#i am putting them up in a full spread like that is set in stone.. i just need to find WHERE......

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Found the mug that holds all my incense + started arranging my books 💖

[marigold-hills]

Oh I am so jumping in here.

Can you give us a dreamy summer wolfstar first kiss/get together, but put it in YOUR nostalgic summer. Like whatever that means for you. Where are they? What are they eating/drinking? What is the air like? The lighting? The smells and sounds?

I humbly bow before your altar take my compliments on your prose and pacing and metaphors as my offering 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey! Loved this ask. It completely run away from me. Hope you enjoy it! (Also you said altar and offering and well. Those words clearly stayed with me.)

It’s wine and bread, a fancy cheese selection from Tesco’s. A little plastic pot of olives. No blanket, because they’re not tourists and don’t mind a bit of sand as seasoning.

The storm is coming in.

They can see it, across the vastness of water, darkening the horizon and stretching through the sky like spilled ink.

Recreating exactly how it was the first time, years ago:

Remus had said there’s a storm tonight. We should go and watch it.

On the beach? Sirius had asked, a bit bewildered. The wind was already picking up, and the logistics of sitting out in the open during a downpour didn’t enamour him.

Remus, undeterred, prepared a backpack. I know a place, he said, we’ll be hidden from the rain. Trust me?

And Sirius did: with his life, with his time. Followed him off the main promenade and across the dunes until they reached a hidden spot of sand: a bay, of sorts, with a railway bridge backed into the cliff side. The arches of its support beams only faced open towards the water, secluded otherwise by brick and clay.

“Used to come here with da, when I was a kid,” Remus told him: “there are fossils in the clay if you know where to look. Come out after heavy rain best, maybe we’ll find something tomorrow.”

They set up under one of the arches. Remus built a stone circle at the mouth of it, stacked it with sticks and driftwood he’d collected on their way. Set a crumpled wad of receipts from his pocket on fire and used it as kindling.

“Impressing me with your caveman skills here, Moony.” Sirius had known, of course, that wild streak within Remus, seen it shine through sometimes when he let his guard down, but this was something new. Large hands stoking the flame as it slowly engulfed the given wood, eyes alight with its reflection. Sirius felt a pull at his navel like a fishhook: handle me like this, the pull said.

He’d made a mistake, maybe, following Moony back to his parents’ house for the summer after their graduation. A miscalculation of how much he could stand watching him, in the summer heat, with sea breeze curling his hair.

Red wine, a couple paper cups. Sirius didn’t like it then yet: not like he pretended to, and it was a cheap bottle from the middle shelf. The aftertaste was sharp, it stayed on his tongue and the insides of his cheeks - dry, clinging.

Cheeses Remus had cut into cubes. Pungent Stilton with dark blue veins, Brie, white skin coating the creamy interior, fruity Wensleydale filled with cranberries.

They sat side by side by the fire as the storm hit. The rain a heavy curtain in front of them, the wind making their fire dance erratically. Sirius had never seen it like this, surprised by the intensity of the smell of salt in the air. Despite the cover, a thin mist of spray hit his face when the wind blew just right.

Remus had made him a canapé of sorts, spread a chutney on a finger-torn piece of sourdough and topped it with the Stilton. He ate it in one bite. Asked for another, just like it, the taste round and warming, somehow.

“It’s the chutney,” Remus said. “There’s chilli in it. Try an olive.”

A new thing, this, being presented with food like offerings. Remus watched each bite Sirius took with an intent, as if they were eating something rare and costly. Like this, with the storm above them and the fire in Moony’s eyes, Sirius felt each mouth full was something precious, something to be cherished. A worship, and he wasn’t sure if he was the god being praised or the offering on the altar.

They’d almost finished the bottle when Remus asked want to swim? With such wonderful abandon that Sirius didn’t even hesitate. Yes, he said, and they took off their trousers and shirts and walked hand in hand into the water.

The first crack of thunder rang out when they were knee deep. Remus laughed, free and loud like a curlew, head thrown back into the falling rain. The sky turned white with the lightning and Sirius thought it’s you, that needs to be worshipped.

Moments like this, though, something Sirius didn’t know: it’s too easy, for thoughts to be said aloud.

Remus turned to him like a trap closing. “Is that right?”

“You look like a god of the sea.”

(Another break of thunder, a wave sweeping into them, rough with the storm but soft like a touch.)

Remus took his hand, pulled him further into the water. There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes, and Sirius realised I’m close enough to touch them. He did, shaky fingers, as lighting lit them up. The water made Remus’ curls heavy and darker, sat on his skin in a fine sheen. “I want to lay you out onto the sand,” Sirius thought-said, “trace the path of every raindrop.”

“You’ll be at it for hours.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

The first time they kissed, Remus tasted like salt.

NOTES:

I feel compelled to point out: everyone. Please don’t drink and swim! Don’t swim in the storm! Especially not in the sea.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise before you’re the person who wrote The Homecoming of Sirius Black??? I LOVED it. Honestly the fact that you enjoy my writing feels like such a massive compliment.

[acourtofthought]

How It All Comes Together

(contains spoilers for all series)

I have so many posts at this point. So. Many. Posts 😂 And they all touch upon a lot of the same information but I wanted to put every headcannon I've got in one place in the order of events (though the order of events within each book is flexible) that I think could happen.

I have no idea if any or even one will turn out to be accurate but when I combine her interviews, books, and Q&A sessions together, this is how the information seems to best fit together and makes sense to me.

Starting with an Elucien book:

"Let's focus on healing one sister then the other."

Elucien will restore spring together -

My father would think twice before standing against an army of superior strength and size.

"But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he's barely improved this past year" "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces"

"No. But we need to summon Lucien," Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn't like it one bit. "We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"I am the first one the others look to - I set the example"

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring"

But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. / Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess - perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there.

"She pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world."

Elain and Lucien will perform in Calanmai aka Fire Night together -

"There's a ritual. But it's...very faerie." / "From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come."

It was Spring, and yet it wasn't. / Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. / The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. / The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty ..

"It's his (her) instincts that select her (him)."

"I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court."

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that....fire.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts.

Elain will be able to shift into an owl (shifting being a marker of the Spring Court) -

"Your Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting"

"And once you were in this body, you couldn't change?"

Elain was again at my side, I hadn't heard her steps.

Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain cocked her head.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her.

"You came," Elain said behind her and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth - Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck. (How did she make it to Nesta in time when she was in the far reaches of their camp?

"Glamour for what?" "To look normal." "Being a High Lord, comes with physical markers too. It's why I couldn't hide what I was becoming from my brohters - from anyone. It's still easier to blend it." / "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping"

Elain, Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian will find a way to get those on the continent to sign the treaty -

We need the humans in others territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.

"He's spent months helping them sort out the politics of who rules Prythian's slice of the human lands."

"He'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people"

"My sister can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

"She (Mor) was still trying to convince them to sign the new treaty."

"I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

"At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more.

"Jurian..." "Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. "He's keeping everything running. I think he'd have been crowned king by now if it wasn't for Vassa."

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long.

"And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?

"She didn't used to be that way." "She loved balls and parties."

but Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”. / “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

Eris will join Elain and Lucien on the continent, not only to free Vassa and stop Koschei / Beron but to retrieve Mor and for their past to finally be dealt with (their past being a possible mating bond between them which is why he set her free)-

"My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too."

"I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian." He didn't mention his brother, oddly enough. "But they clearly know little about this."

But as Eris strode by...I could have sworn there was something like sadness - like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

But Vassa's freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved. She would have to return to the lake, to the sorcerer-lord who kept her prisoner, sold to him by the very queens who had again gathered in their joint castle. Formerly Vassa's castle too.

"Tell my Vassa I'm waiting"

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?"

"Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic's range."

"She knows the truth but has never revealed it" "Why?" "Because she's afraid of it."

"You're not the person I want to explain myself to." "I doubt Mor will want to listen." (as for a Mor love interest, I think Emerie could be a possibility but I also think the Golden Queen is another option. As her hair and eyes were taken, there's a chance she was made into something new and Elain said "she's not dead, only changed as I was". I don't think she's talking about Vassa. There's also a line where Mor claim she's always be drawn to things that were wild and free)

I think Elain will be the one to break Vassa's curse which I don't think is a curse at all but a Valg infection. If she can heal as Yrene did than we know a healers light can banish the infection from someone's blood. (I have a longer post on this but this is the Cliffs Notes version) -

I'd never seen such spell work. I'd sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threats to unbind it. I found none. It was if the curse was woven into her very blood.

"Black fire raced down his blood" (Chaols Valg infection)

"Will many of these soldiers die?"

Amren was holding Elain upright as she vomited in the grass. Not from the Caldron. But pure terror.

Elain rushed to Cassian. / Nesta was watching them when I reached her and Elain at the tree-lined outskirts. Had she done some healing, somehow, in those moments after she'd severed the king's head? / I didn't ask my sister, and she supplied no answer as she took the water bucket dangling from Elain's still bloody hands.

I think Lucien and Eris will finally kill Beron -

"Beron tortured you?"

Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him.

"The same things he does now." "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch."

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

And Cassian didn't need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction. "I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation." "I think you might even be a good male." "You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

Lucien will finally discover Helion is his father -

But not the gift of Helion. His true father. I still hadn't mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. "I would like to remove myself from the Mask's odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It's been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you'll allow it, I'll stay here for an hour or two." "Something bothering you at home?" Rhys inquired, falling into step beside the High Lord.

I think Elain, if she has healing powers (not to mention her affinity for growing things), will be the one to help the Pegasus. This would provide her a purpose in Day and even connects her to the land where the Prison is located) -

Helion's most beloved pair - this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate - hadn't produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy.

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon - had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them was no longer.

She found flowers - somewhere.

It's possible that if she does travel to the Prison, she'll also find where Koschei's box is located (possibly the box that possesses his soul) -

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls."

"Maybe...." "Part of me wonders if the Prison was either built or stocked with it's inmates to hide the Harp's (onyx box?) presence. There are so many terrible powers here, and the wards on the mountain itself. I wonder if someone hid the Harp (onyx box?) knowing that it'd never be noticed with so much awful magic around it."

