#*gardens of refinement (verses)*

[healsighted]

Verses

Canon Verses Happiness Garden (Main Verse)

Set in the events of the main story of the series. I am primarily familiar with the anime / the OVAS.

Unknown Garden (Undetermined Verse)

An undetermined space for crossovers on default until things are more established.

AU Verses Nature Garden (Nobles Of Nature AU)

Full description to be added for this verse! Verse exclusive to blogs run by @abysseeker , @enterpainment , @kinglanius @moonlitmarquis @extremebattler , and myself.

[transsongtaewon]

Yoohyun's voice rang out even and clear, projected above the cheering masses by his microphone. He couldn't see them well past the glaring lights burning down on them, but he didn't care. Really, it was easier to concentrate on singing if he wasn't distracted by their ugly maws.

Next to him, Yoojin cut in with his part.

Yoojin's voice was less refined than Yoohyun's, but it held all the emotion Yoohuyn lacked. He traded pitch-perfect intonation for an inexplicable depth, his words dancing right into the hearts of anyone lucky enough to hear them.

Yoohyun thought it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Yoojin's verse wasn't over yet, but Yoohyun was already bright with anticipation. His hyung's voice was perfect, only sullied by those unqualified trying to join in, but Yoohyun still loved nothing more than to sing with him. The way their voices entwined, joining into a new, combined sound, was the only reason Yoohyun found the endless music lessons bearable.

He turned towards his brother, the stage design placing them farther apart than he would like. Their costumes were tailored to make them contrast, Yoohyun's costume a blue so dark it seemed black, and Yoojin in creamy white. Yoohyun thought he glowed like a star.

Finally, their shared verse began. Yoojin smiled at him when they started singing in unison. A hush fell over the crowd during their first, drawn out note, finally interrupted by the loudest cheer yet. Yoohyun was glad for his earplugs and only mourned that he couldn't fully hear Yoojin over the backing track.

The melody sounded melancholy, like a distant memory of summer days long past. It made Yoohyun think of the Garden, the time they spent exploring the seemingly endless green between lessons, how Yoojin always insisted on bringing Yoohyun with him even when the other children demanded his attention.

All of them had grown up in the meantime, Yoojin and Yoohyun and the others. Some of the then-children were waiting backstage for their own chance in the spotlight. Yoohyun had seen them when they picked out their costumes. One of them, an annoying blond man, had tried to force a coat on Yoojin. But Yoohyun had won out in the end. He was Yoojin's true priority.

The thought made Yoohyun smile, turning his final vowel wide.

Behind them, their scores were projected larger than life, numbers rapidly rising neck-to-neck.

Yoohyun did not bother to look back. No matter the outcome, it would be the last time he sang. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on Yoojin.

That way, when Yoojin's score rose past his, he could still see his hyung. When the exhausted smile on his face turned into horror Yoohyun remained calm. When the implant in his neck exploded, spraying blood onto his chin and shoulder, he did not even consider being scared.

He'd always known his brother was the better singer.

Written for Sctir Pride Week Day 1: Idol AU

[llamagoddessofficial]

The times you write about Dream is so cute, are you free to write romantic headcanons of him?

HOHOO I'm glad you like my spin on Dream! Here's some headcanons about him.

Elegant, polite, serene, refined. Early morning sunshine and clear freshwater lakes. He's a prince for sure, and he'll make you feel like royalty with the way he courts you.

He's got a way with words; his brother's an artist at heart, but he's always been a poet. He knows how to make you melt, how to weave sonnets that leave you sputtering and swooning.

(You'll know you're the one for him, because you're the only one that can leave him speechless~)

He likes nature. He doesn't often actually get to see the things that he works so hard to save from his brother. Flowers, animals, even just looking at the clouds in the sky can bring him peace - he'd be a good walking partner.

He's terrible at gardening though.

Sometimes he needs comforting. It's so hard. He's so tired. Your arms are the only place he gets any rest, anymore.

He's an excellent musician! Very adept at multiple instruments. He'll serenade you with delicate verses, if you'll only let him.

He doesn't particularly like using his abilities to make you feel positive emotions. He will, however, soothe aches and pains for you, and if you wake up in the night he'll be more than happy to dispel bad dreams and help you back to sleep.

All that being said...

... He does have something of a superiority complex. When you're literally a God, it's hard not to. He hides it very well, because he knows it's not acceptable, but it's not always easy to mask. You're his darling, the light of his life, you and him are simply 'better' than the simpletons of the other aus. Sometimes it slips through.

That's not all, either.

... A lot of Dream's gentlemanly behaviours are his ways of dealing with very dark thoughts and desires. He and Nightmare are cut from the same cloth, after all. The only difference between the brothers is Nightmare chooses to indulge at the expense of others - and Dream knows that. He knows he's only a few bad deeds away from becoming his brother. He's compensating by acting extra good and kind.

Just like Nightmare, Dream is prone to jealousy and possessiveness. It's extremely hard to tell when he's jealous because he masks it with even more politeness and kindness. He already lost one person dear to him, he deeply fears losing you as well. When his smile is just that bit wider and his fingers wrap around your shoulder with just a little too much deliberateness, it might be time to go home.

He claims he never uses his emotion powers because they're draining for him. That's not the truth.

He won't tell you, but the reason he resists using them on you is he fears what he might do when he feels how easy it is to stop you from leaving him.

[mrsrookhunt]

Monster Rooktober day 1

Monster!Rook Hunt x Reader

⚠️: not much, besides... dimension-breaking general monster rook. Meant to be pretty wholesome. He's possessive as well.

Gen!Monster!Rook just wants cuddles. It does not matter whether he is particularly versed in human speech or not, you will probably get the message when whatever creature that crawled out of hell (appeared in your bathtub) begins tightly squeezing you, oozing slime all over you like a marking of his territory.

By the time you realize he's in love with you it's wayyy too late (it's been two hours). He's invaded your house, eaten all of your snacks, covered your house in slime and burritoed himself in your bedsheets while you were showering.

He begins gaining a lot more knowledge about humans as he lives with you as you tolerate his presence infiltrating your home and enjoys cuddling you in more human-like ways, such as curling up on your chest instead of... sitting on you as an odd, undulating creature made of... something. He also enjoys watching you sleep. Or eat. Or live. It's his version of a 'hobby'. Be grateful you set a boundary early that he's not allowed in the bathroom with you.

He also begins learning how to properly speak instead of attempting to snarl out a besotted 'I love you' that sounds like the screaming of a thousand damned souls.

It's when he begins learning how to shape himself into a human figure that really freaks you out. Up until now he's been your clingy, cute enough monster pet. Now he's bringing you flowers from your garden like he saw on TV and parroting the cheesy romance lines he saw you reading in a book once as he conveniently leaned over your shoulder.

His human form isn't perfect but it gets more refined by the day, as does his speech and mannerisms. These days, you can take him out in public and no one even questions the oddly-proportioned man with too-green eyes and too-blonde hair walking alongside you with an odd gait. It's close enough, and he's learning every day so he can show his love for you! ♡♡♡

[lullabyes22-blog]

A small detail but I just wanna say I LOVE your food worldbuilding in your fic! I get so hungry reading about the dishes 😭 was there any inspiration behind your thoguts on Zaun crusine or any other fun lore? I was also wondering if you had thoughts on Piltover crusine and how that compares to Zaun.

Thank you so much<3

I actually have a Foodboard on Pinterest for Zaun's decadences and delicacies!

Re: Zaun and Piltover's food-canons...

I'm basing Zaun on a hodgepodge of multicultural meccas like New York, Mexico City, Mumbai, Rio, Tokyo, Seoul, Istanbul, etc. Lots of different histories converging to form a diverse street-food scene where folks eat on-the-go. Given the Fissures began as a mining town, the fare is heavy on greasy proteins and starchy staples to keep the average worker on his feet. At the same time, owing to their proximity to the riverside, Fissurefolk have a taste for the ocean, too.

The end result is a very subterranean and industrial city that's very, very proud of its culinary heritage, even if the "cuisine" itself isn't exactly pretty or refined. There's a certain "ghetto hustle" to it, with scraps taken from wherever it's available, and improvised into something distinctly its own. Plenty of emphasis on cheap shellfish, squid, octopus, shrimp, clams, etc, as they're a hardier food source that can be found in great quantities downriver.

There's also a lack of sunlight, fertile soil, and fresh greens in Zaun. So much of what's grown organically Down-Low is the more straightforward variety of root vegetables, ranging from potatoes, rhizomes, yams, lotus, yucca, sweet potatoes etc. There's also lots of cellars with candle-lit rhubarb, and a very eclectic range of mushroom gardens.

