#knightly-disposition

[jinlin-at-the-moon]

so a few days ago i was thinking about this post+comic, and i thought that while svsss luo binghe probably wouldn't try to Actually kill liu qingge, pidw luo binghe absolutely would. ergo, imagine, if you will. an au where peerless cucumber doesn't transmigrate in as shen qingqiu, but airplane still becomes shang qinghua. due to plot differences, airplane-bro doesn't really care about what the hell kind of drama the other peak lords are getting up to, but still somehow happens to knock over a book or something- something that, through bullshit plot contrivance butterfly effect, somehow manages to let shen jiu actually save liu qingge in the lingxi caves.

some years pass, years where liu qingge is going through a fantastical knightly enemies to ??? where he slowly learns he may have initially misjudged this man who may not be the paragon of virtue but is nonetheless a person worthy of respect with a possible sordid past that resulted in a difficult disposition and now has to kneel down and admit then make up to his failures, as shen jiu is like "what kind of fucking scheme is he trying to pull", which results in like a weird strained kind of coworkers who Don't Talk About It type relationship. the immortal alliance conference still happens, everything proceeds as in canon, except- when bingge comes back from his 5-year internship in tartarus and does his pidw-canon-typical "destroy shen jiu's reputation and lock him up in the water prison" shenanigans, it turns out that liu qingge Can and Will try to break shen jiu out -not because he really likes the guy all that much, necessarily, but he has a life debt to pay back and also has already dragged his one (1) braincell through the grinder in order to realise his assumed-evil coworker is probably not actually one-dimensionally evil, so he feels complicated enough about it to try and get some actual answers in here - and if that involves kicking demon ass that's just a fun bonus. normally, all this would not be an issue for demon emperor luo binghe who has recently basically come into nigh full power if you discount xin mo being grumpy, because, as established he would not hesitate to kill his former shishu! in fact, he'd be very glad to do that! however, for item out of designated boundary reasons, liu qingge Will Not Fucking Die.

...cue clown music.

liu qingge has already sacrificed his last braincell to trying to comprehend his shattered worldview of shen jiu as a person and therefore he does not examine why he is Actually so determined to break him out, and also doesn't have enough brainpower to feel torn by the fact that duelling luo binghe every week is actually kind of fun (and also why he kind of has a boner about it). shen jiu has a moral crisis about the fact that the man who he's first hated then avoided for like over a decade is now the one guy who keeps trying to legitimately come back for him and is willing to risk death over and over in order to do that, and also that somehow this pisses the beast off enough to distract him from the whole revenge/ripping off limbs thing- except now he's for some reason coming down to the water prison to rant about it? luo binghe, for his part, does not know why he's ranting about it to shen jiu of all people (it started as taunting! then it became some kind of weird routine because that one guy just cannot cease being alive and what is UP with that) and while he does have enough braincells to question why fighting liu qingge every week feels more stable than any other relationship he's had in his life since his mother died, he absolutely refuses to examine it. none of them are making it out of this normal. the clown music gets louder every time they're in one location. huan hua keeps having to dish out more and more repair funds for the bai zhan war god's going ham most destructive. the three clowns are locked in a mario/peach/bowser dynamic stalemate none of them actually want to be in, but it's what fate has dealt, and some god is probably laughing at their miseries.

(meanwhile, god is not laughing. god is wondering what the fuck happened here and how it got to this point and also if this means he might put some of his fake-his-own-death plans on hold just to see what kind of bullshit happens next. ...god also really wishes he could invent popcorn.)