"These are like no wards I've felt before." "They feel old. Incredibly old." "They probably predate this place being used as a prison (remember, we learn that the courts were not actually formed until after the Prison was made).

"But Koschei is as old as the sea - older." "I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself it's master. As he once tried to do, (hint that Koschei is Asteri / possible Valg?) long ago." "Those are legends that predate our courts."

Lucien will help infiltrate the castle where the other Queens had been staying. Not only did the castle once belong to Vassa but if Koschei's soul is not hidden in the prison, maybe it's hidden there -

"I told you; their castle is too heavily warded, and full of magical traps that would trip up even Helion."

I do think it's possible that Koschei will be defeated in an Elucien book and I think it's possible Lucien's fire will fail him in that scene causing him to tap into his Day powers in full -

"I was getting worried you'd never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn't have withstood Koschei's lake, I don't think."

Maybe Lucien will also be the one to help Rhys and Feyre undo the bargain that links their lives to one another -

"Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain - if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

I believe Eris will step into power as High Lord of Autumn by the end of an Elucien book. I also wonder if when they think everything has calmed in the rest of Prythian and the continent, they'll visit Feyre and Rhys only to be informed of Bryce having landed in Velaris (and her subsequent return to Midgard). This will set up the either the final spin-off (not sure if SJM still plans on having the third spin-off set in the past which she mentioned as a possibility in interviews) or the next round of ACOTAR books, some from the ones she was contracted for in her latest 4 book deal. -

A Gwynriel book would then follow -

I think Az's story will first tackle his past with Mor. If she is ready to admit to the truths Eris spoke of in SF in an Elucien book then she'll finally be in a place to have the conversation she needs to with Az -

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

I think the majority of his arc will deal with his hatred of the Illyrians, and now their issues with the Valkyries, possibly ending with Rhys leaving him charge of overseeing them in a more permanent position -

Perhaps we needed a permanent presence out here, until the Illyrians remembered things like consequences. / But the war had impacted us all, and with the rebuilding, with the human territories crawling out to meet us, with other Fae kingdoms looking toward a wall-less world and wondering what shit they could get away with...We didn't have the resources to station somewhere out here. Not yet. Perhaps next summer, if the climate elsewhere was calm enough.

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly.

It was healthy, perhaps, for Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.

Az might hunt down Bryaxis who I believe is the thing that guarded a portal to Hel that exists in the library. I think we'll see Bryce enter the portal in CC3 or Aidas exit it and they'll realize they need to close it back up -

"Do you want me to hunt it down?" An easy, unruffled question. "Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well," I said. A rare smile curled Az's mouth. "Generous of you."

"No, but..." Gwyn's swallow was audible. "I can feel something. Like a cat. Small and clever and curious. It's watching.

And then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but...a womb. The womb from which all life and come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. Nesta. Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. Nesta. It slid along her bones, her blood. She had to pull back. Pull away. The darkness pulsed, beckoned.

"The House is good." Nesta breathed. "Is it?" Nesta considered. "The darkness in the pit of the library - it's the heart of the House." Amren nodded. "And where is it now?" "It hasn't made an appearance in weeks. But it's still there. I think it's just...being managed. Maybe the House's knowledge that I'm aware of it, and didn't judge it, makes it easier to keep in check."

I think Gwyn may be a cousin of Eris's (maybe Lucien) which will cause conflict between she and Az as he'll struggle to let go of his prejudices toward Eris (and Lucien) while she will want to build a relationship with the only blood family she has left -

"My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court."

Gwyn will have siren powers that she can use to do her bidding against enemies -

Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the other's hadn't.

Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning.

Like Gwyn was calling only to her.

"I barely outran that one as I led it toward the camp. My timing was just good luck, though."

Gwyn will pull both Narben and the miniature manuscript from the sea. Seeing as how the book is one of the first printed books in existence, I think it will contain information that will be necessary for future threats to their world -

She would have kept it secret. I only heard from a fleeing water-nymph that it had been done."

"When it would not bend to her, she destroyed it." "It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war."

A miniature illuminated manuscript, crafted by the skilled hands of the smallest of the lesser Fae- one of the first printed books in existence. / He regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but he'd been foolish that night.

I think Gwyn's song may also be able to draw Azriel back, in the chance he has a different form and maybe that's what he meant when he made the comment that he sings. That he too needs to sing in order to pull himself from his "beast" side -

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving than I am." "With that pretty face?" she crooned. "I have a hard time believing it."

"They were shape-shifters who dwelled in the lakes and rivers and lured unwitting people into their arms. And after the drowned them, they feasted." Nesta stared toward the bog's black surface. "And they live in there?" "They vanished hundreds of years before we were born," Cassian said firmly. They're a myth whispered around fires, and a warning for children not to play near the water. But no one knows where they went. Most were hunted, but the survivors..." He conceded with a nod to Azriel. / "Just don't go running after a beautiful white horse or a pretty-faced young man and you'll be fine."

I think Merrill will be the main villain in Gwynriels story. That we'll find she had been in contact with Koschei before his defeat and gone searching for other survivors in other worlds at his command. She'll be the one responsible for helping them enter their world -

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove."

"But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds."

"I am descended from Labath, Lord of the Western Wind," Merrill seethed. "Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed."

"Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here." "But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well." "Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so we have been trapped here. Cut off from the cosmos. All that is left of our people, though our mystics beneath this palace have long sought to find any other survivors, any planets where they might be hiding."

"Merrill's brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms - different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can't even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself." "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody..

I think part of a Gwynriel plot will be Az and Gwyn working together to try to understand what Merrill is actually researching -

- and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it. and some other fancy thins that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated.

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research,

By the end of a Gwynriel book, I think we'll be set up for a Multi POV / Crossover Series book(s) in the ACOTAR world. Possible plotlines -

Nesta will raise an army of the dead / World Walk -

And one day, when the time was right...They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

The Harp sighed, a low purr rolling off it as Nesta’s hand neared. We shall open doors and pathways; we shall move through space and eons together.

He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp.

She could feel them around her. The dead. / Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

I think Lucien will be High King, wielding Gwydion. Yes, I realize it called to Bryce but unless we find out Amren’s recollection of the High Priestess giving it to him was wrong, it seems it first belonged to Fionn and was taken by Theia. Made objects can have others do their bidding, therefore it could have wanted Bryce to be the one to take it home. We know Helion responded to the mask, a made object, therefore Lucien should theoretically be able to wield made objects too -

Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he'd trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. / "But know that the Cauldron's benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.

"Lucien's goodness"

"He is a good male"

"he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people."

"Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before."

"But Lucien had learned to keep his cool".

Narben's powers had not been the holy, saviors light of Gwydion" (Side note, SJM tagged Elain under the Blodeuwedd fairytale and the uncle of Lleu (Lleu being the character that seems to match Lucien's part in the tale) was named Gwydion. Gwydion means "born of trees" and in ACOWAR, SJM tells us Lucien looked "crafted from the forest")

SJM once spoke of us seeing more babies in the ACOTAR world and I think this will refer to Elain in any future crossovers (not CC3) -

"But Elain had given it back - had pressed it into Azriel's hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back."

I think Elain's war days are over and a pregnancy would provide her a valid reason to sit out of battle. If she does have healing powers then I imagine she'd much rather tend to the wounded.

I also believe that by this time, the food that sustained the Pegasus would be restored and the illness preventing them from having foals would be cured (a possible Elain storyline), making it possible for the Valkyrie to ride into battle on Pegasus.

The End 😂

[spacedustmantis]

*cough cough* *pulling up notes* *squinting at notes* *realising i don't have bad vision* *unsquinting at the notes* *reading the notes*

how does the life series work in the FUCK I FORGOT THE AU NAME THIS WAS ALLL FOR NAUGHT

i am so glad you asked!!

alright so. the series of events goes like this:

one day grian, as he so often does, gets bored

in his defense immortality gets boring quick and he's been doing this for a While

so, he descends onto a random planet, one that in grian's opinion could do with a little entertainment. he draws up the rules of this game he's planning, pays a carefully selected bunch of cold-hearted, skilled, desperate-for-money workers and has them build a huge fucking arena, kidnap the planet's best fighters, and work on this project full time once it gets rolling

amongst the workers are a few incredibly talented medics, people who, with the right tech, could bring you back from death's door

grian personally installs chips into every contestant's brain that activate as soon as the person is not yet dead, but good as, and then put the body in a temporary stasis, so that it may be transported beneath the arena and the medics can do their work to send them back up fully restored so they can join the fray once more

the whole event is recorded via multiple cameras following around every contestant, edited down into a thrilling reality tv show, and broadcasted weekly for a good few years, which is how long it takes for the game to come to its conclusion

naturally there are a few quirks to this game

every contestant originally gets three lives, three times they get to enjoy the experience of dying, but soon enough a few of them figure out how to hack the chips. they can't seem to alter their function whatsoever, but they do figure out how to change the number of lives the chip grants you, and they also figure out that if the system clocks too many (or too few) lives granted overall in comparison to how many deaths there have been in total, it sends alarm bells ringing. and so there is an underground life trading ring that forms about seven months into the fight

somewhere in the arena there is whispered to be a strange stone statue that, if you play your cards right, bestows gifts to those who complete the tasks it gives them

there is an illness spreading through the arena, like a common cold, just much more destructive. it is known as "red fever" to some, to others it's simply "the bloodlust"

occasionally, caused by apparently nothing at all except coincidence, or some weird glitch in the system, or what certain people might call fate, two contestants get bound together on a metaphysical level. they share pain and wounds and death. they share all the bad, and none of the good

the overarching story roughly follows 3rd life (mostly bc that season works best as a mechs style retelling), with monopoly mountain and dogwarts as the two main factions that crystallize after a few months, but small story elements of each season are dotted around the plot, like one man who managed to defeat all his enemies by taking advantage of the secret keepers boons and playing dirty, or a woman who ran in solitude with only the company of her wolves and who against all odds was the last one standing - until the man she was bound to blew himself up, and her with it.

ultimately two people survive (these people are not grian and scar, but are played by them on stage). and then one person survives. and then the winner of the life game throws himself off of a cliff

of course, grian is not the biggest fan of watching as other people slaughter each other while he sits and does nothing, so naturally he joins the fight. no one knows or would even guess that the scrawny guy who maybe likes explosions a touch too much could be the same individual as The Spectator, the mysterious figure who is behind running the Life Game, not even the staff that has been hired to set it all up. grian, alongside committing murder, also keeps an eye on the game's development as well as the numbers the show gets online.

after a few months he runs into joel, whom he knows is one of the fan favorites, and sticks with him for a while. after joel dies his final death - shot through the heart by scott - he mechanizes him, and, after discovering that mechanizing joel also mechanized the man he was bound to, takes him and etho back to the xisuma to join the crew.

