#my alchemical courting

[burblespewstales]

Saw my favorite touring bard at the park today, I will forever be a my alchemical courting fan

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday!!!! More FMA!

He’s fucking tired.

In Xerxes, he’s Van Edris. In Xerxes, he’s the son of a former slave, having narrowly escaped being born into his father’s fate by virtue of him being awarded freedom by the time of his birth. In Xerxes, he’s an uncommon commodity, an alchemist with a skill that hasn’t been seen since his father fucked off to who knows where.

In Amestris, he’s Edward Elric. In Amestris, he’s the son of Trisha Elric who was born free and died free because while there are lots of different forms of freedom, in Amestris there’s one that everyone shares. In Amestris, he’s unknown and unremarkable and no one gives a fuck about what he does.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says flatly.

This is what he gets for visiting his father’s country. It’s just fucking unfortunate that the really good alchemical texts are here.

He should have let Al (Van Altun, as they know him, even though the two of them having been using their Amestrian names almost their whole lives, regardless of what country they were in) do it. They’re not nearly as weird about him.

Pakor is alright, as far as kings go. He’s freed a lot of people, is poking at the laws of ownership that has governed his country for centuries to see if he can do anything about them without getting beheaded for it. He’s also known Ed since he was a barely able to walk, back when his father still made court appearances and brought the family along with him. Former slave against most talented alchemist in the country, and people tended to politely ignore the former. Hell, Ed’s been counting on the same thing since he was twelve.

Of course, now it’s coming back to bite him. People say he’s a genius, but if he was really smart he would have stayed far, far away from court. Like in Amestris, perhaps.

“You’re fluent in both languages,” Pakor says, coaxing.

“So are you,” he says accusingly. “We’re speaking Amestrian right now!”

Pakor sighs and switches to Xerxian. “You also speak Xingese and Drachman. You’re a difficult man to keep secrets from.”

“I’m also Amestrian!” he shouts. “And free, might I add! You can’t sell me off to slavery just to get some intel!”

“It’s not like we’ll brand you,” he says, affronted, and Ed is reminded that alright for a king is still pretty shitty. “We just need someone to do a little – double checking. To ensure the situation in Amestris is as it’s advertised.”

“You want to gift me to the Fuhrer to spy on him and you’re, what, just hoping he doesn’t notice that I understand everything and know everything and am, oh yeah, one of his citizens? I’ve been to Central before! With my luck, I’ll get recognized the first day here and then run out of Amestris! And, again, Amestris doesn’t have slaves! The leader of the country really can’t have one.”

Pakor sighs. “You’re very dramatic, Edris. It won’t be so bad. Here, I’ll say you’re my personal slave and that you’re on loan. It’ll be for cultural exchange purposes. He speaks Xingese, so you can communicate in that language without letting on you know Amestrian.”

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a stupid fucking idea.”

“If you do this,” Pakor says, “I’ll give you the key to the royal library.”

Ed slowly lowers his hand, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been asking you to let me in there for years.”

“I figured I’d need to bargain it away eventually,” he says. “I was hoping you’d marry one of my daughters for it.” Having even light court obligations is bad enough, he’s in no way stupid enough to marry in. “You’re very difficult, you know. I’m your king. I shouldn’t have to bargain with you.”

“Tough shit,” Ed says, because Pakor may have known him for nearly twenty years, but that knowing goes both ways. Besides, he can’t piss him off because then he and Al will stop reparing all their shit bridges and infrastructure. “Fine. But if I lose my Amestrian citizenship over this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Noted,” Pakor says brightly.

Uhg.

It doesn’t help that everything he’s heard about Fuhrer Mustang makes the man sound insufferable.

[ichorai]

the silent storm ; aemond targaryen.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x mute!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; aemond pays you a visit in the library and has a confession to make.

words ; 1.2k

themes ; fluff, mildly suggestive, established relationship (married)

warnings / includes ; mentions of killing/death/violence, reader is one of jasper wylde's many children, aemond being whipped for you <3 also he learned their version of sign language js for you, some kisses but nothing more than that, "i'd burn down the entire world for you" trope, lots of pet names :)

main masterlist.

The candle’s flame warbled as you set it down on the table, bathing the small corner of the library in a dewy, clementine luminescence. You narrowed your eyes at the frayed spines of the arranged historical books, fingers trailing along the dusty shelves. 

After several minutes of debating between a tome on the history of dragonkeeping, and a lengthy volume on alchemic remedies, you settled on reading the latter for tonight. You eased down into a rickety wooden chair that did no favors for your back, flipping the old book open with a gentle smile, and began to read.

Not even ten minutes past, your husband’s voice drifted through the library, quietly calling your name.

You reluctantly pulled your attention away from the miraculous works of potions and brews depicted on the yellowing pages, and affectionately rolled your eyes to the side. It was an ongoing joke amongst the court that Aemond physically couldn’t be without you for more than an hour at once. The two of you were scarcely ever seen without one glued to the other’s hip. The Silent Storm and the One-Eyed Dragon, the lords and ladies oft called you and your husband. 

With your father, Lord Jasper Wylde, being the Master of Laws, he was usually far too busy for the likes of you. Not to mention that he had four wives and twenty-eight other children to attend to—you were simply known as ‘the quiet one’ in your youth, which soon evolved to the Silent Storm when the court witnessed you beating up one of your older brothers with no restrain when you caught him stealing your coffers, where you kept your silvers.

Imagine your father’s utter shock when Aemond set his sights upon you, proclaiming you to be his almost instantly. Not even three months later, the two of you were wed, and you couldn’t be happier. 

“There you are,” the prince said, eye lighting up when he caught sight of you. “I knew I’d find you here.”

You arched a brow. Don’t be so smug. I’m always here, you signed, hands motioning languidly as your lips curved up into an amused grin. 

Aemond moved forward to sit beside you, two of his fingers slotting beneath your chin to tilt your face up so he could plant a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. “Yes, yes, you and your beloved books. Hardly a second goes by without your nose buried between pages.”

A humored huff fell from your lungs. You lifted your hands. Sounds like you’re jealous.

Your husband watched you sign, before scoffing. “Me? Jealous of books?”

Worry not, husband. I love you more than I love the library, I promise.

Ironically enough, right after you gestured out your reassurance, you turned right back to your book and began reading once more, missing the tilt of Aemond’s head and the widening, lovesick smile curving the corner of his mouth upward.

“What are you reading?” he asked, peering over your shoulder, before softly laying a kiss against the slope of your neck, lips brushing against the cold metal of the necklace he’d gifted you on your last name day. You smelled of lavender and honey, a scent he’d give anything to drown himself with.

Alchemy, you responded. 

“Apologies, my love, I’m afraid I don’t recognize that word,” Aemond whispered into your skin, not unkindly. 

You turned back to your husband, eyes soft and patient. You spelled it out for him, having to lightly swat his face away from your neck with a silent laugh just so he’d be able to concentrate. 

“Ah, alchemy,” he mumbled, voice rife with affection, drawing you closer to him. “What have I done to deserve someone equally intelligent as they are beautiful?”

Instead of responding, you leaned forward to kiss him, his lips melding gently over yours. You pulled away to plant another kiss to the side of his nose, and a final one right below his leather eyepatch.

I love you, Aemond signed to you, before pressing his enclosed fist right above your beating heart. “Avy jorrāelan. I would burn down the entirety of Westeros at your behest, jelmāzma.” Storm.

I’d rather you not, but thank you for offering, you replied, brows pulling together incredulously and your shoulders shaking with muted chuckles. A brilliant smile flickered over your expression, the shadows of your face elongated with the candlelight. What brings about such a… violent sentiment?

A beat of silence. Aemond seemed hesitant, his hand coming forth to lovingly stroke your cheek, thumb running along your jaw.

“Promise you won’t be mad at me.”

You blinked at him in a miffed fashion, then narrowed your eyes accusingly. What did you do?

Aemond winced. There was a reason why the court called you the Silent Storm. “Promise me first, darling,” he said, trying his best to placate you.

Fine, sure, I promise. Your gaze was sharp, and Aemond already had a feeling that your words were empty.

“Well, I was training with Criston when I overheard two bumbling, foolish lords passing by—and they were talking about you. Naturally, I stopped sparring and listened to their conversation. It was… an improper debate about whether or not you’d make sound in bed.”

You sighed, used to the giggles and whispers behind your back. The lords and ladies often forgot that just because you were mute, didn’t mean you couldn’t hear them, either. 

You killed them, then?

