#it is Feeling Ugly hours

[jordanswitches]

.

[cuddlytogas]

So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.

See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.

But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...

What is the difference between this and this?

Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?

Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.

But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.

And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.

But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.

See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!

As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.

And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:

So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?

Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.

In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.

In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.

This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).

Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.

More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.

This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.

A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.

But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.

[krysmcscience]

BILLDUMP TIME (with transparency, because I can). Don't mind me, I'm just yeeting my goofy art at some way more talented individuals out of nowhere and then hauling ass back to the security of being a weird silent lurker ahaha

@tesscourtes and @beccadrawsstuff, respectively! These two Bills make a little prism of sorts together because of their recent crossovers on Patreon~ :3c Speaking of which, I highly recommend supporting both these artists! They do fantastic work! (TessCourtes and Beccup)

@qoolk on the left, and @monobmp on the right! I am such a sucker for these outfits~ OuO Go and check these two out, their art is phenomenal!!! >u<

@1spooky2me The most difficult Bill of the lot for me to draw, ahaha... Their art is so incredibly consistent and dynamic, I am, a little envious <:,) A little envious, but mostly impressed, so go look at their amazing art, what are you waiting for

And finally, @ckret2, whose writing is sublimely in-character and just a delight to read - they're a great artist, as well! I simply Could Not resist drawing their Bill in this ridiculous incredible and very fashionable pink feather dress, even though he only briefly wears it in their fic, so I also did a little bonus doodle of him in his standard hoodie to make up for it. XD (Also, as far as I'm concerned, Bill and Mabel were both correct in that lime green accessories make the dress Much Better.)

This is just a small selection of the human Bill designs I enjoy. I may draw and post more later on, who knows! Feel free to reblog with some neat Bill designs, either your own or by other folks - if any of the designs particularly call to me, I'll add them to the little list I've got going~ :D (Alternatively, if you really like my stuff and want me to draw something specific, you could...mmm...perhaps, commission me...? OuO)

Also I'm tagging Billford because uhhhh yeah, sorry not sorry, every single one of these Bills is getting shipped with Ford by the artists in some way or another, lmao

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[ratwithhands]

Read Right to Left (Manga Format)

I have returned to watching demon slayer after a year and it came up while I was having a serious late night talk with my big sister. I was talking about the relationship between Michikatsu/Kokushibo and Yoriichi and it turns out we both see each other in Yoriichi's shoes and ourselves in Michikatsu's place. Definitely surprising, but really relieving to know that we both worry too much and we are not so far apart in skill as we believe.

This is technically the first piece of fanart I've ever made for the characters in Demon Slayer, I have made OCs before but I never drew an actual character from the story. For context this is mostly just a fun "what if" scenario with them meeting in the afterlife. I like to think Yoriichi's love would reawaken Michikatsu's humanity.

[only-lonely-www]

Hello

[medicalunprofessional]

[seance]

I'M GONNA SEE MY MAN, 'TIL I GET SATISFIED / for @izzy-hands

[anonymous-force]

based on youtube comment which I'll probably add later, because I'm too eepy rn to look for it

[muffinlance]

Got some excellent friends from @palaeoplushies (le website link)

Toddler stole the ichthyosaur straight out of the box and baby has decided the bristlenose is a superior teething toy

...Friends have been made and lost

[id: Photo of a stuffed ichthyosaur and bristlenose plecostomus along with pins of an ichthyosaur, pterodactyl, and archaeopteryx. End id.]

[sandwichmustbetasty]

I have SO MUCH things to do but I literally can't compose myself after the last episode

this is me currently

[themoonunderstoodmydadjokes]

Y’all ever just so disgustingly sick with the thought of someone seeing every bit of you?? All the ugly unsavory things you try to bury? Someone seeing all of that and still saying “I want to be here”??? Ugh absolutely siiicccckkk with the thought 🫠🫠🥺🥺

[from-ib-to-asshai]

actually genuinely sad about how both awoiaf shows we have both dont choose to do interesting bold things with their fashion (GOT a lot more than HOTD, but still). they both seem so focused on being serious HBO television that they seem afraid of having any whimsical aspects to their costuming, or little effort to create and diversify the fashion shown. Like what are the differences between fashion in different regions of Westeros? How does the fashion develop over the years? It often feels toned down, and in HOTD's case like they are too afraid of retconning anything GOT established or didn't establish to properly build something to make this world feel fuller and less monotone. It's like they are afraid of getting too creative just in case someone might remember that they are watching a fantasy show, as if being a fantasy show is something it should be embarrassed about

[chemicalarospec]

inspired by @lastmidtownshowmp3 , I attempted my own Bilvy Roan!