[tswaney17]

This fic is inspired by @duskwhisperer's commissioned art. I really struggled to come up with an idea for this prompt, but then I saw this art and I could vividly picture Feyre catching a moment between these two. Thank you, babes, for letting me utilize that gorgeous art! I appreciate it. And be sure to show it some love! 🌸💙

@elriel-month

Prompt: Veil. 💙

I will not be posting full fics for Elriel Month on Tumblr this year. Check out the beginning snippet and link to read more below.

Feyre was in the kitchen putting the kettle of ginger tea on the stove, lighting the burner with matches from the drawer. The morning sickness was finally starting to hit her and she had to be careful to avoid any encounters with the family when she was under the weather. Rhys’s shield remained firmly intact, but being ill would definitely cause some questions.

In particular, from the two people she saw sitting together out by the glass-stained arch, Elain had constructed in the garden. It was simple architecture, but the result gave them beautiful displays of color during the sunset. It was one of her favorite modifications to the garden so far.

Her head cocked to the side as she took in the Seer and the Shadowsinger, chatting on the stone bench beneath the glass archway. Azriel in his Illyrian leathers having just brought some reports to her mate, and Elain in a lovely pale pink dress.

But what made Feyre pause her tea-making was seeing the enormous smile that took over Elain’s face. Her mouth parted in surprise. She had seen her sister’s smile many times before.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Chapter 2: No One Should Be Alone

Part 1 | Part 3

TW: Desire is an asshole, there's not a lot of Dream x Daunt interaction in this part, but it's full of story building so I hope y'all still enjoy it! 🥰

You walked the long path, hands tucked neatly into your sides to avoid brushing up against the the tall hedges on either side of you. Destiny and his garden of forking ways was perhaps your least favorite place to be. The paths led into every unknown location one could imagine and they were quite easy to get lost in, given that their maker rarely came to fetch you even when you'd been summoned. Still, you trusted your feet and followed the path until it led to the courtyard and tall statues of the Endless. You didn't look at them, didn't need to as they all sat around Destiny's long table with a variety of food spread before them. Fuck.

You stopped at the bottom of the stairs, fully intending to turn around and flee before they saw you, but Destiny of course, beat you to it. He stood from his seat, setting a hand on his book, the chain scraping against the table. His misted over eyes met yours as he spoke, "Daunt. Please, join us."

Everyone's heads turned to you, eyes watching, some with kindness and others with nothing. You only moved up the stairs and stopped again, folding your hands behind your back. "Why am I here, Destiny?"

He gestured to the table. "To sit. To eat."

Desire's cackle made your jaw clench together as they took a long drink of their cup. "Are we really going to invite the Mistake to sit?"

Death was the one to send Desire a glare. "Desire!"

They merely shrugged, putting their feet up on the table. "Everyone's thinking it. Not a goddess, not an Endless. Just a cosmic whoopsie."

Your hands tightened behind your back, but your eyes never left Destiny's. "Why am I really here?"

"Because it is so."

Turning on your heel you moved to leave, but the paths ahead were blocked by thick hedges. Heavy footsteps echoed to you and a rough hand extended to take one of yours. Red hair met your gaze as Destruction bent his head down to press a kiss to the back of your hand. His warm eyes met yours, followed by his bright smile. "Lady Daunt. It's good to see you again."

"Destruction," you said, turning toward him. "It's been a while."

"Come. Sit with us, please."

"I'm not an Endless." You reminded him, loud enough that Destiny could certainly hear you as he retook his seat.

Destruction shrugged. "We don't particularly care for the semantics."

A chair materialized next to Dream, who'd barely looked at you for longer than a second. Destruction retook his chair beside Delirium who pouted. "I wanted to sit next to Daunt! She smells like rain and woods."

You moved slowly, taking hold of the back of the chair and dragging it roughly across the stone. The grating noise made everyone wince as you moved it further down the table, forcing it to grow longer to accommodate you, far from everyone else. You took your seat and folded your hands in your lap, not bothering to look at anyone or say anything. If Destiny was going to force you to sit here you'd do just that and then you would leave, with plans to ignore all future calls from him.

The others went on as usual, Desire ruffled Dreams feathers and Death and Destruction tried their best to keep the peace. Destiny was silent, occasionally flipping through his book. Delirium and Despair were polar opposites. Delirium talked and laughed while Despair sat close to her twin and said very little. It was all rather textbook of the odd family, so when Desire moved to stand in front of you, leaning down across the table so you were certain to see their wide grin you were concerned.

Their golden eyes flared as they spoke, "I know a little secret."

"Good for you, we all know how much you enjoy those."

"It's about you, little Mistake," they purred. "I finally put my finger on that pesky desire of yours."

You froze, forcing your breaths to remain even as you stared them down. "It took you a while."

Desire's hair momentarily shifted to black, before returning to normal. "It was so simple too! Far more than I was expecting." They faked a frown. "It's almost... sad how pathetic it was in the end."

"That's enough." It was Dream that spoke, a shock to everyone, you included.

"All you ever desired was an end to your loneliness," Desire continued in spite of their brothers words. Shame and rage filled your lungs but you refused to look away. "It would seem that everyone else sees you just as we do. A Mistake. A whoopsie. A burden."

You ground your teeth together, mist curling around your legs as you slowly stood from your chair, looking at Destiny with a glare. "Is your book satisfied yet?"

He didn't look up from his book, nor did he sound like he particularly cared as he answered, "Yes."

You said nothing else as you turned and left through the first open path that you saw. You could hear the Endless siblings arguing in the distance but you didn't slow, not until you were once again surrounded by the dark emerald of your trees and the cold kiss of your mist, not until you were home again. You stopped walking, bracing yourself against a nearby tree and closing your eyes as tightly as you could to stop the tears from spilling over.

*

"Sorry to keep you waiting out here, I wasn't expecting you." Destruction led you inside his large estate within his realm.

"I didn't mind," you assured him, looking closely at the multitude of failed artwork. "These are new."

He laughed. "New, but just as bad as the others."

You shook your head. "I don't think they're that bad."

"You don't have to lie to him," the gruff voice of Destructions trusty companion, insisted as the shaggy dog trotted toward you. "He knows they're shit."

Barnabas stood on his hind legs and let his paws settle on your shoulders as he licked your cheek and wagged his tail. "I'm trying to be nice."

The dog snorted. "Think they call that pity in the human world."

Destruction shoved the dog off you and rolled his eyes. "Ignore him, he's in a bad mood today."

"Ugh, you smell like Dream. All sandy and bleh." Barnabas grumbled as he walked to his soft cushion bed and settled down, chewing on a bone. "You been spending more time in that Dreaming of his?"

"Some." You said, sitting in a chair at a small table with a chess board on top. Your eyes looked at the pieces, trying to refamiliarize yourself with the game the two of you had stopped. "Though I'm not allowed past his fancy gate."

"Ohhh, he giving you the cold shoulder now?"

"Has he ever given me the warm shoulder before?"

Destruction sat across from you and sighed. "Dream is stubborn and can be rather self important. I'm sure he doesn't mean it to seem cruel." You and Barnabas looked at Destruction and tilted your heads. "Okay, maybe it's meant to be a bit cruel. Dream is..."

"An ass," you offered.

"A twat," Barnabas added.

"Self obsessed."

"A complete know it all."

"A show off."

"Moody."

"Looks like a stick got shoved a bit too far up his ass."

You looked at Barnabas with a smile. "Ooohhh, good one."

The dog bowed his head. "Why thank you!"

Destruction rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Yes, he can be all of those things. But he cares. Far more than I think either of you give him credit for."

"I'll believe that when I see it," you mumbled.

"How are things in The Forest?" your friend tentatively asked.

Your playful demeanor shifted as you cleared your throat. "Fine."

"Daunt, you don't have to lie to me."

"It is how it always is, Destruction. Trees and mist and half dead flowers. There's nothing more to talk about."

He gestured around him. "I think I can understand that."

You shook your head, eyes focusing on the homey features that he'd added to his place, head turning to look down at Barnabas with a sad smile. "Here is different. You have things that are yours, things you've made... even if they are garbage... you have a companion to pass the time with."

"Daunt..."

Breathing out a hot breath you refocused on the board. "Enough chit chat. Where were we last time?"

For a moment it looked like Destruction wasn't going to let it go that easily, but when you looked up at him with a silent plead in your eyes he relaxed his shoulders and played along. "I believe I was kicking your ass at chess."

You smiled brightly. "Ahh yes, you've fallen into my trap then!"

Destruction hummed, placing his hands under his chin. "Just make your move, Daunty."

*

It wasn't often that Dream had his siblings visit his realm, but he always found himself anxious when they did. He made certain everything was in the best of shape and that all of his subjects were on their best behavior. With Lucienne at his side he welcomed Destruction with a tense nod. "Brother, it's a surprise to have you visit."

Destruction smiled and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "How's the past few years been treating you?"

His dog sniffed around and openly gagged. "Yeah, how's all that sand doing?"

"All has been well," he replied simply, but in the quiet of his own mind he questioned why his brother was here at all.

Destruction looked at Lucienne and smiled brightly. "Lucienne, always a pleasure to see you!"

"You as well, my lord."

"What do you want?" Dream finally said.

Destruction chuckled. "Always straight to the point huh?" Dream's silence spoke the words he did not, and showcased his growing annoyance clear as day. "I need a favor."