“I killed them,” Aemond confirmed, looking none too sorry about it, either. “Slit both of their throats. I couldn’t stand by and just listen to them insult you in such a way.”

They were jesting! you hurriedly signed, frustrated that your husband had taken such drastic measures without confronting you first. That is what men do, they jest and they speak ill-will and they are pigs about it! There is naught that we can do about their behavior other than a slap on the wrist—you cannot just kill anybody who gets on your nerves! Swear that you won’t do it again. Swear it, Aemond!

“But they were—”

You held a warning finger up, effectively halting him in his protests. The glare you had fixed on him held the intensity of a thousand hurricanes. And what was a dragon in comparison to the might of a storm?

“Yes, my love,” Aemond reluctantly said, biting down on his tongue. 

The anger melded over your visage seemed to melt away at his relatively easy acquiescence. 

Good boy, you teasingly signed, which earned you a light, ticklish pinch of retaliation to your side. I love you, too, by the way. But if you take another undeserving soul again—I’m going to have to reconsider.

A deep hum fell from his throat, and you were about to gesture some more warnings (borderline threats), but the thoughts were dashed from your mind when he surged forward to kiss you, pushing you up against the bookshelf. His large, spindly hands splayed over your waist and curved along your back. 

“Alchemy can wait, can’t it?” he murmured into you, nearly dizzy with yearning.

You shook your head with an exasperated beam, before pulling him forward by the lapels of his coat and slanting your lips against his once again.

[inexplicifics]

I have the headcanon goose trick that happened in the earlier days of Lambert and Milena courting. For the sake of not spending too much time on this and also because my lazy brain found it funny, Cedric named his horse Axe for Axel, so it would be an inside-ish joke on the Path that he was always riding Axe(l), and Axel felt the need to one-up him by starting off naming his horse Rick, which changed to Dick, which changed to Dicky.

Sorry in advance for the lazy writing, it’s 4 am and my brain is in slow mode right now.

** ** **

“They did what?” Lambert snarled, swearing vociferously.

“It was a joke, Lambert! A harmless prank!” Milena soothed.

“They’ll see how harmless that prank was when I see them on the training field!”

“Uncle Lambert.” Both adults turn to that voice that brooked no argument. “You’re forgetting something.”

“Forgetting something? What am I forgetting, Menace?” Lambert’s brow furrowed Try as he might, he couldn't think of what Ciri meant.

“Milena is sworn to Papa,” Ciri started, eyes glittering with mischief, “but she’s also sworn to me. My lady-in-waiting is mine to protect.”

The look in the kid’s eye said Cedric and Axel would be learning a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.

***

Cedric and Axel always spent some time with their horses after dinner, so they were full and happy as they wandered into the stable. That state morphed into confusion as soon as they opened the horse stalls to see no horse, just a goose with the same colouring.

Cedric looked in dread at the goose with Axe’s colouring, then turned back to his lover. “Goose trick?”

Axel was still staring at his goose. It had the same spot over its left eye as Dicky. “Medallion’s vibrating, so that would certainly be my guess.”

***

The first thirty minutes were spent trying to find a sorceress with the time to de-goosify their horses. Triss roped the two witchers into helping her finish some Swallows for Gweld and Aiden after a disastrous race down and up the Killer has left both with multiple fractures and Gweld with some nasty splinters from where he collided with a tribute wagon. No sooner did she turn to ask what she could do for the duo, did a human child crying over a sprained wrist come in.

Yennefer, on the other hand, set down her stack of papers with a grin. Cedric and Axel barely had time to give each other a look of wariness before she’d distributed a list of herbs and alchemical ingredients that they were to collect if they wanted her help de-goosifying anything and sendt them through a portal, an alert crystal thrown through after them.

Four hours and many scratches later, they returned with the moss, mould, buckthorn, and endrega queen embryos as requested, and Yennefer whisked the ingredients away with a smile, standing to follow them to the stables.

“They certainly have magic on them.” Yennefer reached out to Dicky and the spot disappeared, but nothing else changed.

“Change them back, witch.” Cedric growled.

“I removed the enchantments from one goose, but it is still very much a goose. The magic we sensed was the glamour. I’ll try my luck with the other one, but I wouldn’t expect different results.” Yennefer snapped back, walking into the other stall.

Axel dipped his head in apology for his lover. “We’re just a bit worried, is all.”

The magic stripped from the goose believed to be Axe is equally unimpressive. Yennefer sighed. “Goose tricks are harmless, if Ciri is messing with you, your horses are certainly safe. Supper will start in half an hour. Go wash in the hot springs, and ask her after the meal. If you’ll excuse me, I must go remove the stench of hay and horses.”

***

Cedric and Axel were rather sedate as they took their seats at the Cat table, Axel leaning into the arm Cedric had wrapped around him. Even as the table started to fill and their siblings started poking fun about the geese, neither put much effort into the banter.

Suddenly, Dragonfly poked Axel with a grin. “Menace looks smug, eh? Those are some handsome cats she and Milena have there!”

Axel felt Cedric’s grip tighten and turned to the Wolf table, where Ciri and Milena were carrying a cat each towards the Cat table. Milena looked somewhat apologetic behind her lady, who was grinning like a fiend. The cats in their arms also had the colouring of the missing horses, and again, Axel felt his medallion vibrate.

The girls held the cats out to Cedric and Axel, and Axel tried not to get his hopes too high, the Menace enjoyed causing maximum chaos, so this couldn’t be what it seemed.

“Don’t you think cats belong at the Cat table?” Ciri blinked up at them innocently.

The lovers stood and each took a cat into their arms. Immediately, their medallions began violently vibrating, and suddenly the animals in their arms were no longer cats, but horses. Carefully setting the animals on their feet, they looked a little accusingly at the Menace.

“Milena is under my protection.” The little girl announced proudly. “It seemed like you needed to be reminded.” She shrugged.

They only noticed the rest of the hall had filed in during the exchange when the raucous laughter started.

“I told you the geese were normal!” Yennefer called from her seat at the Wolf table, violet eyes sparkling with mirth.

“You’re cleaning up the shit!” Dragonfly guffawed as Axel watched Dicky lift his tail in horror.

Lesson learned: the Menace may not protect her people with a blade like her Papa yet, but that doesn't mean she skimps on her duty.

Delightful!

[red-archivist]

theory to chew over as we start the second season 1 break

I think Teddy is going to die before ep 30

Because I've been wracking my brains trying to think of why he is still in the story

in ep 1 i thought he was just there so Sam had an excuse to join the oiar (and to highlight that people can actually leave this job)

but he has popped up more than once now and interestingly everytime he does, he seems to be in a worse position then before

in ep 9 he talks to alice about losing the job he left the oiar for, in ep 18 he is still interviewing, and interviewing to be back in royal mint court building after just having left

i wonder if people can technically quit the oiar job but their life starts to spiral/go to shit after they leave (whether through shadowy government nonsense or eldritch forces nonsense)

(and i've just reminded myself; lena tried to kill that german IT guy, was he trying to leave but he knew too much?)

a few of our main casts have been waving big death-flags (my money is on Colin kicking the bucket too) but i think teddy dying would serve a few different purposes story-wise

first off, it highlights that no-one is safe- sure everyone is the oiar is neck-deep in trouble but teddy got out so he's okay right? wrong

second, given that alice has talked to him the most on-screen and it seems like they used to be close, his death might make her u-turn on the whole 'not-getting-involved-and-denying-as-much-as-she-can' business

third, if teddy dies due to oiar shenanigans or an external incident, it push sam further down this investigative rabbithole he is intend on following, paving the way for more plot threads/disasters down the line

just something to think about

(also to note; teddy's alchemical namesake, Thomas Vaughan passed away at about 44)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

How the Trace in Harry Potter Works Because it Bothered Me

So, this fandom likes to talk about how contradictory the Trace in the books is. The Trace, as in the Ministry’s tool to locate and track underage magic.

Like with Horcuxes, I've seen theories about how the Trace works, but none of them really covered everything or made magical sense to me (when broken down into Alchemical components).

So, I'm here again to explain how spells work in Harry Potter because someone has to.

Let's Cover What We Know:

1. The Trace is defined as a "Charm" that detects magical activity around underage wizards:

“Second problem. You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.” “I don’t—” “The Trace, the Trace!” said Mad-Eye impatiently. “The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. “We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s got you cornered good and proper.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 46)

2. The Trace instantly alerts the ministry when magic is cast.

“Harry, you don’t understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they’ll know already, you mark my words —”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 22)

3. The Trace automatically broke upon a wizard or witch's seventeenth birthday; Remus Lupin and Ron Weasley both claimed it was impossible for the Trace to continue to affect a person over the age of seventeen and that it could not be placed on an adult.

