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doodle-pops · 5 months

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Insufferable Beginnings

Turgon x reader

Request: Turgon x reader, enemy’s to lover in Valinor, angst?… (help I live the enemy’s to livers trope to much 😭😭) - Anon

A/N: I originally wanted to keep this short, like under 3k, however, dialogues became my weakness and I fell in love with the hating each other a little too much. However, I do hope that this was good enough to your liking. Apologies if it’s too long. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au, angst/comfort, arguments, insulting one another, a knife gets drawn (a butter knife), kissing, confessions, since it’s set in Valinor I used Quenya names

Words: 4.6k

Synopsis: Arranged marriages when you and your millionth reason why were at each other’s throats was always the best way to introduce a new emotion on the battlefield and seek victory.

“Must you look so disparaging? It is our wedding, after all, cheer up and have a drink!” Turukáno sat beside you, or rather two feet away and towards the end of the table, leaving you to wallow in your bitterness. He managed to find your expressions throughout the entire day more entertaining than ever, it made the wedding interesting.

Casting a dreadful and bone-chilling side eye at your newlywed husband, your fingers twitched in your lap with unbridled rage to wrap them around his obnoxiously long neck and choke. However, he remained aloof under your threatening gaze and took another gulp for his sixth cup of wine for the night. Anything to avoid going home, sane, to a shared house.

“I’ll only smile if you disappear and leave me alone.”

He paused with the chalice against his lips, pondering before scoffing and taking a violent chug. Emptying the cup with an enthusiastic exhale and slamming it on the table, he reached for the vat of wine to refill. “So you can find yourself in the arms of one of your pathetic suitors or my cousins since you enjoy kissing their asses so much.”

“Anyone else would be a better company.”

“What’s stopping you then? I thought you loathed me with an unbridled passion to the point that you would do anything to make your life less miserable,” he half-heartedly muttered while gazing at the ruby liquid in his cup. “Or maybe you didn’t want to humiliate yourself knowing that no one else would accept you and your terrible personality.”

“What makes you think that one of your cousins would not accept me?”

“So it’s my cousins you’re interested in. Well, I think you and Tyelkormo or Atarinkë would suit each other well, especially with the similar personalities you all share.”

You growled through bared teeth, “Do not ill-speak of the House of Fëanáro. They are far nobler, skilled and of better status than you can ever be.”

“Ah, so you admit that your personality is dreadful then?” Awed by the revelation of your words, he flashed a blinding grin at you.

“You act as though your personality is perfect, and do not make this about me when it is not!”

“My personality isn’t perfect, but it’s better than yours,” he snickered and sat upright. “Besides, it is your wedding day, you are the centre of attention, so everything is about you.”

“You’re simply bitter and jealous that I would never choose you in a world of standards because you are as poor as your insults.” Flipping him off with a triumphant smirk, you crossed your arms and performed a mental victory dance at your comeback.

“Of course I am,” he muttered half-heartily as he slammed his chalice on the table once more and slumped deeply into his chair. As much as he wanted to leave the table, his grandfather and father were eyeing you down like hawks. “No power and no high status. Yet I was still chosen to be your future husband by the King.”

Not caring that he was being stared at, Turukáno exited the hall and rushed out of the palace to find a secluded spot for a bit of fresh air. He didn’t care about what became of you during the rest of the night. You could have returned to your parent’s house and left him alone in your supposed shared home or run off with his half-cousins, he would surely find something worthwhile to fill his time with.

Making his way through the half-empty streets of Tirion, he slid his body through a few alleyways before breaking into the hills and entering the outskirts of a small forest. A familiar path he took which led to a small pool—a place where he and Findekáno formerly commuted before his successful marriage—now became his fortress of refuge to his unbearable hater.

Being petty, bitter, and judgemental were common traits of the second son of Ñolofinwë, however, you brought the worst out in him. It was only the day you entered the picture with your desirous hatred towards him, his boring life became infuriating. There wasn’t a day you didn’t make his life a living hell.

Wanting nothing more than to refrain from continuing his thoughts on you before his head exploded, he undressed and took a midnight swim, spending the rest of his wedding with peace of mind. He would deal with you another day with the guarantee to make you regret hating him.

The first year of marriage was always described as challenging and for God’s sake how fucking true it was. You weren’t even past the first three months without wanting to launch objects at him, which you had already done numerous times before. But the point was that you wanted to launch the entire dining table at him for interrupting your peace of mind. Why did he have to show up at the same hour? Did he not have something more important to do like die?

“Can you not eat so loudly? It is breaking my concentration?” you retorted sharply.

“Then cover your ears. To eat I must; to hear, you can choose,” he lazily replied in a bored tone.

Your left eye twitched as did the cutlery in your hands as you pressed the knife and fork into the porcelain plate to evidently create a hairline fracture. Casting a look at the servants lined up on each side of the room with a monotonous expression, you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“What, no counter to my response? Finally realised how foolish you appear hating me unnecessarily?” he mocked.

Deeply inhaling, you managed, “I merely asked you to cease chewing so loudly. Is that not a possible task, something a Prince of your lowly status can adhere to?”

Countering without waiting for a second, he stated with plainness, “I must chew if I am to eat, don’t you know that or have you forgotten the fundamentals of eating?”

“Then don’t eat, starve and die.”

Turukáno’s lips twitched as he fought a sarcastic grin, instead, scoffing as his breathing fumbled before he lifted his head to gaze at you across the table. Your seated presence at the opposite end, surrounded by an array of candles left a glowing aura casting a glow on your figure to appear as some omnipotent being…a demon in sheep’s clothing.

“My dear, have you not paid attention to the tranquillity of the room? A pin drop can be heard; thus you will hear my chewing, same can be said for yours.”

“I do not chew loudly!” you snarled, visibly vibrating in your seat.

“Of course not, how rude of me. Where are my manners?” he satirically replied, casting a mocking smile at you; his turquoise eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles. “Allow me to clarify, you yap like a goat.”

Springing from your chair, your palms came crashing down on the table, prompting the ornaments to tremble, even the servants shifted on their feet at the intemperate tension. “You should have care how you speak; it might be your last.”

“What are you planning on doing? Launching another poor object at my head and missing like you did in the last fifty attempts? Best of wishes, may your aim be true, or would you prefer I stand within three feet, so you don’t miss?” he snickered with a shake of his head.

Darkly whispered, you picked up your butter knife and stabbed it into the napkin. “I could end you right here and now,”

“How terrifying?!” he dully muttered and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Somebody save me!”

