart?”

It was all of the questions that Feyre kept asking herself. And she faltered, having no answer except, “Rhys says—”

“Yes, let’s talk about Rhys.” Nesta sneered his name. “Your husband shows up out of nowhere and the next day a faerie breaks down our door. You don’t think that timing’s a little strange?”

That gave Feyre pause. “What are you accusing him of?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta said. “Not yet. But there’s something about him. Something off. And your supposed marriage?” Her laugh was vicious enough to cut through steel. “I wish I could say it’s surprising you’d be so easily manipulated.”

Feyre bristled. “I thought you would have been happy,” she snapped. “Thanks to him, you finally get to enjoy the comforts of wealth without lifting a finger. Isn’t that everything you ever wanted?”

“None of it is real, Feyre! I hope you’ll realize that before you doom all of us.”

Nesta turned on her heel and stormed away before Feyre could have the last word. She knew better than to follow after her sister. They fought more often than they didn’t and when Nesta retreated like this, it meant she needed time to seethe.

And though she’d gotten defensive, a part of Feyre was reluctant to admit that Nesta was right.

They were putting so much of their trust in a stranger when, for all she knew, Rhysand was halfway to the nearest port with no intention of returning. And meanwhile they would sit in this estate, deluding themselves into thinking a man-made wall would be sufficient in warding off a High Lord’s wrath.

It was possible they were being kept here as nice, pretty bait to distract the High Lord. Lure him here while Rhysand made a clean getaway. Is that not exactly what she would have considered doing?

But then… it made no sense why Rhys would bother interfering at all. He could have wiped his hands of this from the moment they met in the marketplace.

None of it made any gods-damned sense.

Feyre slid a hand down her face and spared one final glance towards the portrait of Lord Nolan’s late wife.

The shafts of moonlight in the hall didn’t quite reach the portrait, as if intentionally keeping her image shrouded in the dark. Even then, Feyre could tell she was beautiful. She stepped closer, squinting to take in any details. She had sad eyes—brown, like Graysen’s, and slightly hooded.

As Feyre stared, taking in the melancholy of her image, she thought it wasn’t so inconceivable that Lord Nolan would feel moved by Rhysand’s lies. It made sense that he would feel pity for a man afraid of losing his wife.

The only thing she had yet to fathom was why Rhys lied in the first place.

-

Things were quiet at breakfast. Lord Nolan was notably absent, and without Rhysand to carry the conversation with his little quips, Graysen was left stranded amid the icy tundra burning through the silence of the Archeron sisters.

Rather than go back to bed, Feyre had stayed up all morning thinking about what Nesta said, and what she was supposed to do about it. She didn’t know what Rhysand’s motivations were. What she did know was that he’d kept her alive, and somehow managed to convince Lord Nolan to let her family stay, however temporarily.

And that was good enough.

It had to be, because she didn’t know what the alternative was.

Yet, that didn’t soothe the part of her mind that searched for one. Nesta’s words stirred a restlessness that insisted on having a backup plan, that refused to let Feyre put her full trust in anyone or anything. Maybe she’d permanently lost that ability. Maybe it was for a good reason.

“I’d like to go back to our cottage today,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

Everyone’s head jerked her direction, meeting her with varying degrees of disbelief.

“Just to collect some of our things,” she added, thinking of the coin Rhys had given her for the pelts. They would need it if they decided to leave Lord Nolan’s sanctuary—or if their warm welcome were to expire with little warning.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Graysen said, his face pinched in discomfort.

His reluctance surprised her, considering he’d offered his men to escort them outside the estate only yesterday.

“I’ll be quick,” she assured him. “And I can go with one of your guards, if necessary.”

He pressed his lips together, clearly still uncomfortable with the idea, and Feyre sensed that he was withholding something from her. From all of them.

“Did Rhysand say something to you about letting me leave the estate?”

She couldn’t help the dark edge that slipped into her voice. If he thought he could control her by putting a fake ring around her finger, then he was going to be very disappointed.

“What?” Graysen blinked, his lips curling into a frown. “No. But I’m worried it’s not safe. There was an attack in the village last night.”

The surge in her temper dropped, plummeting into a dark pit in her stomach, where it cooled into stone. Her body felt impossibly heavy as she asked, “Did someone get hurt?”

“A woman was killed,” he said grimly. “A prisoner. She was found dead in her cell this morning. Her…” He cast a worried glance towards Elain, who had gone pale. He lowered his voice, as if it could lessen the blow of the news as he said, “Her heart was missing from her chest.”

Feyre’s pulse leaped into her throat, though she tried to swallow it back down. “And the authorities think it was a faerie?”

He shrugged. “They don’t know how the culprit was able to get into her cell, fae or otherwise. It was still locked when they found her. The bars are made of iron.”

Iron wouldn’t stop the fae. For some reason, she held her tongue from sharing that with Graysen.

“But you think it was a faerie,” Nesta said, reading his expression.

“What else would take her heart from her chest?” Graysen asked. “She was in line for the gallows. I can’t think of a human motive for doing this before her execution. And to happen the day after the attack on your cottage—”

He cut himself off when Elain made a small, distressed noise in the back of her throat.

Nesta filled in the rest, looking at Feyre as she said, “The timing is too strange for the attack not to be related.”

“Exactly,” Graysen said, moving to place his hand on top of Elain’s. “But you’ll be safe in here,” he soothed, speaking directly to her. “Our guards will make sure of it.”

Elain nodded, holding his gaze and looking utterly besotted by his promise. But Feyre and Nesta shared a glance across the table, neither of them feeling assured by his words. All it would take was one faerie to slip through the gates. One mistake, and they’d all be dead.

The threat of the fae was no longer some distant thing lurking behind the Wall. They were here, stalking the woods and hunting in the village. She wondered if Rhys was safe. Never mind her concern that he’d flee without them—it suddenly seemed just as likely that he’d be killed on patrol. He might be skilled with a sword but he was still just a human.

And despite what he promised, she knew that humans were easily killed.

-

The afternoon sun made the carnage of the beast’s arrival all the more stark. Pieces of wood were scattered in the snow—splinters that had been sent flying from the moment he broke down their door.

Feyre tracked her eyes through the barren trees surrounding the cottage, trying to listen beyond the whistling wind and the footsteps following at her back. Graysen had eventually relented in allowing her to visit the cottage, but only at the insistence that she bring along three guards.

It came as no surprise when Nesta and Elain had no interest in coming with. Nesta had always loathed their cottage and Elain was too spooked by the news of the attack to brave venturing outside the estate.

“Stay here,” she told the guards, once she was satisfied there was nothing waiting beyond the treeline.

They looked prepared to protest, but Feyre stepped up to the gaping front entrance before they could. It was mortifying enough for them to see the outside of the cottage, with its filthy windows and balded thatched roof that perpetually dripped in the winter.

She ran her fingers over the damaged doorway, along the notches where the hinges had been torn off. Only a few feet inside, she could see the remnants of their front door, gouged by large claw marks but still mostly intact.

The memories were too fresh. She couldn’t look towards the fireplace without seeing Nesta and Elain cowering in fear or hearing her father barter her life for gold. It would always sting, but she wasn’t expecting her throat to clog as was reminded, again, of how close she’d come to dying.

And how little they’d seemed to care.

Enough to cry. Enough to mourn. But not enough to do something.

She knew it was her responsibility. She’d killed the wolf and it was only right that she faced the consequences for it. But she also knew that if the situation had been reversed, she would have fought for her sisters. And that’s what made her chest feel too tight.

As Feyre wandered into the bedroom to snatch the coin purse from the dresser, she briefly wondered if she would always be cursed to be the one who loved more. To give and give and give but never feel like she could take.

How long until there was nothing left of herself to give?

For all she knew, it was already too late. It would explain why she felt empty as she pocketed the coin and strode out of the cottage. The guards looked relieved to see her and she offered them a tight smile.

“See? I promised I’d be quick.”

They were efficient in ushering her back towards the carriage, but not before a prickling awareness tingled down her spine. She turned, casting her eyes towards the skeletal forest. It was a familiar sensation, one she’d felt after killing that wolf in the woods.

Miles and miles of barren trees and fresh snow. No matter where she looked, that was all she could see. The wind had stopped, but if she held her breath, she couldn’t hear a sound from the forest. It was eerily quiet. And it set her on edge.

“Is everything okay?” One of the guards asked, noticing her pause.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, swinging herself into the carriage with renewed urgency. “Everything’s fine.”

-

It was two nights later, while Feyre was crouched in front of the fireplace with a poker, trying desperately to get the sparks to take, that her bedroom window creaked.

Feyre whirled, her heart in her throat, raising the poker that she already knew would be useless against the intruder. What else would climb through her bedroom window, besides a faerie?

The sunset snuck up on her—it always did, in these winter months. She hadn’t lit any candles, too focused on trying to light the fireplace to fend off the steadily dropping temperature.

She’d thought nothing of the darkness pressing into the corners of the room until that soft creak drew her attention towards the far window, revealing a male figure disguised amongst those shadows. He stood propped against the windowsill, the night sky a mantle rising over his shoulders.

“Do I want to know why you were digging through our fireplace, Feyre darling?“

She gasped, almost dropping the poker. “Rhys?”

