#Conversations with Craftsmen

[barry-j-blupjeans]

"A few people are becoming concerned about you." is not the way you want a conversation with your boss to go. But, if Magnus was being completely honest, Lucretia wasn't the most normal boss in the world. And he couldn't blame her, of course, what with the weapons of mass destruction and the memory-erasing jellyfish, and the— the everything. But still, it was not a conversation he was particularly jazzed about. Especially right now.

It was the middle of the night and he was in the quad, shirtless. He had been running, because he had too much going on in his head. The whole dying eleven times in Refuge thing was— Magnus didn't enjoy it. He didn't enjoy what the Red Robe said about the scroll he was given, or what was on the scroll when Magnus opened it, or that the Red Robe was actually looking out for them, and that the missions kept getting harder, or—

"I'm fine," Magnus said. Ooh, nat one on that bluff check. The Director— Lucretia— Lucretia gave him a look of deep and utter doubt. Magnus… had no defense.

"Wanna reroll?" she asked.

"No," Magnus said. "No, I mean— who's concerned?"

Lucretia had been quite the shock to see mid-run. Mid-run at midnight, nonetheless. And if Magnus had tried to punch her after being startled and she had whacked him on the head really bad with her staff— well, Magnus wouldn't tell if she didn't tell. And by the fact that he saw her physically sneaking past the HR office the other day, he had a pretty good feeling she wouldn't.

Maybe the hit had actually done a bit of damage, though, with the way this conversation was heading. Magnus felt a little light-headed. Not a good mid-run feeling.

"A few people," she said again, as if that helped any.

"Well, uh, tell 'em I'm— I'm doing great." Lucretia grimaced, as if she was embarrassed by his lie. "Okay, Luce, sure! What do you want out of me? I'm not— I'm not doing fantastic but I'm holding up pretty well. Comparatively."

Comparatively to other years, maybe? Minus all the death-related anxieties.

"One," Lucretia said. Her grimace hadn't faded just yet, but now it held a twist of something closer to discomfort. "Don't call me Luce, it's— it's the Director, or Madam Director—"

"You know I'm not gonna use those."

"I know," Lucretia sighed. "Two— it's just… well…" she paused. "I know talking about… past events can be— can be difficult, sometimes. But I…" she tapped her fingers against her staff. "I want to offer you my condolences. For Julia."

Magnus felt his stomach drop. Not— not in a bad way? Maybe? Maybe, actually, in a bad way, he didn't— he didn't know.

It had been six years. And last year had been bad but this year was— was—

Julia would have loved to be part of something like this. It was Magnus who was ready to settle down and live a little private life— what's the point of fighting for a life you'll never get to live, right? But Julia had been so full of life, so excited for whatever they'd do next, what would come after the Continental Craftsmen Showcase, how much prize money that she was sure he was going to bring home— and even then, they agreed on some peace. Neither of them were homebodies, but they needed a home for a little while.

And, for a little while, they had it. Until they didn't— until he didn't.

"Thank you," Magnus whispered, unable to get his voice any louder.

"It's hard," the Director said, leaning against her staff. "Having the people that you love just— just gone like that. Knowing you could have done something… Even though nothing you tried to do would be enough."

She trailed off, looking into the distance. She looked very much like the Director role in this moment. A woman who had truly seen too much. He was sure that the power dynamic between them was not the only reason why the Director kept a tight seal on her past.

"I—" Magnus paused, twisting his fingers up in his pockets. "You too?"

"Hm?" Lucretia blinked, as if she had forgotten he was there for a moment. "In— in a way, yes, I suppose. Not— not to compare our issues, of course, it's just— I get it, Magnus. It's— it's hard to lose everyone you love in one swoop. And we both know there's no way to change the past—"

"Except the Chalice," Magnus said.

"Except— yes, I suppose the Chalice is an exception, though it's not one worth the try. But for what it's worth, Magnus? I think Julia would be proud of you."

The weight in his chest lifted a bit in the way his run had not had the chance to do. Magnus sniffed.

"Thank you," he said. "I— you too."

Lucretia let out a shaky exhale.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a little watery. She cleared her throat. "I think it is time for both of us to get some rest. I'm sure I'll see you around some other regular, normal time." Magnus grinned. "Good night, Magnus."

"Night, Luce," he said, and she winced, but didn't correct him. He turned back toward the dorms, and she turned back toward her office. After a few paces, he heard he say,

"And Magnus?"

He turned to face her again.

"Yeah?"

"Don't—"

"Don't tell anyone about you hitting me in the head," Magnus said. "Yeah, I know."

"I was going to say "don't be a stranger" but that— that one, too, yes."

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 17

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 , PART 14 , PART 15 , PART 16

A/n :

i have JUST finished Penacony, and i have to say, THAT WAS A WILD RIDE FR HELP ?!?! i did NOT expect it to end that way. Okok, hear me out, you might cancel me or whatever, but opinions are opinions right, and i LOVE how they made Sparkle some little gremlin that REALLY knows how to flame people good. ye ye i know about the things happening on twitter, but push that aside. that's merely a reference. all in all, the races in the game still dont exist. and getting mad at a fictional VILLAIN is somewhat hilarious to me ngl...i never even SAW the racism until i watched tiktok. my eyes. anything on tiktok is like...corrupting my brain rn and i hope your fyps are favoring you all too ! But still. We're all humans and we all have our opinions. so dont start messing around and bullshitting people online youre never gonna meet, okay ?

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate , @everi-eve , @shadowfoxey , @helloyuki , @immahuman , @samptlay , @boomie-123

Back then, he was only a young man, staring up at the starskiffs that flew by in the sky. He looked no older than a mere teen, but as a Xianzhou native, looks are VERY deceiving. Even for someone as young as Jing Yuan.

The young man looked up at the sky, his adolescence was only peaking up back then. But even so, he was a splendid Cloud Knight, already the climbing up the ranks to be a Sword Champion like his master. Though she had shielded him from much the horrors she had faced when she was a mere child, she tried her best to raise her student as her very own.

He remembered seeing his friends earlier, during the crowning of Jingliu as the Legendary Sword Master, entitling her with the nickname transcendent flash due to her movements that had seemingly cut through time and space within a blink of an eye. They all came around, wanting to congratulate her.

There was the legendary craftsmen, though hailing from another land and being a short-lived species, he had come to present to her the sword made of alien material, shining ebony matte black even under the bright sun. And not far behind him, was the Imbibator Lunae, coming over adorned with his robes of silk and jewelry of jade. Then, there was the mischievous Baiheng who roamed across the stars and set to stay on the Luofu.

But clinging to the sleeve of the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu, like a little lost girl, though he was sure that she was most likely just a couple decades younger than the Imbibator Lunae himself. And with the glaucous horns perched atop her head, he knew that she was inevitably the relative of this royal dragon before him, the one they called Saltator Lunae.

She was a beautiful young woman, with bright, curious (e/c) eyes that shone with wonder for the world. Her silky (h/c) hair was held up with a beautiful hairpin made of glass that seemed to be sturdier than plain ceramic he saw the nobles wear. But it matched her innocent look, and it seemed to him that she had yet to see more of the outside world.

He saw her for a mere glimpse, and she seemed to be talking to either her brother, or Yingxing the craftsman who seemed to be very much absorbed into his conversation with her. The middle-aged man even seemed to adore the young woman.

'Cute...' he remembered thinking as he saw her.

It was hot that day, and he was just fresh after training. But after remembering his master's swordsmanship, he quickly got back up, grabbing the sword he used to train, and went on with his practice. There was still much to learn, much to face before he could even dream of being half the person his master was.

"Jing Yuan, meet Imbibator Lunae's younger sister. Saltator Lunae." Jingliu said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, as he was in the middle of training.

And he saw her again, from a much closer distance. The pretty girl from the other day, this time with an intricate hand fan in her hold, closed. This time she seemed much more...reserved ? Was it because her brother wasn't around ?

"Huh ? Sister ?"

"Yes, she'll be training with you. Other than Cloudhymn magic, she wants to learn about forming wind and water together to form ice. It doesn't hurt to learn more, especially from someone with core differences like you, Jing Yuan."

"Ah..." sighed the General as he shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He chuckled softly, looking at the item in his hand, which was a small decorative hand fan.

It was a beautiful oriental fan, with intricate designs carefully inked and dyed with care and professional handling. And it was no ordinary fan, instead it was a beautiful silk fan that he had seen her hold on the day they first met....

And was entrusted to him by Dan Feng who loved his sister very much before he had to part from this world.

The fan just...was just a reminder of what sunny days he blindly lived through, never anticipating the position he'd assume current day...

"General ?" A young voice piped up, snapping him out of his dampened mood.

The General turned to see his retainer by his side, peering cautiously at the fan in his master's hand, knowing that it must've belonged to someone of position and status. Especially since the wood forming it was no ordinary slice, but rather elaborately detailed to the smallest feature.

"Yes, Yanqing ?" He responded back, the lazy cat-grin on his lips as his golden eyes met one he considered his son.

"Lady Fu Xuan has given signal that she has deployed the anomaly team towards the suspected location of the Plagues Author's devotees." Yanqing said, the young boy nodding his head to signal to his master something.

"Thank you, Yanqing. It is time for me to depart, and reunite with the princess herself face to face. I cannot have the Ace of the deck be pulled out before its time." Jing Yuan said as he placed the fan onto the table, and rose to his feet.

"An...ace of the deck...?" Yanqing asked, cocking up an eyebrow as he suspiciously eyed the General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

"Yes. One of the keys in saving the Xianzhou itself." Jing Yuan said, giving no room for his retainer to further impose on his agenda.

"Now, Yanqing. I will be leaving to coincide with the Master Diviner's troupes, and those stationed in the Alchemy Commission." Jing Yuan said with that same smirk plastered on his lips.

"Do not lay your foot in a trap laid down by yourself, lest you be the hunted instead of the hunter." Was Jing Yuan's final warning before he walked off to leave the Seat of Divine Foresight.

But what he didn't know was that his little apprentice had been exposed to the sights of the legendary without either of them noticing it. And this youngling was very much eager to try his new profound knowledge in bringing justice to the land he served.

Though the General had yet just finished another meeting with the Master Diviner, even issued her with the official warrant to temporarily command the Cloud Knights, it was clear that things were far from over now. Affairs on the Xianzhou Luofu this time wouldn't be so easily averted, not with the interference of outsider hands in this matter.

He shook his head as he remembered the contents of the earlier discussion with Fu Xuan earlier. He remembered the troubled face of (Y/n) who had not dared utter a word as he issued another errand for the Astral express team to run.

He remembered his own words, spoken with his regular slyness and his lax tone in order to conceal what he truly felt inside...

"Miss Tingyun, I would like you to continue to serve as a guide for our Astral friends. And Lady (Y/n)..." he said, trailing off as he turned to look at her.

She looked...troubled. Biting her lower lip was a habit she had built long back during the prime era of the High-Cloud Quintet. Not only did she look troubled, she also seemed quite...saddened. Perhaps...it was the memories that surged her, or even the weight of her duties to reseal the Ambrosial Arbor. And everyone knows that...Lady (Y/n) isn't quite complete in herself...

"I hope you understand the importance of your presence within this mission. I am sure that the team will be able to safely escort you through the paths, and guide you safely to the Alchemy Commission."

He had once again broken the rules and regulations of the Luofu. With the next task he issued...was to get the Astral Express team towards the Ambrosial Arbor through the Alchemy Commission's delve. It was a hard decision, knowing the routes they needed to pass through were heavily infested and affected by the growth of the Ambrosial Arbor and it would be increasingly dangerous for (Y/n) to continue venturing along.

But he had no other choice yet in this matter. She was the King piece in this chessboard. Though her Queen piece...was nowhere in sight.

But he knew that man would appear sooner or later. Along with the young prince, who served the missing half of the current king's severed power.

He just hoped she was faring well.

"Phew ! That deer sure was a tough one !" March said, a relieved smile on her lips after the team had departed from the Alchemy Commission and saying good by to a certain...Furnace Master.

"Quite a deer friend indeed." Replied her companion, Stelle, who earned a tired groan from March due to her pathetic excuse of making jokes.

"But Lady (Y/n)..." March said, looking at the woman who was walking ahead of them, her back turned towards the team. Robes of expensive silk fluttered in the wind behind her, light shining off the material. Her (h/c) swayed in the wind, giving off nothing but an air of royalty.

But despite her ice cold gaze...everyone saw how shocked she looked when Gongshu had introduced himself as the Furnace of Creation's master. The woman was silent, merely staring at the man before her, uttering not a word. But she bit her lip, as a way to prevent herself from saying more than she should.