“Would you stop that!”

“Ah, so it would appear that I have struck a nerve?” Turukáno grinned delightedly and took a sip of his wine while appreciating the sight of you pointing your knife at him.

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you!” you rumbled, jabbing the knife through the air towards his figure peacefully sitting unbothered.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in the glory this unnecessary argument brought, he rose from his chair and strolled around the table. Fingers gliding along the tabletop as he took his time to approach you, he appeared smug. “What you are telling me, is that I’ve always been on your mind? I’m touched. No one has ever thought of me so much as you did, my number one supporter and hater. Makes this union worthwhile because you can continue to think of me even more while allowing it to consume your every thought.”

At this point, Turukáno was standing before you as your body had turned to meet him head-on, the knife in your hand still focusing on him. Despite his towering figure, you were able to match his height with the passion in your eyes that made you grow. Those turquoise eyes of his darkened and narrowed into slits as the gazed down at you. No one dared to whisper a word, only the sound of heavy breathing which was still too soft for the other’s ears.

Suddenly, his left hand gingerly reached out to grab the wrist of your right, which held the knife and brought it to his throat. He knew you couldn’t cut him with a butter knife, yet he wanted you to realise your folly. The action urged the servants in the room to break their formation and panic as they looked on. He felt the trembling of your hand as he held onto it, steadfast, while the expression on your face spoke the reason for him. All bark and no bite.

“Do it,” he taunted with s whisper, gazing his playful eyes at your paralysed ones and pushing the knife harder against his skin.

You wanted to reply. Counter as equally as petty as his insults or even take actions, but the wheels in your body weren’t rotating. You didn’t know why, but the longer you stared into his slithered eyes; you noticed the ring of green around his iris, the small mole under his left eye and his neatly shaped wine-stained lips. His change in demeanour made him appear ridiculously attractive and you fought to deny it, but comparisons between him and the sons of Fëanáro’s beauty had already crossed your mind.

It outmatched a few of them.

You struggled to catch yourself the longer you focused on his face, grip on your knife slipping, yet the grip around your wrist tightened and tugged. Your lips parted and your head inched closer, grateful for your height, you were able to lean into his personal space, breathing in his air. Wine and spearmint. The alarms were blaring in your head that it was a precarious move you were making, but his standstill stature encouraged you to persist and bridge the gap.

Turukáno didn’t know who moved first, he or you; all he knew was that his hand gripping your wrist had tossed it over his shoulder, with the knife still intact, as his lips moulded against yours. It was full of anger, confusion and hidden truths as your bodies were entangled in an unceremonious form of solving the argument. Lips breaking apart to gasp for air, catching your breaths before returning to the task, his hands were busy cupping your cheeks to tilt your head to increase the vigour. He forgot—or rather, didn’t care—about the knife in your hands behind his neck as he pressed his body closer, wanting you to experience his heat, raging from the passion you sparked tonight.

Yet nothing was ever long-lived as you caught your biting his luscious lip and pulled away, gasping. Casting your eyes downwards, a questionable frown appeared. Unable to take the confusion and possible humiliation of the suddenness of the scene, you muttered a curt, “Excuse me,” and slipped out of his embrace, vacating the room while leaving him hoping.

You began to avoid him even more; more than what you normally would, yet failure was the start of something different. Your mornings were clashing, him showing up at the same time for breakfast, exiting and entering the house, and needing to share the same space. It was as if fate was playing a sick joke on you to remember your kiss. He appeared the same, refusing to bring it up and make any eye contact, however, his persistence to irritate and aggravate you never ended. The night of the dinner was just the beginning of him goading you to commit your desire.

Standing at the entrance of the drawing-room, you fixed your body behind the pillar that rested a vase and observed him. He appeared relaxed and a level of comfort you wished to achieve in the shared household. How was he able to be unbothered? Didn’t your presence usually provoke him? Was he not thinking about you the way you always thought about him?

“Cease your staring from behind the pillar, please. I know that I’m not the best-looking elf compared to your idolised house, so spare me your soft gaze as though you considered me,” he huffed and turned the page of his book without lifting his head to make contact.

Soft gaze?

“I was not gazing at you, I was glaring…” He was right, whether you were gazing at him or not, you were silently observing him. Clearing your throat to avoid making a fool of yourself, you stepped into the spotlight and clasped your hands together. “I was coming to call you, There’s an invitation addressed to you…and I.”

“My grandfather?”

“Hmm, a dinner party.”

The room fell into silence as you both took in the silent meaning behind the invitation. This was the first event after the wedding that would display the depth of your relationship with his family and others.

Turukáno’s eyes lifted off the pages to fall on your nervous figure standing in the doorway. No animosity or disdain was held in his eyes as they softened on your appearance; he almost felt sorry for the discomfort you were about to be placed in, similar to himself. Gatherings involving the entire family usually made him cautious and uninterested due to the typical outcomes.

“You can stay at home if you are uncomfortable attending. I’ll make up an excuse that you’re unwell and request tranquillity,” he suggested while shutting his book and placing it on the table.

Puzzled at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, you wrinkled your forehead. “What about your grandfather when he questions why you’re not at home looking after me?”

“I’ll make up some lie, whatever comes to mind,” he monotonously muttered, drifting his eyes to meet your astonished ones.

“Why?” Your question lingered heavily in the air like it weighed a ton. A sudden increase of pressure showered over you, leaving him wondering if he had made a mistake in his response to warrant your opposition.

“Why not? You’re not interested in meeting my family for known reasons, and if you want to stay at home, you are welcome to.”

“But don’t you hate me?” you delicately uttered. “You shouldn’t be concerned about how I feel or whether I desire to stay at home; you should ignore me like you have always been doing.”

Opening his mouth to counter, he closed it and dropped his gaze to your feet. The look of puzzlement decorated his face the longer he contemplated a response while reasoning with himself for the corner he was backed into. There was never a discussion he wasn’t able to counteract, but here you were causing him to fumble. A sharp look at your face, the squinting of his eyes and a nervous chuckle he conjured a response rattled off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t hate you; I don’t particularly like you, but ignoring you is incredibly difficult when you have an unmistakable aura that causes me to consider you in whatever way I can.”

His eyes widened at the acknowledgement of his words. Unable to feign his mistake, he rose immediately off the sofa and marched to the opposite exit of the drawing room.

“You…You don’t hate—”

“Forget what I said. Simply do whatever you want for the dinner, it doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he departed the room and rushed to his chamber, slamming the door.

