#one day I shall share your lore my son-

[yourspace-demons]

The amount of times I’ve wanted to start a thread for Alonzo in the server is insane- sometimes the cursor just hovers over the button

Maybe one day 💪🏽

[dark-ethereal-visions]

Book Excerpt: Testament

From the time I was a teenager, I was fascinated with the history of witchcraft in England and its emergence in the early colonies of the future United States. Like many people, my interest in this topic began with learning about the Salem Witch Trials in the early 1690s. Around the same time, I took an interest in learning about the practice of witchcraft itself. I taught myself about traditional witchcraft, Gardnerian wicca, and Italian hereditary witchcraft. I was especially fascinated with the lore of Aradia, known to Italians as the Queen of the Witches. I read books from such well-known authors as Raymond Buckland, Raven Silverwolf, Raven Grimassi, Charles Leland, and many others.

Eventually, I began to wonder if other British colonies in North America suffered a similar witchcraft hysteria. I found that New York, previously known as New Amsterdam, also had a brief witch problem. Similar to Salem, this witch hysteria was motivated by politics and land grabs. There’s very little information regarding the specific details of New York witchcraft cases. I used what details I could find to help me write this book as close to reality as possible. For the rest, I used my imagination.

In this excerpt, Singent Straubb shares the experience of his first day on the job as an apprentice magistrate. In my opinion, this is the most important section of the entire book since it shares Singent’s first impressions of his employer, Magistrate Jacob de Heart, and his fellow co-workers, Blackburn and Sterling.

Journal of Singent Straubb

3d day of August, 1665

     It is late in the evening, very late to judge by the fact that mine is the only illuminated window on the street, and I have only just returned home. I would very much like to retire and put this day to an end, but I must record the events of the day now whilst the details are still fresh in my mind. Where ever shall I begin? I suppose it's best to relate the day in its entirety and, once that has all been recorded, I shall better be able to express my feelings, those emotions swimming around in my head that would keep me from unconsciousness even if I were to retire right at this very moment. Speaking of sleep, I slumbered very little last night and I suppose that's just the way of it for anyone about to realize their dream with the next sunrise; I was awake and out of bed long before my father. Hoping to make an exceptionally good first impression, I bathed thoroughly with a sponge and some lye before dressing in my best Sunday suit. I remember thinking to myself as I prepared for the day that my first week's pay must be spent on new clothes and better toiletries. An officer of the courts should certainly be far more presentable than the average citizen. He should be a physical manifestation of the highest principles of law, or so I'd imagined in my dreamy mind.

     By the time father was up and preparing for his own day, I was ready and anxious to head out the door to begin my very first day of apprenticeship. It was all he could do to get me to sit down at the breakfast table for a mere five minutes, but I did concede, not wishing to disrespect him so soon after he'd agreed to allow me to pursue this dream of mine. As soon as he placed the fresh milk, steaming eggs, and toasted bread in front of me, my empty belly reminded me that I'd neglected one of the most important morning duties in my excitement. As I ate the prepared meal with enthusiasm, he spoke softly, kindly to me.

     “Son, you are about to go out into the world to make your mark as a man and nothing could fill me with more pride.”

     I glanced up at him briefly before I gulped down half of the glass of milk. He must have read my thoughts in my expression because he continued:

     “Perhaps this isn't the profession I would have chosen for you, but I am proud of you, nonetheless.”

     “Thank you, father.”

     His benevolent smile, which has very rarely made an appearance in our household since mother's passing, graced his moustache-shrouded lips. “I have every confidence that you will become the fine hard-working and upstanding gentleman that your mother and I have dreamt you would be.”

     “I will strive to never disappoint you or to tarnish mother's memory.”

     He smiled once more. As that smile faded, he produced his pocket watch and presented it for me to view as he said in mock alarm, “Now go! You mustn't be late on your very first day!”

     I was the first to arrive at the courthouse, yet it wasn't long before I was greeted by those same men that had detained my father this past Sunday. They looked mismatched in their fine suits here as I had a better opportunity to see them than I had had outside of the church. The more outspoken of the men introduced himself as Mr. Blackburn. He was easily a foot shorter than his associate, Mr. Sterling, and bigger, bulkier than both Mr. Sterling and myself put together. He wasn't fat though. Far from it. He was solid muscle from head to toe and so fit, in fact, that when he walked, no part of him jiggled with the flabby flesh of obesity. He was bald, which I think added to the menacing, overbearing appearance of the man.

     His pale eyes, more the color of a stormy sky than that of a clear ocean, pierced through me in such a way that an icy shiver ran up my spine. His bulbous nose was crooked with crude knots spread along the ridge; it had clearly been broken more than once throughout his life. Also worth noting is the condition of his overgrown hands, which I'd had ample opportunity to observe during our handshake. His hands were harsh. I don't think there is a gentle bone in the man's entire body and, if not for his brutish demeanor, I am certain most would think him little more than a clumsy oaf. The skin was rough as one might expect of a man that had spent a lifetime engaged in hard labor. The knuckles on each hand were red as though the skin had been battered with repeated abuse and they were as scarred as they were discolored. Tiny yet noticeable nicks, scrapes, and abrasions marred his fists in such a way that he could only have obtained such scars from a lifetime spent in a boxing ring or in street brawls.

     In some ways, Mr. Sterling was as different from Mr. Blackburn as night from day, yet he seemed just as menacing and as brutal in his own way. He was more than six feet tall, standing, as I've already mentioned, a foot taller than Blackburn. It was nearly impossible to estimate his true height because his lanky body was slouched and, when he was viewed from either side, it seemed that his prominent spine was permanently curved. I remember noticing this, disturbed by just how visible that column of bony ridges appeared beneath a thin layer of skin and clothing. I thought to myself that such a condition was sure to cause problems as he aged into his later years. Lacking the muscle mass of Blackburn, he was as slim as he was tall. His sleek, black hair was trimmed short and I found his emerald eyes to be most misleading as they lent to the impression of a warm, gentle heart even though they were set in that unwavering stoical face. His nose had clearly never been broken, judging by the manner in which the perfectly straight bridge sloped downward. It seemed as though that sloped nose overhung past his thin lips, though I'm sure that was just an illusion created by the dwarfed angle at which I looked up at him. Multiple scars mapped his face from forehead to chin and the depth and length of each marking suggested that they had been left there by sharp blades of knives or swords. The wounds had obviously healed without the benefit of proper medical treatment as the skin had folded over itself and had left more pronounced scars than what should have been formed. Another clue that Sterling was no stranger to knives came when he reached forward to shake my hand. Chance, in the guise of a temperate breeze, blew his jacket open as he extended his right arm in camaraderie, revealing a sheathed bowie knife secured to his leather belt. It was only then, when he'd observed the recognition of the weapon in my own eyes, that those unwaveringly stern lips formed a smile.

     These were not nice men and, to be perfectly honest, keeping their company stirred within me feelings of uneasiness, disquietude. I was only too happy to agree when they, at length, suggested escorting me to the magistrate's office.

     I felt, as we entered the courthouse, that I was finally going to meet a true legal professional and, better still, I was going to take my rightful place at his side. One can imagine, then, the dismay I felt upon walking  into Magistrate de Heart's office and finding him in a state of disarray...to be very polite about it. The office, as one might expect of a newly erected and recently occupied government building, was sparsely decorated with only a single portrait of His Majesty, Charles II, adorning the cream colored walls. In the center of the room sat a massive desk, hand-carved  of oak and heavily varnished. Behind that desk, the magistrate sat in a plush, leather chair, which looked more like a throne than a chair suited to a government employee. Papers were scattered across his desk to his left and to his right, but, directly in front of him, there sat a silver serving tray with a half-eaten pig sprawled across its breadth.

     As we entered the office following a brief knock, the man behind the desk was passionately devouring one of the sow's legs, his full lips dribbling with grease and slobbering over the meat just as he might slobber over a lover's lips. The sounds of him suckling at his feast, pulling the grease down his greedy gullet, and the noise of his moist lips smacking together as he chewed echoed throughout the chamber. In between bites, he waved an arm toward one of the three vacant seats facing him and motioned for me to join him. As I drew closer, I could see the sweat beading upon his brow; his hairline was so far receded that he may as well have been bald. Although he wore a makeshift paper bib, his black robe was stained with pig grease where the bib could not protect him. Blackburn and Sterling had remained stationed at the door as though they had been assigned to guard the magistrate. Jacob de Heart picked up and dropped the serving tray, urging the men forward with a chubby, grease-soaked hand.

     “Get this slop out of here!”

    Sterling removed the tray as Blackburn used a fresh rag to help the magistrate clean himself.

    “Forgive me, but I had not had the chance to breakfast this morning, thanks in no small measure to my bothersome wife.”

     “I understand, Magistrate.”

     “You are my new apprentice. Are you not?”

     “Yes, sir,” I replied with the utmost zeal. “Singent Straubb, with two B's.”

      “Well, Singent Straubb with two B's, how much do you know of this court and your position herein?”

     “My father, upon informing me of the position, had very little information for me. I do know, through my own researches, that the Court of Assizes is here established only recently and that its purpose is as ecclesiastical as it is legal.”

     “Come again?”

     “Oh...Well, sir, it's my understanding that this court's function is to investigate and try instances of witchcraft and heresy. Is that not so?”

     Magistrate de Heart nodded. “It is. As well, English law, under which we must operate, demands that the accused be tried by two magistrates. The truth of the matter, Straubb, is that His Majesty couldn't be bothered with the day to day workings of these colonies. He is aware, as are we all, that, for the most part, a great many of the colonists are tax evaders, criminals...undesirables. He does, however, expect English law to be strictly enforced.”

     Magistrate de Heart glanced up at Blackburn and Sterling ever so briefly as he'd uttered those last two words. I took the exchange to mean there had been disciplinary problems with the men in recent history.

     “It is this contradiction that has led His Majesty to insist upon these trials without having provided for the necessary regulations. As it is becoming more troublesome to find established magistrates willing to come to these abhorrent colonies, I have taken it upon myself to retain an apprentice magistrate. That is you, boy.”

     “I understand. I am most eager to begin.”

     "What know you of English law?”

     “Everything!”

     “Everything?” The magistrate's robust laughter was so deafening in the small chamber that it was nearly impossible to hear Blackburn and Sterling chuckling from behind.

     “What I mean to say, sir, is that I have been studying the law since I was a small boy. I am familiar with most principles and procedures.”

     “And the witchcraft laws? Are you equally familiar with them?”

     “No, sir. I must confess that I am not.”

     “I would be very much surprised if you were as there are none.”

     “Sir?”

     “Don't misunderstand me, boy. There are regulations for the establishment of this tribunal, but much of what we do will be governed by the actions of the Dutch in their recent trials.”

     “I see.”

     “And do you still feel up to this task?”

     “I do, sir.”

     “Time will tell, boy.” The magistrate arose from his chair with no small measure of struggle and the chair itself creaked and groaned with relief upon being unburdened of his massive weight. Drawing the handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the remaining pig grease from his lips and jowls. “We have a guest awaiting our attention.”

     “A guest, Magistrate?”

     I arose as well, turning in time to see this 50-something year old minister of justice glance at his fellows, both of whom had maintained their positions at the door. The magistrate's grin at these two men left me with an uneasy feeling for what reason I could not fathom. Though I momentarily felt foolish for being so suspicious of my employer, the ensuing chuckles of Blackburn and Sterling once again set the hairs upon my neck prickling afresh. I tried reminding myself that I knew nothing of these men -for good or for ill- and that they all were, as a matter of fact, officers of a most high court. Yet, I still could not shake the wariness I felt in their presence. I told myself that it would be quite foolhardy to act or even to speak upon these suspicions, but, as I am generally a good judge of character, I had determined to observe these men with a cautious eye until my suspicions were either confirmed or disproved. My thoughts were interrupted when the magistrate spoke to me upon leading our party from the office.

     “Our guest, Straubb, is a neger slave by the name of Tiekka, accused of heresy and of the practice of voodoo.”

     “May I know the details of this case?”

     “Here.” He handed me a stack of neatly arranged papers, each page filled with the writings of a female hand to be judged by the bubbly beatific cursive known to be most common amongst women. “The statement of Tiekka's employer and only friend in all of this great colony.”

To buy your copy of Testament today, follow these links:

Paperback

Kindle

Nook

[hurdenbeavy]

Aaaaaaand we’re back! Gotta admit I diverted from writing for a bit to catch up on Lore Olympus cause I was wayyyy behind. But! Let’s get going shall we?

————————————————————————

Legacy of Spring

Part 2

Tilting his head, Ethan cheered as he won yet another round of his new favorite card game. “I win! That means you get to show me your home.” Getting up, the boy sprinted to go share the news with his mother, his father chuckling at his uncle’s expense.

“Shut up, Castellan. Like you could do any better.” An annoyed glare was shot to the blond as he went about picking up his cards and figurines, sending them back to his desk in his room.

The older man shrugged nonchalantly, a teasing smile on his face. “I’m not saying I could. But Ethan obviously got his skill from someone in the family.” Watching as both wife and son walked from the screen door, bulging backpack on the boy’s shoulders, he sighed. “Watch over him, will you? He’s never left home except to go visit his grandparents.”

A huff escaped the demigod. “Of course I will. He’s my nephew. Besides, if he can handle the Underworld, he can handle a couple days at camp. But I do want to be included in the next one’s life more.” With a teasing smirk, he met the rest of the family. “Ready?”

“I swear to Hades, Nico. If you let a single thing happen to my boy. You won’t even have to worry about my mother.” There was a protective look blazing in her glare as her pride and joy bounced around in anticipation. “Nothing too dangerous, okay? He’s only ten. I don’t care how good the healers are, I don’t want him to have to see them. But if something does happen, I want to be there. Okay? Okay?” Now addressing her son as well, her expression softened when she took in his joy.

“Don’t worry mom, I got this! And if it’s really as cool as Uncle Nic says it is, then maybe maybe I’ll go this summer. But it’s just this weekend. And I’ve got my gift in case anything happens.” Adjusting his backpack, he ran and gave her a hug before doing the same for his dad. “I love you guys!” With a final wave, he and his uncle disappeared into the shadows.

“He’ll be fine.” Pressing a reassuring kiss to her neck, he hummed. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Sighing one last time, the woman fiddled with her bracelet, an old nervous tic she had returning once more. “You’re right. He’s a fighter.” Resting her head on his shoulder she followed him into their house, it feeling quiet for the first time in years.