As for meat:

The Deadlands, which are more of a 'wild west' type terrain in the FnF verse, sport a hardy ecosystem of cave-dwelling, marsupial-like creatures I've dubbed Sump-voles. They're furred, and the size of a medium-large housecat. They're extremely agile and intelligent, and able to survive off the sparse vegetation. They're the primary source of food for the folks of the Deadlands.

There's also sump-boars: bristly, foul-tempered, and omnivorous. A bit like wild boar, but larger and more aggressive. Their meat, while rather gamey, is a source of rich protein, and often cured and smoked, or served as a roast during the Equinox Feast as a 'last supper', a chance to indulge in some fatty, delicious pork before the dark winter months of austerity. Their hides are also a valuable commodity and can be tanned and used to craft clothing, their bones ground into powder for fertilizer, and their tusks fashioned into weapons, jewelry, etc.

In Zaun proper, the primary source of meat are sump-rats. For the chem-barons, they are raised in massive, hydroponic-like farms that cultivate the creatures on an industrial scale. For the poor, they're either the unfortunate victims of homesprung traps or the prey of the many, many feral cat colonies. The cats in Zaun are extremely large and muscular, bred to be fierce. They're often mutated and have been spliced with a range of different DNA, from gen-0 to gen-X.

There's no real 'normal' cat, dog, or bird in Zaun; it's a land where everything is a mutant owing to the chemical radiation that pervades every single facet of life, to say nothing of its ambitious history of genetic manipulation.

That goes ditto for the bugs.

Necessity breeds creativity, and Zaun's not averse to a little entomophagy. In fact, the more common, and less-fetishized, way to get one's protein is through the consumption of locusts, beetles, dragonflies etc. These are a mainstay, and you'll see them sold on every corner. They're generally fried, and have a very similar crunch to a fried cricket. There's also cave-wasps: nasty buggers who build their hives in the caverns, and have a sweet, honey-like substance inside their abdomen. It's considered a delicacy, and a luxury item.

The cave-wasps are also a rare species that actually produce honey (similar to the B. Mellifica, or Mexican Honey Wasp) and the honey they store, though it has a much thicker, gel-like consistency, is prized as a source of hydration and energy.

It's also a nifty hallucinogen, and can be mixed into ales, beers, and ciders.

In terms of fixings and flavorings: Zaun is an underground city. That means staples like sugar and spice are at a premium, and either imported from the harbor, or smuggled from Topside. However, Fissurefolk understand the importance of boosting their immunity with the right nutrients, and have a keen interest in herbal remedies. There's a strong apothecary culture in Zaun, ranging from quacks to savants. You'll see plenty of peddlers selling the dried mushrooms, roots, leaves, and other fungi, all of which can be boiled into a tea, or steeped to make a broth.

Two homegrown minerals Zaun prides itself on are its salt deposits and its volcanic rock. Both are extremely potent, and have sparked a range of industries from salt-curing to cosmetic masks. The rock salts are a rich source of iodine, and used to clean wounds. The volcanic rock has a high level of iron, and is ground into powder and mixed into broths to prevent anemia and boost blood flow. There's also a thriving industry for beauty products in Zaun. Because of the constant, humid air that lingers beneath the surface, it's common for folks to break out into acne, boils, or other rashes. The rock salts are a good exfoliant and antiseptic.

Jinx, for instance, has an entire apothecary's chest worth of creams, gels, and tonics she applies whenever she feels a breakout coming on. She's also not above mixing her own blemish cream out of a blend of rock salt, crushed-up coral, and a few drops of oil squeezed from a luminous jellyfish.

Silco, similarly, uses a combination of salt water and crushed-up volcanic rock to exfoliate the calluses on his palms and heels, and soaks once a week in a warm bath of rock salt, mineral oils, and medicinal Shimmer. He swears by the concoction, and considers it the secret to keeping his joints well-lubricated and his reflexes in fighting trim for running from stray bullets.

And Jinx's occasional tantrum-prone grenade.

The Zaunite diet is also very heavy on pickling. It's an excellent way to preserve foods, and a great source of vitamins. Their choices run the gamut from sour pickled cabbage to spicy, chili-garlic fermented fish to lime-spiked octopus. Pickling is a necessity. And, because there's not enough space for farms, livestock, or pasture land, a lot of the food in Zaun is preserved via canning and jar-making. There's a robust canning industry, and a very well-developed glass-blowing and masonry business, lauded for its innovative shapes and designs.

Finally, there's the beverages.

Zaun has a strong history of drinks, from fizzy, chemically-colored sodas to a wide variety of spirits. There's an emphasis on teas, tisanes, and coffees, as the underground water can't be fully filtered, and isn't exactly the cleanest. A cup of hot tea with some lemon and honey is an effective way to keep one's immune system up and running. Zaun is also famous (re: notorious) for coffee that's guaranteed to jolt you wide-awake after a nasty hangover. Their most famous brew is the Wake-Up Call, which is a mix of ground coffee beans, ground cacao beans, ground guarana seeds, a touch of cinnamon, and a dash of powdered cayenne pepper.

It's not for the faint of heart.

The most popular non-alcoholic drink in Zaun is cherry soda, which is basically a cross between Coca-Cola and cherry Dr. Pepper, but brewed with a mixture of fruits, berries, and a healthy dose of cave-wasp honey and citric acid. It's fizzy, and tastes amazing. It's also extremely cheap, owing to the fact that a lot of the fruits and berries are foraged from the caverns, and the honey is, well, free-range.

In terms of alcohol, there's a huge emphasis on beer, wine, and ale, owing to the fact that these can easily be canned and fermented, and can last for long periods of time without refrigeration. Potato beer is an extremely common, and easy-to-consume source of calories. It's light-bodied, and low-alcohol, with a range of styles, from pale-ale, amber, and dark. There's also a huge emphasis on hops and malted barley, as these are cheap to acquire, and readily available belowground.

Zaun's signature drink is made via fermented cavernfruit. It's very hoppy, fruity, and acidic. It's got a high alcohol content and is a great thirst-quencher. Then there's Devilfruit: a deep red liquor made from a blend of various berries, and a texture and viscosity similar to cherry liqueur. It's usually enjoyed neat, but can be mixed with a splash of mineral water, or served over crushed ice. There's also drinks fermented from unusual ingredients such as mushrooms and fungus. One, known as Dungeon's Kiss, is a cloudy, milky white ale made from the sap of a cave-dwelling species of mushroom. It's extremely thick, the color of a pumpkin spice latte, and guaranteed to get you hammered in five sips.

Zaun's drinks are all brewed, bottled, and served locally. They're a point of pride, and a great way for families to earn their fortune. It's a fiercely competitive industry, and there's a lot of inter-clan rivalry.

In the FnF universe, I imagine Piltover has a very different diet than Zaun, given its bucolic setting, proximity to the sea, and the fresh produce, dairy, and livestock they import from all four corners of Runeterra. The food culture is diverse and beautifully artisanal.

There's a bustling farmer's market, lots of bakeries and cheese shops, and plenty of emphasis on freshness, seasonality, and regionalism. There's also a strong tradition of wineries, distilleries, and breweries. As a city of commerce, they also have a robust, and thriving, shipping and distribution industry.

All of this reflects a more rigid hierarchy of social classes that is more centered on the "white plate" aesthetic. It's all high-quality and extremely nutritious, but it's also very…bland and uniform. In Piltover, there's little to no street food culture, and there's a general disdain for the sort of messy, greasy pap that's associated with Zaun. You don't eat with your hands; you use utensils. You don't slurp, slop, or smack your lips.

And you certainly don't lick the sauce off your fingers.

In Piltover, there are very clear rules about dining etiquette, and the "food world" is just another part of the culture around class distinction, refinement, and propriety. However, the rigidity and regimented nature of their meals can be very stifling, especially when compared to the raucous and rollicking culinary culture of Zaun. It's therefore not uncommon for Piltovans to sneak off Down-Low, roll up their sleeves, and enjoy a bit of greasy, sticky-fingered fun.

Most consider it a calorie-loaded, guilt-free "cheat day."

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Thats' was your attempt at "roasting" me? Pathetic.

Ah—glorious.

The very first thing I behold on this otherwise delightful morning, as I sip the mysterious dark beverage my ever-dutiful scribe Eredin has provided (he called it coffee—a curious mortal concoction, bitter and energizing, much like the tone of your message). ☕

Truly, I expected to be greeted by birdsong, the soft murmur of Rivendell’s streams, or perhaps a poem written by the dawn itself.

Instead, I am met with this:

"Thats' was your attempt at 'roasting' me? Pathetic."

Behold! The triumphant return of our dearest Anon, bringing with them the true scourge of Middle-earth: poor grammar.

What a charming combination of shattered grammar and misplaced confidence. The perfect pairing for my morning brew.