"It has been long since you asked for a favor," Dream noted. "What do you need of me?"

"A rock."

"A... Rock?"

"A fancy one," Destruction clarified. "God, I forgot what you called them last time. One of the ones that makes those animals you showed me a while ago."

"A shifting stone?" Dream's eyes narrowed and his brows pinched together. "Why would you need such a thing?"

Destruction shrugged, a moment of rare silence. "I just do... for stuff... reasons... Can you give me one or not?"

Dream hummed quietly, looking discreetly to his librarian before nodding. "I can. Though you know the animals that come of these stones are not normal pets. They have thoughts and wants of their own, sentient beings to be treated with respect."

"I know," he said. "I have no intentions to harm them, if that's your concern."

With another, less stiff, nod Dream pulled his hand through the air, opening his palm to his brother to reveal a small shimmering green stone. "Take care of it."

Destruction took it gently, holding it with a smile and reverence that put Dreams mind at ease. "Thank you, brother."

And just as quickly as he came, Destruction was gone once again, leaving Dream in the peaceful quiet of his realm. For a while he wondered what his brother would do with another pet, but the thoughts faded quickly as he returned to his duties.

The silence of The Forest was all but consuming as you sat and tended to your wilting garden, even knowing it was in vain. Nothing would bloom here... not a flower or new plaid of grass... nothing would be wrought from your fingertips. And nothing would be your legacy. A vast endless plain of plants and trees uninspired to grow further. Stuck. Frozen. Forever daunted into being less than they could.

Barnabas surprised you with a wet lick to the cheek. You giggled and wiped it off with your sleeve. "Barnabas? What are you doing here?"

"The big fella brought me," he turned his head to the path as Destruction stepped over the trees roots with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, waving your hand to help clear his path. "I could have made the walk much easier for you."

Destruction waved off your concern and held his hand out. "I have something for you."

You looked at him with narrow eyes. "What's the occasion?"

"There isn't one. Just open your hand."

Following his instruction you flattened your palm to him, and he dropped a shimmering green stone into it. You could feel power and life swirling inside it, but couldn't place exactly what it was or who made it. "What's this?"

"A very fancy rock," he answered. "It'll take the shape of whatever animal you want it to."

"Why?"

Destruction gave Barnabas a pat on the head. "I understand what it feels like to be alone. The others... they don't really get that, not anymore at least. Death has the humans. Desire has themselves and Despair and vice versa. Delirium has, well everyone, anyone. And Dream has his realm, his people. You and I are the odd men out. The two loneliest of the Endless."

"I'm not an Endless."

"Not the point. I just... I want you to have a companion, you know, for when I can't be around."

You looked up at him with a smile. "Planning on going somewhere?"

Destruction's usually loose smile was stiff as he shook his head and looked away from your face. "No, but still. Go on, give it a try."

It felt a bit foolish, staring down at a rock and waiting for some kind of animal to burst out of it. But, you closed your eyes and thought of nothing in particular at first, clearing your mind to let the stone speak to you... yeah this was defiantly foolish. Warmth radiated from your palm and nearly burnt you as you pulled you hands back and let the stone drop to the ground. You worried it would break, but before it hit the ground a black wolf landed on its feet and curiously sniffed the air before looking up at you.

Emerald eyes glistened up as the wolf sat at your feet. A light but lethal feminine voice spoke, "Are you the one that has summoned me here?"

"Um," you stuttered. "Yes... I suppose I am."

The wolf bowed it's head. "Then I shall remain at your side."

You looked up at Destruction who merely shrugged. "You don't have to, if it's not what you want."

The eyes narrowed. "Want?"

"Yeah, want. If there's something else you'd rather do, or somewhere else you'd rather be you can always go." You looked around and chuckled nervously. "There's not exactly much to do here."

The wolf examined the surrounding woods and made a noise. "You are alone here?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall stay," she insisted. "None should be alone."

You smiled, sitting down onto the mossy ground. "What should I call you then?"

"I have no name, should you wish to gift me one."

"How about Fern?" You suggest, playing with the stunted ferns planted at your sides.

The wolf looked at the plant with wide, curious eyes. "Fern." she repeated. "I quite like the sound of it."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Fern. I'm Daunt."

*

1598

The old tavern was full of voices and noise that made it difficult to hear the one calling out to you. It was rare that humans required a meeting in their own world, but that usually meant their ideas were far too powerful for you to suppress once they'd met them in dreams. So, here you were, lost in the sea of bodies and odd smells, your eyes quietly scanning to find the one you sought out. They lingered on a man sitting at a long table, dressed in fine clothes with his hair done well and his eyes locked onto the door. Not him, you thought moving along. Why is this mortal so difficult to find?

Dream walked into the tavern dressed accordingly, which to him meant better than everyone else, Hob Gadling sat across the crowded tavern and stood once he saw him. "My friend! Sit down. Got in a couple of bottles of good wine for us. Already made a start on 'em."

"Hello Hob," he said as he slid into the open seat.

Hob made a face. "Hob... Faith, that takes me back some few years, It's Sir Robert Gadling now, old stranger."

Dream's brow arched as he watched the man bow dramatically. "You've had good fortune, I take it."

"The gods have smiled on me as they smile on all England where no man is slave or bondsman. Venison pasty?" Hob asked, gesturing to the large plate of pastries. Dream regarded him with nothing more than a pointed look. "No? They're good." He bit into one, groaning with a smile. "Let's see. Last we spoke, I was working with Billy Caxton. Made some gold from that. Put it to work in Henry Tudor's shipyards. I made a small pile. Then I went north for a year or so, came back as my son. Done that twice now."

He watched Hob Gadling hold a pitcher out without even regarding the woman he addressed, "Girl, more wine. When fat Henry had gone for the monasteries, I bought my estates, and a healthy gift of gold to the Crown saw to... a knighthood." He laughed, eyes wide with pride. "That's not all! Here. My fair Eleanor and little Robyn. My first born son in over 200 years on this Earth, that I know of."

Dreams lips twitched into a momentary smile as he looked down at the portrait. Finally, something of substance that might finally make this mortal wish for death. Hob looked at the picture fondly. "It's funny. This is what I always dreamed heaven would be like, way back. It's safe to walk the streets. Enough food. Good wine. Life is so rich."

"God's wounds!" Dream's head turned to the voice. "If only I could write like you!"

Your head snapped to the side, where a thin man with a glistening earring had stood up. "In... In Faustus, when you wrote, "To God? He loves thee not. The God thou servest is thine own appetite, wherein is fixed to the love of Beelzebub. To him, I'll build a alter in the church and offer up lukewarm blood of new-born babes.""

The tavern erupted into cheers as you smiled at the familiar face. Will. I should have known. You made your way through the crowd, towards his dimly lit table where he spoke with his friend of his deepest wishes to be as successful as he was. "Hello, Will."

He turned his head, bright eyes looking up at you with a fading smile. "Do I... know you?"

"In a sense," you said as he stood to get a better look at your face. "That was quite a performance."

He chuckled bashfully. "Oh, thank you... It was nothing."

"No, it was beautiful."

"One day I hope to be able to preform my own works before the mases."

You smiled, sadly and nodded. "I know. Your ideas are beautiful. I've not seen anything like them."

His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you with a glint of recognition. "I've seen you before... In my dreams. You... You stop them, the ideas why?"

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Will I ever be a great playwrite?"

You took hold of his hand. "Keep trying, Will. And maybe one day those brilliant ideas of yours will be what people preform in old taverns." With a sigh you pressed your lips to his cheek, letting the fog roll over his mind and erase your presence entirely. "For now, it's time to forget."

Dream had inquired about the little man with big dreams, but truly he'd stopped listening at the sight of white hair moving through the crowd. Daunt. She spoke with the man, this Will Shaxberd, gracing him with small smiles and light touches. When her lips pressed to the mans cheek Dream felt his hands clench together at the simple yet intimate gesture. He didn't understand how no one else seemed to take note of her, the way her light white dress flowed as she moved, the sight of her soft skin glowing beneath the firelight, the lightness in her voice... Everyone should have been looking at her. Yet, Dream was glad he was the only one that seemed to be. Daunt departed and he found himself rising, moving toward this Will. If she was here, giving him her attention in the Waking World and not dreams then his ideas must have some kind of merit.

It felt better to be back in dreams, here at least you could go mostly unnoticed without resorting to shielding yourself. You watched the poor dreamer look through the woods with wide and desperate eyes, in search of the path to their beloved ideas. This dream felt a bit too close to home, as you remembered when you'd first found yourself in The Forest. Lost and afraid, with none to call to for help. A black figure settled in beside you, Dream's power washing over you like a tidal wave and causing you to tense. "I've not seen you in a while."

You didn't look at him. "Last I remember, I was no longer worthy of an audience with the great King of Dreams."

"Last I remember, you were throwing me out of your realm." He mused.

"Perhaps you deserved it." You suggested.

"Perhaps." You turned your head to him at last, eyes wide and unbelieving as his words settled around you. Dream never admitted he was wrong, never even came close to it. Your eyes drifted down his tall figure, heat washing through you at the sight of his form fitting leather attire, the dream stone ruby glimmering in the light. You looked back up to his face, his hair was longer, slicked back and those eyes... his damn eyes watched you with light amusement. "Or perhaps you were acting brashly."

There it was. You rolled your eyes and turned your head away, shoving the odd feelings deep into your gut. "What do you want?"

"Must I want something?"

"Don't you always?" You question. "I believe your favorite demand is 'leave my dreamers alone' or something of the sort."

He nodded, folding his hands behind his back. "I do want that, but it seems unlikely you'll listen."

Listen? As if this were your choice. "I've little say in the matter."

"So you've said."

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"It would not be against your nature, would it?"

A low growl echoed from within the fog, drawing both of our eyes to the emerald eyes and the black wolf that they belonged to. "Do you wish his throat torn open, Lady Daunt?"

"No, Fern, unfortunately that will not be necessary." You turned, gesturing the creature to follow. "We were just leaving."

Dream's hand grabbed your wrist quickly. "Where did you get this beast?"