Then there was the deer, the Ebon Deer that was nothing but an abomination. Colors of blue, gold and green, representing life, vitality and wealth. A beautiful yet horrifying mix of colors forever ingrained in her mind.

"Are you alright, Lady (Y/n) ?" Welt asked, making sure that the young woman behind her was faring well.

Fighting against the Ebon Deer was hard work, at it seemed that even (Y/n) had trouble against it before they dispelled the outer source of power it was extracting from the power of Abundance.

He watched her horrified reaction as it withered and yet regained its former state, almost as if she were haunted by the extremes of power an Aeon can possess...

Or perhaps were those the same eyes of the people who fought in the War of Abundance...? The eyes that witnessed fear and loss time and time again. Maybe...perhaps even those eyes were included in the horrors of the abominations.

Powers of the Vidyadhara were nothing short of the definition of power itself, but she struggled to face it off, as if having second thoughts while fighting, or even extending the period of fighting just to conduct a couple observations and conclude a couple thoughts.

This woman...was trying to learn something. Gain an insight, perhaps...?

Even as Welt was making his own observations and conclusions regarding the change of paths from the Abundance to the Hunt, (Y/n) stood away from them, deep in her own circle of thought.

"I...am alright." Said the regal lady, dusting of the sleeves of her dress. It was tough, but she knew there was more to come, especially with the warning Jing Yuan had discretely yet undoubtedly been trying to relay to her.

Her presence was playing a crucial part in this play of his.

Did that mean...she had to meet...his reincarnation...?

Jing Yuan had never told her what had become past the period of molting rebirth. But did she really want to know...?

"It's just...that deer..." she said softly, shaking her head. "Reminded me of someone."

The man she loved, falling at the hand of the abundance, due to some...forbidden ritual they were trying to pursue. And he too...began one of the Abundance. Healing time after time, without even having a say in his own life.

The woman looked back to meet the gaze of her worried companions. All sorts of gazes landed on her form, pity, worry, concern, understanding...she appreciated them all, but...

"That's enough. We should keep going. The Alchemy Commission...shouldn't be far from here now..." said the dragon lady before she turned on her heel to leave the scene.

Right...there was no need to say anymore. Words...could not convey the feeling of loss she felt etched deep inside her heart. Nor did the memories even fulfil the void that grew day by day, with a certain longing for times of old to resurge...

Through the gates of the Artisanship Commission, it led the team straight towards the Alchemy Commission, a delve where all the medicinal and healing practices were carried out. It was the perfect place for concocting medicines out of herbs and materials of rare items to treat unknown diseases, or a place to jot down prescription after prescription while attending to the endless stream of natives that need the attention of professionals.

Some came here to learn, and some came here to help others. But ultimately, the desire of all here was one, to make the Xianzhou Luofu more prosperous and longevous than it ever was.

But this place...was also the same place for dubious plans to be carried out. With the high-tech equipment, materials only those in the alchemy would be able to obtain, should the Luofu fall into peril, this...would no doubt be their lair.

(Y/n) led the team into the commission, walking past the walls that were once so familiar to her. Though it has been centuries, this place...was almost as same as it used to be back when she was in her prime, looking over the apprentices like a protective mother watching her eggs.

Bodies of the mara-struck, celestial bodies and the Cloud Knights littered the stone ground left and right, for as far as the eye can see. It was no doubt that a fierce war had indeed taken place within these walls, no time to reach out for help since the delve had been sealed off, and the commission was deemed to be deserted.

"Whoa, looks like the battle here was intense..." March said, the poor girl looking around the blood-bathed battlefield with fear and horror in her young eyes. Her hands were to her mouth, almost in disbelief with what had occurred here.

Tingyun sighed, looking behind her to meet the gaze of the young girl. "Looks like the Master Diviner had launched a campaign while we were delayed in the Artisanship Commission."

"She must've divined it at the right time..." responded the usually silent Stelle, only ever opening her mouth to let out the most unheard of jokes (Y/n)'s pointed ears had heard of, or to say something incredibly out of character.

"Seems like she had sent in the Cloud Knights to clear out the way before we arrived. It would've been dreadfully dangerous had she let us in without proper preparation and training like the knights." (Y/n) said, her sharp and luminescent eyes scanning the area, the scene before her like flowers wilted on the ground.

But this...was nothing compared to the flooding blood rivers she had witnessed as a young maiden. Should things continue as they are...well...the Luofu would be drenched in mixed blood once again.

But unlike last time. She would do everything in her power to stop from memories of the past haunt and overshadow her future, refusing it to take shape it once took form as.

She wouldn't dare dream of losing another person dear to her.

Not the warm and kind-hearted General that had embraced her with loving arms the moment her eyes had revealed itself to the world. Not when she had to let go of her lover that remembered so little of her yet yearned for their long lost intimate moments.

Back then...she had so much to lose. And this time was no different.

She just hoped...that his reincarnation was doing well somewhere.

Welt noticed the unease in (Y/n)'s gaze. Being the attentive man he was, riddled with experience and written with history of a distant land, he knew better than to outright voice his concern over the Dragon Lady.

"Time is of the essence. The most important task for the Xianzhou Luofu is suppressing the Stellaron." Said the brunette, his arms crossing over his chest as he too observed the concluded battlefield before him. "General Jing Yuan tasked the Master Diviner with commanding the Cloud Knights-- he would've known she'd act on the results of her divination."

"Maybe that's why they sent us through the Artisanship Commission. To avoid direct contact with the battlefield. It is too dangerous for us here. If fighting the Ebon Deer was already breaking more than our usual threshold, imagine actually engaging in a real battle." (Y/n) said softly, looking sad at the loss before her.

"But...that's out of your scope." She whispered, walking towards one of the knights to check on their conditions.

"Lady (Y/n)..." March said worriedly, and Tingyun looked a little...somber at the Dragon Lady had returned back to her post as the Miracle Healer.

"This...must be hard for Lady (Y/n) to see." Tingyun said softly, shaking her head. "As I remember records...the past Dragon Lady was someone of immense caliber and knowledge, having pulled strings no one dared to interfere with."

"But this is nothing compared to what she had seen back in her days. Centuries ago, an Emanator of Abundance besieged the Luofu with the aim of the Ambrosial Arbor. They destroyed half our delves and killed most of the Cloud Knights." Tingyun said, looking up at the sky, perhaps wondering what the sky looked like when the ground was bathed in red.

"For long-life species, such events are more like yesterday's memories rather than ancient history. This awful spectacle is child's play in comparison to what they've seen and been through."

"It's...hard to tell if the Master Diviner won or lost here." Welt said with a heavy sigh, that was until (Y/n) walked back, her (e/c) clouded with regret and shame.

"There...are many losses here. I might be able to restore and patch some up, but...it would be too dangerous for me to venture further alone without back up." (Y/n) said, her eyes never leaving the fallen soldiers. "If only Yingxing and..."

She cut herself short, her thoughts snapping back to prevent herself from saying anymore of those forsaken memories of old. She shook her head and cleared her throat, as if to regain composure.

"Nevermind." She said sharply. "There aren't many Cloud Knights here, so I reckon there's a retreat nearby, or maybe they really did make it out with a minimal count of casualties. Deeper into the delve, perhaps."

"Will you try heal those here, Lady (Y/n) ?" Tingyun asked the horned woman before her, noticing her determined gaze. And (Y/n) nodded. "I'll...try my best. I'm a healer, a doctor even, or whoever I used to be, but I'm not miracle granter."

"Please be careful, Lady (Y/n), Stelle. These monsters seem pretty tough..." March warned carefully, fearing the safety of her companions and the lady they were meant to escort safely.

(Y/n) leaned down to inspect the wounds on one of the soldiers that seemed to have been ridden with mara, rooted deep inside its body. As she scanned the figure with her sharp eyes, she noticed how this individual...a woman, perhaps in her early 300s...was far too deep in mara.

Mara was plaguing her body like flies eating away at rotting flesh. Slow, constant, but unbearable. The wounds were shrinking away beyond a usual native's ability, and with the lack of injured vital signs, (Y/n) knew it was best for her to try freeze the cores and quickly move away.

So that was as she did. To those still blessed with life, she leaned down to bestow them the gift of her healing, hoping that they would be able to be to at least endure less pain than they should. She even froze cores, wishing that it was enough to prevent the rapid outbreak of the plague, harming others beyond control.

She knew...those mara struck before her...had their regrets and their ambitions to see another day. She knew another person who was just the same, bringing flesh of a fallen Emanator, striking his beloved with a fatal blow, yet he himself was a victim to another's plan who wished to deny the cruel nature of death.

The beloved who once held her hand so tenderly, an arrogant man who was yet so soft towards her, bestowing her with a gentle kiss on her forehead as he held her close by her waist.

(Y/n) looked up, knowing that those days were no more, and the sky above them...was never a witness to the moments she held dear to her frozen and recovering heart. Her heart that was facing conflict and turmoil with her current identity and her past self, knowing both were nonetheless one of the same.

Though she had forgotten most of her past, only bits and shred able to be brought forward to her current time, she knew it was time for her to step up and once again place the crown high on her head, though it weighed so heavily on her shoulders.

"Look ! There's someone over there." March called out, taking (Y/n)'s hand to point towards a woman wearing an Alchemy Commission uniform, and a kneeling Cloud Knight by her feet.

(Y/n) didn't have a good feeling about this.

[henneseyhoe]

COUNTRY LOVIN’

Trevante Rhodes x BLACK!FEM!PLUSSIZE!reader

WARNINGS:nsfw, mentions of spirituality, mentions of death, childhood trauma, smut, slow burn(ish), friends to lovers.

SUMMARY: A sweet country story that will have your teeth aching! Follow Sorie on her journey through womanhood and attempting to break free from the child her father still sees her as. Will the love she has for her childhood friend prevail with a crazy dad around?

Ps. Starting out slow (for now🤭)

2 3

✮✮✮✮

The sun beamed down on the big yard of grass, the temperature rising to a heated 87. Since it was the Deep South, a heatwave was bound to happen that month with how the weather was this week, and the towns people could sense it. Though it was hot and the temperature was going up by the days, it didn’t stop anyone from getting a days work done.

from farmers farming, to craftsmen crafting, my father and the rest of the small community we had included in that group of people still continued to work through the week till we got a break on the weekend.

I walked outside with a wooden tray, six glasses of fresh lemonade and iced teas set right on top of the oak, ready to be downed by the group of working men I approached. They were building a small stage for the children in the town, the enthusiastic kids giving them a suggestion to put on a play for Juneteenth the week before, so they got right on it to make it happen.

The wind blew against my resisting picked out afro, my straw hat almost flying off before the wind calmed back down. “Y’all boys thirsty?” I asked, the men turning to me with smiles while setting down their many tools, the conversation they were having before immediately coming to a stop.

“You right on time, babygirl!” My father smiled widely, a single golden canine gleaming at me. I smiled back and set down the tray of drinks on the halfway built stage, letting the men help themselves to the drinks.

My father took his own drink and kissed me on my cheek before taking a sip of the sweetened drink of his choice. I wiped his kiss off and made a face expressing annoyance, the men around me finding humor in the treatment. “don’t nobody want your sweaty kisses, daddy” I complained and he chuckled, finishing his drink. “You’ll be alright, I’ll be sure to give you a clean one right on that big forehead when I wash up for dinner” I shook my head.

He was always an affectionate man, wether it was in public or at home. The man still tries to hold my hand when we cross the street, and I always have to remind him that I’m a grown *ass* woman, which he still seems to dismiss like he doesn’t hear me.

I found it cute sometimes. One day I hoped to have a man who was just as affectionate as he use to be with my mother, and I already had an eye on who I wanted that man to be. Quickly reaching at the tray, I picked up a sweet tea and handed it to the same man in mind; Trevante. He was already reaching for the glass first, but I had to make sure I handed it to him directly, just to have that small interaction I hated to admit that I craved. He chuckled at my gesture and grabbed the glass from me.

He nodded to me as a “Thanks”, his hand softly grazing mine. Shivers went up my spine. That man could make me melt before the sun, and that was a fact. It seemed like everyone but my father could tell I was sweet on him, cause if he did I would have never had the chance to be around him like this, especially this close. You could tell Trevante was always cautious with his body language when we were around, afraid that my father would pick up on anything. It had been like that since we were teenagers.

It wasn’t like we were doing anything anyway. just a few late night conversations on the phone here and there, a few ‘accidental’ meet ups, the flirting, and two other situations that would probably send my father into cardiac arrest, but it never went farther than that. I hated that honestly.

Our relationship dynamic always felt like a constant tug of war, neither of us trying to go over that line. My reason being the fear of upsetting someone I rarely upset, and his being not wanting to break a clear boundary set in stone, but not spoken of. He knew I liked him, definitely, and I knew he liked me. I think.