“Okay kid, here we are. Camp Half Blood. The place your parents met. Remember though, don’t go mentioning it. And if someone asks who your parents are, just come find me.” Looking down to make sure he was understood, he started down the path.

Slowly as to give time for his nephew to take everything in, he showed him around. “Down that way are the strawberry fields and the Big House. But you don’t need to worry about going there, just come to me if anything happens.”

When a horn sounded, the boy looked excited. “What’s that mean, Nic?” In his state, he didn’t notice the wings from his shoes start up and help him hover until he reached his uncle’s line of sight.

Sighing, the man shook his head. “That means it’s dinner time. You’ll sit with me. Ignore anyone else, alright?”

Drooping just a bit, the kid nodded and trailed after his uncle, spending the trek asking him questions. Reaching the mess hall once more, he scanned over the crowds of people, curiosity filling him as he took in all the different people and beings.

Sitting down, the boy grinned as all of his favorite foods appeared on the table. Serving a little more than he usually would for himself, he nearly vibrated in his seat. Looking at his cup and whispering, “pink lemonade.” Seeing it was indeed his favorite drink, he beamed brightly. “Awesome.”

Hearing the soft clop of incoming steps, Ethan sipped from his drink, eyes trailing to his uncle. “When’s it our turn to go?”

“Now. Come on.” Smiling down at him, he shot a sharp look at the intruder before leading him to the hearth. “Hades.”

Balancing his plate carefully, the blond whispered as he poured the best parts of his food into the fire. “Gran and gramps. Cerby too.” Smiling, he followed his uncle back to their table much like a duckling. Sitting down, he dug in, a warmth filling him as his prayers were heard.

“Nico. If you could bring your… guest to the Big House after dinner we can go about determining how to confirm his parentage. Until then, he really should be seated at the Hermes table like all new campers.” Chiron stood tall over the table and held a commanding presence. “Perhaps then you could tell us how you came across an unknown demigod before us.”

Much like his unbothered nephew, Nico barely drew his attention away from his food. “I don’t see why that’s needed. This is Ethan, he’s ten. I met his parents during my travels and they agreed to let him come with me to see if he would be claimed since he’s a legacy.”

Almost as if taunting them all, a pair of wings glowed dimly over the boy's head only to be outshone by a skull which was outdone by the light of a pomegranate. The silence in the hall was deafening. And to think it was broken by the child looking up and grinning, a soft “Cool.” leaving his lips.

Quickly taking this into account, Chiron cleared his throat and kneeled, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Hail, Legacy of Persephone, Kore, Goddess of Spring Destroyer of Light and Men. Queen of the Underworld.” Rising he looked between Nico and the boy, a familiar feeling tugging at his gut. “Do meet me after dinner, Nico.” Turning, he left as murmurs broke out amongst the campers.

Almost as if summoned, a group of three different people came to their table and sat down. “So, Nico… Didn’t realize you were one for kids. What’s the story behind that?”

A snort left Ethan as he came to finish his meal. Feeling eyes prodding at him, he glanced at his uncle. “You were right. They are all nosy.”

A smirk tugged at the man’s lips. “You can’t say things like that without pissing people off, brat.” Looking up, he studied the people before shrugging. “He’s not mine if that’s what you’re implying. But he’s family. My nephew, actually.”

Having caught their attention, sea green eyes studied the young boy, trying to piece which children of Persephone he knew that had a thing for a Hermes kid years back because obviously this one had been around for a while. “You’re ten? That’d put you being born… maybe a year after the war with the titans.”

Here is where the kid laughed to himself. “You all are weird.” Glancing at his uncle for permission, he dropped the ball on them. “I was born two months after the final battle. We had to wait until the fall until we could go visit my grandpa.”

Seeing as that was enough to distract them for the night, Nico rose, causing Ethan to do the same. “Come on, brat. Your mom would murder me if I let you stay up too late.” Ruffling his hair, he led the kid away. Once back in their cabin, he watched the kid get ready before going to bed. “Now to deal with the idiots.”

[niteshade925]

Hello, hello! I'm kinda new in Genshin fandom... And to be honest, I don't even play the game (though it's more because I can't). I just got very, very interested in the lore of this game. I've read almost every character stories and voicelines on wikipedia, and watched people play the storyline. Can't wait for more content! But - cough cough, I'm just here to ask, what did you think about Zhongli's story quest? I was a little bit sad that there was no mention about Guizhong, but that makes me hope she'll be more important in the future. Even so, I found his story quest deep in its own way, although in a different way when compared to Venti's. And about Guizhong, what do you think about her, from what we know about her until now? 😊 Thank you for replying my silly questions and I hope your day has been good! 😉

Yea Zhongli's quest is rather interesting, and *may* be easier for people who know a bit of Chinese history to grasp. What Zhongli said at the very end of the last cutscene ("my legacy shall be left to those who come after to debate"; the Chinese line is a little different, in that it wasn't just "his" legacy up for debate, but everything from the past) very much reminds me of the only female emperor in Chinese history, Wu Zetian. Being an emperor and all, she shares a lavish tomb (called Qianling/乾陵; I believe it's still sealed to this day and has not been explored by archaeologists) with her husband, but her stele/碑 (basically a gigantic luxury tombstone, usually detailing the person's accomplishments in life) is curiously...blank. So speculation ensues. Of the many speculations, the one most widely accepted by modern people says that she intended for her stele to be blank, because she knew her deeds were not all good, so she wanted her legacy to be up for debate. The less "profound" speculation says that because her son (whose surname is Li and should've been the rightful heir) who was emperor after her and was therefore tasked with constructing her tomb, didn't know what to write for her; after all, she did kill many of his family in her way to power, but she also did some good things during her reign, and was his biological mother (filial piety dictates that one should respect one's parents). But whatever was the case, the stele has accomplished its goal: people now hold vastly differing opinions about her. Some believe she was benevolent, some believe she was cunning and violent, some believe she was ruthless and a tyrant, and some believe she was great solely because she managed to climb to the very top as a woman in a very misogynistic society.

But of course that is just a little connection I've made, and coming back to Zhongli of the Genshin universe: the story itself generally portrays Zhongli in a positive light, and although him being ruthless in the archon wars was mentioned, we were never given any examples of what he did except what he said himself, that the gods he defeated must have broken contracts made with him in some way, and so we cannot really judge him like we can do for a real life historical figure like Wu Zetian (and tbh no one can really judge her either because after all, she lived way over a millenia ago, and innumerable records have been lost to time since then). Nevertheless, the varying opinions of Rex Lapis among different npcs is pretty interesting, and rather telling of his complexity. Ultimately, I think Zhongli/Morax's story is one about letting go. So many famous and powerful people throughout history have tried to take control of how they would be thought of in the future, but how many of them can truly let go and just let others debate their legacy? Not many. And this is part of why I like Zhongli. He understands that he has to let go of certain things, now that the era of gods is ending. Some things are inevitable for all of us, like biological death or the final death-death of finally fading into oblivion, but there's some comfort in accepting this and letting go.

[lemurious]

Like starlight turned to flame

for @alkarinqque for @officialtolkiensecretsanta 

Happy holidays and thank you so much for a wonderful prompt! Hope you enjoy what it turned to! <3

cw: death

They stand before Eönwë, huddled in cloaks that offer little protection against the rain pelting their bodies, and their hands seek each other.

Elrond can barely focus on the question and does not understand why Eönwë even considers their kindred to be a choice, when to him it has only ever been family. How could he think of himself as anyone other than an Elf, Noldor and Sindar mixed, as his grey eyes and black hair can attest, and secretly, while berating himself for excessive pride, he likes to tell himself that he got the better parts of both. The boundless curiosity and the compassion. The courage and the protectiveness. Everything he and his brother have managed to scrounge up from their two sets of parents lost to the iron law of the Valar, whose emissary is now looking down at them, waiting for their response.

Elrond tears his gaze from the figure in shining mail, seemingly immune to the downpour, back towards the disorienting sight of a sunken shore, their homes now lying under the wave. He wonders if their grief will ever fade. This year, it has kept returning like a tide, swallowing him in the heavy silence of their childhood being gone, forcing him to pace the hallway of their ramshackle house until he would give in and knock on Elros’s door, curl up in a chair next to his brother to watch the flames dance in their fireplace through the long winter night. Together.

At least they have each other, he thinks, for the last fleeting moment before Elros squeezes his fingers hard enough to hurt. Before Elros looks at the Herald of the Valar and says in a voice loud and firm: “I choose to belong to the kindred of Men, my lord.”

---

Idril has dragged her husband through the crumbling tunnels and foaming waves, from the only home they have ever known turned to ash and ruin, through the doom that has been hanging over her head since she was too young to remember, through the wrath of all the Seas encircling Valinor, and she will be damned if she has to lose him to something as simple as death.

She stands tall and straight, a circlet of diamonds on her head, the steel of her feet shining like silver, Curufin’s best work, her eyes ablaze with the light of the Trees that could never be quenched, not even by the darkness of Helcaraxë.

Idril Silverfoot, who has walked through ice and looked death in the face and then dared to be happily married anyway, stares right into the face of Mandos and demands that Tuor be allowed to join her as one of the Eldar.

After all, even the Valar have admitted that Tuor has brought hope to Arda, ignoring her part as usual, though now she is glad about it, because it helps her make her case to keep Tuor with her, immortal as he secretly believes himself to be anyway, having been raised among the Elves.

“Your plea has been accepted,” says Mandos, “but the balance shall be retained. One born from you will have to leave the Elvenkind and become a mortal Man instead.”

She attempts to argue some more, but Mandos is implacable, and in any case she cannot think far beyond the joy of having rescued her husband from what they both consider to be the Doom of Men – what cruel foolishness would it be to call it a Gift?

She already knows that they will not take her son, who has been cursed to ride the skies with a Silmaril in the front of his ship, a mortal body could never survive the slow, quiet destruction wrought by the fire imprisoned within the jewel.

Idril’s grandsons are all but lost to her, she has never met them, even their own mother barely knew them and could tell her little about them when questioned.

Idril has always been a survivor and she knows that it inevitably means making the kind of choices that could pull her apart if she is not careful enough. She only hopes that whoever will be born of her blood and destined for mortality will be strong enough to make their life a happy one in spite of all their losses.

---

Before the bleakness of the aftermath, there was the terror of the War, and just before that, a moment of respite, a time to set aside the fears, and learn to fight, and sing, and gather mussels on the shore.

A moment to hold the hands of the two Elves who have turned from captors into fathers in record time, to call their names to ward against the nightmares. A moment to feel like children again, like the sons of someone still within their reach.

Elros swears to treasure every one of these moments after the evening when, during one of his solitary strolls along the beach, a figure rises from the waves and introduces himself as Ulmo, the Lord of Waters.

Elros shivers in fear, frozen on the spot and unable to move even if the alternative is drowning. But Ulmo does not threaten to drown him, instead, he looks on as if with a great sorrow, and tells of yet another doom that the Valar have now hung above their heads.

“You will be asked to choose,” he says. “And if neither of you accepts the Doom of Men, Lord Mandos will choose for you.”

Elros has never considered himself of any kindred but Elven, but he knows that neither has Elrond, and more, that Elrond, if given a choice, would spend his entire life learning the Elven lore by night, healing the wounds left by the long sequence of wars by day.

Meanwhile Elros has to admit to himself that he does not have any passion save the vague but persistent wish to one day become a great lord and rule a kingdom, a prospect so dim, given his circumstances, that he keeps scolding himself for naivety.

He could become a Man, he thinks, but he feels so young when confronted by the enormity of the decision. So childlike. He just does not want to, which reminds him of his tears when he clutched his mother and watched her kiss him and his brother and walk away. The only clear memory he has of her.

He is too scared to accept this doom for himself. Could he do it for his brother?

---

“You have been deep in thought all day, and they do not seem to be pleasant thoughts,” says Maglor to Elros, who keeps lingering in the kitchen after dinner, long after Elrond ran off back to the library as always, and Maedhros went outside to try to repair the roof that has just started leaking again. “Would you care to share them with me?”

Elros shakes his head. He tells himself that he should not add to his father’s worries, though deep inside he is terrified that Maglor would make him choose. Or that Elrond would find out, and would then insist of taking the curse upon himself instead, and he would never, ever be able to forgive himself for dragging his brother into it. Yet he feels that if he had to face all of it alone he would crumble, and then the truth would come out anyway, with all its terrible consequences.

“Atya, have you ever regretted something you have not done? Especially, something that – that could have helped one of your brothers, though he would have never found out?”

Maglor looks shocked. He turns away and visibly struggles to compose his face before answering. “Too many times, kid. I should have… told my brothers not to follow our father. Should have stopped them at the gates of Doriath… Should have… should have stood in the place of the one my brother loved the most, on that muddy battlefield, for maybe then he would have lived and my brother would still be happy and carefree. Should have kept all my brothers from pursuing the Silmarils at any cost.”

“But you could have been killed!”

“I would not seek death, but it is not always a wrong choice to risk your own life to protect those you love.”

Elros suddenly lunges at Maglor, wrapping his arms around his waist, and hugs him tight.

“Thank you, Atya,” he sniffles. “Could you sing me a lullaby tonight, as I fall asleep?”

“Tonight and any other night, for as long as you wish,” Maglor replies, a little confused and worried about what has just happened. Well, it is a miracle those kids have managed to be as cheerful as they are, most of the time, given what they already had to live through.

---

Elrond lets go of Elros’s arm in disbelief. That is what Elros chooses to do? Has he ever really known his brother? And does it mean - does it mean that after such a brief lifespan of Men they will never again  -- he turns to look at Elros, to yell at him, call him a traitor.

He sees that Elros has gone deadly quiet, teeth clenched, staring straight ahead, but Elrond knows his brother and can tell that he is shaking in fear.

Elrond’s anger evaporates in an instant, as he pulls Elros into a massive hug and whispers in his ear: “It will be alright. I understand. It may not be my choice, but you will always be my brother.” He feels Elros relax with every word.

---

Mandos is kind. He gives Elros many times the lifespan of Men and lets him build a home halfway between his mother and his brother, though he misses his fathers the most, all of them, and all of them are lost – in the fire, in the sky, on the shores. Like the Silmarils.

Elros raises children of his own, and tells them that their siblings will be the strongest bond they will ever have, so they would better cherish it. They listen, these kids with dark grey eyes, too large in their faces, too solemn for their age. They had to grow up quickly, as befits the children of Men and the heirs of the High King.

Uncle Elrond visits every year and tells them stories, and teaches them the arts of healing, and stands with Elros on the tallest tower watching the stars fade into the West, awaiting one of them, forbidden for the other.

