#self-portrait of a dutiful daughter

[folditdouble]

Women in Film Challenge 2024: [104/52] Self-Portrait of a Dutiful Daughter, dir. Ana Lungu (Romania, 2015)

You can’t just ask somebody to relax and expect them to do so. It’s like asking them to love you less. That’s impossible.

[chow0w]

I’d honestly love to see your take on fashion for all of the tribes! I always love seeing world-building in the fork of fashion!

Thank you so much!! I'm trying to branch out and tie fashion in with lore/culture - I genuinely lost the plot with this one but you have to walk with me like WALK with me right now. come here.

Scarlet and the Skywings: A discussion on fashion, politics and culture

About this image: Queen Scarlet crawls out of her own self-portrait, looking down at Tourmaline and the Skywings in fury. She does not notice the Guillotine above her or the fire below her, focused only on her daughter who looks up in defiance. The words 'Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité' are repeated in the background, and Tourmaline's wings are drawn to look like rays of sun.

Setting the scene - Skywings and the French

I won't pretend to know the Skywing kingdom inside out, but tailwind's section in guide to the tribes gives good insight to the kingdom's situation during Scarlet/Firestorm's reign. the extract suggests that the Skywing kingdom was an economically thriving center for the arts, as well as a kingdom which followed some semblance of an aristocracy with noble families and an upper/lower class divide - similar to the situation of pre-revolution France.

We must also consider the scope of how bad things actually were before/during Queen Scarlet's reign. Social class is never directly mentioned in canon, but it could easily be reasoned (from her + Queen Firestorm's behavior) that Scarlet's rule created tons of problems for the kingdom's commoner. between fighting 20 years of sandwing succession war, uprooting major cultural practices and dumping heinous amounts of money into self-portraits, it's safe to say Scarlet and her mother were probably the two worst things that could ever happen to the average working Skywing. Like this is the Queen who threw Osprey (A public figure old enough to be long loved) into a ravine for... teaching Peril the law.

Starved of kingdom funding, ripped from their culture and sent off to die in a sandwing war, I really feel that the Skywings deserved to crash out French style on their high society.

(That's not to say that I dislike the canon plot of the kingdom: in fact, I think it's good - it completes its duty as a plot device and still manages to make sense and be cool. If I was Tui, I would absolutely call it a day there. Lucky for me, I'm a tumblr artist and not a bestselling author. I get to write about violent revolutions.)

The revised timeline

Given the context on why I think the Skywings needed a good revolution, here's how I personally would've structured the timeline after Scarlet's rule, including the events of Escaping Peril. If you haven't read that book, I suggest skipping down to the next image.

Scarlet comes into power. Bad things happen to everyone. Skywings are pissed for 20 years, but between the war, economic issue and the fire demon (Peril) nobody really has the energy to revolt. They stay quietly angry, and (perhaps) form something similar to the chrysalis.

One day, the dragonets of destiny arrive - something happens in the arena and the tyrant is gone. The kingdom sits in aftershock for a moment, before springing into gleeful celebration. The real bloodbath is never for Scarlet - presumed to be dead or missing, they turn to the Skywing nobles who supported her instead. The WoF wiki states Skywings enjoy entertainment and fighting alike, so I like to think their last gritty celebration of freedom was making the (oppressive) aristocracy their last arena victims. Dragons like Tailwind (born into nobility but low-lying or unsupportive) were probably spared.

Queen Ruby is elected to be the new skywing ruler by default - some Skywings may feel hesitant or reluctant to have Scarlet's daughter in power, but tradition + scares of another sandwing-type war keep them from kicking her out. She does a great job, so it doesn't matter anyways and they love her.

Scarlet comes back in Escaping Peril, and for a brief moment the kingdom is turned upside down. Stories spread like wildfire, and the Skywing population are ignited with a new sense of rage at their old Queen's return. At this point, I don't even think Peril's presence would be able to stop riots and uprise on the streets.

Ruby challenges Scarlet and the canon ending happens, or Peril (somehow) realizes Ruby is Tourmaline another way and the fight can be avoided altogether. Instead, the nature of Tourmaline's erasure (using animus magic, changing her identity) is so offensively un-Skywing that the population snaps and jump Scarlet together, right then and there. She dies like Scar from the lion king.

Back to the fashion - high society

Plot lost, plot recovered. I will talk about fashion now - starting with that of the aristocracy (specifically during Scarlet and Firestorm's reign.)

Extravagant garments crown the nature of upper-class fashion: big bows, long dresses, feathered headpieces and fur wigs are what make you well-dressed here. Curiously, upper-class Skywing attire is not very Skywing at all: imports are in, tradition is out! The dragons of the aristocracy order pearls from the sea, pelts from the north and the finest tailors to put it together. As the sandwing succession war starts, trade deals are interrupted and these garments become rarer: more valuable.

Function and Logistics

These garments are generally viewed as unisex, with the urge to be best dressed outcompeting the urge to have gendered clothing within society. Most of them have intricate mechanical makeup, which is a landmark to the Skywings and their long history of design. Copper wires braided together are bent to form skirt cages, and headdresses are fashioned in place using a complicated network of leather bands and iron clips. Putting these outfits on would undoubtedly require a team of assistants: maids clip the headdress in place while tailors edit the radius of the skirt cage, fixing it in place with a small plume of flame. The final result is a splendorous, inconvenient piece of clothing meant to show your wealth and absolutely nothing else. I imagine that flying is near impossible with these garments (or - one can fly, at the expense of their gown) so most dressing and undressing is done within palace walls.

Queen Scarlet and her mother, obsessed with beauty, would likely uphold these garments as a uniform standard within balls and celebrations. Skywings were expected to look as best as they could, with absolutely no exceptions and a very deadly consequence for disobedience. Fashion is always, in some aspect, political; seeing this type of needless extravagance as a working-class Skywing would've undoubtedly sparked anger, and I'm sure the French revolutionaries would agree.

Clothing for the Skywings: past and present

As it tends to, the fashion of the elites will bleed into the world around it - and with the removal of their culture and tradition, the Skywings of the kingdom would most likely follow suit in how they dressed themselves - abandoning traditional garb in fear of Queen Scarlet, and adopting new fashion trends.

These trends would include simplified, practical versions of High-class clothing: petticoats and puff sleeves replace pearl necklaces, fitting in with societal expectations while still being functional. These coats could be used to store day-to-day necessities like gold coins, trinkets or herbal medicines, with the sleeves made from thinly stretched fabric. Some Skywings may choose to embroider their coats and shirts, or even wear a hat - a slightly impractical item which could be used to flaunt one's financial security. While this fashion is nice, I'm sure lots of Skywings would be old enough to remember their traditional wear: some may even have it in their home, tucked away in the attic with other relics of home.

I imagine these garments were much more fluid in shape: made to be beautiful and flyable, they consisted of long fabrics trailing down from the base of one's neck, made from local materials found on the mountain - feathers, wool, flower dyes etc. The clothes themselves were beautifully detailed through pattern, not shape: beads, embroidery and stitching could be used to create a high-class garment, which would be used during weddings or balls. Some hats may have also been present, although these would still be largely difficult to fly with. These clothes probably returned as the Skywing kingdom began to heal, alongside the old traditions buried under tyranny.

When sketching these garments, I looked to traditional Kazakh clothing for inspiration, as both cultures share their mountainous location and use of local material. I understand that Kazakh and French clothing are different fashions from wildly different cultures, and the only reason this really works is because I'm writing in the context of fictional dragon world and not real human world. I considered keeping the fashion solely French, but honestly they're both so beautiful I had to include Kazakh clothing too!

Choosing which cultures to investigate is always the hardest part about making these posts, and so I'm trying to incorporate a lot of diversity as I plan - and maybe even explore one tribe in the lens of multiple cultures.

If you made it all the way down here, thank you so much for reading along! Writing about lore and culture is SO fun, and I really appreciate all of you who've inquired about fashion/culture within the other tribes! These posts take a little bit longer to make, so I'm aiming for one a week but we'll see. To anyone interested, my art contest is still going until the end of June! If you're a regular on this blog you will have heard this too often and want to jump me, but please have mercy.

You can find more info and enter here, in my discord server!

later ヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ

[angelfishe]

# 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃

Genshin man x reader

Character : alhaitham, diluc, zhongli, ayato.

You love them with your heart but why would he love you when he's surrounded with more beautiful and talented people more than you, maybe leaving would be a good option you wouldn't burden them as well they could move on into a much better option than you. Disappearing from their life completely

Warning : The reader has an inferiority complex, as well mention of suicide and self harming.

ALHAITHAM

Among the seas of students of the akedemiya there are always ones that shine brighter than the others and alhaitham is no exception, one of the most shining stars that would live brighter than the others. While you are by far a regular spantammad student the only difference is that both of you and him are childhood friends.

Unfortunately for you to fail to see the worth for yourself in his life, he would live a much better life without you interrupting his journeys. So when you hear that there's gonna be an expedition towards outside of sumeru you take it, planning on staying out of his life as much as long as possible even meaning being away from your homeland.

You prevent him from knowing about the expedition, knowing that he would try to convince you to quit it as well making him stress about you leaving making sure you would go unnoticed. Soon he realizes every time you visit your house it becomes less crowded and stuff is neatly packed in a box. He started to be suspicious of what was going on.

So when you invite him towards the bar to hang out, he had a bad feeling this would be the last time seeing you. But he pushed it aside because you're here right now not knowing that the goodbye you wave to each other was the last one. Your presence disappears and when he visits your place it is dead silent not a single thing of your stuff.

DILUC

Coming from a lesser noble clan on mondstat your duty was to be served to someone as wife or decorations. And diluc was the one you were destined to be with on the paper agreement with the previous lord of dawn winery.

It's confusing honestly out of all the options of the daughter of another noble family they chose to be his betrothed. You and him would have play dates together to make you two grow closer but sometimes these playdates would include other noble children like jean from the gundihir clan another noble clan as the ragdnivir. To be honest you understand why he would choose jean in the future she's beautiful I mean if you were in his position you would choose Jean.

Unknowningly diluc was the one that chose you when he took a look at the picture of future spouse for him and when he took a glimpse at your portrait it was love first sight you were the one he dreamed to be with and grow a family. Unfortunately you are unable to see that just like a butterfly is unable to see their own beauty.

When he was at snezhnaya you took this opportunity to finally leave for good packing up your stuff without telling anyone even your parents, so when he returned you were nowhere to be found everyone couldn't find you, you were gone. You believe he would be better without you but in truth he was miserable The world was dark and grey and you were the color and now you're gone and he will use anything to find you.