He stepped closer, face still hung in shadow. “Beginning to miss me?”

Her heart was thundering. It didn’t seem to ease, though she knew he was no longer a threat.

“Of course not,” she said. She meant to lower the poker, but found her fingers tightening.

Rhys chuckled. The sound was dark, scraping. She felt it drag across the ridges of her spine, slightly less pronounced in the time he’d been away. It was remarkable how even just a few days of steady eating could make a difference.

“Such a warm welcome from my wife,” he said. She could picture his feline smile as he glided through the dark with unfathomable ease, as if he were its maker. “Are you going to put that poker down, or are you still debating on stabbing me with it?”

Feyre glanced over her shoulder, toward the large oak door on the opposite side of the room. Puzzled, she asked, “Did you come in through the window?”

“I came in behind you,” he said with another laugh, crossing the room in four long strides. “But you were too focused on that fireplace to welcome your poor husband home.”

“Except you’re not my husband,” she said flatly, returning to her work now that he was coming closer. She wasn’t certain she could handle seeing his face, which she admittedly had been thinking about. Often. “And as we’ve established, I didn’t miss you.”

“Didn’t you?” he crooned, crouching behind her. “I’m glad you clarified, or that cloak might have given me the wrong impression.”

Feyre went quiet. She’d been wearing his cloak because it was warm and of much better quality than her own. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d eventually return to find her still in it.

He asked, his voice like molten silk, “Did you ever take it off?”

Technically, yes. To sleep and bathe. But she knew that wasn’t what he was asking, and for some reason she decided to be honest. “No.”

A low, throaty sound rumbled through his chest.

“Good,” he said. “Then everyone here knows precisely who you belong to.”

“I’m not your wife,” she said again.

When he reached around her and coiled his fingers over the iron poker, she let him take it, making no comment about the way his body enveloped hers, how he leaned forward until she was more or less sitting in his lap. Heat spread through her, and suddenly igniting the fire was a redundant task.

Rhys placed his other hand on her hip while he worked, a claiming gesture that she should have shaken away. But she didn’t.

“Why not ask the servants for help?”

“I don’t need servants,” she said.

“Too proud?” There was an odd note in his voice, one that made her feel as though she’d swallowed an entire glass of brandy. “Or too stubborn?”

“Neither.” She couldn’t deny that she sounded petulant, even to her own ears. Making an effort to sweeten her voice, she purred, “I’m letting you do it, aren’t I?”

She expected more flirtatious comments about how husbands should provide for their wives, but he sounded surprisingly thoughtful as he said, “It’s another thing, then.” He paused in deliberation and then asked, gently, “Are you worried about being a burden?”

It struck too close to home. She knew he could tell, because there was no subtlety in the way she stiffened.

With equal, grating gentleness, he said, “You’re not a burden, Feyre. To anyone.”

An odd sound rose in the back of her throat. She didn’t want to be seen. Not like this. Not by him.

“Of course I’m not to you.” She flung the words at him, hoping he’d rise to the barb and they could go back to bickering. That was comfortable territory. “You’ll light the fire and I’ll probably have to give you the name of my firstborn child in exchange.”

His hand raised to her stomach. “You mean our child, wife?”

The words were teasing, but they warmed her belly as readily as if she’d swallowed a pile of glowing embers. They sparked and fluttered beneath the heat of his hand, particularly as his fingers flexed, caressing her stomach as if a child were already growing there.

Mortified, she pushed his hand away, sparing no effort with being gentle. Rhys merely laughed, allowing his hand to fall back to her hip. The heat inside her traveled with his touch, cascading down. She tried very hard not to focus on where it was pooling.

“Well, you’ll be relieved to hear I require no firstborn children.” He smirked, as if to add an unspoken yet to his promise. “But you’re right, I prefer equal exchanges. How about: I’ll light the fire if you stay in my arms like this. Warmth for warmth, hmm?”

Rhys was already tightening his arms around her as if she’d agreed, and she was reluctant to admit that it felt good being held. His chest blanketed her back, fighting off the worst of the winter chill. She was certain he hadn’t bathed while he’d been away, but he smelled like he had—a clean, heady scent that was becoming increasingly familiar to her. Citrus and the sea.

She closed her eyes and felt herself relaxing into him, even as she groused, “For how long?”

He considered it. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

Lightly, though she thought better to tell him that. Whenever Lord Nolan joined them at dinner, she found she didn’t have as much of an appetite. It made her stomach churn just thinking about how he sat unmoving and unseeing, like he was little more than an empty husk.

“I haven’t,” Rhys told her, drawing her thoughts away from the aging Lord.

Feyre opened her eyes to study him carefully. He was immaculate for a man who had spent days trekking through the wilderness, with no sign of the sweat and dirt she always seemed to collect during her morning hunts. He wore his usual irreverence, but she did sense a heaviness that hadn’t been present before, a tension in the clench of his jaw, the draw of his shoulders.

It dawned on her that he must be exhausted from the journey. And she wondered, the thought unbidden and gnawing, if he’d eaten at all in his time away.

Continuing, Rhys said, “I’ve asked a servant to bring us a meal. So sit with me here while I eat. Talk to me. And then I’ll consider the debt paid.”

Without waiting for her to accept those terms, he shifted forward to light the fire in earnest. To her dismay, he made quick work of a job she’d been attempting for the last half hour. Granted he had both arms to work with.

Flames began licking up the tinder, casting an amber glow over the little space they’d claimed by the hearth, atop a large fur rug.

She watched the light dance over his long fingers as she asked, “Will it always be like this between us? Always a debt to be paid?”

“I hope so,” he murmured. “An unpaid debt is like a promise. So long as one exists between us, it means we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Feyre turned, drinking in his regal side profile. A part of her had been convinced he wouldn’t come back, and she was concerned by the larger part of her that was relieved he had.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” she admitted.

His eyes flickered to hers, only briefly, before he fixed his stare on the fire. “Why not?”

He kept his tone deceptively casual. Feyre studied his expression, watching the flame dance in his eyes. Against the warm lighting, they looked even more striking—closer to purple than blue.

It was inexplicable, but she found herself wanting to be honest with him. So with a deep breath, she admitted, “I couldn’t think of any reason why you’d stay.”

“I had a wife to return to,” he said, flashing another of those infuriating smirks.

“But why would you, really?” Feyre pressed, not falling for his deflection. “Why does any of this matter to you?”

“Is it really so hard to believe that someone would want to stay for you, Feyre?”

“Yes,” she said. Her throat felt tight. “Because we’re strangers. And because you’ve already admitted that you had an ulterior motive for saving me. So tell me why. Who is the High Lord to you?”

He still studied the fire, tracking each soft pop and the resulting spray of sparks with riveted interest. Though his expression remained neutral, she felt his arms tighten around her. And his words rumbled in the back of his throat before he released them, all in one breath.

“He killed my father.”

The admission hung in silence for a moment. Feyre sucked in air between her teeth, not expecting the truth to be so abrupt. So brutal. Even the fire seemed to dampen, as if it, too, were shocked by his words and wished to pay them the proper gravity.

Feyre suspected she had to tread lightly. She kept her voice soft as she ventured, “So you want revenge.”

He laughed, though it was hollow, wrung of any humor. “I’ll admit that a part of me will always want revenge for what he did. But it’s not about that. Not anymore.”

Rhys looked at her, then, sweeping his violet eyes over her face. She seized the opportunity to admire how the firelight slanted across his features, selecting the focal points it felt worth admiring: the arch of his cheekbones, the strong curve of his jaw, the plush of his bottom lip.

It had been so long since she’d felt the urge to paint, but that old desire flared to life as she looked at him. Longing twitched at the tips of her fingers, wishing for some method of capturing what she saw, if only to use it as proof when she inevitably doubted herself later.

Doubted that there was truly softness in his expression when he said, “I told you I came back for my wife, and it’s the truth. I came back for you, Feyre. And I will never let him take away something I care about ever again.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

That excuse was starting to feel flimsy. Especially when he was looking at her like he did know her. Like he could see through her cloak and gown, through her skin and bones, and straight to the haggard soul beneath, where she hid every bitter, twisted thought that was too dark to let the world see.

Her throat felt dry from the way he was looking at her. But he didn’t try to deny that they were strangers.

Instead, he rasped, “Is it so bad that I want to?”

In the back of her mind, she heard every insult Nesta had ever hurled towards her. Illiterate, ignorant, unremarkable, proud, cold, half-wild beast. A wound was opening in her chest, splitting further apart by each of those sharp, silent words.

She pinched her lips together. And though she knew it sounded pathetic, she told him, “I don’t think you’d like what you’d find.”

But it was the truth. No one ever did. And she wouldn’t delude herself into thinking Rhys would be any different.

Rhys opened his mouth like he might argue, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. He offered her an intent look, one that promised their conversation wasn’t over, and untangled himself to go answer.

The moment he was gone… it was like an ache. She hadn’t realized how relaxed she’d become in his arms, how warm and content, until it was ripped away. The cold that pressed in was startling, rubbing raw against the places he’d been touching. She edged closer to the fire, all too aware that its touch felt like a poor imitation of Rhysand’s.

What was happening to her?