In the following days, Turukáno had done his best to avoid you after his slip-up while you became fixated on decoding his grand speech and his nonchalance towards his actions. It wasn’t like him to use words which didn’t coordinate with his enmity-like personality. All the screaming, shouting, slamming the doors and throwing objects at each other died down, and all you received were his typical smart-ass comments which started carrying a two-meaning message. You were positively sure that he was not aware of his choice of words; he never mixed his vocabulary.

For the prim and proper Prince he was, he was enunciated.

Hence why you were gawking at him all night from behind a pillar, avoiding interactions with his siblings and cousins to observe his mannerisms. His face seemed to be a lot more relaxed, visibly pleased, lips stretched into a grin, and laughing. You had never seen him like this around you, it was a side he withheld during your arrangement, and it stung that you would never be fortunate to experience it due to his hate towards you. No sweet moments exchanged, smiles and words reserved only for you, or another kiss like that night.

Licking your lips and biting it, your fingers touched your lower lip as you held eye contact with his figure. The events of that night were still unexplainable.

“Staring at my brother.” The teasing voice of Princess Irissë came from your left before you felt her arm linking with yours and pulling you closer to her. “Well, you should be, especially after how great your relationship with him is going. Look at how much my brother is smiling; he’s talking about you.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

“Relax. You can drop the formalities for now. It’s a family dinner and we’re all family, so call me nésa,” she laughed which resembled crystal bells tinkering.

Feeling overwhelmed by the plethora of information you consumed, your chest felt tighter all of a sudden, as though the dress shrunk. “I uh, do not understand what you mean by your brother. He is talking about me?”

Surely not good things, no wonder why he was smiling. Prattling his cousins’ heads about how terrible you were to live with. You felt your heart sink to your stomach, not realising how much you hoped for good things to be spoken about you.

“Of course he is! You’re his wife!” she exclaimed and gave you a small shake before guiding you away from the pillar. “He was asked to produce grandfather with a report at the start of the dinner in private, we were all there, and we heard him speak about how things are looking brighter, and that he’s pleased. So that means you two no longer hate each other and grandfather’s idea worked.”

Holding eye contact with her before looking at the wine in your hands, you felt uneasy at the explanation. “I guess it did,” you uttered in disbelief.

It didn’t take long for interrupting footsteps to break your concentration. Knowing the echo and presence before the voice rippled into your ear, your head snapped up to gaze at him already looking upon you with softer eyes and a tender smile. Your lips quivered as you bit back the urge to cry the longer you held his gaze, unable to focus on the sound emitting from his lips.

He was cruel and unkind to make you feel such a way.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t responded to a word I said,” he inquired worriedly, inching his head closer to yours. At this time, Irissë had slipped free and sauntered away to annoy her cousins, leaving you two to embark on your hateful-love relationship.

“I um, I.” Why was speaking so trivial? Just spit out your words for they were at the tip of your tongue. “I must speak with you, immediately.”

You had no time to witness the painful frown on his face as you swivelled and marched out of the ballroom with him following a few metres behind, confused. Exiting the room and meandering through the corridors, an earful away from eavesdroppers, you fumed in your mind at how careless you were to allow things to escalate to immeasurable heights. You couldn’t undo what had been done, not even the sea could wash it away. Though Turukáno hoped he had not said anything during the day to disrupt your tranquillity, he was most mindful of his words and behaviour due to his joviality.

“Have I said or done something to displease you, Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” you shouted and spun on your heels to stand in the middle of the corridor and face him. “You, You, ugh, you infuriate me on levels beyond comprehension! How can you say those things so openly without disgust?”

“What things?! What have I said about you?!” he cried and took steps closer, still maintaining his distance.

“You–…I hate you! I hate how you…how you were talking about us and the house and how things are getting better! Or how you were smiling and happy and laughing and making everything seem like it is perfect and great when it’s not because I hate you!” Your temper flared as millions of reasons raced across your mind, and yet you were able to stutter out jumbled words, making a smile stretch across his face. “I hate the way you look at me with those eyes and I hate the way you look at others because you’ll never genuinely look at me like that. I want your eyes on me, but you’ll never because of how I hate you!”

“You hate me?” he questioned in an affectionate teasing voice.

“Yes, I do! Because ever since this arrangement began, you made me feel crazy and I found myself unable to think of anything else! I am utterly consumed by you, and I hate it! I’m supposed to hate you!”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe and glared at him through the crystal droplets. You knew he was looking at you the same way you wanted and hated. Your emotions were truly a bitch who couldn’t make up its mind.

Turukáno grinned and took more steps to bridge the distance between you both. Standing three feet apart, he looked down at his boots as his voice rumbled in his chest. “I know and I accept this,” he softly whispered. “I’m not the best at emotions, but I also hated you till it was aggravating. You were constantly on my mind every second of the day, consuming and leaving me thinking about you more than I breathed. I thought of everything about you, even your insults. You were able to contest me, a feat no one else could muster and still stand facing me; I enjoyed the pleasure it brought, drinking and desiring more. Then I started seeing you as my equal and no longer my source of hate, but my reason to look forward to each day. I considered you and thought about you too much, I bent the knee before you…”

Standing there baffled, you wanted to know who this individual was.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged. “I’m not great with emotions so it was impossible for you to notice my changes. I thought I was subtle, and neither are you.”

“Excuse me?! You’re telling me about how I feel?” you sniffled.

“You claim to hate me, but you don’t,” he breathed as he finally bridged the gap, standing in the same proximity as the kiss. His fingers twitched with urgency to hold you again as they remembered the last time they held you closely. “You don’t tell someone you hate them; you show them, make them feel it. And how you feel for me is what I feel for you, it was only masked by hatred.”

Scoffing with a teary eye roll, allowing a few drops to roll down your cheek, you countered with a teaspoon of attitude, “What do you know about how I feel? You’re just a foolish Prince who thinks he knows people better than themselves.”

Lifting his hands, he was allowed to cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Smiling along with his thoughts, he felt relieved that your flame had not been diminished. “Of course I am, but you’re no different. Foolish for hating me till it makes you look ridiculously in love.”

“You should stop talking because you’re not making any sense like you always do.”

“Then silence me if you dare.”

The silence that followed rang sharply in your ears as your eyes locked and dropped to each other’s lips.