If my father even found out we were talking on the phone, let alone late at night, he’d go off and then proceed to curse his bestfriend for raising such a “sly fox” of a son, thinking he had corrupted me into thinking what we were “doing” was okay.

He was a traditional man and he was that dramatic about me dating. What made it worse is that he never expected the potential date to be someone he saw as a long lost son, and thought I saw him as some kind of sibling, which never was the case. All that pretend best buddies bullshit ended when he decided he wanted to kiss me in a shed after church a year ago. That was as far as we ever went, but obviously there wasn’t much learned from the holy book.

“you made this yourself?” He asked with a hum, setting the halfway empty glass back onto the tray. I nodded with a genuine smile, holding my sun hat down on my head as the wind blew. I couldn’t even help but watch how his tongue ran across his lips, licking up any droplets of the sweet drink.

It was only for a few seconds, but I made to to quickly snap myself out of it to answer him. “That’s all me. I made sure I didn’t make it too sweet for you” he smiles and takes my hand into his, my heart skipping a little beat. “Thank you, beautiful” he complimented, holding my hand. For a second it seemed like the world stopped as I watched him caress the top of my hand, but it was really just the effect of the sounds of working slowing down again, almost everyone peeping our exchange.

Trevante glared back at the nosy crowd and let my hand go, tucking his own in his pocket.

I cleared my throat and looked away, fluffing out the bottom of my afro as Trevante looked away into the distant field. “…Anyway! I should be heading back to the house, check on the greens I put on” I lied, knowing damn well we weren’t having greens tonight. Turning away to quickly dismiss myself, my dad called out to me “Before you go! I need you to go get my other tools from the shed in the back to finish up this flooring” he said, pointing towards the back of the house. I huffed silently and turned to him, my hands sassily sitting on my hips.

“I look like some big man to you? I can’t carry whatever it is that you need!” I complained, the men laughing. My father shook his head and pointed to Tre, snapping his fingers to get his attention as all of it was currently on the shape of my hips. He pretended to look around in a toolbox sitting near the end of the stage to cover his tracks before turning to my father. “Yes, Sir?”.

“Son, be a good man and help my suddenly weak daughter carry those tools?” The man asked. I was too busy trying to control the thumping of my heart beating against my rib cage that I almost barely heard my fathers request. “Yes, Sir. I’ll get right to it” he spoke with respect, putting aside the toolbox he was pretending to plunder in, and walking with me towards the back of the house.

“Ya’ daddy losing his sight or sumn?” He looks at me, smirking a bit. I raise a brow. “boy, what?” I asked, genuinely wondering where that question could come from. “He don’t seem to see the way you be lookin’ at me. He must be losin’ it” he joked, and I playfully pushed him. “Shut up, you had me worried for a second!” we both laughed, approaching the red painted shed.

“He still runnin’ every nigga that like you outta town?”

I shook my head, sighing. “You know he crazy. He’d run a nigga off earth if that meant I’d be untouched” Trevante kissed his teeth and opened the sheds doors, walking in. I reached for the lights string and pulled it, turning the light on. “You think he’d do that to me?” He asked, beginning to look around for the specific tools my dad asked for.

I smile, butterflies filling my stomach. “Why you ask?” He looks at me for a spilt second, smiling. “Just wanna know” he responds. Nodding, I stand back, allowing him to look for the asked for tools.

“Nah, he’d probably throw up a few times at the thought of us doing anything together, then lock you in the basement though” I joked, both of us laughing again.

“You gonna bring me down dinner every night if he catches me?” I roll my eyes, pulling myself up onto a table to sit. “oh, honey… You have very high hopes for me like I’m not gon be locked in this damn shed” he shakes his head.

It was already a surprise that my father sent us back here together and alone at that, but that just meant he was getting too comfortable with the thought of us being strictly platonic. It scared me a little. How would he really react if our friendship, *if you could even call it that*, grew into something a little more? Yes, we joked about it together, but the thought of it genuinely made me anxious, my stomach turning.

If there was one thing my father could do, it was drag a situation out so bad until there was nothing left to say and his opponent had no choice but to let him win, which I did often. I barely rebelled against anything he said, actually.

“Aye! You gon’ sit over there lookin’ stuck the whole time or help me look for these damn tools?” Trevante asks while snapping his fingers in front of me. He must’ve been there for a few seconds.

“Boy,- “ I slap his hand away.

“you the big strong man, use your big strong brain to find it” I sass, the man squinting at me. “What a doll you are” he says, sarcasm plaguing his tone, making me giggle.

About a minute later, he pulls a big blue tool box from underneath a tarp. the box was locked up, most likely to stop anyone or anything stealing my fathers “good tools”, as he would say.

“Look at that, you aren’t just muscle after all!” I laugh and hoped down from the table, brushing my dress off to rid it of any dust from the wooden table. He mimics my laugh and starts looking around for the keys to the box.

“You know where he keeps the keys?” He huffs, lifting the heavy box on his shoulder and turning to me. I shrug, genuinely not knowing where that old man placed anything. “I dunno. Maybe hanging up somewhere” I suggest, not really caring too much to look around for that either.

He hums while looking around striding closer to me. “Maybe get up and help me look?” My lips formed a straight line, my expression becoming blank. My hands began fiddling with the lace on the bottom of my dress, my nerves getting worse the closer he got. “No?” He asks, his face now close to mine. I refused to turn away and give him the satisfaction of making me visually nervous, so I stayed still. Letting him get closer.

He paused for a moment, our noses almost touching. It was radio silence for a split second, only the cicadas and distant laughter being heard until I spoke.

“No…”

The response was more timid than I wanted it to sound, but with how my thighs were clenching together as I felt his breath on my lips, the intensifying second heart beat that had appeared just a few seconds ago, I doubt that I would have been able to say it confidently anyhow.

I felt bold enough to close the gap, but he had already pulled away, leaving me awkwardly leaning forward on my tippy toes into nothing. with keys in his hand, he held them up to my face, dangling them. “look at that, they were hanging up. Behind you actually” he smiles, his pearly whites that were decorated with golden slugs making an appearance.

“They were..” was all I could say as he walks out of the shed, me following closely behind him with a stupid look on my face.

“Damn! Y’all must’ve been chasing y’all tails back there!” My dad yells, referencing how long we had been gone, occupied with the task given. “They was back there chasing something alright” one of the men interrupted, making the group erupt into laughter. “Catch it, buck” another said, using my fathers nickname while referring to him not catching onto the joke, which wouldn’t have been a joke to him if he had caught on.

“I apologize, but I can’t say your daughter was much help looking” Trevante says, bumping my shoulder and setting down the box. I scoff, setting my hands on my back. “I helped! I told you where it usually was, and you found it!”

“Five minutes after we walked in! Then you just sat there the whole time”

“you must’ve bumped your head if you think imma get my hands dirty to find some old tools and risk staining my dress with rust. I just finished sewing this!” It seemed like everyone either found humor or slight annoyance in how I refused to mess up my nails and clothes, regardless of being surrounded by nothing but nature.

Usually I didn’t have a problem with getting dirty, but I didn’t put on this dress right after I finished it for no reason. I wanted to look pretty. Not like I had been working all day. Even if I had gotten one little stain on it, if it was something I couldn’t get out, I probably would have cried. I was very serious about my crafts.

Going back and forth for a few more minutes, I had realized I passed more than enough time by as I faced the sun, watching it prepare to set. It was now time to go back in and prepare dinner.

[just-another-star-47]

Thoughts on the Sallow family:

I hope they aren't too confusing..😅

Through the conversation after the Imperio incident with Sebastian, we learn that he and Anne had to pack things up and leave them behind when they moved to Solomon.

It didn't sound to me like they were moving from one house in Feldcroft to another, so I'm leaning towards them not having lived in Feldcroft (at least for a while).

Also, they probably owned a much larger house that had a basement and enough storage space for things that were unnecessary enough to leave behind. I therefore toy with the idea that they lived in a larger village, where their parents had better access to new books and research materials.

In the conversation, we also learn that Anne gives Sebastian a handmade crest as a good luck charm. It is not clearly stated that it is a family crest, but there definitely seems to be a close connection between the parents and it, as Anne kept it as a keepsake.

However, if it is indeed a family crest, it could indicate social status.

Crests were worn as a sign of belonging to a clan and were later made for individual families, for example to differentiate families with the same surname. They belonged not only to royalty and nobility (which in the wizarding world would probably be the pure-blooded families), but also middle-class families (craftsmen, merchants etc. who were able to accumulate material possessions). As far as I know, peasants (such as farmers etc) did not have crests.

This would also fit with a comment made by a student who suggested that he thought Sebastian came from a more 'upmarket' area than Feldcroft. Personally, I found it interesting, as I had kind of assumed that Sebastian came from a farming family and only rose through the social ranks because of his parents and his desire to learn. But the family crest would suggest that his family had been wealthier than simple peasants for longer.

(But perhaps they had their origins in Feldcroft and then 'worked their way up'?)

In my further confusion of thoughts, I also thought about Anne and Sebastian's parents. Personally, I don't think they taught as professors at Hogwarts, as Ominis statement that they spent every minute in the basement studying sounds more like research than teaching to me.

If they did teach, I can well imagine that Anne and Sebastian were already at Hogwarts as small children because their parents were busy at the castle for several days, for example. I could therefore imagine that they lived directly in the castle with their parents, or in one of the villages nearby (Hogsmeade or Lower Hogsfield).

Either way, I think the family travelled a lot, as Sebastian is incredibly knowledgeable about the whole area. Personally, I can understand these journeys as research trips by the parents, but either way it shows that the family could afford it.

I also found it interesting that Sebastian mentioned that the souvenirs of their parents included photos. Photographs only became more or less suitable for everyday use between 1840 and 1860 and were therefore a relatively new invention, which was also made by Muggles. Apparently, the parents' thirst for knowledge also extended beyond the wizarding world, which to me means that Anne and Sebastian have no (or few) reservations about Muggles, Muggle-born wizards, etc.

There are more thoughts buzzing around in my head, but I think that's enough for now. 😅

[ceruleancattail]

HEYYY CERUUUUU How you doin?<333 I see your requests are open👁️👁️ can I request butler reader with Scarabia this time? Idk what to request because I’ll gobble down whatever you write anyway ong

Butler of Scarabia

Kalim Al Asim x butler reader

The golden rays of the sun streamed through the windows, fracturing within the glass panes. Multicoloured spots were cast across the walls, shattered remains of light illuminating the halls.

You’ve never known the house of Scarabia to be dark. Even at night, lanterns were lit in every room. Stained glass, elaborated designs dyed every colour under the sun. There were a considerable amount of such lanterns in the estate. Each with a unique design, tailored by only the finest of craftsmen.

Every night, you make your rounds, lighting every single lantern in turn. Welding nothing but a single candle wick balanced precariously on a silver plate. Coated with a reddish hue, that plate certainly has seen better days.

With powdery particles peeling off with every touch, your fingers soon reeked of metal. A stench that stung your nostrils, stabbing like a thousand needles.

Sighing, you resume your pace. It’s nothing you’re not used to. Asking for a better plate would only bring more trouble, with your master being a little too enthusiastic. He always seemed delighted whenever you asked him for something.

Eyes lighting up, particularly rocketing off his chair. With every movement he made, an assortment of gold jewellery would jiggle along. His bangles, the little bits and pieces hanging off his outfit, that wonderful pair of earrings he was ever so fond off. They made quite the deafening racket when he got fully worked up.

You have to remind him to calm down.

That was the kind of Master Kalim Al Asim was. All smiles, laughing like there was no tomorrow. He had a natural way of setting people at ease.

You should know.

When you enlisted at Scarabia, Kalim took time to show you around personally. Reaching for your hand, his fingers slipped around yours, fitting like a puzzle snapping in place. His palm was soft, the palms of the wealthy. Yet it was ever so gentle, pressing against your own.

He dragged you around the place, pointing out his favourite spots around the house. A carpet that was just a little more softer then the others, a particularly sunny spot in the house, and a deserted room.

“It’s great for dancing!”

He proceeded to demonstrate, stripping off his shoes. Prancing to the centre of the room, he quickly slipped into a flurry of movement. Flowing from one movement to the next, he simply looked magical. An enchanting view, untouchable by mortal hands.

Every step he took echoed off the walls, resounding around the room. A immersing experience, you felt yourself more and more drawn to this odd master.

More and more drawn to Kalim.

It’s odd, isn’t it? You were a butler, a mere servant. Honestly? You shouldn’t be conversing with him this casually. However, whenever you tried to be a little more formal, Kalim would look at you, eyes wide open. A heart-aching expression, much like a kicked puppy.

You gave up soon after.