They whisper their memories to be kept for as long as one of them lives, and swear an oath to find each other, and all their parents, again, however long it took them and even if it meant going beyond the circles of Arda.

---

When time comes for him to leave, Elros does not even feel cheated, just ready. His children have long grown up, he has become a grandfather and a great-grandfather so many times he finds it difficult to remember all the names.

He calls for Elrond, who has been at his side for days, and suddenly there is a shadow on the other side of his bed, and a familiar voice begins a lullaby Elros remembers from his childhood. “Thank you, Atya,” he murmurs as the colors begin to fade.

In the end, he did not even have to lie, Elros thinks. It was his choice, perhaps for a different reason than Elrond might have guessed, but it was, truly, his, and it brought him the kingdom he did not dare to dream of, and the family he could have never imagined, loved even fiercer because of their mortality, like a flame that has its own beauty compared to the starlight.

He would make his choice a thousand times over, Elros admits to himself as the walls fade into the mist, and he feels more than hears the voice of Mandos rumbling in his ears, assuring him with the sadness of one who is forced to deal in law, and not in love, that he will grant the brothers their own oath in recompense for the ones he has bestowed upon them, that it will not be their final farewell.

[bevioletskies]

call it magic (when i’m next to you) [chapter five]

summary: As the long-lost grandson of the illustrious Gramarye family, Apollo already knew his life was going to change for the better and for the worse. After spending his formative years on the run, adjusting to his new place in magical high society was never going to be easy. It’s only when he finds himself locked in a metaphorical - and sometimes literal - dance with Klavier Gavin, both his potential suitor and the bane of his existence, does he realize just how complicated things are about to become.

word count: 4,751

a/n: This fic is a magical ‘verse set in the regency era, where some artistic liberties are taken with the time period to accommodate the story and the magic lore. Most of the details of how this ‘verse works is explained in the fic, but I’ve made an explainer that also includes some image links to characters’ familiars, which can be found here.

Spoiler warning for minor plot points and character relationships in Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney and other games, including Investigations and Chronicles. Fic title is from the song Magic by Coldplay.

preview:

“Speaking of fiancés, Lord Klavier was seen with one just recently,” Ema said, raising her eyebrows with an exaggerated quirk; for someone who seemed dispassionate about large social gatherings, Apollo found her unexpectedly interested in gossip and rumors. “Do you know of the Kitakis, Lord Apollo?”

“Yes, a family that Grandfather told me in no uncertain terms we were never to associate with,” Apollo replied. “Why?”

“Their only son’s fiancée, Lady Alita, was spotted on Lord Klavier’s arm just two days ago,” Ema said with a knowing smirk. “Apparently, he took her for a night on the town and gifted her a beautiful pair of shoes.”

“No!” Trucy gasped, nearly dropping her saucer in shock. “You don’t mean to say that he - but he would never!”

“She’s quite beautiful,” Ema commented, humming. “But, according to Kay’s premonitions, she’s as duplicitous as she is charming; perhaps the two of them are conspiring together for some greater purpose. Either way, the Kitakis must be furious. I expect the wedding to be called off any day now.”

“Lord Klavier is that kind of person, is he?” Apollo muttered, mouth twisting with displeasure. “And to think that he pretends to be an upstanding man, that he dares question my merits when he acts in such disreputable ways.”

“Questions your merits?” Ema said curiously. “Is this about that conversation you had at the theatre the other night that you refuse to share the details of?”

“Believe me, I still have no inclination to share them now,” Apollo said wryly. “All I can say is that I’m glad he demonstrated his true character to me early on, before I was taken in by his supposed charms and good looks like everyone else.”

“I never once found him charming, nor do I think his looks are anything to write home about,” Ema sniffed, rolling her eyes. She then levitated her teacup with a quick flick of her wrist. “Shall we cheers to shared opinions, perhaps?”

(read on ao3)

[tessiete]

creator tag game

Thank you, @kckenobi for the tag! And for the bonus fic rec list you included in yours bc, honestly, I just spent like an hour rereading all your fic and being amazed and touched all over again. ANYWAY.

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

So, this is going to be difficult because I...did not write a tonne this year? I choose EVERYTHING! But here goes.

--

My (Current) Favourite: Just So, and No Clearer (Obitine, T)

I hated this fic while writing it. Every chapter felt like a chore. Every scene felt pointless. I didn’t know what story I was telling except that it was meant to be as revealing - or more so - of Obi-Wan as it was of Satine. And then, I hit the final chapter, and I was like “Oh!” 

This is probably the most complicated thing I’ve written, in that the poetry had to communicate something beyond the text, and that the story Obi-Wan thinks he is telling is unadulterated in that form, but the story Satine is living is something real, and less fanciful beyond it. I feel like I surprised myself with this one.

Biggest Lesson: One Human Thought (Qui-Dad & Obi-Son, G)

I’ve been writing this fic for 8 mos now (I think), and it shows. When I started writing SW fic this year, I thought I was pretty confident in my style - I wasn’t in love with my style, but I thought I knew it - and I thought I’d been fairly consistent in terms of quality after cutting my teeth on a bunch of fic in other fandoms. But this fic...I didn’t outline it. I didn’t have any grand themes. I didn’t directly adapt any major source (it’s inspired by Pygmalion, but the structure is distinct). I did not expect anyone to like it, or want it, or feel it. 

So, of course, it’s my most popular fic.

And I recently went back and reread the first couple chapters and, yeah, I think I am a different writer now. This fic taught me the importance of just Putting Something On The Page, how to write through the dry spells, trust that I could fall back on technique and practice when inspiration left me, ignore the need to Be Perfect, know that sometimes a sentence can just be competent, and that is enough. Not every word needs to be profound. This fic showed me that practice will outlast inspiration every single time. Which is neat, because that’s partly what it’s about.

Gateway Fic: The Eternal Spring (Padme Lives, Obi-Wan Has a Crisis, G)

This fic is my baby. It set the stage for everything I have written in this fandom. It’s the testing ground for the basics of almost every mainstay in my hc, from Obi-Wan’s voice, to his relationships and how he views them; from shared fanon content, and the expansive nature of fandom, to my own con-langs and worldbuilding; from the lore I wanted to keep, and how I felt about certain fan theories - I found Korkie here, guys! I needed him for plot, but then he showed up and just WAS Obi-Wan’s and I couldn’t let him walk away.

It’s written in the style most comfortable to me, and was the very edge of the nest from which I leapt.

Thesis Fic: Or Else I Shall Be Lost (Korkie is a Kenobi, Boil is exhausted, G)

This is a shout out to you, @mg024, because I mentioned that I have Many Thoughts about the narrative benefits of canonizing Korkie as Obi-Wan’s son. I will do that one day, I will, but in short - this fic.

This is my little field test of how I think Korkie best functions in a canonically plausible scenario. KEEPING THIS BRIEF, my feeling is basically, Obi-Wan would benefit as a character by having a son, and the narrative would benefit by his having a son. In this case, I used Korkie as a way to examine that transition between Anakin and Vader, exploring Vader’s jealousy, his relationship with Obi-Wan, his desire to possess something that cannot be owned, and contrasted it with Korkie’s inheritance being something he is worthy of because of his choices, not his blood. Korkie chooses to continue his father’s legacy, while Vader feels entitled to it. I think inherited legacy vs. chosen destiny is a pretty major theme in almost all SW stories, and for me, this is a facet of it that would benefit from exploration and has a vehicle that’s lying around IGNORED! How dare.

Guilty Pleasure: Rolling Hitch (Qui-Dad & Obi-Son, G)

Look, the premise of this fic is weak. The execution is inconsistent. But I want whump. I NEED WHUMP. And I am weak for platonic bathing, and sleepy times. The tenderness of care required to clean someone, the trust required to let someone else do that, the way peoples’ hearts are revealed in the way they sacrifice their comfort to assure someone else’s without thanks or notice…….this fic is for me, friends. If you like it too, then that’s a really lovely, welcome bonus! 

No pressure tags for some of my favourite people! @tree-scapes @outpastthemoat @acatbyanothername93 @duchess-of-mandalore @mahizli @pebblysand @kyber-erso @mg024 and one for @pomiar (who won’t do it, but should).

[the-broken-truth]

The Father of All Wolves (Havenfall is for Lovers)(Mackenzie Hunt x Roxie Brooks) Part 3🐺🐺🐺

🦇🦇🦇HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! 🦇🦇🦇

[While Mackenzie & Annabelle were talking to the Beast] [In The Depths of Roxie's Mind]

Roxie's ocean eyes blinked open as they began to adjust themselves to the foggy amber light they were met with. Roxie groaned as she sat herself to an upright position - one hand flat on the ground while the other reached up. clasping her forehead in hopes to subside the pounding vibrations in her head. Her eyes opened again once she felt the headache fade away and looked around to see her surroundings - there was nothing. She sat under a bright light that shined miles above her head but everything that was beyond the circle that the light overhead was encompassed in the void of darkness. Roxie began to slowly pick herself off the ground - standing in the center of the circle of light - trying to think of where she was and how it was she came to be there. That's when it hit her: The Beast of Gevaudan.

"That's right. That bitch did something to me - some kind of rite." Roxie lifted her hands and they confirmed her fears, for her hands were human. Her claws were gone. She reached them up to touch her hand and sure enough, the wolfish ears that she grew to love were gone as well. "If she separated my Human Soul from my Wolf Soul, and I'm the Hyman Soul...Where's the Wolf Soul?"

That's when a hot and heavy gust of wind breezed from behind her but it was not wind...

It was Breath.

Something behind her was breathing and from the feel of it...

It was big.

"You're here...aren't you?" Roxie asked with her eyes wide, her body lightly shaking in fear at what would answer her question.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I am the one who called you here." A deep masculine echoing voice called out from behind her. Then she remembered - while she was fighting against the Beast's Rite taking over her body, she heard the voice from deep within calling to her - the voice of her wolf asking for her to come.

Roxie turned 180 and her ocean eyes collide with eyes are powerful as leaves in the summer sun; and they were large. Roxie's eyes trailed along the figure that the eyes belonged to - she could make out the muzzle of the canine, his obsidian fur that was darker than the void he was resting in, his paws here crossed in a waiting manner, and his body was curled around the circumference of the light she was standing in - from what she could tell, the tip of his tail was behind her.

This is what Damien and the Beast of  Gevaudan were talking about - this was her Great Beast.

"You are...massive." Roxie's voice came out in a squeak.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Ingólf." The giant wolf responded. The name confused Roxie.

"Ingólf? My name is..." The wolf's scoff cut Roxie off.

"I know the name you were given at birth, but to me, you will always be Ingólf - it means Little Wolf in my native tongue." The wolf explained.

(I got the translation off Google, please don't flame me.)

"That's not from any language I've heard before." Roxie explained.

"That's because the once great knowledge of who I was and where I came from - along with those I have shared the light with - are not very known in this new world." The wolf said.

"Just who are you? I know Damien and the Beast said I had a Great Wolf inside me but I was not expecting you." Roxie said making the wolf raise his eyebrow (If wolves have eyebrows and I think they do.)

"And just what were you expecting, Ingólf?" The wolf asked.

"From what the Beast was saying - I explained a rabid wolf, foaming out the mouth, ready to rip me apart and take control of my body & life." Roxie explained, the wolf just exhaled and rolled his eyes.

"If it were a normal wolf spirit - perhaps - but the Beast of Gevaudan does not know the true nature behind the rite she used because...there's no way I would have let that insolate pup turn me against one of my own." The wolf explained.

"The Beast of Gevaudan? An Isolate Pup? Do you realize who you are talking about? This...This creature was around before Wolf became Pack - she is one from where all werewolves hail and now she is here, trying me make me..." Roxie was cut off again when the wolf began chuckling again. "What's so funny?"

"Child, the Beast of Gevaudan might be ancient and she may be powerful but she is not the first - she is not the First nor is the Harold of Wolf Blood to mortals. She and all the others are simply...not caught up on the history of their true lineage." The wolf explained.

"Wait...if the Beast wasn't the first...Who was?" Roxie asked.

"That's simple - I was. I am the one from which all wolf kind spawns from. I am the Father of all Wolves. I am Fenris - The Monstrous Wolf of Norse Lore." The Wolf - Fenris - stated as he began to sit upright, showing Roxie is massive height.

"You're...The Father of All Wolves? Then...why are you inside me?" Roxie asked.

"Your Family's Blood has been tied to me and mine since the days of old - when humans built temples and shrines dedicated to their gods, giving them offerings to ensure good health or fortune; I - however - was nothing like that." Fenris said with a snarl.

"Then what are you and how are you tied to my family?" Roxie asked.

"For those who are familiar with my name - I am the Son of the God of Mischief: Loki. The Gods received a prophecy about me - stating that my growth would mean trouble for them and thus, they locked me away. I sent my sons - Skoll and Hati - to chase the sun and moon to devour them so that I may be free to exact my revenge upon the Gods but...I didn't need to." Fenris said with a smile as he replayed the memory in his head.

"What happened?" Roxie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A Pack of Humans somehow managed to find and free me - they brought me to an abandoned temple that was long forgotten. The Leader - A young woman named Mara - told me that she had a vision of me, she knew I would have been wronged and she was not going to let that happen. As time went on, that temple became my place of devotion and I lived in peace with my followers and my sons - for those I found to be trustworthy, I shared my blood with them and rebirthed them in my image." Fenris's words made Roxie's eyes grow wide.

"They were the first werewolves." She said.

"Yes, and for the longest times, all was good...until one of my own befell my doom." Fenris said - sorrow laced in his voice.

"One of your own? One of your followers betrayed you?" Roxie asked.

"In an act of desperation - A young man - I have long since forgotten his name - his family grew ill with an unknown disease and he begged the God of Knowledge - Mimir - for any kind of a remedy to help those he loved but Mimir wanted something in return; knowledge in exchange for knowledge. That young man gave up the location of my temple and the fact that I was free from the god's prison. In exchange, the young man was given the information he wanted and returned home to save his family, but when he told his family want he'd done; he was exiled from his family's home, and his sister came to warn me...but her warning came too late." Fenris said.

"The Gods found you?" Roxie asked.

"Yes. Just her she explained what her brother had done - The Gods came raiding down upon my temple - killing my Lycans and imprisoning my sons. They were moving in on my chambers - where Mara and I were hiding. Mara didn't want me to be at the mercy of the Gods and thus...she made a choice. Using the knowledge she knew - she sealed me and my essence inside herself and ran away from the temple; the gods never found her."