This time, you were aware of who had made the first move when your lips moulding against one another. Grinning into the kiss, this time you were able to bite his lower lip without feeling disgusted as it only deepened the kiss, causing him to groan from your actions. Turukáno’s hands cupped your cheeks and tilted your head higher to allow him to take over the kiss while your arms contently encircled his slender waist. There were a few blissful sighs and breaks to take in air as you lazily kissed in the open corridor, unconcerned by the possibility of being trespassed upon. Regardless, Turukáno had the decency to break away first with his soft turquoise eyes roaming your face, landing on your lips one last time before exhaling.

“Tell me,” he muttered affectionately. “Do you still hate me?”

“Irrevocably.”

“And do you hate me for getting us into this arrangement?” he asked again.

“No,” you gently murmured. “I can live with it.”

“Then that is enough for me.”

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sallysavestheday · 3 months

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Tolkien prompt for you: Sea glass glittered in his cupped palms, bright and fine as any jewel.

Thank you for this lovely prompt! It was perfect for @elrondweek, as it turned out. Have some lonely El on the beach, as thanks.

Sea glass glittered in his cupped palms, bright and fine as any jewel. Mithlond’s beaches were littered with it, still: all the delicate work of Númenor’s glaziers and craftspeople worn down to shards and bruised to opacity by the numbing pulse of time. Elrond sorted through the softened leavings of that hard-edged empire, wondering – as he ever did, helplessly, even so many centuries later – where it had all gone wrong. What might he have done differently; what word or deed or presence might have altered the tide and kept his brother’s people safe? Had he taken Elros’ road, instead, would the end have been the same? The dull ache of that separation was always there: in the back of his mind, in the tender corners of his heart where Elros had made his home from the very first, twinned and twined into him until they breathed and laughed and grieved almost as one. And there was no soothing it, not when he had chosen the memories of the Eldar, ever-clear and bright. A thousand years had not yet fully callused the blister of his loss. Each bright, beloved son of the North-kingdom tore the edges of the hole in his heart anew, treasured though they were. They all carried enough of Elros in them to be mistaken in the mists, or around a corner, or across a fire when his mood was one of particular yearning. A cheeky grin, a turn of the heel in the summer dances, and suddenly he was there: Elrond’s missing other half. He had shaped his grief to love and thrown his home open to his brother’s children’s children, but it would never be quite the same. They floated in and out of his life like moths, or moonbeams – here, for a shining moment, and then gone. Transitory as the fine works of Númenor, in all their glory and impermanence. The weathered glass chips gleamed softly in Elrond’s hands – shards from some chalice, perhaps, or a window, glorious and refulgent in the light from the West. Or chimes: a confection of variegated rods and bells shaped to dance in the wind and make sweet music. Whose hands had made them, praiseful and careful and proud? The red and gold pieces he had gathered from the flotsam spilled across his palms, mingling and shifting as the colors caught the light. Maedhros had worked glass as a youth, he remembered: singing his soul into the heat of the furnace, drawing the transformed silica into strands and spheres and stars. What would he have thought of Elrond’s long grief, who had lost so much, and destroyed as much again? His own twin brothers had died on the docks of Sirion – Amras unwilling to live without Amrod, bound to the very last. And the fire, of course, had claimed Maedhros: unmaking, melting, unmolding. Was there a lesson to be learnt there, about holding tight, or letting go? Elrond sighed as the breeze off the water caught his hair, brushing away the cobwebs of regret and washing his memories clean and bright. He straightened his shoulders and juggled the sea-glass gently, listening to the soft song as the battered drops rolled from hand to hand. That was the truth of it, he thought. Even so worn, they made music. As his own heart still did, and would, until the breaking of the world.

Also on AO3.

#asks and answers #my fics #elrond #fic recs #elrondweek

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followfire · 2 months

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I was wondering how Jean's name had been chosen, and really maybe she just needed a name and there's no need to write a whole essay about it, but anyway there are two main theories/analyses that I like that also involve Barbara because I think they have common themes and their names match each other more than it seems so here goes...

Etymologies of Jean and Barbara's names

First theory: the saints

Jean looks like an obvious reference to Joan of Arc, and her name sounds like it. It's the pious white knight in charge of an army and saviour of her people vibe. (I think there is also something to say about the theme of freedom but I'll talk about it in another post)

Barbara could also be a reference to a saint: Saint Barbara. I think the comparison is less obvious or maybe I just don't know enough about it, but one of her attributes is the chalice which is similar to Barbara's constellation.

I think it fits both of them to have the name of saints known for the strenght of their faith given their family and occupations.

Second theory: Lyre and Barbatos

Barbara's name has a striking resemblance to Barbatos' name. It's never said that there's a link between the two and maybe there isn't, but I think "Barbara" kind of sounds like a possible female version of Barbatos. Not if you look at the real etymology of the two names, they're not related in our world, but I mean in Teyvat where Barbatos is the name of Mondstadt's Archon, Barbara could sound like a name derived from Barbatos'.

In Chinese, Jean's name is 琴 (Qín) which can be translated as "lyre", which is exactly the same word as the Holy Lyre der Himmel. It's completely lost in translation though and the fact that her name was translated as "Jean" and not "Lyre" means that maybe it wasn't really the goal to call her Lyre in the first place but it's still hard to ignore and there even was a pun about it in the Chinese version!

So there'd be one of the girls named after the Archon and the other named after his instrument! It's totally fitting for the very pious Gunnhildr-Pegg family! (Also I think "Lyre" would have been a very good name for Jean, I think it really fits her to have the name of a musical instrument with such gentle tones 🥺)

I think both theories could hold some truth on how Jean and Barbara were named, whether it's a reference from historical figures or for more lore related reasons. But I really like finding a connection between their names and that despite not sharing the same family name anymore, they still have something in common when it comes to names...

#Genshin Impact #Jean Gunnhildr #Barbara Pegg #Gunnhildr Family #Pegg Family #enim

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the-letterbox-archives · 3 months

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What's up friend!!!!

I would love some rambles about Tales From A Dying Heart if you're down for it???

