#bakers as talented as mercenaries

[calistozom]

I'm starting to draw requests and the first in line are Atlas and Pandora (OC’s belonging to @askkingsleysilvershark).

✨By the way, it's also her birthday!✨ So, @askkingsleysilvershark, I present you this modest gift and wish you all the most wonderful things you could ever think of! Lots of pleasant and bright days, unwavering good mood and a whole ocean of inspiration and new ideas!  o((>ω< ))o

P.S. - ...hope I got the colors right. 

[flightfoot]

Just finished "A Wizard's Guide to Defensive Baking" by T. Kingfisher. It's the one about a baker wizard who has a sourdough starter familiar that was mentioned on that one popular tumblr post, though honestly this one gingerbread man she made acts more like a familiar to her than Bob does.

Overall, I enjoyed it. I like how it showcased the ways people could make use of even fairly specific talents. A lot of wizards in this world could only really make one specific type of "thing" do what they want, whether it's bread (or really, anything created from dough) like Mona, or making dead horses walk, like Molly. So there's a lot of emphasis on working with what you can do, rather than worrying about what you can't, and not underestimating your abilities just because they seem silly and minor at first blush.

Anyway, basically, a dead girl's found in the bakery, Mona's called up to the palace as a suspect (she found the body), and is quickly found innocent and sent home. But over the next few days the magical folks in the city are all spooked, and there's efforts to make all mages register, and propaganda about how magical folks could be spies and traitors...

I don't want to go too much further into that so I don't spoil the rest of the story.

There's also this theme that crops up a lot during the second half of the book about "heroes", and how that term's often used to kind of make it okay that people had to suffer and die when, if other people had done their jobs properly, they wouldn't have had to. That it's great for Mona to have been able to accomplish what she did during this book, but that it shouldn't have been on a fourteen-year-old girl to begin with. I saw that sort of thing pop up a lot back in 2020 and 2021 with how nurses, doctors, and other essential staff were being hailed as "heroes" for working during such dangerous times, often with inadequate equipment, and then have it noted that afterwards, many of those same staff who were being hailed as heroes were still being underpaid.

There is one thing about the book that I really didn't like though. One of the main threats to the city Mona lives in is this group of mercenaries from some far away place, that apparently is cold and inhospitable. They got hired to help one city-state take out another, then decided they like these lands much better, and have just stuck around burning down fields, raiding and pillaging cities and taking all their stuff, and even eating people because apparently they're cannibals for some reason. At no point are they characterized as being more than some horrifically violent, evil, foreign mob who only exist to cause pain and suffering. Heck, even with their only job seemingly being fighting and killing, they're still characterized as selfish and unwilling to commit to battlefield tactics like overwhelming an enemy, when it would put the first few people at the front of the charge at risk, because they don't have the discipline of a regular army I guess.

I can see why it's useful to have some major threat like this, but whom you don't have to show any sympathy for or feel bad about being killed or injured, and who you don't have to try and have the leader negotiate with because they're so cruel and enjoy spreading pain and suffering so much, that there's no point. But the only reason it doesn't ping most people's "racism" radar is that their appearances are never described. But using this depiction of this group of people... honestly, it reminds me of "indigenous cannibals" and how that stereotype has been used in many movies, books, and tv shows to have the (white) protagonists be menaced by some group that's depicted as being ready to chop them up and eat them if caught, no questions asked. It's the same sort of narrative convenience being taken advantage of here, where you don't need to ask about negotiating or worry about the ethics of killing the invading army, because they're dehumanized to such an extent that you just don't worry about it.

[snakess-17]

mercenaries with an S/O who is a pastry chef (heavy, soldier, medic, pyro)

heavy

heavy loves sweet things, he will be your tester for all the cakes, cookies or desserts you make, he will be happy to taste everything you make.

he is a great helper, although sometimes he doesn't respect the recipes because he is a bit absent-minded, but otherwise he is a perfect helper.

he encourages the other members of the team to try everything you make and if they say they don't like something they will probably get a threat, how can you not like something that his perfect S/O made?

you want you to meet her mother, she also bakes a lot of sweet things and she knows you will get along well, her dream is to see you both bake a cake to spend the afternoon with your family

in general, a great eater and helper, she likes to brag that her S/O is quite talented and makes the best desserts.

soldier

this guy doesn't really like sweet things, however he will taste them for you and help you in an "objective" way.

and by objectively I mean he will tell you that everything is delicious, even if it is burnt, over salted, over sugared or too dry. if you made it yourself it is delicious and anyone who says otherwise will get punched in the face.

unlike heavy, soldier is quite selfish with your desserts, he gets a little jealous.

if the other guys want to try your cupcakes they will have to earn it by performing well on the battlefield, if their performance was mediocre, there's nothing in it for them.

he will ask you if you can make cupcakes in the colors of the american flag if you do this guy will propose right there.

if you are motivated and know enough about raccoons maybe you can make some treats for them too.

this man is happy to support his girl

medic

medic is a man who eats everything, he really has a critical point about food so if your desserts have something you can improve on, he will tell you.

never with bad intentions, he just wants you to improve and be the best baker you can be.

he likes to show you recipes from his childhood to help you make them, he will be amazed when you make him a dessert from his homeland that will take him back to his childhood.

He loves you and especially loves the little sweets that you bring him at night to the medical bay when he has a lot of work, it is something that makes his work more enjoyable.

He loves that you have such a nice hobby in the midst of the battle and violence of his work, it makes everything a little more homely and beautiful to be around you.

pyro

pyro is a lover of sweet things and the fact that you are a baker increases his love for you 110%.

he loves to help you cook, it's probably his favorite thing to do with the things you'll prepare

that you do it together with him and with lots of love.

However, keep him away from fire, this man tends to burn everything he prepares.

However, he follows the recipe to the letter and is good at making mixes and doughs.

his cakes, cupcackes or in general everything you bake will have bright and pretty colors, usually in pastel shades, he probably likes to make cookies in the shape of unicorns and things like that.

probably have a flour fight or cake mix fight, where it will end in a mess and the whole kitchen will be dirty.

but this man loves you and supports you with all his heart, he always brags to the rest of the mercenaries about how talented you are and how your recipes are always perfect.

[quietsun5268]

Who's the Most Likely, Least Likely, or Maybe Fathers for Noire based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?

Most Child units inherit the hair color from their fathers (with the exception of Female Morgan, who inherited her mother's hair color, and Lucina). But some parents are more fitting for some child units then others based on Classes, looks, supports, mannerisms, etc. I'm not looking for who would make the kid stronger. Just a parent who would make sense for the Child Units.

Recap: Brady Severa Cynthia Laurent

Yarne

Gerome

Nah

Kjelle

Lucina

Owain

Inigo

Morgan

Here's what I've gathered about Noire, although it's a little difficult since much of her personality is due to trauma and having a talisman that gives her a split personality.

1.) Noire's class is an Archer. Which she could've gotten from Virion, Stahl, or Ricken. Plus in Future Past, Noire said her bow is a memento of Virion if he's her father.

2.) Her supports with Owain reveals that she's a talented baker. She could've been taught by Gregor (See Gregor/Olivia's Supports), Gaius (Gaius's support conversations with Olivia reveals that he enjoys baking his own sweets. Plus in other supports, he can do housework. In Gaius/Sumia's S Support he says he can do the cooking.), Vaike (See Vaike & Chrom's supports), and Ricken (Some barracks dialogue has Ricken mention that cooking is something all modern men should know how to do.)

3.) She seems to have a fixation for gold, as she often asks for it as gifts in her relationship event tiles. Which could be inherited if her father's class is Mercenary (Gregor) or Thief (Gaius. Although he'll take sweets as payment, don't forget as a thief he'll take gold too. See his recruitment for example, "I said "sweeten the deal", didn't I? Don't get me wrong, I'll take the gold too. Later. Unless you've got more of these. …Have you got more of these?!"). Or gold would probably remind her of her possible noble heritage (Both Virion and Ricken are nobles).

4.) She's described as the fastest to escape in the army. So she would need a dad two passes down good speed like Lon'qu (Max Stat Modifiers Spd for Noire: +5), Gaius (Max Stat Modifiers Spd for Noire: +4), Virion (Max Stat Modifiers Spd for Noire: +4), Vaike (Max Stat Modifiers Spd for Noire: +3) or Robin (Max Stat Modifiers Spd for Noire: Varies).

5.) In Noire's support with her father, she mentions that in her timeline her father has moments of defending her when Tharja hexes on her but her father ends up getting hexed for it, she worries that some things will be inevitable. So Her father then stole Tharja's curse implements while she was away, something Noire said never happened. He tried to use that as proof that nothing is set in stone. I know this happens to all potential dad's but it might seem fitting for Gaius since he's a Thief. However there's a small error if Virion is her father, considering that in Tharja/Virion Support its revealed that hexes don't work on Virion yet he gets hexed by Tharja in his Father-Daughter support with Noire but it could mean that Tharja's been practicing to make her hexes stronger.

(?) In Gaius/Tharja's paired ending it's mentioned that Tharja set up shop and hexed people for a living. It could be a reference to FuturePast!Noire who opens up a shop with charms cursed with happiness.

(?) Gaius usually gives people nicknames but I haven't seen him give them to his kids. Well, except Noire (he called her "cupcake" once in his Father-Daughter support with her).

(?) Noire's name means 'black', so it could either mean she has black hair from either Lon'qu, Kellam, or Robin (if you give him black hair). But it could be a reference to Tharja being a Dark Mage, or that Noire was a used as a guinea pig for Tharja's curses (black magic), or her talisman which seemingly cause her to have a split personality.

Who do you think is the child's units mostly likely, maybe, and least likely parents based on Classes, looks, supports, mannerisms, etc?

I'm not sure if I got everything. There's always a chance I'm missing something but I'm willing to listen to any input and reasons why you think whatever father is suitable for Noire.

Who's the Most Likely Father for Noire based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?: https://strawpoll.com/polls/X3nk6JRNjyE

Who's the Least Likely Father for Noire based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?: https://strawpoll.com/polls/e7ZJOJV5Ky3

Reddit (you can click here if you want to see what other people think in the comments but know that the polls aren't in Reddit)

[some-dr-writings]

Master list

Quick note: ✨ just signal certain works as my personal recommendation because I think it was written particularly well or I personal like it especially. 💖 means I think it’d both written well and I especially am fond of it. I like most all my works, but some I feel stand out or I just have a soft spot for and would like to highlight them.

Danganronpa 2 characters

Hajime Hinata:

Sings to comfort his S/O (imagine)

Comforts his M!S/O after a sleep paralysis episode (imagine)

💖 x SHSL Military General (imagine)

x Childhood Best Friend Reader/Red String of Fate AU (oneshot)

x affectionate SHSL Wedding Planner (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

x Prince-like Male S/O (imagine)

’s S/O comes out as asexual (imagine)

x Chronically sick S/O (imagine)

    Izuru Kamukura:

Being affectionate back to his affectionate S/O (imagine)

And his small, shy S/O (imagine)

With a chubby S/O insecure about their weight (imagine)

Comforts his S/O after they break their arm (imagine)

x Nagito x Shy! S/O polyrelationship headcannons (imagine)

💖 x SHSL Military General (imagine)

x Childhood Best Friend Reader/Red String of Fate AU (oneshot)

x affectionate SHSL Wedding Planner (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

✨ fluff, no plot, just fluff (imagine)

 x Nagito x SHSL Chess Master (imagine)

S/O braids his hair (imagine)

x SHSL Baker (imagine)

Nagito Komaeda:

x Reader love at first sight (imagine)

✨ Comforts a depressed reader (imagine)

x Reader with the same talent as him get crushes for one another (imagine)

x Izuru x Shy! S/O polyrelationship headcannons (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Military General Reader (imagine)

x depressed, imaginative S/O (imagine) 

✨ and his little feisty sibling (imagine)

✨ ’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks (imagine)

Comforts his S/O through their migraine (imagine)

and his friend pass notes in class (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

x affectionate S/O who can’t handle receiving affection (imagine)

’s S/O comes out as asexual (imagine)

✨ x Chronically sick S/O (imagine)

x Izuru x SHSL Chess Master (imagine)

x Prince-like male S/O (imagine)

’s S/O can’t convey their feelings (imagine)

’s S/O got sick running around in the rain and attempt to sneak out (imagine)

x SHSL Therapist during the Killing Game (imagine)

???

Imposter:

With a chubby S/O insecure about their weight (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine) 

Gundham Tanaka:

Cooking with his S/O (imagine)

💖x Reader First Date (one-shot)

Mangaka S/O wants to draw him (imagine)

✨ Makes a friend out of a socially awkward reader (imagine)

✨ Comforts a stressed reader who feel like they can't make progress in anything (imagine)

And Ibuki being siblings (imagine)

💖Gets Hanahaki (imagine)

Friends with a reckless reader who freezes when anxious (imagine)

✨ Cuddling headcannons (imagine)

SHSL Ice Skater who breaks their ankle while skating (imagine)

With a chubby S/O insecure about their weight (imagine)

Comforts his S/O after they break their arm (imagine)

x Tattoo artiest Reader (imagine)

✨ 's Tsundere S/O got into a fight (Imagine)

✨ Gundham x Reader fluff, just fluff, no plot (imagine)

x SHSL Playwright Reader (one-shot)

 x Ultimate Pickpocket (imagine) 

Comforts his S/O through their migraine (imagine)

Helps Reader do their physical therapy (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

x falsely accused as the blackened Reader (imagine)

’s S/O steals his clothes (imagine)

and Mod Gundham’s Friendship headcannons (imagine)

x thieving troublemaker S/O (imagine)

Kazuichi Soda:

Mangaka S/O wants to draw him (imagine)

Friends with a reckless reader who freezes when anxious (imagine)

Comforts his S/O after they break their arm (imagine)

✨ 's Tsundere S/O got into a fight (Imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

’s S/O steals his clothes (imagine)

x Blind Reader (imagine)

x Mercenary Reader (imagine)

Teruteru Hanamura:

Cooking with his S/O (imagine)

Meets F!S/O who likes his flirting and flirts back but is asexual (imagine)

💖 x M!Reader who doesn't realize Teru keeps confessing his feelings (one-shot)

✨ Teruteru grows a crush on a tough but kind reader (imagine)

✨ Finds Reader wearing one of his oversized hoodies (imagine)

Bakes a cake for his SHSL Baker S/O’s birthday (imagine)

x shy, affection starved Reader 

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine) 

comforting his S/O after their family member died (imagine)

✨ ’s S/O faints from malnutrition and he visits them in the hospital (imagine)

Nekomaru Nidai:

's Tsundere S/O got into a fight (Imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

x SHSL Cheerleader (imagine)

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu:

✨ Tries to comfort a depressed reader (imagine)

x intimidating looking but sweet S/O (imagine)

x Reader who won’t confess (imagine)

Akane Owari:

x Prince-like Male S/O (imagine)

Chiaki Nanami:

and Ibuki and Mikan celebrate their new relationship and coming out by going to the salon (imagine)

x S/O who’s scared of touch asking to hold their hand (imagine)

Sonia Nevermind:

✨ Sonia x SHSL Baker Reader: To Bake A Cake (One-shot)

Soina gives Peko and Akane makeovers to help her Mangaka S/O get inspiration (imagine)

✨ x Chronically sick S/O (imagine)

Hiyoko Saionji:

Befriends Mikan and teaches her to stand up for herself (imagine)

Mahiru Koizumi:

empty

Mikan Tsumiki:

✨ Crushing on the SHSL Theatra Actress (imagine)

✨ SHSL Theatra Actress comes out as aromantic (imagine)

and Chiaki and Ibuki celebrate their new relationship and coming out by going to the salon (imagine)

Befriended by Hiyoko and taught how to stand up for herself (imagine)

x Prince-like male S/O (imagine)

Ibuki Mioda:

✨ SHSL Theatra Actress comes out as aromantic (imagine)

And Gundham being siblings (imagine)

Tries encouraging her insecure S/O (imagine)

and Chiaki and Mikan celebrate their new relationship and coming out by going to the salon (imagine)

x SHSL Party Planner Reader (one-shot)

x S/O who’s scared of touch asking to hold their hand (imagine)

Peko Pekoyama:

Friends with a reckless reader who freezes when anxious (imagine)

New Danganronpa v3 characters

Shuichi Saihara:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

x Reader x Kokichi poly relationship headcannons (imagine)

✨ Kaede helps her bofriend Shuichi cope with his trauma through music (imagine)

x Himiko post Danganronpa v3 it was all a lie AU (imagine)

F!S/O pampers him for his birthday (imagine)

✨ SHSL Barista Shuichi x SHSL Detective Reader (One-shot)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

Is a cat person but also a dog magnet (imagine)

Relationship headcannons (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Military General Reader (imagine)

Realizing he’s developed a crush on someone headcannons (imagine)

's crush tries to wake him up, but accidentally naps with him instead (imagine)

✨ Comforts his M!S/O after a sleep paralysis episode (imagine)

x SHSL Gambler (imagine)

’s S/O likes to give him random kisses (imagine)

✨ ’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks (imagine)

fluff, no plot, just fluff (imagine)

x SHSL Mind Reader (imagine)

Touch starved Shuichi x Affectionate Reader (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

x thieving troublemaker S/O (imagine)

Kaito Momota:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

✨ Cuddling headcannons (imagine)

's crush tries to wake him up, but accidentally naps with him instead (imagine)

gets Reader’s motive video, revealing no one in the outside world cares about them (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

✨’s S/O got sick running around in the rain and attempt to sneak out (imagine)

Ryoma Hoshi:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

✨ Cooking with his S/O (imagine)

x Kaede headcanons (imagine)

gets Reader’s motive video, revealing no one in the outside world cares about them (imagine)

SHSL Lucky Student S/O beats him a tennis with their talent (imagine)

’s S/O steals his clothes (imagine)

wants to play tennis with his asthmatic S/O, who he doesn’t know has asthma (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Rantaro Amami:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

x Fussy SHSL Model Reader: A Reunion (One-shot)

x Reader with Hanahaki (imagine) 

and his S/O find out they have the same Ultimate during the killing game (imagine)

x reader Royalty/Masquerade AU (imagine)

Has a crush on a shy Reader who's a little intimidated by him (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Military General Reader (imagine)

Sings to comfort his S/O (imagine)

✨ Comforts his M!S/O after a sleep paralysis episode (imagine)

x SHSL Gambler (imagine)

Comforts his S/O through their migraine (imagine)

x affectionate S/O who can’t handle receiving affection (imagine)

x Blind Reader (imagine)

✨ x Mercenary Reader (imagine)

x SHSL Baker (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

’s S/O can’t convey their feelings (imagine)

’s S/O got sick running around in the rain and attempt to sneak out (imagine)

x thieving troublemaker S/O (imagine)

x S/O who’s scared of touch asking to hold their hand (imagine)

???

Gonta Gokuhara:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

x Kokichi domestic fluff (imagine)

✨ Gonta x Botanist Reader with a hobby of candy making (One-shot)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Kokichi Oma:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

x Reader x Shuichi poly relationship headcannons (imagine)

💖 Affection starved Kokichi x SHSL Dancer Reader (One-shot)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Psychologist Reader (imagine)

Kiss headcannons (imagine)

💖 Gets Hanahaki (imagine)

💖✨💖Phantom thief Kokichi x undercover Detective Reader (short story/one-shot)💖✨💖

✨ Miu x SHSL Wood Worker Reader Polyrelationship headcannons (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Military General Reader (imagine)

Kokichi constantly flirts with a self-conscious tall and chubby Reader (imagine)

's crush tries to wake him up, but accidentally naps with him instead (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Strategist (imagine)

✨ "helps" Reader to gift Miu the best birthday present (one-shot)

x SHSL Gambler (imagine) 

Grows feelings for Reader during the killing game and tries to deny them (imagine)

Takes a nap with his shy and awkward S/O (imagine)

gets Reader’s motive video, revealing no one in the outside world cares about them (imagine)

’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks (imagine)

befriends the SHSL Performer (imagine)

fluff, no plot, just fluff (imagine)

✨ x Prince-like Male S/O (imagine)

x Gonta domestic fluff (imagine)

x SHSL Prosecutor (imagine)

x Blind Reader (imagine)

✨ x Mercenary Reader (imagine)

x SHSL Baker (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

x SHSL Therapist during the Killing Game (imagine)

Korekiyo Shinguji:

✨ With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

✨ SHSL Theatra Actress comes out as aromantic (imagine)

Cuddling headcannons (imagine)

x Short SHSL Liberian Reader (imagine)

✨ x SHSL Military General Reader (imagine)

✨ x affectionate S/O who can’t handle receiving affection (imagine)

x SHSL Prosecutor (imagine)

’s S/O steals his clothes (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

’s S/O can’t convey their feeling (imagine)

???

Kiibo:

With his SHSL Survivalist friend/SO (imagine)

💖x SHSL Survivalist (One-shot)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

✨ Kiibo takes care of sick reader (imagine)

x Reader Red String of Fate AU (one-shot)

x Reader fluff, just fluff, no plot (imagine)

SHSL Baker S/O, Miu and Kokichi try to find the perfect birthday gift (imagine)

✨ Helps Reader with burnt fingers wash their hair (imagine)

✨ 's crush tries to wake him up, but accidentally naps with him instead/ tries to help his crush get sleep (imagine)

x SHSL Strategist (imagine)

gets Reader’s motive video, revealing no one in the outside world cares about them (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Kaede Akamastu:

x Ryoma headcannons (imagine)

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

✨ Kaede helps her boyfriend Shuichi cope with his trauma through music (imagine)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

Her S/O comes out as transgender to her (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Kirumi Tojo:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

x SHSL Military General (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Himiko Yumeno:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

x Shuichi post drv3 it as all a lie AU (imagine)

x Reader: It’ll Work Out in the End (one-shot)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Maki Harukawa:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

and her protective best friend celebrate her birthday: Have Your Cake and Eat it Too (one-shot)

Tenko Chabashira:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

gets confused by her nonbinary S/O (imagine)

’s excitable and energetic S/O can’t keep her surprise birthday party a secret (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

receives unsigned love letters (imagine)

Tsumugi Shirogane:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

x SHSL Fictional Character Analyst (imagine)

Alternate drv3 ending, if Tsumugi failed to kill Rantaro and instead got herself killed in the process (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Angie Yonaga:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

Miu Iruma:

Looks after her deceased S/O's dog after they die in the killing game (imagine)

✨ Kokichi x SHSL Wood Worker Reader Polyrelationship headcannons (imagine)

x childhood friend Reader (one-shot)

Robot reader confesses their feelings (imagine)

x SHSL Toy Maker (imagine)

x Prince-like male S/O (imagine)

[madllamamomma]

The Visitor~ Part 4

Rhemi x Muriel fanfic. [Warning: the following contains graphic language and mentions blood.]

Part 4~

Père~

Nearly fully sprinting at this point, Rhemi tries her best to make it on time to the palace gates to meet her father. The time really got away from her this morning, despite her waking up before the crack of dawn. Luckily, it’s not raining today, the sky is nice and clear and there’s even a light breeze, but it’s still rather chilly. At least the sun is there to keep her warm today, a good day for walking around.

As she hurries through the busy streets inching closer and closer to the palace, she can’t help but feel so nervous, yet rather excited at the same time. An entire morning with her father! Oh how excited she was to have someone else to talk to about advance spells, incantations, and all other sorts of magic! Her friends were always there to talk to her, but she doesn’t remember having someone this groomed and experienced before.

Not to mention, she couldn’t wait to show him around the city that she is so proud of and loved. Countess Nadia, Consul Valerius, Portia (who is now a chamberlain) and the citizens have been so busy building and improving the city in the last year. Where there were once slums, sinking, underwater neighborhoods, or rough and sketchy places are now where new homes, restaurants, and shops are thriving. Vesuvia has honestly never been better. It seems like everyday Nadia and the citizens have been improving it more and more each and every day.