“But how did they find us?” Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. “How did they know where we were?” She turned to Harry. “You—you don’t think you’ve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?” “He can’t have,” said Ron. “The Trace breaks at seventeen, that’s Wizarding law, you can’t put it on an adult.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 147)

“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?” “Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 178)

4. Students can use magic freely in Hogwarts and on the Hogwarts Express as we see many times in the books.

5. The Ministry trusted magical parents to properly discipline their children if they performed magic, due to the fact that the parents' own magic would constantly interfere with the Trace.

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brothers, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 68) — example of Fred and George apparating (doing magic) inside Grimmuld Place before they are seventeen and the Trace not activating.

6. Children who grew up in the Muggle world, such as Harry Potter, are more closely monitored — any magic performed at or near 4 Privet Drive was assumed to have been caused by him because he was the only known magical person living in his neighborhood (Both with Dobby in CS and the Patronus Charm in OOP).

Dear Mr. Potter, We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy. Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE Ministry of Magic

(Chamber of Secrets, page 27)

Dear Mr. Potter, We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 26)

“We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Harry Potter,” said Madam Bones at once.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 143)

6. Hagrid used magic around Harry before his first year, with no ministry warning letter.

He [Hagrid] brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 45)

7. Similarly, Hermione has said she successfully tried out "a few simple spells" before her first year. No ministry warning was issued for her either because she hasn't arrived at Hogwarts yet

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard -- I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough -- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you.

(Sorcerer's Stone, page 105)

8. Childhood accidental magic isn't picked up by the Trace.

Snape had removed his coat now; his odd smock looked less peculiar in the half light. “. . . and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.” “But I have done magic outside school!” “We’re all right. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven,” he nodded importantly, “and they start training you, then you’ve got to go careful.”

(Deathly Hallows, page 666)

9. When Arthur Weasley used magic around Harry to pick him up in 1994, no ministry warning arrived.

“Boys, boys . . .” said Mr. Weasley vaguely. “I’m trying to think what to do. . . . Yes . . . only way . . . Stand back, Harry.” Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward. “Wait a moment!” he bellowed at the fire. “What exactly are you going to —” BANG. The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings.

(Goblet of Fire, page 44)

10. The Order used magic when picking up Harry in 1995 after he was already set for a hearing for the Patronus charm. No warning came from the ministry for the magic of the Order members.

“Don’t be stupid, it’ll be much quicker if I — pack!” cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 53)

“How’re we getting — wherever we’re going?” Harry asked. “Brooms,” said Lupin. “Only way. You’re too young to Apparate, they’ll be watching the Floo Network, and it’s more than our life’s worth to set up an unauthorized Portkey.”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 51)

11. The Trace didn't pick up the magic on the magic in the graveyard during Voldemort's resurrection.

12. Neither did it pick up on Tom when he murdered the Riddle family in the summer between his fifth and sixth year (He was sixteen at the time, and therefore still underage)

“But how come the Ministry didn’t realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?” Harry asked angrily. “He was underage at the time, wasn’t he? I thought they could detect underage magic!” “You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: You will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —” “Dobby,” growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. “So if you’re underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard’s house, the Ministry won’t know?” “They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Harry’s face. “They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring’s obedience while within their walls.” “Well, that’s rubbish,” snapped Harry. “Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 368)

13. Harry and Hermione hang out in the burrow in summer where magic is constantly cast around them, yet, no warnings of Underage Sorcery are issued.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes.

(Goblet of Fire, page 58) — example of Molly casting magic at The Burrow near Harry and her kids.

So, How Does it Work?

The Trace isn't placed on wizards and witches but on locations. In both occurrences, Harry received a warning for Underage Magic mentioning his documented place of residence. It is also repeated again and again, the Trace can't pick up who cast the magic, just where.

So, my conclusions are that the Trace is old magic, probably older than the ministry and no one really knows how it was cast or how it works anymore. But the Ministry knows how to use it.

They keep the knowledge very secret and don't share it with almost anyone. We can see that by the way Lupin and Ron talk about the trace in completely different terminology than the likes of Dumbledore or Madam Bones. They also say it's illegal and impossible to cast the Trace on an adult wizard. I think they're right because the trace is never cast on wizards and witches at all.

I believe the Trace is a charm cast on the entirety of Britain and Ireland and picks up all magic cast in there. When magic is cast, the ministry gets a notice that describes what was cast and where.

The ministry office that receives the notice then looks over the documentation of wizard residences. If an adult wizard lives in the location where the magic was cast, they are assumed to have cast the magic. If no wizard lives in the area, it is assumed to have been cast by an adult wizard passing by.

With muggleborn and muggle-raised wizards and witches, they only have their place of residence updated in the ministry documentation once they start Hogwarts, hence why childhood accidental magic isn't traced.

In the case of the Riddle's murder, Morfin was the only wizard documented to be living in the area, therefore all the magic traced in Little Hangelton was assumed to be done by him.

And no wizards were documented to be living in Little Hangleton during Voldemort's resurrection, hence no trace.

Arthur had to inform the ministry of the floo connection in the summer of 1994 because there was an office regulating the floo network. Therefore, they knew he'd be there so the magic was attributed to him. The same goes with the Order since Shacklebolt was a ministry official when the ministry was still under Fudge.

For fanfic purposes, it means that no one could trace Harry's magic to him the moment he's far enough away from Private Drive.

[the-hollow-in-the-woods]

Notes/Theories on 'the Protocol' as of Ep. 20:

First known enactment (as of now) is most likely the Great Fire of London, 1666, the event which is widely accredited in pop culture with ending the plague in London. (This is infered from Hooke's letter in Ep. 19, as he talkes about the 'Dread emmission', a possible reference to the plague being 'bad air', and about his book Micrographia, published in 1665, which was the first major book on observations through a microscope, i.e. plague fleas)

The enactment which followed Hooke's letter was most likely Newton's Lab Fire, which occured in the 1680's (probably not long after 1684 in the Protocol timeline), and was invoced with the purpose of destroying his alchemical notes and studies.

The Protocol was also invoced with the destrction/burning of the Magnus Institute, 1999. At the time of this enactment, the head of the (now defunct?) Response sector of the OIAR was name William Price, a name shared by a C.19th druid, who happens to be the man who proved in court wasn't illegal to cremate people.

The Protocol also seems to have been enacted on the Hilltop Centre of the Oxford People Trust on 01/12/2015 (see Ep. 7). It was burned to the ground.

All together, while the Protocol seems to present itself as a more desolation-aligned event/pseudo-ritual, I am hesitant to mark it as anything supernatural just yet. Going of the description of the enactment of Ep. 7, it seems to be more of a standard technical reaction to the supernatural occurings, more along the lines management-wise of Joshua Gillespie's ice-on-the-coffin-key and Alexander Scaplehorn's fucking-booking-it-out-of-there than anything else, except more focused on eradication of the supernatural. Thank you for coming to my T(MagP)ED Talk, please throw any corrections/additions at me.

[funky-rhizomes-rpgs]

It goes like this: Once, a pair of brothers wanted an ox, and so they did what they were told never to do. They made a deal with Ribbadon, the great Frog God of Wealth. “Give us a silver coin,” they said, and he did, on the condition that they return the coin that year, or else owe it and its double the next year, and so on, forever. Well, they bought the ox, and with that ox they bought a pair more, and soon they appeared quite rich.

I write “appeared” because, in fact, they were deeply indebted to old Ribbadon. As the two grew in age and worry, they sought to make good on their debt, but there was one problem: They had, of course, spent that silver coin many decades ago, so they were at a loss. Until, they realized, with all their wealth, they could forge a coin like the one they were given, and fool the old frog.

Wheelbarrows filled with silver and gold were led to Ribbadon’s court, and in a single swipe of his tongue, he swallowed years of profit in an instant, and then bellowed his judgment. “You have paid me back one more coin than you owe me, yet one less than you took.” The brothers knew instantly that their deception had been for naught, but before they could object, a curse descended. “There is no fortune too rich in taste for my tongue, and until I have my coin, on your tongues will be the only way to hold your fortune.”

When the brothers, their kin, their descendents, and even their servants returned home, they found that anything they’d carried with them had been turned into something else of the same weight. Gold coins turned lead. Prayer books transformed into straw. A rock to a diamond.