ZHONGLI

Being a minor goddess that joined alliance with him, you didn't expect he would go infatuated with you. He would willingly risk his life for you rescuing you from a monster that was threatening to kill you and when you saw how injured he was after the fight you realized you were a burden to him.

You fully know your weak compared to the other adepti or gods, your domain is small similar to harvia your best friend and you see your fate will happen similar to her being too weak and your people or your close will kill you if you keep being like this. Seeing you as a weakness for rex lapis and if you die his weakness will die. His people and the other need him more than you.

One day, you hear that a new monster has been rampaging and you believe this would be a good way to finally rid of yourself so people won't question your intention. You grab your weapon and ready to the battlefield, when rex lapis got word he arrived you were unfortunately dead watching your body being devoured by the beast.

From that day he blamed himself for your demise as well asking why would recklessly charge yourself to battle after knowing your weakness, in modern liyue he felt a sense of familiarity and saw you walking maybe it's not too late to love you this time he shows you how much he loves you.

AYATO

You couldn't blame him for hiding you from the world knowing a relationship with a master and a servant would be heavily forbidden by the public as well being one of his weaknesses, he needs to appear untouchable in front of the public as well as his enemies to protect you and the clan.

In close door he loves you and showers you with gifts and affection while on the outside he treats you as if you were just a normal servant under his orders another disposable chest piece.

When you were poison, hes eyes would instantly went towards your form but unable to reach you because people were dragging you away and he need to show face of a composed person but how can he act when the love of his eyes was dying in the other room.

One day a resignation letter appeared at his office when he was not at home and thoma informed him you left a day before leaving a letter telling him to move on and love another person and not you. He track your footprints and found you at sumeru studying there as a new student and new alias he ready a ship because he's gonna need explanation from you what you mean move on. Come back to his arms please if you won't he's gonna die without your touch

[rene-spade]

growing up räikkönen | f1 grid

fem! reader x räikkönen family, f1 grid

note(s): reader is kimi’s eldest daughter 👍 2nd pov but for the plot reader has a name. We start off in the 2021 season, reader becomes a driver for mclaren the 2022 season. main idea is everyone is obsessed with her lolol

Warning(s): potentially triggering relationship dynamics, some obsessive behavior tbh bc i like em crazy, mostly cute stuff tho!

GROWING UP RÄIKKÖNEN MEANS having a chaotic first few years, but with your father everything always works out. kimi isn’t even 22 when you’re born (2001), and your mother is just a fling who sadly passes away before you turn one, but you are his world. he melts at the sight of his eldest daughter; the one who he raised as his alone. Sure, you’ve had a couple step moms, but only one father who happens to be the protective type. You grow up in the f1 paddocks because kimi doesn’t like being apart from you for too long. even with his marriage to jenni, he has her watch you during his races. Just the racing part though, he commonly totes you along with him during anything he can, even media duties. due to his own upbringing, your schooling is the highest of priorities, but it’s still a guarantee you know how to drive anything by age 16. He wants you to be prepared for anything life throws at you, though of course he wouldn’t let you do it alone.

♤ ♤ ♤

SOME DAD! KIMI THINGS; childhood

he named you after himself (kimi -> miki, unoriginal)

when you were ages 1 month - 6 years, he took you everywhere with him

he nicknames you “lumienkeli” snow angel in finnish

his first tattoo was a portrait of baby-you with your full name and birth date

kimi can’t say no to his little girl, so you end up bringing all kinds of stray pets home, even from other countries

you and step-mom jenni iconic duo

uncle seb vettel and michael schumacher (who babysat you growing up) buying you and kimi matching outfits

kimi is very bad at documenting things properly, so jenni organized and labeled his entire “isä ja miki-mäiri” photo album. after they divorced, minttu took over that position, adding robin and rianna.

no-dating rule implemented as soon as you mention a crush at school (you were 6)

crazy dad! kimi who tried to run over your first boyfriend with a snowmobile

a responsible drinker around his sweet daughter but when you’re home attending school, he has his iconic drinking benders (championship era all the way to his divorce era)

kimi who learns to braid hair so you can keep your hair tidy and untangled beneath your first helmet

you are his mini-me (mostly, just in the ways he intended)

♤ ♤ ♤

Twitter; self-ran

♤ ♤ ♤

Instagram; self-ran

♤ ♤ ♤

photo album; written by kimi-matias räikkönen (edited by jenni dahlman and minttu räikkönen)

äiti ja miki-mäiri lumienkeli mik ja isä

2001 <3 (2004)

isosisko miki, minun miki-mäiri miki-mäiri ja robin ja rianna 10th syntymäpäivä setä rami (2006)

miki ja jenni <3 isän vauva miki-mäiri ja

(2003) (kesäkuuta 2002) serrku justus

♤ ♤ ♤

this is the introduction to this fic / au. Please send asks to get the ball rolling! If you don’t know kimi lore, this might not make much sense oops

- ren

[lulu103]

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader

English version

In the Wayne Manor, there was a room without history. It had a small window, a neatly made bed, and a mirror without fingerprints. And in that room lived her.

She didn’t have a cape.

She didn’t have gadgets.

She didn’t have battle scars or soul wounds that others could see as worthy. She only had a face.

And in that house of masks, that meant nothing.

Since she was little, she learned not to make noise. When she walked through the carpeted hallways, she tiptoed, as if the echo of her steps were a crime.

When she spoke, she did it in a soft voice, afraid of interrupting the conversations between the heroes. When she laughed... she stopped. No one laughed with her.

She didn’t belong to the "team." She didn’t have official training. She wasn’t Nightwing, Red Hood, Robin, or the new girl from the orphanage with a perfect memory. She was just the daughter. The mistake. The useless shadow.

Her mother had died giving birth to her. Bruce raised her out of duty. Alfred was polite but distant. And the rest... simply didn’t see her.

"Since when has she been here?" Tim once asked aloud, not realizing she was right behind him.

Jason mocked, "She's always been here. She's like a nice piece of furniture.Looks good, but isn't useful for fighting."

And they all laughed.

She didn’t.

She just looked at her hands, delicate and soft, then lowered her head.

Bruce never trained her. He said he didn’t want to "put her in danger," but everyone knew he didn’t trust her strength. He didn’t consider her useful. He taught her to keep silent. To observe. To read books instead of reading bodies in combat. And she did. She learned to see without being seen. To understand without asking. To lock everything she felt in a corner of her chest where no one could enter.

But there was one thing she inherited: the gaze. That deep and sharp look. The one that made the guilty tremble. Hers was different, yes. Softer. More beautiful. But just as hypnotic. And no one in the house dared to hold it for too long.

---

One day, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was fourteen years old.

She had the darkest eyes in Gotham.

She had lips as soft as silk.

She had skin that seemed sculpted. And she felt nothing. "What’s the point of being beautiful if no one sees you?"

Someone knocked on the door. It was Damian.

—Move, useless. Some of us have things to do.

She didn’t answer. She just lowered her gaze. But that night, she broke the mirror with her fist. She didn’t cry. She just bled.

---

Time passed. She turned fifteen. Then sixteen. She knew no one would go to her room on her birthday. She knew no one would say "I’m proud of you." She knew that, to them, she was a mistake without scars. So, she left.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t leave a note.

She didn’t seek drama.

She simply made the bed.Closed the door. And disappeared.

Bruce didn’t search for her. "If she wants to come back, she will," he said coldly. And the rest continued with their missions.

No one imagined she would find another way to exist.

And to shine.

---

First came the photos. Self-portraits on lonely streets. Her face surrounded by shadows. Her silhouette reflected in puddles. Her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets. Someone found them. Shared them. And the world… listened.

“They call her the Marble Girl.”

They said she had an impossible face. Too symmetrical. Too pure.

But what attracted them the most wasn’t her beauty. It was what she hid.

A silent sadness.

A threat without violence.

A sweetness that was poisonous.

---

At seventeen, she was in Paris.

She signed contracts without giving her real name. She modeled without saying a word. And every time the camera focused on her, the world stopped. Not because she smiled.

But because it seemed she didn’t need to.

She denied it.

And that... drove them crazy.

---

She lived alone. In a small glass apartment with black curtains.

She slept little. Dreamed a lot. And never looked back at Gotham.

She never mentioned her family. Not because she hated them. But because... they no longer existed for her.

They had died the day they forgot her.And she... had been reborn.

---

One night, an artist asked to paint her face.

—You have something tragic about you —the woman said, as she traced her jawline—. Like a broken virgin. Or a sad goddess.

She just smiled, without answering. And when the painting was displayed, people cried in front of the canvas. They didn’t know why.

It just... hurt.

---

At eighteen, the world already knew her. Magazines. Art videos. Red carpets.

But never interviews.

Never words.Only that presence. Mysterious. Distant. Unreachable.

And then... Bruce saw her.

---

He was working in the Batcave when her image appeared on the screen. An irrelevant article. A gossip piece.

But there she was. Sitting in a velvet chair. Dressed in black. Surrounded by photographers. And smiling. That smile. Calm. Unbreakable.

Free. Bruce blinked.

—It can’t be… Dick looked down.

Jason clenched his fists.

Tim swallowed hard.

Damian, for the first time, said nothing.

Because they all remembered her. And she didn’t remember them.

—Why didn’t she come back? Dick murmured.

Jason clenched his fists. —Because we didn’t make her feel part of this.

Damian whispered: —She seems happy.

Bruce didn’t answer. He just looked at the screen. And inside, something broke.

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t love.

It was fear.

Because she didn’t need them. And that... was unforgivable.

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader Part 2

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart.

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart.

(You are one year younger than Rhaenyra.)

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.2 is here

You're smart, brave and pretty, agile with swords and archery, you have interests in medicine and history, you feel proud of who you are, the confidence and self-esteem are one of many attributes. You always thought you didn't need no one else but yourself, you're good with it, for you that's more than enough.

You never complained about being the second child or about the preference of your father for Rhaenyra, for you it was fine, after all she was the first born, and your father's desire to have a boy helped to not feel this favoritism.

Your mother didn't have favorites, she loved her daughters, your relationship with your sister wasn't the best but it worked, you always thought Alicent was like her father, your uncle Daemon said it a thousand times «he's an arsehole» and you agreed, you never understood why your father couldn't see it in that way.