Turning the final corner to the central part of the city reveals the palace and all its marvelous splendor. Rhemi can feel her heart fluttering in her chest as she sees Martin just exiting the gates by two guards. Dressed in fancy foreign clothes like the day before but different colors and the same silk blue cape and jeweled cane… Except there was no hat on his head, and no badger draped across his shoulders. Martin peers down at his pocket watch with a sore expression, before he notices his daughter jogging towards him. A bright smile takes over his lips, that icy exterior partially melts away yet again.

Nearly out of breath, slowing down her stride as she prances towards him giddily. “Good morning!” She huffs with a tired grin and a little sweat on her brow.

“Well, good morning to you too, Rhemielia.” Martin replies, blindly putting away his pocket watch. “Running a wee bit behind are we?”

With a nervous smile, she scratches the back of her head. “Sorry, I was practicing a new spell. Lost track of time—You know how it is…. I-I hope? Or maybe it’s just me.”

Thinking he’d be interested, and ask what kind of spell she’s working on, she prepares herself to gush about it. But instead, he offers her arm not seeming to have really listened to what she had just said. “Mmm—Shall we?”

Rhemi shakes herself out of her mindset, her grin wide, happily taking his arm. “Oh—We shall.” There are plenty of other things to talk about other than magic.

As soon as the two start walking down the street an awkward dead quiet suddenly takes over. Never has silence been so loud, even when Rhemi started getting to know Muriel, it wouldn’t feel this awkward. After a couple of minutes, it becomes unbearable for both of them as they continue to walk aimlessly down the street.

“...So—”

“Did you—”

Both of them try to break the silence at the same time. But as soon as the other one started to speak, they hushed up quickly again thinking one of them would continue.

“... My apolo—”

“... Sorry—”

Blush starts to take over both of their cheekbones as they both fumble terribly for a proper foot hole to start a conversation.

“After you—”

“Go aheaaa—Ahhhhh.”

Finally the two stop in their tracks and look at one another a bit embarrassed. Unable to contain herself anymore, Rhemi snorts through her nose at this complete ridiculous awkwardness, breaking all the exhausting tension. After breaking down this unneeded discomfort, Martin then lets out a soft startled chuckle along with her, making his laughter lines next to his temples come out for once.

“Go ahead.” Rhemi says with a cheery smile, giving him a small nudge with her elbow.

But he shakes his head, patting her hand still loop through his other arm, a smile remaining on his face. “No, No—Please, ladies first.”

“Alrighty then…” She replies and they both proceed to stroll down the street again. “Did you sleep well?”

He sighs and thinks about that question with a shrug rolling off his shoulders. “Well enough, I suppose. However, I discovered it difficult to fall asleep after finding out your long lost daughter is still alive and well after all these years”

She laughs through her nose giving him a knowing look. “Yeah—I can relate to that… Except finding out about having a father.”

A fond grin faintly spreads on his lips as they stand there for a moment. Finally, Rhemi had to ask. “So where’s Beatrix today?”

“Oh—I left her behind today so she could get some rest. The damn badger never sleeps on the ship… She’s always hunting for filthy rodents on the deck at night.”

“I hope she’s get some rest then….. Is your hat resting too?”

“.... Beg your pardon??” He quickly replies, tilting his head rather confused.

“You’re not wearing your hat today. So is it resting too?” She kids.

“Oh….” Realizing what she is asking, Martin grins a little wider making the wrinkles in his cheeks visible, and a faint flash of cold in his glance. “... You can say that…”

“I think you look better without it anyways.”

Warmth in his eyes returns, and he looks at her rather flattered. “..... Really?”

“Tee-hee~ I like your hair… I wish I inherited your color. It’s different.” Rhemi says with a smile.  

“Ha! I don’t remember the last time someone complimented this overly ripe hair of mine.” Her father instinctinky slicks his thick plum and gray mane back with the other hand. “Thank you….”

“You’re welcome.”

“.... So, my Pigeon—” He says taking back his cane with his free hand. “What part of this…. lovely…. quaint little city… are you going to show me?” He sounds half sarcastic when he says lovely and quaint, but Rhemi doesn’t seem to even pay any attention to that, too distracted with her own thoughts.

Ooooooh no—I haven’t thought that far… she thinks to herself, tapping her pointer finger on her chin, pondering hard.

She looks left and right still thinking of the best place to start. Then she finally has an idea. “Hmmmm…. Well, have you had breakfast yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no, I have not.”

“Perfect. I know just the place!” She says excitedly as she tugs him along with a wide silly smile on her face. “Hope you're hungry!”

“We’ll see…” He mumbles to himself not convinced in the slightest.

It isn’t too long before the two come across the heart district where the marketplace is. Even though it’s early on a weekend day, the market is still bustling with people, buying, selling, haggling and negotiating goods.  

Of course the apprentice first took her father to one of her favorite bakers named Selasi in town to get some fresh pumpkin bread to start the day.

The poor Selasi’s stall was left in ruin just like everything else in the market after Lucio’s and his army of mercenaries took over the city after the Masquerade. But every since then, he had gotten recognized by the countess when everyone was refugees in the forest next to the hut. All the Parkain royals along with Nadia were impressed with the baker's delicious food, even with what little he had, it was amazing. After everyone returned and started rebuilding, he turned his simple stall into a full on shop and cafe and named it, ‘Selasi’s Bakery’.

He even picked up an apprentice of his own named Agrippa. A very tall and handsome person with powdery white skin, long light-grayish hair styled in pigtails tied and a loop at the ends, blue eyes and a smooth mid-ranged voice. They made Rhemi’s favorite cakes and sweets, and even somehow improved the baker’s pumpkin bread recipe. They even recently started dating Portia after she finally asked them out and the two have been going steady since the fall.

“Well—This is the market!” Rhemi introduces to her father, still leading him towards the bakers.

Her father scans the bustling market with an unimpressed look on his face. “Doesn’t seem like this part has changed.” He mutters to himself forcing himself not to sneer.  

“What was that?” Rhemi asks, unable to catch his muttering with all the loud noises from the market goers.

“I asked, ‘where are you taking me to’, Pigeon? ”

“Oh! To one of my very favorite places to get pumpkin bread~” She says as they arrive at the baker’s shop, the air is filled with sweet, buttery and savory aromas and Rhemi opens the door making the bell chime.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t trouble~” Agrippa teases with their charming smirk.

“Oh yeah, you should talk!” Rhemi giggles back, coaxing her father inside with her hand. He enters unenthusiastically looking at all of the food as Rhemi continues with their small talk. “How are you, Ippa?”

“Good, thank you, Bean! Business has been steady like always.”

“Where’s Selasi today?”

“Getting some more flour. I told him I’d go, but he insists that he has to ‘let the flour speak to him’ or whatever. How’s the wedding planning going? Portia told me you’ve been stressed out a little.” They say as they lean into the counter that they normally tower over.

“Things are coming together finally.” She says with an exhausted, but relieved sigh. “With Julian and Portia taking care of the little things, I could focus on the bigger things. All that is left is my last fitting for my dress now. So I think it’s safe to say it’ll be all smooth sailing from here!”

“Muriel dropped off the toppers yesterday. They look amazing! Your bow has some amazing talent. I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

Rhemi’s eyes brighten up and her lips twist up even more. “Oooo! Let me see!”

“Nooooope~ I have very specific instructions to not let the bride see. It is supposed to be a surprise.” Agrippa says while straightening up their long trunk and folding their arms across their chest. “Sorry~”

Rhemi gives them a smile, pouts, then gives them a quick raspberry like a ten year old. She then rolls her eyes knowing they wouldn’t let her see them, and turns to her father and walks over to him.“OH! There is someone I’d like you to meet!”

“Oh? Who?”

Taking his arm once again, she leads her father to the counter. “Père, this is Agrippa, the baker’s apprentice.”

With one look at the nobleman, Agrippa's eyes widened. “Père? Doesn’t that mean…?” They trail off slowly connecting the dots. “I didn’t know you had a father!”

“Well neither did I!” She says with a giddy smile. “Not till yesterday.”

“Well… How do you do? I’m Agri—”

“Agrippa… yes I heard.” Martin replies a bit snootily. “I am Sir Remington Martin Alarie III, the Archmagister and head chamberlain of his Royal majesty of the Great Charlès.”

Realizing rather quickly what kind of man Martin was, Agrippa puts on a smirk and stops themself from sputtering. “Well, ‘Sir Remington Martin Alarie III, the Archmagister and head chamberlain of his Royal majesty of the Great Charlès’.” They double over the counter in a long bow deepening their voice playfully to mimic him. “I am but a humble baker who is blessed to be a friend of your lovely daughter.” They say bringing their body back up. “How do you do, Sir? ”

“I was told by my daughter that this was where her favorite pumpkin bread was made.”

“You’ve come to the right place! In fact—” Agrippa replies with a smile dashing off to the brick ovens for a moment donning oven mitts on their hands. “Got a fresh batch right here!”  

Rhemi eyes light up with joy and hunger and she wiggles her hips in sheer happiness. “You are going to love it!” She sings to her father and he gives her a half smile.

The baker’s apprentice cuts them both a generous piece wrapped up in a bit of parchment paper. “Here ya’ go!”

Just as Rhemi digs into her coin purse, her father stops her. “No, no. Do keep your money.” And digs into his vest. “A gentleman should always pay for a lady.”

But Agrippa stops him sticking out their hand and waving. “It’s on the house.”

“Really? You won’t get into trouble will you, Ippa?”

“Nahhhh~ Besides, gods know you and your friends keep this place in business!” They laugh.

“Thank you so much!” She says with a big happy smile then looks to her father expecting him to say thank you as well.

He blinks blankly, for a moment then opens his mouth with a click of his tongue. “Oh—Yes… ah, thank you, Agrippa… Although if you're giving this away for free... I’m not sure if I should be concerned or not.... could this be a poorer batch you messed up on?”

Rhemi laughs thinking he’s joking, and Agrippa joins in to not make things awkward, but knowing that he wasn’t kidding.

“Well we’ll get out of your hair before the weekend rush comes! See ya later, Ippa! Tell Selasi I said hello!”

“See ya!” Agrippa says with a smile as the two head out the door hiding a middle finger behind their back as they glare at the Archmagister and his unnecessary dickish comment.

As soon as they leave the bakery and walk around the market, Rhemi digs into her hot pumpkin bread. “Mmmmm! Sooooo goood.” She happily moans, tearing up the moist and tasty bread; but as she looks over to her father, he hasn’t even touched his food.

“Smmthin’ woong?” She asks covering her mouth, her voice muffled with bread still in her mouth.

The Archmagister just shrugs, taking a very small piece and forcing it down his throat. “....Hmmmm.”

“I’m sorry, do you not like pumpkin bread? I should have asked—”

“Oh no, it’s just…. I don’t take handouts.” Martin replies, his face stone cold and serious.

“Hand out?” She blurts out. “It’s a gift! Ippa was being nice.”

“Well… whatever you call it. I don’t take gifts unless I know what people want…” He says with a sneer. Rhemi’s happy smile then drops into a frown and Martin starts to feel an unfamiliar pull in his heart as he nearly tosses the bread to the ground for the birds to eat. “...I ah…. I also don’t care for pastries for breakfast.”  He says adjusting his tone while wrapping up the pumpkin bread into the parchment paper and handing it to his daughter. “... Nor do I typically have breakfast now that I mention it. Perhaps you’ll save it for later.”

“O—Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry you don’t like it.”

“Not your fault, Pigeon. I don’t expect you to know everything.” He reassures her. “Well where else in this pathe—I mean… petite city of yours are you going to show me?”

With a determined grin, Rhemi takes a deep breath knowing another place to go to.

“Follow me!”

——————————

As Rhemi shows Sir Martin around the city, the Temple district, the Heart, South end, and even the now newly rebuilt shopping district (previously known as the flooded district). But still, Rhemi couldn’t shake the agonizing feeling like the Archmagister was rather unimpressed with everything she threw at him. Even after all the renovations completed in the past year—Even when Rhemi told her father the story about the Devil converging with the ex-count—The battles with Lucio and his mercenary-ghost army— The competition to keep the world out of chaos.

Nothing—truly, nothing seems to impress him at all.

He still sneered, and scowled at the city, like he made up his own mind about it long long ago. Strangely, when the two were traveling around, it seemed like her father was familiar with the streets. He even knew many of the alleyways and short cuts that she didn’t even know about. But that hardly seemed to matter to Rhemi— the man wasn’t impressed with her beloved home… and she wanted to change that.

Persistently, she continued to show him Vesuvia, gushing her heart out, and even showed him the best places to eat and shop. Yet still, all her attempts to impress himself still left him with a sour expression on his face or a yawn.

As noon slowly approaches, Rhemi works back their way back to the palace. Feeling the morning wearing her down they approach the city center next to the large fountain where an old tacky statue of Lucio on a horse used to be. Now it’s only a lone cheetah holding a spear. For once. the Archmagistor seemed to have noticed it and stopped staring at this slightly perplexed.

“Say, Mileia…” (Another pet name for her apparently.) “...... Didn’t that used to be a gold statue of the Count riding a horse?”

Rhemi peers over to the top of the roaring fountain. “Oh yeah…. that was destroyed when Lucio attacked the city a year ago.”

Suddenly, the tangy scent of freshly smoked eel engulfs the plaza. She wasn't the only one who noticed either. Martin's teal eyes light up as if he sees an old long lost friend.

“Fresh eel!! Come and get your fresh eel heeeerreeeee!!!” The stand keeper shouts waving the delicious food in the air for everyone to see and smell.

Without another word, Rhemi hurries over with her coin purse before her father could stop her. “I’ll take two, please.”

The cheery venter takes her coins and gives her two kabobs. With food in hand, she runs back over to her father, she gives him one eel with a joyful smile. “This is a gift from your daughter. Not a hand out.” Half expecting him to refuse it, he surprisingly takes the food then stares at it almost nostalgically sniffing the tasty treat.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asks, stopping herself from shoving the food down her throat.

“Hmm??” Martin shakes his head, but still stares at the kabob oddly.  “Oh, nothing… I just haven't had a smoked eel in a very long time.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you had it in Charles too.”

He gives her a small annoyed glance from her mispronunciation. “It’s Charlès, darling….  And we don’t. The capital doesn’t have any seas or ocean around it. It’s surrounded by treacherous mountains. The only fish we have is salmon, bass, and trout from the icy rivers...”

“O.. oh… So… where have you had it before?”

“I….—” Martin sharply stops himself and his eyes grow colder again and he seems to shake himself out of his nostalgic trace. “... M-my father, your grandfather, Remington II used to bring me and my siblings some when he traveled to the coast. He placed a spell on them so they wouldn’t spoil.”

“Oh… Neat!” Rhemi says with a smile. So far he’s mentioned her grandparents once the day before. Apparently that's where she gets her dark reddish-brown hair from her grandmother.

Unable to resist the sweet, salty smoky flavor, he actually takes a bite out of the eel and seems to rather enjoy it. “Still even tastes the same…” He chuckles before scarfing the eel down.

Finally. Something he likes. Feeling a bit accomplished she feels the tension in her shoulders relax. This man wasn’t like any of her friends. Gods know he was much harder to read as well. It’s like he has this invisible wall around himself. Trying to get to know him was proving to be difficult. But Rhemi liked a challenge and wasn’t one to give up easily.

“So, I suppose they had a reason why did they replace Luico with this… cheetah?” Her father asks after making it half through his eel looking at the piece of art of the new fountain.

“Lucio nearly tore this city and the world apart… He killed a lot of people to gain power. People that Muriel and I really cared about… He even killed his father years ago. Then killed his own mother in the Scourge Lands… Her name was Morga…” With sad somber expression, she stares up at the bronze sculpture and all its power and beauty. “If it wasn’t for Morga… I don’t think we’d be here right now… Muriel and I probably wouldn’t have gone to the south together… Lucio might have even won.”

“.... So I presume that cheetah is supposed to represent her?”

Sadly, Rhemi slowly nods her head, still gazing at the fountain statue.

“Interesting…. Excuse me for slightly changing the subject… but you mentioned that Lucio became merged with the…. devil? From the Arcana realm?”

Taken a little by surprise, she glances over to her father realizing that he did in fact listen to her earlier while she was showing him the other parts of the city. “Yeah… I’m not sure exactly how. But I think he made a lot of deals with various demons— I mean that literally…. And like I said… kill a lot of people... including his own mother.”

“... Just so he could live forever?”

“.... I think it was for power and to live forever??... Or it was so he could regain a physical form…. or maybe he wanted to dominate the world too—Or that was the devil influencing him? I honestly have no idea. And if you ask me, it was too heavy of a price to pay. The Arcana realms must be occupied by someone… if not, our world is thrown into chaos and ruin. In the end, he was forced back.”

“Hmmm…”

After making quick work of his eel, Martin throws the bare stick into the water of the fountain. Poor Rhemi’s eyes widen in silent dismay and hastily fishes it out with her magic when he isn’t looking. She’d have half a mind to tell him not to litter… But it didn’t feel like the time or place to lecture her own father.

“It is strange to hear about a dead man coming back to life… When rumors came that Count Lucio of Vesuvia was murder in his own bed, it came to many courtiers a shock. Even the king was appalled….Personally, I always saw him as a bumbling fool.”

“So you've been here before?”

“A handful of times, yes.”

“And you knew the ex-Count?”

“Unfortunately. King Francis rather enjoyed his company much to my dismay….. His Majesty thought he was and I quote, ‘The best kind of host, charmingly idiotic and stupidly generous’.... He did know how to throw some entertaining parties, I suppose. So the King seemed to have taken a liking to him… but I never cared for him.”

“Good!! He was a freakin’ asshole is what he was.” Rhemi snarly adds before taking the last bite of her smoked eel, stewing on all the things he’s done to everyone, especially Muriel. “That stupid humanoid-goat could go fuck himself in the devil’s realm for all of eternity for all I care! Good riddance!” She sneers under her breath.

With an shocked and appalled expression, Martin glances at her mildly scolding. “Well, that’s some colorful language for a lady such as yourself.”

Pssssh! I’m no lady… She laughs to herself and she pulls on her lips to stop from spilling them out. “... So you disagree with me?” She asks with a smirk and an eyebrow raised, throwing the two bare sticks into a nearby rubbish bin, still chewing a half mouth full of eel.

Despite his distaste for her language, he’s unable to control his snickering. For now he lets it go and he shrugs. “I never said that.” Martin chuckles. “.. You are right in that regard... that man was an encompident ass.”

“—Miss Rhemi!!!” A childish voice all of a sudden calls from a far.

Rhemi and Sir Martin whip their heads around to where the young voice was calling from. Low and behold, they see three children all under the ages of twelve barreling towards them, the youngest in full sprint. Really at second look, it looks like the other two were chasing after the younger one.

“Hold onto your coin purse, Rhemielia.” Martin whispers with a vicious sneer, standing in front of her with his cane at the ready.

“Huh?” She mumbles looking over his shoulder, not getting a few view of the children.

As soon as her voice escapes from her lips, Rhemi can sense her father conjuring his magic into the jeweled handle of his cane. The gem starts to glow brightly giving off a sort of metallic smelling aura... He is conjuring a spell?? To use on these kids???

Now getting a full glimpse over her father’s shoulder, she realizes she knows the children running up to them both and a large bead of sweat forms on her brow unsure what her father was intending to do.As soon as Martin brings up his cane to let loose the spell, she gently places her hand on the top of his jeweled handle, scooting him out of the way and forcing him to set down his weapon.

“—Ohhh! Lilly! Zachary! Nathan! How are you silly kids??” She says with a ginger smile. Martin face twists as he realizes that she knows these little peasants, but he keeps quiet, observing her as the three snot nosed brats approach them, two boys and one girl.

Rhemi kneels down and the children all embrace her with a tight hug nearly knocking her over to the cobble street. “Rhemiiiiii!!!”

“Sorry! I couldn’t stop him.” The girl apologized.

“That’s alright! Well—Hello, hello, and hello! What are you three rascals doing here?” Rhemi greets cheerily.

“Getting some eggs.” The young girl says lifting up an empty basket. She was the tallest and the oldest. If you couldn’t immediately, she was the responsible one in the trio, the ‘mother hen’ of the group. Her hair was a bright blonde with tight curls styled in two puffy pigtails. Her skin is a beautiful dark black, like a fresh brewed coffee, and eyes a bright hazel.

“Where’s Mr. Tall Man today?” The youngest boy asks looking all around making his wild and curly brown toffee colored hair, bounce all around. He has pale ivory skin with flecks everywhere, and dark brown eyes, and couldn’t be no older than six or seven, about one of Muriel’s cousins named Ida’s age, and just as cute. However he wasn’t the faintest bit shy like Ida is.

“Oh—I’m sorry, Nathan. Muriel isn’t with me today. He’s busy doing other errands.” Rhemi answers him tilting her head feeling rather guilty.

“Awwww.” The little boy whines looking at the ground disappointedly, holding the eldest child and the girl's hand and pouts. “I wanted to show him my newt. I found him in a pond.” He opens his pocket and out comes a little sticking looking bright orange creature with various sized brown and gray spots covering his head to his tail (freckles, just like Nathan).

Martin makes a revolted little noise and looks away for a moment, a hard sneer twisting his features, Rhemi doesn’t see him cringing behind. To his surprise, his daughter isn’t disgusted or afraid at all, she actually seems to think it’s cute, and pets his little head with her pointer finger. “Ooooh~ What’s their name, Nathan?”

“Wart! He’s a boy newt.” He says as he turns his neck and sticks his tongue out at Lillian and she just shakes her head, with a long-suffering look on her face.

“Well isn’t he just lovely. He has a wonderful color, orange is one of my favorite colors. I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Muriel about him! I’m sure he’d love to see him.” Her eyes glance behind to her father, still looking rather prudish and she smiles realizing she hadn’t introduced anyone yet. “OH! Right!…. Sooo, everyone, this is my father, his name is Sir Remington Martin Alarie III. He’s a King’s magician.”

The young girl lets out a shallow quick gasp as she looks up at Martin and he half turns his nose up at her. “I didn’t know you had a father.” She whispers to Rhemim shielding her mouth with her hand.

Rhemi plays along and whispers back the same way, “Neither did I… We just met yesterday.”

Little Nathan clings onto the Archmagister’s pant leg and Martin furrows his brow and somehow manages to frown even more. “You’re a neat magician too, like Miss Rhemi, Mister??”

Martin rolls his eyes scoffs. “....What gave that away? The cape or the cane, Oh-Child with a newt named ‘Wart’ ?” He sassily remarks, slowly unhinged the child’s arms off his leg.

Realizing that her father was confused about how she knew these children, she stands up and loops her arm around his. “Père, these are some children that were on the streets before the battle with Lucio…” Rhemi then points to each of the kids one at a time. “This is Lillian, Lilly for short. That strapping young lad is Zachary. And last but not least, little Nathan.”

The youngest child excitedly waves his hand at the old grumpy magician adorably despite Martin's lack of caring. “You look like a fancy magician!!” Nathan giggles cutely, finally letting go of the Archmagister’s leg.

“..... Mmmmm hmmmm….” The old gentleman grumbles. “... Nathan… was it??” The boy nods his head not noticing the nobleman’s disgust as he continues to sluggishly push him away, now gently using the butt end of his cane. “Pleasure to make your…. acquaintance…” He mutters trying to sound kind as he quickly brushes off his pant leg he touched.

Zachary, the older boy, notices the man’s dislike for Nathan touching him and stares at him shamelessly and the two start to have a silent scowling staring contest all unbeknownst to Rhemi who is still looking away. But Lilly catches and just stands there shaking her head unimpressed with either of them.

But then Nathan just rambled on adorably blabbing and now clinging onto Rhemi’s right leg and she ruffles his messy hair untamed hair that she admired. “Miss Rhemi and Mr. Muriel and Ms. Countess lady and—*achoo*—and all of her other friends helped made us all a home.”