"Mara saved you. What happened after she escaped the Gods?" Roxie asked.

"Mara began to document everything that happened in a special tome that would never age and she began a family of her own. My essence - my soul - and the knowledge of the Fenris Temple were passed down from old matriarch and patriarch to the newest but it was when humanity began to evolve in the way they have now when my knowledge and legacy began to fade from the family and I was sent into a deep slumber. Then your family began working for Code Black and I remained undetected...until now." Fenris explained as he looked down at Roxie.

"Wait...what triggered you to wake up? The Rite the Beast of Gevaudan did?" Roxie asked.

"No, Ingólf. I awakened the moment you met Mackenzie Hunt and began to bond with her. Two wolves know each other and while I was sleeping for so long, her wolf told me everything I had missed."

"Wait, you and Mac's Wolf know each other? How?!" Roxie asked with her jaw dropped.

"That's because Mara was the Mate of Mackenzie Hunt's Ancestor - Souls know each other and true love always finds a way, Ingólf."

"Wait a minute...If Mac's Ancestor was Mara's Mate...then that means Mara was..." Roxie said as she began to put two and two together.

"Yes - Mara was your Direct Ancestor, Ingólf." Fenris said. "And right now, Your Mate is in trouble."

"I know." Roxie's fists began to ball in tight fists. "I don't know what I can do. The Beast of Gevaudan is too strong for me to handle and without our pack bound, Mac isn't strong enough to take her down either. I don't know what to do...I'm confused." Roxie admitted.

"She may be strong but she is not the strongest. My Blood is the Oldest and those that fall under me will always yield to me." Fenris crouched down until his eyes were in line with Roxie's. "Join with me, Ingólf. You will have all my power and I will share in your consciousness. We will be one body and one soul. I shall defeat the Beast of Gevaudan and I shall teach her that her actions against my children are unforgivable." Fenris said with power in his voice- his eyes seemed to glow with promise.

"You won't devour my soul?" Roxie asked - her own eyes seem to glow as well.

"I will not commit actions against my own spawn nor against the soul that saved me from the Gods. We will be one but we will still be our own person. I shall bear no transgressions against you nor upon your human life." Fenris promised.

Roxie's hand reached out for him, placing the palm of it her the surface of his cold nose before she uttered a single word.

"Yes."

A bright light shined between them and their souls melded together.

Making something new...and powerful.

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

Previous Page - Part Two

[365days365movies]

March 9, 2021: Orpheus (1950) (Part One)

Greek mythology was my first mythological love.

And yes, that is ironically a very cliché thing to say about Greek mythology, since it’s by FAR the most popular and well-known mythology in the Western world, but...what can I say, I’m a sucker for the classics.

When I was 6, my mom got me a copy of the Odyssey, followed by D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths, and that book was my SHIIIIIIIIIIT. From the Titanomachy to the Trojan War, from Decaulion to Daedalus, from the Lernaean Hydra to Ladon, and from Zeus to Dionysus (my second favorite Olympian), I LOVE Greek mythology.

There have been countless adaptations of these stories over the last century of so, some better and more faithful than others. We got Blood of Zeus (which I...genuinely dislike) on Netflix last year, Lore Olympus is a fantastic webcomic and modernized retelling of the universe of stories in general (fuck Apollo, that’s all I have to say), Hercules by Disney is fun (though extraordinarily inaccurate), and who doesn’t like some Percy Jackson (the books, not the movies)?

Today’s entry won’t be the first of the Greek mythology stories this month; after all, it’s DEFINITELY fantasy, so there were going to be a few entries in here. Some will come pretty close to each other later this month, but for this one, we’re jumping forward 10 years from The Thief of Bagdad to 1950. Let’s get back to France, shall we?

Famous for his adaptation of Beauty and the Beast is Jean Cocteau, legendary French surrealist filmmaker. His stylings definitely capture a sort of practical magic, compounded with clever angles and fascinating visual and practical effects. It’s evident with the classic fairy tale, which I would’ve done this month had I not already seen it. So, instead, we’ll be looking at the middle film in a trilogy known as Cocteau’s Orphic trilogy. This is, apparently, the most important one. And that makes sense, since it’s focused upon...

Is Hadestown good? I’m real tempted to find a way to watch it, and it sounds like it’s just up my alley. I’ll probably check it out one of these days.

Orpheus was (maybe) the son of Calliope, the muse of poetry, and Apollo, god of music. Maybe. Parentage differs based on the retelling. No matter the parents, he was renowned for his charm and grace, as well as his voice and music. He was loved by animals, nymphs, and maidens alike. He was invited to be the Bard of Jason’s DnD group (AKA the Argonauts), and used Bardic Performance to inspire his comrades (and also helped them overcome the sirens by singing EVEN LOUDER).

But the one whom he loved most was his wife, Eurydice. Unfortunately, a satyr (AKA horny horned half-goat man) chased her right into a viper’s nest, where she was bitten and died. Orpheus was CRUSHED, and his song was so depressing that even the gods cried. They said, “Dude, go to the Underworld, get back your lady from Hades, please!” And he did.

Hades, the old romantic that he secretly is, agrees to let Eurydice’s soul, on one condition. That he doesn’t look back at her as she follows him out. Orpheus agrees, but the man can’t stop himself from looking back to make sure that she’s there. And she was...and then she wasn’t. So, our sad boi fucked up, and then...well, it’s spotty. 

See, some people say that he stopped worshipping Dionysus (his previous patron), and the wine boi’s female followers tore Orpheus to pieces as punishment. Some say that these same women got a liiiiiiiiiittle too into the Bacchanalia (think orgies, but religious and violent), and ripped him apart in a frenzy. And some say that he only took male lover from then on, and women tore him to pieces for not paying attention to them (also, possible homophobia). You know, it varies. Still, we can agree on the ripped apart by women thing. His head could still sing, and as the women threw his body parts into a river, it sang a song so beautiful that the rocks and branches in the river refused to strike it. His instrument of choice, a lyre, was eventually interred amongst the stars as the constellation Lyra.

The story of a pained artist searching for a lost love and losing her is all over the goddamn place, with the crazy-ass Moulin Rouge being a solid example of it.

But OK, let’s finally begin Orpheus, or Orphée to be more accurate. Gonna be a weird ride, I guarantee it. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

The story starts with a recap of the original myth, and notes that it doesn’t need to be limited  by time and place. This sort of story, after all, could happen anywhere and at any time. And in this case, that time and place are 1950s-era France, where we quickly meet famous poet Orpheus (Jean Marais).

At a café, he meets a friend, the Editor (Henri Crémieux), where they speak on Orpheus’ fame, which is not well-liked in a cafe frequented by poets. Also arriving there is a young drunken poet, Jacques Cégeste (Édouard Dermit), who is accompanied by his patron, known only as...the Princess (María Casares). Come on, guys, can we give our female characters names, please?

Anyway, Jacques quickly gets into a drunken brawl with other patrons, which leads to the arrival of the police at the café. They forcefully arrest him, but before they can, he’s hit by a couple of motorcycles, and potentially killed. The police bring Jacques back to the Princess’ car, with the help of her driver Heurtebise (François Périer). For unknown reasons, she summons Orpheus to help them. He agrees, and goes with them to the hospital.

Or he would be, if they were going there. Instead, as they drive off, Orpheus discovers that Jacques is dead already. They aren’t going to the hospital. Instead, they head to a mysterious mansion, as ominous and oblique poetry plays on the radio. They’re soon accompanied by the men on the motorcycles that killed Jacques, who work for the Princess. The plot fuckin’ THICKENS.

Back at her mansion, they bring the body of Jacques upstairs, much to the confusion of Orpheus, whom the Princess keeps calling stupid whenever he asks questions. However, he’s not proving her wrong, as she immediately convinces him that she’s actually dreaming at the moment. Although...maybe he is?

She sits in front of a mirror, which breaks...somehow. Frustrated, she commands Orpheus to wait there for her to return, as she goes to check on Jacques and her men. Like me, Orpheus is confused. This gets worse for me, though, as the Princess goes to the other room and tells the dead Jacques to get up. AND HE DOES. Well, Jacques’ a zombie, I guess. He identifies the Princess as “his Death”, which she agrees to. She tells him to hold on to her coat, and then...

...I got questions. I GOT QUESTIONS HERE.

They go through the mirror, and the Princess’ henchmen follow, just as Orpheus walks in. He also has questions, and he tries to go through the mirror, to no avail. Completely confused at this point, he passes out against the mirror, alone in the mansion. And then...he’s outside.

Yeah, he’s just outside now, and waiting there is Heurtebise, the chauffeur! Orpheus is freakin’ out, and Heurtebise has no answers for him, but has been told to take him back to town once he...arrived. OK. Still questions.

In town, the disappearance of Orpheus is being discussed by a police inspector, his wife Eurydice (Marie Déa), and her friend Aglaonice (Juliette Gréco). Aglaonice doesn’t seem to like Orpheus very much, as she’s trying to convince Eurydice that he’s cheating on her. And that’s hard to argue, since he was last seen with the Princess. However, just as there’s about to be a scandal reported by a spontaneously appearing journalist, Heurtebise and Orpheus arrive home.

After a rough encounter with the journalist, he arrives home to a relieved Eurydice, and an enraged Aglaonice, whom Orpheus also dislikes heavily. He’s apparently forbidden her from entering his house, and tells her off. The Inspector leaves too, and asks Orpheus to come to his office to discuss the matter of the missing Jacques.

Eurydice reminds Orpheus that Aglaonice is dangerous, as she runs...the League of Women. Well...I think we know what role Aglaonice is going to play by the end of this. Her and her League of Bacchanalian Women, get me? Yikes. Anyway, the conversation turns into an argument, when the EXTREMELY ornery Orpheus basically just storms off, being a DICK to his poor wife. And when he goes upstairs to his room, he actually sneaks out of the window.

Meanwhile, Heurtebise comes into the house to offer an alibi to the pained Eurydice. While she doesn’t quite believe it, the two share some time together and seem to bond. However, when he smells gas from the stove, Heurtebise lets it slip that he committed suicide by using a gas stove. He covers it up before Eurydice notices the slip-up, but...OK. So, “the Princess” is death. Going by the traditional Greek myth, she’s some form of psychopomp, and the world beyond the mirror is the Underworld, I can only assume. OK...I can dig it.

Orpheus, meanwhile, is at the car, listening to the strange radio poetry and writing it down. The, uh, “Princess” is busy as well. Like a ghost, she walks into the household and watches Orpheus as he sleeps. A narration refers to her as Orpheus’ death. Funny, I’m pretty sure that’s going to be Aglaonice’s role.

Two days later, Orpheus is increasingly obsessed with the poetry from the mysterious radio and its odd messages. While Eurydice seems to mock this obsession, Orpheus also seems to be far too enraptured in it. But, interestingly, the messages seem to be coming from nowhere known. However, it’s all beginning to affect their marriage greatly.

On the phone, the Inspector comes calling, and Eurydice asks Heurtebise to answer the phone. He does so, and soon after, we see the phone float into place, as if placed there by a ghost. That’s confirmed as Heurtebise phases to the outside from nothing, where he meets Orpheus and informs him of the message. The two decide to head to the Inspector in his car, rather than the mysterious talking car.

While Orpheus goes through town, looking for the Princess rather than the Inspector, there’s something that I wanted to mention here. Call it an interpretation. Apparently, Heurtebise is often considered an angel by critics and interpreters. However, I’m gonna suggest that he’s actually supposed to be a representation of Hermes, the messenger god and a psychopomp who escorted souls to the Underworld. Not sure about the Princess yet, but Cocteau apparently never meant for her to be portrayed as actual death. Interesting.

Meanwhile, at the Inspector’s office, both Aglaonice and Orpheus’ poet friends (supposedly) are accusing Orpheus of being involved in Jacques’ disappearance. The Inspector turns them away, just as Heurtebise and Orpheus reconvene in town. While Orpheus didn’t find the Princess, Heurtebise says that she came by, saying that he could stay with the married couple for now.

Speaking of the Princess, we see her at night, staring over Orpheus. And her eyes are...strange. They seem artificial, and it bothers the EVER-LOVING SHIT out of me. And the whole affair isn’t helping Eurydice either, as she’s tired of Orpheus’ obsession with the car, and is planning on going to Aglaonice for advice. Heurtebise tries to stop her from doing so, but she insists. But when she goes...the motorcyclists come for her. And she’s dead. As proven when the Princess arrives through the mirror.

Alongside her comes Jacques, acting as the Princess’ servant. She notes to him that their work isn’t easy, and couldn’t be done if she were dressed in the way the humans portray her. So, she is seemingly Death, or at least an aspect of Death. Obviously, as we’re talking about the Greek story, we can assume that she’s meant to be Hades in particular. But, we’ll see. It’s also confirmed, by the way, that the mysterious messages are indeed Jacques’ poetry, recited by him on the radio waves from beyond the grave. Neat.

Heurtebise is clearly upset with what’s just happened to Eurydice. He asks if the Princess actually had orders to kill Eurydice. She avoids the question, and guesses correctly that Heurtebise has fallen in love with Eurydice. He confirms this, and counters with the fact that the Princess has seemingly fallen in love with ORPHEUS. The plot fucking THICKENS.

Good place to pause, I think. Halfway mark and all. See you in Part Two!

[pauldron-pieces]

Rumon 'Crushjaw' Thaerskaine's Backstory: Rearmed

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Crushjaw-centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Crushjaw. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Black Hill: Low Force

[Crushjaw is a level zero barbarian, and his appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including semi-graphic depictions of gore and mentions of bile/vomit. Reader discretion is advised. Stay safe!]

He would have loved to claim he had been goaded into it. Would have loved to say that it wasn't his fault or explain that it hadn't happened like he remembered. Except Rumon knew all too well that responsibility didn't work like that. His memory may be faulty, but the proof was in Krae's testimony.

Himself and his childhood friend Krae had both been interested in the same individual from a neighboring clan, the two of them butting heads over the object of their affections more than once. So of course when Krae came to him with news of an enormous ogre that had set up its stomping grounds near one of their trade routes, Rumon fairly leaped at the opportunity to fight the beast and claim victory over it. After all, what better way to prove his worth and earn a name from the clan leader than with an act of heroism?

Krae naturally came along, saying that he feared the ogre may be too tall an order for even Rumon to handle. This just made Rumon all the more determined to manage the creature single handedly.