Kalim has always been Kalim, for the better or for the worse. It’s in his nature to light up the lives of others. Although you do worry about him sometimes.

Slowing to a halt, you reach for another lantern. Balancing your candle, your fingers prise open the glass door. Dipping the flame into the wick, it quickly lit. A small ember flame flickering through the glass.

You press the door shut with a click.

A creak greeted that. A door crept open, a teary face appearing from within.

“I can’t sleep…”

A bleary face, eyes struggling to open fully. Hands reach for your sleeves, tugging at them like a child. You hang the lantern back up, before allowing Kalim to drag you into his room.

His arms slide around yours, holding on rather tightly. As if you were the only thing that ever mattered in his life. His most precious treasure.

Despite yourself, you reach towards Kalim. Hand resting on the small of his back, you rub comforting circles into his skin. In the hopes of calming him down, you slowly inch towards his bed.

Kalim tucks himself in, eyes never leaving your form. He reaches out, fingertips brushing against yours. A warm, tingly sort of touch that sent butterflies deep into your gut.

“Could you stay? At the very least, until I fall asleep!”

His fingers slip into yours once more. Falling perfectly, pieces in a puzzle. Once again, you find yourself leaning towards him, another fool blinded by the warmth of the sun.

However, who could blame you?

Not when the warmth was ever so inviting. You’ll gladly burn up within, if it was for him.

“Sure, Master Kalim.”

[eiochevart]

Headcanon time:

Ravio and Link don’t know what they are counterparts.

They aren’t identical, neither physically nor mentally. Hyrule and Lorule are parallel universes, but they don’t mirror each other completely. They share the same spirit, or they play the same role in their respective kingdom’s history. It’s like they’re born from the same soul, but the traits present differently in each of them:

— They’re both great craftsmen, but while Ravio is creative and invents the most intricate and complex magical tools, Link is a blacksmith who crafts with a practical and straightforward approach.

— They’re both courageous, of course, but while Link is nearly reckless, throwing himself into action with little regard for his own safety, Ravio has an unwavering emotional and mental stamina and has had to face his own fears several times.

— Both of them are “made for solo work”, if that makes any sense. I like to believe that the Hero is always reborn with certain traits, and one of them is an affinity for working alone, and difficulty getting close to others. It’s a sort of instinct given to them in order to help them serve their purpose as the kingdom’s Hero, even if it affects their social life. Anyway, Link is silent and blunt, and can be very difficult to converse with or even get along with. Ravio, on the other hand, is more approachable, but also very private and secretive. Both of them have a tendency to be awkward and perhaps a bit inappropriate.

– Both of them are affiliated with the royal family in their respective universes. Ties in with them playing the same part in the history of their kingdom.

I haven’t thought of how it would be if one of them found out, or what would make them find out that they are counterparts. Any thoughts?

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Epilogue

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

2300 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Thank you for your patience. It's only been (checks notes) almost nine months. If it's not fresh in mind, I wouldn't force yourself to reread. The style of this chapter is slightly different, doesn't require much coherency with the rest. Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me this long, and I hope you enjoy the final installment of The Wyvern's Bride. No content warnings for this chapter. Unless PDA makes you uncomfortable xo

There are memories tucked away in each corner of The Wyvern’s Flock. The façade may have changed, but Adalyn can still see herself in the foundations of the building. She still knows the number of steps from the entrance hall to the doorways. The bakery where she’d received customers has been rearranged, a taproom in its place, but the kitchen remains, equipped with the oven her father had modified. She can see it, past the counter where Grace greets them and takes their orders. 

Slate holds Adalyn’s hand when they enter what had once been her dining room. It’s still a dining room, part of her is glad to see. The fireplace still burns, and there’s a new clock over the mantle. But smaller tables and benches fill the area. Where once walls had hung bare, they’re now decorated with paintings and tapestries. Adalyn is taken aback by how much colour they bring to the establishment. 

There’s a pause in conversation when they enter the room. It doesn’t quite fall silent, but people still stare as they sit by the window. Adalyn goes as far as to put her back to the room, to better blot out the distracting eyes. She’s not here to mind the gossip. Only to have lunch and spend time with her husband.  

Word that a wyvern had settled in the valley had spread like wildfire, and people had come from far and wide, just for a chance to see him. It had started with the locals. People trying to sell their livestock. Craftsmen offering skills. The young and unmarried asking after serving positions. 

Then word had spread further. Merchants had visited, scrabbling at the chance to trade from Slate’s hoard. Niche craftsfolk had come next. There had been sculptors (mostly turned away), glass makers (temporarily contracted), painters (generously commissioned). Then the jewel smiths, the weavers, alchemists, scribes and tinkerers, until Slate was referring them elsewhere, interested in single purchases and commissions, but not yet ready to hire every person with a trade who came to his door.  

With all the skill and money coming to and from the valley, it’s no surprise when the area goes through an economic boom. The area flourishes. The trade festival becomes renowned. Northpoint and Tuscany both double in size as new folk migrate to the region. 

The Wyvern’s Flock reflects this easily. The seats are full and the atmosphere is lively. Grace and Gwen have nearly finished paying off Adalyn, years ahead of schedule. As far as Adalyn is aware, the ladies have no regrets. Moving away from their families had been a boon to them both. Grace gets to run her own business, and Gwen gets to run her own kitchen. There’d been obstacles (refurnishing, family drama, local pushback), but things have settled enough that the women now run their business together without raising too many brows. 

People stare at Adalyn though. Or perhaps Slate. He’s in his demi form, boldly grasping Adalyn’s hand over the table, sharpened teeth glinting as he talks. She used to shy from the attention. Feel judged by the stares; grow defensive at the scrutiny.  

Adalyn squeezes his hand. 

Slate pulls back to retrieve some papers from his bag. He moves his chair around the table, so they can pour over the blueprints side by side. She doesn’t flinch when his hand comes to rest on her thigh, though her cheeks do colour with blush. The gesture is under the table, hidden from public eye, and they are married. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the touch.  

It still thrills her. A smile plays at her lips. 

They chatter about their latest project. Adalyn’s first draft of the stable, drawn almost a year ago, had been cleaned up and heavily referenced in the newer blueprint. It always fills her with warmth, when Slate takes her ideas on board.  

The project can’t be put off any longer. With the workers streaming in, they’ll need a permanent stable. A safe way to deal with the offers for work and commerce. Currently mail is left at Fleecehold for Adalyn.  

The path through the Spires is steep and crumbling; twisting and incredibly narrow in places. Adalyn can’t help but admire those persistent and skilled enough to make it to the castle entrance. 

Most don’t. The path is dangerous. People are attempting to navigate it with alarming regularity. It’s gotten to the point where The Wyvern’s Flock receives a stream of complaints about lost packages, twisted ankles, and near falls. She knows it’s beginning to frustrate Grace and Gwen, despite their assurances otherwise. 

It only reinforces the need for a stable. One at the bottom for travellers to stow their horses and swap them out with mules. And one at the top for the animals that complete the journey. They’re considering hiring a guide too. 

Because the couriers don’t stop coming. The work applications and correspondences don’t slow. Slate had built himself a castle. It needs staff to maintain it. And there is no shortage of offers. 

Adalyn strokes the back of Slate’s hand with her thumb. 

He squeezes her leg back, automatic, before stopping suddenly. He gives a rueful wince. “Was I getting off topic?” 

She smiles. “No.” 

“But I was rambling.” 

Adalyn rolls her eyes. “I don’t mind. You know this.” 

His cheeks tinge grey with blush, before he presses a kiss to the back of her free hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve spoken about nothing but work.” 

She glances pointedly at the blueprints. “That was the plan.” 

Slate shares a soft look with Adalyn, his eyes sparkling. “I love you.” 

“Yes. I know.” 

Slate straightens. Places his hand over his chest in mock indignance.  

Adalyn relents, grinning again. “And I love you too.” 

Slate puts away the blueprints. “We can revisit this again when the materials are ready. Will you tell me about your morning?” 

Adalyn had worried that she’d be left with little to do when she sold her bakery. That the kitchen in the Spires would only keep her occupied for so long. That she’d finish reading Slate’s collection of books, and grow bored. She’d been wrong. 

In the days passed she’s practically become Slate’s manager. And that’s just regarding how he handles construction. Half of her job is keeping Slate on task. Reminding him to finish buildings before starting new ones. Helping him prioritise. Making a hard copy of his mental to do list.  

It takes patience and understanding. Slate tends to hop between projects on whim. At first she can’t fathom why he’ll be lengthening the servant’s quarters one morning, and then building a hunter’s lodge in the East Forest by the afternoon. 

Sometimes he needs it. Needs that project rotation, to prevent him from falling to tedium. Other times he jumps tasks so he won’t forget his new ideas. It’s her job to learn the difference. To gently coach Slate back on track, to take note of his ideas so he can come back to them later. He seems grateful for the assistance. And she appreciates being deferred to. Doesn’t mind the extra work. 

Adalyn’s tower had been left unfinished. A side project Slate returns to from time to time, in between other buildings. A servant’s wing had been higher priority. Their staff require a dormitory, a kitchen, a dining area, easy access to running water and a path to the mainway. Slate adds to the quarter every month or so, as more staff are recruited. 

When she’s not helping Slate, Adalyn deals with administrative errands. Sorts the mail. Handles the budget. Manages staff. Somebody has to draft contracts and organise pay and give the hapless craftfolk wandering their halls some semblance of an orientation. Scatterbrained as he is, Slate tends to hire people first and ask questions later.  

They’d first hired a goatherder, one who was willing to double as a poulterer. Adalyn didn’t want to head to Fleecehold every time she needed supplies, and having her own source of eggs, milk, and cheese (and somebody to mind the animals) is one of the first luxuries she put Slate onto. 

While construction was still underway, Slate had started hiring crafters directly. Many he would source from the valley – several professionals, and the occasional apprentice. Others he sent away for. Until there’re a modest collection of people living part time in the Spires, commissioned to create and build at Slate’s whim before the next year passes. A smith busy with hinges, nails, and other iron fittings. Woodworkers and carvers to furnish the place. Niche workers from afar for the more lavish fixtures. 

Then Slate hires artists.  

Decorations are a must. If not for his rich tastes, then to help tell the many corridors and caverns apart. People to spin tapestries, depicting Slate’s family history. Tanners, to produce leather and fine furs from Slate’s hunting, working in tandem with an upholsterer to ensure that seats and lounges are adequately cushioned. Weavers, to create an ample source of bedding for the servant’s quarter, and spinners, to make and provide thread and yarn for aforementioned weavers and fibre artists. Until Adalyn is dizzy with the sheer number of craftsfolks wandering their halls. 

Some of the art comes from further abroad. A handful of paintings and tapestries are commissioned. Slate hardly has the need for stonemasons and sculptors, but he still hires a few. He decorates the halls in limestone reliefs. The scales and wings of his family are repeated motifs. There are also hints at domesticity here and there. Designs featuring the valley; carved sheep in odd places, and crops and foods in others. Patterns peaking from a wall in the kitchen, or near the garden doors.  

Mostly they’d hired serving staff. As Slate’s castle grows, so does the housework. There is too much floor space, too many oil lamps and braziers that require maintenance. Adalyn has enough on her plate without handling the laundry or the sweeping and polishing.  

She’s still the only person allowed to wander the Tower. Slate had deemed his horde too valuable; hadn’t wanted anyone else handling their possessions. Adalyn figures he just doesn't want anyone fussing.  

Next they’ll have to hire a stable hand. And look for a guide, to take people up and down the Spires. But those tasks can wait. 

Grace arrives with their food. Cheese toast sprinkled with salt and rosemary for Adalyn – who makes a note to try cooking it at home. And a haunch of meat, dripping and rare, just the way Slate likes it. There’s wine too; the ladies had a trade deal with Ivar’s brewery, and Adalyn’s visits to The Wyvern’s Flock are a rare chance for her to indulge in his reputed winterberry wine.  

Adalyn digs into her meal while her friend lingers, catching her up on the latest happenings. Adalyn doesn’t get to be social very often, and she’s grown to appreciate the comradery and tentative friendship that the Grace and Gwen have offered her. 

They chat about Lindel. The woman had kept in touch with Adalyn, writing regularly. She still lives with her family, farming and spinning with the rest of the women in her village. Her life hadn’t changed much in the last year, but being the semi-final contender to marry Slate had bought her some respect amongst the others in her village. Even if she keeps the details of the trials to herself. 

Errah comes up too. She’s still a bit of a recluse, shepherding in one of the smaller settlements. Neither does she write, though Adalyn suspects that has more to do with her ability, rather than her desire.  

One of Slate’s cousins had been checking in on her, and the occasional sight of the silvery wyvern has been a fierce topic of gossip. Adalyn listens avidly. Lune hadn’t bothered visiting the Spires. It’s apparently poor etiquette for one wyvern to visit another’s territory and not declare themselves, but Slate doesn’t mind.  