[discflame]

Nobody has proved to my friends that the Nazis were wrong about the Jews. Nobody can. The truth or falsity of what the Nazis said, and of what my extremist friends believed, was immaterial, marvellously so. There simply was no way to reach it, no way, at least, that employed the procedures of logic and evidence. The bill-collector told me that Jews were filthy, that the home of a Jewish woman in his boyhood town was a pigsty; and the baker told me that the Jews' fascination with cleanliness was a standing affront to the "Germans," who were clean enough. What difference did the truth, if there were truth, make? I suggested from time to time, and always in a hesitant fashion, that perhaps the medieval exclusion of Jews from citizenship and landholding, their subsequent exclusion, after 1648, from guild apprenticeship, and their confinement for a thousand years to the practice of moneylending, with the attendant risk of the despicable creditor against the knightly debtor, might have required cunning of most of the Jews in most of early Europe as the condition of survival itself; that the consequent sharpening of the intellect under such circumstances would have produced a disproportionate number of unusually noble and unusually ignoble dispositions among any people, their unusualness, in the marginal occupations to which they were driven, disappearing as the great community removed the disadvantagements which produced it. I reminded the bank clerk, Kessler, that the ancestors of the Christians who now forbade Jews to be bank presidents once compelled them to be. He was a Swabian, from Wurttemberg, and the Swabians are humorous--"for Germans," as Tacitus would say. He appreciated the joke. None of my ten friends argued with me when I said these things. None of them, except the bank clerk and, of course, the teacher, listened. Everything I said, all of them might have learned long ago. But there are some things that everybody knows and nobody learns. Didn't everyone know, in America, on December 8, 1941, that the Japanese, or Japs, were a treacherous people? In the American embassy in Berlin, in 1935, an official of the German Foreign Press Office told me a story of a North Sea town where there had never been a Jew. When Goebbels announced the boycott of the Jews for the month of April, 1933, the Burgermeister of the town sent him a telegram: "Send us a Jew for our boycott."

They Thought They Were Free by Milton Mayer

[corpsebasil]

knight nikolai-> rapunzel part 2

cant stop won’t stop with this au

It had been two days on the road—the journey to the palace was four, even on horseback—and you hadn’t spoken a word to Nikolai.

Maybe it was because you were tired. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been out of that tower in a year and wanted to enjoy the scenery and the experience of once again being outdoors. Or maybe it was because barely a minute after you’d gotten out of the tower you had tackled Nikolai to the ground.

The both of you had tousled for a bit, him protesting and even having the audacity to laugh before pinning you against the ground, his knees caging your legs, his hands pinning your wrists on the grass beside your head. You’d writhed and seethed and he’d taken to calling you ‘angry cat’, a nickname you abhorred.

“Aren’t you feisty. I just saved you and all you’re doing is hissing and clawing at me.”

“Get off of me I’ll have your head for—”

“Tsk, tsk, I don’t think the King would feel inclined to execute his daughter’s savior, would he?”

“You are not my—”

“Knight in shining armor? Maybe not yet, sweetheart, but I will be.”

And so you rode in silence, fuming consistently every time he shot you an amused look. The found that he found this situation funny amazed you. You spent two days camping in the woods, eating game he hunted and ignoring his attempts at conversation.

But there was something distinctly knightly about him that took you those two days to notice.

One: he always helped you onto his horse, refusing to force you to hoist yourself up on your own. And you’d be lying if the feeling of his strong hands on your waist didn’t make your skin heat. You hadn’t been touched by man in years. Actually, never.

Two: he chose to sleep on the hard ground and give you his bedroll, refusing to, in his words, ‘let a woman of such beauty and polite disposition sleep on the floor’.

Three: You could tell he was cold. Fires at night were simply asking to be attacked while you slept so Nikolai gave you every blanket he had in his possession. You slept toasty and warm while he, you had noticed when you woke up once in the middle of the night, shivered a fraction under only his spare coat.

You had given him a blanket, feeling suddenly horribly selfish, but neither of you commented on that in the morning.

Four: This was something you knew why you noticed, but he didn’t seem…attracted to you. He’d flirted senselessly during the journey for the past two days but it seemed only as an excuse to get a reaction out of you. You noticed, too, that his stare never lingered. His hands only touched you when necessary and never too long.

When he looked at you—smirk be damned—his eyes didn’t hold any trace of lust or brazenness you’d experienced in the past. Only a hint of amusement and lightheartedness.

Why this bothered you, you didn’t know. Had you lost your touch? You were gorgeous. Stunning. Shouldn’t he have been fawning over you? Weren’t all knights eager for a princess’s favor? Besides, he wasn’t even an official knight yet. He wouldn’t be able to when he was knighted but he could make a pass out you now if he wanted.