This is why you see those caravans now, hauling mysterious cargo across the grasslands and deserts of the heartland. They’re trading whatever it is they can, forever, in doomed worship of Ribbadon. Paying down interest. And looking for that old coin. They’ll tell you that the lesson is that you cannot stop change, and so you must lean in to the chaos. Let yourself and everything you have be changed by curse of the heartland. And they’ll demonstrate their new mastery over magics alchemical, illusionary, and alterative as proof of their philosophy’s power.

And yet… sometimes they’ll tell you nothing at all, the hypocrites, because in their mouths they carry cargo they are desperate to keep. It is as old Ribbadon implied: Whatever they hold on their tongues is kept from the curse.

- Sangfielle, Ep.1 The Curse of Eastern Folly, Friends at the Table

Read by Jack de Quidt on the podcast, just listened to it and had to post it.

[fimproda]

Elucien Week 2024 - Day 7: Tension/Healing

Read Splendor Solis on AO3

You little foxes at @elucienweekofficial knew exactly what you were doing when you chose to celebrate Elucien in the summer. And in the same week as my birthday, no less.

It seems fit, then, that I was able to overcome my almost one-year-long slump by writing an Elucien OS set in the Day Court.

For anyone who should stumble upon this post before reading Splendor Solis, stop now and open AO3, then come back here; I'll include a link in the end notes.

To those of you who have already read it, please hit the button that will show you the entire post and let me yap a little about what this story means and how it relates to Under the Stars.

First things first: the title. Splendor Solis literally means "The Splendor of the Sun" and refers to an omonymous alchemical text from the 16th century. I found out about it when I was researching the title of my upcoming Elucien longfic, which I eventually named Sol niger, "black sun". Since Splendor Solis is an illuminated manuscript, there's a handy little image of the black sun that suits this whole vibe just fine:

And also, you know, Day Court = sun. It's as simple as that.

Another Latin name in the story is Stella Maris, which is an epithet attributed to the Virgin Mary and means "Star of the Sea", referring to Her protection over fisherman and sailors.

(I'm pretty sure the church near the beach I'm writing this post from is dedicated to Maria Stella Maris, but I'm too lazy to check.)

In my fanon, Stella Maris is the name of the High Lord's palace in the capital of the Day Court. More on this in Sol niger — which, to be honest, could be said about the whole story.

Speaking of which, the reason why Lucien and Elain have a dog named Astra (derived from aster, "star" in Ancient Greek) will also be explained in Sol niger, as well as why Elain and Lucien had to go to the Day Court and how Eris finally came to be High Lord of Autumn.

Laoise — an Irish name pronounced "Lee-sha" — is, of course, the Lady of the Autumn Court. I chose Irish names for every unnamed Vanserra, since the Autumn Court is Irish/English-coded in my mind. Don't ask me why.

Splendor Solis is set, more or less, a decade after the events narrated in Sol niger. This timeline has allowed me to write about Elain and Lucien as an established couple, who have already overcome any and all major obstacles in their relationship and have, in one word, healed. Therefore, I think it's a fitting story for Day 7 of Elucien Week, even if it's more an introspective/worldbuilding piece more than something centered on Elucien themselves.

I put together every post I made about Sol niger under this link, if you're curious and would like to know more; I already had many occasion to talk about the Mediterranean elements (especially Italian, since I'm Italian myself) I decided to include in the story and use as basis for my worldbuilding.

Thank you so much for reading thus far! I'd love to hear your thoughts about all this 🥰

[daitranscripts]

Bring Me the Heart of Snow White Pt. 1

An Alchemical Formula

Vivienne Masterpost

The PC approaches Vivienne on the balcony.

Vivienne (high approval): My dear, I’m afraid I must ask you for help. Vivienne (neutral approval): Inquisitor, I wonder if you might help me with a delicate situation. Vivienne (Low approval): Inquisitor, I find myself in the unpleasant position of asking you for help.

Vivienne: There is an alchemical formula that I must complete, but I have been unable to obtain a critical ingredient: The heart of a snowy wyvern. I had arranged to obtain one, but the chevaliers working with me were killed in the civil war.

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Tell me about the wyvern. [2]

Investigate: What is this formula? [3]

Investigate: Why do you want my help? [4]

Yes: I’ll help you. [5] +Vivienne slightly approves

No: I don’t think so. [6] -Vivienne greatly disapproves

1 - Investigate: Tell me about the wyvern. PC: If I’m going to hunt down a snowy wyvern, I need you to tell me everything you know about it. Vivienne: They’re quite rare and exceedingly dangerous. Their venom is the most potent of any wyvern. Ordinary hunters would not make the attempt. The risk is too great. You, my dear, would certainly be an equal to this monster. [back to 1]

2 - Investigate: What is this formula? PC: I didn’t know you were an alchemist, Vivienne. What exactly is this project you’re working on? Vivienne: It is a special request from a member of the Council of Heralds. I am still the Imperial Court Enchanter, after all.

Vivienne (high approval): The matter is private. That is all there is to say. Vivienne (low approval): I would not have attained my position at court if I didn’t know when to be silent.

Dialogue options:

Special: You won’t tell me? [6]

[Back to 1]

6 - Special: You won’t tell me? PC: You want me to risk my life to get this thing for you, but won’t tell me what it’s for? Vivienne: My dear, it is hardly proper for me to blab the secrets of those who put trust in my discretion. ㅤㅤ ㅤ Vivienne (high approval): I would do no less for you, after all. [back to 1] Vivienne (low approval): You wouldn’t want me to speak up about your many issues, I’m sure. [back to 1]

3 - Investigate: Why do you want my help? PC: I’m not a hunter. Why do you think I can help? Vivienne: This beast is not hunted for sport as other wyverns sometimes are. It is far more deadly. In the past, chevaliers have been dispatched to either kill the creatures or drive them away from villages. Since my chevaliers have fallen to political conflict, I find myself in need of someone with a martial aptitude. [back to 1]

4 - Yes: I’ll help you. PC: I’ll do what I can. Vivienne: Thank you, my dear. I would be most grateful. I shall give the location of its lair to Cullen. Remember, my dear: I must have its heart, or the potion will not work. I eagerly await your success.

5 - No: I don’t think so. PC: This doesn’t seem like my concern. Vivienne: As you say. I shall remember this, my dear.

Scene ends.

The PC sees a book as they go to leave.

PC (mage PC/arcane perk): Is this… a youth serum? I’ve never seen alchemy this complex. Where did she get it?

PC: I can’t make heads or tails of this. Age regression? Who is this potion for?

Next: Duke Bastien

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer. CNC. Female and Male Masturbation.

Word Count: 3760

Chapter 15

Astarion

In my attempt at running, disguised as working mind you, I found myself looking for an old friend in Waterdeep. The Castle Ward to be exact. The white marble palace of the city's Lords stood as a beacon of the incorruptibility of their rule over the city. The shining tower housed the Lords' court, embassies from other city-states and nations, and the offices of city officials, including those from the City Guard and Watch. As I walked through the grand halls, the opulence of the place did little to ease my anxiety. The polished marble floors echoed with each step I took, the sound a constant reminder of my presence in this world of power and influence. I passed by ornate tapestries depicting historical events, their intricate designs a testament to the city's rich history. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and aged paper, mingling with the faint traces of incense from the various chambers. I found myself in front of a large oak door, its surface adorned with intricate carvings of arcane symbols. This was where Gale of Waterdeep resided, if his plans to return here after his explosive good time in Baldur’s Gate had come to fruition. Gale was a man of immense power and knowledge, someone who could potentially help me navigate the challenges of finding one of his own. The wizard who took Cassara.

I knocked purely for show because I knew he sensed I was here the moment I stepped through the doors. I didn’t send word in fear of someone else finding out my movements and plans; hopefully, he’d be able to forgive me. I walked into the room trying to look much more confident than I felt. I held my head high as I approached where Gale had been sitting at a cramped desk. I was so focused on maintaining my facade of confidence that I didn’t fully take in my surroundings until I had come to a stop. Gale's room was a chaotic sanctuary of intellect and arcane mastery. The walls, lined from floor to ceiling with towering bookshelves, held an impressive array of tomes, scrolls, and loose parchment. Each shelf seemed to overflow with knowledge, some sections meticulously organized while others appeared haphazard, as if Gale had frantically searched for a specific piece of information and never quite managed to put everything back in its place.