Adalyn decides to visit Errah. If Lune is attempting to court her, then she’d probably appreciate the hard earned information Adalyn could share about that particular experience. 

Gwen wanders over, and conversation turns towards business. Repayments on the building. Mail collection. Food orders.  

The sun sets and the stars wheel gently overhead by the time Slate and Adalyn leave. They walk the settlement for a while, and Adalyn is struck with the fond memory of when she’d given Slate his first tour of the area.  

The night grows cold and Adalyn shivers. 

Slate wraps his arm around her shoulders and steers her towards the courtyard. He transforms, without a care for who sees him. Adalyn can’t help but smile again, reminded vividly of the first time Slate had landed here in this form. The power he’d given her at his entrance.  

What’s with that look? 

Adalyn shakes her head. “I’m just feeling nostalgic.”  

She brushes her fingers against his scaled snout. Smiles up at him, before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.  

He rumbles; a sound of contentment.  

“I had a nice time tonight. Thank you.” 

He doesn’t reply, nuzzling his face against her shoulder instead. His tongue flicks out across her neck, playful and affectionate. Adalyn yelps, before dissolving into laughter at the ticklish sensation. 

Slate lowers his head further. Nudges her side, more forcefully.  

Climb on already. I want to take you home. 

She nearly flushes at his directness. Feigns shock with a hand over her mouth. “So forward, Slate?” 

His huff sends a breath of hot air at her face, but he doesn’t otherwise reply. He’s familiar with the joke. It’s not the first time she’s made it.  

Adalyn kisses him again before climbing up. Jests aside, she looks forward to getting back to the Tower. To whatever Slate might have in mind for the evening. 

Once more, the shadow of a wyvern passes over Clearwater Valley.  

[wanderingsorcerer]

CELTIC FOLKLORE&MYTHOLOGY 101

The Celts have a rich and beautiful history but one that is filled with many sorrows as well. From the invasion of the Roman Armies , to the forced conversion to christianity. Many of what we know now about the pre-colonization of the celtic people are through the "surviving" stories written by the Romans which occupied the lands and later the christian scribes of the middle ages. Some myths have only survived as stories passed down through Oral Traditions. Or through adopting Christian Attributes.

But even then, what has survived is but a mere fraction of what used to be, most surviving Celtic mythology belongs to the Insular Celtic peoples (the Gaels of Ireland and Scotland; the Celtic Britons of western Britain and Brittany).  When it comes to written folklore and mythologies  of the celtic people, the Irish have the largest written myths in the region only seconded by the written Welsh mythologies.

Today we will be focusing mainly on the Irish and Welsh Folklore and Mythology

Below I will list some of the names of the deities and spirits found throughout the Irish Folklore and Mythos

Morrigan- Shape shifting Goddess Who Hovered over the battlefields as a crow or raven

Danu- Irish Mother Goddess

Dagda-Irish God Of Life and Death as well as Magick, Married to Morrigan

Brigid - Celtic Goddess of Fire, Poetry, Cattle and patroness of smiths

Arwan- God of the Celtic underworld

Taranis- God Of Thunder

Excerpt from wikipedia

IRISH MYTHOLOGY The myths are conventionally grouped into 'cycles'. The Mythological Cycle, or Cycle of the Gods, consists of tales and poems about the god-like Túatha Dé Danann and other mythical races.[6] Many of the Tuath Dé are thought to represent Irish deities. They are often depicted as kings, queens, druids, bards, warriors, heroes, healers and craftsmen who have supernatural powers.  Prominent members of the Tuath Dé include The Dagda ("the great god"), who seems to have been the chief god; The Morrígan ("the great queen" or "phantom queen"), a triple goddess associated with war, fate and sovereignty; Lugh; Nuada; Aengus; Brigid; Manannán; Dian Cecht the healer; and Goibniu the smith, one of the Trí Dé Dána ("three gods of craft"). Their traditional rivals are the monstrous Fomorians (Fomoire), whom the Tuath Dé defeat in the Cath Maige Tuired ("Battle of Moytura").  Other important works in the cycle are the Lebor Gabála Érenn ("Book of Invasions"), a legendary history of Ireland, and the Aided Chlainne Lir ("Children of Lir"). WELSH FOLKLORE & MYTHOLOGY Important reflexes of British mythology appear in the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, especially in the names of several characters, such as Rhiannon, Teyrnon, and Brân the Blessed (Bendigeidfran, "Bran [Crow] the Blessed"). Other characters, in all likelihood, derive from mythological sources, and various episodes, such as the appearance of Arawn, a king of the Otherworld seeking the aid of a mortal in his own feuds, and the tale of the hero who cannot be killed except under seemingly contradictory circumstances, can be traced throughout Proto-Indo-European mythology. The children of Llŷr ("Sea" = Irish Ler) in the Second and Third Branches, and the children of Dôn (Danu in Irish and earlier Indo-European tradition) in the Fourth Branch are major figures, but the tales themselves are not primary mythology. While further mythological names and references appear elsewhere in Welsh narrative and tradition, especially in the tale of Culhwch and Olwen, where we find, for example, Mabon ap Modron ("Divine Son of the Divine Mother"), and in the collected Welsh Triads, not enough is known of the British mythological background to reconstruct either a narrative of creation or a coherent pantheon of British deities. Indeed, though there is much in common with Irish myth, there may have been no unified British mythological tradition per se. Whatever its ultimate origins, the surviving material has been put to good use in the service of literary masterpieces that address the cultural concerns of Wales in the early and later Middle Ages.

The celtic traditions and their pagan Practitioners in the modern age.

One example of the modern practitioners which have celtic roots as a basis for their religion would be the New Druidic Movement of the 21st Century.

Born from the need of many who wish to delve deeper into their roots they've taken the historical context of the original druids of the Iron Age and have matched it closer with new age spirituality.

Druid~

The Old Irish form was "drui", and in Modern Irish and Gaelic the word is "draoi" or "druadh" (magician, sorcerer). 

These New Druids take inspiration from the mythologies from all around the celtic regions, Ireland , Scotland, wales , Britannia. And brings them together to create what is now the new Druidic Order.

They are primarily animistic , ( All things in nature hold a spirit) and the majority of druids in this new order are also polytheistic. They hold Great Reverence towards the spirits of the land and the magick of the land of their ancestral Homeland.

Antiquity Does not mean authenticity, things don't need to be ancient in order for them to feel powerful and tangible to the practitioner. Druids as a living practice is an extension of the culture of the celtic people.

And as such it is not claiming to be the druids of the past, (as we have very little information on their practices and how they lived.) But as a cultural movement they strive to be the stewards of Folklore and Folk practices for the coming generations.

If you would like to learn more on the Druidic Faith and the nuances of specifically WELSH Druidic Faith take this course into consideration from the Anglesey Druidic order

Welsh Celtic Witchcraft

This is honestly something which holds great value in learning more about as it pertains to the extension of knowledge outside Of the perceived Celtic Belief Systems,

In Welsh folk practices , Witches and Magickal practitioners were apart of daily life , Healer and wise woman whose power was said to come from Magickal Tomes which held spirits of demons and fairies inside.

Folk practices in Wales include the CURSING WELLS Ffynon Elian, Fairy Mounds .

A Great many different curses passed down from family to family, a famous Curse going around the internet is the One In Which a woman who is angered pulls out their TIT and Curses a man To Meet an Untimely Demise. Don't worry they usually deserved it.

There are so many beautiful and wonderful Folk Practices in Wales and Celtic practices in which I can't cover here but if you want to learn more and have a vested interest in the occult practices of other cultures give me a follow.

For more information on Wales Folklore in Video Format Visit The Below Youtube Channel :)

And if you would like to support the above Practitioner Mhara Starling I will link their book Here for Purchase. They go in depth on the folklore and occult practices of the Welsh people

[treysimp]

Your blog is fast becoming one of my favorite x Reader TWST romance blogs. I really like your fluffy stuff!

I see you are taking requests, so I thought I'd give you one! Imagine you've gone to the carnival with a group of your friends. You are on a ride for 2 with your crush when the ride breaks down. He can see you are getting anxious about the situation and wants to comfort you but in doing so he accidentally ends up confessing. Now what fluffy things might happen while you two are trapped together in the ride? Choose whoever you feel inspired to write about.

Thanks for your work!

Rattling the bars of my cage

This is so cute! I am dying! Okay, I decided I want to write about:

GN!Reader/Ace Trappola

Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, love confessions, reader's body not described and no pronouns are used for them, ask to tag for more but this is pretty tame all things considered.

Words: 2k

Want more TWST? Here’s my masterlist!

It was a muggy summer day. Storm clouds hung in the distance of the currently sunny sky, and of course on one of the sweatiest days of the year, your friends decided that they needed to drag you along with them to the annual carnival. 

You didn’t really mind, the rides were far more intense than you were used to (after all, haunted houses with real ghosts add a little extra je ne sais quoi, no?), and the food was familiar in a way that a lot of other things weren’t in Twisted Wonderland. It felt strangely homey. There were food stalls, craftsmen with all sorts of wares, and tents with different displays of collections and curiosities. Just like home.

Grim was sitting on your shoulders, stuffing cotton candy into his mouth. He had already demolished his hotdog, which was a similarly sticky mess of sauce and crumpled brioche bun. You had decided that if that little troublemaker got any treat that you gave him on your hair or clothes, you were going to put him on a diet. It made your heart warm to see how happy he was at the moment, though. His ears were perky, his pupils were blown wide, and his was surprisingly well behaved when he wasn't begging for food.

Having your first-year Heartslabyul friends with you was also a treat. The best part might just be getting to see everyone in casual clothes. Tee-shirts, jean shorts, it was funny how normal and everyday it all felt. It made you feel a little better about missing home. You all looked like people that you knew in your world for once.

When Ace had asked you to go to the carnival with him… you thought it might have been a date. 

Sadly, those hopes were dashed when he immediately turned around and invited Grim and Deuce along with you both. In a moment of surprising perception, Deuce tried to get Ace to go with you alone, but Ace wasn’t having it. 

The result of that conversation was that Ace had got it in his head that Deuce was afraid of thrill rides. As a result, he had been putting you all through the wringer by making you all ride everything that even had the possibility of making you scream. Except Grim. He was too short for most of the rides, that lucky cat. Even so, Grim had joined you on the most recent roller-coaster, so it was amazing that he still had an appetite at this point. Especially considering how queasy you felt from the whole ordeal. 

“Okay guys, how about going on the Zipper?” Ace said with a smug grin. 

You had refused to go on any rides that dropped you over and over, but that was the one thing you had been able to get Ace to agree to. Looking at the chainsaw-like row of freely swinging cages makes you feel lightheaded, but it was hard to say no to Ace when his eyes were practically sparkling at the prospect. 

“Fine.” You say, pressing two fingers to your temple to ease the slight inversion headache that had been building behind your eyelids. “It’s two seats, who’s going with who?”

You could feel the motion of Grim shaking his head behind you. 

“I’m gonna take my sweet time finishing this treat!” He said, taking a large mouthful of a bite of his cotton candy to demonstrate his commitment. 

That big of a munch seemed a little counterproductive to his statement, but you just laughed and lowered him from your shoulders to the ground.

Deuce shook his head as well.

“I am going to see the Magical Wheel’s they have on display in the presentation tents. You guys can go ahead, I don’t want to ride by myself.” He said, starting to walk away before either you or Ace could object. 

“Well… just you ‘an me then, huh?” Ace asked, eyebrow raised and hands playfully tucked behind his head. “I can’t wait to hear you scream.” He giggled.

“You’ve been hearing me scream all day today, you know?” You said with a huff, joining Ace at the end of the line for the Zipper. 

You weren’t thrilled to go on another ride, but being alone with Ace for the first time today was a nice perk, even if he was using the opportunity to rag on you relentlessly. 

Thankfully the line was short, so while Ace had convinced you to play red hands with him (he called it ‘turning red’ hands, for some reason?) you got to the front of the queue without getting slapped too many times. 

Listening to the worker giving you brief safety instructions as you both climbed into the cage, you realized that there was nothing actually separating the seats, and that the lap bar was going to be the only thing keeping you from falling head-first any time the cage spun. 

You swallowed down your nervousness again. It was going to be worth it. 

Even just accidentally bumping elbows with Ace while getting in your seat had already caused your heart to race, so what’s a little more adrenaline on top of that?  

“You ready, baby?” Asked Ace, ruffling your hair with his hand. 

Your heart almost stopped when you heard him call you by the pet name… that is until you realized that he was calling you a baby, as-in comparing you to an actual toddler. Rude.