You see, much like this coffee, your words are strong—yet lacking in refinement. They burn, but not with wit. They jolt one awake, yes, but only with confusion. “Thats' was”—I ponder this curious phrasing with each sip. Was it meant to provoke thought? Is it a riddle? A lament? Or simply a tragic misunderstanding of the English language?

Eredin, ever the compassionate soul (even after suffering a most dramatic collision with Glorfindel’s jousting horse—his chocolate curls flying, blue eyes wide with terror), paused in his tasks and asked if I needed clarification. I assured him no mortal confusion could rival the chaos you have presented.

“Thats' was” you say? Truly, a masterclass in linguistic innovation. The boldness! The audacity! The utter defiance of basic syntax! I can only assume this was an experimental attempt at poetry—free verse, perhaps? A daring foray into avant-garde language construction? Alas, it reads more like a failed spell in Quenya.

Let us break it down together, as I would for a particularly dense student of Elrond’s archives:

"That's" with an apostrophe after the s would indicate a plural possessive—fascinating, but incorrect here. Unless you meant to imply multiple entities belonging to “that”? A philosophical conundrum indeed.

"Was"—a noble word, but tragically misplaced. Did you mean "That was"? Ah, but then the entire phrase loses its unintentionally comedic brilliance.

Truly, your attempt at insult is less "roasted" and more gently warmed over a dying flame. If this were a culinary endeavor, it would be served undercooked with a side of confusion. This is not a roast; this is marination—and you, dear Anon, are in desperate need of a long soak in the juices of knowledge and seasoning of literacy.

Do I wish you well? Naturally. I hope one day you take a brave, heroic dive into the deep, flavorful broth of comprehension and climb back out, glistening with enlightenment.

Ah but...—perhaps I have misunderstood you entirely.

Maybe your bold display of grammatical chaos is not a mistake, but a statement. A declaration of origin. Tell me, are you from the fabled City of Auda? 🏛️✨

A mysterious place, shrouded in legend—a land where the Audacity flows like a river and bold claims sprout like weeds in untended gardens. For truly, one must hail from such a realm to display this level of unwarranted confidence, paired so artfully with a complete lack of coherence.

"Thats' was your attempt at roasting me?"—a cryptic phrase, surely. Is it a dialect unique to the City of Auda? A poetic form where punctuation and sense are mere suggestions? How brave of you to wield language so fearlessly, to venture into the unknown where comprehension dares not follow.

You see, from where I sit—gracefully perched with my cup of coffee (still more robust than your insults, still far too bitter for your sweet nothings) ☕—we value a certain… precision with words. But I understand. The City of Auda must teach its citizens to speak in riddles and half-thoughts. Truly avant-garde.

And yet, I wonder—how does one navigate life with so much audacity and so little accuracy?

Does your city not offer courses in literacy? Or perhaps you simply skipped them, confident that sheer nerve would see you through. Bold. Foolish, but bold.

Eredin, my poor, sweet scribe—bless his heart—glanced at your words and whispered, “Perhaps they need help? A dictionary? A map?” Such a kind soul. He worries for you.

But I digress. Should you wish to ascend from the depths of confusion and take a dip in the Lake of Literacy, I would gladly extend a hand. We could even throw in a free tour of the Library of Logic, followed by tea in the Gardens of Grammar. 🍵📚

For now, I shall let you return to the cobbled streets of the City of Auda—where punctuation is lawless, confidence reigns supreme, and sense is but a distant rumor.

But until then—kindly spare my scribe, Eredin. He is still recovering from being nearly obliterated by a jousting horse and does not deserve the additional injury of reading such grammatical catastrophes.

Warmest regards (roasted, marinated, and thoroughly seared), Lindir Still not a twink

[animatorweirdo]

When The Dragons Fly (Book 6)

After Easterling's departure, things had been peaceful. Your home has been allowed to expand and flourish. Your life seem to be turning normal, but then you then take interest when Kevhran informs you of orcs trying to capture a wild drake lurking in Ossiriand. Curious by their intentions, you decide to investigate it.

Chapter 1

Warnings: mentions of Falconer's recovery, Aelon feeling a bit shaken by everything, some little angst, getting curious about something, talk about killing.

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

After Ulthor and his people crossed the Blue Mountains and departed from Beleriand, peace had returned to Ossiriand, allowing your home to flourish without further threats. Now, with Greyhill, Highriver, and Mistwood as loyal allies, your village had the opportunity to expand in many ways.

Eda’s herb shop had grown in size, allowing rooms for patients to stay overnight and having a garden for herbs that grew best on your home’s terrain. Eda has started collaborating with Highriver’s and Mistwood’s healers, trading herbs and medicines. They even started taking in students, training them in the art of healing and the knowledge of herbs. As these were dangerous times, there was a need for new healers. 

Eda was a strict teacher who often seemed annoyed when teaching inexperienced students, but when they assisted in her shop, she appeared satisfied enough.

Dwenn’s business has also bloomed. More people showed interest in carpentry, and with your village’s constant development, there was a need for his expertise, which also provided opportunities for trainees to improve their skills in building. 

Torim and his people decided to stay, opening a forge and helping you refine the mountain hall into a proper underground structure. He improved the ventilation system, ensuring better airflow and smoke management for the fireplaces, making it easier to heat the rooms. Additionally, he took charge of exploring some of the Blue Mountains’ unexplored tunnels in search of possible ore veins and rare stones.

He informed his wife and son in Belegost of his decision, and they chose to travel to Greyhill to be with him. Since Nirnaeth Arnoediad, they had vowed never to be separated again. His wife, an experienced businesswoman, started working alongside Deanna in managing the trade between Greyhill and Belegost. This brought you some relief, as Deanna now had someone well-versed in trade and financial matters to assist her and thus would no longer need to seek your counsel.

Your people and neighbors grew comfortable around your dragons. The younglings roamed freely with their chosen humans, often participating in various activities. Viserya, for example, frequently helps Rodrick and his mother at their bakery, keeping the fire steady with her flames in exchange for treats. Meanwhile, Smoke accompanied Ramuel, who had taken an interest in forging and cave exploration alongside Torim.

With assistance from the neighboring villages, you and Baelen oversaw the construction of protective walls around Greyhill, strengthening its defenses. An armory was also built to store weapons, ensuring preparedness should another conflict arise.

With Ulfric and Ewan’s approval, several watchtowers were erected throughout the region, providing vantage points to spot potential threats. An alarm system was also implemented, enhancing security and ensuring that any danger could be swiftly detected and responded to.

And thanks to the alliance between you and Maedhros, you were able to get more effective care for Falconer. 

The young dragon was wary of the elven healers at first, but with Aelon's presence and assistance, the elves were able to tend to his dragon’s wounds. Though Falconer would bear heavy scars, his life was no longer in danger. After months of rest, he had finally recovered enough to fly again, bringing great relief to Aelon. However, after such a long time grounded, you concluded it would be for the best to let Falconer fly on his own for a time – to retrain his muscles and wings. 

Letting your brother ride his dragon right away could bring unforeseen risks and bodily damage to his dragon. So, you did not want to take chances. 

You and Baelen agreed to station a few guards at the entrances of your dragons' caves to prevent another incident from occurring. While Baleria was more than capable of defending herself, Falconer was still recovering and required protection. As for the younglings, they had already learned to breathe fire and spent most of their time with Aelon's friends, so their safety was not a major concern.

Some of your people, especially those from the north, were skeptical of the Noldor and the alliance you made with Maedhros. It was most likely due to the wounds over the loss in Nirnaeth Arnoediad still being fresh as some blamed the elves for the losses the war brought afterward. It was, unfortunately, a matter you could not solve directly. You just had to hope that over time, your people would let go of the skepticism and see the positive aspects the alliance with Maedhros’s people brought. His people were also skeptical, especially toward your dragons, so they mostly stayed away unless there was something you needed them for.  

You had not seen Maedhros since your last talk. Even though he had agreed to the alliance, he had kept his distance as well. You understood that he was most likely busy taking care of his people, but it felt like there was still some apprehension toward you. You could not help but miss the openness and friendship you once bore. Every letter that was exchanged between you was strictly professional. You nearly felt like you were back at being the Lord General. 

You had officially taken charge of Greyhill’s development, focusing on strengthening its defenses, advancing its technology, and doing advanced research in different areas – benefits you also shared with your neighbors. Middle-earth’s technological advancements were vastly different and lagged behind the advancements you made in Westeros. Seeing the benefits they would bring, you sought to integrate them into your now home. 

Unknown to many people in Westeros, you and the Seven Armies made many advancements in technology and tactics.  You oversaw their development yourself and among your commanders, purposely kept them a secret from both the crown and other kingdoms, to make sure you will stay ahead and they would not be able to exploit them for their own uses. 

Now, you made use of them for Greyhill, giving it and its people the chance to stand strong in the face of danger and allow it to thrive. 