Rhys returned moments later with a massive tray of food, which he placed on the floor in front of her before resuming his position. He drew her back against his chest and bracketed his long legs on either side of hers. Once he deemed she was situated, he pulled the tray into her lap.

She’d already told him that she’d eaten, but the sight and smell of the steaming food caused the back of her mouth to water. Her stomach growled, betraying her, and Rhys let out a low laugh.

“I propose another exchange, little huntress.”

Feyre noticed he refrained from using wife when he wanted something. Clever man.

Still, she was wary. “What kind of exchange?”

“For every piece of food you let me feed you, I’ll answer any question. And for every two questions I answer, I get to ask one from you.”

Her eyes dipped to the tray of food in her lap. Just like the deal they made about lighting the fire, she thought she was getting the better offer. Not that she would ever admit it.

“Deal.”

With an appreciative hum, Rhys reached for a piece of bread from the tray and dipped it into the sauce. Feyre felt a little shy when he held up to her. She’d never been hand fed before, and she was aware of his rapt attention as she parted her lips to accept his offering.

He brought the remaining piece to his own mouth as he waited for her to finish chewing. It was strangely intimate to watch him bite into the place her lips had just been, undeterred by the thought of sharing her saliva. She supposed, as a mercenary, he’d eaten food in far worse condition.

After swallowing, she asked him, “Where did you learn to use your sword?”

“In Illyria.” She remembered that was the place he said he was from—the mountainous region on the continent. “I come from a warrior tribe. We’re taught to wield swords no sooner than we learn how to walk.”

He prompted her for another mouthful. Once she was finished with it, she asked, “Do you miss Illyria?”

“Parts of it. The Illyrian Mountains are harsh, the camp where I trained even more so. But they’re my mother’s people, and I’ll always wear their marks proudly for that alone.”

“Their marks?”

“Ah,” Rhys chided. “That was two questions, Feyre. Now it’s my turn.”

She assumed by the way he drifted closer, the way the hand at her hip began smoothing slow circles over her clothes, that he would ask her something personal. Something, perhaps, that would force her to admit to the tension they both felt rising between them.

But all he asked was, “How does your arm feel?”

The pain had simply become a dull presence she’d accepted. It was tolerable so long as she didn’t strain the stitches, and she’d gotten used to relying on her dominant hand. But as she focused her awareness on the wound, she found that ever-present pain had subsided considerably.

“Better,” she said in surprise. “A lot better, actually.”

“Good. I picked up some healing salve from the infirmary on the way here. You should let me put it on the wound before you go to bed.”

Feyre nodded. And after another bite of food, she asked, “What happened while you were on patrol?”

Behind her, Rhys blew out a breath. “We tracked the beast all the way to the Wall, but lost the trail there.”

She jerked. “You went all the way to the Wall?”

“It’s why the patrol took so long.”

The furthest North Feyre had ever dared to venture was the clearing where she’d felled the wolf. It would have taken another day and half’s journey from there to make it to the Wall, or so she’d been told.

“Are you out of your mind? What if the High Lord had been waiting there with more faeries? They would have killed you!”

“We were fine—”

“You were reckless!”

Rhys fell silent in the face of her anger. Before he said, drawing out his words, “If I didn’t know better, Feyre, I would think you were concerned about me.”

Whatever concern she’d felt was short lived. At that moment, all she wanted to do was throttle him.

He grinned like he knew it. “It’s my turn for a question. So tell me, honestly. Did you miss me? Were you worried about me?”

“Those are two different questions.”

Rhys looked insufferably pleased with himself as he purred, “Yes, but I think they have the same answer.”

He was incorrigible. She hated him for asking, almost as much as she hated the honest answer was, “Yes.”

Feyre didn’t understand it.

Or maybe she did. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that no one had ever bothered to ask if she was warm or fed or in pain. Maybe Nesta was right, and it was pitiful how easily she could be manipulated by the slightest hint of kindness.

It was kindness nonetheless, and she’d known so little of it. She had no concept of how starved she’d been, how desperate she was to talk to someone who would at least pretend like they cared.

“I missed you, too,” Rhys murmured, raising his palm to her cheek. He turned her face towards his own, his gaze so searing that she felt every doubt and lingering insecurity cower beneath it, afraid of being seen. “You claim we’re strangers, but you feel it, don’t you? This connection between us. I think knowing you could be as easy as knowing myself.”

That was a terrifying prospect, though he didn’t seem to think so.

Terrifying and absurd. There was nothing connecting them besides misfortune and, perhaps, a mutual attraction that was beginning to feel dangerous to act on.

She challenged, “Besides the faerie, besides hunting, name one thing we have in common.”

He answered without hesitation. “We would both trade anything to protect the people we love. Even ourselves.”

The knowing in his eyes was becoming unbearable. Feyre tore her face from his grasp, angling it away from him and away from the fire in the hopes that she might banish the heat of his touch.

It was still tingling along her cheek as she said, “You told me that the life of a mercenary is lonely. That you would never find someone to share it with. What do you know about love?”

“I think,” he said slowly, like she was a feral creature he didn’t want to startle, “that’s another thing we have in common. We’ve given so much of ourselves away that we’ve become isolated in the process.”

Her eyes were beginning to sting. It would be humiliating to cry in front of him a second time. She swallowed a deep breath, blinking back the moisture gathering on her lashes.

Finally, when she trusted her voice to remain steady, she asked, “You chose this life to protect someone?”

“You owe me a question,” he said lightly. “And two mouthfuls.”

Feyre snatched a leg of chicken off the plate. A laugh rasped out of him when she tore the meat off the bone with a ferocity that would have scandalized her sisters.

But then he straightened, sobering. “I see the way that you care for your family. How fiercely you love them. It reminds me—” he paused, a strangled sound rising in his throat. He cleared it away and continued, “It reminds me of how I used to feel when I was around my brothers.”

Brothers. Feyre didn’t need to ask where they were now. One quick glance at Rhys, at the thinly veiled anguish creasing his expression, was enough to tell her what happened to them. Gone. Somewhere even a mercenary couldn’t follow.

“Was it…” she could barely shape words in the torrent of her horror. “The High Lord—”

Rhys shook his head. “It’s a tragedy for another day.”

She placed the remains of the chicken leg back on the plate, her appetite vanished. Rhys must have felt the same, because he moved the tray off her lap and set it on the low wooden table nearby.

Guilt reared inside her. He had to be starving from his journey and she ruined his dinner because she couldn’t stop herself from prying. She could add tactless to her list of shortcomings.

“I still owe you a question,” she reminded him, hoping to lighten his mood.

“I’ll save it. A promise that this won’t be the last we speak.”

Feyre bit her lip. “Why don’t you sleep in the bed tonight?”

It was the best she could offer. If he’d slept at all on his journey, it would have been on the ground. If not a full meal, then at least he could indulge in the comfort of a soft, plush mattress.

His mouth barely, barely tugged at the corners. But the offer had its intended effect when he crooned, “Is that an invitation, wife?”

“Alone,” she hedged.

“No deal.”

“What?” Feyre glared at him. “Are you truly that stubborn?”

Rhysand’s eyes sparkled with a familiar mischief. “I am truly that stubborn.”

Two could play that game.

Feyre crossed her arms. “And if I refuse to sleep on the bed?”

“Then I’ll keep you warm on the floor.”

The dark, sensual promise wended around her, warring with her irritation. He was insufferable, and his self-satisfied grin should have been enough to convince her to drop it, to let him sleep on the floor if he was so insistent.

But she hesitated, pinned by his near-predatory focus. Gone was his quiet sadness. And maybe it was the triumph of knowing she’d succeeded in cheering him up, or maybe it was because she glanced towards the large bed and felt the shadow of her nightmare pressing in.

Maybe they both wanted it as badly as the other.

“Fine,” she said. And just to wipe the smug look off his face, she promptly added, “But no touching.”

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself,” he swore, though his fiendish grin was less than reassuring.

“If you want to keep them, you better.”

Rhys chuckled, holding up his hands in feigned innocence. “I won’t lay a finger on you until you ask me, Feyre.”

Until. As if it were inevitable.

“But,” Rhys continued, “I hope you’ll at least let me dress your wound.”

“I managed just fine without you.”

“I know you did. I know you could manage anything by yourself, you’ve proven that well enough already. But you don’t have to anymore.” He met her eyes steadily. “Let me help you. Let me make it easier for you.”

Feyre thought, once again, that it sounded as if he were talking to a feral animal. Trying to soothe her so that she didn’t bite at his approach. And she wondered if that’s exactly what she’d become. A half-wild beast, just like Nesta accused.

“Okay,” she relented, feeling a weight ease out of her.

Rhys nodded. She appreciated that he didn’t gloat, though he had plenty of reason to. Instead, he lightly grabbed her elbow and helped Feyre to her feet. He jerked his chin towards the bed, silently directing her while he went to fetch the salve from his pack.

The floorboards creaked under her weight as she stepped toward the bed, feeling oddly nervous. They wouldn’t be touching and she had every intention of turning her back to him the second they snuffed out the candles. But it was still intimate in a way that was different than sharing a bed with her sisters, or fucking Isaac Hale in a barn.

With a swallow of air for courage, Feyre paused before the four-poster bed and unlatched the straps of Rhysand’s cloak. It fell to the floor in a puddle of fur, revealing the nightgown she wore beneath it. The one she’d selected believing she’d be sleeping alone tonight.

