#this is what we're doing now

[sapphire-weapon]

anyway, so --

[nightmarebunarts]

I was really going to only romance halsin this time but by god Je'La and Astarion are actually adorable together and I cannot split them up so throuple it is.

[finxwrites]

A bard makes his own luck. It’s not quite pithy enough to be a saying, but Eddie says it all the time anyway, because none of the fancier variants he’s come up with cut so cleanly to the heart of the matter.

Some of them do let him imply he’s got luck magic, though, or saints on his side. That can be pretty fun. Demons on his side, too, which can be even more fun. Which one is more dangerous tends to come down to what the locals count as blasphemy in whatever corner of the world he finds himself in, but learning to read the room for that is part of the game.

And it’s part of what he means. Eddie knows better than most what actually goes into a magic trick, and he knows that it’s only one part trickery to ten parts sheer panache. If you know how to hold an audience in the palm of your hand, you really can spin luck out of thin air.

But not in the literal sense. As becomes painfully apparent when he’s hauled before the magistrate for the murder of a girl whose death he cannot explain without sounding like he’s gone mad, or like he really does commune with devils. He does his best, pouring out pleas and assurances and reminders that he’s known here, he’s played in this town plenty of times before, he’s not a killer, he’s never hurt a fly. He does his best, but the magistrate remains coldly suspicious, and the sympathy of the crowd is tempered by uncertainty. One of his accusers is a knight. He’d need a lot more than luck to get himself out of this one.

The magistrate might even be a fair man, because he waits until Eddie’s started to repeat himself before raising his gavel. Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat, briefly strangling his words, at the sudden swooping knowledge that this is it, his chances are through, his luck has run out.

A young voice cries out, “Wait!” 

Every head in the courtroom turns, like this is a play. Dustin stands silhouetted in the open door. Lucas is next to him, hands on his knees, panting like he’s run a marathon. 

Dustin doesn’t waste a moment. He races to the front of the room and launches right into an impassioned defense, swearing that there’s no way Eddie could have done this, no one can even place him at the scene of the crime, he has no reason to want Lady Christine dead and no history of violence—

He goes on a while. It’s really sweet. Eddie’s heart swells a bit. He’s glad he has at least one friend in this shitty town, even if it’s a kid who’s only here for the jousting tournament and who’s only actually known Eddie for…what, four weeks altogether? Stretched over several months of running into each other along the tournament circuit, because for all Eddie disdains the violent sports of his so-called betters, he can’t deny there’s good money in following them around and pandering to their crowds.

Two friends, he amends, as Lucas regains his breath and joins in. He’d honestly kind of wondered if he’d find Lucas among his accusers. Lately it seems like every time Eddie’s seen him, he’s been hanging around Sir Carver. 

Well, he probably won’t be doing that anymore, if the blistering glares Carver is shooting Lucas’s way are anything to go by. At least Eddie’s wrongful death will be good for something.

The magistrate tries to cut Dustin off at least five times, but Dustin is a force of nature. So the magistrate is as startled as anyone when Dustin catches sight of someone at the door and falls suddenly silent. 

Once again, every head turns. Dustin looks so hopeful and relieved that Eddie’s heart rises in his chest in spite of himself. 

Only to come crashing down in baffled disappointment when Lord Steven Harrington, heir to the duchy of Hawk’s Grace, strides in like he owns the place.

Eddie’s higher cognitive function is replaced by a looping refrain of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. He watches in stunned incomprehension as Harrington flashes an easy smile at the magistrate and another at Carver and his little posse without breaking stride. Mike and Max trot in on Harrington’s heels, compounding Eddie’s bewilderment.

What is he doing here? Hawk’s Grace is over a hundred miles away! He can’t be here for the tournament, can he? Harrington was tournament champion three years running, but it’s been two years since he’s been seen in the lists, and he’s definitely not competing this year. Eddie would have heard of it.

Even more mystifying, and a fair bit more pressing, what is he doing at Eddie’s trial?