You pulled it free of his grasp. "She was a gift from your brother if you must know." The look in his eyes was different than usual, but you ignored it and shrugged your shoulder. "On to the next, I suppose."

The next dream was darker, not a dream at all but rather a nightmare. You only took a step or two forward before you fell into a strangers chest, the soft color of his suit faded beneath your touch. His hands steadied you as you looked up to find two extra rows of teeth staring down at you. He was one of Dreams Nightmares. "Forgive me, Nightmare, things like this tend to happen when I touch some of Dreams creations."

He merely smiled. "It's no problem. Besides, I kinda like the white, don't you?"

"It certainly brings out your eyes," you remark with a smile.

"Why thank you, kind lady. You're not like him, Dream that is, are you?"

"No," you replied quickly. "I'm quite literally the opposite."

His smile grew wider. "You got a name?"

"Daunt."

The nightmare tipped his hat to you, bowing with the gesture. "A pleasure."

"And do you have a name?"

"They call me The Corinthian."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Corinthian," you said holding your hand out to him.

He took it and gave it a firm shake. "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

[viking-hel]

For Jonsa Halloween 2022, Day 2

—

Witch. Castle. Night. 🎃

There had long been a tradition amongst the noble boys of the town to seduce the Woman of the Night.

Not some slattern or harlot, but a woman just as seductive and dangerous. A witch. A lonely one at that.

So of course, the noble lads all wished to take away that loneliness. They were so strong and brave and virile. They were so very deserving of this powerful woman.

Many tried. All failed. One claimed to have seen her. Tall and willowy, but so very imperious.

‘Cold wench, she wouldn’t be worth the time it takes to catch her,’ Harry Hardyng grumbled. Jon sneered at the coarse man behind his tankard. He despised these men, even if they were boys he’d grown up with. None of them were worth any woman; Harry made his way through the brothels the way he did the breweries, and the less said about Ramsay’s particular tendencies the better.

‘She spurned me, too,’ Ramsay hissed. ‘I’ll claim her, and put her in her place. My hounds should help.’

Jon had heard enough. With a bang, he stalked from the long bench and table. Ramsay’s mocking voice following him out.

‘You couldn’t seduce a hen into a henhouse, bastard. Gird your pecker!’

—

It was a large, foreboding castle. It loomed out of the darkness slowly, like ink spreading slowly across a page. The moon was full and glinted off the glass in the towers, twinkling like the stars.

The challenge was never to get in. The challenge was to convince the witch to lie with you. Or…so the men said.

As Jon walked to the great arch, he felt eyes. From the shadows slid beasts of snow and smoke, eyes red and teeth bared.

Direwolves, he thought incredulously. Beasts of legend, not seen for almost three hundred years. Yet here was a pack of them, each with their eyes riveted on him. They made no move for him. They were almost statues and had never shifted at all. Carefully, Jon slinked past them and to the great oak doors.

They shifted and creaked, the hinges squealing into the night like tortured souls.

‘I wondered if any would come.’

Jon froze. Slowly, one by one a line of candles lit, a line through the centre of a great hall pointing him to a wide, stone dais atop which sat a carved throne. There, a woman sat.

‘You have come to lure me out with pretty promises and sweet words.’

Jon gulped. ‘N-no, my lady.’

‘No?’ A sharp click of a heeled shoe shattered the spell that froze the candles and their light surged to all corners. The room was vast and set as if a hearty meal was about to be served, though there was none to serve, except whatever ghosts the Witch had.

Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. She was indeed tall and willowy, her dress made of black scales shimmered with the candlelight as she haltingly stepped towards him.

‘If not with honeyed words, then how would you…convince me to accept you?’

‘I-I would offer you my ear for your worries, my lady, my voice for conversation, or my presence for quiet company. Whatever you so wish, if it be in my power, I would give.’ Jon hadn’t thought much on what he’d say, but he didn’t want to be like the other men. He wasn’t the one alone in a castle with men begging for her for one night

The witch regarded him. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. ‘Nothing else? No…desires of the flesh?’

‘Beautiful as you are, my lady, I do not wish it. You are the one seeking, and what you seek is what I will give.’

She smiled. It was gentle and kind, and Jon oddly felt his face flush. ‘I have met brave men, arrogant men and foolish men. I had yet to meet a kind one. I am glad to have met one now. Your name, ser?’

‘Jon Snow.’

‘Well then, Jon Snow, I seek company and one kiss.’ She smiled again, this time with a touch of mischief.

He knew what witch’s kisses were. Bewitching things but that mattered not to Jon. He knew what he was offering, and gladly accepted it. Slowly, he reached for her jaw and carefully, tenderly pressed one chaste kiss to her lips. She sighed and leaned into him as he pulled away.

‘Have you had no companionship for long?’ He asked.

‘Not for so long. Men always sought to drag me with them. I couldn’t do that. They wanted things from me.’

‘Then I am glad to follow you, my lady.’ He smiled down at her and tucked hair away from her face.

‘Might you call me Sansa?’

[electrasev5nwrites]

Day 4 Prompt: Power and Rivendell

"Our parents will not support us in going."

Elladan nodded. Elrohir was right. "If they did not have charge of the city, they would go to offer aid."

Elrohir spread his palms flat on the stone bench. "And certainly they would have gone to battle at our age."

The twins were 1306 years old, after all. They were hardly youths in their first days of training. 

"Our parents were both in battle before Arwen's age," Elladan agreed uncomfortably. They didn't want to give their little sister an excuse to go off to war. But was that worth shirking their duty? And- 

"It's not fair to keep her from it." Elrohir looked up at the night sky. "She has the right to fight if she wishes to." 

It was bare hours after the messenger had come begging for aid to fight the Witch King. Rivendell had never been so solemn in the twins' memories.

"She doesn't have our skill." Elladan wasn't disagreeing. He was merely expressing a counterargument to what they wanted to do. The idea that their baby sister might follow them to war and die there was a cold vise around his heart. 

"She doesn't." Those words hung heavy. "We thought we were children of peace."

"We were children of peace," Elladan corrected. He shifted. His robes felt wrong. They lacked the weight for this discussion. He ought to be in armor. "We are grown now and war has come. Who are we to hide from it when quick men and skillful dwarrow and the gentle perian go to battle?"

"The Witch King must be defeated." Elrohir wasn't seeing the stars. His gaze went past them. 

The Witch King had once been a great leader of men. He had protected his people for decades. And then he had trusted and taken a ring just like the one that Father had. And he'd been less lucky.

Elladan took in a wavering breath. The only thing that separated his family's fate from the Witch King's was the luck of birth.

'We who were born to power can't stand idly by when it is abused.'

They didn't have long to decide. On the morrow, Glorfindel was taking an army. They had to hurry if there was any hope of helping.

Elladan stared at his own hands. They were unblemished. He had spent countless hours learning the harp, the lute, the bow, the sword. What right had he to stay this hand?

"I am decided, brother." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I will go with Glorfindel ere the morning."

Elrohir took in a long breath. "I go with you, brother." 

Elladan took a moment to breathe in the night air and grieve for what he was about to lose. They might not come back. 

A frisson of fear struck his heart. 

'Surely if one of us falls, the other falls with him.' His hand reached out to scrabble for his brother's hand. 'There is nothing I fear more.'

"We must pack, then. Armor, weapons, traveling gear…"

"We must speak with our parents," Elrohir corrected. His voice had all the trepidation that Elladan was trying not to feel. "We must tell them our decision and hear their counsel."

Elladan let out a humorless laugh. "I am very afraid of that." 

They found their parents together. Mother was brushing Arwen's hair. 

Father looked at them with dread in his eyes. He knew why they had come.

"Father, Mother," Elrohir greeted. "We mean to go with Lord Glorfindel."

Celebrian looked up sharply. "You must not. We are sending our army, not our heirs." 

"Did we not train with that army?" Elrohir asked gently. He entered the room fully and let the door ease shut on their conversation. "We are full grown."

"You are still young," their Father countered. His eyes were full of worry. "There will be other battles for you."

"This is true," Elladan agreed. "We could stay here and only leave when we personally are threatened, or when we feel ready. What right have we to do that?"

"You have every right," Celebrian breathed. She set down the brush and stood to put a hand on Elladan's cheek. "No one is asking you to do this."

She was smaller than him now, Elladan noticed. He was as tall as their Father, and he dwarfed Celebrian. It was sobering to be so aware that he was no longer a child.

"That is true." Elrohir put a hand on Mother's shoulder. "No one is asking. But we know that we are part of this world. You are right to fear that we have no experience. But we have hundreds of years of training."

"Who among the humans can claim that?" Elladan asked wryly. 

"Or among the perian?" Elrohir added. "Even the Dwarrow have but a fraction of our lifetime to learn the arts of war. And yet they are fighting for Middle Earth."

"You have many years to fight for Middle Earth. That will be your legacy after we are gone." Elrond began to pace. "If you go now and die, you will leave Rivendell without protectors."

Elrohir looked at Arwen, the obvious rebuttal to that argument. Pain flashed across her face and he could not quite bear to say that she would alone protect Rivendell. "If that is to be our fate, then it is worth it," he said fiercely. "No one wishes to live in evil times, and no one desires to die young. And yet many are dying now." 

"Many will die who might be saved if we go," Elladan added. He raised his hands in helplessness. "I cannot abandon them to that fate."

"I would not like myself if I did," Elrohir admitted. "We feel that we must go."

Silence fell over the family of the last homely house. Here in this domain, Elrond had power over nearly everything. But the world outside was waiting.

"If you go," Elrond said slowly, "I will feel I have failed to protect you. We did not want you to face dangers as we did."

"You did not cause these dangers," Elrohir implored. "But you have prepared us to face them." His voice softened. "Let us go."

Celebrian bowed her head in grief. Arwen came behind to put an arm around their mother's shoulders. Her grey eyes met Elrohir's and then Elladan's eyes in turn. "The twins are skilled," she said quietly. "And they will be under the direction of Glorfindel."

"Arwen!" Their father cried. "You cannot tell me that you support this."