The floor, made of dark, scratched wood, was almost entirely obscured by an assortment of richly patterned carpets. These rugs, layered one atop the other, created a sense of warmth and comfort amidst the scholarly disarray. Scattered across them were various relics and artifacts, each one seemingly older and more mysterious than the last. An intricately carved statue of an unknown deity stood sentinel in one corner, its eyes forever gazing into the distance. Nearby, a pile of ancient, leather-bound books teetered precariously, their spines cracked and faded with age. A large, cluttered desk dominated the center of the room, its surface barely visible beneath the with an assortment of magical implements—crystal balls, quills, and ink-pots, alongside various alchemical ingredients. Candles of varying sizes and shapes were scattered across the desk and room, their flames flickering gently, casting a warm glow that danced across the walls and ceiling. The open window by which Gale sat allowed a light sea breeze to filter into the room, bringing with it the scent of salt and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. This touch of nature provided a refreshing contrast to the otherwise dense and arcane atmosphere.

Gale looked up from his work, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of curiosity and mild amusement. His dark hair was neatly tied back, and a light stubble graced his jaw, giving him a rugged, scholarly look. The light from the window played on his features, highlighting the sharp intellect and humor that always seemed to dance in his gaze. “Astarion,” he greeted, his voice smooth and welcoming. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I need your help,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “There’s someone I need to find. Someone dangerous.”

“What? No ‘Hi? How are you? Glad to see you didn’t blow up?’”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my face. With an exaggerated flourish, I waved my hands between us and sarcastically announced, “Hi. How are you? Glad to see you didn’t blow up.”

Gale chuckled, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers as he considered my words. He wore a simple yet elegant dark blue robe, adorned with subtle, arcane symbols embroidered in silver thread. “And I’m glad to see I’m still talking to the same old Astarion.”

He had a way of making even the most serious requests feel like a casual conversation. But I knew better than to underestimate him; behind that easygoing demeanor was a mind sharper than any blade. “And you think I can help you with this?” he asked, his tone turning more serious.

“I know you can,” I replied, stepping closer. “You have resources and knowledge that I need. This is about more than just me—“ I hesitated to say too much, the weight of Cassara’s safety heavy on my mind. The room seemed to close in slightly, the air thick with unspoken concerns.

Gale’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing my unease. “You’re not one to ask for help lightly,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Tell me what’s going on, Astarion. Who is this person you’re looking for?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “A powerful wizard, one who has taken someone important to me. Cassara. He’s a threat, not just to her but to anyone he crosses paths with. I need to find him before it’s too late.”

Gale’s expression shifted, a mixture of concern and determination. His dark eyes, usually filled with a mischievous sparkle, now held a serious glint. “A wizard, you say? That narrows it down, but not by much. Do you have any more details? A name, a location, anything?”

“Lucian,” I said, the name leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “He’s elusive, but I have reason to believe he’s still in Baldur’s Gate. You have connections, resources that I don’t. I need your help to track him down.”

Gale nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. He ran a hand through his hair, a habitual gesture when he was deep in thought. “I’ll help you, Astarion. But you need to be prepared for what we might find. Wizards like Lucian don’t go down easily.”

“I know,” I replied, my voice firm. “But I can’t afford to fail her. Not again.”

For a moment, silence hung between us, the weight of our task settling in. Then Gale stood, his presence commanding as he moved toward one of the many shelves lining the room. His movements were graceful, almost feline, a testament to his innate confidence and power. “We’ll start by looking into recent magical disturbances,” he said, pulling a thick tome from the shelf. “If he’s been active, we might be able to trace his movements.”

As he began to sift through the pages, I felt a flicker of hope. With Gale’s help, I might just have a chance to save Cassara and put an end to Lucian’s reign of terror. The room was filled with the faint scent of old parchment and ink, a comforting reminder of the countless hours Gale had spent poring over his books and scrolls, seeking knowledge and understanding. The walls, lined with bookshelves, every corner stuffed with books and loose parchment, added to the sense of purpose and dedication that permeated the space.

Gale glanced up at me, his expression softening slightly. “You’re doing the right thing, Astarion. We’ll find him. And we’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done.”

Relief flooded through me, washing away some of the anxiety that had been building. I had convinced myself I’d be turned away, that Gale would be too wrapped up in his own pursuits to help. During the adventure that had brought us together, we had grown close as friends, more so than I had with the others at least. But we had both changed quite dramatically since then, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. “I have a party planned at the manor soon,” I began, my mind already working through the logistics. “I need your help to make it a ploy to draw him out.”

Gale’s brows furrowed in thought, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “A party, you say? Interesting approach. What’s the plan?”

I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. “Lucian craves power and influence. He’s always seeking out opportunities to expand his network. If we can make it seem like the party is a gathering of powerful individuals, he might be tempted to attend.”

Gale nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I see. And you think he’ll come if he believes there’s something to gain?”

“Yes,” I replied, confidence growing. “We’ll create an illusion of an event too important for him to ignore. I’ll send out invitations to various influential figures, real and fabricated. We’ll make it seem like everyone who’s anyone will be there. Lucian won’t be able to resist.”

Gale leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “It’s risky, but it could work. We’ll need to be careful, though. If he suspects a trap, he won’t come near the place.”

“I know,” I said, my voice steady. “That’s why I need your expertise. Your illusions and wards can help create the perfect facade. And once he’s there, we’ll have the upper hand.”

Gale’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Very well. I’ll help you with this. We’ll craft an event so irresistible that Lucian won’t be able to stay away. But we’ll need to be prepared for anything. He’s not the type to walk into a trap without a plan of his own.”

I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. “Agreed. We’ll need to be ready for whatever he throws at us. But this is our best shot at taking him down.”

Gale stood, moving to a nearby bookshelf and pulling down several tomes. “We’ll start with the invitations. I’ll create some magical seals to ensure they reach the right people and convey the sense of importance we need.”

As he began to work, I felt another flicker of hope. With Gale’s help, we might just have a chance to save Cassara and put an end to Lucian’s reign of terror. The room, filled with the faint scent of old parchment and ink, seemed to hum with purpose. The walls, lined with bookshelves stuffed with books and loose parchment, added to the sense of urgency and determination.

Gale glanced up at me, his expression serious but warm. “We’ll get him, Astarion. Together, we’ll make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

We spent the next few hours gathering items he believed he needed, and I was too worried to poke fun at what I thought looked ridiculous. Gale's workspace transformed into a controlled chaos of arcane instruments, scrolls, and potions, each one more bizarre than the last. Normally, I would have had a field day with sarcastic commentary, but my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Cassara and the looming threat of Lucian. My silence seemed to unnerve Gale at first, but he quickly adapted, his focus unwavering as he meticulously packed everything into a series of enchanted bags. “We’ll need all the advantage we can get,” he muttered, more to himself than to me, as he double-checked a particularly intricate rune on one of the scrolls.

The journey back to Baldur’s Gate can be very long, especially now that we have more cargo, but I had prepared for this. There is a ship waiting at the dock to take us back. It being a smaller vessel and with no issues ensuing, we should make it back in four to five days. The vessel, though modest, was equipped with all the necessary amenities to ensure our comfort and safety. As we approached the waterfront, the atmosphere shifted. The sounds of the city faded into the background, replaced by the cries of seagulls and the gentle lapping of waves against the pier. The docks were a hive of activity, with sailors loading and unloading cargo, ropes creaking, and the distant clang of shipwrights at work. Amidst the organized chaos, our vessel stood out. The ship was a sleek, modest-sized brigantine, its hull painted a deep, rich blue that shimmered in the sunlight. It had two masts, each rigged with a complex web of sails and ropes, ready to catch the wind and propel us swiftly across the waves. The name "Sea Serpent" was elegantly painted on the prow, with a small, intricately carved figurehead of a serpent coiled beneath it. The deck was well-maintained, the planks polished to a smooth finish that spoke of the crew's care and pride in their vessel. Barrels and crates were neatly stacked along the sides, secured with sturdy ropes to prevent them from shifting during the journey. A small cabin at the rear of the ship provided shelter and accommodations for the captain and any important guests—namely, us.

Gale and I made our way up the gangplank, greeted by the captain, a weathered, middle-aged woman with piercing blue eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. “Welcome aboard,” she said with a curt nod, her eyes briefly assessing us before turning to oversee the final preparations for departure. As we stepped onto the deck, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The ship was ready, the crew efficient and focused. We were one step closer to returning to Baldur’s Gate, and with Gale's resources and knowledge, I felt a renewed determination. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the water, and as we cast off from the dock, the Sea Serpent glided smoothly out into the open sea, leaving Waterdeep behind and carrying us towards our uncertain but resolute future.