Daemon is a great uncle, your favorite person in the world but he always looks more interested in your sister, with you he was like the kind of father you wanted, fierce and protective, teaching you to fight and follow your own ambitions, you were good with the sword thanks to him, you were a good Dragon rider thanks to him, much of the things you like is because of him, your father is not really there for you, your poor mother was always in bed with her pregnancies, and Rhaenyra always with Alicent, you even take your classes with the septa alone, not with them.

After your mother's dead you for the first time felt weak, fragile and alone, the anger started to burn your inside, you were angry with your father, his wishes to have a son took your mother's life away, the poor newborn was alive for less than a day. Poor little thing, his little nose would never inhale the fresh air of the morning, his little mouth would never suspire and his eyes would never admire the majesty of the world or a dragon. Then your uncle making those comments about your baby brother hurt you, but you still admired your uncle more than to your father, in fact you were sure all this situation could be avoided if your father simply named your uncle as his heir.

- DAEMMA! You have to understand! I'm the king, it is my duty to bring heirs to secure the Targaryen bloodline on the throne.

- You already have an heir! Now leave, I don't want to see you, for me... You murdered my mother!

Were lonely nights and days, you rarely left your room, you were sad, angry, depressed. Your uncle was sent to go back with his wife, Rhaenyra was living her own duel, you didn't have a shoulder to cry in.

One night your father requested your presence with urgency. You arrived just in time, Rhaenyra was already there talking with your father.

- What's the meaning of this familiar reunion?

- Daemma, come here. I... I thought about what you said to me a few nights ago.

Your father looked tired and unsure of what he was saying but you were also tired, Rhaenyra is not understanding yet, but you, you have a presentiment.

-You were right, I want to apologize to you, my girls, all this time I wasted trying to have a son and named him as my heir... But, Rhaenyra, you're my first child, all this time you were the answer to my pleadings. I'll name you my heir.

Rhaenyra and you looked at each other in shock, what did he say?, without wasting time both spoke.

- But Daemon!

- Daemon was not made for the crown, but I think you are, Rhaenyra, I believe you would be a good queen, your mother would agree with me.

Rhaenyra is in silence, you're too since you're thinking about Rhaenyra as the first woman who will sit on the throne. Would the council accept this?. You were lost in thoughts that you didn't feel your father taking your hand in his, you realized it until he spoke.

- Daemma, you're my second child and I know you and I have our differences but... Promise me, you will support your sister, swear over your mother and brother ashes that you will always be at your sister's side.

For the first time in years, you and Rhaenyra had a connection, none of you say something, but both understood each other. Both nodded in silence, accepting what the destiny was putting on your shoulders. The three of you held hands while your father explained about the secret passed from the king to the heir, you went back to your chambers, that night you couldn't sleep you had nightmares about fire, blood and wars.

The next day, while your sister was getting ready for the ceremony, you were just there, observing her and Alicent, both were in silence, when your guard knocked on the door.

- Princess Daemma? I have the information you require this morning.

You stood up from your seat and left them, your guard told you about your uncle leaving the castle, so both are running to the dragon pit, he won't leave without saying goodbye, at least not without saying bye to you.

He's with a woman you never saw before, he's allowing her to touch Caraxes.

- Daemon... Leaving without saying goodbye is not what I was expecting from my uncle.

- Daemma...

He approaches you and gives you a hug, caressing your hair.

- The King sends me away, Otto Hightower, that poisonous snake convinced him.

- I thought it was the fact you celebrated while my family was suffering the loss of my mom and brother.

He steps back and simply looks at you and smiles, then takes your hand in his.

- Take care of them and take care of yourself, get stronger Daemma.

You nod in silence while he walks back at his dragon, in a blink of an eye Caraxes Roars and disappears with your uncle. You went back just in time to the ceremony, you were the first one to bend your knee and swear your loyalty to your sister, the future heir.

[poisonedace]

How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

5001 words | Teen | One-Shot AO3: Poisoned Ace Story Link: How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

Lucifer expected a prophecy. Instead, he found royal incompetence, stolen thrones, and a peacock with delusions of grandeur. Determined to restore order, he reinstates Stolas’s power—and lets him handle his traitorous relatives however he sees fit. Cue one eldritch horror, two screaming nobles, and a chase scene so humiliating it makes the headliner for 666 News. Meanwhile, Blitzo mouths off to the King of Hell, Loona gets in a final roast, and Stella and Andrealphus learn the hard way why you don’t mess with Stolas. Royalty has never been more dramatic… or more embarrassing.

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

Lucifer paced the length of his suite at the Hazbin Hotel, irritation flickering across his sharp features. The dim glow of the infernal city outside cast jagged, shifting shadows as he moved. Frustration gnawed at his patience, consuming his thoughts so much so that he barely noticed when his foot struck something small and rubbery—

A loud quack echoed through the room as a cherished rubber duck shot across the floor, hitting the wall with an indignant bounce.

Lucifer exhaled slowly through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose. Today was already testing him.

It had been too long since he had received a prophecy—far too long. He had tolerated incompetence from the Goetia bloodline before Stolas, dismissing their supposed gifts as laughable at best. But Stolas was different. Stolas had true celestial sight. He had foreseen Alastor’s fate only a year after the boy had been born. And while Lucifer hadn’t been able to prevent the inevitable, that vision had given him a chance—a rare opportunity to try and save Alastor’s soul. No other had done as much since his own descent into Hell.

And yet now, now, the owl dared to neglect his duty.

Lucifer’s fingers twitched, the air around him crackling with suppressed power. He would not stand for this level of irresponsibility. If Stolas would not come to him with new visions, then Lucifer would go to him.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, a portal tore open before him, its edges lined with crackling, fiery light. Without hesitation, he stepped through, prepared to remind the Goetia prince exactly where his priorities should lie.

When Lucifer emerged into the grand halls of the Goetia palace, his gaze immediately narrowed at the sight before him. He stood outside what was once Stolas’s lavish office. What had been a thing of beauty filled with celestial texts and personal portraits was utterly transformed. Gaudy, self-indulgent decorations now overshadowed the regal blues and silvers that once adorned the space. Every single portrait of Stolas, even those with his daughter, had been removed—replaced instead with portraits of Andrealphus, well, the same portrait of him over and over again.

Lucifer’s gaze swept over the room, his irritation cooling into something sharper, more dangerous.

Seated comfortably in the spot that once held Stolas’s desk were Stella and Andrealphus, lounging as if they owned the place. Stella smirked at Lucifer’s arrival, clearly relishing in whatever power she believed she now wielded.

Lucifer’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade. “I demand to see Prince Stolas. Immediately.”

Stella let out a delighted, mocking laugh while Andrealphus merely smirked, idly flicking open his fan. “Oh, dear King,” Stella purred, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “That won’t be possible.”

Lucifer’s expression did not change, but the air in the room grew heavier. “And why, exactly, is that?”

Andrealphus, ever the smug fool, leaned forward. “By royal decree, Stolas’s powers have been transferred to me until Octavia comes of age. It seems my dear ex-brother-in-law made the foolish mistake of giving his grimoire to a lowly imp.”

Lucifer let the words settle like dust, his gaze dragging over Andrealphus as if assessing something spoiled beyond redemption. Then, raising a single brow, he asked in a voice full of unimpressed boredom, “Do you even know how to read prophecies?”

Before Andrealphus could sputter out a response, a voice from the hallway scoffed.

“I know more about reading prophecies than he does,” Octavia muttered as she walked into the room, arms crossed. She barely spared the gathered group a glance before continuing in a deadpan voice, “And I only started really learning about a year or two ago.”

Lucifer turned to her, intrigued. “And?”

Octavia sighed, taking out her headphones. “And they aren’t very accurate. Sometimes, they’re vague or completely off the mark. The ones that actually wind up being true? Maybe an hour into the future. If we’re really, really lucky."

Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. He turned back to Andrealphus, his unimpressed expression deepening. “Utterly worthless,” he muttered under his breath before fixing the peacock with a pointed stare. “I’ve seen lesser imps with more capability.”

Andrealphus bristled. “Now, see here—”

Lucifer cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Enough. You’ve wasted more than enough of my time already.” His crimson eyes flicked back to Octavia. “Where is your father?”

Octavia hesitated for only a moment before sighing. “He’s in Imp City. Living with his boyfriend and his daughter.”

Lucifer’s brow lifted slightly. “His boyfriend?”

Octavia nodded, crossing her arms tighter.

Lucifer studied her for a moment before pressing further. “What happened?”

Octavia sighed heavily, as though she’d had to repeat the story too many times. “Blitz was put on trial to be executed because they,” she made a gesture towards her mother and uncle. “claimed he stole Dad’s grimoire, but Dad got there and stopped the execution, telling them it was him who was at fault. As a result, he lost custody of me, and the council stripped his powers and royal status for 100 years.”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened, the weight of his displeasure pressing down on the room like a physical force. “They accused an imp of stealing what was freely given?” His tone was unreadable, but something was simmering beneath the surface. Yes, Stolas shouldn’t have given the grimoire for use to lower hell-born beings; that was a given, but Lucifer had a feeling it was a petty move by Satan that really was the cause behind this more than anything else. He could never let a chance go to get one over on Lucifer, and he knew how much Lucifer had come to rely on Stolas. 

Octavia nodded as she gestured around the office, her lip curling. “And this is what they replaced him with.”

Lucifer muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I really need to start keeping abreast of what is happening in the court system and royal circles…” He exhaled sharply before waving a hand dismissively at Andrealphus. “Get dressed and meet me back here.”

Andrealphus blinked in surprise but, after a glance at Stella, left the room in a huff. Lucifer took a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he steeled himself for the inevitable headache to come. He did not enjoy handling incompetence, and the fact that it had infected the court to such a degree was maddening. He tapped his fingers against his arm, waiting impatiently as the minutes dragged on.

When Andrealphus returned, dressed in something more presentable but no less ostentatious, Lucifer didn’t bother hiding his impatience. He gestured at the grimoire with a flick of his fingers. “Let’s see if you’re as incompetent, sorry, as competent as Satan seemed to think you were.” 

Andrealphus hesitated before flipping open the book, his fingers twitching as he mumbled incantations under his breath. The process was slow and clumsy. He fumbled through the words. His voice lacked any conviction. With each failed attempt, Lucifer’s expression darkened. The portal remained stubbornly closed.

Lucifer’s patience wore thin. His lip curled, and with an exasperated sigh, he finally snapped, “Completely inept.”