They set up camp near where Krae claimed to have spotted the beast, the two goliaths joking and swapping drinks from a canteen of strong spirits. Truly, until both of them had set their sights on the same person, they had been brothers in all but blood. Rumon still regarded Krae as such, trusting to a fault, and thusly he missed the shifty glances the older goliath kept aiming at the treeline while the sun set.

"Come, Rumon! The moon is high. With its light, surely we shall find the ogre." Krae had cajoled after Rumon was fairly drunk, "unless, of course, you are afraid of a night hunt?"

"I fear nothing!" Rumon had boasted, "the gods are with me this night. You shall witness my triumph, Krae!"

Bold words. His grandmatron had always said that pride went before a fall.

Rumon recalled very little of the hunt after that, his memory muddied with drink. Despite Krae's insistence that the moonlight was sufficient, Rumon's recollections were oddly dim. He vaguely remembered stumbling around beneath the thick spruce canopy, his warhammer clumsy in his hands.

He remembered swinging with all his might and striking something that gave under the assault, the liquor Krae had plied him with steeling his ringing blows to something that rivaled even Varandur's mountain shapers.

He remembered when the weight of his weapon suddenly vanished, and there was a rancid gust of seethingly-hot air that blew his hair to the side. The roar was strange to his ear, far-off and faded. Emptiness rang too loud for him to hear as he wondered where his weapon had gone.

Rumon remembered realizing that he was flat on his stomach on the ground.

Where the memory became razor-sharp once more was when he tried to push himself up onto his elbows, and found his body woefully unbalanced. The goliath searched for the source of the problem and quickly located it, the sight of what was left of his mangled right arm more than enough to jerk him back to stark sobriety.

It had been severed at the elbow, though the term was a bit too kind for the injury. The appendage looked more as though it had been crushed with something that might have had an edge at one point.

Rumon had raised his eyes, mind grinding to a halt when he spotted his warhammer several yards away with his right hand still gripping the haft. Past that, along a trail marked by shattered tree trunks, slumped an enormous ogre clutching a slab of a sword. It seemed closer to a chunk of masonry than a true weapon, and Rumon's stomach had churned as he realized what had happened.

Mercifully, the agony had struck him and he promptly vomited before losing consciousness.

×+×

Gods only knew how long he had slept after that. It was a miracle he had even made it back to their healer; apparently Krae had all but carried him home. The embarrassment from that instance alone would have been enough to kill Rumon, never mind the fact that his dominant arm was now nothing but a bandaged stump.

The grandmatron would have none of it though, her craggy face somehow even more stern when Rumon managed to finally rouse himself.

"You have been named Crushjaw, little pebble. A worthy title." Her tone was icy. "I have gone through much trouble to save you. I am indebted to our chieftain."

Crushjaw. Rumon's face fairly burned with shame. "The ogre-?"

"Krae slew the beast. He brought one of its tusks back as proof. The chieftain was quite flattered by his offering, praising Krae for his accomplishment and naming him Tuskclaimer. As for his name for you..." The matron bowed her head, her expression one of grief.

"Grandma…"

"Don't you grandma me, little pebble!" The elderly goliath erupted, glaring fiercely at Rumon. Her eyes filled with tears as she went on, "you are anathema now, dear Rumon. Once you are able to walk, the clan leader has declared that you are to leave. I am no longer your grandmother. This place is no longer your home."

"'Leave'?" Rumon repeated stupidly. It felt as though everything was crashing down around him, his mind racing to comprehend. Their clan hadn't had an expulsion in his entire lifetime, wariness and confidence found too equally amongst their ranks. Compounding his confusion was the claim that Krae had killed the ogre. Rumon had been certain... "I understand." He said finally. "I am unworthy of your kindness. Thank you."

He couldn't comprehend why his grandmother wept harder at his acceptance. This was the way it had always been.

×+×

Crushjaw.

It certainly felt as though he was being crushed to death. Loneliness was a miserable traveling companion.

Rumon, very nearly unable to fend for himself, resorted to setting small game snares in the uncharted wilds. It was a child's way of hunting, but he was too hungry to be bothered by the prick to his already-bruised pride.

The few people he did encounter seemed overly wary of him. After all, a one-armed, exiled goliath would be the type to resort to petty theft.

But he wasn't a threat. He had never been a threat before, aside from just being large. Rumon couldn't understand the sudden shift in demeanor; he couldn't possibly fathom the air of desperation that his injury gave off.

It began to get easier when the weather cooled, the bulk of the thick cloak from his grandmother concealing his missing arm. The wound had not healed prettily, but Rumon knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He hadn't died. That was all he could hope for.

He wandered alone for most of the cold times, his only companions the booming pines that fractured from the weight of the ice and snow. His thoughts had a habit of straying to Krae, and he wondered what had truly transpired that evening more than he would care to admit. Had he imagined killing the ogre? Was his mind that addled by the strength of the drink they had shared?

Surely Krae wouldn't have lied. Nothing good ever came of lying or taking the credit for someone else's accomplishments. Rumon eventually settled on the assumption that his memory must have been faulty.

After that, the whole world seemed a gray and unforgiving place, and the goliath could feel himself fading into something of the same type. Something ragged and harsh, no longer a proud warrior but a lamed animal with a crushed jaw.

That is, until the day he encountered an old elf hanging by the leg from his horse's saddle.

"You there!" The elven man shouted once he seemed to notice the large individual sauntering up through the trunks of barren maples. "Don't suppose you'd be able to lend me a hand?"

Rumon, for whatever reason, found himself throwing his mantle back over his shoulder to reveal the stump of his arm. "Good thing you only need one hand, sirrah. It's all I have to offer." He remarked.

The elf nearly died of laughter, already beet-red in the face from being stuck hanging upside down for so long. To Rumon's shock however, when he circled around the horse to help the elf dislodge himself, he realized that the leg that wasn't caught in the stirrups was severed at the knee. The fellow's pant leg was neatly pinned at the joint, padding sewn into the area as if to mimic a kneecap.

Before Rumon could say anything though, the wiry elf explained, "I lost my leg a few miles back, and this damned animal dragged me along until she got bored. Don't suppose you can accompany me a little ways until I relocate it? Thing is worth its weight in gold."

The goliath easily hefted the older fellow into the saddle before his words caught up with him. "You...lost your leg?" Rumon blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I was unaware that elves could regrow limbs."

The elf looked at him a little sideways, muttering something about still waters running deep before he just shook his head and laughed, "no son, it's a genuine Chuck original. A fake leg."

A fake leg. Rumon seized the horse's bridle, desperation giving his voice a new level of gravel as he begged for more information. The elf shrewdly bargained with him: in exchange for help in reclaiming his prosthetic, he would gladly share what information he had.

"My name is Shawell." The elf introduced himself. "And you are…?"

Rumon hesitated for a moment. "Crushjaw." If people were to know his name, they would serve as a reminder of his foolhardy pride. A constant warning to heed in the future.

"Pleasure to meet you, Crush." Shawell tugged on the reins, turning his mare back in the direction he had come from. "We'd better hurry. We'll lose the daylight."

Crush. Rumon cracked his first smile in months, positioning himself on the elf's left side to steady him in the saddle.

[cxptain-capsicle]

That Wears the Crown

Pairings: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader

Warning: just fluffy and happy for the most part

{Part 1}   Masterlist      Taglist 

“I’m leaving tomorrow and dawn, I couldn’t stand seeing you marry another man. If you wish to come with me, meet me at the southwest stables.” With that he left in the direction of his quarters, leaving you with a decision to make. “My lady,” A frail voice said from behind you. You turned to see one of the handmaidens assigned to you. “The Prince sent me to fetch you.” “Tell the Prince that I feel unwell, I wish to be left undisturbed.” You had the words out of your mouth quickly. “Yes My lady,” The girl said softly before hurrying away.                                                      ______ You couldn’t go, you weren’t going to, but then why were you loading up a bag full of clothes. While everyone was at the banquet the night before you snuck into the servants quarters and grabbed the most inconspicuous dress (making sure to leave a few coins behind for new ones). You had a large bag of coins that was tucked into a belt that was hidden beneath your skirt. Finally, you grabbed a dark emerald cloak, it wasn’t the most inconspicuous but it was all that you had to keep you warm.

Were you really going to leave? You took a look around the room that you had been staying in for several weeks, taking what may be your last look at the inside of a castle ever again. The bright and deep colors that were a sign of wealth and royalty. The delicately made wooden chairs with satin upholstery. The velvet draped that glowed in the sunlight. The sunlight. I’m leaving tomorrow and dawn Have you missed him? Are you too late? You opened your door quietly but it was still far too early for anyone to be awake. You swiftly made your way down the south staircase that led you outside not too far from the stables. Once outside you threw your hood up hoping that none of the servants would see you face. When you turned into the stable the only one there was the stable boy, and an empty space where a horse used to be. “Boy,” You turned to the wide eyed child. “Has anyone left today?” The boy stood there staring up at you in fear. You tossed him a small gold coin which he bit into to check it’s authenticity. “Has a man left today?” “Y-yes, the prince left close to half an hour ago.” He stuttered. “Did he say where he was going?” The boy only sputtered incomprehensible. “Did he say where he was going? I’m not going to tell the King.” You realized that Steve must have told him not to tell anyone. “He said he was going south to a village that lays on the edge of the two kingdoms.” You smiled at the boy, thankful for his help. “Oh thank you boy!” You embraced the boy before pulling a few coins from your bag. “Okay listen to me very carefully, I need a horse, once I’m gone get two horses from the north stable and bring them here. If anyone asks if you’ve seen us tell them that the Prince and I went north towards the city, tell them we were going to the church to be married. The two horses will be missing from the north stable so they won’t suspect anything of you. Most importantly, never tell anyone the truth.” The boy shook his head and looked at the coins in shock, the boy had probably never seen so much money let alone held it. The boy got you the smallest mare so that you could easily mount it. You gave the boy another thank you before speeding off into the direction that the Prince went. You knew the village that the boy had mentioned, it was a large dispute in the war over which kingdom it belonged to; it was about an hours journey from the castle but at your speed it would only take half that time. You soon approached the village, slowing down to a trot and pulling your hood far over your face. You scanned the village for any shop that might have peeked Steve’s attention. A small pub caught your eye especially the black steed tied out front. You rode up to the pub and hopped off of your mare. The black horse was clean and polished, it’s bridle was shiny leather with gold pendants. You slowly approached the horse, careful not to startle it. Bringing your fingers up to touch the pendant on the horse's shoulder, the royal pendant, you heard footsteps behind you. Before you could turn around you felt the sharp point of a knife at the back of your neck even through your cloak. “Step away from my horse ma’am.” Steve’s smooth as honey voice said from behind you. You slowly brought your hand up to pull down your hood before turning around to see that he also had a cloak draping over him. “Y/n,” His response seemed involuntary like the shock of seeing you standing before him pulled it out. His grip loosened on his knife letting it fall to the ground before his grip came around you. “I thought you weren’t coming.” He dropped his head and buried it in the crook of your neck. “I lost track of time.” You explain as you brought your hands up to card them through his hair. “Come with me,” He pulled your hood back up and placed his hand on the small of your back, bringing you into the pub, pushing you past the crowd and into the cellar. “Won’t we get in trouble for being in here?” “I know the owner, he said he would let me stay here until the guards have cleared the village.” He explained to you. “That may be quite some time, we need to get as far from here as we can while we still can.” You opposed him. “Why is that?” You explained to him what you had told the boy. “We should head to the east border,” You proposed. “There is farmland there that is so deep in the woods your guards will never find it, neither will mine. There are acres of land, no one will know that we’re there.” “Okay then,” He nodded. “Farm life it is.” The two of you headed east as you proposed, you led Steve through the woods for so long that he began to doubt the story of your hidden farmland. Steve was half way through a complaint when you stopped him. “Steven darling,” You turned back to see him. “What?” He sighed and looked up at you. “We’re here.” You pulled your horse to the side so he could see the end of the trees that led to rolling hills as far as the eyes could see. His mouth fell open wide and he strode past you to see more. “I’ve never seen so much empty land in my life.” He said softly. “What?” You chuckled at him. “My father and I found this place when we were coming back from a fishing trip “He doesn’t sound all too bad.” Steve grinned at you. “He pushed me in the lake.” You deadpanned to him which caused him to let out a belly laugh that pulled a smile out of you. “Does anyone live out here?” He questioned. “A few.” You began to continue forward. “This land is large enough that you could live here for years and never know that you had neighbors.” “This is on the border of the kingdoms, why is there no war here?” “Supposedly when your kingdom invaded two families came together and slaughtered the whole militia, when mine invaded it had the same outcome, the kingdoms decided it was better to leave them be.” You explained. Steve’s body stiffened quickly. “But that’s just folk lore.” You giggled.

“Sounds like wonderful company.” He threw out sarcastically.

You saw a cottage or two while exploring the land until Steve found a small pond, hidden by a hill and far away from any other people. This would be your new home. Steve had visited your closest neighbors, an elderly couple, the women blinded from illness and their grandson. He traded work for tools that he could use to build a small cottage for you. These people had never left their land so they posed no threat of recognizing either of you. Steve came home each night, exhausted from work in the sun only to work throughout the nights but soon you had a roof and four walls. One day Steve had returned from a hunting trip where he shot one large buck, you hadn’t seen so much food since you had left the castle about three weeks ago. You sat outside nurturing the fire you were building to cook the food when you saw the young grandson riding quickly towards you. The trotting brought Steve out of the cottage. “What is it boy?” Steve called out. His white undershirt was yellowed from sweat and dirt, his face was no longer clean shaved but now covered in a beard. “The Prince and Princess have escaped the castle,” He panted, out of breath from the ride. “The royal guards passed the woods but grandfather said they gave no notice to our land and continued up the border.” “Thank you son.” You nodded to the boy as calmly as you could. A wave of relief washed over Steve, your plan may have just worked. Steve thanked the boy and sent him away. “I think such good news calls for a feast.” You grinned up at Steve and motioned to the cooked food.