I'm a pretty inexperienced artist -- this is the first time I've successfully colored a traditional sketch digitally! I also feel I improved my hair technique :)

[stuck-in-jelly]

The Dragon Prince Fanfic: Seeking Judgment

Thank you to @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal for beta reading and helping me out!! 🫶

Summary: Opeli finds herself face to face with Viren after he makes a request for a confessional. Unpleasant memories rise as she too is now faced with the weight of his crimes.

-----------------------------------

“Excuse me?” Opeli didn’t bother hiding her frustration as she lifted her head from her desk. In front of her the ‘Associate’ Crow Lord squirmed, wringing his hands together as he let out an awkward chuckle, a nervous quirk of his she found exceedingly annoying.

“Viren has requested to see you-uh, High Priestess.” he repeated, swinging his arms back and forth as he bounced in place. Opeli’s lip curled as she placed down her pencil.

“And why would I do that.” her patience was wearing incredibly thin at the thought of that man feeling entitled to anyone’s time, let alone hers. Again, the Crow Lord shifted, now scratching at his nail-polish, the paint turning to black dust before drifting down to her once perfectly cleaned floor.

“Um…he said that he wanted to ask for Judgment from Lady Justice?”

Opeli felt her body stiffen in anger, eyes narrowing enough that the Crow Lord himself went still for the first time since entering her office.

In her youth, when she had still been with the sisters, her predecessor had proposed the ‘Judgment from Lady Justice’ practice. It was an initiative to grant prisoners a chance to reconcile with themselves and take accountability for their actions by speaking with the High Priestess and confessing before Lady Justice in the chapel.

For a moment her anger shot briefly to her mentor for paving her way into this situation but she quickly redirected it back to Viren.

Viren had never been a religious man, this was something she knew for a fact. He often made snide comments about Lady Justice, how if such a deity even existed how cruel they must be to leave humanity as it is.

Now he dare use her name now as an excuse? As a way to bring her to him?

But there was her oath, this was her original job after-all, before she became wrapped up so tightly within the political affairs of Katolis. With a click of her tongue Opeli opened a drawer, fishing out a form she would need to fill out.

“Fine. I will set a date. But he will get no more than 15 minutes.”

The day came quicker than she would have liked, as a whole she would have liked not to be in this position at all but Lady Justice worked in strange ways.

Standing in the middle of the empty chapel with the confessional set up, Opeli mentally recited her oath as a way of grounding herself. Regardless, whenever one requested Judgment from Lady Justice there were always precautions, but this was an exceptional case.

Guards had been ordered to be posted just outside of the chapel and she ensured she would have a means of defending herself, namely a blade.

After Soren had helped her and the others escape Katolis she decided she should know how to use at least a dagger.

Corvus had been the one to coach her, he was a good teacher. Patient, understanding, and thorough. Though she had been fortunate enough to have not needed it so far, there was a newfound confidence with the blade that now rested at her hip more often than not.

Cautiously she turned the weapon over in her hand admiring the smith-work. She often advised in battles, wars, and had many conversations with Amaya and Sarai before her but she had never considered what it meant to actually wield a blade.

There was power in it, of course, but more than that there was an itch. Whenever she felt threatened, her fingers twitched as if closing around an invisible handle.

During her training Corvus had said as much, that to wield a weapon meant to have discipline, to know when to halt and when to strike.

To have discipline.

Opeli found her eyes drifting up to the stain-glass mural in front of her. Justice stood, proud as ever, with her head held high and blindfolded, one hand raising up scales over her head, the other with her sword drawn.

At a very young age Opeli knew she had a strong sense of justice, a need to render each their proper due regardless of status or background, be it King or Servant.

As she stared, eyes drifting to the sword laying passively at Justice’s side, Opeli’s predecessor’s words echoed in her mind.