Rhysand, to his credit, hardly blinked at the sight of the thin silk and the bare skin it left on display. If anything, he frowned as he ushered her to sit at the edge of the bed so he could begin the careful task of unraveling her bandages.

For all of his flirting, she wondered if he would even be interested in her that way. He was a beautiful man and she was just… some poor, scrawny village girl that no one had ever looked twice at. Except Isaac, she supposed, but their arrangement had always felt more like one of desperation and convenience than any true desire.

Underneath his breath, she thought she might have heard Rhys laugh. She snapped her eyes to his face, narrowing them.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said. Then amended, “I don’t think I’ve seen you so deep in thought before.”

She must have been pulling an amusing expression, if the humor in his eyes was any indication.

Scowling, she asked, “Do you not think I’m capable of it?”

“A clever huntress like you?” He didn’t give her any warning as he scooped his fingers into the salve and began spreading it over her raw flesh with surprising gentleness. “Of course you are.”

Clever was another thing she’d never been called before Rhys. She coached herself not to let the flattery get to her head. He was saying it intentionally, afterall. To soften her.

The salve began to sting as it seeped into the wound, like slivers of flame licking up her skin. She hissed through her teeth, but was privately grateful that it broke her away from the lure of his bedroom eyes and honeyed words.

“Will you tell me what you were thinking about?” He asked. “One thought in exchange for another?”

“More games?”

He smiled. “You know I love games.”

Feyre didn’t want to reveal her pathetic thoughts, so she told him, “You said something earlier… about wearing the marks of your mother’s people. I was wondering what you meant.”

To her relief, Rhys didn’t detect the lie for what it was.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s a longer story.”

“A bedtime story, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

He closed the lid of the salve, setting it aside as he reached for a roll of fresh bandages. And then his fingers returned to steady her arm, his touch an inferno against her cool skin. Every movement was quick and efficient, marked by an expertise that told her he’d done this many, many times. Was that by nature of his job, or because of the warrior tribe he hailed from?

“You at least owe me a thought,” she said, if only to break his quiet focus, the intensity of which was beginning to make her squirm.

Rhys flicked his eyes up to her face, the heat of them just as intense as his touch. She realized it was a mistake to draw his attention away from his task, because whatever reprieve she expected was worsened tenfold as he held her gaze.

“I’m thinking that you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he said, his voice warming her blood. “And that I don’t know how I’m going to manage sleeping beside you without losing my gods damned mind.”

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, because she had nothing else to say.

It was stupid, she chided herself, to let his compliments mean anything at all. What did it matter if she was beautiful to him or not? And yet… it felt like every piece of her body was malfunctioning. Her eyes burned and her heart sped into a staggering rhythm. She had no idea what to do with her hands, her legs, her face, though she became painfully aware of each of them.

Mercifully, Rhys finished securing the bandage and stepped away. “It’s healing nicely,” he said. “The healer should be able to take the stitches out in a few days.”

Her mind spun at how he could move on from the conversation so quickly, as if it was of no consequence to him at all. If she was wise, she would dismiss his words as more attempts at flattery and nothing more.

Feyre managed to scrape together enough of her composure to say, “That’s good.” Then, “We should go to sleep.”

“You go ahead,” Rhy said softly. “I’ll bathe first, and then I’ll come join you.”

And maybe he was doing it all deliberately, tending to her needs before his own despite his long journey. He could be manipulating her like Nesta said, pulling her in so easily with his gentle touches and sweetened tongue.

She watched him disappear into the bathing room, feeling ill at ease with the knowledge that, regardless of his intentions, it was working. How could she not soften for him, when he paid her more consideration than anyone else in her life, even as a stranger?

You feel it, don’t you? This connection between us.

Feyre pressed her hand to her chest, swearing that she felt a phantom tug behind her rib cage. Was that her heart finally thawing? It was pumping readily for what felt like the first time in years.

And it terrified her.

[acourtofthought]

Do you think Elain will get gwydion? I remember Sarah posting Blodeuwedd on her pinterest in association with Elain. The name Gwydion continues to show up in the story of Blodeuwedd

I don't think Elain would end up with Gwydion considering her character does not seem set up to become a warrior but, I do think there is something to her being tagged in a photo of Blodeuwedd and what it means for the sword.

Lucien, as Elain's mate, seems connected to that fairytale as he is the substitute for the role of Llew considering Llew was the one who had a wife created for him out of flowers, "the most beautiful maiden anyone had seen". And it was Llew's uncle "Gwydion" who created this wife for him.

"The name Gwydion is a boy's name meaning "born of trees". A name from Welsh mythology. In the Mabinogion, Gwydion was a powerful magician who made his nephew a wife from flowers (Blodeuwedd, meaning "face of flowers").

So we have the name being connected to the Blodeuwedd tale and that name means "born of trees" which is how Autumn Court males are often described. Lucien was a "son of the forest and he looked crafted from it", in SF we have similar imagery for Eris.

Those are two really big points in favor of Lucien getting Gwydion, in my opinion. Not to mention the sword is a symbol of the first High King of Prythian and if anyone is going to take up a symbol of that role, the one who helps maintain the peace across the lands of Pyrthian, human lands and the continent, there really is nobody more suited than Lucien.

The sword is also a Made object and we're told in SF that through Helion and his reaction to the Mask, Lucien has a possible connection to items of the Made variety.

I also really like the symbolism of Lucien having Gwydion and Az having Truth Teller. In the fairytale it's Az's character "Gronw" that tries to kill Llew (Lucien's character) with a spear which LLew evades when he turns into an eagle and flies away (interesting how Helion's beast form seems to match that description).

We have Az who holds all this jealousy towards Lucien, believing that he's not a good male and not deserving of Elain which is sad because the two actually have a lot in common and could have shared a decent connection had Az not let his bitterness get in the way.

If by the end of the series Lucien has Gwydion and Az has Truth Teller, it comes full circle. Where, because the blades were like two long lost friends catching up in HOFAS, Lucien and Az will always find themselves reconnecting over the years because of those blades. I think Az is acting like an ass at the moment but they're always going to be in one another's lives. Elain will always be Feyre's sister and Lucien will always be Elain's mate and Feyre's friends so there's going to be holidays spent together, children birthday celebrations spent together, and so on. I doubt SJM will close out these books where the two males share in animosity and this solution is one way to set right their past, how a friendship of sorts can take shape.

I also really like the thought that Nesta would bestow Gwydion to Lucien after the way she acted towards him once they all realized he was Elain's mate. It would be an acknowledgement from her that he is her brother and a worthy male for her sister. Editing after a conversation with @crazy-ache and an idea she had. It would always be symbolic of Nesta to pass the torch of Lucien taking care of her sister through the sword. I have no doubt that by the time her story is finished, the others will acknowledge that Elain is capable of taking care of herself but, Nesta will always want to know someone is looking out for her. Since I imagine she won't be the one to have that role any longer, it would probably give her peace of mind to have Lucien looking out for Elain (as Elain will look out for Lucien) especially with the knowledge that he has a Made weapon. Nesta has the Trove, Ataraxia, Narben is still out there, the dagger she created, it actually doesn't make sense for the members of the Night Court to keep all made weapons for themselves when Lucien and Elain are supposed to be equals to the members of the IC, just in a different court.

Other than that possibility.....

I don't know that I see Gwyn ending up with Gwydion as Az had a strange reaction when the blades were near one another. I can't imagine him dealing with that day in and day out. Gwyn also named a sword, unprompted, "Silver Majesty" and both Gwydion and TT have black blades (I think Narben will be hers).

If Lucien does not end up with Gwydion, I could see it going to Mor considering her family was the original ruling family of the Night Court and she could possible be a female descendant of Theia's. Bonus points if Az gives up the first Illyrian hero's dagger to Emerie, the first female Illyrian to complete the Rite.

As for Elain, I could see Lucien gifting her a dagger the way he once did Feyre. Something lovely and beautiful that she can keep for self protection and that does not have the bloody history that Truth Teller does.

[itselriel]

ACOFAS Chapter 12

“Elain’s voice was colder than usual. I glanced at Nuala and Cerridwen, the latter giving me a shake of her head as if to say, Not a good day for her.”

“”Don’t.” Elain said flatly, starting once more into a walk, veils of steam drifting past her shoulders from the roasted rosemary potatoes in her hands, as if they were Azriel’s shadows.”

“Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in his hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.”

“But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. “I—I’ll be right back.” She murmured, and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one cared if she showed up to dinner covered in flour and that she should just sit.”

“One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice. Mor gaped wide enough that I was certain the half-chewed green beans in her mouth were going to tumble onto her plate.”

“Azriel didn’t let go. “Wait until everyone is seated before eating.””

“Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. “Please don’t wait on my account.” She said, taking the seat at the head of the table.”

““I’d feel bad for the mice.” Azriel muttered. Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel and a grateful smile from Elain—and no shortage of scowling from Amren. But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.”

[firstofficerrose]

I just keep thinking about Camlann, and there are two scenarios that I come back to over and over.