7 years later

“Y/n,” Your unofficial husband called your name. Steve had proposed to you several years ago but neither of you wanted to risk getting officially married in a church. You held a small ceremony with your neighbors who had become like family to you. “Yes darling?” You came outside to see what he wanted when you saw the young boy who was now a grown man coming over the hill. “The King is dead!” The boy screamed as he cane over the hill. You looked over to Steve in shock. Steve’s father had died not long after you fled the castle and Prince Grant assumed the throne with no Queen at his side. You suspected that he did not wish to share his power. “The King has died, a lance to the heart.” Only he could find a way to be killed in a joust. “There is no heir to the throne.” “What of the King’s mother?” You asked the boy. “She lives, but she wishes for her son to take the throne, the one whom fled all those years ago.” The boy explained. “Yes, I remember.” You nodded. “Thank you, you may return home.” The boy nodded and turned back towards his cottage. “We must go back.” Steve spoke up. “No Steve we mustn’t.” You shook your head at him. “You may go back but I shall stay, I would be hung if I went back.” “No you won’t.” He took your hands in his. “You shall be Queen.” You scoffed at him. “I thought we left to escape this?” You turned away from him. “That was when there was a King, Y/n we could go home, we could get married, we could live without fear, you could see your sisters, your mother.” Your mother still lived, she gave the throne to your sister Mary not too long after you left. “And what if someone recognizes us before we reach the castle?” You turned to him.   “No one will recognize us, you know we don’t look too royal anymore.” He joked. It was true your hair had grown much longer and without the intricate braids and large dresses you were nearly unrecognizable. Steve’s beard was long and dark, hiding the lower half of his face, his hair had grown past his ears, you cut his hair once it grew too long for him to work with but never more. You sighed and turned around to look up at him. “Prepare the horses.” Steve smiled at you and turned on his heels to get the same horses you had left on. It nearly crushed your heart to leave your home behind, the house that Steve had built for you in those first weeks. The cottage was the first place that had ever felt like home to either of you. “We must leave now if we’re going to make it to the funeral.” The funeral would be your only chance to sneak into the castle and see the queen. You mounted your horse and rode it up the hill before looking at your house one more time, no smoke rolling through the chimney, no oil lamp lit in the window. Going down the hill and past your neighbors house you saw the grandfather waving you to slow down. “What is it?” You asked the man. “Are you off to the castle?” The man asked to which you nodded. The man took one hand off your reigns and held it in his. “Be careful Princess.” He said softly as he looked far into your eyes. “How did you-?” You sputtered. “I was a royal guard.” He brought his other hand to trace the royal pendant on your horse's bridle. “I guarded the young princesses, you were only a few months old, but your eyes have not changed.” The man gave you a sad smile. “Why didn’t you turn us in?” You shook your head in shock. “I fled as well,” The man began. “I felt as though you were brought here for a purpose. I was meant to protect you.” “Thank you.” You let a tear fall down your cheek. “I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to return.” You choked out. “I’ll water your flowers.” The man smiled at you which caused you to laugh. “We have to go!” Steve yelled at you from far in the distance. You gave the man one last smile before riding to meet Steve. _____ “The Queen is in the throne room awaiting your condolences.” A guard yelled into the crowd. Steve and you filed into line with your hoods far over your head. You began to near the queen, and your hands began to shake with nerves. “Next!” A guard yelled, you recognized him from your time in the castle. Steve promptly stepped forward, lifting his head so the Queen could see his face. The gasp that escaped her lips echoed through the hall as she stood to her feet. “Steven..” Her voice quivered as she extended her hands to him. Steve took them and wrapped his arms around his mother. “Send everyone home.” The Queen told her guards. “My son has come home.” Murmurs spread throughout the room and the guards began pushing people out. A guard stepped in front of you and began to push you away. You protested and tried to push against him. “Wait!” Steve shouted and came to your rescue. “She’s with me.” He pulled you past the guards and looked you in the eyes, checking to see if you were okay. The guards looked at the queen and she nodded at them. “Mother,” Steve brought you up to stand in front of his mother. “You remember Princess (Y/n).” “Of course,” She nodded slowly. “The girl who my son fled the castle for.” “I’m so sorry you highness-” You began but you were cut off by her embrace. “Thank you, girl.” Her voice quivered. “He was so happy with you, I begged his father not to marry you to Grant.” “Oh...you’re welcome.” You said uneasily causing Steve’s warm laugh to make you feel safe again.

35 years later

“We’re so proud of you.” Your now official husband said to your son, the newest King. James was a good boy, much like his father, he led with his heart. James was fully grown and in his twenties now, it was time that he take the throne.

“Why must you leave?” James looked at you.

“Oh darling,” You took your son in your arms. “The royal life is done with your father and I, we gave you the map though so you can always find us.” James nodded at you.

“I’m sure it won’t be too long before we come to see you.” Natasha, your son's wife said to you. You smiled at her knowing that your son and crown were in good hands.

“Is she still here?” A yell filled the halls as you saw you youngest sister Agnes running up to you. “Oh I thought you’d left!” She wrapped her arms around you. Agnes was not the small child who you saved from invaders so long ago. She was in her fifties now, widowed and left with two sons. Mary, the queen, came in calmly after her.

“So you’re taking one from mom’s book, retiring.” She smiled at you.

“It’s time.” You nodded to her. “If you ever need anything-”

“I know.” She nodded a single tear running down her cheek. You brought your hand up to wipe it away. “I love you my little sisters so much.” You brought Agnes and Mary in a tight embrace. ______ Coming over the hill it felt like you had been gone for only a few days. You excitedly rode your horse down the hill and hopped off with giddy. You walked around the house to see every view that you missed so much. When you reached the far corner of the cottage you stopped in shock. Beyond your feet was the flower bed, still as bright as the day you had left them. You knew the man must have passed by now, his grandson must be the one taking care of them. “What’s this?” Steve came from behind you. “He said he’d water my flowers.” You simply stated. You never told Steve what the man had told you that day, that was between you and your guard. “Well,” Steve wrapped his arms around your waist. The two of you were no longer the two young heirs who fled the castle but even after all this time your vigor for life and love for each other had never faded. “We’re home.”

@futuremrspeterparkerholland @camiidesandoval​ @raekenliar​ @zabdisamor​ @ouchiemyfinger​ @peterpandco​ @delicately-important-trash​ @whatdafricklefrackle​ @saturn-aka-six​  @teellmeyourwish​ @fearlessprncss​ @jillanaholland​

[secret-engima]

What's the Little Nox universe? Hi, I'm new and I found you through your HZD x FFXV crossover which has a too long for me to write in this ask. I know the barest minimum of FFXV -- let alone the FF universe on its which is close enough to zero -- but I started the game the other day because I'm almost done with HZD... and I stumble upon this Little Nox thing that is the cutest stuff ever even if I don't know half of what I should about FFXV or FF in general. Hence this ask XD

Hi! Welcome aboard my crazy! Can I just say real quick that I ... ADORE the fact that you found me through my crossover? That thing gets barely any reviews on my Ao3 and FF accounts so knowing someone reads it (and knows the HZD side of it) makes me smile.

Really quick, ineffective summary of FF: don’t worry about playing FFXV before anything else because all but a handful are stand-alone games. Final Fantasy is just a Brand and all Final Fantasy games thus share some world-building traits such as the name of currency (gil), the use of potions and phoenix downs, the existence of chocobos (think Giant Adorable Ridable Chickens), some flora and fauna and some reaccuring minor characters (there are two characters named Bigs and Wedge after the Star Wars pilots who always pop up SOMEWHERE in an FF game as something of a running gag/cameo for example). But when it comes to overarching PLOT and major characters, each game is a new thing unless it’s popular enough to spawn spin-offs (such as FF7′s expanded universe, which had several spin-off games and a movie).

Hopefully Non-Spoiler summary of FFXV: Evil Technological Empire of Evil offers a supposed peace treaty with the Magical Kingdom Of the Good Guys after about 100+ of intermittent war, with one of the conditions being that the MC, Prince Noctis, marries their Oracle Princess, Lunafreya. Insomnia (the magical kingdom of good guys) accepts the treaty because it’s that or continue to slowly loose ground to the empire’s superior technological might and thus four bros consisting of the Husband-to-Be, his buff bodyguard Gladio, his faithful Team Mom advisor Ignis, and his civilian photography loving friend Prompto head off on a road trip to go to a neutral city to get Noctis married.

OBVIOUSLY things go Sideways stupid fast because Evil Empire of Evil™.

Also no one dares travel at night because of a plague of creatures called daemons that are slowly getting stronger and eviler and more of a threat to the world. Noctis is going to have to Deal With This at some point but that falls under spoilers so if you haven’t already been horribly spoiled by my blog or want to AVOID spoilers than I shall stop there.

Also if you want to avoid spoilers ... read my blog with caution. I have tagged literally nothing as spoilers even though I talk about late game meta and lore A LOT because I honestly never expected to drag newbies into my fandom.

If you DON’T mind spoilers or are just curious, feel free to drop me an ask! Or read my blog, the spoilers are all in there somewhere. Anyway-

 My Little Nox verse is ... sorta complicated? Okay so- I have a HUGE weakness for time-travel shenanigans, so I have multiple AUs for FFXV where Noctis (the MC) time-travels either alone, with his three bros, or with Ardyn who you may or may not have met yet depending on where you are in the game. ANYWAY, the AU where Noctis and Ardyn go back in time together is called Nox verse because Noctis can’t exactly parade around with the name of the young Crown Prince who ALSO exists. Since Noctis is terrible at thinking up cover names and needs something similar enough to his old name that he’ll respond, he calls himself Nox.

Now, in Nox verse Prime, Nox is 7 years older than his non-time-travel counterpart, which leads everyone to believe that Nox is a royal Oops baby from back when his dad was traveling the world. Because Nox and Ardyn travel together and Nox is always jokingly calling him Uncle, everyone thinks that Ardyn is Nox’s mother’s brother who is taking care of the teenling Oops Prince. They later get discovered by Regis, who takes in his son and ... sort of brother-in-law.

Of course, SOMEBODY yote the brilliant idea of an AU of my AU where instead of coming back in time OLDER than his counterpart, Nox was YOUNGER. Way younger. So young that his body couldn’t handle his adult magic/memories and so he kinda mentally regressed to a kid, even if he still has his adult memories in something of a dreamlike state. Ardyn, who never once took a childcare class or raised a kid, promptly panic-rampages his way across the local timeline, trying to figure out how to CARE FOR SMOL CHILD and ends up making everyone believe that the Evil Empire of Evil attempted to clone the royal good guy family and that the teeny clone is Nox. Regis, upon discovering a supposed clone child, immediately takes him in and raises him as his own because Regis is the Dadliest Dad to Ever Dad (his official in-game Epithet is the Father I’m not even joking).

Being a sucker for Fluff and Drama that I am, I immediately took the idea and ran with it, thus spawning the Little Nox verse spinoff of my Nox verse.

I ... hope that ramble was helpful?

[likeshipsonthesea]

If you're still doing prompts can I ask for 54 and 98 for either Nurseydex or whiskeynurseydex

i am still doing prompts! however, this is the last one for the mash-ups, and I have a bunch of the “straight to the good part” prompts i need to fill, and i have tons of hw to get done and a midterm to study for, so no more prompts for a bit. but thanks to you, and to everyone else, who sent them in. they made me very happy :)

for the au mash-up prompts, 54. Secret Relationship and 98. Curses. for nurseydex bc while i love that someone wants me to write something other than nurseydex, i suck at poly. so here we go!

let’s set the scene; on a warm spring day in late april, a christening was held.

this christening was not your average christening. there was no priest, no water, no religious symbolism as far as the eye could see. the pews (because it was held in a church, but only for size reasons) were not filled with daintily dressed grandmothers and bored nephews tugging at their too-tight ties. no these pews were filled with an arrangement of gorgeous goblins with glittering fingers full of jewels, djins bearing gifts of gold and sirens come out of the water to get a glimpse of the breathtaking nurse child recently borne unto the lovely trio of parents

(nursey’s mother (bio) descends from a long line of magic-adjacents, fortune tellers and psychics and the like. she particularly has charged dreams, one of which predicted the birth of her son, derek, the day before she met the father. nursey’s father (bio, and aro, so platonically in love with his mother) is just really really charming, like there was probably a veela way back in his family line, so now his powers manifest in closing business deals and making people swoon. nursey’s mama (non-bio, but wife of his mother) is a witch, plain and simple, and all the women in her family tracing back to ancient times were witches, too.)

so on the day of this christening, the reason for this christening, was for all the various magical relatives and friends to come and wish good fortune upon this trifecta of a magic child.

there was only one problem.

“he was born on valentine’s day?” nursey’s mama’s mother yells, in a private room within the church, exactly seven minutes before the event will begin.

nursey’s mama winces. “this is why we didn’t want to tell you.” nursey’s mother and father stand just behind her, supportive, but cowering slightly under the ire of such a great witch.

nursey’s grandmama then begins speaking rapid (angry) spanish, many of which are curses (which, incidentally, are some of the few words nursey’s mother and father recognize) and nursey’s mama tries to placate her to no avail.

the reason for this, you see, is because being born on the day of love is a curse unlike no other. centuries and centuries ago there was an etiquette established that magic would not interfere in the ways of love (that, and death, but that’s a story for another time) because love was too sacred. platonic, romantic, familial love, all of it, was a bond stronger than even the most powerful of dark magicks, and it was forbidden to be tampered with.

then the whole valentine fiasco happened and a curse was placed upon the day that all magickal babies born unto it would be cursed with a strife-torn love life.

“how could you let this happen?” nursey’s grandmama finally yells, ending her tirade.

the three parents exchange a look. mama turns back to her mother and winces. “we forgot?”

though all of nursey’s parents are magic in their own way, and believe to an extent the lore of their peoples, the valentine’s day curse seemed like one of those tales magickal parents tell their kids to entertain them at bedtime. what kind of magic would a day full of gross chocolates and plastic presents really hold? valentine’s day was a joke.

but in the afterwards, with their darling son derek asleep in his (secretly runed) hospital crib, they all remembered the date and winced simultaneously at the thought of telling their families. mom’s family took it okay– they had always lived on the fringes of magic, and therefore only took to it partially– and dad’s family is so far away from the truly magickal aspect of their heritage that they merely shrugged it off. they knew mama’s family would not react the same.

and so the christening was held, still, and the gifts were bestowed, but mama’s family– her strong and sturdy mother, the short but fierce grandmother, and the wrinkled and curled great-grandmother with no teeth and a magickal slap that would still knock you out– gave gifts that were pointed.

“you shall find solace in the magickal world,” nursey’s grandmother said, rubbing her thumb to his forehead. “we will love you like no one else.”

“you will have an unparalleled empathy,” his great-grandmother whispers, tickling his toes. “you will love like no other.”

and his great-great-grandmother, weathered and wizened and full of an untapped power, smiles her gummy grin at him and tells him, “despite it all, you will be loved. you will have one great love, my boy, and you will have the fight to keep it. i promise you this.”

and so it was true.