‘Your hand is far too eager for the punishment.’

“High Priestess.” The guard’s voice snapped her into reality “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath Opeli placed the blade back in its holster before blindfolding herself with the all too familiar red cloth.

“Not really.” positioning herself in front of the screen she’d be hearing Viren through, she clarified “Bring him in.”

Moments later she heard the sounds of the guards boots on the chapel floors but now accompanied with the clack of chains. Until they stopped before her feet. The guards' boots receded until the door shut once again leaving Opeli to her fate.

“Opeli,” a sound of gratitude echoed in front of her, a tone so unfamiliar on Viren’s tongue that for a moment she wondered if she had gotten the times wrong and was speaking to some stranger.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Her lip twitched in annoyance. The voice was no doubt Viren’s.

“Let’s make this quick.” she snapped before centering herself and beginning the speech.

Words from their Scriptures she remembers by heart by the time she got to the end she was already feeling ready for this to be over.

“So, you kneel here today before our Lady to seek Judgment and to balance your scales. Do you agree to face Justice with the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then speak.”

There was no sound for a second until Viren cleared his throat, the soft clank of the chains being amplified by the chapel walls.

“I want to start this off by apologizing to you, Opeli, for how I had treated you for the past few years. It was...wrong.” Opeli couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.

If one could believe it, she and Viren hadn’t always been at each other’s throats. There was once a time they were courteous to each other, but it had all changed many years ago. With Lissa.

The name still stung whenever she crossed her mind. How she once lit up a room wherever she walked, trail of leaves and petals following her every step.

The image of her begun to burn behind the cloth of Opeli’s blindfold; Lissa shoulders bare in the cold Katolis air as if it were a warm summer day, a soft flush on her full cheeks, a dimple revealing itself upon a tug her lips, an autumn leaf she pressed sticking out of her disorderly bun, and her soft green eyes full of whimsy she herself certainly hadn’t had since she was a child.

Lissa had once told her autumn was her favorite season, that Katolis has the most beautiful autumn cycle in all the world, even Xadia.

Opeli had countered with how she could know if she had never been to Xadia.

‘I just know.’ she had teased with a soft rumbling laugh, bumping Opeli with her arm as she stared out into the courtyard from the library’s balcony.

Lissa had sounded so sure that she was right that Opeli took her word for it.

A strange longing she hadn’t felt in years clawed at her chest at their shared memories, she could almost smell her perfume and hear her snort in the library as they tried to keep their voices down.

“She told you…didn't she? A-about what I did.”

There was an itch at the palm of her hand, accompanied by the phantom handle, at Viren’s words.

“We are not here to discuss me.”

“I truly do feel awful about what happ- for what I did.”

“And what exactly did you do.” The words were bitter, but so were the memories of Lissa sobbing into her chest, tears streaming down her face, seemingly endless no matter how tightly Opeli held her in her arms.

A strangled whimper escaped the man in front of her, and Opeli felt no remorse. If he truly wished to seek judgment from Lady Justice he would need to at least have the gall to admit it, even if it was over a decade late.

“I…” a hiccuped sob caught in Viren’s throat as he pushed out the words “I hurt her…in our bedroom, I cornered her and I forced her to cry. For a spell. Even when she begged me, I didn’t stop.”

Clinging tightly to her teachings, Opeli recited what was next.

“And do you feel regret for what you did?”

“I…” Viren paused and sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know?” Opeli snapped, briefly forgetting her role in this situation, overcome with confusion.

“If I hadn’t done it then Soren...he would’ve died. And I do not regret that my son is alive.”

To that Opeli had no words, as much as she would’ve liked to shout and scream at him, she faltered, for she was also glad Soren was alive.

“Lady Justice has heard your words.”

“There is more I wish to say.” resisting a groan she nodded, a prompt for him to continue.

“I knew under regular circumstances you would’ve never agreed to meet me but take this as my confession.”

The list of crimes that began to spill from his lips further tested Opeli’s patience.

Viren was the one behind the murders of the other Kingdoms’ leaders, smokey assassins he puppeteered to make it seem as if Xadia wished for war. Not much of a surprise but her heart ached for the Kingdoms thrown into chaos, and more so for Prince Kasef, a victim of Viren’s own self righteous plot.