Also, love your blog <3

file (1)1-21-0610: ask response

thank you honeybe <3, i'd love to give a ramble about tfadh!!

i'm not sure how much i can go on about without spoiling, since the books aren't out yet, but i think i can talk about what i've found of the characters!

i mentioned this in a previous ask, but since the heart itself is the narrator of the stories, and it hates human love as it believes it obstructs its creations from happiness. so in order to strip the protagonists of the impact their love leaves on their identities, the heart gives them false names related to other aspects of their lives (this in tandem with the memory deterioration makes it so the people, if they were ever recovered, have no semblance of their past lives and their capacity for love). i'll give a quick preamble about all the protagonists' false names.

book 1: lady (a tortured heart)

lady's name comes from the title of 'lady,' quite a high position in medieval europe, where this world is slightly based on (but there's not much content there because the story is about the heart and these guys, not their world). lady has faced many hardships, but something she was always able to hold onto was her title; something the heart remembered.

book 2: sweetheart & crow (a dedicated heart)

sweetheart and crow's names come from the heart doing word association with their personalities; 'sweetheart' being chosen because she is a... well, a sweetheart. simply put, she's a very kind person, beloved by all (the heart is not very creative). crow is named after the bird, because crows are considered smart (by bird standards), something that reflects crow's personality as well.

book 3: winter & pyre (a distant heart)

winter and pyre are unique protagonists (though i won't say why yet), and their names are inspired by the two opposite temperatures/seasons; winter being named after the winter season, coldness, and natural disasters that occur in the cold like blizzards and snowstorms, and pyre being named after summer, warm temps, and natural disasters like wildfires and droughts.

book 4: dancer (a free heart)

dancer is named after her occupation, kind of. when she was in better health, she loved to dance, and it was integral to her identity. as her condition worsened, she couldn't dance anymore, but the heart took pity on her and bestowed her a name to reference her best days.

book 5: rook (a cautious heart)

rook is a bit far fetched, i liked the name as-is and had to work backwards with the meaning. in chess, the rook moves in a straight line, and is also sometimes referred to as a tower, elements i associate with strength of character. this is completely paradoxical to rook as he is known in the story, but it holds some meaning in his past life, when he was more self-assured.

book 6: vex (a vengeful heart)

vex's name comes from the word vex, moreso in relation to the term 'vexed,' which can't really encompass all the rage that defines her, but is a solid stab at it. to be fair, there's no single word to adequately describe vex's anger and suffering. the heart tried nonetheless.

book 7: chalice & hunter (a desperate heart)

i've already done a bit on chalice, so i'll just restate that: the heart recognises chalice as a prince, fond of wine and gold, describing chalice's ring's as "golden palms," focusing chalice's identity on his rich, royal status, using his expensive items as the cornerstone of his existence. as for hunter, he's named after his job, he's a bounty hunter and also hunts for food. this still places him below chalice socially, since he's just a hunter and chalice is a prince.

book 8: hornet & dove (a lingering heart)

hornet and dove are named after those animals. the violent, stinging hornet paired with the gentle, peaceful dove. a true match made in hell, and representative of their personalities outside their relationship.

book 9: maestro & muse (an artful heart)

maestro's name comes from the word 'maestro,' meaning an artistic master (usually in a classical music context, but this maestro is related to painting), and muse's name from the word 'muse,' simply a source of inspiration. these names serve to describe their relationship, but it is also effective apart; maestro is obsessed with artistry and being the best, and muse is often just a subject, not a creative herself.

book 10: opal (a defenseless heart)

for opal's name, i searched for pretty, valuable gemstones, and was drawn to the black opal. in the story, opal is often a commodity for others, so that ties in well to the gemstone name.

book 11: aegis & mouse (a protective heart)

aegis' name comes from the word 'aegis,' and describes how he protects his sister (and less often, himself) from harm, being the older sibling and the de-facto responsible one. mouse's name comes less from the stereotypical timid nature of mice (symbolically), but more how small and agile mice are, how they tend to slip through the cracks and go to places they're not supposed to be in, like mouse herself.

book 12: seeker (an honest heart)

seeker's name comes from her role in the heart; she's 'seeking' the truth, 'seeking' those who've been lost, 'seeking' a new life for everyone, without the heart's presence. the heart does not respect seeker enough to grant her a name that honours her past life.

#letters speaks #letters rants #not a story #archival asks #tales from a dying heart rant #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #creative writing #writers #writerscommunity #letterbox archives file

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seaweedwolf · 9 months

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Also can we talk about the difference in the show about the importance of the chosen one?

I love it every other kind. Even this book has the chosen one be this amazing and super important character that has just joined the world, and they'll automatically save everything?

Here, you have percy constantly believing he won't survive. He is going to slow the quest down?

And it makes sense right? He has been training for less then a week, even chiron made it sound like his role in the quest was to be the sacrifice. The one who died to let the others get away to succeed.

Thalia now she seemed like the chosen one? She the daughter of the king of the gods. She was older and more experienced. She was overly certain.

Percy? He was alwaysplan b. He says in the show about the fates and how they can choose to do it themselves?

He's right? The prophercy doesn't pick him, he picks the prophercy because he won't let nico or anyone else suffer.

You're not the hero.

Everything leads to that line.

He wasn't the hero to stop Kronos. (Hero in quotation marks because fuck Luke)

He wasn't the hero to stop gaia.

Yet somehow they say he is the best hero of the generation. The most powerful. Why? Because he will truly do anything to help people. He will make sure he will do anything to succeed but not at the expense of others.

Poseidon said in the chalice of the gods. He was impressed by his lack of selfishness. It is what makes him the hero. And it is.

Leo, Calypso, (don't get me started on the Calypso thing it was so unfair to blame on percy) nico, and others will make percy believe he doesn't keep his promise and he can be selfish. He's not. He either doesn't have the time because everything is happening or needing time to live his own life but because they can and its easier they will blame him.

#percy jackson

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crossdressingdeath · 5 months

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Astarion: It feels so good. Freedom - true freedom. Finally. I can feel my strength growing. Every day that passes, I gain new abilities. You know, now that our enemies have fallen, I might be the most powerful person in the world. And as you're my consort, that makes us the most powerful people in the world. Kyvir: I wouldn't want it any other way. Astarion: And neither would I. Together, we can do anything. The world is ours for the taking. So, what would you like? Kyvir: I want to sit on your lap, sipping blood from a chalice, ruling the Gate from our foul throne. Astarion: Oh, darling. I love the way you think. We will need to be careful, of course. There are still powerful forces in the city. We can start slowly - quietly charming and manipulating key figures, building up our network of puppets. Before long we'll have our hands on every string in this city, and they will dance however we tell them to. We have a beautiful, bloody future to look forward to, my love. I can't be sure what it holds for us, but I know one thing. This is going to be fun.