You took the opportunity of your close proximity to tickle Ace’s ribs in revenge, and his squeaky laughter and ‘stop stop stop’s made it worth it. 

“Fine! You’re big and tough, okay? You’re not a baby, sheesh.” He said, face visibly red from the giggle fit you had just subjected him to. 

You nodded at his statement in satisfaction and pretended to flex your bicep at him, causing him to start laughing again. 

“Okay, very scary, very buff, thank you.” Ace said, slapping his hand on your arm and acting mockingly impressed.

Goofing off with him always made you smile. It was part of why you liked him so much. It was also part of why you were so terrified to try and tell him about your feelings. What if he didn’t reciprocate? Could you even keep having silly banters like this? The thought gave your heart an uncomfortable squeeze.

There was a creaky moan of metal, and the ride finally started moving. 

Ace’s grin turned into one of twisted glee as he began rocking back and forth to make the cage start rotating forward as fast as he could make it go.

All of the cute feelings you had about brushing against him while getting into the ride were immediately overshadowed by the g-force of repeatedly being slammed against Ace's side. He was doing everything in his power to make you scream louder than you had the whole damn day.

Hazarding a look at Ace’s face, your gaze met his for a moment. His eyes were crinkled in a smile, yet there was some other sort of sickly-sweet emotion oozing just below the surface. Despite the unflattering view from both your hair and clothes wildly flailing up and down, you couldn’t help but be taken by his boyish enthusiasm. 

Getting more comfortable, you started helping Ace rock the cage back and forth, getting both of you to go faster and faster as your distraught screams turned into yelps and giggles of delight. It was exhilarating, and while you had your doubts before boarding the vehicle, you really were enjoying yourself now.

That is, until that metallic creak from earlier repeated, and the wind was knocked out of your lungs by the safety bar. 

Both you and Ace looked at each other in surprise and then started looking at the ground below for an answer to what just happened. You could hear the chatter of a crowd below you and the worker operating the ride said something about ‘technical difficulties’. 

Oh great. You and Ace were stuck at the very top of the zipper, rocking back and forth uneasily as the rest of the ride stood eerily still. Just great.

You swallowed audibly. The ride had been fun while you were in motion, but being stuck at the top and not knowing why meant you couldn't feel anything but horribly anxious. 

Ace saw that you were shaking and bit his lip. He wanted to use this ride as an excuse to tease you and keep you to himself for a bit, and now you just looked miserable and sad. Just his luck. 

Ace reached out his hand and gently put in on top of yours, causing you to loosen your white knuckle grip on the safety bar in surprise. You looked over at him questioningly, and were a bit taken aback by the return of that mysterious emotion behind his eyes. 

“...Sorry.” Ace muttered, squeezing your hand protectively. “I was hoping to make you scared in a fun way.” He said, lightly tracing his thumb across the skin of your knuckles.

You laughed just a little. You felt much more at ease already. 

“Well maybe we can figure out another way to make me scream.” You say… before it hits you just what you had implied. 

“Ah! Not like! Not-!”

Ace’s shoulders were violently shaking from laughter, and he buried his face in the hand that wasn’t covering yours. The laughs started silently, but they built into bubbling hiccups of giggles. You could feel the cage shake from Ace’s laughter, but before you could get too anxious about it again, he had stilled himself.

Ace wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes, stifling more giggles. 

“That’s what I love about you, you know? You always make me laugh.” 

Now it was time for Ace to take his turn in immediately regretting what he said. 

“Ah! No, I um-!” Ace slapped both of his hands to hide his face, shaking his head violently from side to side. 

You sat completely still in shock. Did he really mean that? 

“Ahhh…” Ace was trying to will himself to make an excuse, any excuse, but he was drawing a blank. His Adam's Apple bobbed with a thick swallow, and he audibly inhaled to try and start again.

“I really wanted to confess to you at the fireworks show… actually.” He said. 

Ace looked so sweet in this moment, all the facade of a smug troublemaker gone, just a boy being so hopelessly lost in his feelings that he slipped up and just laid them all out on the floor. 

Your heart was drumming wildly, your mouth felt dry and (for not the first time today) you felt like fainting. Was this real? 

You reached over to your arm and pinched yourself. Ace didn’t look amused.

“Are ya really gonna pinch yourself and not respond! I just-!” He was shushed by you putting a finger to his lips. Words dying on his tongue, Ace fixated on how close you were and how soft the pads of your finger felt.

“I like you. So much that it hurts.” You say, revelling in the way that Ace goes almost slack-jawed at your response. 

“You like me…” He repeats, seemingly in a trance from your words. Ace leans towards you with a serious look on his face. 

“Say it again.” 

You smile and oblige him. “I like you.” 

“Again.” 

“I like you, Ace.” 

“Who do you like?’

“Ace, I’m gonna take it back if you don’t stop.” You say with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah… okay yeah, I just… I can’t believe it.” He said, running his fingers through his hair in a self-soothing motion. “Since when?”

You were getting annoyed.

“Since forever, okay? I’ve liked you a long time.” You reply, the tips of your ears burning at the admission. Why did he always make you feel like this?

“Okay. Me too.” Ace said after a long silence. His gaze flicked to your lips and back again. “Can I…?”

You nodded, leaning forward. You could feel his breath fan over your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the edge of your chin and…

A metallic groan jolted you forward yet again, and the ride lowered your car to the ground with an ancient moan. Flustered and surprised, both you and Ace jumped away from each other. 

The attendant came over to let you out, and upon seeing your faces, gave an amused grin. 

“Sorry about the wait! Took a while to get everyone down safely. You both go and get going, you hear?” The man said with a boisterous laugh. 

Just as you were both exiting the car, the man says something you can’t quite hear to Ace, and his face splits into a grin. 

“Thank you!” Ace says to the worker, grabbing your hand dragging you off in an unfamiliar direction.

You look at him questioningly, but Ace doesn’t look back.

“What did he say?” You asked, tilting your head to the side curiously. 

“He told me that if we hiked to the top of that hill in the next fifteen minutes, we would get the best view of the fireworks in the whole town.” Ace replied, picking up his pace.

“Come on, let me do this whole confessing-thing right this time!” 

So for context for anyone that has never seen one, I decided that Y/N and Ace went on a zipper ride! Here is a link to a video of one in action.

It’s not even that I was particularly like ‘I wanna talk about Ace’ but I just felt that this whole scenario was just too on brand for him to pass up, haha.

What did you think? I promise I will do more sexy things soon I just love the fluff too lmao

Love you, thanks for reading!

---

Requested tags: @readinganas, @yandere-kou, @daeda21, @buckketboy, @hxlcyon, @kxhyuns, @aikochan4859 @kumiko-desu, @ninjas-are-the-shit, @star-gods, @fragmentedstarlight, @sarahyumiko2, @rosalie-in-twisted-wonderland, @rebel-faes-writing, @witch-waycult, @naniky, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars

[puthyflapps]

Had a little thot about clexa’s baby having a tough time with teething 🥺

Clarke strolled through the city square of Polis with the little girl tucked securely against her chest and flanked by a group of imposing guards. She thought perhaps, taking the child on a relaxing walk in the warm afternoon sun might help soothe her restless little body. However, the effort seemed to be futile as the small form strapped to Clarke’s body continued to squirm in discomfort. The occasional whimper would escape the baby’s soft lips, and it sent sharp pangs of worry coursing through her mother’s heart. The young woman was just about to retreat back to the comfort of the Commander’s tower when she was approached by a familiar face.

“Wanheda,” the elderly woman greeted with a kind smile.

Clarke recognized her immediately as one of the many vendors who regularly visited Polis. Her name was Margaret, and if she remembered correctly, the older woman was known for selling a plethora of delicious fruits.

Being the Commander’s wife came with many benefits. One of which included being showered in gifts by the locals anytime she so much as stepped foot outside the walls of the tower. And with the recent addition of their daughter, the gifts only seemed to multiply. Vendors willingly and eagerly offered up a variety of goods ranging from clothes to toys and so much more. The woman before her was no different. Memories of earlier days when the blonde had first joined Heda in Polis flash before her eyes. Margaret had been one of the first people to welcome her with open arms, and she made it a point to surprise the sky girl with a new treat every time she walked past her stall in the marketplace.

“Hei,” Clarke responded in the woman’s native tongue. The skaikru woman was nowhere near fluent in Trigedasleng, but thanks to her wife, she had learned enough to hold a basic conversation. Clarke had even managed to learn a good deal of curse words thanks to Anya, a fact that both annoyed the Commander and delighted the General.

“For Heda,” Margaret stated with bright, caring eyes as she held up a wicker basket that was practically overflowing with colorful fruits.

One of the many guards traveling with the pair whose hands, unlike many of his fellow gonas, had managed to remain free of gifts for the Commander’s family reached out to graciously take the basket from the elderly woman.

“Her favorites from when she was a goufa,” explained the woman as her smile grew wider at the memories of the green-eyed natblida who visited her stall frequently, always eager to see what new treats awaited her.

The young mother can’t stop herself from mirroring Margaret’s dazzling smile as she envisioned a much younger version of her wife. Such exquisite images served only to leave her wishing that she had been born a child of Earth so that she might have gotten to experience such an innocent version of her beloved.

“Mochof Margaret, Heda is always grateful for your generosity.”

The grounder’s hazel eyes showed brightly, and her chest seemed to puff up with pride at the mention of Lexa. Clarke wasn’t sure she would ever get used to how much the people of the coalition loved her wife. From the moment they met, it had been obvious that Lexa would do anything for her people. It was one of the many characteristics the two young women shared and a large reason why the two were so drawn to one another. However, unlike her own people, the grounders seemed to reciprocate the Commander’s love tenfold. Individuals leaped at the opportunity to serve their Heda in whatever capacity they could, whether that be in the form of a powerful gona or a caring handmaiden. Vendors and craftsmen laid gifts at her feet not because they were seeking notoriety of some kind or because they wanted something in return from the powerful woman but because it was the only way the people of the thirteen clans could thank Lexa Kom Trikru for what she had given them — peace.

Clarke was soon brought out of her thoughts when she felt a stirring motion against her chest. She cast her attention away from the woman before her and towards the small bundle grunting unhappily in the sling wrapped securely around her body. Clarke's arms encircled her daughter's form, and she held the child closer to her chest as she began to sway back and forth. Doing her best to soothe the little one.

"Shhh, it's okay. We'll be home soon, I promise," Clarke whispered to the baby.

However, her sweet reassurances do nothing to ease the baby's pain. A fact that served only to make the ache in Clarke's heart more intense. The young woman casts an apologetic look over to Margaret, who's focused her attention on the small bundle in Clarke's arms. Worry etches its way across her face as she tries to understand what could have caused the Commander's daughter such great upset. Clarke pulls the fabric of the sling back enough to expose her baby's tear-streaked face. She lifts her finger to the child's plump bottom lip and pulls it down just enough to reveal the beginnings of a tooth.

Margaret's eyes widen in understanding as she sees what's been distressing the girl. The older woman rests a comforting hand on the small of the young mother's back as she lifts her other hand to signal for Clarke to give her a moment. Clarke watches Margaret's fleeting form in confusion, not understanding what the woman has set out in search of. It's only a matter of minutes before she returns with another delicious fruit. Mango, if she remembers correctly. She's had it a few times with Lexa during the days before their daughter had arrived, when they would hide away in their quarters, making love the whole time and pausing only to eat a quick meal here and there. Clarke notices this time, instead of cutting the treat into bite-size cubes, the typically oblong fruit has been sliced in half to reveal a rather large seed at its core.

"For the goufa," Margaret explains with her sweet eyes and warm tone.

She can sense Clarke's befuddlement. She can tell Clarke's unsure of what to do, so she pushes the fruit toward the little girl's mouth. Smiling contentedly when she sees her latch onto the fruit almost immediately. Margaret releases her careful hold on the mango when tiny hands come to rest on either side of it. Clarke smiles gratefully when her daughter's tears finally cease, and she begins to let out sighs of relief. It's a funny sight to behold, really. Her little baby holding on tightly to the fruit as she happily gnaws away. Using it as her own personal teething toy. She's never been more grateful for the connection between the people of Polis and their Commander than she is at this moment.

Clarke isn't entirely sure what Lexa's plans are for the rest of the day, but she does know that she'll be sending her back to Margaret's stall to purchase as many mangos as her gona can carry.

[southeastasianists]

Tan Ming Li is a certified death doula. Just as there are those who facilitate bringing new life into the world, there should be people facilitating more and better ways to talk about death and dying, she reasons.