Scenario the first: Lancelot. It's not a common name, but it's not totally unheard of either. Lancelot originates in the French romances, I believe, so he would have less power here than characters originating from the Welsh traditions. But Lancelot is genuinely one of my favorite characters in Arthuriana, he's such an absolute disaster mess of a man. He is constantly getting kidnapped and imprisoned, he is a dude in so much distress. He's an incredible fighter. He has (sometimes lengthy) periods of madness. He cannot achieve the grail. He has a thing with Guinevere, and I know that our Gwen is definitely falling for Morgan (which is excellent), but Lancelots are very well suited to pining as well... and there's versions of the story that could even be read as ace or demi, probably. He keeps getting tricked into sleeping with ladies he has no interest in, so you might even have space for Aro Lancelot. There would be power in a link to Guinevere, but I suspect that he could get away with leaning into fealty without romance, you know? Such a juicy space of stories to play with. Such a sopping wet guy. I want Perry and Gwaine having to team up to rescue this dude and having some excellent teeth-clenched teamwork. Do you see my vision here?

Corollary to Scenario the first: Galahad, for many of the same reasons. An even less common name, trickier to pull off, but Galahad being this even-more-incredible fighter might be neat. A lot of what Galahad does falls into the space of miracles, which might not work with Ella's stated intention to avoid living religious traditions, but Galahad is another really interesting character. Achieving the grail through the power of no fap. He's a late addition to the Arthurian stories, and therefore less powerful overall, but I think he would be interesting.

Corollary the second to Scenario the first: Elaine. There are *so* many Elaine's in the Arthurian stories, an Elaine could take almost any role she wanted and that versatility could be extremely useful.

Scenario the second: Robin Hood. This one is relatively easy, because a number of the names from the story (Robin, Marian/Marion, Alan, John, Will) are quite common. This story would be stronger in Nottingham, of course, but can you imagine having this little crew of archery anarchists on your side? It would be excellent. Robin is, in later versions, all about rebellion against a corrupt king or prince, which might give him and his Merry Men a fighting chance against Arthur and the Knights. I want to see it, it sounds great. Also, our group of main characters are casters, a Face, and close-quarters fighters, and in the interest of party composition, I would be happier if we had some longbowmen here. (I know about Perry's crossbow and the spear, but come on, Peredur is a knight in the Mabinogion. He - and therefore Perry - does swords and spears and lances really well, not crossbows.)

Bonus scenario: Pellinor and the Questing Beast. It's been a hot second since I've read Le Morte d' Arthur, but basically the first thing Arthur does after becoming king in that version of the story is run off and go on a quest chasing the Beast for a full year, relieving Pellinor of the quest. I have never heard of anyone named Pellinor outside of these stories, which tells me that he might work better as a monster. You have the Beast and the knight chasing him (Shūjūn mentioned things that looked like Knights and really, really weren't, it could work) as this monster that Arthur and maybe his Knights are all compelled to go chasing, and it gives our little group a break.

[the-face-in-the-mirror]

With Elaine being the Fairy Queen before she abdicated in your rewrite I've been thinking about the Spirit Spear. Did she have her own Spirit Spear or did she give Chastiefol to King when he became the Fairy King?

So far, I think Chastiefol was originally Elaine's, but it had a different appearance than King's Chastiefol. When she abdicated, Elaine passed it down to the King, where it was essentially reborn and took on a new form to better serve him. Probably during some sort of ceremony thing where he was essentially crowned as the new Fairy King.

In my mind, it serves King's character arc a bit more since he remembers Elaine's Chastiefol and the great things she could do with it that he's never been able to accomplish, which ends up feeding more into his insecurity about being the Fairy King when the role was never originally meant for him. In the rewrite, we also eventually see that King tries to emulate some of Elaine sometimes, both in Fairy King-related stuff and with how he uses Chastiefol, which holds him back far more than he realizes.

Thanks for asking!

[bubybubsters]

Left Behind part 3 (Lucien x reader)

A/n: Im have decided something (drumroll please)! I dislike this perspective. Also this part was slightly rushed even if it came out later than the others (sorry).

⚠️ - meh

word count- 1200 (finally put a word count…)

part 1 part 2 epilogue masterlist

*****

Y/n was going to be the death of him. When had she gotten so gods damned beautiful? Or she'd always been that beautiful and he'd been too blind to see it. No, that couldn't be it, could it? But Lucien sensed a new confidence in her, as if 15 years of raising a child alone had given her a new strength.

She smiled at him but it was guarded, not the joyful, carefree smile she always used to gift him. He had thrown away that gift like it was nothing. Lucien cleared his throat, "Shall we?" He motioned toward the kitchen door where the smell of tomato sauce could be detected. Y/n eyed him suspiciously before nodding slowly and starting toward the kitchen.

When they walked in Jurian and Alex were chilling at the table. Jurian smirked, "You two lovebirds are making dinner." He directed y/n to boiling the noodles and Lucien to cutting the vegetables. As Lucien picked up the knife to cut the veggies he glanced at Alex and Jurian. They were bantering back and forth, sending snarky comments to the other. Alex picked up a blade deftly and threw it at him so it speared his broccoli.

"Stop staring and get to work already!" He smirked and mockingly saluted her. His daughter, he couldn't hold back his smile. And she'll be a lovely emissary one day, he thought. True to his daughters order, he got to work.

*****

When making dinner, neither she or Lucien spoke until Vassa burst through the doors and saw their predicament. She paled. Alex jumped up and dragged the Queen out to presumably tell her what was happening.

Y/n glanced at Lucien to see him done with cutting and watching her intently. She looked away and finished boiling the pasta. Once dinner was ready shel left the males to serve it and went to find Vassa. She found her and Alex outside, talking in the gardens. She joined them while Vassa asked her, "How did you guys end up here? Alex is taking forever."

Patting Alex's head Y/n said, "I was searching for this one and I'd searched everywhere except here so I flew over and found Luci already here, talking with Alex!!

Both females turned to stare at Alex expectantly and she squirmed under their combined stares. "We... just talked, got caught up on 14 years of gossip I guess.

"Guys! Dinners ready!" They all jumped as Lucien emerged from the back door, a tense smile on his lips. "And um, Y/n can I talk to you?"

The others all looked at Y/n as she nodded and all but shoved them towards the door. "Don't wait to eat on our account" she called as the door shut. Turning to face Lucien, Y/n smiled at him tightly.

Lucien nervously grinned back and began, "look Y/n, I'm really sorry about 15 years ago. First I didn't know you were pregnant and I know that's not a good excuse or reason for you to forgive me. I'm not sure it would have impacted my decision but you need to know the day before I left I got a letter from Elain. It said that she was willing to try with me and give us a chance if I stopped seeing you. So I slept on it and left the next day because the letter ate off all my insecurities, like you would leave me because you are way out of my league. I know that's not a good excuse either but just let me continue, please."

Y/n smirked at Lucien. "Ya know Luci, I woke up in the middle the night and found the letter on the counter... but I didn't expect you to actually follow what Elain said. But go on." She crossed her arms and waited.

It was a good five minutes before Lucien throat could work again. "I loved you, I truly did. When I first got to night everyone was so confused to see me and when I told them about the letter Elain claimed she didn't write it and wanted nothing to do with me. I broke down then and Feyre comforted me through it all. We found out that one of my brothers had sent the letter as a cruel joke. She urged me to talk to both Elain and you, to work out my problems. So I tried to talk to Elain but every time she gave me the cold shoulder I thought of your face when I left you. The way I made you cry when I promised myself I would never do that to a female I loved. So for fifteen years I saw your face everywhere and I tried to build up the courage to go find and talk to you. This is the first time I've been outside the night court ever since I left you behind. I left the love of my life behind and I was too afraid to face the consequences of my decisions. But if you'll take me Y/n, I will be yours forever. I never stopped loving you and I never will."

Y/n watches as Lucien finishes and stares at her feet, she studies him, he truly does love her. She smiles knowing he's waiting for her to reject him and a small selfish part of her tells her to wait so he can feel some of the pain she felt.

After a good minute of silence Lucien looks up to see Y/n smirking at him. She stops smiling as they're eyes meet and she carefully leans forward and kisses him. The kiss is light, but passionate and only lasts for about a second, both Far relishing the taste of the other on their tongue. As she pulls away Lucien smiles and pulls her back.

Y/n grins, "Okay Luci but I need to make some things clear. First this relationship if we choose it requires both parties to be completely truthful about anything even relatively important. But Lucien if you are to leave again I don't think my heart could heal again. Besides we have Alex and if you leave, her heart is too young to break. And if you still harbor feelings for Elain then all of this is off and I'm not getting back together." She pulls back and looks at Lucien.

Lucien thinks for a moment before grinning and pulling her back into his arms. "I promise I will not leave you, not for Elain, not for anyone else. I think some small part of me will always care for Elain unless we break the bond. But I am yours forever."

Y/n smiles, "Good enough." They embraced as magic coursed between their souls.

Suddenly whoops rang out through the garden and someone slow clapped. Alex came running and hugged her parents. She smiled up at Lucien, her new father, and an evil grin spread over her face. “I’m so going to beat you in training!”

Y/n smiled down at her daughter, their daughter. “You won’t be able to beat him if you can’t beat me. And you cant beat me.”