The worst husbands in Faerûn continue to be the worst, yes. I love how unrepentantly awful you can be if you romance ascended Astarion; yes, you saved the Gate! But mostly because if the illithids take it you can't have it. I also love how you can be all for the whole "sitting in his lap on your throne" thing that he mentions if you go Chosen Durge; I guess as soon as you get out of the incredibly preachy section immediately after ascending him wiser heads in the writers' room prevailed and reminded everyone that a given PC might be totally okay with this situation, actually. This relationship may not be healthy but both parties can be having a wonderful time despite that and it's grand. Codependent possessive jackasses making that everyone else's problem! I get why so many people write it as fucked up and miserable and the PC having to suffer through it because they've trapped themselves in this situation, but honestly I find a dynamic where the PC went into this with open eyes and knowing the risks and consequences and finding that they are in fact quite pleased with their situation just as compelling. If not more so; I won't lie, I find horrible people being a genuinely loving power couple in their own ways much more interesting than one partner being the other's innocent victim.

#bg3 #ascended astarion

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galactic-academia · 9 months

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Love One Another (As I Have Loved You)

Continuation to Finding God and Divine Wrath

Rating: M; minors, pass your way.

Category: F/M

Fandom: The Young Pope

Relationship: Lenny Belardo x F!Reader

Tags: language, sexy times drowned into metaphors, angst, unrequited (?) love, Chrismas mass, Reader smokes cigaret and has hair long enough to get pulled; TW: rejection, loneliness. Read as "The author chose not to warn for content, or Archive Warnings could apply, but the author has chosen not to specify them" on AO3. Don't hesitate to message me to get more informations if you want to read this story but don't feel like starting it without full warnings.

Words: 873

Notes: Set before Lenny became pope, but after he became Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York. Don't blame me, blame the Noots (don't, for I love my Noots).

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines |

This is ridiculous.

You and Lenny… It has always been complicated. You’re both piggy-headed and have far too much pride for anything between the two of you being a bed of roses, even without considering his situation. But this outdoes all the shit you’ve come through.

There, on a Christmas day, you’re chain-smoking on your couch while glaring at your TV. Monseigneur Belardo is celebrating mass into St Patrick’s Cathedral before thousands of believers, since the whole affair is broadcasted on TV. And truly, this is ridiculous.

He’s been babbling for almost an hour now, about love, and peace, and forgiveness and you would laugh your heart out if you weren’t so goddamn mad. Please, Lenny Belardo doesn’t know shit about peace and has never practiced forgiveness. As for love… He shouldn’t be authorized to even spell the fucking word.

The first time you fucked Lenny, long before he became the a Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York, it wasn’t about love. Transgression, yes; sacrilege, certainly; but “love�� was never mentioned. But when he cupped your hips in his large, almost trembling hands to receive the bestowal of your body like he would hold the chalice with the wine become blood of Christ; when he came to your altar as often - in not more - as he went to Jesus’ one, maybe it didn’t need to be told? Maybe Lenny didn’t need words and labels to love you.

What a fool you have been.

When Lenny’s been called to a “higher destiny” than the one he had in your humble city, you followed him. No question asked. You left your job and you sold your house and you came to New-York, ready for a new life, and you weren’t afraid, for Lenny was with you. Should have been with you.

But you wouldn’t believe what a fucking cardinal has to do. Meetings, business trips, phone calls to one end of the world and then the other. Masses, benedictions, public appearances, preachings… Maybe he has some time to pray, while he’s brushing his teeth…

He didn’t have time for you, and his secretary was beginning to be rude with you; when she hung up on you after one too many calls to his office, you lost it. You went to his place and cried for him until the security came and tried to make you leave and Lenny stopped them. For the first time in weeks, he finally was before you.

You weren’t prepared to get sermonized.

“This is my life, now”, he has said, “I’m a servant of God and I must honor Him”.

And it hurts you to think back about it now, the tears in your eyes and the tremor in your voice when you told him “I thought you loved me”. What a stupid thing to say in the first place…

“I only love God.”

Now, it seems laughable how, the closer to God he thinks to get, the more his heart desiccates. It didn’t make you laugh, then.

To see him spout all that nonsense in front of an adoring audience, it riles you up. You can feel it simmer low in your belly. Isn’t he pretty, that bastard, all in white; an albino peacock doing a cartwheel in front of its court. And that smile… You’ll never get tired of that smile. It calls troubles, fun troubles; a bratty behavior met with a few, powerful slaps and a punishing pace. You can almost still feel his hand pulling on your hair.

Fuck, you liked it when he lost control over himself and get a little rough with you. You suspect he came harder when he could see tears rolling down your cheeks.

As the choir ends and Lenny comes back to his pulpit, opening his arms and making his voice vibrate through the cathedral, you can’t help but rub your thighs together. It’s been too long. And why not, after all? Isn’t Christmas about love? It would be relevant, for once, giving yourself some love on Christmas day, yeah? So you drown out Lenny’s soliloquy - the man has always been his better audience, anyway - and let your fingers play another anthem; your eyes never leaving his angelic face.

You push yourself over the edge quickly, never better served than by yourself, yeah? Well… It’s efficient, at least. In a haze you see the assembly get up and turn to each other to shake hands, kiss on the cheeks - sometimes both - and Lenny stays there, petrified. Alone, standing high in a storm of people bending toward each other, let in peace to witness his fellow human beings show affection to one another. Just as he asked them to.

And, once again, you would laugh - if you couldn’t feel your heart shattering into your chest. He looks both so majestic and lonely in the center of that magnificent cathedral, surrounded by those ethereal lights. You miss him.

Not five minutes after the end of the Service, as you’re still breathing a little hard, your phone lights up and starts to vibrate. You shouldn’t pick up, not after the crap he dumped on you.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shoul-

Back to The Young Pope Masterlist

#jude law #the young pope #the young pope fanfiction #lenny belardo #lenny belardo x reader #the new pope #the new pope fanfiction #priest kink

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blood-orange-juice · 11 months

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More Narcissenkreuz lore leaks because I have zero self-control.

Mostly for myself and future reference.

The Tower of Self

"The Narzissenkreuz Ordo believes that people continuously refine themselves through samsara cycles. These include Hyperborea, Natlantean, Remuria, and the first half of the fourth samsara (Clauria), which we are presently experiencing. Please take note that these are just names given to these eras by the Ordo based on ancient texts, and this evolution refers to spiritual evolution. There is no intent here to antagonize any research results obtained by the Akademiya. The human spirit undergoes the loss of paradise, the defeat of evil dragons, the original sin and baptism, and finally, freedom from the gods."

The pocket watch, cute Alice in Wonderland references.

Sacred Chalice

"The specialized refinement material for the Sword of Narzissenkreuz. Conches were often favored materials in ancient Fontainian civilization for making ritual implements, and the sacred unguents within this conch chosen as a sanctified chalice have finally emerged. Symbolically, this chalice is the primordial word, the oils are the honed will, and the holy sword itself is reason, which breaks through all."