Andrealphus’s feathers bristled, and he straightened indignantly. “This is—”

“A complete waste of time. I agree.” Lucifer cut him off, his voice colder than before. He turned toward the grimoire, eyes flickering with frustration. “If you were even remotely competent, a portal would have been open ten minutes ago.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before stepping away from the desk. His gaze flicked to Octavia. “You try.”

Octavia stepped forward, taking a steadying breath before focusing on the book. Unlike Andrealphus, her motions were careful and deliberate. Within moments, the portal flared to life, shimmering with celestial energy.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, observing her work. “Acceptable,” he murmured, though there was the faintest trace of approval in his voice. He glanced at Andrealphus once more, unimpressed. “Perhaps you should take notes.”

Andrealphus scowled but said nothing, his feathers ruffling in agitation. Lucifer, however, had already lost interest in him. His gaze returned to the portal where Octavia was stepping through, following her. She led them to the location Stolas had instructed her to go to read prophecies. However, as she gazed at the space before them, confusion crept across her features. 

“I… I don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

Lucifer took in the sight, silent for a long moment. Though gentler with her than he had been with Andrealphus, he finally admitted, “You have potential. But you still have much to learn.” His gaze flicked over to the stars and planets above them, calculating. “This will not suit my needs.”

He rubbed his temple as though he’d been dealing with an endless headache. The weight of incompetence and betrayal pressed down on him, and he was quickly growing weary of it. He exhaled sharply before straightening his posture, his imposing presence filling the space.

“Take me to your father. We will be fixing this immediately.” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge of authority that left no room for argument.

Octavia nodded without hesitation, stepping back through determinedly and putting the grimoire back on its stand with a sense of finality. The weight of the book settled heavily, as though acknowledging that its rightful owner would soon return. 

She lifted her hands, channeling energy as she began to open a portal to the I.M.P offices, the swirling magic crackling in the air. But before it could fully solidify—

A sharp, indignant voice pierced the chamber.

“You can’t just—” Andrealphus began, pushing himself forward, his feathers puffed up in false bravado. His fan trembled in his grip, the delicate fabric crumbling with agitation. But the moment Lucifer’s crimson gaze landed on him, the peacock demon faltered.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the very air pressing in like an invisible weight. Lucifer hadn’t spoken a word, and yet his very presence radiated an unspoken command—one of absolute, unchallenged dominance.

Andrealphus’s voice died in his throat, a pathetic strangled sound escaping as he instinctively took a step back, almost tripping over the lounge chair he had put in place of Stolas’s desk.

But Stella was not so easily silenced.

“She is not to see or have contact with her father! This is completely unacceptable!” Stella hissed, her heels clacking furiously against the polished marble floor as she lunged for Octavia. Her talons closed around Octavia’s wrist, gripping tightly as she attempted to yank her away from the portal.

Octavia hissed and tried to pull her wrist from her mother’s grasp, but before she could wrench herself free—

Lucifer moved. Faster than a shadow. With a mere flick of his wrist, an invisible force seized Stella’s arm mid-motion, freezing her in place.

A heavy silence fell over the chamber, suffocating in its intensity. The very walls seemed to tremble as though Hell itself was holding its breath.

Lucifer turned slowly, his gaze now fixed solely on Stella.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes burned. Red, deep, and unrelenting—like an inferno trapped behind glass, waiting to be unleashed.

The force pinning Stella in place wasn’t painful, not yet, but it carried an unmistakable message: One more step, and she would regret it.

Stella’s breath hitched. For the first time in her wretched existence, she hesitated.

Lucifer hadn’t laid a single hand on her, yet it felt as though a blade was pressed against her throat.

“Release. Her.”

The words were not shouted. 

They were not a request.

They were law.

A slow, strangled growl escaped Stella’s lips, but she had no choice. The invisible force constraining her limbs tightened ever so slightly, a subtle but unmistakable warning.

With a furious sneer, she let go.

Octavia immediately stepped back, rubbing her wrist as she shook off her mother’s touch. Her feathers bristled, but her expression remained composed. If anything, there was something like satisfaction in her sharp violet eyes.

Lucifer exhaled slowly. The oppressive energy in the room eased just enough for Stella to stumble backward. The moment she was free, she clutched her arm as if Lucifer’s mere presence had burned her.

She dared to glare at him.

Lucifer simply smiled. A slow, knowing, thoroughly unimpressed smile.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Stella sneered, rubbing her wrist. “Enjoy your little victory, King Lucifer. Because when you least expect it, I’ll be there to take it back.”

Lucifer gave her an amused glance. “Oh, Stella,” he sighed, so very bored, “I already had enemies. You, however, are becoming less relevant by the second.”

Stella’s feathers bristled, her talons curling into fists, but no further words came. Andrealphus, still lingering near the chair, seemed to shrink under the weight of it all, eyes darting between his sister and the King of Hell.

Lucifer adjusted his cufflinks as though nothing had happened and casually glanced in their direction. “Don’t get comfortable,” He finally said, his voice smooth yet foreboding. The quiet power behind it sent an involuntary shudder through the room. “You two won’t be here for much longer.”

Andrealphus swallowed hard, his feathers ruffling in pure, unfiltered anxiety. He had seen many nobles fall from grace over the years, but never had he felt that same fate creeping toward him.

Stella clenched her jaw, but the fire in her eyes had dulled—she knew she had lost.

The portal flared brighter, the arcane energy solidifying as it showed the I.M.P reception desk on the other side. Octavia, not sparing her mother another glance, stepped through without hesitation.

Lucifer followed right behind her.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The reception, usually buzzing with activity, fell into stunned silence at the sight of their unexpected guests.

Loona, who had been lazily scrolling on her phone, nearly dropped it, her eyes widening in alarm. Moxxie and Millie froze mid-conversation, exchanging wary glances.

Blitzo, who had been rifling through a stack of papers by the filing cabinets, tensed immediately, his tail flicking behind him in sharp, agitated sways. His crimson eyes darted between Octavia and Lucifer, his entire stance shifting into something defensive before he even registered what he was doing.

Without thinking, his hand instinctively reached out, fingers grazing Octavia’s sleeve—a protective gesture, an unspoken stay behind me.

Octavia’s eyes wandered down to him, freezing on his tail. She had been around him and other imps enough to recognize the movement for what it was—not just agitation but unease. The sharp, restless flicks were the telltale sign of someone ready to lash out or bolt.

She moved past his hand, stepping lightly toward Loona. The hellhound barely spared her a glance, but the flick of Loona’s ear was all the acknowledgment needed.

Now positioned just behind him, Octavia looked around and frowned when she noticed her father wasn’t in the room.

Blitzo, reassured by her movement, squared his shoulders and planted himself firmly between Lucifer and the others. His arms crossed over his chest, his stance widening ever so slightly—not backing down, not bowing.

“Well, this is new,” Blitzo muttered, his voice dripping with snark, though there was an undercurrent of tension beneath it. “What’s the King of Hell doing slumming it in Imp City?”

Lucifer barely acknowledged the imp’s hostility, his gaze sweeping the office before landing back on Blitzo. “I’m here to speak with Prince Stolas.”

Blitzo quirked a brow, unimpressed. “Well, he’s not here.”

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed slightly. “When will he be back?”

Blitzo gave a dramatic shrug, feigning ignorance. “Dunno, he—”

The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention, and Blitzo’s expression changed in an instant. “STOLAS!” he called in an exaggerated tone, dragging out the name.

Stolas, who had just walked in holding five cups, paused mid-step, his expression puzzled. Before he could react, Blitzo quickly snatched the drinks from his hands and ushered him behind the reception desk, keeping himself firmly between the owl and Lucifer.

“Back so soon?” Blitzo asked, flashing Stolas an overly cheerful grin.

Stolas blinked in confusion, looking around until his gaze landed on Octavia and Lucifer. His expression immediately softened, and he moved past Blitzo without hesitation toward his daughter.

“Sire? Starfire?” Stolas’s voice was laced with concern. “What are you doing here?”

He barely gave Lucifer a second glance before pulling Octavia into a tight embrace. He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead before he began to look over. “Are you okay?” he murmured, holding her close once finished.

Lucifer, however, was not one to waste time. He cleared his throat, drawing Stolas’s attention back to him before Octavia could answer. “I tracked you down because I noticed you’ve been neglecting your duties,” he said plainly. “I need some things looked into.”

Blitzo scoffed loudly, his tail flicking. “How the fuck do you expect him to do that when he lost his powers?” he snapped. “He’s about as strong as a run-of-the-mill imp now.”

Stolas sighed, casting Blitzo a side glance. “Thank you, Blitzo,” he muttered before turning back to Lucifer. “He isn’t wrong, however, Sire. I can no longer perform my duties. That responsibility has been passed to Andrealphus—for the time being.”

“Yes, and I’ve deemed that completely unacceptable.”

Octavia snorted beside him. “He couldn’t even get the portal open.”

Stolas hooted, clearly amused by that turn of events. “Well, as sorry as I am, Sire. There’s, unfortunately, nothing I can do. I can perhaps try to read the stars, but without my powers, I can’t promise their validity.”

Lucifer folded his hands behind his back, his crimson gaze locked onto Stolas. His voice was smooth and measured yet carried the weight of absolute authority. “I am willing to overturn the ruling and restore your powers and status.” The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. 

Stolas gave a wary glance downward at Blitzo, his feathers ruffling in mild agitation. He knew Lucifer well enough to understand that nothing came without a cost. His talons flexed slightly against the floor.

“At the cost of his life?” Stolas asked, his voice firm. “Absolutely not.”

Lucifer let out a small, amused breath through his nose, his expression unreadable. “No. All I ask is that you continue to read prophecies for me, although I’ll be happy to see how Octavia progresses. She’s not quite there yet, but she will be soon enough under your tutelage.”

Stolas’s talons tapped lightly against his arm, considering.

“Sire, respectfully,” he began carefully, “if this is about Alastor or Lilith, I haven’t seen much since her disappearance.”

“That is part of it,” Lucifer admitted, inclining his head. “But I also wanted to check in on the sinners in Charlie’s hotel.”

At that, Stolas visibly stiffened. His grip on Octavia’s shoulders tightened, and his usually composed expression faltered for just a second.

Charlie’s Hotel. The rehabilitation project.

He was no fool—he knew what Lucifer really meant. He wasn’t just checking in. He was assessing a threat.

Blitzo, sharp enough to catch the shift in Stolas’s demeanor, narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

"Alright, alright, enough with the cryptic power-trip talk," Blitzo muttered, stepping directly between Lucifer and Stolas, his arms crossed. "Listen, Your Shiny-ness, Stolas has been through enough without you piling on.”