Lucien smiled, eyes shining. And nudged Alex out of the way before smoothly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. Simultaneously opening the box and sliding to his knee he grinned up at Y/n.

“Will you give me the honor of marrying me, my beautiful Y/n?”

a/n: I think I want an epilogue… do y’all want one? It’ll be focused around Alex. Enjoy your day!

Taglist

@thelov3lybookworm

[demawrites]

Word Search Tag Game <3

Thank you dear @nirikeehan for the tag. I shall endeavor to find these words and am already laughing because numero uno is a snip from a future chapter of Letters.

broken from Letters to the Dead, (an unpublished upcoming bit)

Niva laid her head on his chest, listening to the gallop of his heart, gradually slowing. Her thumb made little circles on his skin. A comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by her long sigh of contentment, as if some weight that had settled on her chest for days had finally lifted.

tooth This one was tough because apparently I never use "tooth" but I use "teeth" a LOT. Here's one from All of Me Belongs to You, an acotar thing awaiting chapter 2.

Azriel sucked in a breath through his teeth, no more than the barest hiss of air, and yet Elain’s eyes somehow found him, spearing through that crack as if she could See through walls, through darkness, through him. He did not have time to decipher her expression, did not know if it was surprise, or embarrassment, or horror, or anger, or some other, worse emotion she’d invented on the spot, something fitting for his impropriety, his utter shamelessness. He was moving before he could do or say something stupid, folding himself into shadow and emerging in the garden, where the cold air struck him like a slap. He staggered forward, gulping freezing breaths that felt little better than drowning.

stroll from The Somnambulist, a gift for @wabart

Syrillon strolled from the docks that night with customary swagger, as if he’d been drunk on a boat for so long he’d forgotten how to walk like a normal person. As if the damp had sunk into his hips, his knees. That gate of his belied the agility and precision (not to mention, sobriety) he’d been honing even longer, but nobody in Rialto was stupid enough to put that to the test: sailors and horse-thieves both swayed when they moved, yet both had quick hands, quicker blades. This sailor wore his on his belt, obvious and within easy reach. It glittered even in the dim light, a jewel in the hilt glinting red as an ember catching.

civilization Apparently I never use this word. Does "civilians" count? From the next (unpublished) chapter of You're Bad but You're Mine:

It was easy to imagine liking Haven, with everybody celebrating. Soldiers and mages and civilians, arm in arm, playing music on improvised instruments, some with a surprising level of skill. Seeing them like this, one could not help but imagine who they had all been, before joining up with a religious paramilitary organization in the middle of fucking nowhere. Impossible not to wonder what would happen to them all, now that the Breach had been sealed.

satisfied closest I got is satisfaction, from You're Bad but You're Mine, chapter 1

"We’re late," she bit out, eyes straight ahead, locked on the chantry doors. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting the stare she could feel on her, potent as a touch. But she did reach into her pocket, slap a handkerchief against his chest. He had the decency to grab it, and dab delicately at his mouth, his chin. "You’re late. You were supposed to come right away." "Well, I never come before a lady." "Please," Cassandra drawled, "spare me."

Let's SEE let's SEEEEEEE this is gunna be a mixed fandom tagging experience I think

Gunna tag @dreadfutures | @plisuu | @rosella-writes | @serial-chillr | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @wabart | @thesistersarcheron | @velidewrites | @ultadverb | @melonsfantasyworld | @soopsiesdaisies | @inquisimer | @exalted-dawn

(and, of course, anyone else who would like to play)

YOUR WORDS, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT THEM:

soft, shadow, cut, curious, hollow

[nikethestatue]

I need SJM to up the ante a bit. Yeah, yeah, violence is toxic and we shouldn't 'glorify' it or whatever, but honestly, if you are writing about 500 year old blood-soaked Illyrian warriors, who need to control their BLOOD-LUST with some fancy jewellery, then goddammit, SHOW it to me.

Show me Azriel slashing throats right and left or flying with a tree on his back. Show me him dropping from the skies and decapitating someone with one hand and picking up Elain with another.

Give me more of that Cassian on the battlefield. The scene of him running and throwing his spear was legit the sexiest scene in all of ACOWAR!!! I am totally okay with less blowjobs to the sound of the injured and the dying, and more of Cassian injuring and killing people (sans BJ).

Why do I not have a scene of him standing over some fallen baddie, from the baddie's POV? Cassian is covered in blood, clutching his sword, that savage look on his face, about to deliver the death blow.

Maybe *I* have blood lust, but I am sorry, I love my flower girl, yet it feels as if it's just her and Nes delivering all the killing blows.

I need the guys to step up and bloody some baddies for their ladies. Not very feminist of me, but I am a simple woman who needs bloodshed from the Lord Of Bloodshed.

[bzedan]

June 2024 Playlist

[ID: A peach-tinted photo of a bunch of ball-point doodles done on notebook paper and coloured in with crayon and highlighter. The doodles are all centring around a big garfield head. To the right is a Garfield with top surgery scars on his chest, wearing blue shorts and listening to green headphones, shaking his finger to the beat. To the right is a heart with wings, what is possibly Woodstock the bird, a flower, and a Garfield with a flower crown. Underneath the central head is a wiggly rainbow with a star on one end and a cloud on the other. Above all this is written June 2024. End ID.]

There's no way I could repeat the perfection of last year's June playlist and this year I seem confined to more-or-less-two-hour playlists, but this one works for me.

Related media to some of the songs:

The video for Tove Lo & SG Lewis's 'Heat' is a NSFW romp that looks like it was fun to film.

I feel like 'Starburster' by Fontaines D.C. and 'Smalltown Boy' by Bronski Beat are in conversation with each other a bit, but maybe its me.

Speaking of 'Smalltown Boy' there's a recent article about it in El País that gives some historical context to folks who might be younger. It's been 30 years since it came out and there was a reissue this year and well, if you're queer the whole cycle of it is a mood tbh.

'Starburster' is described by NME as "that shock of trying to grasp reality amidst all the chaos" and was written about a panic attack - and you feel it!

While looking up stuff about 'Smalltown Boy' I found this list of song titles posted in a thread in 1993, archived thanks to Queer Resources Directory.

I was thrilled to encounter Allie X's 'June Gloom' as this June was particularly cool and cloudy - we barely saw the mountain this month. I learned it's a whole SoCal marine cloud layer thing. Weather is fun.

Anyway here's a link to June's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.

Or embeded, if you like that:

'Being Boring' - TR/ST

'Dancing On My Own' - Robyn

'Tonight's The Night' - Curley

'Eat Your Heart Out Adonis' - Wild Beasts

'Alien Boy' - Oliver Tree

'Pump Up The Jam' - Technotronic

'Like This' - Urban Heat

'Froot' - MARINA

'Slumber Party' - Britney Spears

'Mr. To You' - Dorian Electra

'Daddy's Pussy' - LIONSTORM

'Starburster' - Fontaines D.C.

'Downed' - Cheap Trick

'Hanging On Red' - Dead On A Sunday

'I Want You to Want Me - Live at Nippon Budokan, Tokyo, JPN - April 1978' - Cheap Trick

'Right Now' - Kalifa

'Are You Having Any Fun?' - Elaine Stritch

'Trampoline' - Kero Kero Bonito

'In Too Deep' - Slow Pulp

'Sodom & Gomorrah' - Dorian Electra

'Macho' - RealXman

'The Cult of Dionysus' - The Orion Experience

'Tigerlily' - La Roux

'Suspended In Gaffa' - deer scout

'I Am Not a Robot' - MARINA

'June Gloom' - Allie X

'It's Gonna Be (Alright)' - Ween

'Your Spit' - IAN SWEET

'Smalltown Boy' - Bronski Beat

'Nothing Matters' - The Last Dinner Party

'Get Around To It' - Arthur Russell

'HEAT' - Tove Lo

'Sinner' - The Last Dinner Party

'Nasty - Match My Heat Remix' - Tinashe

'Andrew in Drag' - The Magnetic Fields

'Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht - Stereoact Remix' - Stereoact

[koexchange]

Hi there!! I read your Elaine x reader and it was very, VERY adorable (and very Elaine, lol)!! 🥺💓

If you don’t mind me asking, I would love if you could write about Leora/Ye Suhua friendship that bloomed into something more, but teensy slight angst because Leora defected from the Union. I’d like to think that Leora still keeps in secret contact with Ye Suhua when she pops up in Tabaton sometimes to see Cory.

Or, for variety, I’d love to see Celine/Melanie and how Celine spoils Melanie with love through trips, gifts, attention, quality time, - all the cliche things Melanie loves - all while juggling working at Evening Sounds. Celine feels like the type of person where once you’re family, you’re family. Unless you really cross her, then she’ll pull out all her dirt on you and make you regret the day you met her. But, all in all, I think they’re so cute and I love that idea of “love is in the last place you’d look/love is the ones who make you feel like you’re home.” 🥹

a/n: HIII! THANK YOU SO MUCH IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!! leora and suhua are soooo silly i love that ship omgg! and celine and melanie are an old married couple! and it looks like you should be the writer 👀 this is so cuteeee! thank you for the req !

word count: 250

Leora x Ye Suhua & Celine x Melanie (can we call them Speared Star and Snake Song)

~Leora and Ye Suhua!

* Bisexuals in love!