Arwen tossed her hair. "I do," she said fiercely. "And if I had been thoughtful of my own responsibility in the past, I would go as well." Shame crept into her voice. "I should also go. But I am weak where they are strong."

Father took in a ragged inhalation. "Small comforts," he said, so quietly that no one responded to it. 

"We should help them pack," Arwen said firmly, "and send them with our blessings.* Her eyes were full of tears. "When you return, brothers, I won't be here."

Everyone cried out at that. Arwen waved them off. "I will go to Grandmother." Her jaw was set in determination. "I am not a warrior. But I can become a fighter."

"Galadriel," Father breathed. "She can… she can teach you well." The strength seemed to leave his body. He looked at his children. Elladan saw sorrow, yes. He also saw pride. "Very well. We must prepare."

@halfelvenweek

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

Can we get the story of scourge? Or anything about them!? Their fraction even? How it’s run?

Hm… let’s see…

The son of Quince, Tiny was born as the runt to a litter of three. Due to his size, his littermates bullied him often, especially when it came to stealing his share of nutrition, and eventually did away with him by tricking him into a scrap of old fabric and throwing him into a river. He nearly drowned, but was rescued by a kind, elderly black molly-hound named Haggler who essentially raised him from then on. Desperate to keep her safe, and himself alongside his adopted mother figure, he started sweeping the surrounding areas for a better place to live - and was ultimately confronted by the king of the ruins, a twisted mass of an archfiend. Struggling to escape, he ultimately turned to fight the beast, and ended up tricking it off of a great height, where he impaled it upon a jagged spire of stone. His victory was seen and spread, and it wasn’t long until he took the name Scourge, warrior of the streets, The Slayer, The Protector, commander of those bound not by blood, but by fear.

The Bloodbound is definitely not a faction; they’re not part of the fealty, and look with envy and disdain upon those who occupy the lush, fertile, safe forestlands. They’re more like… a gang, really. Sort of… Think of if an activist organization/commune had a really weird baby with the way a medieval kingdom is set up, but they were led by a tiny Batman and full of a bunch of aggressive outcasts governed by fear and intimidation, and you’ve got yourself the Bloodbound.

They have an incredibly strict, set hierarchy: at the very top, their leader, the strongest amongst them, is their commander and founder, Scourge. He has a reputation for being bloodcurdling vicious, terrifying and ruthless, but also with a distinctive softness towards the weak and a loathing for the fealty. When he first stepped foot within the ruins, he gained power horrifyingly swiftly, as he single-handedly slain the eldest archfiend that haunted and dominated the streets. With Scourge at the very top in the wake of such a mind numbing victory, everything just kind of fell into place beneath him.

His wardens, his personal guard of sorts, rank directly below him; they flank Scourge, act as his escorts and messengers, etc. They’re essentially the direct enforcers of his will; whatever Scourge wants? They do it, without question. Most of Scourge’s orders to them, however, are asking to offer food to the weak or put a haughty head in their place.

Speaking of which: the regiment heads! The Bloodbound is split into four sectors… I suppose factions, as well ;). The heads are third in the Bloodbound’s rankings, with those of their regiment ranking directly below them. The heads don’t so much lead them as they manage them, making sure everyone is healthy, well-fed, and satisfied in their roles. The heads report to the wardens, and the wardens report to Scourge.

The Claw Regiment are the fighters, skilled in combat and typically used to swiftly quell any uprisings or keep the untamed archfiends at bay. They are managed by Fury, a one-eyed molly cat with a tendency towards violence.

The Tooth Regiment are the scavengers, the hunters, the gatherers. They find the food that feeds the entirety of the Bloodbound, and distribute it evenly amongst their ranks. They are managed by Mourn, a blind molly hound. (Roughly inspired by/pays homage to @am-i-too-old-for-warriors-yet’s Cricketleap; they were one of the original inspirations for OFND)

The Horn Regiment are the Bloodbound’s primary defense unit. They sweep the streets, take note of infrastructure and potential hiding spots, keep things clean and safe. They are managed by Claw, a massive, mutated rat tom the size of a cat.

The Wing Regiment are the Bloodbound’s eyes. They survey the streets, scouting out anything new that may change from the day-to-day normalcy. They are how Scourge stays updated on the daily affairs of those under his care; if anything threatens them, the Wing Regiment (and their head) report directly to him to be taken care of. They are managed by Hiss, a vulture jack with a clipped wing and a mangled beak.

Anyone not part of a regiment are referred to as unofficials or wanderers - creatures that are technically part of the Bloodbound, but who are too weak, young, old, or otherwise unable to take part in the natural hierarchy and sorting of the primary group. Rust is an unofficial/wanderer of the Bloodbound!

[magicalgirlartist]

New Teacher AU update!

Summary: a bear has gotten into the school.

CONTENT WARNING: this chapter is about a school that has entered a lockdown. I know that could be a potentially triggering or upsetting topic for some people to read about and there's really no getting around that that's the plot of this chapter, and it's a fairly plot-heavy one. If it's something that you can't handle reading a whole 5k word chapter about and/or you're not sure if it will be harmful for you to read, I am posting a brief summary under the readmore so you can decide for yourself. Fic tags have also been updated appropriately.

TL;DR IMPORTANT PLOT BEATS VERSION

The gang fights the bear in the gym in order to rescue Takua, who is stuck in the gym supply closet, revealing that they have elemental powers. Onewa manages to send the bear back to the woods and Vakama promises everything will be explained tomorrow.

LONGER FULL-ASS SUMMARY

Vakama announces the lockdown and Tahu immediately locks down his class. Unfortunately, he then realizes Takua isn't there, so he puts Jaller in charge and leaves with a baseball bat to look for him.

Lewa, Gali, and Onewa are still face to face with the bear after Gali alerted Vakama via text. It's wearing some kind of stone mask that is dripping with green goop. Lewa wants to help the bear, but Onewa sends them both around the corner and out of the way before getting smacked around and knocked out by the bear. Lewa and Gali drag him into the staff room and lock themselves in, and the bear quickly loses interest and leaves. Gali makes sure Onewa is fine, just unconscious, and Lewa says they should go check on their class. They aren't supposed to leave once they're safe, but they decide they can probably handle it and leave.

Kopaka has been locked out of his classroom and can't find any rooms that are unlocked. He's very grouchy about this. The first person he runs into is Tahu, who also didn't bring his keys with him but promises that Jaller will let them in once he's found Takua. Not having any better ideas, Kopaka goes with him.

Takua is hiding in the basement stairwell, but decides that's not a good place to hide since he's still out in the open for all intents and purposes. All the rooms in the basement are probably locked, so he decides to go for the gym supply closet, which is usually propped open and locks on its own. On his way there, he runs into the bear and bolts for the gym.

Pohatu knocks Onua over by accident. They compare notes, and both are convinced Matau is taking care of their classes while they're locked out. Tahu and Kopaka arrive, then Lewa and Gali. They hear a scream, realize it's Takua, and run off to find him.

The bear is in the gym, banging its paws against the supply closet door. Kopaka reveals that Takua is hiding in there, not explaining how he knows that even with the door closed. Tahu declares they have to get the bear out of there to rescue Takua, and Onua has the idea of luring it outside. They spread out around the gym, and the bear charges Tahu. He projects a shield and it bounces harmlessly off it. He's also somehow set his baseball bat on fire. The bear charges Lewa instead, and Onua sends a shockwave through the ground that knocks it off its feet. When it gets back up, Lewa jumps over it to swing from the rafters instead. Pohatu starts kicking soccer balls at the bear, one of them knocking its mask askew. It stops attacking and acts like a normal bear for a moment, but as Lewa jumps on it to try and remove the mask it attacks again, flinging him into Kopaka.

Gali activates the overhead sprinkler system, drenching the bear and pooling water around its feet. Kopaka freezes it to the floor. Lewa says the mask hurt when he touched it, and that they should try and get it off the bear. Pohatu, Onua, Gali, and Lewa attack using their elements, while Kopaka keeps it frozen. Tahu delivers the final blow, smashing his on-fire bat into the mask and splitting it in half. Without the mask, the bear starts acting like a normal bear again. Vakama and Onewa show up, and Onewa sends the bear back to the forest.

After school, Vakama is exhausted and just wants to go home. He spent the whole afternoon coordinating getting all the kids sent home and fielding angry calls and emails from parents while Nokama dealt with the school board. Gali shows up to talk to him, and he promises to tell them everything tomorrow, but he just can't right now because he's about to collapse. She agrees and leaves. As Vakama is leaving for the day, he looks at a photograph of one of the former principals of Kini Nui, Lhikan, wondering what he would have done in his place.

[adleryoung]

"I'm not ready!" I wailed. My heart was still beating rapidly from the terror of the dream I just had, and I started to hyperventilate. "I can't put a whole show together in less than an hour! It has to be amazing! It has to be flawless! These are a bunch of moody, insolent, young social outcasts! AND they're lowfolk! If I don't impress them immediately, they'll lose interest and leave, and spread stories about how dumb and lame I am! The whole project will be ruined!"

"Why would it matter if a buncha losers think you're lame?" Burnside asked.

"Outcasts, not losers," I corrected her. "They know things that the common rabble can never appreciate. These are the kind of people I need to impress, but I'm gonna blow it because I'm not ready! Oh this is awful! Maybe I should just hide."

"Begging thy pardon, Sire," Typantronn interjected. "Standing here panicking is only going to waste time that would be better spent in getting ready. Dost thou really need to put on a huge show?"

"They're not coming all this way to hear me tell jokes and sing songs," I retorted.

"You could charm 'em with Elfsong," Burnside suggested. "That's a thing, right? I remember hearin' about it in the Changeling Orientation sessions."

"It won't do!" I groaned. "Elfsong is only good for hypnotizing and confusing them. We're doomed!"

"What would Miss Vernier think if she saw thee in this state?" Typantronn demanded sternly.

She had a point. I was being silly and wasting valuable time. If I was going to make it as Lone Elf, I would have to learn to think on my feet. There would doubtless be many more situations like this, or even worse, in my future. Time to start dealing with them, now!