Lucifer raised a single, curious brow at the imp’s audacity. He glanced at Stolas as if waiting for him to correct this blatant disrespect.

Stolas didn’t.

Lucifer’s smirk deepened slightly, entertained by the boldness.

“You may have the prince wrapped around your finger, but don’t think for a second you’re untouchable.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. “You’re not the first royal to tell me that, and you won’t be the last.”

Lucifer exhaled, not annoyed—more amused than anything else. He honestly did not know what Stolas saw in this crude little imp, but he had to admit: he had nerve.

“What do you think, Blitz?”

Blitzo, seemingly unbothered by the literal King of Hell, casually took a sip from his coffee and muttered, “Well, if this means fewer royal messes for me to clean up, then whatever. Just don’t let him boss you around too much.”

Stolas smiled at Blitzo, a genuine, fond expression crossing his face. “I’ll do my best, my love.”

Lucifer, watching the interaction, tilted his head ever so slightly. His smirk faded just for a second.

Not out of anger.

Not out of disapproval.

But because he saw something he hadn’t expected. Something that shouldn’t exist in Hell between two Hellborns.

Or so he thought. 

Lucifer’s gaze flickered back to Stolas, studying him for a long, contemplative moment. The old Stolas would have never spoken to him this way.

He smiled to himself as he adjusted his cuffs. Then, at last, he inclined his head. “As safe as he can be in Hell,” he finally said.

Blitzo scoffed, dismissing the statement. Stolas, however, understood the weight of that statement. Lucifer wouldn’t step in if they found themselves in trouble again.

With a dramatic gesture, Lucifer summoned a burst of infernal energy, restoring Stolas to his full glory. Stolas was lifted into the air. His body was engulfed in a swirling maelstrom of dark and celestial energy. His feathers shimmered with renewed vibrancy as the power surged through him, his form momentarily glowing with an ethereal light. Magic crackled outward, sending tremors through the room before retracting back into him in a final, controlled pulse. His aura intensified, commanding and formidable, visibly intimidating everyone in the room—except Blitzo, who merely raised an eyebrow.

Stolas landed gracefully, rolling his shoulders as he tested the power coursing through him. He had forgotten how it truly felt—magic thrumming through his veins, his body humming with restored strength. For the first time in months, he felt whole. 

“It’s good to be back,” he murmured, glancing toward Lucifer with a smile. “What would you like me to look into, Sire?”

“That can wait,” Lucifer said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “First, let’s get your palace back.”

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

Later, in the Goetia palace, Stolas, now in his full eldritch form, cackled as he chased Stella and Andrealphus through the halls. The two screeched in terror, fleeing in nothing but their robes as Stolas’s glowing eyes and writhing shadows sent them sprinting through the corridors of his reclaimed palace.

The once-pristine marble floors were now scuffed with clawed footprints, the tall gothic windows rattled with the sheer force of his booming laughter and the once-mighty noble heirs of the Goetia line? Reduced to shrieking buffoons in half-tied robes.

Andrealphus, feathers ruffled in a complete mess, shrieked as his talons slapped against the cold marble. He was moving at a speed that would have been impressive—if it weren’t for the fact that he kept tripping over his own absurdly long robe.

Behind him, Stella clutched at her disheveled silk garment, her feathers bouncing wildly as she shoved Andrealphus forward. “MOVE, YOU IMBECILE!” she screeched, eyes darting wildly behind her. “HE’S RIGHT BEHIND US—OH SATAN’S SAGGY LEFT—HE’S GAINING!”

“You think I DON’T KNOW THAT?!” Andrealphus wailed, scrambling forward like a frightened peacock trying to take flight.

But it was no use.

Stolas, in his full eldritch form, wasn’t even running.

He stalked after them at a leisurely, predatory pace, his talons clicking against the floor like a ticking clock counting down their doom. His massive wings cast dark shadows against the walls, shifting and writhing like living creatures. From those shadows, phantom-like tendrils slithered out, curling around doorframes and reaching toward his fleeing prey, just enough to make them scream louder.

His glowing, violet eyes gleamed with mischief, not malice. This? This was FUN.

“Oh,” Stolas cooed mockingly, his many eyes blinking at different intervals. “Why so frightened? I simply wish to have a little chat about—oh, I don’t know—THE WAY YOU TRIED TO RUIN MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE?”

Andrealphus let out a high-pitched yelp, his voice cracking. “IT WASN’T PERSONAL, STOLAS—JUST POLITICS!”

Stella, in a rare moment of honesty, shrieked, “IT WAS EXTREMELY PERSONAL!”

“Ah, good,” Stolas chirped, his shadows darting forward, snapping at their ankles like mischievous puppies. “Then I hope you’ll take this personally.”

With a graceful leap, Stolas landed directly behind them, his massive wings whooshing as they spread wide.

Andrealphus, in sheer panic, threw his fan at him.

Stolas caught it midair between two of his talons. Then, with a dramatic snap, he broke it in half. The cracking sound echoed through the palace like the final nail in Andrealphus’s coffin.

Andrealphus gasped as if he had just witnessed a murder.

“MY FAN!” he wailed, devastated. “That was handcrafted and imported from Earth!”

“I know,” Stolas smirked. “I gifted it to you. How ungrateful of you to use it against me.”

Andrealphus let out a strangled sob.

Stella rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “GET OVER IT AND KEEP RUNNING, YOU PRANCING MORON—”

She never finished her sentence.

Because at that exact moment, the floor suddenly gave way beneath them.

Or rather—Stolas made it give way.

The shadows lurched beneath their feet, sending both Stella and Andrealphus into a cartoonishly clumsy tumble as they tumbled ass-over-teakettle down a grand staircase.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Stella screeched. Andrealphus squawked. Their robes tangled around them as they tumbled downward, limbs flailing, looking less like regal nobility and more like a pair of drunk aristocrats rolling out of a carriage.

By the time they reached the bottom, Stella landed with her robe half over her face, her long feathers broken and misplaced, and Andrealphus?

Flat on his back. Staring at the ceiling. Wheezing.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then—Stella groaned, untangling herself from her robe as she staggered to her feet.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, Stolas! Can’t you just be a loser in silence?!"

Andrealphus, still sprawled out, wheezed, "I think I’ve broken my spine…"

Stolas, still hovering above the crumpled nobles, let out a soft tsk, shaking his head as if genuinely disappointed.

"Now, now, Stella," he crooned, descending slowly, his massive wings unfurling just enough to cast a looming shadow over her. "You should know by now—" his talons clicked against the marble as he landed, his many glowing eyes narrowing with amusement— "I never suffer in silence. I prefer an audience."

He gestured grandly to the shattered remains of Andrealphus’s dignity. "And this?" His smirk sharpened, his voice practically dripping with mock concern. "This was a show worth putting on."

Stella let out a frustrated huff, glaring daggers at him, but Stolas only grinned wider.

“Oh, but dear Andrealphus,” he continued smoothly, tilting his head with mock sympathy. “You wanted me to disappear so badly, didn’t you? And yet—” he gestured at the grand, towering palace around them, the very home he had reclaimed. “Here I am. And here you are. At my feet.”

Stolas let the silence hang for a moment, his smirk widening as Andrealphus swallowed hard.

“A shame, really,” he sighed, casting an almost pitying glance at Andrealphus. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one…” His wings flexed slightly, shadows creeping closer as Andrealphus let out a strangled squawk.

Stella’s face twisted with rage, but before she could snap back, Stolas’s smug expression turned to her.

"So tell me, Stella…" His voice dropped to a dangerous purr, his many eyes glowing brighter. "How does it feel to lose?"

A tense silence followed. Andrealphus, wisely deciding to preserve what little pride he had left, turned his head away and let out a defeated groan.

Lucifer, who had been watching the entire thing from a distance, finally chuckled. “Now that,” he mused, slowly applauding, “was thoroughly entertaining.”

Stolas turned to him with a flourish. “I did restrain myself, Sire.”

Lucifer smirked. “You did. But I’ll do you one better.”

With a snap of his fingers, a thick, glowing red seal appeared midair—an infernal decree written in elegant, deadly final script.

Lucifer read it aloud, his voice calm yet absolute.

“By my authority as King of Hell, Stella Goetia, and Marquis Andrealphus are hereby stripped of all royal privileges and exiled from the Goetia. Effective immediately. Should they return, they will be fed to the Hellhounds.”

Stella’s mouth fell open in outrage. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS—”

“Oh, I can,” Lucifer said with a charming yet thoroughly evil smile. “And I just did.”

Andrealphus, sensing the very last shreds of his dignity evaporating, groaned, “Can’t we at least stay the night?”

Lucifer gestured dramatically toward the enormous doors. “OUT.”

With a final, defeated huff, Stella and Andrealphus dragged themselves to their feet, robes disheveled and pride shattered.

Andrealphus glanced at Stella, gulped—then, dignity be damned, bolted for the exit.

Stella scowled after him, but with Lucifer still watching, she had no choice but to follow. At least she walked out with some dignity.

As she caught up to her brother, the two muttered bitter insults under their breath until they reached the palace entrance. There, Loona stood waiting beside Octavia, lazily leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin.

“Well, well,” she snorted. “Looks like you two just got your asses handed to you.”

Stella scowled. “Ugh. A filthy Hellhound—just what I needed to see today.”

Loona tilted her head. “I can escort you out personally if you’d like.” She cracked her knuckles.

Andrealphus paled. “No, no! That won’t be necessary!”

Stella and Andrealphus all but ran through the palace doors, disappearing into the night.

Lucifer turned to Stolas with a smirk. “Well. That was cathartic.”

Stolas, adjusting his feathers elegantly, smirked back. “Quite.”

He turned to Octavia, who had been watching the entire thing with a look of mild amusement.

“Shall we get this place back in order, Starfire?”

Octavia sighed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just try not to make it even weirder than it already was.”

And with that, order was restored—and Hell’s most entertaining shitshow had finally reached its curtain call.