Sleep eluded me. Being used to working through the night made it difficult to switch up, but there was more to it than just a change in routine. I hadn't been able to rest since that night. I had left Gale snoring in the top bunk he insisted on having and crept out into the cool night air. The wind pulsed around me, and I nodded curtly to a few of the crewmen who passed by. They could clearly tell what I was, if they didn’t already know who I was.

I climbed onto the forecastle, a higher section of the deck, and lay down on my back to look up at the sky. The stars were scattered across the velvet expanse, twinkling like tiny diamonds. The gentle rocking of the ship and the distant sound of waves crashing against the hull created a rhythm that was almost soothing. Almost. My thoughts drifted back to Cassara. The anger, the fear, the confusion. It all swirled together in a chaotic storm that I couldn’t seem to escape. Her words haunted me. “You are alive, Astarion. And you deserve to feel loved.” The sincerity in her voice had cut through me like a knife, exposing wounds I had long thought healed. The darkness within me was a constant presence, whispering in the back of my mind. It offered power, control, and a way to keep the pain at bay. But it also threatened to consume me, to turn me into something I couldn’t come back from. I had seen it in Cassara’s eyes too, a glimpse of that same darkness. She was stronger than she knew, but the path she was on was dangerous. I needed to protect her, to save her from the fate I was desperately trying to avoid for myself.

The ship sailed steadily through the night, the sails billowing in the wind. The moon cast a silvery light over the water, illuminating the waves and casting long shadows on the deck. The crew moved about with practiced efficiency, their voices low and their movements smooth. The quiet rhythm of the ship was extremely hypnotic until a voice broke through the stillness, startling me. "Never took a vampire lord for a star-gazing type," came the voice of our captain.

I turned my head to see her standing nearby, her silhouette framed against the starry sky. "How did you... sneak up on me?" I asked, trying to mask my surprise.

"A lady has to keep her secrets," she replied with a cheeky wink, offering me a flask that had been attached to her hip. I took it hesitantly. "What keeps you awake?"

I unscrewed the flask and took a swig. The liquor burned my throat and deep into my gut, its horrid taste a stark contrast to the luxuries I’m used to. Her question, though, made me chug more, trying to buy time to think of something other than Cassara. "Old habits," I finally said, my voice low. "I'm not used to sleeping at night. And there's... a lot on my mind."

The captain nodded, her expression thoughtful as she leaned against the railing. "Aye, the sea has a way of bringing out what's buried deep inside. But whatever it is, you'll find your way through it. We all have our battles."

I took another sip from the flask, the warmth spreading through me. "Battles, indeed," I murmured. "Some more literal than others."

She chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. "True enough. But you're not alone in this, clearly. You've got friends, allies. And you'll find a way. Good always does."

Her words, simple as they were, brought a chill to my bones. I handed the flask back to her, offering a nod of thanks. "I'll keep that in mind."

She took the flask, securing it back to her hip, and gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Get some rest if you can. Dawn will be here soon enough."

As she walked away, I turned my gaze back to the stars, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on me. I wasn’t sure who she thought I was, but good couldn’t have been further from the truth. Not with the things I’ve done. A bright light shone through my pocket, catching my attention. I quickly retrieved the small, enchanted looking glass that had caused it. Opening the compact, I was immediately transported, in a sense, to my bedroom at home. Every mirror I own is enchanted, and I had placed a tracking spell on my little pet so when she enters my bedroom it tells me. Through the looking glass, I saw her pacing the room, her chest heaving from ragged breaths. Anger radiated from her in waves, her movements frantic and restless. The sight of her, furious and beautiful, stirred something primal within me. Then, something completely unexpected happened. She stopped pacing, her hands moving to the hem of her dress, and with a quick, determined motion, she began to undress.

My breath caught in my throat, and my cock twitched in my pants. I quickly sat up, unable to tear my eyes away from the image in the mirror. Cassara, driven by anger and perhaps a need for control, was exposing herself in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

The darkness within me, always lurking just beneath the surface, surged forward. I could feel its seductive pull, urging me to return to her, to reclaim what was mine. The ship rocked gently beneath me, but my thoughts were far from the open sea. They were with Cassara, in our bedroom, where she was challenging me in a way only she could. I tried to will myself to stop watching, to regain some semblance of control, but as she reached for the pillow that rested on my side of the bed, a fire lit up within me. That wicked little creature was using my pillow to satisfy herself, and the sight was intoxicating.

My hand moved on its own, grabbing at my painfully hard erection through my trousers. The thought of anyone being around to see me didn’t even cross my mind. I was entirely consumed by the vision of Cassara, her body moving rhythmically as she rocked against the pillow. My breath became shallow, and I began to think of all the ways I could punish her for this later, each thought more deliciously wicked than the last. With each pump of my hand, I imagined her beneath me, her body writhing in pleasure and torment. I envisioned her gasping my name, begging for release, only to be denied until I decided she was worthy. The power, the control—it was exhilarating.

The ship's gentle sway, the creaking of the wood, and the distant sound of the waves became a backdrop to my fevered fantasies. My strokes became firmer, more insistent, as I watched Cassara’s movements grow more frantic, her pleasure evident even through the magical lens.

My mind was a whirlwind of dark desires, each one fueling the fire within me. The need to possess her, to dominate her completely, was overwhelming. And as I neared the edge, I knew that this was just a taste of what was to come. When I returned, she would be reminded of the true meaning of submission, and I would revel in every moment of it. With a final, shuddering breath, I found my release, my body convulsing with the intensity of it. For a moment, I was lost in the sensation, the darkness within me sated, if only temporarily. As I came down from the high, I closed the compact, the image of Cassara still burned into my mind. The night was still and silent around me, but inside, a storm was brewing. The journey back to her couldn’t happen fast enough. And when I finally had her in my grasp, she would pay for every wicked little thing she had done to drive me to this point.

With that thought, I stood up, my resolve stronger than ever. The ship continued its journey through the night, and I knew that soon, very soon, I would be home. And Cassara would be waiting. I had to keep my wits about me, though, at least until Lucian was handled. I couldn’t risk being distracted— not even by the woman I’m trying to save from myself.

[dungeonbent]

loseyns / mulled wine

The whole dried spices in the mortar seem to you rather tauntingly staring. You hold the pestle tight in hand, uncomfortably reminded of the school days spent attempting to mix alchemical ingredients in the same way, and wonder how you ended up in this situation.

You've never so much as stepped foot in a kitchen. In much of the elven Court's cooking is a dreadful lack of spice which Porrim only ever attempted to rectify with secret vials of dubiously spicy liquids.

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM, and Sir Egbert has entrusted you with the creation of an ingredient known as 'powdered douce'. Still reeling from shame from your escapades the night before and not wanting to let the poor tallman know of your previous death, you wordlessly took up the task, and now you are regretting every decision that has led to your continued lifespan.

You know that there is a grain of paradise inside the mortar. There is dried ginger and nutmeg and cinnamon. There is even a bit of sugar, but not enough to make this a sweet dish, though the way that Sir Egbert dumps flour on the other side of the table may trick you otherwise. You are not sure if there is enough paradise in this world to make the atmosphere feel any less awkward than it is right now. To compensate, you add another little peppery grain of the stuff and begin to grind.

There is a heady scent from the cauldron on the fire as Sir Egbert quietly sets about his task, making a well in the flour with practiced hands. They are the calloused hands of a baker and a seafarer- the kind of hands used to hard work and backed with muscle.

With one hand, he slowly pours a bit of water in the well and mixes with the flour. You continue scraping the wooden sides of the mortar when he asks, "Did you have fun last night?"

You startle, nearly dropping the pestle. You instead grip it tighter and beg your mouth to move. The only thing that falls out is, "I suppose." and you want to brain yourself immediately. Clearing your throat, you add, "I, ah... became a little caught up in the festivities."

"That's easy to do," Sir Egbert says in a plain sort of voice, "There's a lot on offer, and plenty to drink with."

"Yes- the drinking was mostly what preoccupied me," As well as the death, but. That isn't something you can so easily bring up.

"My June was the same way," Sir Egbert says, and your stomach drops. You can't look at him. The past tense makes bile want to crawl up your throat, and you don't know how to deal with the vulnerability. You continue grinding powdered douce.

You ask in a measured voice, "Was she?"

"Mostly just during the festival- she tried to hide it most nights, but sometimes our house was the one to host her friends when no one else wanted to go home." You're afraid to see what sort of expression is on his face. You peek up to see his flour-caked fingers forming an amorphous white lump.

"I see." You say, for lack of anything better to say.