But he didn’t. He was annoyingly respectful, even if he teased you mercilessly.

Like now, as you woke up on the third morning, you were surprised to notice food laid out on a cloth beside you. Your eyes widened at the sight of a cinnamon roll and you jerked your head in his direction. He sat calmly beside a weak fire, poking at the branches with a stick as he hummed something softly to himself.

You took a moment, tensing as you watched him. Why you chose this moment to truly drink him in, you weren’t sure. Blame it on tiredness and confusion at the abrupt shift in your life’s events. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt, dark boots, his blond hair tousled. His jaw was sharp and his eyes focused as he watched the fire and—

Oh no. Oh no. You were not going there.

But still you felt something stirring within you as you watched him. Admired him.

Saints he was handsome.

Sensing your glance he looked over and raised a brow.

“See something you like, princess?”

Immediately you rolled your eyes.

“I was just thinking about knocking you out, stealing your supplies, and abandoning you. I bet I’d look good in a suit of armor. Maybe I’ll be knighted for returning myself.”

His smile was slow and lazy and made something in your stomach twist hard. Fuck, that look.

“I bet you would.” He purred, his voice so sultry your cheeks turned pink. How he managed to work his way under your skin— “Did you see the roll?” He asked, pointing his stick at the cinnamon roll in question.

It took you a minute to get a breath.

“Where did you get it?”

“Town. There’s a village about half a mile that way,” he said, pointing again towards the distance. “I went this morning to get you something proper. We’ll go there and stay at an Inn today so we can find you an actual meal worthy of your stature. Cant have someone like you living off rabbits and berries for four days.”

You paused and asked, “Someone like me?”

He paused as well, something in his blue eyes flashing. His next word made you go hot and you could only stare.

“Beautiful.” Nikolai murmured, then looked down, his brow furrowing. He spoke again quickly, poking once more at the fire. “My apologies, Your Highness. I should not have—”

“Thank you.” You whispered, and he looked up again. You cleared your throat and repeated yourself. “Thank you. You’re—that was kind.”

A smile that was different from any he’d given you before crossed his face; boyish and sweet, and utterly stunning. Your breath did leave you this time and you smiled shyly, a sensation of giddiness filling you when you turned to grab the roll.

“At least you recognize my stature.” You said, feigning a regal tone that made him snort. Warmth filled your chest at his amusement and you continued. “It should be mandatory for knights to bring princesses cinnamon rolls, don’t you think?”

“You are vastly intelligent, Your Highness. Perhaps you should write it into law.”

“Perhaps I will.”

You both shared another quick grin before you allowed silence to settle.

I GOTTA DO ANOTHER PART. I GET CARRIED AWAY AND THIS IS TOOOOO GOOD. GIRL DINNWR GIRL DINNER GIIIIRL DINN—

[luli-lads]

Hey, just wanted to tell you I ABSOLUTELY LOVE UR BLOG. In mind (you mentioned UK like once) I read your posts with an English accent lol (some1 will find that offensive) still I enjoy your posts so much and you always make my day 🙂‍↕️🦫

Anyways, I wanted to know your ranking for the lads men (if u can rank them lol) and why please

Haiiii :D Thank you!!! 🥹🥹🥹 It means a lot 🥹🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 (I'm sorry for taking so long to answer this T^T)

HAHAHAHAH So the thing is, I'm from Spain right, but growing up, since the UK is the closest English-speaking country, our teachers would teach us mostly with an English accent, so when I make an effort to 'speak English properly', it always sounds british XD though if I'm just focusing on talking and not so much on the way i sound, it's more american-like IDK LMAO but read my posts however you want to <3

ANYWAYS XD It makes me happy that you enjoy my posts!!!!! Onto my ranking!!!