* Since they met, they both made a vow to themselves to stay by each other's side!

* In battles, they use their invincibility to protect each other.

* Leora still works with the Union since the deal was secret. Ye Suhua found out about the trade and avoided Leora for a week or two.

* Leora noticed and asked her why. Ye Suhua coldly explained how disgusting it was to betray the Esper Union, the top organization trying to make things right in the world. Leora incessantly apologized, attempting to prove that it would all work out eventually. Suhua listens, still upset, but tries to drop it so they can move on.

* Later, Leora asks Suhua out! It was no big gesture. Leora randomly walked up to Suhua and asked her to be her girlfriend! Suhua slightly hesitated, before agreeing.

* They have dates in Tabaton! Sometimes Cory tags along with them!

~Celine & Melanie

* They fell in love at first sight!

* They are always going on dates! No less than 3 times a week.

* Celine always goes over the top, buying everything she can for her girlfriend.

* Celine usually feels overworked and stressed out, so Melanie helps her relax.

* The hissing sounds of Melanie's snakes calm Celine!

* Melanie gives Celine massages and plays white noise.

* Celine is the only other person allowed to pet or feed Melanie's snakes!

* Mel' calls Celine 'Cece'.

* The go out of town as often as they can.

* Celine is a passenger princess! Melanie loves to drive her around.

a/n: sorry this took a bit but i hope you enjoyed! thanks for reading! <3

[theadventurerslog]

The Curse of Monkey Island | Part 2

Last time, Guybrush made it to the shore of an island and Elaine was turned to gold by the cursed diamond ring he used to propose to her. Now we need to explore this new island and hopefully find a way to help her in Part II.

The Curse Gets Worse.

Time to start exploring the island and figure out where we are! That's an easy one thanks to a handy sign right there.

"Welcome to Puerto Pollo, from the Plunder Island Poultry Brotherhood."

On the right side of the beach there is also a chicken and a plaque.

"Plunder Island Feral Chicken. One of Plunder Island's most common fauna , and the animal for which our capital of Puerto Pollo is named."

While here on the beach, I scooped up a burning ember from the bit of torched boat wreckage. While on the topic of inventory, I also forgot to mention that the cutlass got lost when the ship capsized.

At the broken bridge heading to the fort there's also a secret button you can press to make one of the fort's cannons fire. Completely pointless, but fun.

There are two routes out of here. One takes you to the overworld map of the island and the other takes you to the location where you actually need to go next. You can go straight to that location and I've often done so, but it's fun to see the island first, so this time I went for the map first.

And here we have Plunder Island! Not every location can be reached yet. For now there's the ship wreckage in the swamp--saving that for the moment, the beach we're at, the town and another beach.

I headed into town for a bit of exploration first and look for help with the curse. Entering the town starts you off at a lemonade stand though it's not open yet. The kid there doesn't have much to tell you but to see the lady over in Plunder Swamp.

Next to his stand is Blondebeard's Chicken Shop and walk-thru. There are a few notable things between these two spots:

vats of red dye

the sign pointing to Danjer Cover

Jungle plants blocking the route to Danjer Cove

Flowers and another plaque talking about ipecac flowers.

"A syrup made from the ipecac flowers was used by the early settlers of Plunder Island as a purgative."

And finally a flyer that can be read or grabbed and read:

"Feeling down 'cause your chick's turned to gold? Come to the swamp! Get your fortune told! Voodoo 'n' Things (Formerly Just Voodoo. Visit our new location on Plunder Island.)"

Basically this whole part, if you choose to wander around, is just herding you to the swamp. But it's nice to see the place while some very lowkey chill banjo music plays.

Onward to the town square.

In the bottom corner is the Barbery Coast, a barber shop, also closed right now, and knocking on the door leads to Guybrush asking for help, only to get told to go see the Voodoo Lady.

There's also a theatre with a banner advertising their upcoming show, "Speare". The clock can be examined and gives the time based off your computer clock which is cute.

I wandered off to end up at the Brimstone Beach Club and Smorgy.

Only to also be told to go see the Voodoo Lady.

With that quick introduction to the town, it was time to listen and go to the swamp.

Where there's a building formed out of a ship wreckage and! Importantly! Our ol' pal, Murray. Trying to be scary. As he does. Not doing a great job of it. As he also does.

He tries to dramatically warn Guybrush not to go further into the swamp--"Turn back! Turn back! Darkness will envelop you!" But it's very difficult to take Murray seriously, so things just turn to more conversation about things such as how he got up there--"sheer force of will." No, some weird voodoo kids found him and stuck him up there. Now he stands hangs as a testament to the forces of Evil that will one day be victorious over the earth. Actually, he's mostly just very bored, poor fellow.

Guybrush asks if he knows anything about lifting curses--hey been asking everyone else--to which he gets a very sarcastic response from the skull...stuck on a spike... in the middle of a swamp. Yeah.

Murray does actually apologize for his little outburst; it's been a long day. There's nothing more to be done with him--he can't be carried sadly--so it was onto the presumable Voodoo Lady's home in the shipwreck there.

And there it is with a stuffed alligator with an unusually long tongue, a bottle of paste on the floor along with some paper voodoo dolls, one of which has a pin stuck in it. And on the counter we've got a gum machine. Pack of gum for 5 cents.

The pin and paste can both be taken. I thought I mostly remembered the differences between normal difficulty and mega-monkey but apparently not as when I double checked a detail the paste is only in mega-monkey, but it does get used a few times, so huh. I could have sworn one of the things that needed it was in the normal difficulty. It has been a long time since I played normal.

A wooden nickel can be used with the machine to get a packet of gum: Admiral Sweetums Bit-o-Jerky bubblegum. Tasty...?

Then I pulled the alligator's tongue. How often do you get to say that?

A pulley type contraption pulls up a chair and the Voodoo Lady. There are a couple options to find out who she is if you haven't played the past two games as she's a recurring character. She's helped out in both the previous games.

I dove in with "Boy, have I got some stories to tell you!"

She tried to retreat from Guybrush's storytelling, but Guybrush relented and moved on to explain what happened with Elaine and the curse and ask for help. She's willing to help but first, where did he hide the solid gold statue of his girlfriend on an island full of pirates?

Oops.

We get a scene of Guybrush having to...go... do something unrelated and run back to the beach, but it's too late. Elaine's been taken by pirates...

And then he returns to the Voodoo Lady for more help.

Now, in Guybrush's defence, I don't know how he could have hidden Elaine. It's not like he could have moved her. If you try picking her up, he even says she must weigh a ton. Stuck in the middle of a beach, there weren't a lot of options. Guybrush may make plenty of mistakes, but I think he can catch a break on this one.

Regardless, the Voodoo Lady suspects Elaine's been stolen by the mangy pirates anchored in Danjer Cove. So, we'll have to find a way there to get her back and break the curse.

As for the curse itself, a diamond ring of equal or greater value needs to replace the cursed one. There are legends of a 'whopping big diamond ring on Blood Island.' Unfortunately, Blood Island is the place where she's foreseen that Guybrush. will die. Uh oh. Guybrush, naturally, has a bit of a freakout about this, but that ring's worth comes from its emotional significance--there are none like it. So, we''ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

And to get to Blood Island I'll need to find three things: map, ship and crew.

And thus we have our goals for now. And there's some other information to get from her, some just silly stuff, and some a little more important like:

El Pollo Diablo! The Giant Demon Chicken. It stalks the jungles of Plunder Island seeking revenge for its eaten brethren. Guybrush doesn't take it seriously or believe in it, but it's information worth keeping.

I headed back out to do one last task before leaving the swamp.

Now, the paste can be used with the skeleton arm. There is no point in using the paste with the skeleton arm right now, however, you can show it to Murray for a reaction, as it used to be his arm, so what more reason do you need anyway? He's grossed out by it. "Oh, ick."

"You are a sad, strange, little man."

But you can give him a piece of gum too! That's...like a peace offering, right? And he'll blow bubbles with it.

I went back to the beach and Elaine's absence. There were footprints in the sand now, until you examine them and realize that, no, they're actually handprints. How odd. Or as Guybrush puts it: "Those pirates in Danjer Cove walk on their hands? Weird!"

There was also another of those handy informative signs where Elaine was.

"Untitled Composition in Gold and Diamond. This newest addition to our public works of art was shamefully taken without authorization."

The Plunder Island Naturalist Society moves fast! Assuming they're also responsible for the art plaques too. This is also something I don't think I saw until later play-throughs as, unless you miss the ember, there's no real reason to ever come back here.

Something else I didn't really notice until a much more recent play was that the chickens around the fort vary in number and arrangement whenever you come back. It's the fun details!

Now that I have concrete goals, it was back to really exploring the island and properly getting to meet the locals instead of being funneled to the swamp.

I went into town landing at the lemonade stand first, which is run by the kid, Kenny Falmouth. He's selling lemonade for a nickel and has a bottomless mug policy. Wow! What a deal! Of course I wanted some lemonade.

He poured some and 'bottomless mug' indeed. Guybrush went to drink and discovered the lack of bottom, but Kenny did say! And no refunds! No lemonade to drink, just gotta eat that loss.