*~*~*

flash-forward to twenty years later.

“fuck off, poindexter,” nursey says, grinning, as he lightly hip-checks dex into the boards. dex rolls his eyes beneath him helmet, but nursey can see the smile tugging at his lips.

“stop fooling around, you two!” bitty yells, from across the ice. “we have a frozen four to prepare for!”

the d-pair exchanges a grin and sets off.

it’s nearing the end of their junior year. it’s been–eventful. living together at that stage did not work (nursey reeling from the loss of hockey, dex recovering from the aftermath of The Kiss, neither of them particularly ready to accommodate another person’s trauma with their own) and dex moving out felt like an ending neither of them wanted but neither of them knew how to fix–or could fix, for a while

and they worked for it– worked for this– when they got back from break. hockey was a good starting point–despite the rest of it, they always worked well on the ice. from there, they learned a language they would tolerate, one without sounds and without the capacity for anger. they worked out together, silent, pushing one another without directly doing so. they would perform their chores without a word, working together, clinical and efficient.

they began to find a rhythm, and with that, their words. dex explained in starts and stops how quiet it got back home after they all knew his captains were in love (and how he was okay with it, probably too okay, will couldn’t be– he wasn’t– right?) and nursey gestured nervously as he explained how hockey had been the one thing he could always come back to, even when the words weren’t coming out right, and how strained his parents had become since mama had flown back to chile to deal with the death of her great-grandmother, leaving mom and dad without their third part

and things got–better, slowly. and they can chirp without malice and kill it on the ice and smile at each other over team breakfast and it’s– it’s good. finally.

“fuck that’s good,” nursey groans, throwing his head back against the wall of dex’s basement hideaway so he doesn’t focus too heavily on the orange head bobbing below because he knows he would come too quickly, then.

okay, maybe it’s more than just “good”

maybe after a few roadies sharing a room, after some late-night tipsy conversations in the reading room, maybe after a stumble-step kiss and too little reservations, they fell into bed together and fit and some other things fell into place, too. whatever. it’s good. it’s–chill.

and in the afterward, after they’ve both gotten off and cuddled for as long as they dare and nursey creaks his way back up to his lonely room, if nursey wishes that they didn’t have to hide, it’s whatever. they both agreed to this. it’s still the best way to handle the tentativeness of this thing between them

not that they don’t love or trust their friends or whatever, it’s just it took them so long to get here to get to a place where they can talk, or at least communicate in their way, when things get hard. they’ve carved out a space for themselves and if anyone else touches it or sees it or–god forbid– judges it, well. they don’t know if they can keep it stable when the world outside tries to shake it.

but then it happens– then the final four comes and they make it, they make it to the last game and it’s gone into overtime and they all want it so badly, for themselves for bitty and then nursey sees the opening and sends it to whiskey who shoots down the ice towards the opposing goal and bits is right there, ready, and nursey can see it happening like a premonition

(sidenote: it actually is a premonition. nursey’s powers manifest in clumsy charm and slightly precognitive powers. it’s great in bed bc he experiences orgasms twice, but we’re not talking about that now)

and bitty tucks it in right behind the goalie’s leg and the buzzer screams and they all shoot into one another in this giant hug of energy and bliss and camaraderie

(and even if nursey didn’t have dex, even if they hadn’t worked it out, he would still have this, still have this unending unquestionable love for his teammates, reciprocated and stronger than any curse could hope to be)

and then nursey sees dex, helmet gone and smile wide, and he pulls nursey in to this tight tight hug and nursey can’t help it. he says it. says, “i love you,” right in dex’s ear, loud enough over the roar of the win, and dex pulls back, smile now down turned but wide, disbelieving, his eyes shining with– fuck.

“i love you too,” dex says, but nursey can only read his lips, and he wants to hear the words, he wants to hear the proof, but that comes later, after the locker room and the parties and the euphoria dies down.

quiet in dex’s basement bed, lying together, mussed and elated;

“you sure?” nursey asks into dex’s chest, not even quite sure if dex is awake or he said it loud enough to hear, or if he wanted dex to hear.

“yes,” dex says, sleepy but resolute. “i love you.”

nursey smiles, and falls asleep with the smile on his face.

*~*~*

that’s all well and good and all, but then they have to deal with The Families. dex’s takes it surprisingly– neutral. they accept nursey and are kind to him, but they stumble over things like room arrangements and call nursey dex’s “friend” enough times to prick at dex’s skin, but they try. “that’s all i can really ask for, you know?” dex says, on an abandoned beach later, just the two of them and the waves, and nursey hears the ‘i wish i could ask for more, i wish they could be better’ but instead of responding to that, he just hugs him close. it’s the answer dex needed, anyway.

the harder part is nursey’s family. they’ve always been hesitant about him dating anyone– they were suspicious of shitty for the longest time but finally realized that he was straighter than straight could be and let their suspicions go– and nursey knows about the curse of his birthday (how couldn’t he, with all the family birthday parties full of sad shakes of heads and pitying looks) but, like his parents, tried to believe it wasn’t true

(and maybe, one day, he’ll see the truth of it, but right now he’s too happy to speculate on things that have gone by)

mama, back now from her hometown, squints at dex all through dinner. she is the most magic of them all, and is attempting to use said magic to read dex for his intentions.

dex chews awkwardly and hopes that he isn’t upsetting any rich people customs he doesn’t know about. nursey, along with his mom and dad, attempt to derail the staring to no avail.

after dinner, after dessert and dex offering to help clean and thoroughly charming nursey’s father, and talking about nerdy science things with nursey’s mom and making her laugh, nursey is pleasantly full of food and love and then is instantly ripped from this feeling by his mama, who pulls him into the hall and hisses, “he’s magic.”

“what? dex isn’t magic.”

mama’s eyes are wider than nursey has ever seen them. he’s appropriately scared. “yes he is,” she insists. “i can smell it on him.”

“what? mama, stop smelling my boyfriend.”

but mama doesn’t let it go, not that night or after college, when he and dex move into an apartment in nyc together, or even later, when dex proposes one sleepy morning in bed and nursey cries and they have great sleepy-sex to the sound of their next door neighbor’s complaintive wall-pounding

the wedding is, unfortunately, a large affair. there are more poindexters than any tree could hold and “if we don’t invite ever last magickal acquaintance we’ll upset the whole community, derek” (said by his mom over a table full of potential invitees who all end up receiving save the dates)

and the wedding is, of course, beautiful, despite all of the craziness, the cake is divine (”i can’t believe that boy doesn’t have any magic,” mama says, shaking her head as she has her third piece of cake) and view (on a beach in maine, less travel for the poorer attendees) is gorgeous, even if dex kind of secretly wanted a winter wedding instead of a summer one (”we’ll go somewhere cold for the honeymoon,” nursey assured him, eyes twinkling, “we’ll be staying inside for the most part, anyway”) and all the magickal guests (glimmered to hide their more, um, unique aspects) enjoy it immensely.

but then nursey’s great grandmother and dex’s great grandmother find each other. the commotion draws the attention of everyone in the wedding party and dex and nursey approach, cautious, wondering if it’s the gay thing or something worse, only to find the two old women embracing and laughing.

“wut.” everyone, literally everyone, says, watching the interaction.

turns out, dex comes from a family with a decent amount of selkie blood in it. he can’t personally become a seal or anything (”what the fuck,” he says, staring at his little grandmother’s wrinkled, leathery, seal body) but he’s better in the water than most and can hold his breath for a really long time (”oh” nursey exclaims, after this is revealed, “that’s why you’re so good at eat-” dex manages to clap a hand over his mouth just in time.)

and since dex’s great grandmother is a selkie, she has relatives that are more involved in the magickal community than she is, and when she was a little girl, got dragged all around the world to christenings and birthdays and what have you.

and who was her childhood companion, the one who entertained her at all of these boring events? yup, you guessed it, nursey’s great grandmother.

“well, this has been a weird day,” dex says, later that night, in the hotel room they got nearby. “you’re magic, i’m magic, and our great-grandmothers were besties.”

“did you just say besties?”

“it’s been a weird day let me have this.”

and despite all the weirdness, they really do have a nice life together. nursey’s great grandmother was right–it’s a constant battle, but what love isn’t? it’s not a draining battle, it makes nursey better, constantly pushes him to be the best version of himself he can be, and the result–being with dex in all the little moments and the big– is so worth all the energy expended in the process.

and maybe it’s the curse. maybe the curse made them this way, but maybe it didn’t. maybe it’s just what they both needed, maybe dex would have been it for him no matter what day he was born. nursey likes to think so, anyway. curses and secrets and whatever– how could there ever be a world where he and dex didn’t end up here?

forget magic, that’s what’s really unbelievable.

[komatsunana]

Chronicles of Exandria: The Legend of Vox Machina II

I did this for the first volume, so I bought this artbook right away just to do it again. <3 My Winter’s Crest gift to all the critters.

The art. Once again I cannot overstate the stunning artwork of the critter community. I know some fans balk at the price, but all the artists are paid to have their art in the book - and I think the big price tag is well worth artist getting some compensation for their work (do correct me if I’m wrong). I won’t be sharing any photos of of the art, but most of it is available online already.

However, I will share this photo of the print on the box the book came in:

Excerpt of the Foreward:

“The memories in this book are real. They were created with love and laughter around a table with friends, and let loose on the wind to find what ears would listen.  The joys and pains of every winding turn still occupy our minds daily and if you are reading this, I suspect they live on in yours as well.  We were there.  We witnessed it unfold.” 

Vox Machina was only able to scry on Scanlan once, as seen in the episode Jugs and Rods, but some time after Scanlan warded himself against arcane sight.

The Mantle of the Tempest is described as “eternal autumn leaves.”

Keyleth goes on to rule with wisdom and grace.

Usually the Cobalt Soul has problems researching historical figures for whom there is little written word about...... With Taryon they had the opposite problem: there was too much! lmao. And 90% of it is believed to be embellished or flat out lies.

Nicknames that Taryon gave himself and were never used by anyone ever: “The Winsome Winner of Wildemount,” “Talented Tary,” “Golden-Maned Guardian of Good,” and “The Vindicator.”

Uvenda, the gnome in Vesrah, is still alive!! She’s stepped down as leader now and is the tale-teller of Vesrah.

The Ashari call the kraken that VM fought for Keyleth’s Aremente “Ulugrah the Requisite.”

Uvenda claims that Ulugrah, upon learning that the creatures it had trounced were legendary heroes (I’m assuming they mean Vox Machina), it boasts about it’s victory against them to anyone who will listen any who come to its lair in the Plane of Water.

Tova went by different epithets including: “The Bear,” “Little Half-Ear,” “The Bloody-Handed,” and “The Skin Changer.” After surviving the Hells thanks to Vax’s ring of invisibility, she gained the name “The Unseen Death.”  Little else can be verified about Tova, but none of her friends she went to with Dis survived.

Grey Hunt Lore

Lord Wolf de Rolo and Lady Melanie van Musel de Rolo were the leaders of the 4th reign of Whitestone. It was a political marriage and Melanie was particularly unhappy. She had a garden filled with flora and fauna from her home in Wildemont. The garden is now known as the Widow’s Garden and many of the plants were poisons that she used to slowly assassinate Lord Wolf with.  

After being injured in the Great Whitestone Fire, he couldn’t recover because of the poison and he died leaving Melanie the ruler. She decided to redraw the lines of the city walls, pushing into the Parchwood Timberlands which didn’t go well. Construction was plagued by accidents, animal attacks, and phantoms were reported (such as of Lord Wolf) - though the construction of a Temple of the Dawnfather went unhindered.  

Lady Melanie’s cousin was Ivan van Musel, a cleric, and he declared that Melanie had pissed off the Dawnfather by expanding without showing reverence. Ivan went into the forest after much mediation and was later found battered but alive atop a felled Direwolf.  Ivan had a vision in which the Lawbearer agreed to the expansion no further than where Ivan had felled the Direwolf and that from here on, a citizen of Whitestone must venture into the Parchwood when called to do so and be tested. 

Melanie created the title Grand Master of the Grey Hunt, the third ruling house of Whitestone, for Ivan.  The third house has since forth been in change of the Grey Hunt and managing the city’s relationship with the world beyond the city walls.

Hundreds of gold in property damage during Vox Machina’s stay at Dalen’s Closet while VM “relentlessly pranked” each other.

Whitestone became a thriving metropolis during VM’s year off - in part because of Allura keeping it safe during Thordak’s reign while everywhere else was ravaged.

K’yrrn - the dark elf that kidnapped Taryon - is from Xhorhas!

Though Tary could be called a fool, a braggart, a coward... in the moment he stood against his father’s selfishness and bigotry and forgave and reconciled with him is described as being more valiant than slaying.

Lionel Gayheart had “an unusual case of amnesia.”

JB Trickfoot continued to work in Whitestone’s library and it’s thanks to many of her notes that the Cobalt Soul has as much as they do on Vox Machina.

“Uh, yes, the very first thing I remember about meeting Vox Machina was when the red-haired lady jumped off a mountain.  It was grisly.  But what I’ll remember forever is what happened afterward.  The coin that Lady Vex’ahlia used, the glow of light, the power.  It brought her back to life.  They really were like gods.”

Taryon’s autobiography’s dedication:  “This book is dedicated to Lawrence.  But it is for my family.”

Taryon thinks his father was actually proud of Tary’s Darrington Brigade.

Tary never liked his father, but after returning home Tary began to love him.

Mariya, Tary’s mom, was part of the Brigade and took care of the injured warriors.

Maryanne, Tary’s sister, became the driving force behind the Darrington Fund charity and even gave up her home for those less fortunate than herself.  When she called Tary “brother” it was no longer an insult.

Tary is most proud that his mother finally has a united family, one to be proud of.

Kaylie Shorthalt talks a bit about Lionel - says he was a goofy son of a bitch. He kept talking to her about ducks though.  He once tried to show her his house, but he just took her to an oasis in the middle of desert that was full of ducks.

The Cobalt Soul doesn’t like to spread rumors but they do have theories of Lionel’s Marquesian mallard heritage.

Aes Adan, aka the Meat Man, rise to power coincided with the disappearance of several low to mid level criminals.

A scholar once went to visit Scanlan to interview him to see if the rumors were true that Scanlan had been the Meat Man.  The Scribe returned, unable to remember anything from his visit.  In his notebook were only crude drawings of ducks.  Scanlan still using that Modify Memory...

The fucking Cobalt Soul knows that Scanlan sacrificed the 9th level spell he was saving for Vax to stop Vecna from leaving.  It’s history folks.