A little bit of pink quickly stains Rhemi’s face as her father's eyes fall on her. “Well it was all Muriel, Asra, and Nadia’s idea to build an orphanage. All I did was help.”

“The Countess lady comes and reads to us eeeevery Wednesdays.” Nathan continues to rant. “And—And Miss Rhemi and Mr. Muriel comes by and sometimes they bring us arts n’ crafts and-and-and teach us magic!!”

“Is that so?” Marin fakely smiles. “Magic is so freely taught here I see…”

“Yeah! We each have our own beds! Mr. Muriel helped make them for us!”

“—And get three square meals a day. We don’t have to fight or steal food anymore….” Zachary finally chims in, scratching the back of his head. “Which is…. okay I guess…” His skin is olive-ish brown and his hair is a dark umber color, but has bright crystal blueish gray eyes that stand out.

Zachary was always normally very quiet. He used to be a part of a group of kids that were terrible bullies and even thugs. But ever since he saw Muriel, a hero and champion to the city, who was an orphan who grew up on the docks just like him, something changed in him. Perhaps knowing that someone like him could be a hero someday, strong and brave, he left that life behind and started a fresh path at the orphanage. He was still very young, no older than eleven, but really looked up to Muriel and Rhemi and saw them both as his role models. Even now, he tries to act all tough and aloof, but he’s really a little sweetheart and cared about the orphanage as much as the other two did.

“Well isn’t that ….nice.” Martin says with a bit of surprise in his face glancing at Rhemi. “Very appropriate for a young lady such as yourself to get involved in.”

“How’s Mrs. Edilen doing??” Rhemi asks, turning her attention back to the children.

“Old…”  Zachary mutters blankly. Without warning, Lilly smacks him across the back of his head with such a scoldingly look on her face. “—OW! WHAAAAT??” He grumbles just above a whisper, his bright eyes angrily beaming at her as he holds his head.

“Shut your mouth, Zach!!! That woman is good to us and you know it!” Lilly snaps before answering Rhemi. “She’s fine, but her back has been bothering her lately.”

Lillian has been the little mother figure for these kids at the orphanage. She was always scolding and ensuring everyone minded their manners even though she was half their strength. You could tell she was in charge, but she was a very good kid with a heart of gold. She reminds Rhemi of herself in a way.

Rhemi stifles a laugh to spare poor Zachary’s pride and just continues with the conversation. “She’s actually coming by later for her potion, I hope that’ll help her.”

“Me too, I guess….” Zachary grumbles with his arms folded. “I’m sick of reading bedtime stories to the younger kids...”

“Oh stop acting like you don’t like it! You’re the one who does it without anyone asking you too!” Lilly rolls her eyes.

“...T—They whine if I don’t!” He quickly retaliates, blushing crazily.

Lilly just stares at him with a knowing smirk. “Oh yeah, I’m sure they whine when you don’t do the voices either!” She teases.

Poor Zachary’s face looks like it's going to explode and he gently shoves her, covering his burning face with the neck of his shirt like a turtle. “Shut. Up. LILLIAN!!” He grouches, words muffled by his shirt.

Kneeling back down with a giggle, Rhemi can’t help but love to see these two banter like they do. I can see these two getting married in ten years. She thinks to herself. “Well, I better get going, kiddos. I’m showing my father around the city and are expected for tea.”

In unison all of the kids sink their shoulders disappointedly.

“Are you both gonna come to see us soon?” Nathan asks with the biggest puppy dog eyes, holding onto her shaw.

“Awwwww!! Of course we will! It’s just all this wedding has just been keeping us busy. But I promise Muriel and I will come soon. Ok?”

All three kids excitedly say, hooray in unison and give her one last group hug before they all head on their merry way, waving her goodbye as they’d end towards the market.

“Bye, Fancy Mister Magician Man!” Nathan calls with a big goofy smile while holding onto Lilly’s hand.

As the kids wander off, Martin just looks at Rhemi with such fondness as he takes a seat next to the water fountain ledge.

“What?” Rhemi asks with a grin.

Martin just shakes his head with a chuckle. “You’re just like your mother….. even just now… you are just the spit of her… She loved working with children. She wanted to become a governess before she met me.”

Rhemi smiles a little wider and sits next to her father on the fountain’s edge. “.... I wish I could remember her face….”

The water fountain behind the two keeps endlessly roaring with the water and the two sit then content for a moment, watching as people go by, happy to take a seat for the time being. As they both sit there enjoying the warmth of the sun, Rhemi’s mind wanders to yesterday to her unanswered questions the other day. It kills her to want to know, but it’s terrifying to ask.

Finally, she swallows her fears, and tightens her fists as she summons the courage. “....Père?”

“Yes, my Pigeon?”

“I… I wanted to ask you this yesterday, but it didn’t necessarily come up in the conversation… But…. ummm…  What exactly….. happened?....” Her father's smile fades as soon as she utters that question, and he turns his head away from her. His reaction just makes her want to know even more. “...W-Why hadn’t I seen you for so many years?”

Martin’s cold eyes shimmer with a glimpse of pain with that question and swallows hard. “..... I…. I think that's for another day, dear child…”

She sits there for a moment, considering to let it go, but her mouth moves before she can really stop herself. “…. Could… could you at least tell me something? P-Perhaps? It’s been killing me to know what happened….”

Martin still keeps his eyes averts from hers, hoping she’d stop being so persistent.

“... If I could remember any of it myself, I wouldn’t have asked.” She adds sheepishly twiddling with thumbs in her lap.

The old magician stews on her words for a while, still very hesitant to speak of what happened and she thinks he’ll just ignore her plea. But then he sighs very deeply before muttering unenthusiastically, “.... Very well….”

Taking out a pipe out of his vest pocket along with a little tobacco from a fancy tiny metal tin. Conjuring his magic to his finger, he lights up the pipe, and takes in three short puffs followed by one big one. Pondering his words, he holds it in his mouth peering at the crowd, then finally blows out all the smelly smoke slowly. “...You and your mother…. were stolen from me around fifteen years ago.”

Rhemi quickly whips her head towards him with her eyes wide, staring at her father completely dumbfounded.

S-Stolen? She shouts to herself in her mind, her poor heart starting to beat a little faster by the second. By—by who?? What does this all mean??

He draws in another larger puff before continuing this obviously painful story, apparently being soothed by the tobacco. “You both were kidnapped.... By a terrible evil witch named Phara….”

Phara… he mentioned her before the other day. Why doesn’t that name sound familiar to me?? Why can’t I remember that name???

Squinting her eyes as if that would somehow help her remember as she follows with another question. “...W-Who was Phara? I don’t remember that name at all.”

“I was afraid of that. But I also could only assume that was the case as well.” He takes in a quick puff and nods solemnly before beginning again, bellowing out the smoke as he spoke.. “.....I ….I hired her to be your tutor. You were about…. ohhhh I believe it was seven or eight at the time?—It was shortly after I was promoted to head chamberlain to his Majesty's court and I became increasingly busy with my new duties. Anyways…. One day, you scared your governess half to death… She was teaching you handwriting. You apparently threw a tantrum and lit your parchment paper ablaze with your magic. According to some servants, she came out of the library screaming.”

Rhemi’s cheeks start to feel like they are burning, that sounds about right knowing herself and how angry she can get even now. Sometimes she still wants to destroy things now when she is pissed off…. Apparently some things never change.

“... And so...You needed to learn how to control your magic.” He continues, “... And mother suggested someone she grew up with.”

“.... Phara?” Rhemi knowingly asks, placing her hands on the cold marble stone she’s sitting on.

Martin nods slowly, waving his pipe around as he spoke. “Yes…. Phara….. She was a Throthian woman, a professor for some intellectuals. For a time, she taught foreign dukes, duchesses, and even a few princesses in Parka and she was highly regarded, even for a woman.”

Throthian… Now that sounds familiar… Where do I know that word from?

“... She even taught many commoners and the poor to read and write so they can make better lives for themselves… which didn’t make the king very happy…. But most importantly, she was also a witch. Apparently a skilled one at that, which is what you needed at the time. Your mother swore that she trusted this woman with her life, and that Phara was bound to secrecy and confidentiality.”

…. Wait—Secrecy??....Why secrecy??

He pauses for a second, and draws in another deep puff on his pipe, then lets it out. Quietly Rhemi covers her mouth and lightly coughs, the smell of the tobacco burning her lungs. “....Despite my better judgement—I felt at the time that we had no better alternative. So, I hired her to be your tutor. She didn’t know the basics of aristocratic life, such as playing classical music on the piano, needle point, edict, or anything like your previous governess, but she was what we desperately needed at the time… And I’ll admit she was much more intelligent. Years went by, your magic was under control and you were being properly educated…. or so I thought.”

“.... So you thought? What do you mean??”

“.... Well… it came to my attention that she was teaching you things no young girl of nobility should know.” He pauses once again and looks his daughter in the eyes very seriously and sincerely and Rhemi feels her heart tug down. “...Phara was teaching you terrible things... evil things, Rhemielia.”

Rhemi’s eyes fall down to the cobblestone street as she tries to swallow all of this information. ….I… I was taught… evil things?... Perhaps that’s why I didn’t bat an eyelash at the blood magic, yet Muriel was so bothered by it…. am I… evil at heart?? Rhemi wonders to herself, her heart tugging even more. Is that why I was such a jerk before I died?

“.... One night about a week after your twelfth birthday.... I came home a day early after going on a diplomatic trip with the king. I was bringing you a late birthday present… But to my surprise, no one greeted me at the gates, nor the door. Soon I realized that all the servants were gone, the chateau was dark and empty and something sinister was afoot.” Rhemi’s nails started to dig into her thighs unconsciously as she hung onto every word… This part was starting to sound almost familiar. “.... I made my way to the parlor, and I saw Phara shoving you and your poor mother out the veranda and was planning on throwing you both out off the balcony for god knows what reason.”

Rhemi swallows the lump in her throat hearing all of this for some reason its starting to feel a little more familiar. “.... We fought. It was her magic against mine…. Soon, the fourier was in shambles, the furniture and decor littered the floor, and I had her nearly beat… Then the next thing I see out of the corner of my eye that your poor little head was cracked open…. You were bleeding everywhere, barely standing straight in the corner of the room...”

Vision starts to become dizzy, Rhemi closes her eyes to stop her head from spinning. But as soon as Rhemi closes her eyes, the short glimpse of her small childish hands trembling and covered in blood come into her mind. It’s too vivid to have been her imagination. Her right hand instinctively goes to her forehead to the right side of her frontal skull where there are two stubborn cowlicks that never grew much hair. She couldn’t part her hair any other way because of them. It’s only at this very moment she can feel a slight dip in her bone that she realizes why that hair never grew past an inch or two… it was a hidden scar, it was small, no bigger than an inch now, however it felt like it went rather deep.

A quick twinge of pain returns to Rhemi’s temples for a split second and she shuts her eyes yet again and stifles her groan. Flames of the burning mansion in her dreams illuminates behind her eyelids—the other Rhemi, the dying phoenix, faint muffled screams and yells they all start to rush into her mind and ears, making her almost sick to her stomach. Focusing on her breathing, she diverts her thought away from her nausea not wanting to see the eel or pumpkin bread a second time. She dare not make a scene in the middle of the city and she stays silent, quietly suffering as her father continues on.

“I… I underestimated that witch, she was more craftier than I had originally thought. Somehow I found myself with a knife in my back. You were just standing there, looking paler by the second… So I ignored my pain and staggered straight over to you. I knew you needed a healer immediately with the amount of blood you were losing and—” Martin stops mid word, you can hear him choking back some tears with his voice cracking. “... I reached out to save you…. to pull you into my arms—but….” He softly trails off.

Rhemi closes her eyes again, and for a moment, she sees a large eerie hand slowly coming at her from the dark—As she opens her eyes it disappears once again.

In the corner of eyes, she can see as Martin pulls off his right leather glove for the first time, and she notices that he pulls up part of his long sleeve of his fancy shirt. Underneath them both hid a terrible looking old burn that started from the top of this hand, ran up his forearm, and wrapped all around his bicep. It was awful to look at, it must have been so incredibly painful. “... Phara proved to be craftier than I expected… she always was… I just wish I saw it sooner… That damn witch used the last bit of her magic to start a terrible fire, even put you in harm's way to do it.”

The fire…. Is that what the other me was trying to tell me about? The fire?? Is Phara that monster?.... I don’t know if I still want to know...

The nausea and dizziness subsiding as quickly as it came, she stared at her poor father’s arm a burning in her nose. “I’m…. I’m so sorry, Père.” She softly says with tears in her eyes as she gazes at the terrible scar seared into her father’s flesh. “Does it still hurt?”

“You mean…. This old scar?” He scowls with an eyebrow raised, appearing a bit puzzled.

Rhemi nods sheepishly, her large eyes beaming with such a somber empathetic expression.

Seeing this sincere look, he’s face softens and he even gives her a reassuring grin and shakes his head. “No… Not anymore, Pigeon.”

Gently she touches it with the tips of her fingers inspecting the shriveled tough pinkish skin. “Did you have a doctor's help? It looks like it healed rather well.”

“I did actually…” The Archmagister holds up his arm, opening and closing his fist, wiggles his fingers, and flexes his elbow to show that his range of motion was at least spared “... The doctors and healers had to use some unconventional methods to salvage all of my fingers and I regained feeling in my forearm… And it took quite a while to recover from all of it—I even had to learn how to write with my left hand... But honestly, I hardly remember it.”

He stops flexing his arm and hand and gently rests it back on top of his leg with the palm up. “... All the while I was healing, I was focused on finding you and your mother. I put a very high bounty on Phara’s head along with countless posters, fliers, and I sent letters to neighboring kingdoms everywhere. I hired men and the best bounty hunters all over the country to comb cities to the countryside in Charlès for you and your mother… But then, weeks turned into months, months into years, years into over a decade. Everyone all but gave up, the story of the Archmagister’s kidnapped wife and daughter became all but a tragic distant memory.... To some, it twisted into a bedtime story. About a demon witch who came in the night who lured beautiful mothers and their poor children out of their homes in the dead of night during the witching hour. The witch would kill them and drain all of their blood so she could bathe in it to restore her youth and power. Then she’d chopped the bodies all up into tiny pieces and cooked their flesh into a stew, serving it to the unsuspecting poor.”

Martin draws back his arm, rolling down his sleeve, donning his leather glove yet again. “But only few knew the truth.”

“That must have been just terrible for you…. You must have been so lonely.” Rhemi finally utters after sitting there quietly.

“... I never released how empty a house felt without you both in it.” He mumbles looking away into the crowd. He shrinks into himself as soon as those words leave his mouth as if he didn’t mean to admit that. But Rhemi could tell, that came directly from his heart.

Martin suddenly clears his throat quickly slicking back his hair, shaking himself out his thoughts and glances at his pocket watch. “Oh would you look at that. It’s nearly time for tea.” He straightens up and lightly pats her head and she tries her best to stop herself from sneering to be polite. “Come on then. Let’s get a move on, don’t want to be tardy now, do we?” He says standing to his feet and shaking out his cape.

“N-no… No we don’t.” Rhemi answers, sluggishly standing her feet as well brushing out the wrinkles in her shirt.

———————

The walk back to the palace was a bit more quiet, but Rhemi and Martin now seem to be comfortable with it and just enjoy each other’s company in comfortable silence. She’s somewhat used to it being with Muriel.

As the two made it back to the Palace, they were greeted by a handful of Nadia’s servants and an older man in dark green and blue that her father called Bartholomew. He must have been his servant; his uniform and disposition was very different from anyone else.

Judging from the lack of people around, Rhemi and Martin apparently had arrived a bit early and were both left in the common room for the Countess’ arrival. Bartholomew whispered a few things to Martin’s ear before very elegantly leaving the room.

Suddenly, Beatrix comes scurrying around the corner making a few of Nadia’s servants comically shriek in surprise. The grumpy badger quickly prances over to Martin and climbs up her over the armchair close by, then on to his shoulders.

“Making yourself a nuisance yet again I see, Beatrix.” Martin teases her and she chatters back.

“Good afternoon, Bea~.” Rhemi says with a smile as she puts her hand up to her to sniff. Surprisingly, the animal lets her scratch under her chin after giving her a few pumpkin seeds from her pocket. It’s unclear if she likes Rhemi or if she just likes the food she gives her. Either way, Rhemi likes her. She’s cute in a scruffy kind of way.

“Pardon me.” Says Pascal, a servant who took over Portia’s position after she was appointed to Chamberlain comes in with a bow. “The Countess wanted me to inform you both that she will be arriving shortly. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable.”

A sharp scoff ejects out of Martin’s mouth. “Of course she’s going to make us wait….” He grumbles, and Beatrix growls a little at the poor servant showing her teeth. “I was invited into her own palace, haven’t seen the damn woman since I arrived and now she’s gonna make us wait?”

“My apologies, Sir Martin… She’s just returning from a Heart District reconstruction meeting.”

Rhemi steps in front of her father and before he could mutter another word and feeds his badger another pumpkin seed and she ceases her aggressive noises. “Thank you, Pascal. How’s your father doing?”

The servant smiles sincerely and cups his hands together. “Oh, great after that sleeping remedy you gave him!”

“Good! Any more chronic night terrors about jellyfish?”

Pascal laughs as she mentions that and Martin has a perplexed scowl on his face looking towards his familiar as if she knew the answer to that. “No! None since Muriel gave him that dream catcher over his bed. My family can’t thank you both enough for that.”

“Ooooh please, it was nothing! I’m just glad to hear he’s doing better—”

Martin stands in front of his daughter before she can finish her sentence. “—Yes, yes. That’s very nice indeed. Now if you wouldn’t mind...” The Archmagister says, shamelessly shooing the poor thing away, waving his cane guestering towards the door. “I’m sure your Countess would like you to return to her without dallying.”

Rather taken off guard by his rudeness, Pascal blinks blankly for a moment before bowing out and leaving the room. “Y-yes, your Excellency.”

Just as shocked as Pascal, Rhemi shakes her head staring at the back of her father’s head. Finally she taps on his back and her father turns to face her. “... You could have been nicer…” She mumbles to him a bit pouting.

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really shouldn’t make chummy conversation with the servants, Rhemielia… It’s distasteful.”

The Archmagister walks around Rhemi towards the other side of the room to a small table by the fireplace, Rhemi’s eyes following him. “..... But I like Pascal—”

“—Well, Rhemielia, how about we play a game of chess to pass the time?” He says rather jollily (for him) gesturing towards the small table where the game is set up.

“Chess?..” She repeats him tilting her head. She can’t remember the last time she ever played the damn game and she sheepishly scratches the back of her head. “...Oh… I don’t really like playing. I don’t think I remember all the rules anyw—”

“Very well. I’ll teach you the rules again.” He replied, taking a seat next to the white pieces and setting his cane on the outside of the chair. “... We used to play when you were younger. If I remember correctly, you were getting quite good too, but never could quite beat me.”

“S-... Sure… why not?..” Rhemi reluctantly gives in, taking a seat behind the black pieces in the armchair.

Quickly, but thoroughly, her father explains the basic rules, and part of it is starting to come back to her as she stares at the pieces a bit longer.

“Any questions?” He finally asks as he pets Beatrix and she leans into his touch.

The apprentice gazes at all the pieces studying them carefully. Rook, king, queen, bishop, knight and….. and…. hhhhmmm…

Forgetfully, she points to the smaller pieces in the front. “These small ones… they're called, pawns or fawns?”

“Pawns. You were right the first time….. Are you starting to remember the rules, my little Pigeon?”

“Maybe?... It all sounds rather familiar.” Her finger gently grazes the top of the small cold piece and she has a sad frown. “I think I remember how.... I didn’t like how people treat these little pieces.”

“What?” He softly scoffs, an entertained grin growing on his lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well….. T-These pieces represent people don’t they? This is a strategy game…. To represent a war or battle.”

Baffled at that assessment, Martin gazes back at the marble pieces and shrugs. “I…. I suppose you are correct in that regard… what is your point, child?”

Rhemi looks back down finding the right words to explain how she felt. “In this game… pawns are dispensable, their movements are limited, unlike the other pieces behind them. But because there are more of them, they are more expendable than the other taller pieces.” She pauses as she looks as she picks up one of the pawns with a few chips and cracks in it, reminding her of her poor Muriel for some reason and the way Lucio used him for so many years for his own entertainment. “People really shouldn’t treat others like that. Some…. object that can be used and taken out with little to no consequences. They are just some game piece to them, not another person…”

Martin stops himself from mid sputter trying his best not to laugh out loud. “Well…. now your spouting off nonsense.” He mumbles as he leans his back into the lounge chair, crossing his legs and resting his hand on his temple. “... This is just a game after all—”

“—I would happily agree with you, Rhemi.” Nadia’s silky smoothe voice interrupts and Martin and Rhemi stand quickly to their feet slightly taken by surprise. Stunning and beautiful as always, she strolls into the room, her heels clicking the floor, dressed in her white and green outfit and her hair half up and half down. Pascal trailing behind her with a grin on his face. “... If you think about it that way, the game is rather horrible that some pieces are labeled as not being as important as others. But in reality, the good leader should acknowledge that all of the pieces are important, no matter how small or limited they are.”

Martin bows very traditionally and elegantly, Beatrix hanging off his shoulders looking lifeless. “... Countess.”

However Rhemi just casually rushes to Nadia and wraps her arms around her and he raises an eyebrow at her informalness and lack of edict or manners.

“It’s so good to see you! Thank you so much for lending me your tailor again!” Martin’s child so boldly and informally converses making him stunned for words.

The Countess just smiles and hugs her back with a bright smile. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I hope you don’t mind, but Pierre let me get a sneak peak of it.”

“Ohh! Really???” Rhemi’s cheeks get all flushed and hot once again and she cups her face with her hands. “W-What do you think of it??”

“Oh, it’s just lovely, Rhemi. Just perfect for you. I can not wait to see you in it—Or Muriel seeing you in it for that matter.”

“Ooooo!! Realllly???? Thank you, Nadia!”

Suddenly, Martin clears his throat rather loudly, cutting through the two’s giddy laughter. “Countess Satrinava.”

The countess's eyes suddenly darken hearing the Archmagister’s voice and she forced back on a smile. “Ah yes… Monsieur Martin.” He approaches her with his chest puff out and she returns a polite curtsy. She then extends her hand out and he kisses to top of her knuckles, very diplomatic and traditional like. “...It has been ages, I haven't seen you since King Francis’ Spring ball six years ago… How have you been?” The Countess asks, fakely attempting to be interested.

“Quiet fine, thank you for asking.” Martin smirks back with a devious look. “... However I do fear that you haven’t been receiving my letters because I haven't gotten any back over the years. In fact, I have been around your city this morning, no flyers have been posted either.”

Nadia’s shoulder slightly tenses as if she knew and dreaded what he was about to say. Yet, she keeps a calm and composed face. “I do owe you my apologies. I have had other obligations this past year….. just a small war to save the world and clean up my city after pure evil attempted to rule our realm….”

“Ahhh…. yes… so I’ve heard... Most understandable. Things such as that are to be expected when a woman is in a position such as yourself… You really shouldn’t be so harsh on yourself, Nadia.”

“And what position would that be, Sir Martin?” Nadia remains poised and collected, but Rhemi could tell, she was getting irritated.

Martin smirks while placing both hands on his cane out in front of him. “One with great responsibility and little power, of course, Countess…. Ruling a city is a man’s job after all.”

An awkward tense silence takes hold for a moment and Nadia just flutters her eyes and fakely smiles a bit wider at his blunt rudeness. “... So nice to see you again, Archmagister. Do enjoy your stay.”

Eloquently, she turns her back to Martin tugging Rhemi along, giving her attention back to her champion, ignoring that rude and very sexist comment. “So, my dear champion. What brings you here? I do apologize for my tardiness. Especially when you had such ‘lovely’ company that also failed to show up for tea time yesterday.” She says that last part loud enough for him to hear.