Sylus: Of courseeee he had to be first. THE ONLY MAN EVER. He's first because he's the perfect gothic lover. Gomez Addams blueprint. So so soft for his beloved while still ruthless to those opposing them. Not to mention he's very direct (when it matters). I love that. I love him. OUGH (also ahem ahem monsterlover ahem ahem)

Zayne and Caleb: I cannot bring myself to rank them in different positions. They're both so good 😭 Zayne is so sweet and I just feel like I understand him so well, he'd understand me just the same. He's very straight-to-the-point and I appreciate that a lot. Caleb on the other hand is just. He's the guy I had a crush on growing up, but this time it's requited 💀 And I really, really like the yandere trope okay goodbye

Xavier: He's me in a lot of levels. And to be honest, I think the main reason why he's not ranked higher is because he's not my type when it comes to looks. But otherwise I enjoy a lot of things about his character! His knightly disposition, his jealousy, his horniness 💀💀💀

Rafayel: LISTEN. BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING. I DON'T DISLIKE RAFAYEL. In fact, he was my fave when I first started the game!! However as I've gotten to know him, I felt like he was more of a friend than a lover to me? I wouldn't be able to date this guy. But he's a lot of fun! And I love a lot of things about him!

[veronicaleighauthor]

Emma & Mr. Knightley

“I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.” – Jane Austen once wrote of her character Emma Woodhouse.

But really, since I first read “Emma” in the mid-2000s, Emma Woodhouse was never difficult for me to like. The novel opens with this: “Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition… had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.” We are more than prepared that we’re about to be introduced to a spoiled, little rich girl who likes to have her way. I believe it’s Emma’s faults that endear us to her. She’s not a bad person; she’s not immoral or vicious. She’s devoted to her father, she looks after the poor, she adores her former governess/companion Mrs. Weston. Though she’s twenty-one at the start of the story, the novel is a bildungsroman – one of self-discovery and self-improvement. When I first read “Emma” and watched the adaptation with Gwyneth Paltrow and Jeremy Northam, I was totally Team Emma and Knightly – the two actors totally sold the romance on screen. Emma should be a difficult character to translate to screen – but every actress that portrays her brings her to life in a new way.

Time passed, and after other re-readings and study of articles and literary criticism, I began to question Austen marrying Emma off to Mr. Knightley – the guy who spends most of the book scolding and lecturing her. There were times I thought she and Harriet Smith should have a Boston Marriage (apologies, that term comes later in history), or Emma should remain single and free. After all, throughout the book Emma insists she will never marry, and from the adaptations it seems the one she shows continual interest in is Harriet. I became dissatisfied with Austen’s ending and couldn’t fathom why she ended up with Knightley.

In the last couple of months, I re-read “Emma” and I rewatched “Emma 2009” where Romola Garai portrays Emma, and Johnny Lee Miller plays Mr. Knightley. The 2009 version is four episodes long, so we are able to spend time with the characters and enjoy their story arcs. Also, kudos to Johnny Lee Miller for making Mr. Knightley absolutely hilarious. And Romola Garai….Emma Woodhouse seems to have been created for her. Because of the re-read and rewatch, I’m back to being Team Emma and Knightley. Why did I change my mind yet again?

Following the marriage of Miss Taylor to Mr. Weston, Emma has time on her hands and decides to take Harriet Smith under her wing and match her up with Highbury’s vicar, Mr. Elton. For the first volume, most of Emma’s attention is on Harriet, the belief that Harriet is the daughter of a gentleman, and this prospective match. There are other things going on, but Emma’s focus is primarily on Harriet…but as the book progresses her interest in Harriet wanes. Harriet is still a sort of companion to Emma, but after Mr. Elton drunkenly proposes to Emma at Christmas time and her plans are ruined, Harriet is more in the background. Emma occasionally thinks of her, considers setting her up with others, and then after Harriet fancies herself in love with Knightley, Emma ghosts her friend. In the book, their friendship is never quite the same. When Harriet’s father is revealed to be a *gasps* tradesman and she marries Robert Martin, placing her in a different place in society, they go their separate ways. Harriet is also an afterthought when characters like Frank Churchill, Mrs. Elton, and Jane Fairfax show up in Highbury.