[kllshot]

( ji changwook , cis man , he/him ) — amongst the faces lining the staff portrait wall, you recognize RYU JI-HOON, the thirty-six year old professor within the school. having spent four years as a member of the verum staff, students say that they’re reminiscent of abandoned projects of broken wood collecting dust in a spare closet, something between a smirk and a smile highlighting soft features, the coarse and warm smell of pine and oak, quiet and steady waves washing across a midnight shore, and calloused hands with a gentle touch. their charming and easygoing temperament brings color to these halls, but be warned, you may also find them to be secretive and vain. regardless, hopefully they’ll remain when it’s time for verum to open its doors again.

basics.

full name: ryu ji-hoon

nickname: whatevr u wanna call him baby

age: thirty-six

birthday: june 3rd

zodiac sun sign: gemini

gender + pronouns: cis male, he/him

orientation: bisexual / biromantic

birthplace: the capital, clwyd-isle

languages: korean, english, french

occupation: professor of  weaponry theory, woodworking

height: 6'2"

personality.

mbti: esfp ( the entertainer )

moral alignment: chaotic good

+ outgoing, personable, flirtatious, good-natured, intelligent

- self-indulgent, deceptive, impulsive, callous, careless, prideful

character association: arataki itto ( genshin impact), lumiere ( beauty and the beast ), finnick o'dair ( the hunger games), eijiro kirishima ( my hero academia )

khemia: transmutation

personality.

you are born into simplicity, a mother too young and a father who passes away after the birth of his daughter, answers left unexplained for the eternity that your childhood feels. from a young age, you assume life will be linear, that you will attend required schooling and join the army when the time is right. it's unclear until you are the slightest bit older that you present an affinity for khemia. an excellent one at that. your teachers are marveled by how fast your mind seems to go, how the art of transmutation develops faster than most. the simplicity of your life loses its glory all too quickly, a mind without complications inevitably granting you responsibilities you'd never once considered before.

though you excel in your studies while attending verum, you seek change, something grander and greater than being surrounded by knowledge and a job that would only be naturally guaranteed. it is your choice to join the army, to be a fighter rather than to rely on your mind. it is the duty and future you have sought for since a child, the only thing that felt right on the day of your graduation. no one dares to be surprised when you travel up the ranks and solidify yourself as a formidable soldier.

but just as you rise, the danger of falling becomes too great. the shoulder that grew to bear the weight of any weapon in its hands is battered beyond saving, physical therapy never enough to bring it to its former glory. though you are not broken, you are forever bruised, honorably discharged and left to wonder what the next portion of your life will look like, how you will fill the void of responsibility and pride left in your heart.

it feels as if it's a sign when the former professor of weaponry and woodworking gives you a call, a former mentor and beloved professor of yours whom you had remained in contact with. there is a job, his job. even with a shoulder that was forever held by screws, he says that you are the one he wants to take his place. that there is no one he'd feel so confident leaving his work in the hands of.

four years has passed since you've returned to the academy as a professor. though respect is to be gained, you have charmed your way into the minds of everyone you cross. the lines between indulgence and seriousness are something you toy between, the wise and relatable professor your students need, yet the man with a glint in his eyes and an affinity for fun too roams the halls. who you will encounter is simply up to choice.

[askuemki]

Valeria probably has some shit with her parents, but I really liked the idea of her mother joining special forces to find her. (Only to be betrayed) So.... this is Val's mother 🥰

Ok so, I kinda have a (back)story set for one of my cod fan-characters for once.. Before I get into the whole lore stuff I'll just ramble on rq; So I saw this one fanart on Pinterest where it was just Valeria in military gear (guessing during her time in Special Forces), and I was like "Like mother, like daughter!!" so that's where Chelo's bottom portrait came from. Now for the semi-lore! (Using some headcanons I saw for Val as inspo, tried finding them but no luck) ______

Basic info/lore:

Chelo "Mariposa" Garza lieutenant within the YHF 5'4, 140 lb, early 50's Spanish Personality: An amiable yet mousy person. Often her motherly instincts kick in, whether it would be a small mishap of a spill, or something big as work drama; she's there and prepared. Past restrictive experience makes her childish and gullible to a more refined eye, though she has a good hand in her work ethic.

Backstory:

Summarizing her childhood: Chelo was held under quite some expectations in her household, forced to be "normal" in their eyes. She'd always found culture beyond Mexico interesting, yet she could never really touch up on it. Her parents set her up with another guy at the young age of 18. It was a loveless marriage, but Chelo at least wanted the man to be alright. They had a kid (or maybe a few?), and the pair rose Valeria under her grandparent's expectations. This includes going to church. Her family was really heavy on religion, maybe to the point where it might have driven Chelo insane. She certainly didn't lash out at anyone, but she was extremely preachy. Murmuring sermons from the bible to correcting Valeria's behavior if she chose to do something that would "defy god." This made her daughter (/kids?) bitter about it, resulting in luring her out with treats, or just letting her hide completely. Later on when Valeria was in high school (this is me only guessing lol), she had some kind of partner (maybe Alejandro??) that wanted to make her join the Special Forces. A brainwashed Chelo certainly didn't approve of this, punishing her daughter by restricting her further. This had only caused the girl to slip out of her grasp, joining the special forces anyways. This left both parents pretty solum about their daughter, and Chelo had let her be.. Years later, she found out about the disappearance of Valeria. Out of sheer motherly will, she joined the Special Forces to find her. (Her family was apprehensive, and ended up disowning her.) Mission after mission; nothing came to fruition. It was just endless despair. But just because she didn't find her daughter, didn't mean she discovered new friends in the meanwhile. She did get herself acquainted with Alejandro.. He was alright, but Rudy was better. Later on in her training, she received the callsign "Mariposa" for her extreme growth in her training over the years. The news of her daughter being El Sin Nombre stunned her. She found out during an off-duty break and was severely heartbroken. Her previous hobbies of piano and dance were left in the dust. This caused some extreme arguments with her spouse, soon ending in a divorce. Now free from her family's expectations, she gets to see the world as it really is. Her true self is quite the clutz, and bashful. Motherly when the situation needs it. She invests herself in new waters, like fashion and exploring beyond the walls of her past home. But the trauma her family instilled in her had left her unable to remain on the field. Instead of being in battle, she dived into intel work. The first few cases proved herself worthy, getting a swing of things. A year or two later, she was scouted by Laswell for an assignment to take down the Las Alamas Cartel. Being affiliated with those within Special Forces, she used firsthand accounts and info accumulated by them to form together exceptional notes. Chelo heard the rumors of the Station Chief and was careful when treading waters. Laswell was surprisingly not so bad. They now work together in order to delve into the mishaps of the Cartel, eventually for the ultimate takedown.

__________ Thank you for reading!!

edit: added in a small basic info chart, and some reformatting.

(Bonus content below 😘)

[senjanesia]

Wake Up Kid She’s Gone Novel Read Online Full Chapters

Wake Up Kid She’s Gone Novel is more than just a catchy title — it’s a heart-tugging emotional journey filled with complicated family ties, bittersweet reunions, and the heavy weight of responsibility. If you’re a sucker for emotionally rich storytelling with a twist of romance and drama, then you’re absolutely going to love this novel. From the very first chapter, it wraps you in the quiet storm that brews within Julia Summers’ heart — a woman torn between the freedom of her art and the duty to her family.

Set against the backdrop of emotional dilemmas and personal sacrifice, Wake Up, Kid She’s Gone! Novel starts off subtly, but it doesn’t take long before you’re deep in the narrative, rooting for Julia as she confronts her past. The author masterfully captures the struggle between self-identity and filial obligation, something many readers can relate to. It’s a story that resonates not just because of the plot, but because of the raw emotions it unearths.

Synopsis of Wake Up, Kid She’s Gone Novel

Lia, have you thought about what we discussed? Your grandpa isn’t doing well. You’re our only daughter. Your dad and I don’t have anyone else. Are you really not coming home to take over the company? Julia Summers sat in the empty room, paintbrush in hand, as her mother Elaine Yates’ weary voice crackled through the phone.

In the dim room, she finished her painting with one last stroke, completing the portrait of a family of three. Just as Elaine braced for another refusal, Julia answered. Alright. Elaine faltered, sounding almost startled. Y-You mean yes? Yes, Julia replied evenly. I’ll come back. I just need time to wrap things up here. I’ll be home within two weeks.

A few clipped exchanges later, she ended the call. Julia stepped out of the room, her gaze drifting over the three people in the hall below. Her eyes settled on the man seated on the couch.

READ HERE NOW

[dianna-meza101]

Final Curated Portfolio & Artists Statements

Materials used 1-5: graphite pencil and charcoal

Gestures were the beginning stages of the class

2. Blind contour poses-

3. Contour poses-

4. Now getting into a more refined drawing of the figure

5. Peer portrait drawing

6. Models' face portrait

7. Practicing different views of my face as well as the style of drawing

8. Midterm - Self-portrait

Artist statement: This is my self-portrait, I wanted to show how simple I am as a person, my home has been my safe haven ever since COVID-19, I've become more introverted and not going out so often so the background is my home, my special place.

-This is the last stage of the class

Material used: Acrylics

8. 3 figures- painting

9. Final Paintings (two)

First painting statement: During COVID-19, I practiced a moment of isolation, having my cat there was also a special experience. during this isolation, I would have myself train for new hobbies so I wouldn't think that time would pass by me, and have me regret. the open gap that showcases the sky symbolizes how much I desperately desired to go out. I tried darkening the room inside showing how trapped I felt during that time.

Second painting statement: Without having any personal ideas about what to paint next, I felt best to paint a fictional story. This takes us to medieval times, where there was once a princess having her own troubles, "it was time" her mother said. The princess was only 14 but was being taught already to become the next queen. 2 years before there was an awful war, leaving the kingdom without a king. Now it was up to the princess to lead. Her only responsibility is to find a husband to rule to kingdom with. the mother's desperation made her set up an arranged marriage without her daughter's permission. in this painting, it shows the coronation of the new queen. she is filled with many emotions and isolates herself from her people not feeling ready for the upcoming duties that will come forward.

Artist Statement Portfolio:

This portfolio overall was made over 6 months and the whole experience was wonderful and at the same time frustrating. I am an architecture student and I will admit, that I lost touch with free drawing. I got used to only doing perfect joined lines because it was what the architecture professors preferred but I see now that if I want to challenge myself I need to show something completely different. Having this class really helped me find more of the creative journey I was seeking and expand on the skills that I need to work on.