In 2023, she started The Life Review, a social venture with the mission to normalise conversations about death, dying and bereavement. Events open to the public include Life Stories, a series of chat sessions with topics such as “Motherless daughters”, “Real men don’t cry” and “Pet loss and our enduring bonds”; as well as Death Over Dinner, in which people come together to have conversations guided by Tan about their personal experiences with loss while sharing a meal.

The last Death Over Dinner took place at South Indian restaurant Podi & Poriyal, where participants were served dishes containing ingredients with special life and death significance in South Indian culture such as black sesame seeds, which signify purification; and jackfruit, the wood of which is often used as funeral pyre logs during cremation.

“What better way for Asians to connect than through food?” said Tan, explaining that Death Over Dinner is actually a global movement that originated in the US, “but we tweaked it so that food was a much bigger component, building the conversations around the ingredients and dishes. In other countries, the concept is just for people to talk about death over the dinner table.”

Tan, who is in her 40s, believes that getting comfortable with talking openly and honestly about such topics is vitally important.

“A nationwide survey conducted last year (by the Singapore Management University) revealed that ‘only 53 per cent of Singaporeans are comfortable discussing their own death while barely a third (33.4 per cent) would do so with someone who is dying’,” she shared.

She feels there is also a tendency to over-medicalise conversations about death, focusing on treatments and doctors.

“As a society, death is not something that is commonly discussed and we tend to be ‘death-denying’. Healthcare and wellness are all about ‘preventing’ death. In fighting against death, we are unaccepting of this natural part of life. This makes it hard to be vulnerable about our emotions around it,” she said.

Even if you haven’t lost a loved one yourself, “When someone else experiences a loss, many of us don’t know how to address the topic and end up using platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or worse, ‘Everything happens for a reason’,” she pointed out.

Ironically, avoiding the subject of death inadvertently gives it more power. “This power can then suppress our thoughts, beliefs and behaviour,” she opined.

NO STRANGER TO DEATH AND DENIAL

Tan speaks from personal experience. When she was 17, her mum died of cancer. “Dad said, ‘Don’t worry, she will recover.’ Her sudden passing left us in shock. I remember my dad brought me to the hospital canteen, broke the news to me and simply said, ‘We just have to accept it and move on’. I don’t think he ever recovered. As far as I recall, there were no conversations about it within the family.

“In the years that followed, I lost my dad, grandma, uncles and aunts… I was frozen in my grief response and it took a mental health crisis for me to start addressing these issues.”

Concurrently, Tan had always been interested in social work, from her university years when she volunteered to support children with special needs, to volunteering to teach yoga and breathing at various institutions including the Society for the Physically Disabled (SPD) and the Institute of Mental Health (IMH). She also lived in Thailand for several years, where she gave her time to a social enterprise helping indigenous craftsmen sell their goods.

Her career was in Advertising Research until she took a sabbatical and travelled to India in 2013. Following that period of time in which to think and reflect, she embarked on a new path, offering services such as mindfulness and movement.

“In the course of my work, I encountered clients who are terminally ill or grieving the loss of a loved one. Curious about how to better support them, I started researching the topic,” she recalled. “One day, I received an email from students working on a grief literacy event, inviting me to facilitate a somatic movement session for parents who had lost their child. Somatic movement involves exploring the body's sensations and movements to promote healing. During this session, many participants were able to release long held emotions within their bodies, even years after their loved one had passed.”

Motivated by the experience, she enrolled in the death doula course offered by the International End of Life Doula Association, an organisation in the US. Participants acquire skills revolving around how to support and comfort the dying and their loved ones.

“As I delved deeper into the subject, I realised that this was something that needed to go beyond supporting my clients one-to-one. The societal reluctance to discuss death openly leads to a lot of discomfort and unresolved emotions surrounding the topic, and I realised the need to scale and bring this out to the public,” she said.

So, “I decided to pursue a Masters of Science degree in Thanotology – even doctors go, ‘What’s that?’ – and start The Life Review as a platform for people to get comfortable discussing end-of-life matters through education and engagement.”

As far as she knows, she’s the only one in Singapore taking a Masters in Thanatology (“When the course started, the Programme Director said, ‘Now we are an international programme, thanks to Ming Li!’”) and one of just four people in Singapore who have completed death doula training.

“While trying to help people going through bereavement and grief, it struck me that I also had to look at my own experiences and work through all the emotions and experiences that I hadn’t known how to deal with – or even realised was necessary to,” she divulged.

“The way society operates, if we experience a loss, we are given three days of compassionate leave – and only for immediate family – and then we are expected to get back to ‘normal’ as productive members of society. But what about losing a friend? A partner? A pet? Do you get over it in three days? Since the norm was to get on with life, that’s what I did. It was only later in life that I realised that it was affecting me in ways that I did not immediately connect back to my earlier experiences, such as in the way I interacted with people in relationships and friendships. I would not get too close in case they would disappear,” she shared.

And so, “The main reason I’m doing this now is because of what I have gone through in my own life. The programmes I’m planning are skewed towards caregivers for now, as I don’t want anyone to be in a situation that I was in.” She added, “It was a turning point for me to adopt cats, knowing that they will die before me, yet to accept this and love them.”

Her work has also turned into “my legacy project for my parents”.

“I have a purpose to fulfil now, to bring The Life Review into fruition, in the remaining years left of my life. And in a way, I’m already planning for my end, making sure that I don’t regret things that I could or should have done,” she said.

DINNER WITH A PURPOSE

At Death Over Dinner events, “The framing of conversations is intentionally designed to be inclusive and non-confrontational. Participants are encouraged to share their thoughts and experiences without feeling pressured to delve into deeply personal reflections or imagine their own funerals,” Tan said.

The dinner serves as a casual starting point for discussions about a normally taboo topic to unfold naturally, fostering a sense of comfort and familiarity around the topic of death, she continued. “The intention is not to impose rigid guidelines or restrictions but rather to offer gentle guidance and prompts to steer the dialogue in a constructive direction” while embracing cultural elements within our specific society.

It is also about equipping people with the knowhow and language to either walk alongside a person who is dying, or to support a caregiver.

There are sessions taking place every quarter, which are open for individual sign-ups. The next Death Over Dinner event is planned for Apr 25 at Podi & Poriyal, with a group size of 12 to 16 people. Tan is also open to private group bookings, and hopes to possibly work with other restaurants as well.

The topic of death is rarely broached when everyone is healthy, she mused. But, in the face of loss, which comes sooner or later to all of us, “People may struggle to find the right words to express their feelings or fears, fearing that broaching the topic could cause further distress or discomfort to the person who is ill. As a result, conversations about end-of-life wishes, funeral arrangements, or even acknowledging the possibility of death may be avoided altogether, creating a palpable tension and unease.

"Dealing with it openly and saying what needs to be said can help the ones left behind adjust to the loss after the person passes away.”

And, “In the case of someone who knows they are dying, people around them not wanting to talk about it can leave them feeling unheard. They may not be able to express their desires; there may be things left unsaid; there may be people tiptoeing around them and telling them, ‘You’re going to be fine’ when they know full well they won’t be.”

The question of how we can begin to approach the topic of death in a meaningful way begs another: How talking about death openly and frankly can help us to live our lives more fully and intentionally.

“Accepting the finite nature of life and finding peace with it can change our outlook on life. When we acknowledge that life inevitably starts and ends, we are able to define what happens in between that holds significance,” Tan said.

“How do we make what happens in the middle matter? How do we leave a legacy for ourselves and future generations? Do we want to spend our time sweating the small stuff and harbouring grudges, or instead, use it to create memories and foster deep relationships? Living intentionally prompts us to confront these questions and align our actions with our values.

“Ultimately, embracing the impermanence of life compels us to live authentically, love fiercely and leave a legacy of compassion and connection.”

To sign up for Death Over Dinner, visit https://thelifereview.org/death-over-dinner.

[amxrany]

!! WHITE RABBIT FESTIVAL EVENT SPOILERS !!

Summary of the First Update (Part 1):

It all begins with Deuce running late to a study session, on the way he spots Yuu and Grim; who are also running late. Turns out Yuu and Grim are late because Grim didn't wake up early. (In the end both still get caught by Crewel)

Hours pass and Deuce gets hungry because he didn't eat breakfast, so he goes to the cafeteria. There he sees Yuu and Grim together with Ortho and Epel, Ortho tells Deuce that they were talking about a new comic they read and about Deuce who came in late

Deuce then tells the truth that he's going back to the Queendom of Roses (specifically to his hometown, "Clock Town") on Sunday for the White Rabbit Festival. It has been one year since Deuce last joined the event, but his mother did inform him about it, so he decided to join this year. His mom also adds that the festival this year will be lively, so Deuce can invite his friends to go with him.

Epel says that he has a relative/cousin living in Clock Town too. So Deuce calls his mother about bringing his friends to the festival before Silver pops out of nowhere and scares him and Epel (ah yes like father like son for real)

Silver actually heard their conversation about Clock Town, which is perfect since he was looking for a new clock to help him wake up early (cuz apparently 4 clocks isn't enough to wake this man ☠). Silver also said that he's been late countless of times and Trein scolds him a lot for it

Ortho then chimes in about the many craftsmen who make parts for precision instruments, and the watch industry in Clock Town is pretty much booming. Thinking that there could be a clock that fits Silver, Deuce decided to bring him along tomorrow

Moving to the next day, everyone is already present in the Mirror Chamber, except for one person. Silver comes running late cuz he woke up late. In the meantime Deuce's mom texts Deuce asking how many friends he's bringing, she's excited to see them (awwww)

The group reach Clock Town and the residents are excited for the festival. It's revealed that in the queendom, Clock Town holds the most nature gardens. Thus their famous location, "Rabbit National Park" is a beautiful place with rabbit motifs

Next: Part 2

[gcthvile]

House Of The Dragon OC - Evelyn Stark

in the ancient halls of winterfell, amidst the howling winds and endless snows, there came forth a maiden of unparalleled beauty and grace. born in the year of 88 AC, evelyn stark emerged as the embodiment of winterfell's majesty, her visage renowned far and wide as the very essence of northern allure. but beauty, like the winter's frost, oft conceals depths untold. though she bore the title of "winterfell's beauty," evelyn was known far and wide as the ice queen, a moniker earned not for her chill demeanor alone, but for the steely resolve that lay beneath her fair countenance. from her earliest days, evelyn walked the hallowed halls of winterfell with a regal bearing, her every step echoing the legacy of her noble lineage. Yet, while her brother, cregan stark, reveled in the warmth of companionship, ebelyn found solace in the quiet solitude of the castle's icy embrace.

yet, amidst the frosty embrace of winterfell, evelyn's heart yearned for more than duty alone could provide. beneath her stoic exterior, a tempest of emotion raged, her dreams and desires tempered by the relentless demands of her birthright. as the years passed and her beauty blossomed, evelyn's reputation as winterfell's preeminent lady grew, her grace and poise a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of a land gripped by turmoil and strife. yet, with each passing day, the burden of leadership weighed ever heavier upon her shoulders, her resolve tested by the shifting sands of politics and the ever-present specter of treachery.

upon a first glance at evelyn, one would be captivated by her ethereal beauty, a vision of northern allure amidst the frosty halls of winterfell. adorned in garments of the finest northern wool, her attire speaks of timeless elegance and understated grace, tailored to perfection to accentuate her slender form and regal bearing. around her neck, a delicate silver necklace hangs, adorned with a pendant fashioned in the likeness of the direwolf sigil of house stark, a symbol of her unwavering loyalty to her noble lineage. her ears are adorned with simple yet elegant silver earrings, their subtle gleam catching the flickering torchlight as she moves with effortless grace. in her hair, intricately woven braids cascade like rivers of silver, their delicate strands interwoven with small pearls and crystals, each one a testament to the artistry of winterfell's skilled craftsmen. and upon her fingers, silver rings gleam like frost-kissed jewels, each one a token of her station and prestige, worn with a quiet confidence that speaks volumes of her noble birthright.

upon spending more time in the company of evelyn, one would come to appreciate the layers of complexity that lie beneath her serene facade. while her icy demeanor may initially seem aloof and distant, those who earn her trust will discover a fiercely loyal and compassionate soul, driven by a profound sense of duty and honor. in conversation, evelyn's intellect shines like a beacon, her keen mind able to dissect the intricacies of politics and strategy with ease. yet, beneath her steely exterior, there exists a wellspring of emotion, carefully guarded yet undeniable in its intensity. though she may rarely show it, her love for her family runs deep, a fierce and unyielding bond that shapes every decision she makes. despite her noble bearing, evelyn is not immune to the trials and tribulations of life in the north. beneath the weight of her responsibilities, there lies a vulnerability that few are privy to witness, a longing for connection and understanding amidst the tumult of her duties as a lady of winterfell.