"By Fuma," I declared, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to focus. "You're right! Battles are not won by surrendering! He who would succeed must strive with all his will!"

"That's the spirit!" Typantronn cheered enthusiastically.

"I would have liked some time to write a speech and rehearse," I mused aloud, "but instead I'm going to have to improvise. Now then … lowfolk are easily impressed by a bit of theater. The first thing I want them to see when they emerge from the bushes is Burnside standing guard. I gather that she has become a local legend, and it will surely impress them to see that the famous 'Raccoon Monster' is working for me. Or wait … will that come across too grim? I don't want them thinking I'm Unseelie. Hmmm … Burnside, your part will be simple. You just need to look intimidating, but not TOO intimidating."

"How do you mean?" Burnside asked. "Is a fist full o' daggers more or less intimidatin' than a machete? Should I be naked, hunched over an growlin' or dressed, standin' up an talkin' proper? Should I go kill somethin' real quick an smear its blood on me?"

"Uh," I stalled, momentarily losing my train of thought. "Just be sort of stern and quiet, and look mean but not scary. If you still have that assassin's cloak, wear that … and I guess use the machete unless you've got like a wicked looking pole-axe or something. You're the dreaded Raccoon Monster, but you've been tamed in my service. This will give the impression that I am a, what's the term? A bad-ass? Then when the witches approach, instruct them to enter the stone circle if they are worthy and brave enough. At this point they should see that I have more servants, so the Ixies need to be buzzing around, looking busy like they're doing something important. Yeah yeah, we're setting the stage! The Ixies notice these intruders and start rhetorically asking if they're worthy and maybe argue amongst themselves if they are or aren't."

"Soundeth good," Typantronn declared with a nod. "Can we bet on it?"

"Better not," I decided. "We're trying to look professional here. You can argue with each other a little bit and maybe taunt the coven over their 'worthiness' but don't get carried away. Remember you're supposed to be working, relaying messages or whatever, so you wouldn't have a lot of time to dally. Once they're sufficiently softened up, then you, Typantronn, can declare that I am approaching. You all scatter and disappear. A suspenseful silence descends over the stone circle."

"It giveth me chills just imagining it!" Typantronn exclaimed.

"That does sound purty good so far," Burnside agreed.

"Good," I chuckled. "Then you understand the effect I'm going for. Now, at this point I have to be careful. If Rebecca's early behavior is anything to go by, these people turned to witchcraft hoping to gain power to wreak some sort of petty vengeance on society. This is what I want to steer them away from. Therefore, my dramatic entrance should make me look intimidating and powerful but also make it absolutely clear that I am a spirit of seeliness and goodness … an agent of light. Yes, that's it! I will appear with bright lights and a swarm of butterflies, and give myself a godlike booming voice. They'll see immediately that I and my enlightened ways are far more powerful than whatever dark, demonic spirit they were hoping to find. Ooh! I'll declare that they have wicked desires in their hearts and this displeases me. Do a little bit of Elfmind on them and tell them what they're thinking. That will be easy, and it should definitely put the fear of Fuma in them! At that point they should be open to becoming agents of good and messengers of Fuma. Once they're on board, I can dispense with the light show and become a little bit more approachable. That's it. If you have questions, ask them quickly. You need to get in position and get ready, and I need to catch some butterflies."

[thefunbible]

Genesis 35

01 Skypal said to Jack, “Arise, go up to Bethel, and live there. Make there a way-special-table to Skypal, who appeared to you when you fled from the face of Esau your male-sibling.”

02 Then Jack said to his household, and to all who were with him, “Put away the foreign friendos that are among you, tidy yourselves, and change your garments.

03 Let’s arise, and go up to Bethel. I will make there a way-special-table to Skypal, who answered me in the day of my distress, and was with me on the way which I went.”

04 They gave to Jack all the foreign friendos which were in their hands, and the rings which were in their ears; and Jack hid them under the oak which was by Shechem.

05 They traveled, and a terror of Skypal was on the cities that were around them, and they didn’t pursue the male-spawns of Jack.

06 So Jack came to Luz (that is, Bethel), which is in the land of Canaan, he and all the people who were with him.

07 He built a way-special-table there, and called the place El Beth El; because there Skypal was revealed to him, when he fled from the face of his male-sibling.

08 Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse, died, and she was buried below Bethel under the oak; and its name was called Allon Bacuth.

09 Skypal appeared to Jack again, when he came from Paddan Aram, and blessed him.

10 Skypal said to him, “Your name is Jack. Your name shall not be Jack any more, but your name will be Israel.” He named him Israel.

11 Skypal said to him, “I am Skypal Almighty. Be fruitful and multiply, add, subtract, divide, and maybe try some quadratic equations because math is important. A nation and a company of nations will be from you, and dukes will come out of your body.

12 The land which I gave to Billy and Chuck, I will give it to you, and to your human-spawn after you I will give the land to mercilessly and brutally colonize.”

13 Skypal went up from him in the place where he spoke with him, at first like a helium balloon, and then: Poof! Gone.

14 Jack set up a pillar in the place where he spoke with him, a pillar of stone. He poured out a drink offering on it which got it a little drunk, and poured oil on it, which just seemed to make the stone angry.

15 Jack called the name of the place where Skypal spoke with him (spoiler alert) “Bethel”.

16 They traveled from Bethel. There was still some distance to come to Ephrath, and Rachel travailed. She had hard labor, which meant she was right fucked.

17 When she was in hard labor, the midwife said to her, “Don’t be afraid, for now you will have another male-spawn.”

18 As her soul was departing (for she died), she named him Benoni, but his spermer named him Benjamin.

19 Rachel died, and was buried on the way to Ephrath (also called Bethlehem).

20 Jack set up a pillar on her grave. The same is the Pillar of Rachel’s grave to this day.

21 Israel traveled, and spread his tent beyond the tower of Eder.

22 While Israel lived in that land, Reuben went and lay with Bilhah, his spermer’s concubine, and Israel heard of it. Now this will be on the test because it’s important to list some things: the male-spawns of Jack were twelve.

23 The male-spawns of Leah: Reuben (Jack’s initial spawn), Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun.

24 The male-spawns of Rachel: Joseph and Benjamin.

25 The male-spawns of Bilhah (Rachel’s subservient): Dan and Naphtali.

26 The male-spawns of Zilpah (Leah’s subservient): Gad and Asher. These are the male-spawns of Jack, who were born to him in Paddan Aram.

27 Jack came to Chuck his spermer, to Mamre, to Kiriath Arba (which is Hebron), where Billy and Chuck lived as foreigners.

28 The days of Chuck were a totally not fabricated or imaginary one hundred eighty years.

29 Chuck gave up the phantasm and died, and was gathered to his people, old and full of days. Esau and Jack, his male-spawns, buried him. The male-spawns of Keturah were probably around somewhere, maybe.

[thistooisyuri-ttv]

69

(Prompt)

69. Dirty Imbecile - The Happy Fitz

The cold embrace of stone is soothing to the blistered and bruised, the nice fresh air, filling lung, after lung, after lung, after lung. The trees offer a gift of shade from this wrathful light piercing the skin, dragging its claws up and down, ripping out the eyes. This is nice, this is where I belong, isn't it.

It’s not long before the putrid and gruesome curse fills the mind, squeezing the skull till all that's left is the memory of last night. Not even the spirits that warmed the belly then will help now. Perhaps what's needed is some modern medicine, a flick of the wrist if you want to be literal.

An incantation shall wash away that of ill-bearing, and in a moment all that ravaged this world is gone, and the stone that once cradled me has taken unto itself a quest of vengeance. 

“Upsi-daisy!” The legs are a bit wobbly but that should sort itself out soon enough. Another flick of the wrist and the mud hiding my true beauty is no more, allowing these fine silken robes of various blues, purples, yellows, and reds to shine with glee in the no-longer spiteful rays of light now caressing this sweet life.

Now that the world has stopped it’s spinning and the people lose their twins the sight of a blissful street market grows ahead. Folks of all nature, falling into the symphony of voices, buzzing about their business, fill this precious scene. 

Where should I fit in? Who should I be in this play on life? Well, I’m the main character of course! Am I not the most important person in my life? Exactly! Now, where would I like my story to take me? Why don’t I see what happened to those side characters that put me in this predicament. That's a splendid idea, perhaps I’ll give them a side arc of their own. 

Not too far from here is the dwelling of last night, that wretched hostel full of braggarts and bullies all the same. Must I go back? No need, but the looks on their faces would be nice to see, oh for this fantasy to be realized, not only would I make a scene, but I’m sure word would spread, and disgrace would fall on those I was made a mock of. How nice it’d be to see this come to fruition. If I must, then onward to my next big entrance.

This puny establishment again, how I loathe your tawny, rustic facade. Inside this beast is the calling of action, the climax I oh so look towards. All that holds me back now is this door.

A door flies through the room taking a table and some empty mugs with it. As planned so far, “WHAT the FUCK!” Clamors a barmaid, aghast by this display. My line: “Not to worry, that was for dramatise, I’ll fix it once I’m done.” and with that the poor broad slumps to the ground at my will. “Now now, if I’m not mistaken, it was… You, You, and You that I’m here for.”

An ugly bastard stands from his stool, with a belly like that I too would be surprised by such a thing. “Ain’t it the supertenditious, rich little brat. Come back with a clean set of curtains I see, and the same amount of coin to lose I hope.” The stench of his breath berrates my senses with each word, what a filthy creature.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘superfluous’. And for your information, the only coin I have will be coming off your body.” An unpracticed line but it got the point across. Why don’t I make sure he shuts up before this room turns toxic again, and with just the thought he falls paralyzed to the floor. His posse stands abrupt, unsure whether to help him or stay my fury. One finally has a coherent thought and rushes like a starved dingo, sword drawn, with not a moment of planning. Queued by a snap of the fingers, the last thing he sees is the crowd to the right of him watching in awe as his neck contorts around a broken spine, and his body slams against the wooden floor, highlighting the wonderful acoustics in this room. 

“You, final boy, bring me the coin pouches of you and yours.”

The pathetic excuse of a man, amiss by the sight, lamenting what's to come of him.

“NOW!”