[violentdelightstheseviolentends]

woah! was that PRINCE ADEM walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from BEAUTY AND THE BEAST/DISNEY. they’re 27 and live in GLEN OAKS HEIGHTS but watch out because they can be TEMPERAMENTAL + INSECURE but are actually GENTLE + KIND despite them HAVING SOME memories, you’ll always think of ROSE PETALS, CURSED EXISTENCE, DISTORTED SELF-PORTRAITS impression when imagining them.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a kind Queen married to a cruel King. They had one son, Adem, and for a while he had a happy childhood. But after his mother died things changed as his father’s cruelty was now completely focused on him. He grew up, crueller and unkind. When his father died, he barely even reacted and instead threw himself into partying and ignoring his own duties. That was until the Enchantress arrived. When he rejected the rose she offered twice, she revealed her true form, and cursed him into being a beast with the servants in the castle being turned into objects. Time passed and there was no sign of the curse ending. The condition was to find someone who he loved and who loved him in return, but he never really left the castle, unsure how he could looking the way he did. That was until a man arrived at the castle, running away after seeing the talking furniture, but stopped to take a rose. Adem’s original plan had been to keep him locked up for the theft, afterall he had been damned over a rose, but his daughter took his place. As time went on, they learnt how to co-exist together, eventually becoming closer. However he also knew she was only there as a prisoner, and so let her go. But a man from her town learnt of the castle and led a mob to destroy them. In the aftermath, she admitted her feelings and the curse broke.

And They Lived…

Adem's family was old money, and it was a fairly lonely childhood with cruel parents, and his own anger issues keeping everyone at a distance. When a fire broke out in there house one night, his parents were unable to get out in time. Many thought Adem had started it, though it was quickly proven to be a tragic accident. Since then, he has kept to himself, knowing what people think of him. Then the memories returned, or at least... some of them. He remembered being cursed, he remembered the decade of loneliness, and he remembered being shot in the back. But Belle, Maurice, Gaston, and the rest of the town's people he has no recollection of. How he's human again, he doesn't know.

[celepom]

For Transgender Day of Visibility, here’s several books about Gender that I haven’t recommended before (I Think)!

Fine: A Comic About Gender

By Rhea Ewing

As graphic artist Rhea Ewing neared college graduation in 2012, they became consumed by the question: What is gender? This obsession sparked a quest in which they eagerly approached both friends and strangers in their quiet Midwest town for interviews to turn into comics. A decade later, this project exploded into a sweeping portrait of the intricacies of gender expression with interviewees from all over the country. Questions such as “How do you Identify” produced fiercely honest stories of dealing with adolescence, taking hormones, changing pronouns—and how these experiences can differ, often drastically, depending on culture, race, and religion. Amidst beautifully rendered scenes emerges Ewing’s own story of growing up in rural Kentucky, grappling with their identity as a teenager, and ultimately finding themself through art—and by creating something this very fine. Tender and wise, inclusive and inviting, Fine is an indispensable account for anyone eager to define gender in their own terms. 

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star 

By Jadzia Axelrod & Jess Taylor (Illustrator)

It takes strength to live as your true self, and one alien princess disguised as a human boy is about to test her power. A vibrant story about gender identity, romance, and shining as bright as the stars. Taylor Barzelay has the perfect life. Good looks, good grades, a starting position on the basketball team, a loving family, even an adorable corgi. Every day in Taylor’s life is perfect. And every day is torture. Taylor is actually the Galaxy Crowned, an alien princess from the planet Cyandii, and one of the few survivors of an intergalactic war. For six long, painful years, Taylor has accepted her duty to remain in hiding as a boy on Earth. That all changes when Taylor meets Metropolis girl Katherine “call me Kat” Silverberg, whose confidence is electrifying. Suddenly, Taylor no longer wants to hide, even if exposing her true identity could attract her greatest enemies. From the charming and brilliant mind behind the popular podcast The Voice of Free Planet X, Jadzia Axelrod, and with stunningly colorful artwork by Jess Taylor comes the story of a girl in hiding who must face her fears to see herself as others see her: the prettiest star.

To Strip the Flesh

By Oto Toda

A moving collection of six short stories that explores what must be stripped away to find the truth and celebrates the beauty of embracing who you are. Chiaki Ogawa has never doubted that he is a boy, although the rest of the world has not been as kind. Bound by his mother’s dying wish, Chiaki tries to be a good daughter to his ailing father. When the burden becomes too great, Chiaki sets out to remake himself in his own image and discovers more than just personal freedom with his transition—he finds understanding from the people who matter most.

Sir Callie and the Champions of Helston 

By Esme Symes-Smith

In a magical medieval world filled with dragons, shape-shifters, and witches, a twelve-year-old hero will search for their place as an impending war threatens. A thrilling middle-grade series opener that stars a nonbinary tween and explores identity and gender amid sword fights. My name is Callie, and I'm not a girl. I am here as Papa's squire, and I want to train as a knight. In a world where girls learn magic and boys train as knights, twelve-year-old nonbinary Callie doesn't fit in anywhere. And you know what? That's just fine. Callie has always known exactly what they want to be, and they're not about to let a silly thing like gender rules stand in their way. When their ex-hero dad is summoned back to the royal capital of Helston to train a hopeless crown prince as war looms, Callie lunges at the opportunity to finally prove themself worthy to Helston's great and powerful. Except the intolerant great and powerful look at Callie and only see girl. Trapped in Helston's rigid hierarchy, Callie discovers they aren't alone--there's Elowen, the chancellor's brilliant daughter, whose unparalleled power is being stifled; Edwyn, Elowen's twin brother, locked in a desperate fight to win his father's approval; and Willow, the crown prince who was never meant to be king. In this start to an epic series packed with action, humor, and heart, Callie and their new friends quickly find themselves embedded in an ancient war--the only hope to defeat the dragons and witches outside the kingdom lies in first defeating the bigotry within.

I Think I Turned My Childhood Friend Into a Girl 

By Azusa Banjo

It's a familiar story: a popular high school student gives their plain friend a makeover and transforms their life. But this time, the path to a new life isn't quite so straight and narrow. Kenshirou Midou has loved cosmetics all his life, keeping his obsession secret from almost everyone except for his childhood friend Hiura Mihate. One day, Kenshirou gets permission to practice applying makeup on Hiura, and the results are earth-shattering: Hiura's appearance transforms from a plain, undersized boy to a pretty, petite girl, and Kenshirou discovers just how freeing it is to apply his passion! Yet he's not the only one who finds the process liberating. Hiura likes the makeup, and the subsequent dress-up in feminine clothes, and decides to start wearing the girls' uniform to school. Kenshirou doesn't understand if he's unlocked something in Hiura, or if he's simply seeing a new side to his childhood buddy that he never noticed before. What are these feelings bubbling between them now--is this attraction truly new?

My Androgynous Boyfriend 

By Tamekou Wako and her androgynous boyfriend don't exactly have the most traditional of relationships. She spends her days working hard in the world of publishing, while he spends his time obsessing over fashion and makeup--all with the goal of making himself beautiful just for her. This romantic slice-of-life story is about love, relationships, and breaking with tradition!

[lairofdragonagelore]

Murals in DAI: Self-portrait

This mural is located in the Research Tower from The Darvaarad

[This post is part of the series “ Murals in DAI ”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

We have little context for this mural. We find it in the Research Tower from The Darvaarad, but we don’t know where the Qunari originally found it. 

Due to the quality of the wall, it looks like it was made on a regular generic fortress, since this wall looks like Skyhold’s.

The background of the painting is filled with inverted triangles that, according to Murals in DAI: Basics, are usually used to represent the Fade, so it seems to imply that Fen’Harel’s wolf aspect runs free in the Fade.

The background also has a change of colour that separates up and down through a dotted line [red arrows]. The upper part of the background looks like greyer, while the lower one seem to have a sheen of gold. Maybe it’s an indication of Fen’Harel being an entity that belongs to two different groups at the same time [Evanuris and Forgotten Ones/ Elf and Wolf]. We know this was later translated into the unreliable Dalish Tales as he being a “Creator” and a Forgotten One at the same time. We still don’t have a full comprehension of what a Forgotten One truly entails in terms of real elvhen History, since we have found nothing about them in Elvhenan sources [they were truly forgotten]. The closest information and hint we have is through Geldauran's Claim, in the Frostback Basin, Elvhen Tomb and some details in The Masked Empire.

To interpret the dotted lined circle around his eyes, I bring back two concept we have seen in several places:

Fen’Harel in wolf figure usually represents a protector and a guardian. We learnt this in some places such as the Temple of Myhtal Part 2, which symbol of protection survived up to the time of the Dalish Kingdom as we see in Exalted Plains with the Emerald Knights [guardians of the Dalish Kingdom who had a wolf as a companion in their duty]. Even after twisting Fen’Harel’s rebellious nature into a trickery one, some Dalish clans still put statues of Fen’Harel around their camps to “keep enemies away”, giving to him, unconsciously, a role of protection [we saw this in DAO]. 

In several other murals, the dotted lines seemed to represent something along the lines of being a symbol that separates layers of the world: the up from the down, the outside from the inside. 

If we combine both these meanings to understand the dotted line circle around his eyes we may interpret it as if the guardian-wolf walks through the Fade vigilant of all the layers of the world. 

A curious detail: this wolf has amber/yellow eyes, a unique feature of most servants of Mythal or related to Mythal [such as her daughters]. This could be a detail that may be related to the cryptic line of Cole: "He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face." If we relate this line with a potential origin of Solas acquiring an elven body for the first time due to Mythal’s request. This situation would mean that, in some “creation” way, Mythal was also his mother, hence, the detail of the yellow eyes. The line seems to imply that Solas’ body was created with a Vallaslin he removed later. This may also be an artistic license of Solas, since we know he doesn’t have such eye colour as an elf. Or this could mean nothing at all, and I’m overthinking in a detail that it’s only there to show calmness [the wolf is not angry or aggressive at all in this mural, unlike any other].

The wolf also walks on a ground that has no defined limits, as if it were dark smoke or dirt, and the only paw we can see is the one that steps in the area of the white sphere. This could represent an emphasis that the wolf walks on incorporeal or ephemeral dark lands [which seems a reasonable description for some regions of the Fade; or for regions around the Black City, if we assume that his Wolf form is still in the Fade, guarding the seal in a general way]. Only when the paw is closer to the elven shape, it can perfectly be seen and the ground in this region is “clearer”, probably as an effect of this white sphere. 

Between two dotted lines, the white sphere is more or less contained. I think this white sphere represents the Waking World. Not in a real structure of the world as we saw in Murals in DAI: Basics or in “The Creation of the Veil”, but as a metaphor in Solas’ mind. For Solas, the Fade is everything, it’s where he has always spent most of his life and where his true self roams [that’s why a self-portrait painting displays the Fade in its majority], and the Waking World seem to represent a small section of “his” world, where he has the elvhen shape. I also consider it the Waking World because it’s where his elvhen shape rises from the ground, reminding us another line of Cole: "They made bodies from the earth. And the earth was afraid. It fought back. But they made it forget" which implies that the evanuris may have been able to create bodies for spirits of the Fade using some stolen Titan power.