if evelyn truly trusts someone, they would be granted access to the deepest recesses of her heart and soul, revealing aspects of her character that few have ever glimpsed. in the sanctuary of their confidence, she would shed the armor of her icy facade, allowing her vulnerability and humanity to shine through. those who earn evelyn's trust would witness a profound depth of emotion and empathy, hidden beneath layers of stoicism and reserve. they would come to understand the weight of her burdens and the sacrifices she has made in service to her family and her people, as well as the quiet strength that sustains her in the face of adversity. in moments of intimacy and trust, evelyn would share her hopes and fears, her dreams and aspirations, laying bare the innermost desires that drive her relentless pursuit of excellence. they would see the tenderness and affection that she reserves for those she holds dear, as well as the fierce protectiveness with which she guards their well-being.

the meeting between evelyn stark and daemon targaryen was a convergence of two worlds, each marked by its own legacy and lineage. it occurred in the hallowed halls of the red keep, amidst the splendor and intrigue of courtly affairs, where alliances were forged and destinies intertwined. arranged marriages were a common practice in the realm, a means of solidifying political alliances and securing the stability of the realm. thus, it was with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation that evelyn ventured into the lion's den, her heart heavy with the weight of duty and expectation. daemon, renowned for his fiery temperament and fierce ambition, awaited her arrival with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. their first encounter was marked by tension and uncertainty, as their contrasting personalities clashed like thunder and lightning in the stormy skies above. evelyn, with her steely resolve and unyielding demeanor, met daemon's aggression with a cool indifference, refusing to be cowed by his intimidating presence. and yet, beneath the surface, there flickered a spark of something undeniable, a mutual respect born of shared strength and determination.

valora and vaegon, the offsprings of evelyn stark and daemon targaryen, embodied the merging of two noble bloodlines, their unique heritage reflected in both their appearance and their personalities. valora, the eldest daughter, inherited her father's fiery spirit and indomitable will, a true targaryen through and through. with hair as pale as winter's snow and eyes as green as the forests of the north, she moved with the grace and confidence of a dragon in flight. fierce and independent, valora embraced her targaryen heritage with pride, her spirit unyielding in the face of adversity. in contrast, vaegon, the youngest son, bore a striking resemblance to his mother, with hair as black as midnight and eyes as violet as the evening sky. quiet and contemplative, he possessed the stark resilience and determination, tempered by the fiery passion of his targaryen blood. though he lacked his sister's outward bravado, vaegon's strength lay in his steadfastness and unwavering loyalty to his family and his house.

additional details about evelyn

-despite her noble upbringing, evelyn possesses a keen skill in combat, trained in the art of swordplay and archery from a young age. her prowess on the battlefield is matched only by her strategic brilliance, earning her the respect and admiration of allies and adversaries alike. -evelyn is an avid scholar, with a thirst for knowledge that rivals even the most learned maesters of the citadel. she spends countless hours poring over ancient tomes and scrolls, seeking to unlock the secrets of history and magic that lie hidden within the annals of time. -as lady of winterfell, evelyn's foremost duty is to safeguard the interests of house stark and the people of the north. she takes this responsibility seriously, standing as a stalwart defender against threats both foreign and domestic, her resolve unwavering in the face of adversity. -evelyn shares a deep reverence for the ancient traditions of the north, particularly the worship of the old gods of the forest. she finds solace amidst the towering weirwood trees of winterfell's godswood, where she seeks guidance and communion with the spirits of her ancestors. -beneath her stoic exterior, evelyn possesses a talent for music and poetry, skills she keeps hidden from all but her closest confidants. in moments of solitude, she can often be found composing melodies or penning verses that speak to the depths of her soul. -evelyn is a skilled diplomat and negotiator, adept at navigating the treacherous waters of courtly intrigue with grace and cunning. her keen insight and sharp wit make her a formidable opponent, her every move calculated to advance the interests of her house and her people. -evelyn harbors a deep love for the natural world, finding solace and serenity amidst the untamed beauty of the northern wilderness. she often retreats to the tranquil solitude of the wolfswood, where she can lose herself in the whispering winds and the gentle rustle of leaves, far from the intrigues of court and castle.

tags: @missstrawbs2001 @jackiequick @blueboirick @cherrysft @meiramel @purpleprincessonfyre @ask-missparker @askstevella @therealdaydreamstark @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @gaminggirlsstuff

[kalinara]

I was skimming through my dashboard and I saw a post that I thought was really interesting.

In the post, the person stated that they missed when fandom was more interactive, when it came to fanfic writers and fan artists, rather than today, where it was like the content creators were machines that didn't need positive feedback, but were just there to create product.

I'm paraphrasing, because I can't find it again. It stuck with me for a bit though.

See, I think this is the natural effect of discouraging constructive criticism.

I can appreciate that very few people enjoy logging into their email or messages and seeing a comment regarding a project that they've spent so much time and effort on and seeing "Well, this is what I think you did wrong."

I can appreciate that for most folk, fanfic is a labor of love, something that they're sharing with the community. They're not craftsmen honing a craft, per se. They're not looking for advice on how to improve.

That's understandable. But I think it misses something really important: that constructive criticism, heck, even a polite yet negative review is still ENGAGEMENT.

It's a conversation in a way that kudos aren't. It's a conversation in a way that gushing praise really isn't.

I'm not saying a writer has to agree with the criticism. People are people and sometimes people are full of crap. But the fact that someone took the time out of their busy day to actually engage with a writer about something they created, and to talk about it, and think about it, and examine what worked for them and what didn't...

That does mean something, in my opinion. I've been a fanfic reader, primarily a lurker, since I first took baby steps onto the web in 1996. Back before AO3. Back before fanfiction.net. I remember webrings, and mailing lists, and geocities. I even, vaguely, remember bulletin boards.

As I said, I was a lurker primarily. I didn't talk much. I followed the discussions. Sometimes I'd agree with it. Sometimes I'd disagree (quite strongly). I very rarely commented or reviewed.

But when I did review, that was because I really wanted to. And when I did review, I put a LOT of effort into it. I'd talk about what I thought the author did really really well (which was a lot! Or I wouldn't have bothered.) I'd mention what didn't work so much for me, and what I thought might have worked better. It'd take hours, sometimes, to figure out exactly what I wanted to say - what I would want to HEAR if I'd written the story. I always tried to leave the kind of reviews that I wanted to receive on my own work.

I'd never write a review like that now. The etiquette's changed. I recognize that the kind of review I wrote back in 1998 would be incredibly rude now. But when I look at the comments I've left nowadays - they're quick. They're meaningless. Even on fics I've truly loved. Sometimes I don't even comment. Just a kudo. Sometimes I forget to do that. It's not personal, but I've got things on my mind.

It occurs to me that even the word is different. "comment" vs. "review". There are very different expectations.

I see people sometimes talking about how what they really want is comments, though. And interaction. And I get that, but when you limit the type of interaction that you're looking for, then I think that you're going to get less of it.

I'm sorry. But sometimes I'll read a fic that's okay, but not great. It's got wonderful ideas, but they could be developed better. It's got good character voice, but some of the word choice is a little off. It doesn't sing.

At least, to me. Maybe it's just a matter of personal taste. Maybe it's a craft issue. The author didn't ask for my opinion, and that's fair enough. But am I going to leave lukewarm praise and nothing else? Maybe. I have before. But more likely, I'm just going to hit the back button and look for something else.

It's easier to give feedback now than it was in 1997 in a lot of ways. Kudos buttons are lovely. Instant review buttons/forms that don't require a perpetually shy anxious person to send an email to a stranger are wonderful things. I probably do leave more comments now than I did back in 1997.

But when it comes to actual substance and engagement...I'm not sure there's even a comparison. Why bother? If I feel really strongly about something in the fic, well, I can write a blog post about it instead.

It is kind of funny that this means that I get the engagement out of it, rather than the author, but that's how it goes sometimes.

[housano]

Welcome to the Black Masquerade Character Quests

CW: Live a Hero Spoilers

No pics so I'll just keep it short in sweet because

Nessen

Not too much happens in Nessen's quest. Per usual, he's enjoying the baths and admiring all the details of the interiors and hopes to bring the Cloges craftsmen to his inn to update. Additionally he got into a very deep conversation about Cloges hospitality with the innkeeper. Game recognizes game. He says he feels comfortable talking with us about his passions. He's also learned a lot about himself during this trip. Particularly, he always put the customer first, but has learned he needs to have fun himself.

He then says he wants to convey something to us and asks us to transform him. He then grabs our hands and engages us in a dance. We comment how we thought he couldn't dance, and he says this form helps as his desire to dance with us seems to help him. He removes his mask as a symbolism of finally conveying his true feelings that he enjoys spending time with us and will offer us exceptional hospitality as we dance the night away.

Yohack

Next to our frosted cinnamon roll. He brought us every snack that was available at the festival as he wants us to taste all of Cloges' specialties. We comment how cute he is eating, which embarrasses him. He says how happy he is that he accepted this job as he was finally able to find out what really happened with his parents and know Astosis more than what he presented. Yohack reiterates how even though he was sad to leave, he met his master, who was a locksmith and helped him carve his path forward in life as well as his mantra. He also says that he ate too much and we should burn off the calories and invites us to dance with him.

After a while he say he's hot, but we're cold. So as a solution we both embrace each other and comment how soft and fluffy he is. Yohack says that his race's coat is designed to insulate heats which backfires during the summer months. We thank him which catches him off guard as he doesn't get thanked very often, but he is happy to be super handy to people. We then catch him off guard again by saying that we enjoy spending time with him. Yohack says he feels the same way and if we ever need anything, we can always rely on them. After admiring Luna, we end the quest by falling asleep at each other's side.

Astosis

Seems both MC and LW are hellbent on wanting us to forgive and move so I guess we're speeding up our forgiveness plans early. So side notes, I'm not sure if the translation is off, but it seems MC decided to a bit longer than what was originally thought. Astosis is surprised to see us and asked if we were waiting for them, which we confirm. Seems the townsfolk as well as several townsfolk ripped him a new one for being so reckless. However, given that he acted under extenuating circumstances, he was released with punishment pending. He said that Nessen's idea of him signing to his agency looks like it will come true. He asks he we could join him to the old museum (aka the castle) which he escorts us to.

Pauderna is on display in its full glory. Astosis comments how it feels like a cursed object as it was responsible for both his father's death, Yohack's parents being falsely accused, and learning Chassard's true nature. However, he also said because of this he was able to meet us, who changed everything for the better. He said he doesn't get to express himself like this often as he admits he doesn't have many friends, and it scares him to place his full trust and belief in someone as he always wonders if their hiding something.

He asks us to hold his hand and he says it's difficult for him to convey his thoughts and his fears, before dismissing this and childish and selfish before pulling away his hand. MC ain't having none of that, immediately grabs his hand back and hugs Astosis. We remind Astosis there are other ways to express one's feel. Astosis thanks us by kissing the backing of our hand, hugging us back with his embrace softening as time goes by. We end the quest, dancing with Astosis in the moonlit night with MC taking the lead this time.

So there you have it! We won't see Astosis or Yohack again until the Valentine Special Quests. I'm probably not going to summarize either the Housamo or Live a Hero Christmas events UNLESS Marduk or Pubraseer are on the banner respectively. Then you bet your ass i will have those up in hours.

[saunne]

"I was wondering," he finally said after a slight beat because there was really no way to say it gracefully, "about your body."

A silence.

“Oh, so that’s why you kept staring at my breasts.”

Veritas painfully felt the lack of his favorite mask at his side, whose opaque and rigid protection would have been greatly welcome in dealing with the absolute embarrassment of this conversation.

"Not that there's much to see, I'm afraid," she continued, unfazed, as her mechanical fingers delicately brushed against the porcelain plates that concealed the gears and the outdated yet still high quality ingenia technology she was made of. "Although, I agree, it's a very pretty body. The Xianzhou craftsmen were kind enough to provide me with a very aesthetic model. However I believe that if I were capable of feeling it, this kind of remark and your ogling, according to the social customs linked to female gender roles, dictate that I should feel offended."

"Let's be grateful for small mercies and that you're unable of it, then," he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with weariness. "It saves us a pointless argument. Because I know that you know it wasn't the point I was trying to make."

She tilted her head to the side, radiating sparkling joy despite the icy stillness of her too-perfect features. "I know. Your interest lies in substance rather than form, am I right ? What element of my humble self caught your curiosity then, my good doctor ?"

The entirety of what composes you, from the smallest cogs in your fingers to the surprisingly human functioning of your vocal cords, he wanted to say in a moment of brutal honesty he pained to suppress. I would like to take you apart piece by piece and see what you are made of, how, why. I would like to undo you so that I can rebuild you better, if I were assured that the slightest modification would not lead to the premature destruction of your "self".

With a delicious fanart made by @aratribow HERE.