For the folks out there who love the Briarwoods’ love for each other, some of an excerpt of Delilah’s journal:  “No matter the cost, my love, I will do it.  I care not how many must die, or how grave the sins must be that I commit.  I broke the world once for you, Sylas.  I shall do it again, and again, and again, for you.  For us.  Forever.”

Vecna envied the Raven Queen, as her followers did so not just because they feared her, but because they loved and respected her too.

Vecna threatened the assembled protectors of Vasselheim, saying that it would be the perfect place for ambush, but that’s no fun when there are many less-protected loved ones.  People he threatened include Earthbreaker Groon’s daughter (Desir), Vord’s family, J’mon’s concubines, all of Whitestone and particularly Cassandra.  And Young Velora Vessar, “playing alone in her room.”

The Everlight: Redeemer of All

“Comprehension is the only true measure of dominion.”

Pelor, The Dawnfather: The Primordial Light

“Faith is defined by the darkness we have not conquered.”

Ethrid Brokenbranch AKA Sprigg the Obnoxious gets his own book of history by the Cobalt Soul.  Autobiographical writings were found in the wreckage of his house

The Goddess Ioun: Our Knowing Mistress

“Comprehension is the only true measure of dominion.” (This is the same quote as for the Everlight - idk which one is the error.)

The Raven Queen: The Matron of Ravens

“By my grace, all are rendered equal.”

It is forbidden to study Arkhan the Cruel.

Vox Machina lived out the rest of their days in relative happiness and peace.

Percy’s magnum opus is the Clock Tower of Whitestone - a national treasure of Tal’Dorei.

Vex continued to rule as Baroness for a time after Percy’s passing.  Vex saw her bother’s spirit after the birth of her first child.  She reconciled somewhat with her father and showered Velora with love and blessings.

Kaylie went to school at the Alabaster Lyceum in Emon on Scanlan’s dime.

Pike and Scanlan had a lengthy courtship.

Tary’s book The Daring Trials and Tribulations of Ser Taryon Darrington contained an accurate account of his time with Vox Machina, even if nothing else is accurate.

Grog helped Earthbreaker Groon restore the Temple to the Stormlord while staying Vasselheim, defending his title in the Crucible.

The final, actual words of the book that aren’t a dedication or part of an image:  “And as the story is told: ‘Everyday that raven comes to visit.’” ;’(

There is a stunning four page fold-out page of Percy’s clock tower. I cannot emphasize enough how lovely it is.  The end of it dedicates it to Vex and is quoted with, “I couldn’t have asked for a better dream.”

On the other side of the fold-out are some... sketches of Percy’s notes? It seems that Diplomacy is now powered up by Cabal’s Ruin.

 As part of “Cobalt Souls” thank you page: “Within a book, a story can only sleep. It requires a reader to give it life.”

[powerovernothing]

So like when Martin becomes emperor and gets married then has kids, does this mean Korbin and Lucien will be their crazy uncles?

Dear Lord above, this is by far one of the most adorable questions I have ever been asked in regards to the storyline and ongoing trainwreck based around Korbin and his adoptive brothers. Like, oh my goodness, you precious little Anon! I quite literally just want to scoop you up in my arms, and give you the biggest hug for popping into my askbox and giving me a rush of adorable images, because this is overwhelmingly precious, and I am sitting here melting in my chair with the biggest smile on my face!

But to stop flailing about in glee for a moment, and to properly answer your question: Yes, without a doubt, completely and one hundred percent yes. Korbin and Lucien would most certainly be the eccentric, yet still very loving, Uncles to Martin child whensoever the Emperor Priest ended up having a heir. In fact, in my own Lore, I have played around with this concept once or twice for the sake of warm and fuzzy feelings!

So, if you’re rather curious about this, allow me to go into detail for a moment.

(*~*Lengthy details of Korbin, Martin, and Lucien being fathers and uncles underneath the cut!*~*)

Even though this actually happens way down the line, and I am still in the process of working out most of the details, Lucien and Martin actually do end up having children at some point. Martin ends up having a son named Darius – named for his adoptive father who raised him upon the farmlands, and who ended up dying at some point when he was in the Mages Guild, causing him to fall down the path towards Sanguine in his own grief – with his wife who is based around, and inspired by the wonderful Dragon Age character Josephine.

I have yet to find out exactly what I wish for her to be within my own lore, but I know for a fact that she would be a book keeper of some kind. And that her and Martin, quite literally, bumped into one another. They were both shy, but enjoyed one another’s company, and bonded over their passion for books. She also would, mostly likely, keep her past as a Bard – or in this case, an assassin of some kind – which would match well with Martin’s darker tendencies, and the fact that his adoptive siblings are assassins themselves.

Darius would have her mother’s eye and skin color, and the hair color, facial shape, and freckles of his father. He is a little ray of sunshine, and unfortunately has a strained relationship with his Uncle Lucien. (When Darius was born, and introduced to Lucien, he frowned and bapped The Assassin on the nose. Lucien was both annoyed, and amused; as he knew in that moment this was most certainly Martin’s child.)He gets along well with his Uncle Korbin, and his Aunt Ath – who I shall be speaking of in a moment – but him and Lucien have a long road towards becoming close. It is not as though they hate one another, it is just that Darius has difficulties trusting the man at first, and struggles to understand the reasoning behind his father and The Assassin’s tight bond. But once Lucien went out of his way to protect Darius from some threat, then things became much easier. By the end of Septim Heir’s teenage years, him and Lucien developed a much steadier relationship.

As for Lucien, he ends up having a daughter named Eleanor with his wife – and amazing and wonderful character whom I adore and cherish belonging to my friend @fruity-pies​ – Aðísla Bjǫrnsdóttir (Or Ath for short). She has her mother’s eyes, and her father’s hair, and a mixture of their skin tone. She gets along extremely well with both her Uncle Korbin – with him, the two of them are always finding ways to get into trouble, always laughing and enjoying themselves, and always finding ways to spring some prank on those least expecting –  and Uncle Martin – she feels protected and comfortable around him, always going to him for advice or emotional support when things become just a little bit too confusing or overwhelming – and is basically a bit of a bookworm with a hidden adventurous side, and slight protective temper.

And for Korbin, well… to be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t actually have a child in the Revised – or Normal, in my lore – Timeline, as he has an incredible amount of trouble with intimacy of any kind, but especially sexual because of Sheogorath. (You can ask more about this if you’re curious, but be aware I may tiptoe over some things.)

However, if there was a chance for it to happen outside of an alternate timeline, he would end up having a daughter named Lucille Maria Redd – her first and middle name coming from his beloved brothers, of course – with a lover of his own who is actually based around another Dragon Age character, and that is the ever lovely and strongwilled Cassandra. I chose her for Korbin, as when I really started developing his story more seriously, I was going through another playthrough of Inquisition, and their interactions together just really stuck with me.

Thus, when thinking about Korbin’s romantic history, I couldn’t help myself.

Lucille has a mixture of both his parents hair, dark brown with light grey streaks and tips at the bottom, her mother’s skin color, and her father’s golden eyes. She is remarkably close to both of her beloved Uncles – Lucien was one of the first people she saw outside her parents, and she started giggling with a large smile on her face when she saw him, and she cherishes the warmth and protection Martin’s magic brings her – and always enjoys being with them when they are stuck with babysitting duty. She’s dubbed ‘Little Shadow’ by Lucien, and ‘Lil Heart’ by Martin.

And much like their father’s before them, Lucille, Eleanor, and Darius stick to one another’s sides like glue, and often get into all manner of adventures together while growing up. Darius is the eldest of the group, but his younger cousins are fiercely, and overly protective of his general well being, much to the Septim Heir’s embarrassment.

But overall, the three of them do have quite the crazy types of Uncles in their lives! Lucille has her protective Uncle Lucien who gave her a dagger for her tenth birthday, and her soft Uncle Martin who magically enchanted her necklace with a protective light spell. Eleanor has her best friend Uncle Korbin who she is always getting into mayhem with, and her wise and gentle Uncle Martin who is always there with a kind word and reassuring embrace.

And Darius has his humorous Uncle Korbin who is always sneaking him sweetrolls when he needs a boost because of Princely stress, and his strange, and yet surprisingly effective guardian Uncle Lachance who always keeps him out of harms way. But, considering who these wonderful kid’s Uncles are, and the bond the three of them shared together throughout so many long years, what else would they truly be if not slightly crazy and over the top!?

So yes, dear wonderful Anon, to answer your question, yes Korbin and Lucien would most certainly be Darius’ eccentric Uncles, but Martin gets a chance to be one of them himself to Lucien and Korbin’s children just as well!

I realize that this post wound up becoming quite the lengthy read, but considering I adored your question so much, I honestly couldn’t help myself! I hope the above ended up giving you some warm fuzzies, because rest assured that I certainly got them from your ask!

Thank you again for sending it my way, and I hope you enjoy reading over the above! And if you’re curious about anything else involving the boys, feel free to send me any questions that may enter your mind! As you can see, I never mind taking a moment or two to answer them!

All the best, and have a fantastic and wonderful day, my sweet Anon friend!

[thedarkestdragonknight]

? ? ? ? (One each for Jacques, Alrek, Faust, and Xheta and four for you. >:3c)

LONG ANSWER IS GONNA BE LONG! So after the first pair the rest shall be kept under a read more :P

Despite his rather grumpy, constant bitch face scowl look Jacques has one thing that he loves to do more than anything. And that is cook. He may not be the best cook of those he lives with but he’s pretty damn close. The main things that Jacques loves to cook would be Far Eastern dishes like Buuz, Buns, etc. as well as Roast Dinners like Roast Dodo, etc. He loves cooking for his friends, company and anyone who he is close with because it gives him a chance to just enjoy being normal for a change.

Much like Jacques, I love to cook myself! And what’s an interesting fact about me and my cooking. Well before I moved here to live with my wonderful wife @talechaser-ffxiv (Who sent this ask in lol) I actually did a lot of outdoor cooking in a home built Fire Pit. We would cook a variety of food on it as well ranging from Chicken, Steaks and Pork Chops to things like whole roasted ears of corn. I miss those days a lot really… I want to do more cooking but it’ll have to wait until we get a new place. Then I can spoil my wife with all the good  home cooked meals.

Amusingly enough, Xheta when I originally made him I kind of accidentally had him look very similar to @talechaser-ffxiv‘s P’shali. I just wanted to play around with designs and my brain sort of went to that and it happened. He’s obviously changed a lot since then. Xheta is extremely powerful when it comes to using magic, the biggest problem he has however is that he is extremely unstable with it due to him being a clutz naturally. This is what not only has earned him quite the reputation as a failure in the various cities across Eorzea but has lead to people simply hating him upon sight because just about everyone knows about this Miqo’te halfbreed (He’s a Keeper/Seeker Cross) that has nearly blown up the Alchemy lab in Ul’dah, has almost burnt down the kitchen in Limsa Lominsa and has ruined a massive amount of tanning hides in Gridania just in his attempts to make a living. 

Okay so this fact won’t really tie into Xheta but taking the screenshot for his section of this made me think on it and well I have to share at least THIS particular story. When I was working Retail back in Kansas at Wal-mart there was some person going around and calling in fake bomb threats to the various stories in several cities around us. While on my shift, this person decided to do this to our store… FROM THE PAYPHONE INSIDE SAID STORE. Myself and a co-worker had barely heard the overcome announcement and when we both took a look at our badges (which had the code colors for emergencies and such) we both just went Oh… I rushed to get my customer out as quickly as possible (so they wouldn’t have to come back after they were sent out) and basically helped with getting the customers and everyone out into the parking lot while we waited to see what was going on. I spent the better part of I think 4 or 5 hours outside while Police searched the store, middle of summer. The most hilarious part was when the Police came out and told us to MOVE FURTHER AWAY FROM THE BUILDING… needless to say my group of friends and co-workers just went “oh shit did they ACTUALLY find something?”

The tiny and angry halfbreed looks like he’s plotting something. Anyway, Faust was just a random idea I had one day with the desire to make a character who was a bastard child of one of the Noble Houses in Ishgard. He just so happens to be the bastard child from House Durendaire. As you have likely seen his mother was of the Qestir tribe and for the most part she was essentially sold off to the highest bidder in Kugane and thus Faust was born shortly after that. Faust is a ball of rage because his father absolutely detests him, wants him dead and gone to ‘wipe clean’ the mistake that was made. Unlike Xheta who is meek and basically a timid scared child, Faust WILL let you know that he is not happy about something and he will stand up for himself. That’s what he had to learn just to survive in Ishgard and the Brume whenever he was sent there to ‘get out of the way’. Faust has a great fondness however of Haurchefant since he was often taken to House Fortemps to study, train and learn. It is why he adopted the name Greystone.

If there is a common trait that I might share with Faust it’s just well in several ways we are similar. I do not take bullshit from anyone, I tend to be a do not touch me kind of person and for the most part all around I can easily come across as someone that you just don’t want to mess with. I pretty much often describe myself as a bitch even if my friends will say otherwise. I’m certainly getting better about a lot of things and doing much better but I still have what my wife loves to call a wall of thorns that many people need to slowly go through in order to get close to me. I’ve been hurt many times by people who have claimed to be friends and it does show, again it’s something I’m certainly getting better at and have gotten much better since I’ve come to live with my wife.

And the final child, Alrek is a lot like Faust in that he was certainly an experimental character. But with so much information pouring out from the Post-Stormblood story I think I’m finally getting the right ideas for him now. Alrek is a ‘son’ of Zenos but not in your traditional way, he was an experiment that was developed through the Cloning Technology that we find out about through Solus. He was potentially going to be used as another weapon of war, much like Zenos was to an extent but not to the extent that was obviously done with Jacques. Because Alrek is a Half-Garlean (He has Au Ra blood in him) he actually has scales that run down his back to his hips and thighs, he also has a tail which is goes down to the back of his knee for length. No one really knows about this besides his Guardian (Arjeant Greystone) and those who created him obviously. 

Right so… I’m honestly out of ideas for facts about myself by this point. The only things I can really think of are that well for the most part things that people likely already know about me. Overall I’m a huge game nerd who loves things like FF, etc. I was a huge fighting game person back in the day, I have owned every pokemon game that has been released (for the most part save for more recent years), and I tend to be a person who gives no fucks about things and can roll with it, especially in RP. If you break lore, world break, etc. it doesn’t matter to me so long as everyone is having a good time right?

SEND “?” FOR A FACT FOR BOTH THE MUN AND MUSE!