Holy Blade of Narcissenkreuz

A sacred blade indwelt with great enough reason and will to create and destroy a universe, or a dream.

Root Cycle

"One of the keys designed by the Narzissenkreuz Ordo for the tower. When combined, the keys form a peculiar shape of three and a half circles, for which there is a special explanation. The innermost circle is the Cycle of Hyperborea, symbolizing the age when the world was frozen and the lost paradise."

#narcissenkreuz #narcissenkreuz conspiracy #geshin lore #genshin leaks

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normalmonsterfight · 1 year

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here's some Normal Monsters i think are cool! (mostly just ones that i like the artwork of)

Power Pro Knight Sisters Chosen by the World Chalice Wattaildragon Gem-Knight Garnet Alexandrite Dragon Mekk-Knight Avram Luster Dragon 7 Colored Fish Suppression Collider Frostosaurus Angel Trumpeter Galaxy Serpent Guardragon Justica Crowned by the World Chalice Doll Monster Miss Mädchen Doll Monster Bear-Bear Dragon Core Hexer Divine Dragon Ragnarok Digitron Rabidragon Metaphys Armed Dragon Flash Knight

I might have more later.

also, one question. If a monster is Normal/Pendulum, but it does have a Pendulum Effect, does it count for the list? If so, i'd like to nominate Dragonpulse Magician and Hallohallo.

All added!

I'm a little mixed on Normals with pendulum effects, but for now I'll allow it unless a significant number of people feel it's unfair.

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acquired-stardust · 11 months

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Game Spotlight #10: MediEvil (1998)

Spooky season is upon us, which means two themed spotlights! Join Ash as she takes a look back at a game from her childhood in this Halloween edition of Acquired Stardust’s gaming spotlights!

Often discussed here is the legendary year of 1998, a year in which it seemed like pop culture at large was firing on all cylinders, and a big one in my childhood personally. It was the year of the one and only Disney movie I’d seen as a kid, Mulan, which helped me feel a little bit closer to my Chinese immigrant great grandfather, a figure that loomed large in my family. The world of video games saw heavy hitters with enduring legacies such as Spyro the Dragon and Burning Rangers. Sandwiched between a lot of all-time classics is SCE Cambridge’s MediEvil, a game that despite being noteworthy at the time has fallen off in terms of relevancy steeply.

Combining a Tim Burton-esque aesthetic and gameplay inspired by Capcom’s Ghosts n Goblins and Nintendo’s Legend of Zelda, and much like Megaman Legends was released before Ocarina of Time. MediEvil stars the reanimated skeleton of Sir Daniel Fortesque, revered ‘hero of Gallowmere’, revived in an unwitting coincidence by century-past nemesis Zarok who’s magic creates an army of the dead, gives life to stone statues and corrupts the living into doing the evil sorcerer’s bidding. An interesting turn of events in the opening of the game reveals that the moniker ‘hero of Gallowmere’, ostensibly earned by Sir Dan in the past fight against Zarok a hundred years before the start of the game, is actually completely misattributed to him, having actually been struck down in the opening moments of the climactic battle. This detail serves as the motivating force for Sir Dan’s quest, seeking to redeem himself and banish Zarok once and for all. It also touches on a very interesting concept as a hobbyist historian, the cliche that “history is written by the victor” is a very real thing and something that multiple fields of history grapple with - many things in the past (especially the very distant past) are tragically unknowable and our understanding of accepted history can be shaken by discoveries that have literally laid beneath our feet all along. It’s a small hook but one that’s always been fun for me and compelling enough.

MediEvil’s action-platformer gameplay is fairly standard for the time, featuring a number of strongly themed levels spread out across a world map which allows the player to tackle batches of levels in any order they choose. True to its Zelda inspirations the player will collect a variety of weapons and items that allow for new methods of attack along with new exploration opportunities, often allowing backtracking into previous levels to access new routes that are further populated with gold, health recovery or yet more items. Hidden in each level is also a ghostly chalice, normally inaccessible even if found, that is made obtainable through the defeat of enemies in the current level and will grant access to the Hall of Heroes, a Valhalla-esque realm in which Sir Dan’s former allies in the battle of Gallowmere now reside with their spirits bound to statues bearing their likeness. Each chalice collection offers a conversation with one of Dan’s many past allies and a gift, in many cases upgrades to overall health capacity or gold but many encounters also see the ally bestow their legendary armament to Dan to aid in his fight against the returned evil sorcerer. Chalice collection isn’t particularly difficult or involved, but adds a wonderful sense of progression to the game along with its great rewards.

While it may not be especially difficult to physically collect the chalices, fulfilling the qualification for it can prove slightly frustrating. Combat is very simplistic and slightly clunky, the player often not able to avoid taking damage depending on the weapon chosen as Dan and an enemy frantically bump into each other causing damage to the player. The camera can also be an issue and was even back in 1998. Most of these issues are remedied by familiarizing yourself with the way health and revival works, and realizing it’s actually very simple to spend a few minutes farming the first level to replenish your health stock before tackling a new level with more limited resources. Level design is also largely good, though these issues do come to a head in a later stage (the dreaded ghost ship). Despite some blemishes and minor frustration MediEvil is a game that rewards familiarity well and can take experienced gamers (and ones who adjust to its particular feel) very little time to beat. For the purposes of giving this game a spotlight my run of MediEvil only took four and a half hours, and the Playstation 4 remaster, released in 2019, took under four hours.

On the subject of the PS4 remaster, it’s a largely improved version of the game and in many cases a straight upgrade. Controls have been smoothed slightly, the graphics have kept their Burton-esque charm without straying too far visually or tonally like the 2005 Playstation Portable remake which looks and comes across a lot closer to Spyro the Dragon than MediEvil proper, which can be genuinely eerie at times especially as a child and especially in 1998. Replacing the text-only tomes that give lore and gameplay advice is new narration by veteran voice actress Lani Manella which also adds to the experience quite well without changing it into a more comedic or childish one which unfortunately crops up in detrimental ways in both the 2005 PSP remake and MediEvil’s 2000 sequel, MediEvil 2, also on the Playstation console.