“Well… ahhhhhh, we had tea scheduled for this afternoon—” Rhemi replies awkwardly.

The Countess shakes her head, instantly remembering. “Oh! Yes of course! How could I forget, I have sandwiches, biscuits, and tea being made as we speak—Oh, and your favorite~”

“Oooo—Agrippa’s strawberry lemon cake???” Rhemi says wiggling her hips excitedly.

Nadia nods with a bright smile, laughing at Rhemi’s pure overjoyed expression. “Portia was so kind to pick it up. Her and her brother should be here any minute, won’t they? Shall we have it on the balcony? It’s a lovely day.” She says looping her arm around Rhemi’s.

“Yes, but, ahhhh….” Suddenly, the apprentice stops her feet and politely pulls away. “Actually, I, ah, wanted to introduce someone to you, but I gather you’ve already met.”

Nadia interlaces her fingers together and rests her hands in front of her, wearing a rather confused expression. “...Oh?”

Her eyes follow Rhemi as she walks back over to Martin and loops her arm through his. “Nadia…. Sir Martin is my father….”

Nadia’s eyes widen, completely shocked. “Your…. father…?”

The Archmagister smiles at her with his nose high and stares at her condescendingly. “Ah yes…. Without any of your help I ended up finding my daughter myself—-But to my pleasant surprise she was alive. And in your city no doubt. What are the odds of the place that refused to comply with posting my wanted posters was the exact place where I found her.”

“Your…. His daughter?? The child who was stolen by an evil witch?”

Rhemi’s face suddenly flushes. Even Nadia knew about me?

“I…. I guess so.” She shrugs slightly embarrassed.

Nadia can’t help but flutter her eyelashes, gazing speechlessly to her champion. Finally she opens her mouth and looks toward Martin with a bit of guilt. “But…. you’ve been looking for her for—”

“—For fifteen years, seven months, a week, two days, and seven hours…. Yes…” Martin interjects with a sour and slightly angry, yet smug expression. “... But who’s counting?”

With Nadia completely gobsmacked and silent, Rhemi mutters. “I was hoping it would be alright if I invited him for tea time with Julian and Portia, so he could get to know my friends….. U-Unless of course that’s rude—”

“—No! No. It’s quite alright.” Nadia says shaking out of her stupor. “... Besides this afternoon was for you anyways, this may be the last tea you have as a single woman.”

“Oh you’re right. Didn’t think about that!... But it's better to ask right?”

“Of course.” Nadia looks towards Pascal as nods to cue him to lead them all towards the balcony.

“If you would follow me…” Pascal quickly says before whipping around to escort them all to the balcony.

Nadia hangs back staring at Rhemi and Sir Martin as they link arms having a terrible feeling about all of this and her temples start to twinge with slight pain.

—————————————

As soon as Portia and Julian arrive Rhemi greets them with a loving hug, but they immediately notice Sir Martin and a look of horror and confusion strikes their face. They only remember this man from the other day. But Rhemi explains the situation and they change their attitude quickly, happy for their friend for being reunited with her long lost father.

The Devoraks do their very best to be kind and friendly to the Archmagister, evening apologizing for their behavior (even though they did nothing wrong). Julian introduces himself with a small bow as he reaches his hand to offer to shake it. But Sir Martin slightly turns his nose up at the commoner and waits a grueling amount of seconds before finally taking his hand with only saying almost sarcastically, “Charmed…”.

Portia bows as well, and even puts donns her diplomatic hat being a chamberlain herself now, in attempts to easily converse with him on a relatable level. But the old magician just smirks and quietly chuckles at her attempt to presume that her position, a chamberlain to a mere Countess was anything like being a head chamberlain and Archmagister to a very wealthy and powerful monarch. Nevertheless Martin does at least take her hand and kisses the top of her knuckles and even says, “How do you do.”

As all four sit down and get settled and the tea is being brought out and being poured. The inescapable tension was relentlessly building with the silence. A servant pours the Archmagister’s tea and sets down a plate of biscuits in front of him and he mutters in an irritated manner, “Please, do wear gloves, girl. I don’t want to see your revolting cracked hands when you're handling my food.”

The poor servant’s face turns red with humiliation and she hasilty hides them behind her back. “Y-yes Sir… My apologies, Sir Alarie.”

Baffled at his rudeness, Rhemi, Julain and Portia stay quiet and glance over to Nadia, who stares at the old foreign diplomat with her head gracefully tilted with a fake, yet amused grin. “Oh, and how do you suppose her hands became cracked in the first place, Sir Martin? My servants shouldn’t have to be ashamed that they work diligently for a living. For you to judge her for it all the while you have a silver spoon in your mouth… Well… Should I just say that is rather ignorant of you.”

It appears that Martin was about to retaliate with a snide comment back to her but Rhemi awkwardly fake coughs. “Thank you Claudia. It looks amazing. Please tell the chef thank you.”

Her interjection to smooth things over seemed to have shut her father up for now and the terrible silence takes hold yet again. Rhemi stirs her tea, making it the way she likes and tries her best to fight the flush warming up her face from her father’s behavior. A wave of dread washes over her as she takes a small sip and thinking perhaps she made a mistake introducing everyone to him like this today. It was rather sudden and last minute after all, and she didn’t expect him to act this way. In her mind, this would have been more like a fairy tale or a book, a long lost father reuniting with the heroine’s life at the end of the story and they all lived happily ever after… But then again…. this is reality, and fairy tales and books are in the end, just that. A story. Things don’t anyway go the way you want them to….

Finally, the Countess decides to make some small talk asking Portia about the reconstruction progress of the Temple district and the tension starts to finally subside a bit. Martin even engaged in the conversation at least with the parts about Charlès’ part in supplying raw materials such as iron, bronze, and steel. The conversation then went to Rhemi with the wedding planning, then to Julian and how his clinic was going…

“Things have been keeping me busy, that’s for sure! Lately it's been a lot of springtime cold, but nothing too serious…” Julian goes on taking a long sip of his tea.

“Mmmm. Interesting.” Martin attempts to engage in the conversation for his daughter’s sake. “Tell me Doctor, are you married?”

“No, actually…” But perhaps one day I’ll marry the person I love.”

“Hmmm I’m sure she’s just lovely…. Hope she doesn’t mind having many late nights by the sound of your business.”

“...Err... ’He’ actually.” Julian corrects him with a faint bit of red on his face with a love stuck expression.

But the old nobleman really chokes on his sip of tea and he bats his eyelashes, perplexed. “....Sorry?”

Julian’s left eye darts back and forth to him and Rhemi, shrugging his shoulders. “Ummm- Errr…. About-?”

“You correct me… And said...?”

“Yes….” Rhemi jumps in thinking her father just didn’t hear him right. “Ilya said ‘he’. Asra, the one you met yesterday. White-ish hair, also a magician. That’s Julian’s partner.”

A snide and almost vicious scowl contorts the man’s face. “.....So….. You are having relations…. withhhhhhhh….. another man?” Martin inquires further as he gives Beatrix a few berries.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeesss.” Julian replies, not understanding the issue here starting to furrow his brow as well.

“So you have a….. male… bbbbooooyfriend?”

Nadia whispers to her servant rather quietly, helpless to watch as this all unfolds in front of her. “... Pascal, do bring us a bottle of wine.”

“....Asra actually prefers to use the term partner.” Rhemi adds bring her tea to her lips. “He doesn’t identify with gender specific roles. He’s male leaning, but he’s non-binary.”

“Oh, good god…” Martin grumbles rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Before Pascal gets too far, Nadia tugs his sleeve, and whispers again with her nostrils flared. “Better make that two….”

The Archmagister catches a glimpse of his daughter's saddened face. He adjusts his sitting and swallows his opinions… badly. “I ah, see….” He takes a sip of his tea slowly swallowing it. “So….. Which, ah, which one of you takes it in the ass then?” He quickly adds, unable to help himself.

“PPPPPPFFFFT—” Rhemi slightly sputters in her cup at that, her eyes wide.

Portia nearly drops her teacup speechless at this comment. If this was in a tavern she’d have thrown his ass down by now. But her brother just smiles, calmly placing his tea cup down with a hard clank and leans in closer to the Archmagister. Despite his smug smile, it’s clear that he’s deeply offended. “Well…. I guess that depends on the night. Because we use a schedule. At least we don’t have something constantly shoved up our—”

BOOM!! CHATTER CHATTER!--

“—Ooooooookayyyyyy!!” Rhemi loudly interjects slamming down both of her hands on the table making everything rumble and shake as she nearly jumps to a stand.

“—Well, Nadia, it has been loads of fun, thank you so much for having us—but would you look at the time!” She quickly rants, pulling her father’s chair out then tugging his arm and pulling him out of his chair. “My father and I wanted to check out the library for a few things together, isn’t that right?” She says slightly gritting her teeth. “Didn’t we??”

“Oh… yes of course… If you would excuse us.” He begrudgingly complies with her lie and he bows to Nadia. “Countess…”

Nadia nods her head with a forced grin. “Archmagister….”

With that, Rhemi waves her friends ta-ta for now and nearly drags her father into the palace and straight to the library feeling so terrible for her friend right now.

As soon as they approach their destination silently, Rhemi opens the doors with a wave of her magic and nearly sprints in and shuts the doors behind her. For a moment, she presses her back against the double doors and sighs feeling relieved that she managed to escape that terrible scenario with one of her best friends and her father. A stone cold silence washes over the large room while Martin casually strolls about talking in the splendor of the stained glass windows. Unable to think of a way to tell her father what he had said was unacceptable, she continues to stay silently and decides to walk over to a mountain of books she was actually borrowing about Parka.  

“So… that went well—” Martin murmurs and Beatrix jumps off his shoulders and sniffs the couches scouring for some old crumbs. “Well, I am sure you had a reason to carry me away from good tea—”

Martin turns to look at his daughter, but he realizes she's no longer behind him. “R-....Rhemielia?”

Rhemi awkwardly rushes up a ladder, rummages through some more books in the section she was in before, trying not to look at her father. She doesn’t mean to give him a cold shoulder, but she really thought tea would have gone better. How could he have asked such a rude and homophobic question to one of her dearest friends? She loves that Julian and Asra are together, they just make sense in an odd way. Now that she thought about it, Rhemi didn't remember the last time she heard anyone mock someone else’s sexuality. Here in Vesuvia, and in most places of the world for that matter, people are incredibly open-minded and don’t bat an eyelash when someone is attracted to the same sex or both—No one really cares! And neither should they. It’s no one else’s business honestly. 

Martin notices her silence and he walks over to where she is. “Well, Pigeon. Your er-ummm.….choices in friends are…. well… rather curious—”

“—Heads-up.” Rhemi knowingly interrupts, throwing down a book and Martin catches after a little fumble with a bit of shock.

With the room quiet yet again, he stares at her as she tries to ignore him for a while. The only sound being made is Beatrix’s sniffing and his daughter flipping through the pages then places a book back on the shelf.

Martin lets out a sigh, as he conjures his magic into his hand, making the book levitate in the air so he didn’t have to hold it. Feeling a little annoyed at the moment, he straightens his cravat on his neck and begrudgingly asks. “.... Something on your mind, Rhemielia?”

Rhemi then kicks the ladder making the wheels roll a few feet away to hunt for a few books in a different section.

Her father following her at the end of the ladder. “Rhemielia?” He repeats.

Finally she huffs heavily heartedly and replies. “... Père, you don’t ask those questions to people.”

Martin just looks up at his child and scoffs with a half grin. “.... And why not?”

“W-Well…. It’s just… ahhh— well....” Rhemi fumbles over her words as she continues to skim through the books looking for that particular subject about genetics. “...Despite his openness, Ilya might not want to converse to a stranger about his intimacy… No one ask you about your sex life. You shouldn’t just make assumptions about his—or any of my friends for that matter.”

Martin fidgets in his spot, unable to remember the last time someone talked to him like this. “Perhaps not, but my sex life didn’t involve another man, Rhemielia…. Forgive me for being intolerant, but it’s just not natural and disgusting-.”

“Disgusting to you perhaps! And how is it not natural?” Rhemi quickly responds with her nose in another book. “... Most herd animals spend their time with other males except for breeding season and engage in sexual activities. Nope… already read this one.” She quietly mutters that last part to herself as she returns the dud book back.

Martin’s brow starts to furrow as he stifles the rage in the pit of his stomach with the thought of that. He can’t believe his only child is defending such behaviors. But he keeps his feelings buried, but just barely. “Humans aren’t filthy animals, Rhemielia…. at least most aren’t... And I really don’t believe a conversation about copulation with my long lost daughter is appropriate—”

“Too late—” She adds, handing him another heavy book, and he makes it float in the air as she slides down the ladder and faces him very boldly. “If that's the case, then isn’t wearing shoes, or undergarments, or overly fancy capes made from dead worm cocoons also deemed ‘unnatural’?.”

“Rhemielia, I really do think this highly distasteful topi—” Martin suddenly stops, eyes wide in bewilderment realizing what she had just said. “I-.... I’m sorry, did you just say, ‘dead worm…. cocoons’?”

“Yes.” She says with a very as-matter-of-fact look on her face.

Martin just stares at her, completely confused and looks down at his expensive garment. “Wha—??”

Instantly, Rhemi grabs one of her books her father is floating in the air and quickly flips through the pages. “Do-too-doo…. Silkworms, silkwoooorms… Ah! Yes—Right here.” Rhemi then takes a hold of her father’s fancy cape and shakes it with one hand while handing her father an open book with the other. “... ‘Silk is made from inorganic fibers that are made from creatures called ‘silkworms’. They’re found in places such as Parka and Nopal and other northern places. Silk is harvested by the cocoon that the silkworm makes. The worms are boiled alive while incubating in a said cocoon, then the thread is extracted so it can be woven into fabric.’..” She points to the left page as she turns around. “It’s all on page 194, paragraph eight.”

Rhemi then pulls out a spare biscuit and gives it to the poor hungry badger. The happy little animal takes it and scarfs it down, she even allows Rhemi to pet her gently on the head some more, no hint of aggression or mistrust.

Bewildered and with squinting eyes, Martin hastily skims the paragraph then tilts his head. “Hmmm… Well… that’s ah, fascinating?... I…. I suppose—However…. I believe I fail to understand what this has to do with anything, my little Pigeon...”

His daughter turns back around dropping her shoulders, the look in her eyes are almost hurt. He can’t help but admire how much she looks like her mother right now. “....Those people you meet today are my friends, Père. Really good ones in fact. I see now that Charlès must not be as…open minded?—Like the rest of the world. But these are my friends. Asra and Julian are in love and I really do think they belong together. So, please, at least for my sake, be nice to them...”

“A rather steep request to ask when your friends have such terrible lifestyle choices. I don’t agree with, I don’t understand how you—”

“—That isn’t a choice, Father.” She interrupts, collecting the books out of the air and placing them onto the table next to Beatrix still licking her little claws clean. “... And you don’t have to understand it in order to respect it.”

“..... Rrrrrrrrrespect it?” He snootily sneer, both eyes half closed.

For one reason or another this expression on his face makes her uncomfortable. “Well… Yes… At least for me. They are all a huge part of my life.” She says. Then, rather dramatic and ominous pause starts to take residence in this tense conversation.

“.... Hmpf… My god what has that witch done to you?” Her father says as he shakes his head slowly.

The man’s icy teal eyes pierce Rhemi like a freshly sharpened blade and she feels it cut her to her core. Obviously what she said has upset him. The longer he stares the smaller and smaller she feels under his gaze. But this is about her friends after all. They are practically a part of her family and they have fought by her and Muriel’s side, the least thing she can do is stick up for them.

She pushes down her uneasiness and puffs out her chest like she always does when she needs the confidence. “I…. I think I’ve always been this way. Perhaps you just didn’t notice.”

Beatrix suddenly jumps off the table and hides underneath it abandoning her precious biscuit. And a strange, yet powerful tense energy fills the room. It feels like a low rumble almost like an earthquake, yet nothing in the room is shaking or rattling. But Martin’s cold eyes are fixed on his daughter, increasingly becoming more intimidating as he just glares, visually trying his best to keep himself from contorting his face in disgust.

At last his eyes leave his poor daughter and she can feel her body start to unclench as he glances to his gloved hands, clicking his tongue before speaking. “I fear that the sinful place has tainted you, my dear….” His face softens when his head lifts back up to look at her once again, a half fake smile on his face. “But, fear not, we’ll correct that in due time.”

Rhemi’s eyes flutter with that last comment almost afraid to ask. “....What do you—”

“—Oi! Rhemiiiiii!!” The large double doors creak open and Portia calls from the library entrance. “It’s four o’clock!”

“—OH! CRAP! I’m late again!” Suddenly Rhemi runs up to her father a quick hug and gives him a peck on the left cheek. She can feel his shoulder stiffen as she embraces him, taken back with her rather loving affection despite the tense conversation that was just had. But his face softens, icy glare deteriorates like snow melting away on a warm spring day as he hugs her back. “Sorry, I have to get back to the shop before five. I have a rheumatism potion I have to finish before a customer comes for it this afternoon.”

“Oh. I see. You’re a busy one I see...”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“.... Could I see you tomorrow then, perhaps for tea? I must attend a trading meeting after that, and I believe Portia… I believe it was?... She will be there too.”

“Oh…. umm, Y-yeah… Sure! That’s fine. That’ll be great.” Oddly, she’s unable to stop the feeling like she’s fibbing when she says that, her eyes avert towards the large stained glass windows.

Perhaps, tomorrow won’t be as bad as this afternoon… She thinks to herself. Yeah—He’s just not used to people who are different from him, that's all—Yeah!.... He just might need some more time, get to know them all. I’m sure he’ll come around... Realize that he’s wrong about them.

“See you tomorrow then.” As she turns to leave, Martin keeps a hold of her left wrist. She pulls it back instinctively, but her father squeezes even harder, almost too tightly.

“Rhemielia, my child?”

She cranks her head back around, that sincere and pleading expression returning to her father’s face. “...Aren’t you tired of brewing potions for mere pocket change?”

What? What kind of question is that? Puzzled at this question she tilts her head and asks, “.... I’m sorry?”

“Do you really want to be working all your life in that dusty little shop?”

For a moment she ponders on this thought. She never thought about it to be honest.

As Rhemi tugs her hand once again to take it back, thinking a little harder on what he asked. Yet, he doesn’t let go. In fact, his grip actually tightens around her wrist, and it starts to hurt her. Her face starts to bead sweat, her temples pulsate with twinges of pain yet again and she feels her stomach drop. “P-Père, you’re—you're hurting me.” She whimpers.

Blankly he slowly blinks, as if he didn’t hear her.

“P-Père?.... My wrist… You’re hurting it.”

Finally he glances to her small wrist before finally letting it go. “Ah… Ahem—My apologies, my sweet Pigeon.”

Once Rhemi's wrist is finally released, she stands there rubbing it a bit with her opposite hand. Her skin slightly stinging from his firm grip and the friction of the leather gloves. She didn’t like it when people held her too hard like that, it made her feel so uncomfortable, like she was vulnerable and weak. But she never felt her head ache like that before.

After the stinging dissipates, she places her hands to her side and she sheepishly replies, “.... Well… the shop me and Muriel’s livelihood. How else am I supposed to live?”

An entertained chuckle erupts from the Archmagister’s lips and Beatrix climbs his arm and rests across his shoulders. “Why, back home with me in Charlès of course. You’ll live much more comfortably there. I want you to rejoin the court… back with me.”

Lost for any words, Rhemi stands there feeling like an explosion had just gone off in her head. “Back home… to Charlès?” She repeats.

Her father adjusts his cane, making a faint clank while he straightens back up, puffing his chest out and nodding. “You’re conflicted I see. I half expected you would be. It is a rather bold question for me to ask when we’ve only been reunited for two short days….. Don’t worry, you don’t have to answer me now… just think about it, Rhemielia.”

“O-.... okay. I will.” Uncomfortably she replies, her head now spinning. Finally she shakes out of her own thoughts and smiles awkwardly. “Goodnight, Père… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, my little Pigeon…. Think about what I said.”

“I… I will….” She mumbles as she shuts the door leaving the Archmagister alone in the library with his familiar.

Beatrix sniffs the air cautiously. “Master angry at Pigeon?”

Martin takes a deep breath as he tries to stop his anger and magic from overflowing. “This is all Phara’s doing, Beatrix... That fucking cunt of a witch… Teaching my child such disgusting tolerance for filthy homosexual deviants. That’s precisely why the rest of the world is behind Charlès, Bea. They let perverted cock-sucking fools muck about and run things… this city was nearly all in ruins just a year ago. And that is all because of these fucking liberal fools...” 

Trying to calm his anger he takes one of the books Rhemi was reading through in his hands and it bursts into purple and green flames with his magic and he watches with gratification as it burns into dust.

“The world outside of Charlès is disgusting…..” He says picking up one of the books she was reading in disgust. “...It isn’t Rhemielia’s fault she doesn’t remember better… Surrounded by such books, people… and ideals about a backwards way of living. Deprived of morals or sensibility. I will just have to…. remind her of what the correct morals are.”

✨To be continued...

**April fools =P Sorry I had too! XD

Anyways! Thanks so much for reading my hot garbage! I hope you guys didn't mind the very very long chapter! 

For all you thirsty trash pandas, the smut will be next chapter *wink wink*

**Agrippa (the baker’s apprentice) belongs to @victorscribbles

[undeadvinyls]

Super late ask but- cam you tell us more about Glider? 👀👀👀👀 Yummy lore perhaps?

Oh yeah Of course totally!!! sorry i'm just always so so excited to share more stuff about my ocs!!

SOOO!

Main lore-

Glider was born in Venice, Italy in 1938 under the name Francesca Angelo. It makes her 30 in-game and 31-34 in comics.

She comes from a loving family of bakers and acrobats - Her mother is a baker and her father is a retired acrobat.

Because of her father, she loved acrobatics and gymnastics since she was a toddler. He never forced her. She admired him so so much and loved him a lot. Her mom meanwhile taught her baking, that's where her love to cook comes from! So yes, Glider's family was a very very loving one.

In her younger years, she would work in a lot of circuses and shows as an acrobat. She is incredibly talented when it comes to acrobatics. She even was a stuntman so she has a really rich background to her.

Her grandma though - the absolute rolemodel for her - would bloom in her the interest of flying machines and overall flying machinery. She even helped her craft her first hang glider (the same she uses now!), and it also helped her add some more interesting stuff to the circus shows she would take part in. The crowd was always amazed about the "Amazing Flying Francesca".

And because family matter to her the most - she always put them as her priority. So when there wasn't enough money in house, her mom's business was going down and her father got horribly sick, she decided to take the job as a mercenary of Mann.Co just so she could support her family. She always phones them and sends half of her remuneration.

Now some fun facts-

She's the second shortest merc in the team, she is just an inch taller than Engie.

She makes breakfasts, dinners and suppers for the team and she never complains about doing so. She loves doing it.

While she's extroverted, her best friend (and also boyfriend!) is the introverted Sniper. Opposites attract!

Even though she seems to be elegant and stuff, as she is, she still loves more sporty activites.

Iii think that's all i can think of so far! thank you sm for the question! <3

[themoomoorn]

Random Thot #46,853

I had a health exam for my upcoming new job and put my two weeks in for my current one, so I’m rewarding my neurodivergent ass-brain with this.  Sit tight and enjoy.

46,853: I’m half-convinced that Edelgard is like the Soul Series’ Alexandra sisters and daughter when it comes to her combat ability - or rather, lack thereof.  Unlike Claude, Dimitri, and Byleth, who all explicitly received combat training as children, Edelgard likely did not.  The tools given to her are what likely allow for her to fight at all - heck, they may even do a bit of the fighting for her.  How else can a noodle-armed womanlet like her wear all that armor and heft that axe?  