Kpp’ar isn’t missing, Viren claimed, but imprisoned in a coin in his basement. He is sure there is a way to get him out but it would require something exceedingly rare. Opeli crinkled her nose at that wondering if this was a ploy to convince them to allow Viren out of his cell to find said items.

Kpp’ar was a man she rarely even spotted, she wasn’t the high priestess at the time he had begun frequently visiting the chapel, but Opeli remembers that night when her mentor emerged from the chapel face pale and arms weak after speaking with him.

That night was the last night he ever set foot back in the castle before disappearing. If you asked Opeli, she would’ve said he just finally lost his mind and ran away.

“I know, this means nothing now. But Soren, he won’t accept it from me, but I want him to know that I love him. And that I am so proud of him, I had always wanted a son who would follow in my footsteps and I had once thought my son had failed me. But he has done far better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Since the King left Soren had been nothing short of a zombie, a smile that never quite reached his eyes projecting confidence but everyone in the castle felt the shift in his demeanor, he was hardly spotted for his morning jogs anymore, his jokes didn’t quite land, and his fidgeting had only grown.

A few of the soldiers in training had complained about sparring, how he didn’t seem to be holding back all that well.

“If you could...just make sure he knows that, in some way.” As much as she didn’t want to grant him the satisfaction she nodded.

“And Claudia….oh my little girl…when she casted her first spell I had been so worried. But when she woke, I was filled with such pride. I thought I had such a brilliant young girl to take after me, but now I see it was the wrong path. I have watched her do...vile things.”

King Ezran and the others had informed Opeli of Claudia’s return, of how dangerous she was. Had Rayla not interfered, they worried what would’ve happened to Ezran.

“I knew my staying would only hold her back, I just hope it’s enough that she can find the right path just as Soren did. If she comes to Katolis, would you promise that she be granted mercy? What has become of her is my fault, I led her down this route by the hand, she does not deserve to pay the price for my crimes.”

Ezran’s words echoed in her mind. At this point it felt far too late to grant Claudia amnesty but in the end it was not her place.

“She will be granted whatever King Ezran allows.” Opeli conceded.

Viren sighed, and for a moment he remained quiet before taking a deep breath.

“King Harrow is not dead.”

Ice shot through Opeli’s veins, her breath catching in her throat.

“What.”

“I know what it sounds like what-what it looks like. The body...it was his but it wasn’t him.” Opeli’s thoughts swam uncomfortably in her head, her stance wavering. She had seen King Harrow's body, cradled his limp head on her lap as if it would somehow spark him back to life, the same head she once crowned with pride.

“He lives still!” Viren continued, his words muffled behind the images flashing through Opeli’s mind of that night. Blood staining her hands, the clamor of guards shouting, stepping over the bodies of the very people she knighted.

“In Pip, his old Songbird! I did a spell, I wasn’t sure if it would work or not but it did!” Viren rushed them to seal Harrow’s body away, her hands washed of the blood but still stained in her mind, the anger she felt for she had yet to fully grieve and Viren had the audacity to rush her.

“I swear I was planning on finding a way to bring him back but when you stormed into my office-”

Something snapped in Opeli as she tore off her blindfold, hot rage flowing through her as she stepped forward.

“Enough!” Even though the screen Opeli could make out Viren’s kneeling form as he reeled back in shock, she couldn’t make out his expression or any more details than his vague silhouette but it was enough that she got her eyes on him.

“You dare make a mockery of this chapel?”

“W-what? N-no Opeli, please, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand plenty, Viren. You are a mad man, you’ve been so consumed by your guilt that you are making wild accusations to rid yourself of it! Our late king may have once entertained you but I will not have you send us on another wild goose chase.”

Opeli tossed her blindfold on the ground discarding it as she stormed away not caring where it drifted to.

“Wait! Wait, Opeli, please-” a slam of the door stiffened his pleas and she couldn’t care less, how dare he mock her, how dare he use this moment now. The guards just out of the doors gave her a confused stare.

“Take him back to his cell.” the pair nodded dutifully before entering back into the chapel. She didn’t bother to stick around to see them drag him back down to the depths of the dungeon instead she stormed back down the hall, robes bellowing behind her.