Speaking of being a child in 1998, MediEvil has a special place in my heart for being one of the few times I can remember my whole immediate family bonding over an experience. In an especially difficult early childhood, this game is one of the only things I can remember bringing together my entire immediate family to bond and gush over. To this day my mother vividly remembers attempting to dodge the boulders of early level Cemetary Hill, as well as the eerie possessed villagers of the Sleeping Village. Although the 2019 remaster is a straight upgrade in many areas there is still an unmatched charm that the original brings largely through its visuals. There’s just something so charming about Dan’s low polygon count depiction along with many other enemies and locales. The remaster is still very strong visually and may fit more modern sensibilities (especially those who have a hard time visually with the distinct polygons featured in many Playstation titles). Both versions are worth playing, and the relatively low playtime for those who adjust to its gameplay means you can indeed tackle both the original and 2019 remaster in pretty short order if you so desired.

A gem hidden among the stones, MediEvil is undoubtedly stardust.

- Ash

#gaming #retro gaming #low poly #video games #ps1 #psone #psx #acquired stardust #ash #Sony #1998 #MediEvil #halloween #gaming spotlights #retro #90s #1990s #Playstation #game spotlights

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inkwell-intrigues · 1 year

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Writer's Log: Back to the Basics

(Time - 12:30AM) "Just about an hour ago, I posted what I'm guessing ended up being probably a very poorly written post announcing that I am going to be rewriting The Strength and The Sight.

Now, here I am, already scribbling out my first "writer's log".

I guess finally putting my rewriting announcement out there took a massive weight off of my shoulders. It's quite relieving and I find myself being able to think about Cuphead again without becoming anxious.

But, now here's the real hard part of what I've set out to do: Actually rewriting The Strength and The Sight.

It's both exhilarating and utterly terrifying. I get to start over, which sucks, but I get to do so with all of the knowledge I've gained along the way.

So, I guess it's time to kick off these writer's logs- which if you didn't know, are going to be me documenting my process of writing TSTS in a blog post-esc fashion.

Since we're starting from square one, I think it's time to go back to the basics and recreate/redefine a foundation that the entirety of my new version of TSTS will be built upon:

First and foremost, I need to define TSTS's main focus, or in other words, the core of the story. This is immensely important and the entire story will be meticulously crafted around said focus. (Note to myself: This time the focus will not be something that I end up changing multiple times as the story progresses. I'm glaring at my past self very accusingly right now.)

For today's log, I'm going to write out my raw/unfiltered thoughts as I go about developing TSTS's Main Focus.

To start, let me define what I mean by "Main Focus": For me, the main focus is an idea that serves as a foundation for a story. The main focus must be compelling, carry emotional weight, and be a reasonable idea to tell a story around.

(Additionally, the main plot, all of the subplots, side character's motivations, etc... must all point back to the main focus. This helps the story feel more cohesive.)

For instance: The main focus of Cuphead (the game) is the clash between Cuphead and the Devil. (If I was still in school, I'd say the main theme of this game is Good v.s. Evil.) Now, when I talk about the focus being a clash between Cuphead and the Devil, I don't necessarily mean the conflict of Cuphead losing his soul. While that definitely is a part of the main idea, I'd define that as the story's main conflict- not the main idea. The clash between the Devil and Cuphead is bigger than just the main conflict. Their differences span from the two characters' morals and their chosen friends to their in-game designs. Every aspect of the game's story/atmosphere/etc feeds back into the clashing comparison of Cuphead and the Devil. While Cuphead's home is warm, cozy, and safe, the Devil's is dangerous, malicious, etc. Cuphead's "right-hand man" is his brother: the lovable and cautious Mugman. Meanwhile, the Devil's right-hand man is the sleazy, scammy, and manipulative King Dice. When these two characters clash, the result is an emotional reaction from the player which serves as a motivation to keep them playing. The player should want to save Cuphead, to preserve his good and happy world in the face of evil. This reaction and subsequent emotional reaction is made possible because of the story's main focus and Studio MDHR's dedication to keeping said focus front and center.

I hope that my word vomit made sense, lol. Trying to write out my beliefs on storytelling is a LOT harder than I thought. XD

Now that I've hopefully defined my concept of a main focus, it's time for me to put this concept to the test by looking at it in the context of The Strength and The Sight. Luckily for me, when looking at the story the main focus became crystal clear to me:

TSTS's Main Focus is the Cup Trio: Cuphead, Mugman, and Ms. Chalice. More specifically, their unbreakable & incredibly deep familial love and care for each other.

Without the novel being grounded in the trio's sibling dynamic/love, we lose the story. So much of the angst and feeling in TSTS comes from the pain of these siblings being ripped apart and their determined attempts to be reunited once more.

Let's write it out and I'll try and show you what I mean:

First, let's look at the plot TSTS in the context of the focal point from Chalice's POV: Ms. Chalice, who's just found the family she never had in her new brothers, is suddenly pulled apart from Cuphead and Mugman. Once again, she's all alone and the Devil is to blame. (Now that I think about it, Chalice's POV ends up being a secret parallel to a reveal at the end of the 2nd Act of the novel. I won't say what, but MAN is it depressing.)

Now let's do the same exercise from Cuphead and Mugman's POV: Cuphead and Mugman have been unexpectedly (and violently) torn away from their happy and peaceful life and their big sister. Now trapped in a hostile new world, they must learn to survive. While they do have each other, the boys feel very lost without their big sister and role model: Chalice.

With this in mind, let's look at the main conflict: Cuphead and Mugman's kidnapping. (Minor spoilers...? Idk, it literally happens in the first chapter. xD) When the focus is on the torn-apart siblings and their desperate attempts to reunite, it makes the kidnapping somehow even more painful. Perfect for an angst writer like me. ;) Now, when writing my outline, I can use this focus as a lens for each chapter. Does it point back to this main idea? If it doesn't maybe it's time to rethink or rewrite it.

TLDR: The focus/core of TSTS is the Cup Trio and more specifically- their sibling bond/love. This dynamic drives the story forward and sets up the major conflict as well as the climax. ;)

So, that was it for my first writer's log!

Hopefully, you all liked it and/or found it interesting to read. I have no idea if they will all be like this, making these types of posts is entirely new to me, but it's nice to finally be making some content for you guys again- even if it isn't a new TSTS chapter.

I'll try and post these writer's logs semi-frequently. I'll have to see how much I feel motivated/inspired to do concerning TSTS over these next few weeks.

In any case, thank you guys for being so kind. I'm reading and will try and respond to every one of your kind comments + messages. I see them all and I'm reminded why I chose to write this in the first place. For you guys.

-- Your Friend, Ink"

#writer's log #the author speaks #cuphead #the strength and the sight #tsts

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