Sir Egbert says, "Sometimes, I even had to carry her to bed- just like when she was a child." You slowly look up to see Sir Egbert's face, and it's worse than what you feared. The sorrow is there, yes- the grief remains.

But the tallman smiles so gently as he kneads, working the tender memory into the dough. The resignation is what makes you want to flinch the most.

You work in silence for a while after that. You aren't good at figuring out what to say in situations like this; aren't good at comforting gestures, at putting thoughts into verbal assurance and lifting burdens that you cannot directly touch.

Over time, Sir Egbert miraculously turns his well of flour into a good dough, kneading with precise, practiced movements. The contents of your mortar are filled with a dull brown powder. You continue to grind and say, "I met a woman named Feferi, last night. And some of her friends."

"Ah, Feferi," Sir Egbert nods with approval, "She's a good kid."

"She said she... knew your daughter. And her party."

"Ah." is all Sir Egbert replies.

You try to formulate a thought beyond that, but it appears Sir Egbert has finished his dough. He places it in a well-oiled bowl, covers it, and consults a watch of dwarven make, presumably to set a time. By the time he goes over to the stove of the little kitchen to begin working on a large pot, you have forgotten what you want to say.

Eventually, Sir Egbert says, "They were a good party. Talented, well-organized- and they had been on longer trips by then."

There is a feeling of dread settling into your bones as you turn, not spotting the fellow's face. There is only the look of his back and the smoke puffing from the pipe he blows on while working on pouring a bottle of wine.

"In comparison, two months seemed like a sort of vacation. It was supposed to be the sort of trip that happened where you only fight if it's necessary. I knew she could take care of herself."

There is the smell of something citrusy as Sir Egbert swipes the blade of a knife over only the vibrant yellow rind of a lemon. You are afraid to interrupt, as this is the most candid the man has been since you arrived on the island.

"Even if she couldn't," Sir Egbert continues, "her party was dependable. They were all friends- thicker than thieves, even when they were younger." He pauses, "Or when Jade and June were younger- it's harder to gauge just how old the Lalonde siblings were when they arrived on the island. I don't have the best eye for the longer-lived races, you see,"

"Of course," You say, and crack a little smile at that. You feel the same about the shorter-lived ones- though a tallman like Sir Egbert looks to you to be about his mid 200s, you just know he would give some ridiculously low number as his true age.

Sir Egbert pours a dredge of sugar into the concoction he's brewing. "They were all strong in their own right. It should have been enough."

But it wasn't. And that sentiment hangs in the air as a dark cloud as Sir Egbert diligently cuts thin slices of orange into the pot.

You can't see Sir Egbert's face as he says, "I think something happened in the dungeon." You wonder if he also read Theras's work- if he also pored over those pages as intently as you, searching for any sign that the party she spoke of was the same that had suppered in his home.

"What makes you think that?"

But he makes no mention of it. Instead, he speaks, and what he says chills you to your core.

"I've been killed."

The silence that rings between you is so sharp that it makes the feeling of blood rushing to your ears hurt. You slowly set the pestle down in the mortar, the crack of wood on spiced-wood a lightning strike through the gloom. You remember your death. The freezing of your joints. The ghost.

"I-In the dungeon?" You ask, stupidly, because where else could Sir Egbert have been killed to be subsequently resurrected? If they'd killed him here above ground, there would be no magic to bring him back from the land of the dead.

"Every single time I've so much as stepped foot in it." Sir Egbert says. There is a puff of steam, or maybe smoke. He doesn't look at you.

But that doesn't make any sense. You read Theras's work- the upper floors aren't too terribly dangerous, if one knows what they're doing. You saw how Sir Egbert worked on the ship coming to Skaia; he does not seem to be incompetent. Perhaps his luck has seemingly dwindled, or his age has made it harder?

The frost, the ghost, the dungeon.

You don't know for sure whether Theras's party is really them. You've had your suspicions, yes, and many of the locals seem convinced that if the book is fiction, then it fictionalizes them- but it could still be a completely unrelated incident.

"Could you... tell me more about them?" You ask, faint. "The Egbert party."

And Sir Egbert does.

The details begin to slide into place as neatly as the thin noodles Sir Egbert makes of the rested dough. A party of four, made up of a tallman; her beastman cousin; a half-dwarf and a half-elf, calling themselves twins. June had been the leader of the outfit while Rose had been their battle mage and something of a researcher. Dave had been their brawler and archaeologist- Jade their scout, their cleric, another researcher.

They had wanted to reach the bottom of the dungeon, and now, it seemed, the dungeon refused to let them go.

"Dear lord- why...?" You want to ask why he's telling you all this, but that would be foolish. You asked. You shouldn't be so brazen when you ask for everything all by your pathetic little self. "If this is too much-"

"It's not." Sir Egbert says, damnably gentle. You wish he would take the sharpened edge of his tenderness and just run you through. It'd be kinder. "I just need you to know what you might be getting into."

You take a deep breath, and say, "I... had something of a sense of it." Especially now. Especially with the spectre's icy claw still lodged in your heart.

The wine has been left to stew in its own heat off to the side; the noodles left to become somewhat hard. Sir Egbert looks to you, silent. Then he bows his head and says, "Then I hope you know to prepare well for this mission of yours." And the only thing you can do is nod.

The chilled atmosphere remains somewhat even as Sir Egbert asks you to fetch a large jug of bone broth to set about the fire and bring to another boil. He cooks the newly made pasta and you both watch the squares bob up under the dark broth. Those noodles are then fished out and, strangely, the broth is not used again.

You watch with mild confusion as Sir Egbert lays the squares of cooked noodle along the bottom of two bowls. He grates a thick, soft cheese over top and asks for the powdered douce, which you provide. He sprinkles a fair amount and then repeats the process twice more, leaving both bowls with a heaping helping of melted cheese over chewy noodles and some spice.

Somewhat unsure, you ask, "What have we made, exactly...?"

Sir Egbert looks at you, bewildered. "It's elvish, though?"

"I should say not." You say flatly, too taken aback to figure out how else to emote.

"Really? It's called loseyns," Sir Egbert says. "Are you positive?"

"I should hope so, considering," You gesture to the length of your ears.

Sir Egbert scratches at his perfectly clean-shaven chin. "Strange. It's been all the rage in Lo'Oat these days..."

You are also served a mug of wine with some kind of spicy kick to it. It pairs surprisingly well with the noodles, which taste much like what they are- warm noodles slathered in cheese with some spice and a little sugar.

It's not bad, but it is warming. You ask why it's become so popular, though. You don't understand it. Then Sir Egbert says, "Well, a traveler coming from the western lands had said that during the Elf Queen's birthday banquet, this had been served and eaten with long sticks. If it was good enough for the Queen, then..."

"Hold on," You say, a noodle falling off the thin wooden skewer that he had handed you to eat this with for some reason, "are you talking about lasagna?"

"No- loseyns," Sir Egbert says, a serious, business-like look on his face. "That's what all the locals are calling it."

"No- it's- it's supposed to have meat," You say, struggling to explain, "but ground rather fine, with herbs. It's actually better than most food, and-"

"Ah! But look," Sir Egbert says, pointing at your plate, "it does have meat."

You're about to argue that blatant lie when you look down and what the fuck that's actually a lasagna now. Where did the loseyns you just spent the last hour making go?

Sir Egbert looks as unflappable as always, but you see him conspicuously hiding a tray of what can only be an actual lasagna on the counter behind the mulled wine. You have no idea what the point of this entire exchange was, but have the strange feeling that you have been duped for some unknown and arcane purpose.

By the end of the meal, you've learned that the two dishes really are interchangeable here in most peoples' eyes, and you're also both laughing and making polite merry. You think that tomorrow, when you enjoy the third day of the festival, things will start to look up.

This doesn't stop you from dreaming that night.

While night falls and the echo of revelry slips in, you cannot stop dreaming of frozen bodies locked within unforgiving walls of stone and brass, hands stretched toward a green sun.

( Click here for the loseyns recipe | Click here for the mulled wine )

[jynersq]

*taps on mic* Um. Hello. I'm the question fairy, and I've come to sprinkle some questions on your day.

You don't have to answer these questions, but to do so would require you to enter a binding agreement where you swore to bequeath your first born to me in exchange for my alchemical notes on how to weave straw to gold, in accordance with the Rumpelstiltskin Act of 1969. So. The ball is in your court.

Question 1:

In a world where money/logistics was not an issue and you could easily and ethically travel anywhere, where would you want to spend a month vacationing?