A deep dark pit stirred within her, memories of such small children with wide toothy smiles. Wrestling in the mud together as they squealed in delight, rushing down the corridors in a whirlwind of chaos, and being ushered out of the library for laughing too loud.

Those children... that whole time with him-

Her knuckles had begun to turn white, and her teeth ground together, giving her a headache, but beneath the rage she couldn’t deny the guilt.

Couldn’t deny the moments she turned her gaze believing Viren’s comments were nothing more than just words, couldn’t deny not only had Viren failed his children, but she did as well.

She had spent so long believing these children, by birthright, had been tainted by their father, destined to follow in his lead.

But Soren had grown into a kind young man. She’d watched how he had changed, how gently he now played with the castles’ children when they asked, how he treated everyone around him with love and respect. Soren carries such a big heart with him, she wondered how he can shoulder it all.

In certain lights he looked so much like his mother.

Perhaps Claudia once did too.

The next day Opeli caught Soren as he was excusing the trainees for the day, they all wore a relieved expression, covered in sweat and bruises as they stumbled off for their breaks. Soren’s expression was set and serious as he hung up the training swords on their rack, Hat chittered softly from a hay pile but Soren paid the little companion no mind, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Taking a breath and steadying her guilt she glided over to Soren with a smile.

“Soren! We are going to have a meeting in the council room later today. We will be uh-” Opeli mentally cringed knowing this topic wasn’t exactly one Soren would have much interest in “going over Advanced Fiscal Exercises if you wanted to join?”

The invitation instantly made him perk up, his smile that had been missing since the King departed rose back to life as he quickly placed Hat back on top of his head.

“Yeah, totally! What time?”

Who knew Soren would be so excited about finances?

Bonus Snippet:

Something prodded at Opeli’s intuition as she walked past the High Mages Office, her steps slowing to a halt a few feet away from it. Despite herself Viren's words echoed in her mind.

Most of her logic reasoned the man was lying, trying to get out of his cell so he could pull another trick on them, but a sliver of doubt was enough to pause her.

There was no way to confirm the outlandish stories of a king in a bird, or the smokey assassins that left behind only their weapons but one story lingered.

A man in a coin.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Opeli glanced around at the empty hall.

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I?” she mumbled to herself as she turned back to the high mage's office. She always had spare keys on her, and although Prince Callum was out, she had to see for herself even if it meant breaking in.

With a soft click the door gave way to her, briefly she considered locking it right back up and leaving but instead found herself poking her head in through the doors.

With the confirmation she was the only other soul in the room she hesitantly she stepped in, the door creaking loud enough she worried a guard would hear and come investigate.

As gently and quickly as she could she shut the door behind her and enveloping her in darkness. Opeli grumbled to herself, and fished around in her robes for a match. Prince Callum didn’t have any as he always had a magic trick up his sleeves to light the room in an instant.

Finally fumbling for a lantern and her matches she managed to re-illuminate the room, taking her steps towards the dungeons hidden entrance.

Standing in front of the painting, Opeli glared it down, the child holding the sheep in her arms with a far too doleful expression on her face. The painting was one she was glad was out of sight from most eyes.

As she descended the stairs unpleasant memories began to rise once more.

Gren chained at the bottom of the stairs skinny but smiling, the stench of death that hit all of their nostrils causing some of them even to gag, rusted chains splattered with dried blood, old ritualistic weapons hanging on the wall, and strange creatures trapped in jars.

Swatting a cobweb away with a groan she pushed forward, covering her mouth with her hand as she scanned the shelves lined with disturbing ingredients.

They really should just fill in this basement, make sure that it was never found again.

Searching high and low she found nothing. The light of her lantern cast flickery shadows over the basement walls surrounding her in her own embarrassment.

Opeli felt like a foolish child, hunting for monsters in the dark of her closet. How she allowed Viren’s words to burrow in her mind infuriated her to no end.

Must he always have the last laugh?

A soft metal clink on her boot froze her.

There, settled on top of a crack on the floor, laid a gold coin.

[wewerebornsextuplets]

designed yokai au kiru today and then Promptly realized how tiny the matsus are compared to her in this au and now im giggling