The white sphere may also represent the Moon in a Fade-like sky, but I’m not sure how to understand the mural with that interpretation. Solas did not show a particular interest in the moon along the game. However, there is a DA2 codex called The Emergent Compendium, [which works like a “Thedas twitter”] where appears the following message: Two shadowed spheres among stars subtitled "An eclipse as Fen'Harel stirred". 

Fen’Harel also mosaic shows [half] a sphere over his head that may be interpreted as a full moon too [but for all what we know it could also represent his orb, or his submission to Mythal, the only Evanuris who seems to have a divinity halo behind her in her mosaic]. So there are some loosen hints about Fen’Harel and the moon. 

Solas’ elvhen figure is wearing the moss-green robe that we have seen in previous murals: the slave elves in “Removal of the Vallaslin”, or the figure at the right in “The Creation of the Veil”, or the elvhen in the “The Death of a Titan”. Unlike any other mural, here he is hooded [the only figure among the potential elvhen depictions I can remember who wears a hood is the curious statue that may or may not represent Dirthamen: more details in Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din]. Once again I feel there may be some relationship with Dirthamen due to the common “knowledge” theme they share as purpose.

His outfit gives him a triangular overall shape. Curiously, it comes from underground, or it’s related to the earth [blue arrow], reinforcing the idea repeated by Cole about how the elvhen making bodies out of the Earth. His robe has undulating lines [red arrow] that we learnt in Murals in DAI: Basics, tend to be associated with “shape” and the “slavery” of taking shape. In this mural it may be a detail related to his elvhen shape, but also it could mean nothing and it’s a detail added to give the idea his cape is floating and moving.

Integral interpretation

I don’t think there is much to “integrally” interpret here. This mural seems to have little significance in terms of lore and plot, and may have some information about the dual nature of Solas. 

Solas as a wolf and as an elf walks free and “happy” [the body language of teh elevhen figure seems to imply enjoyment] through the Fade. His wolf aspect may be understood as a guardian who protects “his people” in different layers of the world, walking along the shadows and the ephemeral dangers of the Fade while his elvhen shape walks the world of the Waking World. The white sphere may represent Waking World or a Moon; in both cases, extra interpretations are quite loosen.

[wessexroyalfamily]

Forever My Guardian.

Woodstock Palace released a never before seen picture of the late Queen Mother with her daughter Queen Anne II of Wessex, posing together for a portrait in the Throne Room of St. Christopher Palace. 

Caroline was born the daughter of King Bernard II of East Anglia. She became a member of the Royal Family of Wessex upon her marriage to King William V. As Queen-Consort, Caroline spent her time supporting her many charities and supporting her husband in his official duties. 

After the death of her husband, Caroline planned to spend her widowhood away from royal court, in a self-imposed retirement. But her sense of duty and obligation to her adopted homeland motivated Caroline to resume her royal engagements once again in order to better support her eldest daughter Queen Mary I of Wessex. 

She was a pillar of strength for for her daughter and the nation. Pioneering such events as the annual Charity Ball and leading the nation in morning when Mary I died suddenly at Fogmorre Castle. 

When Queen Anne II of Wessex was thrust onto the throne after Mary’s death Caroline’s focus shifted toward the future of the monarchy. She became a guiding force in the lives of her two surviving grandsons, The Crown Prince William and The Prince George of Wessex, the next generation of royals. 

In a break with tradition and following Caroline’s wishes, The Queen Mother will have a private memorial service in the Chapel Royal at Fogmorre Castle. 

[underthecitysky]

Linda McCartney: a life through the lens

As a collection of Linda Eastman's best photographs - as chosen by her family - goes on display in a London gallery, her daughter Mary McCartney tells Roya Nikkhah that her mother's motto was always "Keep it simple"

By Roya Nikkhah and Royanikkhah

04 June 2011 • 9:00pm

Mary McCartney, who has curated an exhibition of her mother's photographic work: Photographs by Linda McCartney

In May 1968, Linda Eastman became the first female photographer to feature on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine with a portrait of Eric Clapton. Less than a year later, she married one of the most famous men in the world to become Linda McCartney, and was thereafter known primarily as a Beatle’s wife.

“No one knew I was a photographer,” Linda once said. “When I married Paul, to [the fans] I was an American divorcee.”

McCartney died of breast cancer in 1998 aged 56, but her family are determined to ensure that her accomplishments as a photographer live on. For the last year, McCartney and his daughters Mary, a photographer, and Stella, a fashion designer, have sifted through Linda’s archive of more than 200,000 images, to collate Linda McCartney: A Life In Photographs, a book of some of her best work, accompanied by limited-edition prints.

The retrospective encapsulates her work as a leading music photographer, with iconic images of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, the Rolling Stones and, of course, The Beatles. But while it covers studio sessions with the likes of Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson, it is also an intimate family album, with touching and many previously unseen pictures of the McCartneys raising their young children – Heather, Mary, Stella and James – at their farm in Scotland, on holiday in the Caribbean and at home in London.

Mary, who talks openly of her mother’s huge influence on her own career, is wandering around the cavernous white space of the Phillips de Pury gallery in London, where a selection of the prints are being hung, among them Linda’s famous photograph of a baby Mary peeking out from inside her father’s sheepskin jacket, which later illustrated the cover of his first solo album, McCartney, in 1970. “It looks so cosy, doesn’t it?” says Mary. “That’s how they’d go riding together – zip me in there and go for a little horse ride.”

Mary speaks movingly of her regret that her mother’s work wasn’t more widely recognised, so often overshadowed by the McCartney name. “She didn’t self-promote or do lots of interviews, she never blew her own trumpet, and so she was often pigeonholed as a celebrity who dabbled in photography, which isn’t how it was at all.

“People didn’t realise that it was through her photography career that Mum and Dad met and that she was a photographer way before she had a family with Dad. But she wasn’t that bothered about what other people thought about her, it’s more probably us, her kids, who got irritated.”

Linda’s break came in 1967, when she was the only photographer allowed on to a boat on the Hudson River in New York where the Rolling Stones were performing. The candid photographs of the band at work and at play paved the way for commissions from Rolling Stone and other leading glossy magazines.

“People know quite a lot of her Sixties work, but Stella, Dad and I were interested in showing a broader spectrum, as well as those iconic images,” says Mary. “When she got married, she stopped being a jobbing photographer doing all the bands in New York. When she moved to London, she carried on with a very similar style and eye, but her subject changed. She was still photographing the people around her, which were her family and friends.”

A previously unseen photograph of Twiggy shows the young model relaxing off-duty during a visit to Linda in London shortly after Mary was born in 1969. Another shows her young brother, larking around with McCartney in a bubble bath in 1983. “This one really shows her style,” says Mary. “Mum’s motto was always 'keep it simple’ which I stick to. She would never pose us all.

“With Dad and James in the bubble bath, she would just walk by and have thought visually that was quite strong and have taken the picture. She’d always have the camera on her so these are all like pictures she’d take as she was wandering through life.”

Mary moves towards a black-and-white picture taken at their farm in Scotland in 1982, showing Paul standing on a fence in his dressing gown, while Stella crouches on the ground and a young James, in his pyjamas, leaps off the family Land Rover. “This one is genius, but she won’t have set it up – it will have just been everybody there. That fence was really wobbly and we used to have a competition to see who could walk the longest along it before you fell off. It wasn’t very stable. I never, ever got all the way along.”

Mary remembers watching her mother at work; her subjects would barely register they were being captured on film. “She would have the camera with her but wouldn’t hold it up in your face for a long time, so she wouldn’t be clicking all around you – she’d chat with you, take a snap, put the camera down, so you didn’t have time to start posing and feeling self-conscious. She never intimidated people.”

Linda herself spoke of always trying to penetrate beneath the “veneer” of celebrity subjects like Jim Morrison, lead singer with The Doors, and her friend Jimi Hendrix. “People could confide in her, because she wasn’t a gossip,” says Mary. “Hendrix in particular became a bit disenchanted [with photographers] because they always wanted him to 'perform’ – be all rock and roll – but she was friends with him because she loved his playing, so he didn’t need to be like that with her.”

I wonder if Linda ever regretted relinquishing her successful career in New York after marrying Paul? “Talking to Mum, she had become a bit disenchanted with the music industry by that time,” says Mary. “She found that as the years went on, there were more lawyers and PRs around the record companies, who were more and obstructive.

“She was also being asked to get much more sensationalist pictures, which she wasn’t interested in doing. She told me people would try and get her to go to Andy Warhol’s Factory and take pictures of people shooting up, which wasn’t her style. It was enough to make her feel uncomfortable. She needed to be enjoying it to stay stimulated, so I think she’d got to a point where she’d done her bit.”

One of Mary’s favourite works in the gallery is Whisky and Milk, Scotland 1978, a black-and-white shot of an empty whisky bottle and a milk bottle side by side on the kitchen table. “I love that and it’s one of Stella’s favourites, too. It shows her quirky side and her sense of humour. She always thought that was quite entertaining, you know, the contrast of both bottles equally enjoyed by different age groups.

“This is one of my favourites too,” she says, moving over to Paul’s Feet, where McCartney grips a glass with his feet, toe-nails varnished in rainbow colours. “It kind of says a lot about Mum and Dad.”

Mary published From Where I Stand last year, a retrospective book accompanying an exhibition of her own work. While editing the book and show, she noted the similarity between some of her pictures and her mother’s. “I looked at some shots and thought, 'that was a picture Mum could have taken,’ but the difference between us is that she wouldn’t care about missing a shot, whereas if I see something and I haven’t got a camera, I can get quite stressed.

“She was very chilled, she’d say: 'It’s a soul camera moment’. Now, if I get annoyed that I’ve missed a shot, I try and think, 'Don’t worry, it’s on the soul camera’. I say it and don’t really mean it, whereas Mum could really let it go. She had everything captured in her soul camera.”

* Linda McCartney: Life in Photographs is at Phillips de Pury (Howick Place, London SW1, www.phillipsdepury.com) from June 7 to June 16. The book is published by TASCHEN and available for £44.99 at www.taschen.com

Mary McCartney, 6/4/11 - Telegraph (x)