In your free time, you conducted research and documented everything the Dragonkeepers had once taught you about dragons’ health, from remedies for injuries to medicines for illnesses they might suffer. This old knowledge had only recently resurfaced, which made you realize the importance of having knowledge to treat your dragons when necessary.

As powerful as dragons were, they were not invulnerable — they were capable of falling ill and becoming injured enough to require outside treatment. Having that knowledge would ease your troubles in the future in case something happened to your dragons again. 

It made you spend a lot of time with Baleria and Falconer. It was also the only time you had to contemplate things in peace. 

Aelon sometimes participated in this research so he would be able to help his dragon if Falconer became injured again.  

Otherwise, Aelon spent more time in learning healing from Eda. He and Eweniel had decided to learn from the old woman. He reasoned that he wanted to be able to help the injured when necessary, but you suspected he also wanted to stay away from violence. After the assassination attempt and what happened with Ennard, Aelon had been less willing to participate in anything related to fighting. 

You understood well why. The conflict with the Easterlings had left scars on him. He had experienced an assassination attempt, felt what it was like to nearly lose a loved one, and the man who had tormented him tried to kill him again, causing him to lose his patience and attempt to take the man’s life. 

It felt like another failure on your part. You thought you could solve the conflict easily, but now Aelon had experienced things you had when you were younger, and he had been left scarred by them. 

Being a healer was not a bad choice, and you would not blame Aelon if he wanted to stay as such. 

At the beginning of Autumn, many things had changed in your home. 

Today felt like any other day, but then you received an interesting report about a creature that had been sighted somewhere in the northern regions of Ossiriand. 

“There had been an unusual amount of orc activity at the end of River Thalos. Some locals say that they have found many corpses of orcs near the river, most having been scorched beyond recognition. They also said to have seen a shadow and heard loud roars that resembled sounds of a dragon,” Kevhran explained. 

“Burned orcs and a creature that sounds like a dragon? “ Baelen questioned before shrugging his shoulders. “Sounds like a drake gone rogue,” he stated. 

“It would make sense. However, I’m curious. Orcs do not often wander into Ossiriand. What could they be doing at the River Thalos?” you asked. 

“The locals have seen them wander near the river, but for some reason, they have left most of the settlements alone, going for the mountains where the dragon was rumored to be. I think the orcs are looking for it," Kevhran replied. 

“Are they trying to capture the drake?” you frowned curiously. 

“Why? Wouldn’t letting these beasts roam around the lands work in Morgoth’s favor?” Baelen questioned. 

“I do not know. It would work in his favor to unleash his drakes and let them roam, causing destruction wherever they go. It would make it easier for him to advance and conquer more lands,” you answered. 

"Yet, for some reason, the orcs are actively searching for this particular drake, leaving everything else in peace. I can only assume they’re trying to capture it and bring it back to where it came from," you surmised.

“Which raises another question— why?” 

"Why are they trying to capture this drake?” 

“I doubt the Dark Lord would waste resources hunting down a single drake. Unless… there’s something different about this one. Something he needs to reclaim before it’s discovered," you said thoughtfully. 

“You raise a good question,” Baelen crossed his arms. “What is special about this drake that Big Bad wants back?” he questioned. 

“If this drake has something important. Maybe we should investigate it,” Kevhran suggested. “To see what it is before they take it back and hide it again,” he added. 

“Well…” Baelen looked toward you. “River Thalos is not too far from here. It might be worth taking a look, especially when it’s about Morgoth’s business. And perhaps it would be a good idea to see and determine if this drake poses any danger to us in the future,” he said. 

“I would hate it to come for an unexpected visit,” he remarked. 

You thought about it. A wild drake lingering near your home could pose risks, especially toward settlements near the River Thalos. However, you are mostly curious to see why the orcs are trying to capture it. 

“Very well. Kevhran, gather your men and wait for me at the gate. I will come investigate this drake with you.” You stood up. “I will also come to determine if its presence poses a danger to us and the settlements there,” you added. 

Kevhran nodded. 

“Baelon, watch over Greyhill while I’m gone,” you said. 

“What if you end up confronting the beast while you're there?” Baelen asked. 

"I first want to see it and find out why the orcs are trying to capture it. I will take Baleria with me in case we are forced to confront it. Only a dragon is truly capable of facing another dragon. But if confrontation isn't necessary, we will be there solely for observation," you answered.

“Alright, be careful. Morgoth’s dragons can be unpredictable,” Baelen said. 

“I will. We will be back before nightfall,” you said as you prepared to leave. 

Aelon sat by the window, staring through the window. His mind was stuck in the moment when he raised his sword and prepared to strike down Ennard, who begged for his life. It had been months since Ennard’s death, but Aelon could not help but feel stuck at that moment when he nearly killed the man in blind rage. 

“Earth back to Aelon.” Eweniel waved her hand in front of his face. 

Aelon snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the girl sitting next to him. 

“This is the third time your head has been in the clouds today. Is everything alright? What is troubling your mind so hard today?” Eweniel asked while crushing some of the herbs in a pestle. 

“Too many things,” he replied. 

“Say one,” Eweniel stated. 

Aelon considered his words carefully before revealing his main troubling thoughts. 

“What do you think would have happened if (Name) didn’t stop me from killing Ennard?” he asked. 

Eweniel glances at him with a questioning frown. “Now, why would you be thinking about him out of all people?” she asked, 

“Just please answer the question,” Aelon replied. 

“Probably nothing. Ennard was an awful man, and he got what he deserved. I’m happy that he’s no longer here to torment us,” Eweniel answered. 

“But I think I was actually going to kill him,” Aelon uttered. “Killing an orc is one thing, but killing another human person is… ,” Aelon couldn't find the right word. 

“You were angry, and he attacked you first. I do not think anyone would have blamed you even if you had killed him,” Eweniel tried to comfort. 

“Maybe… but the thought…” Aelon tried to think through his words, but it felt like his tongue had twisted itself, causing him to be unable to say it. 

“The thought of taking another human’s life terrifies me,” he said. 

Before Eweniel could say anything, the two heard loud wind outside the shop. They looked through the window and saw Baleria glide over the village, her grumbles heard through the glass and wind from her wings shaking the pots and bowls on the tables. 

“Where do you think she’s going?” Eweniel questioned. 

“I don’t know, but it’s probably something important,” Aelon replied. 

“Hey, Ae. Don’t think too much about the whole thing. It will only make you feel worse. Be happy that nothing worse happened. Ennard was not likely gonna survive it either way,” she said. 

“You’re right,” Aelon nodded. His mind is still heavy. 

“Now. let’s get these herbs done before Eda notices. I don’t want her to scold us for slacking off,” Eweniel said as she continued mixing the mortar. 

Aelon continued pulling the leaves and flowers apart, though his mind remained heavy with the thought of killing people. He could not understand how others did it. How could they even enjoy causing harm to others? He barely understood how easy it was for you to sentence Ennard to die. These questions haunted him, and the idea of him killing someone in blind rage left him feeling pale and shaking hands. A small part of him felt relieved that you stopped him from killing Ennard.

Taglist: @natchayaphorn@kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain @maedhrosiseverything2me

[tawakkull]

SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM: PART 110: SAFA’ (PURITY)

Safa’, in the language of Islamic Sufism, signifies the state of a heart at peace because it has been purified of all kinds of things that contaminate it, such as sin, feelings of vengeance, jealousy, and hatred, and suspicion of others. The verse (38:47), They were, in Our sight, among the most purified, chosen, truly godly ones, which expresses the holiness and greatness of some Prophets, stresses purity in the greatest degree. The word mustafa, derived from safa, and which means pure essence, extract or the cream of something, is the special used to express in particular the rank of our Prophet, due to his being the essence and cream of existence and the master of both worlds-this and the next. So, having a special distinction among all ranks and being a symbol of transcendence among the Prophets, it has always been a goal toward which the Prophets and the purified, saintly scholars have tried to rise.

Purity originates from the purest and most blessed of sources and reaches the pool of the human heart, from which it issues and flows into other hearts to enlighten them on new wavelengths according to the capacity and disposition of each and the requirements of time and conditions. It sheds light on the ways of the travelers to the Truth so that they can follow them easily. It purifies their hearts and equips them with sincerity, guiding them to the truth of Divinity, causing their spirits to move in ecstasy with the infinite pleasures of supplication and their hearts to move with love, zeal, and yearning for meeting the Beloved. It is usually dealt with in three categories:

The first is purity of knowledge. It occurs when a traveler continues the journey under the guidance and in the light of the knowledge taught by the Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings. The Book and the Prophetic Sunna are followed strictly and with utmost care during the journey, the requirements of doing so being never neglected. With the good pleasure of God as the sole aim of the journey, the traveler faces all hardships and difficulties, without ever losing the resolve to continue on the way.