(Also, how the eff does this dress make clanking armor sounds when she walks in the game despite this dress having like no armor whatsoever)

To begin with, we have in-game factoids of her stat caps being the second highest in the game (390 when combined, with Cyril only beating her by 5 points due to his Aptitude skill), and she even has a magic cap that’s not only on-par with other magically-inclined units (72), but it’s actually better than some of them (Dorothea and Linhardt, who are both dedicated mage types, have caps of 61 and 66, respectively, while Manuela, who tends to get placed in Faith Magic-aligned classes despite being a hybrid unit, has a piddling cap 48).  She even has a quirky but feasible spell list for both magic types (Fire/Bolganone/Luna Lambda/Hades Omega for Reason, and Heal/Nosferatu/Recover/Seraphim for Faith, which is one of her banes, mind you).  I imagine this is the work of the experiments that gave her her version of the Crest of Flames - after all, the 2020 DREAM interview noted that the Hresvelg children were given a more “refined” version of the experiments the Ordelias had.  The refinement isn’t just reflected in-game with caps and magic too; Edelgard is also more robust in terms of health, whereas Lysithea is prone to bouts of weakness and illness.  In-game, she has poor Luck and Strength, and the single lowest HP cap of all the playable units at 48.  And while this one is admittedly conjecture, Edelgard doesn’t hint that her lifespan was drastically cut, as she gets to live a long life in all of her endings.  Even in her Crest-heavy ending with Hanneman or her healthcare-related ending with Manuela don’t mention that she had one or both of her Crests taken out.  Lysithea, on the other hand, is extensively motivated by the fact that she doesn’t have many years left, and it’s only in two endings (Lorenz, Balthus) where she’s able to live fairly long without removing her Crests; The rest either have her dying young or being able to live long only after her Crests are taken out.

Now what of her combat abilities?  Let’s turn to the source of where this silly thot came from.

For the uninitiated, Sophitia Alexandra, a fighter who’s been in the Soul Franchise since its very first game, did not grow up as a dedicated combatant like the other fighters - she was an ordinary baker living in Athens during the late 16th Century when Greece was part of the Ottoman Empire.  When she was bathing in a lake one day, she received a message from Hephaestus himself in that she has a divine destiny to destroy the cursed blade Soul Edge, and he gifts her with a divinely crafted short sword and shield in order to fulfill her mission.  While she does gain training in Athenian combat styles, a lot of her power and capabilities are tied to her weapon set, which are named the Omega Sword and Elk Shield.  Her younger sister Cassandra would follow suit in SoulCalibur II, actually going out of her way to steal the same holy armaments Sophitia used in Soul Edge and SoulCalibur I before getting her own specially empowered set.

(Sophitia Alexandra)

And Pyrrha, Sophitia’s daughter in SoulCalibur V, takes it to new heights.  Per a data book, the timid, mistreated Pyrrha has absolutely no combat experience, not even in self-defense.  While Sophitia and Cassandra were able to train themselves into formidable soldiers outside of their divine weapons’ influences, this is not true for Pyrrha.  If it were not for the sword and shield Pyrrha wielded (which is the same exact set Sophitia wielded before her passing), her clumsy attacks and timid guard stances would amount to ineffectual, useless flailing.  

(Info about Pyrrha’s fighting style from the SCV data book)

Back to the Egg.  Now it’s made abundantly clear that while Dimitri’s Jean Valjean-levels of raw strength heavily stem from his Crest, he’s also from the land where, in lieu of milk and honey, there’s extreme sports jock training in heavy armor in the dead of night with boulders for weights and weapon mastery.  Dimitri loves to train, and it’s a big aspect of his character.  The tritagonist of his route is also one of his combat trainers, and he’s done that job for three generations’ worth of Faerghus royalty, with his ending hinting that he keeps doing it for one more.  I imagine that even without the Crest of Blaiddyd, Dimitri would still be extremely strong and formidable, he’d just have to actually exert himself a little when saving some poor soul from a runaway cart.

(Just in case the savior imagery wasn’t clear enough with Dimitri, he even did lift a cart the way eventual saint Jean Valjean did in the book/musical)

Claude is far more in favor of covert combat, and his own Crest is more defensive than offensive, but he’s no slouch either, having had a renowned war general serve as his combat instructor since childhood.  He’s from a kingdom that, much like Faerghus, values the way of the warrior and prides itself on the strength of its people.  His hidden talent, tying to wyvern mastery, is in friggin axes, and he’s also shown to be adept enough with a sword at various points.  Plus there’s the fact that he was abused and mistreated by his Almyran family, complete with his father plopping him on a horse and making the horse ride off with him backwards with no safety net as a form of punishment - Claude tells Hilda that there was a “trick” in how he survived that.  As any horse jockey can attest to, you need raw muscle in every part of your body in order to really ride one, and I imagine that’s doubly true for your local albino wyvern that’s decked out in Ottoman visual puns.  Plus learning how to be crafty and protecting oneself more covertly undoubtedly contributed to his combat abilities too.

(I mean you’d have to be shredded if you can pull off the Parthian shot on a fucking flying dragon.  61 Strength cap my ass.)

Byleth, as we know, grew up as a mercenary to the point of detriment.  There’s no need to go into extensive detail as to how Jeralt sacrificed almost everything else in exchange for contributing to Byleth’s combat abilities without being abusive and cruel, but even if you took away Byleth’s self-insert aspects, they’d likely bear a passing resemblance to Rei Ayanami in terms of behavior and attitude - An intended vessel/Avatar for a divine being from one end; Conditioned for little more than combat from another end.  Kind of a gloomy picture before she starts to express herself better and actually bond with other people meaningfully.  

(At least she’s cute as a button.  Kinda like Rei.)

But where does that leave Edelgard?  It’s a big question mark.  There’s no mention of her growing up with any kind of combat training, unlike the other three.  Heck, if tea time, Crimson Flower, and Heroes quotes are anything to go by, Edelgard grew up living a carefree lifestyle prior to the Insurrection.  She got to stuff her face with sweets and play with teddy bears and both dote and be doted on by her siblings.  Being child number 9 in her current generation, combat training and political studies likely weren’t major priorities for her, and since it’s speculated that Ionius favored her mother, she was likely lavished and spoiled by him.  After all, he expresses grief for her specifically when she inherits the throne from him, not the rest of her siblings.    

(Even the official merchandise notes how childish Edelgard is)

(This is all after she literally kickstarts her war, by the way).

While there’s varying degrees of elaborate flair that the Lords all wield their weapons with, Edelgard’s regular strikes with an axe feel far less rigid and more informal, and she’ll spin around her axe like it’s some kind of prop.  Her default battle stance isn’t even remotely protective and quite impractical; Dimitri’s stance with a lance is both of these things, while Claude’s arrow-twirling is a real-life exercise that’s done to keep the wrist flexible.  While she does refine her axe skills come Part II, she’ll still do things like throw her massive shield ten feet in the air for a critical hit.

(Seriously what even is this why is your hand out like that)

There’s even some proof of this: In her study request for axes and heavy armor, Edelgard will even acknowledge that the only reason she can likely keep up and wear heavy armor at all is because of her Crests.  And unlike Dimitri and Claude, who can get lesson plans for their respective Hidden Talents once they’re mastered (Horse riding for Dimitri, axes for Claude), Edelgard doesn’t get a lesson plan for Reason Magic, which is her Hidden Talent, so she likely didn’t get any kind of formal education surrounding magic either.  

(She has a similar quote in Heroes that’s even more explicit about this.)

The closest hint we get in Edelgard maybe having a hint of training as a child is in her Supports with Ferdinand, and even then, there’s no clear cut hint noting that his failures in beating her were combat-based.  She’s able to one-hit KO him in their B Support, but it’s locked to Part II and at this point she’s been both riding on the power highs of her Crests along with actually taking combat seriously.  She even says that their difference in skill level isn’t that great.

(Should’ve used Swift Strikes, Ferdie)

What’s more, in addition to all of those enhancements, she not only spends a lot of Part I in a custom set of armor that only archaic technology from the Agarthans can make, but they also made her a custom Relic that’s tailor-made to her specifications.  The other Relics as well as the Sacred Weapons, being over a thousand years old, still require their wielders to train in order to wield them properly, and in the case of the Relics, their potential cannot be fully tapped into unless the wielder’s Crest matches the Relic they’re wielding.  There’s also that particular safety issue, per what happens with Sylvain’s brother Miklan.  But this is not the case with Aymr, which is brand new, has a mismatched Crest that doesn’t negatively affect Edelgard, and requires the Agarthan tech-compatible Agarthium to fix, not the Umbral Steel that’s used to fix both the Heroes’ Relics and other Crest Stone weapons like the Vajra-Mushti.  The Aymr’s specific Combat Art even emulates the oft-broken Galeforce skill from Awakening and Fates.  It feels like that Aymr in particular is the Edelgard what Hephaestus’ swords and shields are to the Alexandra family.  

Now I don’t really think that an Edelgard who’d be stripped of her Crest of Flames, the Amyr, or her special Flame Emperor armor, would be as hapless as Pyrrha would be without her mother’s sword and shield.  I imagine she likely started to do some kind of formal combat training once the experiments were done with, not just to kickstart her dreams of imperial conquest, but also to protect herself anyway after everything that happened; She’s also the only Hresvelg heiress of her generation left.  There’s also her natural Minor Crest of Seiros to consider.  But if you stripped all that away from her, then her ability to fight probably would come off as useless flailing to the other three more experienced combatants.  

All those cakes and that lack of muscle would at least catch up to her, anyway.

[daydreamindollie]

𝟙𝟘.𝟘𝟞.𝟚𝟘 ⏤𝙝𝙮𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙖𝙪

❥ hello again!

❥ so this is another imagine and possible multichapter fic/long oneshot inspired by an online manga

❥ it's called 'Milady Just Wants To Relax'

❥ so if any of you would like to give it a read - which I would highly recommend - please do :3

❥ this is unedited so please don't come after me about grammar and spelling, I just really wanted to get this out as soon as possible while I'm still inspired!

❥ Anyway~ I hope you enjoy!

✚          ✚          ✚

❥ you come from a family of mages. You're actually quite powerful with your magic but you're so powerful that many humans and other mages are seeking you out so as to try and convince you to work for them or do something for them.

❥ Some of their methods of requesting your assistance are pretty tame but there are also a considerable number that go beyond a knock at the door and a polite appeal to do something with appropriate, even outstanding, payment.

❥ Ironically, those that attempt to ask for the impossible rarely provide sufficient remittance.

❥ As a result, you and your family thought it best that you fake your own death and start a new life elsewhere, at a place where they themselves don't know so as to eliminate all potential risk of you ever being found again.

❥ You were able to successfully fake your death by pretending to die during a dangerous task that you were requested to do. Of course, since the people who 'asked' for the job to be done were the rudest, most disgusting people you had ever met, you didn't give them what they wanted by never returning to them and stealing what they were so desperate to have for yourself.

❥ It was the perfect opportunity for you. You delivered karma on those that deserved it whilst also acquiring the freedom you desperately wanted.

❥ Now, you reside at the border of the country, housing in a two-story, quintessential cottage where you are the host of a tea house on the ground floor, with the upstairs being your place of residence. It was a cute little place.

❥ The only thing that warranted any of your concerns was the fact that at the border, there is a lot of tension; there are multiple daily attempts at crossing the border by individuals or groups with intentions of invading the country.

❥ Thankfully, there was a group of seven hybrid mercenaries to patrol the border on a regular basis during times where attempts to cross over the border were the most predictable and opportune for the opposing side.

❥ So, although tensions were high, you knew you'd be safe, which only further expresses how ideal of a get-away place this little town was. Nobody would suspect you of being alive, let alone choosing to live in a place that was so dangerous should you have survived your mission.

❥ You had the hybrids to thank for the safety, however, it appeared as though those living in the town took their services for granted.

❥ Hybrids were fascinating creatures to you. With sharing the DNA of another animal, they themselves procure the strength of over ten men, enough to rip an ordinary human in two, even multiple, pieces.

❥ The majority of the population is led to believe that hybrids are, therefore, barbaric and dangerous and run away at the mere sight of them.

❥ Tales of the consequences humans face when mistakingly acting out against a Hybrid sends shivers down one's spines but you know better.

❥ At heart, they were still very much human. Their animal characteristics only seemed an additional accessory for them to utilise at will so it always irked you hearing people gossiping badly about them whilst walking around town. Many times, you hear of them being turned away at restaurants, cafes, bakeries, and many other stores.

❥ You can only guess that they have been wanting to eat proper meals at a decent place but end up getting turned away.  Shaking your head at the behavior of ungrateful humans, you hope that the hybrid mercenaries pay your newly opened tea house a visit despite you wanting very little attention. Hence why your advertising for its opening was very minimal.

❥ Despite being a very gifted mage/sorceress and being part of a prestigious family, you had always wanted to live a normal, calm, and happy life.

❥ To get away from the attention, stress, and pressures of being a part of the Damiani family, you developed a hobby of cooking to ease your worries. It always left you in good spirits, following the instructions of new recipes step by step and having the food turn out perfectly well. It was like alchemy but much more enjoyable since you could eat it right away and savor in the sweet taste of your hard work - even if the food you made was savoury.

❥ Eventually, your hobby made you crave a simpler life where you owned a quiet, comfortable cafe with not a lot but just enough customers to sustain your living. A place where your customers found comfort as well as yourself.

❥ As fate would have it, you were granted that wish. Now you were no longer Elana Damiani, the gifted daughter of Fauques and Othelia Damiani, the talent of the century in magic, sorcery, and alchemy but (Y/N) (Y/L/N) the beautiful, young tea house owner that found residence in the small town of Raoluire.

❥ You couldn't be happier and so, you named your tea house after that sentiment, 'Happier'.

❥ It was a place that you wanted people to feel merriment because that was what it made you feel and you wanted to share that feeling with all that walked through your tea house's door.

❥ As soon as you opened up your tea house, you were more popular than you had ever anticipated but you suppose it was inevitable. Seeing the demographic of your regular customers, you quickly realised that they weren't there for the quaint and cosy atmosphere, but instead, for you.

❥ In truth, they were shameless in admitting the fact.

❥ "You're so beautiful, of course, I would regularly come here~" one of your regulars commented. He was the local baker's eldest son. You had, at first, assumed his regular visits were his way of starting a business partnership between you and the bakery. You had read about businesses sharing each other's profits through certain means that benefit both sides, in your case, it would be having the bakery's goods sell in your cafe as a way of advertising their products whilst their bakery spoke about your tea house as well as display posters of your business on their windows or walls.

❥ It would have been the perfect partnership but you suppose that that wasn't what had preoccupied their minds.

❥ The flattery wasn’t new to you so you handled yourself well enough around the flirtatious men vying for your constant attention. This attention, they had learned could only be achieved through ordering more food and drinks so that was what they did.

❥ Business at your tea house was booming as a result.

❥ However, that meant that you were always on your feet and didn’t have much time for yourself to relax and, possibly, read a good book. That was what you had really wanted after starting your new life - some peace and quiet - but you suppose a good business can’t be something you turn away.

❥ The only additional problem was the rotten looks some village women sent your way whenever you would go to the markets to buy fresh ingredients every day. You made an effort to dress as plain and dull as possible so as to attract less attention but that only seemed to make things worse.

❥ “Even though you dress so humbly, you’re as beautiful as ever, aren’t you (Y/N)?~” the baker’s son commented after directing you towards where they usually buy their supply of flour, sugar, and any other baking necessity.

❥ “Th-thank you,” there was nothing you could do but bashfully accept his compliment before heading off on your own once again using his directions as you avoided the sneers of antagonistic women around you.

❥ Of course, not all women were like this, many of the elderly favoured you actually. It was for your polite nature, kindness and thoughtfulness towards them. However, many times, they were also trying to convince you of your compatibility with their son or grandson.

❥ You didn’t give them a direct answer of rejection but you avoided that topic as much as possible.

❥ Nevertheless, despite the lows, there were also highs. Even though you were no longer the renowned mage/sorceress, you never lost touch with your magic, which you were grateful for, but that was only so running your tea house by your lonesome was easier.

❥ While you were tending to customers, your kitchen and utensils were occupied with cooking up the orders you collected at the front of house. It was then your job to finish the plating of the dishes once you made your way back to the kitchen again.

❥ Overall, things were going better than you expected. At first, you thought people would have begun suspecting you of being from a noble family as they always commented that your appearance and mannerisms rival an aristocrat but you supposed that was just mere flattery.

❥ Thank goodness

❥ It’s almost been two months and banter at your tea house was as raucous as usual. At first, it was an overwhelming atmosphere but you were quick to adapt to it.

❥ However, gasps of shock sped through the tables at the tick of half-past two in the afternoon. The second of absolute silence was curious but what was more intriguing was the sudden exiting of your customers. Their frantic escape was like a tidal wave that extended from a tsunami.

❥ “Thank you for the coffee, (Y/N), here’s the bill!”

❥ “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

❥ They had made their escape so swiftly that you were left still trying to process everything that happened in what felt like half a second. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the stupefying bewilderment before turning around at face the doorway, where your eyes met those of a hybrid mercenary.

❥ “I apologise for your loss of business,” the wild cat apologised with little remorse, his voice monotone.

❥ It took you a moment but you’re eventually flashing him a wide smile, “Welcome to the Happier Tea House, will it just be you today? Let me clear up a seat for you.” you chatter happily, “Would you like to sit anywhere in particular?”

❥ As you tilt your head, blinking with smiling eyes at Yoongi, he was sent into a daze of astonishment.

❥ Were you really willing to allow a hybrid into your cafe? That’s a first…and with such a welcoming smile and greeting too. This had to be some sort of dream.

❥ “Um…sir?” you even addressed him so politely as well. Usually, greetings from humans were dubbing him and his kin as ‘savages’, ‘abominations’, ‘barbarians’, and the like. Not only that but you had to be the most beautiful human girl he had ever seen.

❥ “I’m sorry, once again,” Yoongi bowed and voiced with real guilt this time. Usually, he wasn’t bothered about his apology but made an effort to do so each time despite knowing the mistreatment he’d be faced with.

❥ “There’s nothing to be sorry about, sir. Let me go and get you a menu,”

❥ With a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, Yoongi pointed your attention towards a partially cold latte a customer had left in their rush to leave the vicinity, “It’s alright, I’ll just have that. What is it?”

❥ “I-It’s called a latte, I’ll get one made for you right away,”

❥ “No no, I’ll just have that one,” Yoongi then went and brought the mug to his lips and took several sips before flicking a gold coin at you with his thumb.

❥ Catching the coin in clumsy hands, your jaw dropped as you immediately went to protest, “th-this is far too much-!”

❥ “Don’t worry. My presence cost you your earnings for the rest of the afternoon. I apologise,” as you went to protest once more, Yoongi had already turned his back towards you and left.

❥ It was at that moment at you registered that he would be one of the hybrid mercenaries hired to patrol the border. It was strange how his tone was turned on its head after your greeting but you hope he’ll return soon so that you’d be able to serve him good food and drink properly.

❥ For now, you’ll have to deal with the leftover orders and cleaning up. Thankfully, your magic made the clean up much easier and faster. You thought your regular customers would be back after an hour, at minimum, however, you were proven wrong after the third hour had passed.

❥ It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as you could finally get to reading a good book and relaxing in peace until the very late evening, however, it really made you think.

❥ Were humans really that fearful of hybrids? It was a ridiculous fear to have. The hybrid that had arrived that afternoon was very polite and even compensated you for lost business. It worried you the way they were being treated in this small town despite being the mercenaries that were responsible for protecting it.

❥ It took a lot of tenacity and self-restraint to take such discrimination and continue doing the job they were doing.

❥ Your heart ached with sympathy and admiration for the hybrid and his group but, as a result, you were filled with determination to serve them well should they ever enter your tea house doors again.

❥ “I could use some good food right now,” Jungkook groaned as the others made a sound of agreement.

❥ “But you know no restaurant is fond of allowing hybrids in through their doors, let alone providing their service.” Namjoon reasoned with a shake of his head.

❥ At the end of a hard day’s work, even though they can cook, they sometimes sustain injuries from being out on the field and so can’t cook for themselves. Additionally, even if they’re at their cramped home, they never feel truly safe as their hybrid senses are always making them aware of the hostility the townspeople have towards them.

❥ This was how they lived, even from a very young age so they should already be used to such treatment but that’s just never the case. It was undeniable, their desire to be accepted into society and treated fairly for once.

❥ “You know…” Yoongi’s voice cut through their grumbles of disappointment, “there’s a new tea house that opened a month or two ago,”

❥ “Oh yeah!” Jimin perked up, “Didn’t you already visit that place, Yoongi-hyung?”

❥ “Yeah, and,” Yoongi looked at their hopeful faces with a small smile, “I think the owner would be willing to serve us something,”

❥ It took a week until the cat hybrid arrived at your tea house door once again but this time with the rest of his team as well. Of course, the same scuffle to exit as quickly as possible and avoid the hybrids happened once again with your customers - thankfully, they all paid before leaving, shouting their goodbyes as they exited.

❥ “Welcome to The Happier Tea House,” you greeted right away, accustomed to the rushed exit of all your previous customers, “Party of seven?”

❥ It came as such a complete shock to them (well, except for Yoongi) that such a beautiful and young tea house owner was greeting hybrids so kindly without a second glance at your retreating customers. Truly, this was the first time that they felt guilt for causing a cafe owner to lose business because of their presence.

❥ “S-sorry about this,” Namjoon coughed as he blushed in apology, not expecting the kind smile directed at him.

❥ “It’s not your fault they decided to run off,” your eyes softened with an unknown warmth that Namjoon and the other six hybrids couldn’t take their stare away from, “they could have very well stayed had they wanted to,”

❥ After handing over some menus, you left them to chose what they wanted. Seeing as yours wasn’t a regular cafe, your menu was quite diverse and left you a reason to leave them to decide their orders for longer as you prepared a good book for the afternoon once more.

❥ With time, they finally gave you their order to which you noted down swiftly before making your way to the kitchen. You got their drinks ready for them first as you cast a charm to have your utensils cook their meals once again.

❥ “Here you go,” you set down their drinks with a smile as their curious gaze at you persisted.

❥ It was certainly a pleasant surprise to be welcomed with such open arms.

❥ “I can’t believe this,” Hoseok, the red fox hybrid whispered in awe, somewhat breathless as Yoongi nodded along.

❥ “And she’s so beautiful too,” Jimin grinned beside Taehyung and Jungkook who hummed in agreement.

❥ “We lucked out that she decided to make business here,” Namjoon agreed with a gentle smile weighed down with his fatigue.

❥ “I just can’t wait until we finally eat real food,” Seokjin’s dreamlike trance for the upcoming food was a mutual sentiment. It had been so long since they had a warm, home-cooked meal that could really fill their stomachs with enjoyment.

❥ It took you quicker than they expected but they were grateful, their stomach had been rumbling but they could also feel themselves falling victim to their fatigue and border on sleep as their exhausted bodies relaxed into your soft, wonderfully scented cushions and chairs.

❥ “I’m sorry it took so long,” you apologised with a timid smile. They would have assured you of being timely had they been in a better state of health but they were practically drooling just from the smell so you let them eat their meal as you smiled and tucked yourself away at the back with your book.

❥ Almost an entire hour had gone by before you were pulled away from the world your fictional book had confined you in.

❥ “Um, miss owner,” a bashful snow-coloured lynx called for your attention as he leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the main area.

❥ “Y-yes?” you stuttered in surprise as Jimin gave you a look of apology.

❥ “I’m sorry but is it alright if my friends and I stay for longer? Most of them had fallen asleep,” he looked embarrassed but your reassuring smile made him awe at you.