Harrington reaches the front of the room and cants a disdainful look at Eddie. He sighs, shakes his head in disappointment—it’s almost theatrical. Eddie’s pretty sure Harrington has never so much as glanced his way before today, not once in all the years of tournaments. Eddie would be offended—who saunters into a courtroom just to be rude to the doomed defendant?—but his higher cognitive function hasn’t come back yet.

Harrington greets the magistrate, who responds with bemused politeness. He clearly has no idea what the hell is going on either. Max and Mike have taken up positions behind Harrington and slightly to either side, like they’re squires attending their knight-master. Harrington ignores them as if this happens every day. And then he says, all aggrieved and apologetic, “Sorry I’m late, your honor. What is my man being accused of, exactly?”

If Eddie wasn’t already gaping like a beached fish, that would have done it. He made a weird little gasping noise as he tried to draw breath and failed, because apparently it was no longer just his higher cognitive function that had flatlined.

No one notices. The whole room is riveted by the spectacle of a ducal heir claiming responsibility for an accused murderer. Even the magistrate sounds a bit strangled as he asks, “Your man?”

“My herald,” Harrington says, blithely unconcerned. “I hear there’s been some confusion about a murdered woman?”

[birdmenmanga]

they were doing some real takayama shit to viktor in those recent episodes

[maeamian]

Part of the reason that Republicans are so desperately acting like they will never lose again is because they are deeply terrified that this is their last real chance to win. The big orange dipshit came in and gutted the party of everyone who wasn't a loyalist, which left it full of nasty little gremlins who have gaping voids where charisma and human decency is supposed to go.

They still hold a lot of power, but if we stop them this year the next presidential election may not be the Most Important One Of Your Life™, that's not a guarantee or anything, but if they don't win here and now their future looks grim, this dipshit is the only guy they have left and he's extremely diminished and has his brains leaking out of his ears at this point. We can beat him into the ground.

So that's what we're gonna fucking do. We're gonna break these fucking fash. They will crash upon us and we're gonna break their fucking necks. When they come for us they will lose because they're fucking losers and we have each other's backs which is something they fundamentally are incapable of comprehending.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My Great Grandma who loved her babies very much

Reference that I used for the face!

[accidental-apocalypse]

Protocol is actually just us Magnus Archives fans rapidly descending into s2-Jon-levels of paranoia. Granted, just like s2 Jon, we have reason to be paranoid, but it's still hilarious to see us all collectively scaling the walls of our enclosure while frothing at the mouth over our theories.

Jonny and Alex are playing us like a cheap harmonica and I'm so here for it

[rocketbirdie]

face value

[xxplastic-cubexx]

alternate apocalypse ending or something who the hcrist knows anymore

[naturecalls111]

unorthodox murder mystery

[ovegakart]

skimmed the Lore of fe; engage and theres NO LORE on where the rings came from. from my brief scan. just that dragons use them as weapons? doing whatever now then, link'll break him out somehow.

theres a previous part to this here

[egophiliac]

Do you have any final theories/desires for Book 7 Part 12?

(slamming fists on table) I DEMAND MORE CHE'NYA

[archerinventive]

“Listen to me, girl, you have castles inside your bones, coronets in your heart, if he threatens you with battle, you raise him a whole war, the last time I checked, Queens cower before no man.”

This quote Queens II by Nikita Gill hits even harder this week, just as it did the last time.

To all of those who are hurt and scared right now, who have been thrown into a state of survival. 

Your feelings are justified.

If history has taught us anything, what happens next will be hard.

This vote is not the end though. There is so much we can all still do.

In the words of Michael McWhorter

"This is what we do now...

We're going to form community and make community stronger.

We're going to form families..not just blood but chosen families.

Were going to look out for each other.

If we have to do some Underground Railroad shit, we'll do it.

People who are less affected, like me, are going to have to stand up and help those who are more affected.

We rally around one another.

We're not going anywhere. We are here to stay. We take the day to grieve, feel disappointed and recoup, then continue our battle and fight like hell.

We can't give up now."

Stay safe out there, and know you are never alone.

[saint-hymn]

You're not coming back from shit! Thrashing around in that high-conductivity state of yours, bumping into things and acting like a clown. Who are you kidding?

[waistcoatsandwhatnot]

The hand, the owl and the castle - Malevolent Part 47