As we saw, past him is a sign pointing out the route to Danjer Cove, which sure would be great for finding those pirates and Elaine, but there's too much undergrowth blocking the path, so we'll need a way to clear that.

Blondebeard's Chicken Shop is now open!

But a reservation is needed to actually come in, so I got booted back outside.

In the town square there's the theatre and the barbershop. Now, you can't enter the theatre through the front entrance, however there is a side entrance.

That takes us into a prop room with lots of stuff to look at and interact with. The stage can also be entered from here and you can go upstairs, but investigation comes first.

Some items of note or amusement, though there are more things than this to look at:

Donkey Mask: You can't do anything with it, but if you try to pick it up: "I don't want to look like a jackass." Guybrush turns to camera: "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. So knock it off!"

Mirror: "I wonder if there's a part in this play for... a dashing rogue pirate!"

Magic wand: It's a magic wand. You can scoop it up. "Watch me make THIS disappear."

Magic hat: It's empty. Or is it?

Use the magic wand with the hat!

And it makes a book appear in the hat: 'The A-mfggh-C's of Ventriloquism'. Grab that too! It's a fun item that has several optional uses beyond what it will be needed for.

Travel Trunk: Has a sticker on it from Blood Island! So there's a possibility that the owner knows how to get there.

Pirate Coat: A nice coat with "just a few flakes of unsightly dandruff." There's also a sneaky pocket. In Mega-Monkey mode it's closed and more easily missable than in normal where it's open putting the item in the pocket on clear display. Open the pocket to reveal a glove which I took.

Dandruff: ...is wiggling. It's lice. Lice that is going straight into the inventory? Why? Because it will be needed and because we can. If you talk to them "So, which one of you is the head louse?" Once you've picked up the lice, if you examine the coat again, he changes his comment to "It's a de-loused pirate coat."

I went upstairs to find the light controls.

However, without instructions there's nothing to be done with them right now.

So, it was onward to the stage!

The actor on stage is rehearsing "Oh Juliet! ...yadayadayada." There are a few different Shakespeare related lines but I wasn't getting them this time, mostly just mumbles.

Talking to him, he's introduced as Slappy Cromwell. You can ask him about the 'putrid drivel' he's rehearsing because it is THAT bad. He's been having no luck with any of his performances, so he felt compelled to rewrite Shakespear condensing it down into a forty-five minute revue. Speare! "A theatrical medley."

You can also ask to join the play but get refused. Repeatedly if you keep insisting.

And most importantly you can ask if he ever performed at Blood Island. He had done so, but his agent, Palido Domingo always handled the travel arrangements so I'd have to go talk to him. He's a member of the Brimstone Beachclub.

I also talked to the pirate in the pink dress, who's actually a spokes-model, but what he really wants to do is act, so here he is.

Normally from here I would move on to the Barber shop, but this time I decided to pursue the map trail and follow Cromwell's instructions to go to the Brimstone Beach Club in hopes of meeting Palido.

The Cabana Boy starts off friendly and welcoming, explaining the various activities happening today and warning about the undead bits washing ashore--best to keep the kids away. But the siege earlier hasn't led to trouble for the rest of the day, so enjoy!

All good until he finds out you don't have a membership card. Then he turns into right old snot. You can ask to sign up for a card, but it's a long, ridiculous arduous process, and then even if Guybrush got through it all, he'd blackball him. Because it's policy to exclude anyone whose odor or presence might offend the other members. Rude.

No card means no beach, no usage of amenities and nothing off the grill. You can try various dialogue options to get the towels or oil, or be let onto the beach, but he doesn't budge. He ultimately doesn't even succumb to a jedi mind trick. "I'm not the pirate you're looking for."

So, that's currently a bust and it's back to the barbershop next time.

We now know we need:

a cleared route to Danjer Cove

a reservation for Blondebeard's Chicken Shop

a Brimstone Membership card

And for longterm goals:

map - Palido should help with that

ship - still unknown

crew - still unknown

[crispy-buddies-bakery]

Buddy staff at the center

While me and my assistant are capable of running the shop, having buddies to work as staff alongside us also helps us understand them more and keep the place more peaceful and organized, and so I would like to formally introduce each of our buddy staff in the center!

Chiron - Pure Vanilla Cookie

Our first ever buddy staff, Chiron was baked to be our main healer in our center to which he accepted his role quite well. in addition to being a healer, he also acts as a therapist for rescued buddies that are currently staying at our center.

Often if one of the human staff is unable to man the counter, he often will take over it and greet any visitors or potential adopters and he did need to explain to the few who seem interested in adopting him that he lives and works in the center.

He often finds each adoption more exciting and hopeful, often he see’s many humans as wonderful and caring but is aware that a few have harmed others and are not to be trusted, unlike many he often tries to give those a second chance but either Elaine or Elizabeth would shoo any offending visitor away, especially if they have a history of abusing buddies or others.

Often seen as a father figure to younger rescued buddies and respected by older ones, he makes sure to set a good example for them and always reassures them that soon, someone will adopt them.

Reine - Golden Cheese Cookie

Another buddy that is baked to work in the center, Reine like her species are egotistical and proud but still accepted her role in the center. At first she was a guard and keeps an eye on visitors but soon she finds herself more in the nursery of the center, cooing and preening the babies buddies there thus she was given the role of caretaker instead.

She has a strong maternal instinct, while the center rarely bakes cookies in their infant stage or even gets rescued buddies that are that young, whenever they do Reine is the first to check on them, she is extremely protective and watchful towards the younger buddies that no one other than staff is allowed to enter the nursery, anyone who tries to get in will be screeched at and probably be bonked on the head with the side of her spear.

She feels proud and strong whenever she is taking care of these younglings, seeing herself as a guardian to them and is always ready to take care of each of them, she rarely trusts other humans other than the staff and thus everytime the younger buddies are at that age to be ready to be adopted. Chiron often has to reassure her that they will be adopted by a good home to let them go, usually she will be sadden whenever this happens but often she feels proud that they no longer need to be taken care by her and to be adopted by their own families now.

She doesn’t interract with anyone in the staff that much other than Chiron and the humans who she often comes to get them to help her preen her wings, showing that she does indeed trust them enough, but she still gets paid with golden cheese puffs as she claims she needs.

Ajita - Raisin Cookie

Our first rescue that decided to stay permanently in the center, Ajita was adopted in a different buddy center but her adopter had gotten bored of her after a week and abandoned her carelessly, the adopter was arrested and fined for abandonment if you are wondering. Hurt by this action, Ajita spend some days outside before she was rescued and brought to us.

Ajita would only talk to Chiron at the start and often make threats whenever the human staff would approuch her, it took a while but eventually she came around to trusting them and seeing how the center was comforting for her and the fact that doesn’t wish to gamble to be adopted by a uncaring adopter again, she decided to permanently stay and getting the role of rescuer.

Whenever the center receives a call to rescue a buddy, Ajita would always come alongside us to help, whether fhat be wrestling a aggresive stray buddy to relocate them or talk down to a traumatized abandoned one, she is always there to help and whenever at the center, she always hangs out with the rescued buddies to talk and get to know them more.

When Ajita first came to the center, the usual raisin birds weren’t near her and she doesn’t seem to have them but recently some have started showing up outside, acting like security cameras and squacking whenever there is someone suspicious. Ajita feeds them herself and often Chiron, who she see’s as a mentor/father figure would join her.

String - Twizzly Gummy Cookie

The second rescue to permanently live in the center, String unlike the rest of her species is calm and rather level headed. She first came to us as a rescued buddies and has not told us about what happened to her and if she was a stray or has been adopted, either way the event traumatized her and all staff agrees to never ask of her about it.

String immediently accepted the invitation of being a permanent buddy in the center and she is often acts as an assistant, she often helps the others with their tasks whether that be Chiron with calming any injured buddies or helping the humans organized any adoption, she always helps them with their tasks.

She is often quiet and reserve, prefering to listen to soft lullabies or watching others in the center. Many times she has been seen twirling her hair with her hand and talking to rescued buddies, mostly asking them about their life and whatnot.

She doesn’t interract that much, the staff even thought she was mute until she spoke silently after the first few day, she prefers to listen rather than to talk so she is often visited by the guards so that they will have someone to talk to as she just merely listens to them.

Malou - Mala Sauce Cookie

The third and possibly but not probably the last rescued permanent buddy along with her tribe, Malou and her tribe were once strays when they were sweep by a particularly strong downpour of rain and when they were rescued, they had to be preheated and sligthly and carefully bake in the oven again to evaporate and get their bodies crispy again.

Eternally grateful for saving their lives, Malou and her tribe offered to be guards for the place to which the staff agrees. they patrol the center in and out and whenever something is amiss they report them to the staff immediently and she and her tribe each take turns to watch over the place, usually at night they can relax as the place has a lock and gate but usually Malou watches over at night to ensure safety.

They are rather a rambunctious group, often than not they greet visitors happily and lead them to the front counter and even chat whenever some are in the waiting area and they often share their drinks to staff but often than not, they have to turn down their generous offer for the sake of their insides which they do not blame them, Chiron once tried and coughed so badly String thought he was dying, he is ok though.

However when someone with bad intentions does enter the center, the tribe immediently becomes protective and shows that while buddies are smaller than humans, they are still able to chase them away whilst protecting the others.