❥ “Don’t worry, stay for as long as you like,” your eyes crinkled in happiness, “you’re all pleasant to have as customers,” you weren’t lying. They weren’t rowdy or flirtatious or ordered you around too much just to get your attention. They had manners and carried themselves like true gentlemen, the complete antithesis of how they were portrayed on peoples’ tongues.

❥ “Even so, we shall pay you extra for your stellar service and generosity,” Jimin grinned widely, placing several gold coins on the counter before making his way back to his teammates, leaving you no place to protest.

❥ With a sigh and a smile, you peered over the corner and smiled all the more at the sight you were greeted with.

❥ Even though the lynx hybrid had been awake and grinning moments ago, he was fast asleep now, leaning into a tiger’s shoulder as the black jaguar you had first met leaned into the sofa chair with folded arms beside them.

❥ It seemed everyone was asleep now.

❥ In an act of kindness, you went to your room and pulled out several blankets to drape over their slumbering forms. After doing so, you set about quietly decluttering the area using your magic. They had cleaned the plates of their meals, which made you grin because those were your recipes, and so you were smiling for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

❥ Thankfully the magic you used kept you from making any noise that would disturb their light siesta. This would be your thanks for their hard work out at the borders. And you would continue to thank them in this way every time they came to your teahouse.

❥ “I’m worried about the tea house owner,” Jungkook mused one day. Although refreshed from your hospitality and amazing food, he couldn’t help the worry plaguing his thoughts.

❥ “I agree,” Jin elaborated with furrowed brows and pushed down bear ears, further expressing his concern, “she is a young lady that’s not only polite and kind but extremely beautiful,” his comrades nodded beside him, remembering your external but also internal beauty, “she’s also alone in a town with many vicious men,”

❥ “She’ll need protection,” Hoseok suggested.

❥ “Our protection,” Yoongi nodded to everyone in the team before they all looked towards their canine leader, Namjoon, who laughed.

❥ “It’s not as if I’m going to say no,” he gave a nod of approval, “I worry for her too. She is in a vulnerable position.”

❥ “It’s decided then!” Jimin clapped in glee, eagerness bubbling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of meeting you again as soon as possible.

❥ “Let's not get ahead of ourselves though,” Taehyung reasoned as another concern fabricated itself in his mind, “we’ll have to be subtle about it or else she’ll lose even more business because of us.”

❥ With a sigh, Jimin nodded, “You’re right,”

❥ If they visit you too often, you’ll end up losing customers and profit. Yes they had the money to pay you compensation for lost business but you needed to interact with other humans or else you’ll end up isolated. Not to mention, they had their own patrols to make.

❥ “Subtle protection it is then,” Hoseok grinned, never one to let any negativity into his heart, “we’ll take turns watching over her from the background. One for every day of the week.”

❥ “Like undercover guards?!” Jungkook beamed in excitement, being a mercenary had been a delight at first but that thrill had died quickly with the unrelenting prejudice of humans.

❥ Protecting ungrateful individuals didn’t leave much excitement in Jungkook’s stomach. This, however, was an entirely new type of elation. He was protecting someone that cooked him good food, served delicious drinks, and draped blankets over him and his family.

❥ He’s sure all of them were more than willing to set their lives down on the line for the one human that had shown them the genuine kindness and acceptance they have been covertly earning for many years.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, JEM! You’ve been accepted for the role of STRENGTH with the faceclaim of MICHIEL HUISMAN. I think you best stated it yourself -- Roland is kind and cruel in equal measure, willing to break the tenets of his own moral code for a little bit of kingdom. I found myself drawn to him in a way I wasn’t expecting, which is exactly what I wanted for a character like Strength; in spite of his constant contradictions and struggles with the work he’s doing and his willingness to acknowledge he might have been led astray by Septimus, he’s still real. Still fathomable on the larger scale. He has the potential to be a real power player with the Sons of Argos in his hands, and I’m more than excited to see how things play out with the plots you’ve provided and concepts you’ve so kindly shown here!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC

NAME: Jem.

PRONOUNS: She/her.

AGE: 26.

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST. I’d say my activity level is about a 6/10! My work schedule is a little wonky right now, but I always try to carve out some time for writing, and I’m usually able to crank out replies consistently throughout the week.

ANYTHING ELSE? Not a thing!

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Strength.

NAME: Roland Alexander Bishop.

FACECLAIM: Michiel Huisman (1st preference) or Can Yaman (2nd preference).

AGE: 33.

DETAILS: I fell in love with about 10 different skeletons before it dawned on me that Strength is, in fact, my one an only!!!!!! I’m so completely fascinated with the dichotomy of Roland’s character. He’s somehow kind and cruel in equal measure, a man of conscience willing to break his moral code for the right price. With no parents to speak of, he raised himself by virtue of naught but teeth-bared survival, and he’s carried that instinct for perseverance with him well into his adulthood in a way that I think has perhaps blurred the lines of what he believes to be right and wrong, or at least blurred his willingness to cross those lines. I wouldn’t say he’s altogether without integrity, because his stomach yet turns when buries his dagger hilt-deep in the belly of the King’s enemies, but his moral compass certainly isn’t working the way it used to these days. He’s whip-smart, too (he must be to have assembled a legion of Tyrholm’s nastiest, most ruthless bastards and foster loyalty and obedience among them). By that same token, though, he’s prone to foolishness in the face of profit. A boy raised by the street urchins of Tyrholm knows better than to trust kings, and had he used his head to consider his contract with Septimus, and not his deep-running pockets, he surely would’ve seen all that gold for what it really was: a gilded cage. Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that’s gold glitters. Here we have him, then: a man kind and cruel, bound by integrity and bound by greed, moral and immoral, clever and foolish. A ruffian mercenary who’s now finds himself under the King’s thumb. An avaricious profiteer who will do almost anything for the right price, but a fair and just leader devoted to his men. A self-made king of Tyrholm’s rapscallions and reprobates, but a servant to a King with no principles to speak of. He’s a living, breathing paradox, always walking a fine line between two versions of self. But in Septimus’s Tyrholm, there’s no room for fair-weathered allies, and if Roland plans on terminating his contract with the King, it’ll be a bloody affair. He didn’t exactly read the contract’s fine print, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to honor a treaty with a King whose head in his a basket, right?

BACKGROUND:

He never knows his parents. His mother leaves him on the stoop of a small temple in Hightown when he’s a babe. An Emissary finds him, and for some time, he’s looked after by acolytes of the Undying. They’re kind, mostly, from what he can remember, but he never takes to faith the way they all hope he will, and as soon as he’s old enough to run, he does—he runs far, far away, straight into the underbelly of Lowtown.

The streets of Lowtown raise him, and later in life, when he’s asked about his heritage, he’ll say that Tyrholm is his mother, and she may well be, for the man he is today is due in full to her lessons.

The seaport town raises him brutally, with an iron fist. He’s a boy with only ten years of life on him, lean and fresh-faced, when he takes to the streets of Lowtown, and in his first months of independence, he’s so gaunt that you can see each divot of his ribs, and he counts them over and over again to pass the time. He’s a fast learner, a living, breathing study in survival, and he realizes in no time at all that he’ll have to earn his right to life.

He does just that. He watches the other street-dwellers, men and women of all ages and shapes and sizes, each hungrier than the last. Some fight for coin. Some beg. Some dance. Some sing arias. Some charm snakes. Some sell looted treasure, others sell their bodies. Roland watches them all, tries to map out a viable plan of action for himself. He tries his hand at magic tricks, but his sleights of hand are nowhere as advanced as the smoke and mirrors of the veteran illusionist that performs at high noon every day at the marketplace. He tries fighting, next, and he’s good at that, even at a young age, but he’s skinny, weak from hunger, and he spends what little coin he wins on herbs and medicines from the local botanist to patch himself back up. Theft is his next venture—he’s a natural. He has good, quick hands that dart in and out of pockets less intrusively than a dove’s feather carried on a springtime breeze, deft and steady. For a few years, this sustains him. He loots coin, jewels, and treasures of all sort straight from pockets and purses and holsters, and he never gets caught.

When he’s fourteen, he steals a dagger straight from the belt of a fisherman selling his catch at the docks. The hilt is carved from ivory, and the blade shines like molten moonlight beneath the dawning sun. It’ll sell well, he thinks, only… He likes it. It feels nice in the palm of his hand, lightweight enough for a fourteen-year-old to wield with no trouble at all, and he spends the next week twirling it between his fingers, sharpening it against sea-worn rocks, practicing parlor tricks. He finds he has otherworldly aim, and he hits every target, from sandbags to trees to peaches to peach pits. And so, like any man well-versed in the trade of survival, he takes his Undying-given talent and turns a profit from it. He begins performing in Lowtown’s streets, and word of the boy who can slice a pomegranate in half midair while blindfolded spreads like wildfire.

They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and it isn’t long before the devils come crawling out of every corner of Lowtown in search of Roland’s hands, eager to lay claim to a boy who will no doubt make a fine weapon to be used at their discretion. A boy young enough to appear unassuming to targets and old enough to get his hands dirty. The first to find him is a headhunter named Argos, a surly bastard with scar that stretches from his left temple all the way down to the right corner of his mouth, ugly and red. The look of him makes Roland tremble, and years later, he’ll laugh at his boyish fear of a man beloved to him, a man kinder and with thrice more heart than any of the pretty-faced, rosy-cheeked nobles Roland had ever robbed.

By the grace of the Undying, Argos takes him under his wing before any of the other leeches can latch onto him. Roland isn’t a particularly religious man, but he thinks, sometimes, that maybe the Undying is real, and that maybe she does favor him, because he can think of no other reason why he was delivered into the hands of Argos, and not any of the other ghouls of Lowtown who would surely have preyed on his inexperience and whittled him into a fine weapon with an expiration date of five, maybe six more years. As it is, Argos teaches him to kill just the same as all the others would have, but he teaches him how to kill honorably, quickly. He teaches him to respect life and death in equal measure, and he warns him that what he takes from the world, he must give back to it twice over. He teaches him how to fight well and how to fight dirty. He teaches him how to fight with his hands bound, with his eyes blindfolded. He introduces him to the Warrior’s Guild, where Roland’s career as a mercenary begins.

He does as he was taught, and he gives twice over for every life he takes. In spite of the dirty work he does, humility and honor flourish impossibly within him like a garden of desert roses in dead, dry soil. He donates a portion of his coin to brothels, street performers, pickpockets—the lowliest of Lowtown, those without places and people to call home, those who can’t put a name to the feeling of love. He never forgets his roots, and though he earns his weight in gold, enough to leave Lowtown and never look back, enough to dress himself in the wares of a proper Hightowner, he never leaves. Lowtown, the Warrior’s Guild, the docks, the street urchins, the baker’s son who sneaks him scraps of burnt bread, Argos—these are all home.

He’s twenty when Argos dies on a job gone wrong, and as the underwolders of the Warrior’s Guild and Lowtown mourn the death of Argos, a night king in his own right, beloved by those who love naught, they turn to Roland with expectant eyes. Roland, the boy who Argos affectionately called “Bullseye.” Roland, the boy who Argos raised to kill well, and meaningfully. Roland, the man, now, who Argos preened to inherit his legacy, to lead the mischief-makers and nightmare-makers, to protect Tyrholm’s underworld. And so he does.

It’s no easy feat, to be sure, wrangling a group of soldiers of fortune, kingslayers, outcasts, thieves, killers. But Roland is stubborn in his determination, and he works tirelessly to weed out the evil; to foster trust between himself and the good; to create a legion of Lowtown’s meanest bastards and make something special of them. Leadership becomes him. His humility, a rare quality in Tyrholm, and his charisma inspire ironbound devotion from a breed of people who know nothing of loyalty. He’s fair and kind in equal measure, and the men and women of the Warrior’s Guild take to him like the drape of midnight sky takes to the north star. For all of Roland’s goodwill, his ruthlessness is never forgotten. A killer is a killer is a killer, and those who mistake his kindness for weakness learn well that his honor knows some bounds. He goes to great lengths to instill that same notion of honor in his host of mercenaries, and he teaches them the same lessons that were taught to him. He teaches them to kill quickly, cleanly, and honorably, and he teaches them to give the same way that Argos taught him to. They resist, in the beginning, as all creatures of habit do, but in the end, they become a fine brood of noble killers, if such a thing exists. They’re vicious bastards, all of them, but they learn to respect life and death in equal turn. In his mentor’s honor, he calls his troop of sellswords the Sons of Argos, and in no time at all, Roland and the Sons are notorious for the dirty work they do—and how well they do it.

Roland and the Sons of Argos become so notorious, in fact, that word of Tyrholm’s them reaches King Septimus himself, and he promptly offers Roland a deal that he ought to refuse. He doesn’t. Greed and the promise of prosperity for the future generations of the Sons blind him, and the moment the ink on the contract dries, dread washes over him, and he can nearly picture Argos rolling over in his grave, fixing him with that look of grim disappointment he used when he was displeased with Roland.

In the beginning, the King’s assignments aren’t so bad. Roland and the Sons are asked to tie up loose ends, eliminate political threats, clear out bandits. Easy. Roland obliges, and the dirty work he and the Sons do is immaculate. But the King’s orders grow bleaker as time passes, and soon enough, Roland can hardly sleep through the night without waking from nightmares of his own making: screams that could crack glass, the sound of weeping broken up by choppy sobs, enough blood on his hands to fill up the Sahrnian. You must give twice over what you take from this world, Argos had told him, and he’s beginning to feel the weight of a debt long overdue. He’s taken so much, lately, life after innocent life, and his moral compass whirs in protest every time he plunges his dagger into the belly of an enemy not his own.

PLOT IDEAS:

Roland breathes and bleeds for the Sons of Argos, and there’s little—no, there’s nothinghe won’t do to protect his legion, even if that means compromising his honor. The Sons of Argos is his legacy, his life’s making, and he’ll sell his soul to highest bidder to ensure the continued prosperity of his ragtag battalion. It’s why he signed the King’s contract, and it’s why he yet serves the insufferable oaf. The coin Septimus funnels into his pockets is enough to sustain the Sons for generations, and not even Roland’s stalwart honor could sway his resolve to preserve the Sons. But a life bought and owed is not a life worth living, and Roland has learned well the cost of servitude. He’s spent the last decade assembling a group of fine men and women, teaching monsters the rite of nobility, preaching the gospel of life, taking and giving it. Nothing in this world is as beloved to him as the Sons, and he’ll be damned if stands by idly and watches Septimus sic Roland’s lot of honor-bound sellswords on his enemies like a pack of rabid dogs. The Sons of Argos are a proud brood of beasts; they are not pawns to be used to wage and win the King’s infantile wars. Septimus thinks he’s bought the Sons’ loyalty, but he’d do well to remember that loyalty bought can be outbid. Loyalty earned, contrariwise, is everlasting, Roland has earned enough of the Sons’ loyalty to last lifetimes. The Sons of Argos may well serve Septimus, but it’s Roland they’ve sworn an oath to; it’s Roland they answer to, it’s Roland they kill for, and it’s Roland they bend a knee to. Should the benefits of revolting against Septimus ever outweigh the benefits of serving him, it will take only a look from Roland to rally his Sons of Argos against the King.

Do you know who’s good at rebellion? A man who’s spent years squashing the very notion of it. Since the beginning of his arrangement with Septimus, he and the Sons have been charged with eliminating uprisings of all sorts. Some fires have been more difficult to put out than others, some rebellions have been organized better than others, and some have been led by insurgents quicker and braver than others. Roland’s well-acquainted with the many shades of revolt in Tyrholm, and I’d say that makes him a damned good asset in the bid to overthrow Septimus, wouldn’t you? Roland and his Sons are a hell of wildcard if ever there was one, and as the revolters of Tyrholm begin to coalesce, they’d do well to entreat the Sons’ Captain. Let us not forget what happened to Agamemnon’s army when the King of Mycenae waged war without Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Roland, for all his vulgar mannerisms and bold-as-brass behavior, isn’t stupid. He knows he’s sitting on a small goldmine made up of The Hanged Man’s secrets—he just hasn’t decided what to do with that particular treasure trove just yet. Roland is uncannily good at playing his hand close to his chest, and he thinks he’ll wait this one out a little longer before he shows the head servant his royal flush. Perhaps he’ll reveal what he knows and use it to leverage The Hanged Man as a resource. Perhaps he’ll take the information he’s filed away and sell it to the highest bidder. He’s not sure yet, but for The Hanged Man’s sake, he hopes the poor bastard folds soon, because Roland doesn’t think they’re very good at playing this game.

Conscience, thy name is Judgment. It’s strange, really, the way the Cleric amplifies all that goodness in Roland tenfold, in turn amplifying all the guilt that goodness births when compromised. His conscience has never been particularly content with the dirty work Septimus pays him and the Sons handsomely to do, but ever since he began attending Judgment’s sermons, his remorse has made a home in the marrow of his bones. He knows what he’s doing isn’t just or good, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s Judgment who makes him feel the truth of it all, every grain of it, and he finds himself growing sick with guilt these days. You wouldn’t think a Cleric has much pull in the dawn of a war on the horizon, but it’s Judgment who has Roland’s ear, and it’s Judgment who’s beginning to make Roland wonder if, perhaps, a revolution would make for a fine penance, coin and contract be damned.

There’s a reason the moon and sun never share the sky at the same time, and there’s a reason Roland and The Fool don’t often share a room at the same time. It’s not that Roland has no respect for the King’s Captain of the Guard, because he does, but cleaning up The Fool’s messes and tying up the loose ends of their army’s incompetence is getting old, quick. Still, the sun shines favorably on The Fool, paints them in the gold of heroism and leaves Roland and his Sons to bask in the muted silver of moonlight. The Sons of Argos are in this for gold, not glory, so he doesn’t terribly mind The Fool and their men acting as frontmen and taking undue credit for the dirty work Roland and the Sons do, but the bastard has the audacity to parade around Castle Tyrholm like they’re the Undying’s gift to man. It’s only a matter of time until the tension between the pair of captains comes to a head, and when it does, Roland is sure the fallout will be catastrophic, with far-reaching repercussions. A pity, really, because if The Fool could swallow their pride and Roland could swallow his prejudice, they could do great, terrible things together.

CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, absolutely!

WRITING SAMPLE

He dreams of his life’s small joys. He dreams of poppy fields in southern Tyrholm and figs stolen from the sweet shop next to the bakery in Lowtown. He dreams of the smell of sea salt, the sound of low tide crashing against black shale rock. He dreams of the baker’s boy, who used to sneak him scraps of burnt bread when he was naught but a half-starved child. He dreams of the boy’s kind smile, and his impossibly kinder eyes: one brown, one blue. He dreams of Argos, how the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he’d laugh at Roland, face warm with a rare fondness seen once, maybe twice in a lifetime. He dreams of the Sons, the lot of them gathered in this brothel or that tavern, heads thrown back as they all boom a chorus of boisterous laughter that draws more than one sidelong glance. He dreams of JUDGMENT, the way their voice rolls like the drip of warm honey, sounds something like absolution, atonement. He dreams of a time when he was proud of the man he was, of the work he did, even the dirtiest of it, because it was done meaningfully, with honor.

He wakes with a start, and the world returns to him in pieces, slowly. First light filters dimly into the barracks, and he huffs a quiet sigh as pushes himself up into a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his cot. The Sons sleep soundly around him, and here, like this, they look nearly…peaceful. Roland catalogues the memory and stores it somewhere in his mind it won’t soon be forgotten. The rest of Castle Tyrholm, save for those of the King’s Guard working night patrol, won’t rise until sunup, at the earliest, but Roland’s always been a bit of a bastard when it comes to the Sons’ unforgiving schedule. They’re welcome to fight and fuck and drink their weight in ale until the moon sets, but come dawn, the day’s work begins. A fair trade-off, if you ask Roland (and one that inspires good behavior without Roland having to explicitly enforce it).

Soundlessly, Roland reaches over to the bunk next to his and gives Galen, his most trusted lieutenant bar none, a solid smack on the cheek. “Up.” The command is quiet, but it carries the weight of a king’s authority all the same.  Brow pinches, Galen opens his eyes halfway and makes a vulgar gesture at Roland, who only laughs. “Fuck off,” Galen hisses as he turns half of his face back into the plush bedding of his cot, one eye closed and one trained on Roland. “Fuck off…?” Roland prompts, crooking his forefinger expectantly in a silent come on gesture. Galen rolls his one open eye. “Fuck off, Captain,” he amends. A low, throaty chuckle rumbles somewhere deep in Roland’s chest. “Better. Get dressed and gather the lot. His Grace has a job for us.” The way Roland says “His Grace” doesn’t sound particularly blasphemous, but Galen, who knows him so well, will surely have no trouble at all undressing the resentment that manifests in the way his lips curl hatefully around the King’s title. Galen passes him a long-suffering look, and Roland returns it empathetically, but they say no more on the subject. Roland dresses quickly and stands to leave, and Galen salutes him with his middle finger, but he nonetheless complies, and he, too, makes fast work of dressing.

The Dining Hall is… Well, it is as it always is. The Sons, loud and full of life even in the early hours of first light, earn more than one glare from other guests in the Hall. They’re outsiders, here, cawing ravens flying among a flock of singsong blackbirds, and the good people of Castle Tyrholm never let Roland or his Sons forget it. They don’t belong here, and as Roland catches dual sets of narrow eyes fixed on him, one belonging to THE HANGED MAN and the other belonging to THE FOOL, he wonders if they ever will. He doesn’t particularly care, so he tosses THE HANGED MAN a sly wink, and for THE FOOL, he presses his index and middle fingers against his lips and blows him a kiss. Neither seem particularly impressed with his flip, decidedly Lowtown behavior, but he cares not. Some things in this world are absolute. The sun rises each day, the sky is blue, and Roland Bishop will never balk in the face of judgment. He is as sure of the man he is as the Clerics are of the Undying. He will never waver from his spirit, his honor, his nature, and he will never know the shame of others. He is the legacy of Argos and Lowtown, a good man and a good city, in his estimation, and though he’s not always proud of the things he does, he is proud of the man he is, and he’s prouder yet of the legion he’s created. Wolves don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep, and the Sons of Argos don’t lose sleep over the opinions of a fucking cook and a Guard-Captain whose track record leaves something to be desired.

The meal is a quick one, and Roland thinks fortune might favor him today, because the Sons enter and exit the Dining Hall without brawling with any of the King’s Guard, and by the time the sun has fully risen, Roland and his men are well underfoot. They travel by horse to the northernmost point of the farmlands, where the King’s Spymaster has evidently caught wind of a budding rebellion. Roland stopped wondering long ago if there’s any truth to the Spymaster’s claims at all, or if THE DEVIL spoon-feeds the King lies just to keep the tyrant of their back.

Their journey is short, and so is the battle (if you can even call a massacre a battle) that ensues. It’s violent and bloody, but the Sons are trained for this brand of dirty work, and their victory is swift. At the end of it all, only one remains: the leader of what was a poorly organized coup that never stood a chance against the King and his cronies.

“He’s inside the barn,” Galen says as Roland kneels to push down the eyelids of a boy of no more than fifteen years. Roland doesn’t have to look up to know that Galen’s face is grim, and neither does he need a mirror to know that his own face is pale as driven snow. His gut knots and double-knots with throngs of unease, and guilt begins to gnaw in earnest at his well-meaning heart. Still, he yet goes through the motions: wipes the blood from his dagger, helps his men make a pyre of the bodies, closes the eyes of all the dead and prays that they’ll be better off in their next lives than they were in this one. When the dirty work is done, he joins the rest of the Sons in the estate’s small barn, where they wait with the self-crowned king of what was a novice mutiny at best and a botched rally at worst.

In the chaos of carnage, Roland hadn’t gotten a good look at the rebels’ fearless, foolish leader, and seeing him now, the knots in his stomach tighten tenfold. He’s on his knees with his head hung low, held at either of his arms by two Sons and stayed by a third, whose sword is pressed flush against his neck. He looks about the same age as Roland, maybe a few years his youth, with sun-soaked hair that looks reddish in places wet with blood. The Sons wait patiently for Roland’s command, the quiet of the room a stark foil to the noisy bustle of the Dining Hall earlier that morning.