In other words, purity of knowledge occurs when an initiate who is traveling under the guidance of the sun of Prophethood, puts heart, spirit, and reason under the command of this sun. Following him to the utmost possible in all thoughts, actions, and attitudes, the traveler is annihilated and revived in him, and appeals to his judgment to solve all the problems encountered. The traveler is honored with various favors to the extent of love and knowledge of the supreme goal-God-and zeal and yearning to meet with Him in the footsteps of the pride of Messengers, upon him be peace and blessings. The author of the Gulshan al-Tawhid (“The Rose-Garden of Divine Oneness”), talks about this rank as follows:

Go and pursue such knowledge that

It can open your heart and solve all your problems.

By contrast, any knowledge that does not inspire in people the true aim of life and, in order to realize that aim, does not equip their sight with the necessary light, their will with strength, their spirits with love and zeal, and their hearts with the desire to reach the realms beyond the heavens, is not promising, even though it may not be a delusion or mere illusion.

The second rank in purity is purity of state. It occurs when the heart opens and closes with the awe of God and love of the truth. It expresses its excitement and anxiety in supplications and entreaties to the Almighty, removing feelings of loneliness and gloom that come between it and the truth, becoming a hill where the breezes of peace blow. Setting itself solely on God alongside all the other faculties, such as the emotions, consciousness, and perception, the heart flings all else except the Almighty into the abyss of nothingness, like a stone, in order that nothing should veil God from it.

When seekers after Truth attain the state of purity and refinement, their hearts overflow with the manifestations of the truth of Divinity, their spirits are flooded with the love of truth, and enraptured with the real beauty of existence which they observe through the windows that have been opened in them. In this state, they turn to the Realm of the Holy Presence with the most enchanting of supplications voiced with the full force of their sincere feelings, feelings that have begun to speak instead of themselves. They unburden themselves, feel that God is turning to them, and taste the deepest of pleasures. It even happens that in this state they invoke the Divine Being Himself as Allah-the Proper Name of the Supreme Being encompassing all other Names-and as the All-Merciful (al-Rahman)-the primary Title of the Supreme Being which, like the Name Allah, can be used for Him exclusively-among the Attributes with which they qualify Him. In the rising waves of their feelings, they sense the pleasure that the angels have in worshipping the Almighty, witness the self-possession of other spiritual beings, are enchanted with the mysteries of the higher, incorporeal realms of existence and the beings that inhabit them, and feels as if they have transcended the limits of humanity. In the following couplet, the author of al-Minhaj points to this spiritual state, which one who does not experience it cannot grasp:

Sometimes a person is dumbfounded in this state,

without being able to utter a word,

And sometimes only one who experiences it can know what state this is.

Purity of meeting with God, which is the third rank in purity, occurs when the worshipping servants become as nothing or, to put it in other words, feel and know annihilation of their own being, attributes, and actions in the Being, Attributes and acts of the Necessarily Existent Being, and live immersed in observation of the blazing manifestations of God’s Existence and Knowledge. In other words, the pleasure that the worshipping servant feels in God’s service is combined with, and melts away in, the duties of servanthood due to His being the Lord (One Who creates, sustains, brings up, and protects), and the mysteries of existence become unveiled and come into view on all sides. The manifestations of God’s Existence and Knowledge that pour in completely pervade the conscience, and the shadow of the truth, which will become visible in the other world, begins to be seen with the eye of the heart. To paraphrase the state, God declares to His servants whom He has made near to Him: He hears by Me, and sees by Me, and holds by Me, and walks by Me. So, such servants observe from their observatories of heart and innermost faculties, such as the Secret, the Private and the More Private, the pure spiritual realm with some of its mysteries, and the pure realm of the Divine Dominion with some of its particularities, and the spiritual realm of the Divine Power with some of its aspects, and the truths originating from the Divine Being. They know the substantial truth behind realities that are evident to everybody, and acquires certainty in their knowledge, and their certainty rises to the degree of certainty that comes from direct experience (haqq al-yaqin) according to their capacity. Peculiarities vanish and particular natures melt away in the burning rays of the manifestations of His Face, and only His Self-Subsistence is felt. In this rank, initiates, who have reached a state of pleasure that pervades the whole being, feel as if a drop has become an ocean, a particle the sun, and everything has turned into nothingness. They feel and know Him only, and begin and end with Him, and work by Him. They may go so far as to confuse His Being with His manifestations. Those who are not able to enlighten their feelings, consciousness, and faculties of perception with the light brought by God’s Messenger, may make mistakes or be confused in their comments. Many people have uttered words showing this confusion:

When you have seen the lights of the sun,

You no longer exist, (burnt away by the lights of His Face).

A drop is lost in the waves of the ocean, and you, being a drop,

Have been lost in the ocean of mysteries.

You will no longer be able to find the drop.

Though it is not in the capacity of everyone to be lost,

Those who are annihilated like you are not few.

If those who try to explain purity of meeting with God use words that suggest incarnation and union in order to convey their states and pleasures, they are apt to be confused in their interpretations. Therefore, they must immediately appeal to the light of Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, and correct their confusion. On the other hand, those who adopt an interpretation and attitude that arise from a spiritual state and pleasure simply as a thought system and philosophy, are clearly misguided and are regarded as being in rebellion against God until they enter the way of the Messenger and his Companions.

O God! Show us the truth as the truth and enable us to observe it; show us falsehood as falsehood and enable us to avoid it.

O God! We ask You for forgiveness, health, and approval. O God! Guide us to what You like and are pleased with; and may Your peace and blessings be upon our master Muhammad, the sun of guidance, and means of happiness, and on his family and all of his Companions.

[aaluminiumas]

Noble

I fumbled the timeline for my own convenience. With love, Author

If you like this work and want to check out my other fics, you can find them here.

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Video Games) Relationships: Hans Capon & Henry

Audentes Fortuna Non Iuvat

I’m staring at you intently, scrutinizing the pale features of your refined face. Sometimes I think you’re pissing me off. Tremendously. Your haughty manner annoys me like a piece of cloth grazing across a raw wound, and your proud posture, which radiates confidence even though you have nothing to be proud of, is certainly the last thing I want to see after a long and tiring journey. Your sense of humor, constant jokes about women and sex, unexpected Latin remarks—these little details unnerve me so much that I can hardly hold back my emotions—and my overwhelming rage, which induces me to punch you in the smug face. And you know you deserve it. You’re asking for it. Every gesture of yours must be noticed. You live to be noticed.  

Your demeanor shows that you are not aware of the fate awaiting you; you can't even imagine what's in store for you: all you know is that you've done a great thing, saved your noble arse, and poached near and far. Your full-mouthed eloquence has reached the guards' ears, and while you're bloviating here, absolutely oblivious to the surroundings, I can hear their quiet conversation. While you are trying to impress and humble me, these nasty lickspittles are running upstairs to inform the warden and deliver the official verdict. The verdict that will surely sentence you to an ignoble death.

You are guilty. But you do not deserve to die like a stray dog.

For all your bluster, you are a decent man, if a little flamboyant. We don’t always see eye to eye, but it doesn't make you any more subject to the death penalty. I don't mean to say that you are a saint; far from it; I can recall a few tricks that would've landed a peasant in prison, but you, of course, came through unscathed. It didn't hurt anyone, at least not physically. You didn’t kill people for fun or for money. Well, perhaps, you killed and gutted your father's respect for you, but who counts that for harm? Certainly not me.

You have so many things ahead of you. A brighter future to enjoy. A huge nuptial with a noble wench you don’t get to choose. An arrogant kid, your flesh and blood. A castle in the countryside. You'd spend hours in the library, reading all those books in Latin, showing me a word you insist I should use more in our conversations. You tend to throw your educational remarks at me, and sometimes I manage to insert these words and phrases into my speech almost indeliberately, without thinking. Your momentary affairs don't really affect the status quo: you're always back in the library, or in the garden, or in the forge, teaching me, citing out the classics, joking around, and endlessly talking about the night with Theresa, Maria, Klara, or God knows who else. You're always back. Your potential betrothal, necessary for the people of your social position, wouldn't change things significantly. You'd still loiter around your castle, choosing the most inappropriate verses to read to me.

For some reason, this mental imagery stuns me more than it should. Of course, I knew that this political alliance was inevitable, but I never gave it enough thought. At first, I'm inclined to sneer: I used to think that peasants are in no way better than the nobles, and you'll get what you deserve by marrying a gal coming from a prosperous family just to make sure your dynasty doesn't die out, and your castle in the countryside is passed down to the real heir. Then, I can't stop wondering: how will you take this cold calculation solidified ten generations ago? If I save you, will you be happy with a woman you won’t be able to pick? If I save you, will you be happy to lead the life your father expects of you?..

“What?” your irritable voice interrupts my train of thought, “Can’t you stare at the guards with the same piercing intensity? Perhaps it will affect them just enough to let us out at once.”