Mr. Knightley, however, is consistent throughout the book. Yes, he’s often scolding or mansplaining, but he is there and Emma’s romance with him is foreshadowed from the start. In his defense, he does own up to mistakes and faults. Emma and Knightley were always friends; they speak with out reservations, with complete honesty. Theirs is a friendship to lovers trope – perhaps its even the origin of this trope. In a way, I prefer their romance. They are equals and will never have to worry about one or the other being higher or lower in their sphere. They bicker and fuss like an old married couple. Yet Emma greatly admires Mr. Knightley; in her opinion he is the best example of what a gentleman ought to be. He is intelligent, honest, responsible, considerate of others, thoughtful, loyal, diligent, active…Emma becomes the best version of herself when she’s with him.

Like Emma, I’m searching for my own Mr. Knightley – someone I admire enough to fall in love with. My aunt once told me it's best to have a friendship with the person you fall in love with. Because if the romance and sparks peter off, and hard times come along, you'll still have that friendship to sustain you.

Until next time.

[onethverse]

after months of internal deliberation ark is a girl now

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄

Ark

A mononym taken from her family name

Vee

What her family calls her

Verdant Arkadia

Her name in full

𝐀𝐆𝐄

20

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

Female (MtF transgender)

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

Bisexual

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒

Hylian

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Adventurer

Prone to acts of heroism, but more often just making ends meet

♱

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘

Ark is an androgynous swordswoman. She has a petite frame with wide hips, standing at a height of 5'3" and a weight of 120 lbs. She has light skin, auburn hair in a curly mullet/wolfcut style and dark brown eyes.

Clad in scarlet clothes with leather chest armor and chaps, her style is practical but not without flair. Gold earrings dangle from her pointed ears and a pendant gem necklace hangs around her neck. She eschews metal armor, stating it’s for mobility and flexibility, but it’s really just too heavy.

♱

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘

Ark has a sanguine disposition and enjoys the company of others. She is driven by ambition, and will act recklessly out of a desire to be a hero like Link. She's quite proud of her skills and acts boldly in the face of imminent danger.

She has a phobia of caverns and chasms, after her home was consumed in the Upheaval. She hates when people act like children and especially hates being treated like one. Above all, she values power; she is stalked by the fear of becoming prey in every moment.

Preferences: Likes roses, lotus, cheese, cider, rose gold, harlequin opal and rabbits for their long ears.

♱

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒

Sabre of a knightly ancestor

The treasured heirloom from a time before the Calamity. Now tarnished and unusable post-Upheaval.

Bow and arrows

Knives

TOTK-typical improvised weapons: swords, spears, claymores, rapiers, scimitars, clubs, axes, rocks, pots, cuccos, etc.

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂

No magical affinity whatsoever.

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 [𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋]

Hypermobility

Due to an inherited mutation, Ark is absurdly bendy.

Lyrist

Her musical instrument of choice is the lyre.

Blessed

The blessings of the goddess come in many forms, if you ever needed an answer to the question “How is this possible/Why is she like this?”

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 [𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋]

Meditation

"The Happy Place Technique"/Mind Palace. Closing her eyes, she sees her familiar Necluda from the mountaintop, its rivers winding far below her. The mind palace has many uses: calming, grounding, memory, compartmentalizing... Once, she could see her family home in her mind, only what now remains is the gaping pit in the earth leading to a vast blackness underneath.

♱

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Adela Arkadia

A descendant of knights.

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Raft

A traveling merchant.

𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒)

Faering (Older sister)

To thine own self be true. Fae and Ark were very close as little kids. After Ark left home, she went on her own adventure, with the goal of self-discovery... but is it necessary to search so far away?

𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑(𝐒)

Irin of the Sheikah

She taught Ark everything about fighting and survival. There's no one Ark trusts more.

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃(𝐒)

Sabel

He puts on this act of being pathetic and helpless, but what strength he possesses in hidden wellsprings; if she could be a fraction as powerful, what greatness could she achieve!

♱

Artist: The Illoganatii

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

Ark grew up in West Necluda, often playing with her sister in the nearby forest. One day, venturing further than usual, she disappeared, and though Faering searched high and low for her sister she could not be found. Ark was captured by the wood-troll, a moblin who stalked the deepest recesses of the forest.