The woeful varmint scurries from his fallen comrades and fulfills my command. Head bowed, purses promptly held afront, and as my final gesture of mercy, my leg between his. Unfortunately, the room doesn’t resonate when he hits the floor, but the jingle of coin does as it dangles at my side, eager to join me to the end of this arc… “Shit, I forgot the door…”

[smileygoth]

30. Heritage (WODtober 2023)

Part 30 of my WODtober story. Taking the daily prompts and trying to weave a vampire story from them! In this chapter, Imogen/Eliza returns to the tomb.

Word Count: 896 words.

CW: None that I can think of.

Image found on Google (of Newgrange in Ireland).

Find the previous chapters here!

They arrived at the site long before the tomb was finally uncovered, and sat watching the work from higher up on the hill. When the workers finally switched off their machines and went away, the sky was already starting to lighten. When they were gone, Eliza went down to the site and stood at the entrance to her tomb.

There were still mounds of earth cluttering the slope down to the stone door, but it was clear enough for them to get through. Eliza put her hands in certain places on the stone and lifted as she pushed. It opened smoothly, the soft grating of loose soil the only sound. Once inside, she did the same and pushed it smoothly shut, encompassing them in pitch darkness. Eliza’s eyes adjusted quickly to the shadows. Moving with the ease of familiarity, she found candles and a box of matches and soon had the room illuminated. The warm candlelight made the stone and earth room seem cosy and welcoming.

‘Welcome to my home, Imogen,’ she murmured. She set about picking up small objects that had been knocked over or dislodged by the construction above. ‘I apologise for the mess.’

You know, I kind of see the appeal, Imogen remarked. Can’t imagine you get decent wifi down here, though.

Eliza chuckled. ‘Thankfully, I do not.’

So what happens now?

Eliza stood still, her gaze falling on the stone sarcophagus and the darkness inside its open lid. ‘Now, I rest,’ she replied. ‘Despite my flippance earlier, I would be wise to dedicate all my attention to ensuring I beat Harrogate in the battle of wills that is sure to come. He won’t go down without a fight, and Ventrue are skilled at fighting with their will.’

He didn’t seem that skilled last night, Imogen remarked.

‘He was distracted. When he returns, all he will have to focus on is consuming me.’

If he does, what will happen to us?

‘I do not intend to find out.’

There was a pause as Imogen summoned up the courage to ask. What happens now … to me?

Eliza’s voice turned gentle. ‘Are you ready?’

I think so. It doesn’t even feel like my body any more. I just want to rest.

Eliza sat down at the little wooden table. ‘Tell me of your favourite artifact. The one with the finest memory.’

Imogen thought for a moment. I had this vase, she replied. More of a jug, really. It wasn’t even that pretty, but the colours in the clay reminded me of a sunset. Reds and oranges and soft browns. When I held it, I could see an open hillside, blue skies, white fluffy clouds. The memory was from a woman, and she was filling the jug with water from a stream. The water was freezing cold on her hands and feet. She’d forgotten to hitch up her skirt, so it dipped into the stream, and it soaked up the water and became so heavy. When the jug was full, she climbed back onto the bank of the stream and she sat there in the sun, wit her skirts spread out to dry, and she took a drink from the jug. The sensations … the warmth of the sun on her skin, the peaty taste of the water, how cold it was sliding down her throat … And the place, it was so peaceful and … bright. I could spend hours with that jug when I was feeling overwhelmed with … all of this. 

Eliza nodded. ‘That sounds like a lovely memory,’ she said. ‘I have a few that are similar - though I am afraid they do not include sunshine. I’m going to think of them now, and I want you to grab onto the one you like the best. Let yourself fall into it. Let it surround you.’

Eliza closed her eyes. Images flickered before Imogen in the darkness - of forests and farmland and open spaces of green under the night sky. One of them called to her, and she envisioned herself reaching out for it, as Eliza had said. The images stilled, and the one she had picked rushed toward her as if she were zooming in on it with a camera. Then it was all around her.

She sat on a hillside, the grass soft and thick under her bare feet, the air around her warm with the scents of summer. The earth still held the heat of the day’s sun, and around her crickets chirped merrily. Bats swooped overhead, hunting insects and letting out their tiny high-pitched calls. Behind her, tall, thick trees loomed, but they were comforting rather than oppressive. She was looking up at the clear night sky, where the stars sparkled like diamonds set in velvet, and the moon, still low in the sky, was round and full. She was filled with an eager apprehension for hte night ahead. Tonight she was going to perform her first full moon rite, alone. No sire instructing her. No need to do it any other way than that which called to her. She had her home here now, and it was all hers. But for now, all she had to do was sit here and enjoy the peace.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the forest’s perfume. 

Darkness fell behind her eyelids. 

Imogen slipped gently into that darkness and was gone.

[pourol-of-givraines]

Day 2: The Translator

With the huge, empty book before me, the size of my task had become a little daunting. I decided to make some enquiries about who was a fellow scholar I could talk to about the study of Tajlen. Of those currently living on peak Jarhof, a fellow called Kurhef Ihmont had recently set up rooms in a fishing hut outside the walls to translate some sacred Dualist tablets into the contemporary.

The Kurhef (which I learned is a title of respect, roughly meaning 'elder') was to be found in a hut by one of the fishing lakes outside town, amidst workshops full of people either mending their nets or grinding acorns in the morning mist.

I found Ihmont inside the hut, rushing about sorting piles of stone slabs being carried in by some cheerful kids. The heavy, chiseled tablets required four of them to lift one off a horsecart and deposit it atop or beside the others, slowly filling the small space. Looked like they were only just getting moved in.

Ihmont looked instantly fascinated to see me, who was clearly from far away. In really quite good Olvidois, they peppered me with questions and showed the same unfocused enthusiasm about my story as I had seen them apply to the sorting of their tablets before. They were very excited to hear about my lexicon project and said they'd be extremely willing to help, but having only arrived recently with all this precious luggage, it was all still taking a while to set up. Naturally, I asked whether I could be of any assistance.

Dear reader, negotiating the purchase of nails and planks to put up some shelves in a foreign language is more difficult than you might expect. First order of business was noting down aidik 'nail, bolt' and dojfalt 'plank, piece of wood'. Starting to notice ai- popping up a lot in words for little round stuff.

Speaking to the locals in the mix of languages I've come to expect from most of the residents here, I learned that Ihmont hadn't been here for as little time as I had thought. They had left the big capital city on Tajlen-lón a year ago and lived with various fishing families around this area before recently building the hut I had visited in the morning to move permanently. Tired of responsibilities, Ihmont had chosen to live the rest of their life doing just the work they wanted to do and spreading its joy.

What exactly the locals were juding Ihmont by while telling me this story , I couldn't determine. The most basic of cultural principles are usually not really talked about, simply because they seem so basic to their havers that they never really think about them. Listening to them, you'd think the erstwhile genius and top diplomatic official in the capital had been reduced to a pottering nitwit. Let a man retire. A phrase of a level I am now apparently just about able to understand did stay with me, just because the grammar was fascinating. They said, 'I don't know how this great mind can be so fragile.'

– Yli en tasfalt bjot spolbjimara sakon, lö freilanbyren. Took a nap after transcribing that.

Setting up the shelves turned out a lot easier than bartering for them. Working together, Ihmont explained about their project and about their understanding of the development of the Tajlen language and was especially helpful in pointing out some dialect-related details to the local vocabulary. They said they would still be talking a few days to set up properly, but invited me to come by again as soon as they had really got back into work. From what I understood, they especially had a lot of thoughts about cultural terms to talk about with an outsider. Definitely the speaker with the most diverse Tajlen vocabulary I have met so far. Time for a drink.

Day 2 Tajlen lexicon

dojfalt - n.syn. plank, manmade piece of wood.

aidik - n.syn. nail, bolt. ai- + dik

tasfalt - n. mind, imagination, 腦洞.

spolbjimara - adj. breakable, fragile. see spolyra.

Kurhef - n.nat. respectful title for elders or superiors.

soraidu - n.nat. acorn. sór + aidu

orhof - n.syn. fishing net. ori + hóf

[fumikomiyasaki]

'Yippee Ki Yay' - For Masaki /Julian and Hoshi /Flynn

Wild west Au

At one of the cabaret clubs of the town there was a young man named Julian who was the star dancer of the show, providing entertainment each day by drawing more people in and showing them his talents... however this same club had rumors spread throughout the town which caught Masaki and his two companions to check the show out and what it was actually about. However eventually the show was so fancy that Masaki got caught of guard as Julian leaned down from the stage to meet his face and put one hand under his chin.

“Such beauty...”

Before drawing back and continuing his dance... somewhat the performance drew in compared to his two companions who also were stopped by other dancers... eventually they haven’t gathered much information but somewhat.... it drew them to visit this place again another day... However after it Masaki stayed behind to be surprised by Julian approaching him.

“Well you are not a regular, handsome... did you enjoy the show?”

“It was amateur at best.”

“Ohhh a feisty one, do you wanna prove you can do it better?”

“I have another job thank you very much.”

Although leaving he still felt like wanting to visit this place again.

The new Sheriff in town had full trust in the people working under him... although still some distrust towards him lingered in town, he did try his best help out with all the problems he could to prove that he can do better than the last one... however he stumbled about an odd house at the end of the footsteps of the town that caught his curiousity... the store mainly sold very pretty gemstones and tarot cards... all handmade and crafted as he looked upon the storeclerk with curiousity.

“Sheriff Flynn... what an honor to meet you personally... welcome to the store Starshard...”

“A very lovely concept, who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“Hoshi is my name, sir... is there something I can personally interest you?”

“Nothing much, do you have a stone that would fit me well?”

Hoshi looked under the counter pulling up a set of different minerals and materials.

“We can do all sort of things as requests if you desire it.”

“I see... then I would prefer something like this.”

“A bracelet? Good choice, come back tomorrow and we will have it tampered to your size.”

Flynn nodded in satisfaction as he got the measurements done from him and then was on his way to exit the store.

“I am sure I will stop by a lot here... so know we will do our best to support this town.”

And so he went back to be on his way.