“No.”

“No—what?”

“No. They won’t let us out.”

“Thanks, Henry. That is a valuable piece of information we lacked,” your words are oozing with sarcasm as you grant me an elegant—and dramatic—bow. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“No, Hans, you don’t get it. They aren’t letting us out because they are about to execute you.”

“Execute? Me?” you repeat with mounting incredulity, not quite losing the waspish note. “I’m a noble,” you’ve recovered; you’re already your imperious self. “Nobles don’t get executed, Henry. We are killed on battlefields. Poisoned by political rivals, or otherwise eliminated by the means of a more refined nature. Once we’re out, I’ll send you to the library. You’re in terrible need of filling the blanks on history. It has always been your weak spot.”

That self-confident tone almost drives me crazy, and I’m barely containing my anger: it’s not that you don’t believe me; you are genuinely unable to imagine a situation where a person of your heritage would end up hanging from the gallows, with a noose around the neck, arms, and legs dangling in the air.

“Can’t you hear me, Hans? Are you fucking deaf? You were poaching, and the guards heard that all while you were giving me a first-class lecture on your wit and resourcefulness! All they’re waiting for is an official order that will—”

As if on cue, the wrought iron doors of the prison squeak. I can make out two stout shadows with torches. The guards.

After a pause, they saunter out of the corner like they own the place. One of them has a loping walk, but the gravity of the news he is about to announce forces him to keep it in check. He's huffing and puffing, trying to match your posture, but it looks lame: a drunk clown on the town square couldn't have been funnier. The other one notices his efforts and nudges him in the ribs: they are here for a reason, and this improvised performance messes with his intimidating plans.

A short skirmish in the darker passage, and they're here, not even bothering to hide that they are pleased to announce the news—the news that cannot be favorable given their attitude. You've irked them just as much, and they crave to teach you a lesson. A feeling's all too familiar. Can't blame them for that.

Their ceremonious approach makes me wonder. Did I hear them right? They did discuss your unforgivable crime in low tones to deliver the upcoming order pompously in a sonorous voice, but is there any hope that you won't be hanged?.. Is there any hope that they indeed believed your words and recognized a noble in your proud bearing, your speech?..

“Fine, Nobley-Gobley,” the loping-walking one snickers, “Prepare to meet your noble ancestors 'cuz you ain't gonna stay here much longer. We'll getcha the noblest gallows for sure. The best noose we can find. The one we throw on our noble hogs.”

He cackles with a pig snort, but I barely hear. I cannot discern their gibberish; the verdict they declare deafens me for a moment. Once they're done with jeering, they give the official statement, but the complicated nature of the text eludes me. As if eager to confuse me further, the guards quote random phrases they can hardly read and repeat. You lose your temper. As expected.

“You can't even tell statute from statue! They should've sent us someone with education. Make sure you learn the alphabet before you read to a noble.”

“Ain't me gon' hanging, nobley,” the guard snaps, folding his beefy arms in his chest. “Laugh all ye want. In the end, it's me be laughin'.”

It dawns upon you. Finally, it dawns upon you. Your education and all the fine arts you studied didn't help you plow through his poor reading, but as the meaning of the verdict becomes clear, you suddenly stop. Not in the literal sense of the word, you are still your proud self, but I can see your limbs stiffen, your eyes glaze, and your features grow angular as if death has already frozen you with its rotting breath.

“Cat got your tongue?” says the other one in his reedy voice. “Not so brave now, are we?”

“It shouldn't have struck me as odd that the warden sent us the most illiterate guards in the entire country, but I suspected he would choose a more sophisticated approach. How does he expect the victims to comprehend two tottering knuckleheads?”

You do it on purpose, infuriating them, showing your invisible superiority. The words you spit are burning with disdain, but your eyes, rarely impressed, reveal your fright. This is the first time I see you so horrified as if their malicious triumph has shattered your world. Your voice is raspier than usual as if your throat is inlaid with rusty chain mail. Your tongue seems to have difficulty forming the right sounds as if you're choking on your own blood. Your lips twitch as if you're about to shout, but no shout comes. Instead, you lose control in a different way: you conceal your consternation beyond a chain of curses addressed to the guards, their licentious mothers, and their drinking fathers who failed at upbringing since day one when they first dropped their sons onto the wooden floors of their ramshackle miserable huts.

No nuptial. No kids. No castle in the countryside.

No brighter future for you.

The prison falls silent. You breathe hard, though I am the only one to notice. The guards linger, enjoying the sight, but I break the trance.

“And me?” I blurt out, looking at the more serious guard who seems more sympathetic to the wrongdoings of a fretful and exceedingly spoiled noble. “What about me?”

“What about you? Caught poachin’?” he asked emotionlessly chewing tobacco.

“No.”

“Murderin’?”

“No, sir.”

“Stealin’?”

“Also no.”

“Then drag your sorry arse away.”

“Make it in time to see that friend of yours jigglin’ from ’em gallows!” the other one adds, giggling like an idiot.

This has the desired effect, and both guards guffaw in hoarse voices and leave, pleased with the comedy they’ve staged. It's not that I'm here by mistake; they have clarified that as much, but at least I can go out and do some work before...

The mask of nonchalance and extreme contempt falls off your face, and I can see your vulnerability, the terror erasing colors from your eyes, the gossamer of panic that destroys you from the inside, breaking every part of you, piercing you with thousands of swords. I do not know what to do, not yet, but it is my duty to keep you safe. I will think of something. I must.

Collecting myself, I'm grabbing you by the shoulders.

“I will not let you die,” I whisper vehemently, staring into your eyes, now so pale they seem translucent. “You will not die today, Hans Capon. You will have your future at the tips of your fingers. The nuptial, the kids, the castle in the countryside. And your obedient servant, Henry of Skalitz. I will always remain by your side till my last breath. Can you hear me, Hans? Can you hear me?”

You do not reply, but I see your lower lip trembling slightly. The nobles don't cry, it's a luxury only the poor can afford, so I give you time to recover. But once my hands release you, you silently fall into my arms.

I promised to be with you till my last breath. If this last breath happens today, well... so be it.

[captain-of-silvenar]

🛏️, 🥪, 📚, and 🎨 for the oc asks!!

Aaaah, thank you so much for the ask! I'm going to go with Brisala Alithar to mix it up.

🛏️ What does your OC’s bed look like? What would they like their bed to look like?

Much like her sister, Brisala has a terrible habit of not really going to sleep. Wasting 8 hours a night dedicated to laying down and doing nothing could be put to better use with her nose in her notes and a hand in the dirt.

That is to say, her bed is pristine. It's tucked in and taut. Pillows plush and fluffed each night. There is a fine layer of dust on the bed frame that has to be dusted off once a week. Which is a pain in the ass to do since it was grown from fungi so it has lots of nooks and crannies things can get caught in. Thankfully a lot of the staff have a spell for this but it is still annoying to have to cast it over the whole bed when a simple bed frame would've been done in seconds.

There are cute little glowing shrooms around the headrest. Certainly not used for late night reading, but for a dash of decoration that Brisala planted on the bed. Some of them, however, are shrooms that do light up different colors because they're connected to parts of the Tower to alert her of intruders or passerbys.

Even in the supposed safety of bed, Brisala cannot let her guard down for a singular moment. She has lost enough in her life, nothing will ever be lost to her now.

🥪 On a scale from ‘burns water’ to ‘5 course menu’ how well can your OC cook?

Despite growing her own mushrooms for the use of cooking and snacking, Brisala is only versed in like two dishes and only those two. She can saute and mix decently, but she is no chef. A late midnight snack and her own comfort food is about all she can do.

She won't burn down the house, but she might not season a dish well enough or too much. Her specific mushrooms have more concentrated flavors that others might find too strong, but Brisala loves it. So her taste buds are slightly skewed toward different profiles.

She is the owner of a Tower with it's very own small community around it, so she doesn't really feel the need to cook for herself. Her chef and head of house are much better at it and much better at reminding Brisala to take a break to eat.

📚 Your OC has to improvise a 10 minute lecture about a topic of their choosing. What do they chose?

Mushrooms. Phenology. Their importance as a connector between different species on Vvardenfell. Why they should be respected and their field of study expanded to be included in everyday magic.

Fungal study is not new or unusual on Vvardenfell, but there are still endless possibilities that can be drawn out of them that are undiscovered and could benefit the greater community. To say the least on the medicinal usage they can provide and how they could be refined and given to the people.

Brisala helps fill her coffers by selling medicine made from specialized fungi. Either that or selling her fungi to vendors and taking a cut of the profits. So a quick 10 minute lecture on the benefits of her products would absolutely be something she would do.

🎨 Does your OC have any craft skill, as a hobby or profession? If so which?