“What’s your name?” he asks, voice soft as a slip of cotton hung out to dry. The man doesn’t answer; he doesn’t even look up. Roland looses a quiet sigh. The King has instructed him, as he always does, to gather whatever information he can—by any means necessary. He and the Sons are meant to gut villagers bloody and cut out their tongues if they don’t divulge their secrets. They’re meant to exterminate the hope of revolution and send a message to neighboring revolters. They’re meant to be hounds that bite at the heels of a people who have everything to lose and risk it yet for naught but the meager chance of a Tyrholm free of Septimus’s plague of pride and greed. But the Sons of Argos are no dogs. Killers they may be, but they’re a proud brood, the lot of them, and they do their dirty work with as much honor as they can. If it’s gore and bloodletting Septimus wants, let the old prick get off his throne and terrorize wives and sons and husbands and daughters himself.

Roland was taught to kill honorably and quickly, to respect life and death in equal measure, and he pays homage the lessons of Argos daily. It’s clear that the rebel-king isn’t feeling particularly chatty, and if he won’t loosen his tongue, there’s not much to be done about it. There’s not much to be done at all, really, except to give the man a quick and honorable death. “You fought well,” Roland murmurs. He means it. Galen is sporting what Roland can only assume is a broken nose given to him by the man, and it had taken more than one Son to fully bring him down. Death, too, must be earned, and this man, with all his lionheart courage, has earned his. Distantly, Roland thinks that this very man could’ve perhaps toppled Septimus’s rule himself, if given the proper resources. He has the grit for rebellion, to be sure, and the spirit, too, but he lacks the wherewithal, the time, the training. A pity, he muses. He could’ve made history, the poor bastard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roland catches Galen staring at him intently, curiously, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and maybe he does. Galen opens his mouth, maybe to ask something, maybe to say something, but Roland gives him a fractional shake of his head, and Galen presses his lips into a tight line, no doubt making a mental note to badger Roland about it later. Eyes full of mourning and mouth set in steel, Roland looks over to Myra, the Son with her sword pressed against the man’s neck, and gives her a curt nod. She returns the gesture, and after drawing a deep inhale, she rears the sword far back and up, ready to deliver the final blow. The man, surely sensing his impending death, at last lifts his head, and Roland lets out a swift, sharp whistle that cuts through the air like broken glass. It’s a command to stop, and Myra, knowing the sound of the pitch for what it is, obeys, lowering the sword non-threateningly as Roland stares at the face before him: a man roughly his age, with one brown eye, and one blue.

The baker’s son.

Dread washes Roland’s face a shade of white impossibly paler than before, and he makes a punched-out noise as he remembers hot summers and cold winters spent starving, the sickly feeling of tightness clenching a stomach unfed, the thick fatigue of near-death staved off by the baker’s son, who had been the first person in Tyrholm to teach Roland well-learned lessons of kindness, charity, compassion. The boy who, even in his youth, radiated the kind of warmth and generosity that Roland has never seen in men and women who have lived full lives. His first friend, if you can call breaking bread together and stealing water from Callia Lancaster’s well and playing card games and chasing each other around on the docks friendship.

Recognition spark’s in his once-maybe-friend’s eyes, and the sea-glass green of them shifts from hate, to grief, to nostalgia, and then, finally, to something that looks remarkably like…understanding. Understanding, even now, even on the brink of death. This, Roland thinks, is honor. This, Roland thinks, is what he has perhaps forgotten in his years in the King’s employ. Idly, he thinks JUDGMENT would like this man. His endless reservoir of kindness is something divine, something reminiscent of faith, something that JUDGMENT would take to with overwhelming fondness.

Roland draws forward and places his hand over Myra’s, which remains gripped tightly around the hilt of her sword, and pushes it down, a silent command to lay down her arms. It’s said that the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword, but in the business of sellswords, that’s hardly ever the case, and in Tyrholm, that’s never the case, for the King is far too cowardly to do his dirty work himself.

This, though… This responsibility belongs to Roland and Roland alone. It’s personal, not business, and he can feel the heavy weight of his duty in his pockets, where the King’s coin rests. Argos had always warned him of the looming dangers of this trade, the threat to one’s honor, one’s soul, one’s spirit. Are you worth your weight in gold? he’d often asked him. I will be, Roland had always answered, because he’d thought, then, that Argos had been asking him if he’d grossed a sum of gold equal to his weight. Now, he thinks, he at last understands the question: is it worth it? Have you earned your weight in gold? Is the man you are today worthy of that coin?

Gently, nearly tenderly, Roland cradles his hand against the side of the man’s face. The baker’s son doesn’t flinch. The irony isn’t lost on Roland: he must give back what he takes from this world twice over, and here he is, about to take the life of a man who gave him his. You should’ve let me starve, he wants to say. You should’ve let me die. He wants to apologize, he wants to explain himself, but he won’t do this good man the dishonor of wasting his last moments of life assuaging his own guilt, so he instead reaches into the pocket of his breeches and pulls out a pouch of gold. He tosses it to Galen, who catches it reflexively. “There’s a bakery in Lowtown south of the bay, with a red roof and green door. Bring it to them.” Galen raises an eyebrow in silent question, but he turns on his heel, exits the barn, and mounts his horse all the same. “You’re family will be looked after for generations,” he promises. He knows it won’t be enough to absolve the blood on his hands, not this time, but he hopes it’ll be enough to bring the man some peace of mind. He thinks maybe it does, because the baker’s son smiles. He dies smiling. Roland strikes quick and fast, drives his dagger straight through a heart of gold. It’s a quick, painless death that lasts the span of a few heartbeats, at most, and it stays with Roland for the remainder of all his years.

That night, when Roland lays his head down to sleep, he doesn’t dream.

EXTRAS

Pinterest. MBTI: ESTP. Astrology: Aries (April 19th). Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Enneagram Type: Type 8. Headcanons:

He isn’t best fighter in Tyrholm, but he may well be the most adaptive. In his boyhood, Argos taught him combat techniques that he’d observed in the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. Roland has killed men from all over the continent, from all walks of life, and though many balk at his nontraditional manner of bloodshed, he’s quick and efficient, and he and his Sons always get the job done. They say it’s uncouth, the way he fights, the weapons he uses, but The Fool’s etiquette (knighthood proper, that one) hasn’t exactly done them a whole lot of good, has it? Roland is as quick as lightning and twice as hot in a fight, and he’s been known to use exotic weapons when he’s doing his dirty work. Of all his tools, his favorites are his decade-old ivory dagger and a sickle-shaped pair of handheld scythes.

Roland doesn’t share the King’s low opinion of magic. Raised by Tyrholm’s streets, by whores and beggars magicians and street urchins and musicians and muses, Roland learned young to embrace all walks of life, and his schools of thought are all considerably flexible. His opinion of magi is no exception. People fear what they do not understand, and as a mercenary with a moral compass, a man who’s been misunderstand by the masses his entire life, he can empathize.

Because he was looked after by worshippers of the Undying in his boyhood, he’s considerably literate for a man of his…lifestyle, and he’s actually quite smart, despite appearances. He’s well-read and well-taught, but the true nature of his wherewithal is known only to Judgment and the Sons.

Roland and the Sons reside permanently in taverns in Lowtown, and impermanently in the barracks. Though the lot of them have more than enough coin to afford taverns in Hightown, Roland prefers to keep the company of Lowtowners, and he finds that he and his Sons fit in far better there than farther north. He supposes that the King is fond enough of him—or the work he does, at least—to allow Roland and the Sons to occupy Castle Tyrholm’s guest quarters, but Roland has never asked such a thing of Septimus, and he never will. When their services are needed, Roland and the Sons stay in the barracks alongside The Fool’s soldiers, partly because Roland wants the Sons to remember their humility, and partly because he wants to piss of The Fool. Whether in Lowtown taverns or the barracks, Roland sleeps right alongside his lieutenants and soldiers, intent on remembering his own humility, too.

Whistling. It’s how the Sons communicate without speaking, and it drives just about every resident of Castle Tyrholm mind-achingly mad. Their secret tongue was initially created as a way to signal one another for help, but since signing on to work for King Septimus, Roland will often whistle to deliver commands or messages to the Sons in order to keep confidential matters from reaching the ears of bystanders. Different pitches have different connotations, and more than one Castle Tyrholm has bellyached about the secret smiles and obnoxious laughter exchanged between the Sons when Roland lets out a low whistle after a meeting with the King or The Fool. Still, even the loudest critics of the Sons’ nonverbal lingo can’t deny the sheer impressiveness of the way the Sons fall in line with naught but a whistle rendered from their Captain.

Though looked after by Clerics and Emissaries for much of his early boyhood, Roland never quite took to faith the way his caretakers had hoped he might. But he’s taken to Judgment the way most people take to religion, like they’re something absolute, something worthy of his hard-won devotion, and he can’t help but feel like some of their lessons are beginning to rub off on him. He thinks the Emissary who took him in would faint if she could see him now, knelt quietly in the foremost pew of the Sanctum, hands clasped as he listens to Judgment’s sermon with a look on his face caught somewhere between reverence and admiration. Life comes full circle, he supposes, and he finds himself growing increasingly fascinated by the idea of the Undying, of goodness, of life’s purpose. He wants to learn more about it all, he thinks. Or maybe he just wants to learn more about Judgment.

[niuttuc]

The Cursetamer and Annalise Casselant’s sheets

Two in one today, The Cursetamer and her wife, Annalise

The Cursetamer

Name: Ange Casselant/The Cursetamer

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Lich (Human) 

Age: 77

Plane of Origin: Ferely

First Planeswalk: Innistrad

Colors: Blue, Black, Green

Appearance: She often looks how she wishes to. When she lets her corpse go, she looks very much the lich part, dry skin on bone, but she can revitalize her body temporarily, for as long as she bothers holding it. Always richly dressed, she still carries with her some relics and tools. No obvious weapon. And always, always an ornate leather glove. 

Physically (and when revitalized), she's a 5'6", blonde woman and slim woman, always confident and somewhat scary. She has brown eyes. Her carefully picked clothing and body sometimes falls victims to her thinking about other things. Sometimes, she forgets to do things like breathing and having her heart pump. Sometimes, her hair will be messy.

Backstory: Ange Casselant was born heir to noble parents, her family owning a large estate not too far from the capital of their country. She was sent from the age of eight to the Church of Infinite Reflections, to learn and join the order. Alongside her was sent Annalise, a servant’s daughter, who’s education was provided for by Ange’s parents.

During their formative years, the two learned to know and appreciate each other better. They both had their strengths and weaknesses, of course, but managed to ascend through the ranks while developing a budding relationship. Up until Ange’s seventeenth year, during which they were getting officially together, planning their marriage for when they’d have reached the higher ranks among the church, until…

The church told Ange that Annalise had been sent on a mission they couldn’t divulge anything about. From one day to the next, she disappeared from her life, without a word or a letter. Ange was angry. Then, later, when the church told her Annalise had died serving the church, she was sad, and angry, at the church this time, for stealing her love. She was more determined than ever to climb the ranks to change things so that it wouldn’t take anything from her again.

It succeeded, and her own trial for ascension came. Upon drawing her glove from it, the Reflecting Pool declared her cursed, and to be Apostate upon her death. From one day to the next, she disappeared from the church, and was banished. Then, she understood. It had been the fate of her love as well. Her anger, frustration and contempt for the church was magnified to outright hatred, enough hatred to ignite her spark and send her to the plane of Innistrad, where there was no Cursed or Apostates. No Church of the Reflections. There, she pursued other studies. Studies of what was forbidden by her church or by this one. Study about power, study about her own life and fate, study about souls and death.

In less than a year, she understood that her being Cursed could be exploited for her own gains. In less than five, she’d devised a way to kill herself, melding lich rituals with her own nature to become a powerful lich, unbound by the limits of her flesh, and immortal, making the indestructible Apostate she should have become her own phylactery. It was made to hold and protect a soul, and that what it’d do.

In less than ten years, she’d learned enough to cast a spell to find back the soul that was connected to her own. Annalise. She found her on a backwater plane. Annalise had died, and fused with her Relic to become an Apostate as well. A sword of power, nesting perfectly in her own glove. Tears were absent from the reunion, but only because both of them had been stripped from the ability to have any. Annalise and Ange, now calling herself the Cursetamer, swore eternal loyalty to one another, and married by nothing but their voices. The Cursetamer swore to free Annalise from her prison of metal, whatever the cost.

Over the next fifty years, this quest would lead her to amass more power. More influence. More knowledge. More Apostates, that she learned to use and give to agents to further her goals. To get subjects for her experiments, she created a hamlet in a gigantic cave under her manor on Innistrad, dug with the use of one apostate and lit the same way. She populated it with refugees from the surrounding country, escaping the creatures of the night. She’d give them shelter and protection, and in return they’d provide people when she needed them. She was still a noble and able to keep them content.

She was still working on Annalise’s new body a few months ago, while trying to deal with two planeswalkers that kept intervening in her work. She’d managed to create a spell that should transfer her soul and consciousness into a new body seamlessly. She’d made her a new body out of angel parts, undecaying and powerful, that she’d gathered during their madness prior to the eldrazi attack. The two interlopers almost got the better of her when they interrupted her during her final ritual, but she managed to overpower them both while maintaining it long enough that Annalise was safely transferred to her new body.

The Cursetamer was overjoyed, and the planeswalkers managed to escape while she tended to her wife. But complications appeared within days. Angel parts don’t accept stitching as well as humans’. They were fighting each other, putting Annalise in tremendous pain and weakness, and there wasn’t enough time for the Cursetamer to create a new body or ritual in the time she had. She scoured possibilities, and found one. She tracked down and kidnapped one of the earlier interlopers, an Esperite, and forced them to help her. With his help, Annalise’s stitches were replaced by etherium, keeping them separate but life functions flowing through them.

Since then, Annalise and the Cursetamer have been enjoying their time with each other, at long last, on Innistrad.

Magic, gear and/or abilities: The Cursetamer is one of the most powerful planeswalkers currently active in the multiverse. While no Bolas or Ugin, her undead body can channel a lot of magic without fear of damage, she’s very hard to destroy, and her constant experiments and study have led to her creating powerful magic. Her glove, phylactery and Apostate supplements her powers on souls, allowing her to pass her gloved hand through anything she wishes and grasp at souls and magic alike. She wields powerful soul and bodily magic by herself, and also has studied a number of Apostates, being able to replicate their powerful curses at smaller magnitudes for her own uses. She sometimes can be carrying Apostates, artificial or not, herself, cursed artifacts powered by a sentient and formerly living souls. Artificial ones are less powerful and easily destroyed, the real deal… Less so.

Card:

Annalise

Name: Annalise Casselant

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Zombie Angel? 

Age: 79

Plane of Origin: Ferely

Colors: White, Black, Red

Appearance:  Her toned body is one of an angel. Well, multiple. It's a skaab made out of angel body parts, floating slightly away from one another along the stitches, attacked by a small quantity of etherium. She doesn’t have wings. She's 6'2", brown hair, and is often dressed practically. She's a sword woman, and it shows. She generally carries the sword that used to be her with her. Rarely, her wife will convince her to dress more ceremoniously. 

Backstory: Annalise’s father was a baker coming from a lineage of (voluntary) servants of the Casselant family, and a mercenary who settled down in the Casselant’s estate as chief of security. She took a lot from her mother, and was envisioning a career adventuring and in arms from a young age. It wasn’t to be, however, as Annalise was sent by her parents alongside the Casselant’s daughter, Ange, to educate herself and join the ranks of the Church of Infinite Reflections, at the age of ten. The two were unfamiliar with the others, but within the Church their common origins got them to talk and keep close.

While there, they both learned and progressed in their studies. Annalise never put down the blade and become an accomplished swordwoman, as well as a respected cleric. In her teenage years, her bond to the Casselant heir strengthened, and by the time she was nineteen, they’d promised already they’d marry each other.

Then came Annalise’s trial, necessary for her to climb in ranks. She was told she had all the making of a Cursebreaker, helping the church protect its citizens. When she went into the Reflecting Pool, she was overjoyed to come back with a gleaming sword… Right before she was deemed Cursed and banished from the Church and city, without anything but the sword bound to her soul, and magically compelled to not talk about what happened, who she’d been or come back in the city. Her sword was cursed by her magic, by inertia, and using it escaped her skill for more than a year. In two, she’d mastered it, and was doing well for herself as a duelist in a far-off town. She’d tried and tried to go around the magic on her and get a message to Ange, but nothing worked. She fell to a more talented blade during a duel after another year. Or maybe that mistake of hers wasn’t an accident. 

As she died, her soul was absorbed by her blade, and she became an Apostate. Prisoner of the item, relying on someone’s mind, and her curse amplified a hundredfold. The Blade was used to wreak havoc through the town, until the Church finally heard about her and sent a Cursebreaker to take care of her. She was neutralized, put in a box, and thrown into a hole.

Her next memory is being picked up, restoring her consciousness. By none other than Ange. Or as she called herself now, the Cursetamer. The hole had ended up leading to another world. They declared themselves married, and Ange wore her wife to her belt for the next fifty years, vowing to find a way to free her from her state. She finally did, a few months ago, and managed to transfer Annalise’s consciousness into a body stitched from angels. After some issues with rejection, solved by replacing the stitching by etherium keeping the parts separate, Annalise can finally enjoy her new life alongside her wife.

Magic, gear and/or abilities: Annalise has very little gear outside of her sword (now devoid of any power other than being very sharp) but she maintains control of the magic she was cursed with for so long, being able to control inertia at will, be it reducing it to nothing or amplify it until the slightest movement pushes one through an entire field. She was out of practice, but regaining her skills with the instrument by the day as she learns about her new body. Her angelic body is also stronger and tougher than it might appear.

Card:

[trying-write-fanfics]

AsheXReader price of war part 4

I stopped writting for a hot minute, but I picked this back up. I’m not too motivated but, maybe I’ll be motivated again. 

“Sorry I’ve been ignoring your classes. I was getting buff, just in case you cross me, I could kick your ass without magic.” Y/n told Hubert.

“Too bad you couldn’t throw a fireball at me.” Hubert cooed reading a book.

“Course you had a smart comeback.” Y/n threw her hands up. “Just teach me some black magic without hurting myself.”

“Mommy and Daddy can’t find a suitable suitor?” He teased.

“I’m just too interesting.”

“Too eccentric.”

Hubert’s lesson began. Y/n’s power would flicker through her fingertips here and there. When she did get the magic to flutter through her palms it would cause her pain. Burning her hands, she would prevent the spell from completing.

“Damn it!”

“Well how about we take a break.” Hubert suggested. “Why don’t you switch classes? Get a better teacher.”

“Oh c’mon Hubert, teaching could be your backup if being an heir doesn’t work out.” Y/n joked.

“I’ll be lady Edlegard’s advisor.”

“You really like her.” Y/‘ tried to tease.

“Our fates are intertwined-“

“Oh my god are you two bethroed?” Y/n asked.

“No, but her and I walk-“

“Damn here I thought you two were already married/-“

“You have a bad habit of interrupting.” Hubert said.

“Oh sorry about that, I’m not used to people expecting me to talk so it’s a mechanism to get a word in.” Y/n explained casually.

“I did my research on you. You’re the youngest out of three children. I can only imagine being a poor little ignored-“ Hubert started out nice but went to teasing.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m just trying to open up to you.” Y/n said.

“And why would you do that with me?” He asked.

“Whether you like it or not, we’re friends.”

“Oh, and here I thought you’ve fallen for me.”

“Look at you, the vampire has humor now.” Y/n joked.

“Oh, am I beating the jester at her own game, now?”

“I guess I taught you how to be funny!” Y/n laughed.

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on the mysterious professor Byleth.” Hubert asked.

“You want my opinion?” She asked.

“Well, you said we are friends.”

Y/n thought for a minute. Not wanting to say anything she couldn’t back up, she was careful with her words.

“She kinda creeped me out like Seteth at first. I thought she would be either really stern or didn’t care because I could never read her face. However she has been proving me wrong. She makes sure I’m more confident when riding mounts, and forcing me to learn the lance more.” Y/n explained.

“What about her origins?”

“I think she did mercenary work in the kingdom, but I’m not totally sure. Although I know it wasn’t the wisest decision the archbishop could make allowing a total stranger just be a teacher, but Byleth proves herself.”

“Interesting.”

“What do you think about her?”

“I don’t think much about her. I only care if she has any use to lady Edelgard.”

“So you do like her!”

“Whatever you say.”

The next class period the professor announced they would be taking care of the bandits that attacked the three house leaders. Although some students in the class had killed people before in the tragedy of Duscur, Y/n had not. The thought made her sick, but if she desires the freedom to be more than just an incubator for crests babies, this was what she had to do. Y/n looked at the other students who weren’t the typical knights. Annette could be a baker if this gig doesn’t work out. Mercedes could knit her way an income of the blood stains her hand to gravely. And Ashe, sweet Ashe could cook his way into the hearts of rich and poor. Everyone had talents that could back them up, but Y/n believed this was all she had.

Preparing a weeks before battle, Y/n smiled with her friends, but often withdrew herself. A lot was crashing down on her. It’s insane to be this young, to not know yourself that well, and decide on a career path that you’ll be doing the rest of your life now! All Y/n knew now was she was getting better at using other weapons and could heal. Maybe she could go into the medical field and heal the injured, but what if one day the blood becomes too much! What if she wanted to escape the battlefield? What talents does she have beyond that? The fact she couldn’t answer her own questions depressed herself even more. Not only she’s afraid to learn if she can handle killing, but she has no escape from it. If she can handle killing will she hates herself more? If she can’t handle killing she’s a failure at her one path that is clear enough.

“Nervous about the mission?” Annette asked?

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach it.”

“‘Me too. I promise that no matter I got your back.” Annette told her.

“I’ll be sure to heal you at any moment.” Y/n told her.

Y/n was numb and nervous days coming to the mission. Everything that had happened went over her head. Byleth assured all the students that if they can’t handle it they can leave, but none of them did. By the power of peer pressure, Y/n stayed too. The battle field was at the red canyon was full of ancient architecture, but it didn’t distract Y/n at the task at hand. Byleth told Y/n to get a bandit in the north.

“You’re nothing but a measly little student!” The man yelled.

The bandit raised his sword and attacked the girl. Scared, frightened, the girl blocked the blow with her lance. Though her face said a thousand years of terrified, her body worked on its on. She pushed the man back with her lance and then shoved the end blade into his heart. It went straight through his body. His cloudy surprised eyes peered into hers. She was hyperventilating as her coughed the last bit of life he hand on her. Blood splattered on her face. She pulled the weapon out as he bled more on the ground.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-“ she said backing up.

Y/n couldn’t move for a moment. She stared at the blood on her lance. She did that. She did kill someone! It feels awful! She’s burning! Though there wasn’t a fire, it had felt the goddess wanted her to burn in the holy flames.

“I have to get out of here!” She yelled to herself.

“Y/n! You look pale!” Dedue appeared through the haze of battle.

“Dedue! I-I-“ she rambled most for words.

What could she say in a time like this? she wasn’t special. Everyone was doing the same thing. She can’t leave though, this lance is all she has for the sake of the future.

“Can I follow you?” She asked.

“This way.” He lead her.

Though there was still fighting, Y/n didn’t have to kill anybody else this time. She healed Dedue and Slyvain as they attacked from the west. She mugged have blocked a blow or two from enemies to save her peers or shot a spell at them, but didn’t kill them. Only weakened to let the other two finish them.