Question 2:

You wake up to a glowing portal and a woman stumbling out of it in a spacesuit that looks like it came from one of those sci-fi book covers where all the cloth is silver and spandexy. She tells you that you're The Chosen One™, the one woman in all the multiverse who can stop the encroaching darkness and restore order to the galaxy through your untapped powers and also a sizable and well armed army outfitted in, you guessed it, silver platform boots and stretchy metallic miniskirts. Due to plot reasons, there is no time for questions. You have to either enter the portal and embrace your shiny, shiny future or pretend she portal'd into the wrong bedroom. What do you do?

Question 3:

What is your favorite winter beverage to unwind with?

Question 1: oh man... that's so tough. i think it would have to be the scottish highlands, which i've visited several times and basically would love to live forever. it's such a beautiful dynamic landscape and i love the misty drizzly weather! i'm visiting again with my family in a few months and they're going to have to drag me back home to the states.

Question 2: i'd be extremely tempted to go back to bed but unfortunately i think i'm too curious not go do a little sexy portal-hopping! if a bitch (me) can meddle, a bitch (me) is gonna meddle !!

Question 3: alcoholic - glühwein!! it's a hot red spiced wine that i had for the first time in heidelberg several years ago. it smells and tastes amazing and is very cozy. for a nice non-alcoholic winter drink, i like a range of hot teas... tazo brand passion tea especially. it's got a really nice flavor and it was one of my few college luxuries, so i have a lot of nostalgia associated with it as well.

[lostinmirkwood]

*taps on mic* Um. Hello. I'm the question fairy, and I've come to sprinkle some questions on your day.

You don't have to answer these questions, but to do so would require you to enter a binding agreement where you swore to bequeath your first born to me in exchange for my alchemical notes on how to weave straw to gold, in accordance with the Rumpelstiltskin Act of 1969. So. The ball is in your court.

Question 1:

In a world where money/logistics was not an issue and you could easily and ethically travel anywhere, where would you want to spend a month vacationing?

Question 2:

You wake up to a glowing portal and a woman stumbling out of it in a spacesuit that looks like it came from one of those sci-fi book covers where all the cloth is silver and spandexy. She tells you that you're The Chosen One™, the one woman in all the multiverse who can stop the encroaching darkness and restore order to the galaxy through your untapped powers and also a sizable and well armed army outfitted in, you guessed it, silver platform boots and stretchy metallic miniskirts. Due to plot reasons, there is no time for questions. You have to either enter the portal and embrace your shiny, shiny future or pretend she portal'd into the wrong bedroom. What do you do?

Question 3:

What is your favorite winter beverage to unwind with?

I hereby bequeath you with my first born, I will expect the alchemical notes by certified mail upon receipt of the child.

Answer 1: I actually just got home from this trip! I spent 24 days traveling through Central Europe, visiting Prague, Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest, Ljubljana, and Croatia. If I get a second one I am traveling to New Zealand and doing a road trip circumnavigating both islands. It’s actually been roughly plotted in a Google Doc since fall 2019.

Answer 2: hand me some platform boots, give me a blaster, and Let’s Fucking Go! I can provide my own miniskirt if necessary.

Answer 3: hot cocoa made with oat milk and a splash of Bailey’s. With mini marshmallows if I have them.

[rejectedbad]

Rejected Bad: King Arthur

The following is a rejected script from an early season of Breaking Bad.

INT. KING ARTHUR'S COURT - DAY

A grand hall filled with opulent decorations. KING ARTHUR sits on his throne, surrounded by his NOBLES. JESSE, dressed in modern clothing, stands before them, growing increasingly frustrated.

JESSE:  (Yelling)  I'm telling you, man! I'm from Albuquerque!

The court erupts in laughter.

KING ARTHUR:  Silence! You claim to be a Yankee from a land called Albuquerque? Preposterous!

JESSE:  (Holds up a baggie of blue crystals)  Look at this, King! In Albuquerque, we cook the purest, bluest meth that everyone wants!

The court gasps, intrigued.

LANCELOT:  Impressive! This strange man possesses great alchemical skills, Your Highness.

JESSE:  (Annoyed)  No, man! You're not getting it. I'm not an alchemist; I'm a meth cooker!

KING ARTHUR:  (squinting)  Meth cooker? Albuka-what?

JESSE:  (exasperated)  Albuquerque! It's a city in New Mexico, centuries from here! And I know how to make people desperate for blue ice!

KING ARTHUR:  Arrest this imposter! He clearly speaks nonsense and is a danger to our realm!

The GUARDS move forward to apprehend Jesse, but he holds up a BAG OF METH.

JESSE:  Back off, yo! One taste of this and you'll beg to believe me!

The King hesitates, then takes a sniff of the meth. His eyes widen, captivated by the blue crystals.

KING ARTHUR:  (astonished)  By the spirit of Excalibur! This...this is incredible! You shall be our esteemed Royal Meth Cooker.

Jesse smirks, satisfied with his victory.

EXT. CAMELOT CASTLE - DAY

Jesse, now dressed in mediaeval attire, stands before a make-shift meth lab. He explains the process to a baffled King Arthur.

JESSE:  (almost shouting)  Now, remember, you gotta mix this with that and then add some heat! Got it, King?

KING ARTHUR:  (carefully following along)  Yes, quite. Add this and heat, got it. I shall take this knowledge and ensure our kingdom prospers!

INT. METH LAB - NIGHT

Jesse watches King Arthur clumsily trying to replicate his meth. The room fills with thick smoke, alarms blaring.

JESSE:  (gasping)  No, man! You're ruining it! This is science, not some LARPing game!

King Arthur and his knights cough, struggling in the clouded room.

INT. KING ARTHUR'S COURT - DAY

Jesse, back in his modern attire, addresses the court for the last time.

JESSE:  (yelling)  You're all hopeless! I tried to bring some real power and order here, but you're stuck in your mediaeval fantasies!

The court stares silently, a mix of intrigue and confusion on their faces.

LANCELOT:  (firmly)  Perhaps we can find a way to balance your knowledge with our traditions, my friend. A union of old and new.

Jesse considers this, his frustration subsiding.

JESSE:  (dejectedly)  Yeah, maybe, man. I guess we could cook some blue crystal-infused mead or something.

The court erupts in laughter once again, but this time, it feels more welcoming.

FADE OUT.

[rebelrainfall]

*taps on mic* Um. Hello. I'm the question fairy, and I've come to sprinkle some questions on your day.

You don't have to answer these questions, but to do so would require you to enter a binding agreement where you swore to bequeath your first born to me in exchange for my alchemical notes on how to weave straw to gold, in accordance with the Rumpelstiltskin Act of 1969. So. The ball is in your court.

Question 1:

In a world where money/logistics was not an issue and you could easily and ethically travel anywhere, where would you want to spend a month vacationing?

Question 2:

You wake up to a glowing portal and a woman stumbling out of it in a spacesuit that looks like it came from one of those sci-fi book covers where all the cloth is silver and spandexy. She tells you that you're The Chosen One™, the one woman in all the multiverse who can stop the encroaching darkness and restore order to the galaxy through your untapped powers and also a sizable and well armed army outfitted in, you guessed it, silver platform boots and stretchy metallic miniskirts. Due to plot reasons, there is no time for questions. You have to either enter the portal and embrace your shiny, shiny future or pretend she portal'd into the wrong bedroom. What do you do?

Question 3:

What is your favorite winter beverage to unwind with?

Oh my gosh the question fairy hi! Big fan!!!!! Unfortunately my firstborn is a Spiderman action figure legally old enough to drink in Canada but if you can find him around somewhere you're welcome to him for sure!

Question 1:

This is tricky because I've never really been anywhere so I'm not sure what I'd be into? 😅 That being said last year my cousin went to Japan and she did a ton of stuff that sounded super cool and had a lot of very good food, I was very jealous, so maybe Japan?

Question 2:

Ok clarifying question for this one, do I also have to wear the silver platform boots and the metallic miniskirt? Or can I pick some other silver metallic outfit? Because this does effect my answer. I fear I am not saving anyone from the encroaching darkness in platform boots and a miniskirt, I am taking three steps and falling on my face. But if spacesuit lady can give me some stretchy metallic overalls or something I mean. I'm not doing much else these days, I'm into discovering the untapped powers.

Question 3:

There's a café like 20 minute walk from me that has really good karak chai and it's my absolute favourite. I have a sticker chart for going to bed before midnight no one ask how many stickers I have and most of my reward tiers are chai lol. At home or to bring to school or work though I really like almost any cinnamon and/or ginger-forward black tea.

Thank you question fairy, I needed questions 💚💚💚