Gardening would be the closest thing for Brisala. Unusual for a Telvanni Master to get her own hands dirty playing with dirt. She is very particular about her work and does not like the idea of sharing them with anyone, even with her own sibling. Brisala has layers and layers of magic surrounding her to prevent spores from being breathed in, especially if she's researching particularly dangerous ones.

Outside of this, I actually don't know. She's so focused on her work, and exploring every possibility that she really don't think about anything else. She can stop and have tea and gossip with her sister on the most recent rumor. She constantly monitors the health of their Tower and makes minute improvements.

Brisala is a workhorse that doesn't know when to quit and I'm sure she realizes this. Yet there is an underlying reason for all this work that she can't shake off and it drives her forward every day until she collapses.

So she goes back to her nurseries, and makes another mark in her notes. Same thing day after day. The work does not stop.

[hollowmend]

Fetch Re;Quest Dev Log #2 - 01/16/2024

Whew, first dev log of the new year! Let's get right into it, shall we?

Backgrounds

I've mostly been focusing on the script lately, but since I'm not doing the backgrounds, those have been slowly rolling in!

Kind of a strange mix of places, I know! The graveyard and Todd's apartment are places you'll visit if you play a lot of Deathpocolypse 2, where as the bar and the board game shop are visited if Flora and the gang get into Techno-opolis instead. Of Fiends and Fangs takes place exclusively at the bar, and if you play Clockwork Mercenaries, Flora ends up spending a lot of time in her room.

Sprites

I've decided to focus on writing the script before moving on to anything else, so the sprites have been put on hold for the time being. I did get a few blobbly sketches done before I switched gears, though!

I've been doing this funky color blocking thing lately to get a better feel for how my sprite silhouettes look together before moving on to the refining stage. Obviously Flora's sprite is already done, but I blobed her out anyway just to see how she compares to the rest of the characters.

Also, for everyone's consideration- Dan small.

Script

As I said, right now I'm prioritizing the script. Currently, the game is sitting around 26k words, but I expect it will be at least 40k when it's finished.

Garden;Verse

And speaking of the script, there is a special game that Flora and Dan play together in the evenings. It's called Garden;Verse, and it's an otome!

My cowriter @brii-nanas wrote 10k+ words of (really good) fake otome routes for me to use... and most of it won't even show up in the main game 🥲

Not to worry, though. As Flora and Dan progress through the story, the actual scenes they're reading will get unlocked in the Extra's section. Please look forward to reading about some cute (and in one "bad end" case, rather tragic) boys themed around flowers.

Until Next Time

That's all I have for now! Since I'm focusing on the script, I'm not sure how much I'll have to share next month, so February's dev log might end up being pretty short.

[libertineangel]

Yet again my subconscious decided to invent an incredibly detailed dystopia I can only remember parts of now and naturally never got the full picture of, wish I could take dreams from a library and go back to explore them at will; putting this one under a cut 'cause it got long as shit

Alright so there was this media company that had somehow subsumed the state and become the world's dominant power, and naturally I was part of the resistance movement; we had small underground pockets all over but I think the only official land completely free of company influence (and as such our base) was in the Pacific Islands, and getting steadily weaker further out - I briefly stopped at a hideout in rural Japan to prepare for the upcoming mission, where three of our members were literal Ronin, descendents of samurai who refused the company roads & transport and went everywhere by traditional routes on horseback.

The mission itself was at the company HQ in London (I think it might've taken over one end of St James' Park), sabotaging some Thing I'm not certain of to disrupt the company's annual anniversary party, where the CEO always announces some bold new awful initiative; the job entailed going in as a member of the public, then somehow making my way to the grounds out the back of the building where only the high-level employees and upper classes were allowed, locating the important machinery and disabling it before (ideally) escaping.

The public access bit was easy, this party was the one occasion where there were open tours of the lower floors of HQ, all it took was walking up & blending in with a group then ducking round a corner while the guide wasn't looking for me to be on my own, unsupervised and free to try and navigate the building. I knew they'd have security stationed if I just tried to get to the grounds by the back doors, and I'd heard when prepping that there were open glass sunrooms on the roof and the exterior was tiered, so I decided to head upward with the intent of climbing down from outside; plus, honestly, I was curious as to what the heavily-protected top levels were like.

Bluffing my way through doors and into passing groups of employees, I steadily made my way higher, and found that the upper echelons of the company were goddamn chilling: they maintained loyalty, secrecy and control because it stopped just being a company and became an actual full-on cult dedicated to the refinement and distillation of emotions. I got into the sunrooms by walking in with a group that talked vaguely about going there to celebrate with the most sublime & elusive experience or somesuch, when we got there they sat down on garden chairs and opened these angled bits of the glass surrounding us that caught the light of the summer's day in a very particular way, because their party celebration was to gleefully sit and fucking self-immolate to experience the unique emotional mix that comes with death. Trying not to be obviously disturbed by this horrific madness I walked into the adjoining sunroom, where a second group was doing the same, about 16 people in total sat pleasantly waiting to be set alight while attendees sang a deliberately off-key hymn I could also hear distantly from the grounds, a verse dedicated to the caretakers of each emotion the company wanted to control (I don't remember them all now, only the line "hail to the priestesses of woe"); I knew I was starting to lose my cover so I quickly went out onto the roof and made my way down the side of the enormous building, hoping these deluded cultists weren't in a critical enough state of mind to alert anyone.

I reached the grounds later than I should've done (especially now with the added time pressure of wanting to disrupt things before the people on the roof fucking killed themselves) - the CEO was approaching and getting ready to make his announcement speech, which meant security was tighter, and their chief I knew would likely recognise me from a distance because he'd encountered me before. I saw him doing a sweep in my direction so I was forced to take a detour past a small lake (where I think people were preparing to ritually drown themselves but I didn't have time to stop and check); I figured at that point my quickest & safest route back to the target was to just scale the back fence, run round the corner from the outside and climb back in closer to it. The CEO started his speech, and the first thing he mentioned was the capture of a physicist some weeks back who was supposedly building nuclear weapons to strike against the company - I knew this was bullshit because I knew the guy in question, he was resistance but that was absolutely not what he was working on, but the public ate it up, and once again - as we all did every year - I was listening to the speech wondering if this would be the one that finally announced plans to nuke the Resisting Territories, thinking that this was certainly the biggest claim to provocation they'd ever made.

[cleamaesta]

@heartinhands : does it make you happy? (from chidori's second e33 verse where she's a painter cuz i kind of feel like she and clea could be friends)

the last unicorn 𓇢𓆸 accepting ;;

She undoes the ribbon tied under her chin that's keeping her white straw boater in place, firm on her mane of hair, now styled to make the summer heat in the gardens more manageable in a quite refined-looking tangle of tresses and pins. Though she cannot say for sure how the conversation turned to those delicate subjects, she thinks it's only fair she'd be concerned; theirs has been a long-standing friendship, one born on the cusp of adolescence, back when their respective parents had first introduced the children to one another during one of the many exclusive soirées that Painters in Paris loved to hold.

Though many a heir of prominent Painters in the city did aspire to catch Clea's eyes and attention -- mostly due to her name and Aline's position in the famed Council, she was well aware of that -- Chidori's friendship has always proved quite disinterested and sincere. One or twice they had offered insights on their Paintings - though Clea still found working alone to suit her better, their similar temperaments and upbringings soon made them good confidantes.

❛ I'd be happier... ❜ she begins, slightly fanning herself with the hat, her feet slightly crossing under the seat; she cares not, the patio is all theirs, ❛ - were I presented with more alternatives. I don't give the idea of the Council's leading seat much thought. It's way too soon to even entertain the idea, at home... ❜

Much to Aline's displeasure, the future is not yet set in stone. Her mother's position does not guarantee Clea's - only her ability to manipulate Chroma would. However, the idea of the eldest Dessendre child not following in her footsteps would've be enough to make her mother lose her mind - only one out of three of her children pursuing Painting and having the chance to bring more prestige to their Art and name were a burden the girl could simply not ignore. But perhaps that too is wishful thinking, on Clea's part...

❛ I doubt my siblings would know what I mean either. You're a only child, right ? ❜

[brownschauffeur]

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[bloopiepoops]

Post-suitor incident: Kiyu's refined wrath, talks of change

✦ Scene: The Aftermath – Kiyu’s Wrath in the Throne Room ✦

Setting: The main audience chamber of Hoshido. Queen Mikoto sits at the head of the room, flanked by Ryoma and Takumi. The room is quiet after the lord’s removal—escorted out in disgrace by the ninja brothers. The air is tense, humming with the echo of what almost happened.

Kiyu stands at the foot of the dais. Calmly. Perfect posture. But it’s the wrong kind of calm. The kind that signals danger. His robes are immaculate, his long braid gleaming. But his eyes are ice and thunder.