Once the battle was over, Y/n trailed in the back of the group as they head back to the momtasy. No one was really in a chipper mood, so it was easy to hide among the shadows. Y/n remembered the face of the dying man she killed. The picture of his shocked face as blood drizzled out of his mouth was pound into her mound. She trailed even further behind off the trail. She caught her reflection a puddle, but she couldn’t stand the sight. She began to throw up on the side of the road. As it burned her throat, she began to cry. Even when it was over she wasn’t ready to leave, she just sat there and cried.

“Gods, why! Goddesses, oh why!” She sobbed.

“Y/n, y/n!” Ashe called. “Y/n!” He found her in the grass.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Sobbing next to ones upchucked meal was the summers portrait trend. Ashe grew as pale.

“He-here!” Not having a handkerchief on him, he surprisingly ripped his sleeve off for her.

“Are you sure? That’s your sleeve?” She asked.

“I read it was a look favored by the king of Ylisse to only have one sleeve.” He tried to joke.

Y/n nodded, unable to laugh or smiled. She didn’t know where to begin on her face. She began to cry more into the wet sleeve.

“Oh I’m sorry.” She covered her face.

“Why don’t I help you up. You don’t want to get left be-“

“I can’t believe I did that, Ashe I killed someone!” She sobbed. “I’m so awful-“

“Y/n you’re not awful. We all had to spill someone’s blood today. Do you think we’re all bad?” Ashe asked.

Y/n stared up at Ashe. The sun shined behind him clearing up the fog. His face had anger and disappointment. Y/n looked back into the puddle.

“No, none of you guys are bad.” She said.

Ashe crouched down next to her.

“And you’re not bad Y/n.” He told her.

The teary (colored) eyes met his green ones. It was hard for him too today to kill. Though he felt ill inside that he had to kill, even to succeed to be a knight, he wasn’t going to let Y/n feel worse.

“Here, let me help you up.” Ashe said getting to his feet.

Ashe extended his hand to the tear stained girl. She of course took it. Walking back to the group they were both silent. It was hard to keep up, so she trotted a bit and reached out for Ashe’s hand on more. Her head was low, but she held his palm. Ashe surprised turned his gaze to her.

“Thank you, Ashe.” She said lowly.

“A-anytime.” He replied.

It was a dark day, but at least they had each other.

[ebaeschnbliah]

SCANDINAVIAN  REFERENCES

________________________________________________________________

In Sherlock BBC - and also a little bit outside of it 

While writing on DISTRACTION & CONSEQUENCES and CABIN ON THE MEADOW, involving Phil with his ‘explosive’ car and the Hiker with the bashed-in head, I couldn’t fail to notice that Phil’s unmoving car is a SAAB … which is a Swedish brand. 

According to the informations given during the promotion campaingn for the Escapre Room, TheGameIsNow, Sherlock lives currently in Sweden. Since these aren’t the only occasions where Scandinavian regions are mentioned in Sherlock BBC, the suspicion inevitably arose that those references could be of some importance. Reason enough to make another little list. :)

TBC below the cut ….

Short definition of Scandinavia

The term Scandinavia in local usage covers the three kingdoms of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. 

In English usage, Scandinavia also sometimes refers to the Scandinavian Peninsula, or to the broader region including Finland and Iceland.  x

A Scandal in Belgravia

As mentioned above, Phil’s immobile car, which ‘explodes’ and thus distracts the Hiker who, as a consequence, is killed by his own boomerang, is of the Swedish brand SAAB. 

The Empty Hearse

Mr. Howard Shilcott, the ‘train guy (and mirror for Sherlock), possesses important informations about the Underground station at Sumatra Road, which once was built but then closed before it ever opened. He wears a ‘funny hat with earflaps’ made of Islandic sheep wool. That hat becomes an object of significance when Sherlock invites his brother to play deductions with him, just like in the old days.

MYCROFT: The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad – in Peru. SHERLOCK: Peru? MYCROFT: This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca. SHERLOCK: No. MYCROFT: No? SHERLOCK: Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.

His Last Vow

The main villain of this episode is designed after Doyle’s British character Charles Augustus Milverton. For some reason, in this adaptation, name and origin of the man have been changed into Charles Augustus Magnussen, who is now from Denmark. The fact that he is ‘foreign’ is driven home explicitly right at the beginning of the episode by the dialogue as well as the accent of the man, who is played by Danish actor Lars Mikkelsen.

GARVIE: Do you think it right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual and, in fact, a foreign national should have such regular access to our Prime Minister? MAGNUSSEN: I don’t think it’s wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation. However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign.

The Six Thatchers

Mr. Kingsley, a client, thinks that Sherlock’s deductions, once explained, are actually dead simple. Highly annoyed, Sherlock spontaneously invents a ludicrous story and tells the shocked man that his wife is actually Greta Bengtsdotter, Swedish by birth and the most dangerous spy in the world. She secretly works for none other than James Moriarty and uses her unsuspecting husband as cover to hide her true intentions which will finally precipitate in World War III. 

The first location Mary visits on her hiatus is Norddal in Norway. That’s a small place (ca. 1660 inhabitants) deep inside the Storfjord. Here she picks up a fake passport hidden inside the stonewall of a coastal watchtower. Her new name, Gabrielle Ashdown, is taken from TPLOSH, where Holmes chooses the pseudonym ‘Mr. and Mrs. Ashdown’ for himself and Gabrielle Valladon, the woman who consulted him in the case of her missing husband but is actually Ilse von Hofmannsthal, a German spy who pretends to be Mrs. Valladon. 

The Final Problem

One of the very last scenes of this episode shows a man dressed as Viking, including the (cliched) horned helmet. He lies motionless on the floor in the livingroom of 221b Baker Street (played by Paul Weller). John bends over him and examines his left eye. 

Vikings were highly skilled Norse seafarers who raided and pillaged (like pirates) with their infamous longboats (also well known as dragonboats). They acted as mercenaries but also as merchants, who traded goods across wide areas of Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, European Russia and the North Atlantic islands. Some of them even reached the North-Eastern coast of North America. (X)

That Viking is not the only character in this story who ‘wears horns’. Furthermore, cow horns are also connected to the eye-goddess Hathor, whose other, dangerous side is represented by lioness goddess Sekhmet.

The way this Viking lays there … one leg sharply angled at the knee, the foot shoved beneath the other, outstretched leg and both arms straight beside his torso … it’s a bit odd and strangely reminds me of the ‘dancing men’ drawn on the blackboard in the shot displayed immediately before this one. It almost looks like the way this man lies there could have some meaning. 

And something else comes to mind: the way John bends over the Viking stunningly resembles the scene from Magnussen’s office in HLV, when Sherlock got shot by Mary. One could even say, there are three potential ‘pirates’ gathered in Magnusson’s bedroom in that scene ... Sherlock, John and ‘Viking descendent’ Magnussen. Interesting ...

The Game is Now - Escape Room Promotion

With the cliffhanger of The Final Problem in mind and still no official announcement regarding a fifth series on the horizon, one could come to the assumption that the ‘TheGameIsNow- EscapeRoom’ event serves as a sort of interlude and somehow resembles a ‘SherlockBBC-Hiatus’ (hopefully). Isn’t it interesting that here too, Scandinavia seems to play a role?

During the conversation with Mycroft, in the intercepted message Nr 1, Sherlock mentions that he currently is in Sweden. 

During the intercepted message Nr 2 a map of Scandinavia is shown in the background with informations regarding its natural recources: iron ore, copper, zinc, gold, IKEA and uranium. 

Additionally Mycroft confirms a second time where his brother might be found at the moment: ‘Missing, rumoured to be in Sweden’ is written below a picture of Sherlock, kept in black and white, but temporarily overlaid with pink and green�� (Study in Pink and Green)

Scandinavian canon reference regarding the ‘hiatus’

In Doyle’s original story The Empty House, Sherlock Holmes tells Dr. Watson after their reunion that, for some time during his hiatus, he had stayed in Norway under a fake identity. 

“You may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend.” (ACD, The Empty House)

Using Sherlock’s own words from The Great Game, one could say that, by now, the story told in Sherlock BBC as well as the EscapeRoom event have a …  ‘distinctly Scandinavian feeling about it’.  :)

Some Scandinavian side notes outside Sherlock BBC

Not Sherlock related. Should be taken with caution and humor: 

Radio Times, November 2018:  Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss reveale that Danish actor Claes Bang will be playing Dracula in their new series. ‘Hell has a new boss’ says the headline. Strictly speaking, the boss in Hell is generally considered to be the Devil (maybe also his grandma :) but surely not Dracula, who is after all just a human who desired immortal strength to protect and revenge the ones whom he loved. At least, that’s the story told in ….

Dracula Untold  (2014) -  some quotes:

"One day I will call on you to serve me in an immortal game of revenge … to unleash my wrath against the one who betrayed me."

“This is not a game!”

"Oh, what better way to endure eternity. For this, is the ultimate game. Light versus dark, hope versus despair. And all the world's fate hangs into the balance." 

Vlad Dracula meets his creator         Let the games begin

“You want me to shake hands with you in Hell? I shall not disappoint you.“  (Sherlock at Jim Moriarty, TRF)

How Dracula BBC came into being

“It came about several years ago,” Gatiss said. “We were filming  — we’d just started the third series of Sherlock, where he comes back from the dead, and we had to break off after two days to go to the RTS Awards (March, 2013) and I had a picture on my phone of Benedict silhouetted against the door of Mrs Hudson’s room. I showed it to Ben Stephenson, who was then the Head of Drama [at the BBC], and I said, ‘Looks like Dracula’. And he said, ‘Do you want to do it?'”  (RadioTimes, April 2019)

“We’re gonna go all Dane“

The same article from RadioTimes, contains an interview with Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. When asked about their upcomming mini-series ‘Dracula’, if there will be more ‘homegrown talents’ among the cast, the producers answered the question in their most familiar way - with lots of laughter and giggling - obviously taking much pleasure in the announcement of their new ‘informations’.

“No, no ..., it’s strictly Dane from now on. We're only casting over Denmark. I don’t think Denmark’s being sufficiently represented and so we’re gonna go all Dane.”  

Strictly Danes …. well, well …. I’m more curious than ever ... and extremely exited!  :))))  

On Scandinavian name-giving tradition

It is a well known custom in Scandinavian regions to create personal names based on the given name of one’s father, grandfather or male ancestor by adding the ending -son/-sen/-søn or -dotter/-dottir/-dattir. This is called a patronymic (while the same method based on the mother’s name is called matronymic). A good example for this in Sherlock BBC is the character Charles Augustus Magnussen …. Magnus-sen = son of Magnus. 

This kind of Scandinavian name-giving tradition is based entirely on first names. Just assuming though, this method would also be applied to last names, then ... a female descendent of someone with the family name ‘Bang’ could be named ... ‘Bangsdotter’. :)))

A last funny detail:  the subtitles for Sherlock BBC, Series 4 (British Edition), display the name of the famous Swedish spy, Sherlock invents in TST, as Greta Bengsdotter. The correct spelling of the first name of Greta’s father (used here as patronymic) isn’t Beng though …. but Bengt.

Bengt (female, Bengta) is the Swedish equivalent of … Benedict.   :)))

As I said above ... to be taken with caution and humor.  :)))))

Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.    Related post by @tendergingergirl

Mai 2019

[apothecaryforwearysouls]

 Q’s to Ask Your OC’s: Uthorim Gollick

Their age? Uthroim is 28

Their sexuality/sexual preference?  Bisexual

Any siblings/Only child? Uthorim has 22 siblings, due to growing up in an orphanage. He keeps up with every single one of them.

Their favorite season? Winter has always been his favorite. cuddling up in front of a warm fire (one day cuddling up to a loved one) and drinking warm cider is a dream of his.

Who were/are their parents/guardians? He never got the chance to know them. he doesn't know what he would even do if he met them at this point.

Their gender? Male

Their date of birth? Uthorim was born on the 25th of the Evening Star

What clothing style? For the most part, he dresses humbly although baggy.

What is their favorite food after a break-up? Sweet rolls. nothing something super sweet to cover up something so bitter.

Their favorite thing to do after a break-up? Soak in a hot spring is his go-to. For him, it is the only way to wash away the pain he's feeling.

What happens in the ‘honeymoon phase’ for this character? Oh, he is an absolute romantic gifts, meals in bed, anything they could want.

How many serious relationships have they been in? Only two, and he is still a little nervous when it comes to entering a new one.

What is their nationality? Ork, about the only thing I can think to put here

What languages do they speak? Common and English

What is their profession/Education? Formally a baker now mercenary.

Their favourite comfort food? A warm stew

What’s a food they hate? Anything with mint in it.

Their music taste? simple medleys are always a favorite but to Uthorim nothing beats a talented bards song.

Is there a story behind their name/meaning? In orkish no not at all. However, to him, it means everything it was given to him by the Nordic woman who ran the orphanage he lived at. To Uthorim she was the best mother anyone could ask for.

Something they do that seems childish to others? He loves flowers and will put some in his hair whenever he travels.

How big is their family? The orphanage as a whole counted 30 total between the kids and the staff.

Are they close to anyone specific in the family? Not to one person, in particular, they are all pretty close.

Have they got any allergies? Raspberries make him sick as a dog.

Are they an emotional person? He can't help but be. Even as a child he was emotional.

Do they get angry/lose their temper quickly? surprisingly no, patients is one of his better traits.

What are some of their guilty pleasures? Not sure how to answer this one since Uthorim is confident in the things he enjoys.

Do they have pets? Do they want pets? Uthorim is always trying to pick up strays of all kinds. he can't help but tries and help pick up the fuzzy babies.

Do they like kids? Do they want kids/have kids? He loves kids and wants to have them. Giving them a life he didn't have and providing them a safe home to grow up.

Who’s cuddle buddy are they? no ones at the moment.

Do they have any tattoos? none at the moment.

Do they have any piercings? His left ear is pierced. Most of the time he has a small emerald earring in.

What is their hair color? Is it their natural color? His hair is a deep brown and it is their natural color

Have they ever had a near-death experience? When he was younger Uthorim was playing in the street and was almost trampled by an Empire supply carriage.

Have they ever broken a bone? luckily no. (He drinks his milk lol)

What are they like when they’re drunk/what kind of drunk are they? He is an embarrassed mess especially if someone is trying to flirt with him.

What is the first thing they do when they wake up? Put some tea on and wash up.

Do they consider themselves popular? Not at all, he likes staying out of the public view.

How do they like their tea/coffee? He puts 4 sugars and some cream in his tea.

What do they smell like? A mix of earth and rain.

Are they a virgin? He is not in either sense.

Do they wear glasses/contacts? no his eyes are pretty good.

Are they good at remembering significant dates? Anniversaries, birthdays etc? He never forgets important days, making sure events are celebrated is a big thing to him.

Thanks for tagging me back @baphometprince​ Loved doing this! hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

[lazaretflowers]

12, 34, and 48 for the apprentice ask?

12: already answered over here

34. If they weren’t magician, who would they be?

Malik: Honestly? I have no idea. So much of his survival was based on the fact that he had magic he could lean back on as a kid and it’s what helped him get to adult hood and escape the noose. Without it he’d either be dead or still a mercenary. If he’s still a mercenary I can guarantee he’s not happy and hates every mission he gets sent on but he doesn’t know what else he’s good at.

Benji: He’d be a baker. He’s an amazing cook and would probably have a chill little shop where he sells his breads, desserts, and probably a few drinks he makes himself.

Miles: Again this one is tough. I think without his magic he’d probably be that one loner/hermit that lives as far away from everyone as possible, but he has the redeeming quality that he owns like three dogs and two cats and keeps taking in strays and helping them get back on their feet and eventually adopted. 

River: Since healing is such a big part of them I think they’d end up becoming a doctor without magic. They’d pour so much of their childhood into learning medicine that it would make sense for them to become a doctor when they turned eighteen. 

Vishal: He’s still be a medical researcher just without the ability to bring the dead back to life. Instead of losing his leg because of not having the right components for a powerful spell he’d most likely lose it to being careless in the operating room and it becoming infected and needing an amputation. After that he’s much more careful about his safety and health. 

Cas: She actually comes from a family of blacksmiths, so without her magic she’d probably end up running her father’s shop. She’d be happy there too. She loves crafting things. 

Zach: He’d find his way back to pyrotechnic work. He acts like an idiot but he’s very smart so it woudlnt’ be hard. He’d research blackpowder and probably create new firework designs for fun. 

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)?

Malik: He’s excellent when it comes to sword fighting and tavern brawls. Even without his magic when Malik has a sword he has deadly accuracy and uses his surroundings for a tactical advantage. You don’t want to be a target for him when he’s serious. As for Tavern Brawling he’s the guy that has a full drink knocks someone out and his cup is still full. 

Benji: He actually enjoys sculpting and painting. It started as just something to help with his bad hands and learn control again. After a few years he was actually pretty good at it. Now he loves sculpting little figurines of Faust.

Miles: He’s an amazing poet but he rarely shows his work as he’s a little embarrassed and nervous to do so. Sometimes he shares them with Muriel and gets really happy because Muriel always loves to read them.  

River: They have an amazing singing voice. They have a habit of singing to themself when they’re doing work and Nadia heard them one day. She encouraged them to sing a little and she loved it. They sing a lot more, but really only for Nadi, especially when she has her headaches. 

Vishal: He’s amazing at drawing. It started as just anatomical studies for his research and projects, or studying decay and how to combat it when he brought his animals back from death. After so many years of practice his drawings are almost photo realistic. During quiet nights when @sunrisenfool ‘s apprentice Anatole falls asleep before Vis does, Vis ends up sketching his lover in the margins of his research notes. Sometimes he gets so carried away he fills up an entire page with just drawings of Anatole. 

Cas:  She’s great with animals! She loves caring for them and studying them. She can get along with just about any animal (within reason). She jokes that she’s an animal whisperer but there’s really no magic involved. She just has a very comforting feel when she’s near animals that makes them more likely to be friendly. 

Zach: hes an inventor. He loves to tinker and create little machines. You wouldn’t think it by the way he acts. 

[rottenheartedchild]

RWBY OC: EDELWEISS HOLT

It took quite a while to design him and his team members (life stuff and all that jazz), but it’s finally over. Up first is my dramatic crow son and team leader of ELDR. I created him and his teammates for an AU where magic actually exists, and there are mythical beings galore, so yeah.

 Full name is Edelweiss Holt but has various nicknames from friends and family like Eddie, Snowdrop, Birdie, Snow King and etc.

Leader of team ELDR, which is named after the elderflower and its association with witchcraft.

His parents are Aydan Holt, an Atlesian Specialist who went into hiding and became an author under the alias of Leander Eikenboom and Nur Cempaka Silveira, a retired Mistrali mercenary who pursue the art of music by becoming an actress of a local theatre group.

A man with a kind heart, unbridled imagination, sharp tongue, iron will, discerning intellect and a passionate sense of justice. He has quite a vicious temper though rarely shows it in front of people and much instead cool off somewhere secluded as to not lash out on any innocent bystanders. Only when he’s passed his limit that all hopes of negotiation are thrown out of the window due to him losing any reason to listen.

Lives a peaceful life with his parents in a quaint cottage not too far from the coastal town where his grandparents, Lucio, a capybara Faunus, and Guntur, an eagle Faunus, reside.

Loves animals and often leaves them snacks or leftovers whenever he explores nearby forests, enjoys playing with them and study their behaviors.

Often brings his journal along to record his findings and secrets before proudly showing it off to his amused parents. Lately, he’s been recording about Grimm and their secrets to understand them better.

Every time he stays with his grandparents for a week whenever his parents are away on a business trip, Edelweiss eagerly help the townsfolk with anything he can do from babysitting a working baker’s children to doing the laundry for a tired inventor for free. The townsfolk are always grateful to him and often give him treats or small gifts as their way of saying thanks.

Music plays a massive part in his life as it reminds him of his parents whether his mother singing while doing her chores or his father listening to a tune on an old gramophone. It also reminds him of his grandparents and their secret little dances while they serenaded to each other and his best friend, a boar Faunus named Margaret who happily sings along to his song every time they play together or to the animals that he sings for whenever he feels too overwhelmed and needed a quiet place to recharge. But the most crucial part is that reminded him how beautiful and peaceful the world can be despite the everpresent dangers and perils.

He has two pets of his own which are Malphas, a male crow that he nursed back to health who became attached to him and Princess Buttercup, a female pitbull that he rescued from the street.

Often get called around as the mediator for any disputes due to his just opinion for the subject of the conflict and always offered solutions that would benefit all sides.

When he reached the ripe age of 12, Aydan and Cempaka decided to train him with the skills of their former lives to ensure that Edelweiss could survive should the time comes when they will not be there to protect him anymore. Lucio and Guntur contributed as well with his training, sparing him no mercy as they deliver every punch, blows, kick, jabs, throws and stabs to Edelweiss, letting him learn each move and learn from it before adapting it to his advantage. He whined a lot during the first few training but soon realized he could use what he learns to protect his loved ones.

He also received various tips from the townsfolk, some more dubious than the rest but Edelweiss memorized it nonetheless, believing it’ll be useful in the future.

Lost his parents when he was 15 due to his parents’ connection to their past came to punish them and was left traumatized when he witnessed their mangled corpses on the ground. Lucio, Guntur and some of the townspeople buried their bodies, and Edelweiss shut down emotionally and mentally from it. He still vividly remembers how the assailants murdered his pregnant mother while he only watched from his hiding spot helplessly with tears in his frightened eyes.

It took a long time for him to recover as he always blamed himself for not staying at his parents’ side and protect them. He recovered slowly with the help of his grandparents, Margaret and the townsfolk who patiently help him get through the trauma and guilt.

His Aura is light grey in color, and he unlocked his semblance when Edelweiss saw Margaret being beaten up by a stranger who dragged her unconscious mother by the hair, anger filling his head as he subconsciously summoned a ghostly bear and mauled the attacker. Once he realized what just happened, he broke down and muttered apologies to them only to be hugged by the frightened faunus, who thanked him for saving her and her mother.

Enrolled in Beacon Academy and partnered up with Lupine, an owl faunus from Vacuo and formed a team with the Valean twins, Delphinium and Rhododendrum. He bonded with them quickly and hang out together, often sharing juicy gossips and tell each other stories of their hometown.

A skilled fighter and a competent leader, he often listens to his teammates’ suggestions and never dismiss their opinions. The team formed a band and always performed at bars for extra money every weekend.

Extremely good at cooking and house chores, he often cooks meals for his teammates, and his favorite dishes are lemang, oyster omelet, stamppot, and egg tarts.

Super enthusiastic around new places, new people, fresh food, new animals, and new experiences.

A big shipper and he always gets giddy whenever he sensed someone has a crush. Cries hard at weddings, including his own when he happily married both Margaret and Lupine.

Was blessed with 5 children, a pair of twins, Nerine and Gladiolus, from Lupine, and Esther, Purnama, and Sorin, from Margaret.

Is a transgender man who received his surgeries at the age of 18, courtesy of his grandparents.

His weapons are hand-me-downs from his late parents that he upgraded for more efficient transformation and smooth execution.

His Multi-Form Scissor Blade (MFSB), Phlegeton and Styx, is a scissor sword with three transformations, a standard scissor sword, a double-headed spear, and a pair of rifles. Whereas his Multi Dust Chain Sycthe (MDCS), Rangda, is used for various purposes including binding Grimm with Dust infused ribbon chain.

His semblance is basically creating living constructs with a certain degree of sentience using actual animals and mythical beings as reference. The downside for this is that he will receive the same damage his creations received and it drains his Aura the more complex his constructs get. Fortunately for him, he came from a family with an impressively large Aura reserve.

A fulltime Huntsman with theatre actor as his side job. He loves performing in front of people as he dazzles the audience with his talent.

His faunus trait is his wings though he lost one of them after the Fall of Beacon due to a confrontation with one of the White Fang soldiers.

He had recurring dreams of a woman draped in ice and fur, not knowing the significance behind it though it made his late parents worried, not wanting to let him know what it truly meant.

Still kept his raggedy clown doll as his safety blanket every time he feels too overwhelmed or down.