Kiyu (to Mikoto, voice like velvet over a blade): “So. Tell me again—what connections, exactly, were worth that man putting his hands on my sister?”

Mikoto (guilt-worn but reserved): “Kiyu, it was never our intention—”

Kiyu (snapping): “Intentions do not matter when harm is done.” He turns sharply to Ryoma. “And you. Crown prince of Hoshido. Surely you saw how that man looked at her. Are these alliances worth her discomfort? Her safety?”

Ryoma (steady, but with the tone of someone trying not to provoke): “It was a mistake. One we deeply regret—”

Kiyu (dry and cutting): “A mistake that I, somehow younger and not raised here, predicted with perfect clarity.” He paces now, not out of nerves—but in elegant agitation. One hand gesturing subtly, like an orator delivering a thesis of scorn. “But yes, let’s all bow to honor codes and ancestral precedent while a sick girl is thrown to the wolves in a garden party dress. Is this the fabled wisdom of Hoshido?”

Takumi stiffens and opens his mouth, but Ryoma stops him with a subtle gesture. Kiyu catches it anyway.

Kiyu (raising an eyebrow): “Please. If anyone wishes to defend the idea of auctioning off princesses with porcelain tea sets, by all means. I’ll compose a song about it. Perhaps it’ll be less stomach-turning in verse.”

Mikoto (softer now): “Kiyu, you’re right to be angry. We misjudged the situation. But your tone—”

Kiyu (cutting in, no longer composed): “My tone?” Now the storm breaks. Not a shout, but a deadly silence that follows his sudden stillness. “My sister was nearly assaulted. Because she followed your request. And you're worried about my tone?”

Kaze and Saizo, standing silently near the far wall, both look toward him—Kaze with quiet understanding, Saizo with a flicker of surprise at how furious Kiyu has become.

Kiyu (his voice lower now, but burning): “If I hadn’t respected her wishes, I would have beheaded that man myself. And I would’ve worn the consequences like a badge. Because Makia deserves protection before we regret our failure to give it.” He exhales slowly, regaining control, then delivers the final line like a formal condemnation. “I will not apologize for valuing her life above a lord’s reputation.”

There is silence. And then—

Mikoto (quietly): “...You’re right. There will be no more meetings like that without her full consent. Ever again.”

Kiyu bows, perfectly, with a cold sort of grace. But it’s not humility—it’s punctuation.

As he turns and walks past Saizo and Kaze, the hem of his coat flutters with the same flourish as a blade sheathed.

Saizo (low to Kaze): “Your friend’s more terrifying than I remember.”

Kaze (soft smile): “He’s more Makia’s twin than people realize.”

Notes

Kiyu would make an excellent lawyer. Imagine him in court, robes pristine, expression unreadable, verbally eviscerating the opposition with ice-dipped logic and scathing eloquence. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. Entire trials would end with a single, biting sentence and a graceful turn of his heel.

And pity the opposing counsel who interrupts him mid-argument—he’d just tilt his head and say something like:

“If I may continue uninterrupted, lest your eagerness to speak expose how little you’ve thought.”

He’s the sort who wouldn’t just defend his client—he’d dismantle the entire law if it failed to protect them. Especially if that client was Makia.

Scene: The Sun Chamber — Late Afternoon

The light streaming through the rice-paper windows of Hoshido’s Sun Chamber is golden, almost peaceful. It belies the quiet, burning intensity between two brothers: Ryoma, the steadfast heir who carries a kingdom on his shoulders, and Makiyu (Kiyu), the refined storm standing opposite him.

Ryoma, seated formally at the head of a low lacquered table, regards his brother with the patience of someone accustomed to many debates. His hands are folded, brows slightly furrowed, the incident with the suitor still a raw wound in his mind.

Kiyu stands, pristine as always, robes immaculately arranged in hues of deep jade and ivory. He doesn’t raise his voice—he never needs to—but his presence hums with conviction.

Kiyu: “You speak of order, Brother. Of structure, hierarchy, protocol. But I ask you—what good is protocol when it fails to protect the very people it exists to serve?”

Ryoma: (measured) “Kiyu, you know as well as I do—Hoshido endures because of its structure. If we forsake tradition for sentiment, we risk unraveling the very fabric of our rule.”

Kiyu: (coolly) “And yet sentiment is what stopped that man from laying hands on Makia. Not structure. Not tradition. But Kaze. Saizo. Not a single law prevented it—because your precious tradition permitted it under the guise of diplomacy.”

Ryoma's jaw tightens. He says nothing.

Kiyu: (steps closer, voice sharpening) “She was still recovering. Still vulnerable. And you let a stranger sit across from her because it was ‘custom’ to do so. You gambled her safety on appearances.”

Ryoma: (quietly) “I didn’t believe it would go that far.”

Kiyu: (bitter smile) “Nor did she. That’s the flaw in tradition—it expects good faith from men who’ve never earned it.”

There’s a long pause. The only sound is the gentle flap of a crane banner overhead.

Ryoma: “I would die for our family, Kiyu. You know that.”

Kiyu: “I do know that. But I need you to live for us instead. To rule wisely. Not rigidly.” (He pauses, then continues with sincerity softening his edge.) “You are the future king. But if you cannot recognize when the rules need rewriting, then perhaps Hoshido is not as strong as we thought.”

Ryoma leans back, clearly troubled.

Ryoma: “You’re asking me to risk shaking the pillars of our kingdom.”

Kiyu: (quiet, intense) “I’m asking you to make sure the pillars aren’t built on the backs of your own kin.”

Silence falls again. This time, heavier. Thoughtful.

Ryoma looks at his brother—his sharp, fiercely loyal, cold-as-winter brother—and sees not defiance, but love. And truth.

Ryoma: (finally) “I will think on what you’ve said.”

Kiyu: (bowing faintly) “Do more than think, Brother. Act. Or this kingdom will break the wrong people.”

[selinisinjapan]

May 20 - Kyoto Imperial Palace, Manga Museum, Kyoto Museum

We started the day with the Kyoto Imperial palace, which my experience in the palace is outlined with my references to the reading. In short though, the grounds were beautiful and I could tell that they were more of a grounds of aristocracy and ceremony rather than defense. We then went to the Manga Museum, which I was initially quite excited for, however, I think this may have been my least favorite part of the day. Although I thought the manga archive was quite interesting and cool, I do not read Japanese so I was unable to enjoy it fully. The archive and the story of manga were really interesting though. I liked how you could grab any manga and read it, similar to a library. The exhibit with the artists hands was really cool, although I didn’t recognize any. We took a break for lunch and just stopped by a place that looked good. I got cold udon which was nice because the weather was horribly hot. After that we ended up going to the Kyoto National Museum. The Museum was huge and had so many different exhibits. Not to be basic, but the item I ended up choosing was from the 36 Views of Mt Fuji collection, which they were displaying three of (including the great wave.) The piece I chose is Rainstorm Beneath the Summit by Hokusai. Out of the three pieces on display (of which the other 2 were much more famous) this one resonated with me the most. For some reason I found this print to be so intriguing and it really spoke to me. The dramatic bolt of lightning stood out among the peaceful mountain. The print also emphasized the bulkiness of the mountain and just how big it is. Since the clouds are lower than the peak of the mountain, despite the turmoil among the clouds, the peak is peaceful, it does not see the rain clouds that the area beneath the summit does. I feel like it emphasizes the peacefulness of the summit in a way the other ones fail. There’s this sort of juxtaposition within it all.

The Kyoto palace, when compared to the imposing, similar to a fortress structure of the Tokyo Imperial Palace, the Kyoto palace was far more refined and aristocratic in tone. A lot of things were way more aristocratic and ceremonial. In tokyo, there are stone walls, moats, and military grandeur. With Kyoto, there were no defensive towers or heavy fortifications. Instead, the palace grounds were open, simple , and elegant which showed the aesthetics of the Heian period.

In the reading, Kyoto’s Heian Kyo was designed with a deep sense of order and beauty. With wider streets lined with willows, open spaces, and gardens that reflected not just architectural mastery but also an emphasis from the culture on art, poetry, and nature. The palace structures were low, open, and light, blending into the gardens and emphasizing seasonal beauty. The interiors avoided heavy roofs and bright lacquer, favoring light wood and subtle elegance which was what the reading calls a desire for understatement and avoidance of ostentation.In contrast, Tokyo’s palace is more like that of Edo era shogun power (closed, elevated, and made to command, and battle). Where Tokyo’s design shows power and protection, Kyoto shows courtly life and refined pleasures. Walking through Kyoto’s grounds, it’s easy to imagine Genji or Lady Rokujo strolling through shaded corridors or composing verses by the artificial lake. This palace doesn’t guard against enemies. That distinction is what makes Kyoto feel less like a capital and more like a ceremonial location.