It was her first time seeing one, but she recognized it immediately from tales her parents had told her. The face of a pig, with tiny eyes and a slavering maw; a hulking brute who feeds on human flesh. “Don't stray too far into the woods, or else a moblin will eat you.” So she had learned too late to heed their warning. Faced with the stark realization that there would be no one coming to her rescue, she no longer wanted to be the helpless child she was.

She struggled against the huge moblin, desperate to survive. As it gloated in its victory, she had an opportunity as it lowered its head and she thrust her knife into its eye, and thrusting further, pierced its skull. She got away from it as quickly as she could, and heard its rage-filled screams die out as she limped back home. From then on she put away all the trappings of childhood. She attended her tutoring and listened to her elders, becoming quite a serious child.

When the Calamity was defeated and peace was restored to Hyrule by Link, Ark began to idolize the hero and sought to emulate his virtues, learning the ways of the sword. She found a teacher in Irin, a Sheikah swordmaster, and became a hunter of monsters. A sinkhole swallowed her home during the Upheaval, and she now has a paralyzing fear of caves and deep, dark places. The whereabouts of her family are unknown.

Find the lost princess! The best distraction from your woes is to keep working hard, so Irin sent Ark out on an important mission. She heard reports that Link had been seen in Faron, and tracked him down. Indeed, she found someone blond, wearing a blue tunic, and carrying, without a shadow of a doubt, the legendary Master Sword. The blade that Link carries. So the one carrying it is obviously Link. But observing further, his behavior was uncharacteristic of the champion. This person went to great lengths to avoid confrontation with beasts of the wild. He never rode a horse. He was left handed, but used his right when anyone was observing him (that he knew of.) He was very interested in books. Her overall impression, as she stalked him, was that she could absolutely take him on.

But when she challenged him to a sparring match, his illusion fell away at the first blow. The Master Sword was no Master Sword, but an oaken branch; the champion Link was an impostor, a black-haired man.

“You should consider begging for forgiveness, whoever you are.”

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me again!”

Artist: z

Sabel: My life is a tale of tragedy!

Ark: That's Hyrule these days.

Sabel: I'm not going to make it on my own.

Ark: Be grateful you made it as long as you have. Look, it's not befitting a grown up to whine so much!

Sabel: You seem like such a strong, capable hero…

Ark: Hehe.

Sabel: Help me search for…my friend? <:(

Ark: Unless your friend is Princess Zelda I don’t give a flying fuck.

Sabel: [Lie] Yes. I am a personal friend of the Princess. I need your help to find her.

Ark: Of course you do because I'm so strong. My skill with the sword rivals even Link. And I’m a defender of justice.

Ark: Weren't you disguised as Link just now? Um why? How?

Sabel: *looks down* That’s not for you to know actually. (He just says bossyrude crap and mouths off while looking doormat-like, wtf? The simultaneously control freak and submissive 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. It’s apparently how he mouths off to Domri without getting in trouble.)

Ark: I think you might be lying.

Sabel: If I was lying, would I have this? *Shows Ocarina of Time*

Ark: Conceivably. btw can you play it

♱

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 / 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒

Color aspect: Red (Power)

Elemental affinity: Water/Shadow

Voice claim: Kate Bush

I'm actually going to snap this time.

She always found a way to reinvent herself, again and again. Anything it took to spurn death, ensuring she would never fall victim to those who prey upon the weak.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Lone Wolf, Proud Retainer 1 - Spar

Collection Summary:

"One raised under the shade of snow-tipped forests, another raised by the embrace of briars. Two boys from vastly different worlds, united under a shared determination of upholding their values. A lone wolf and a proud retainer, determined to keep to themselves, now find each other on a similar path together and soon they don't mind the company." 

A collection of short romantic blurbs featuring the Jack and Sebek ship. There are plans to stitch these scenes into a proper story someday, but for now, please enjoy!

Word Count: 733

Author’s Note: This is just a fun little collab with @patchyegg87~ This first chapter is written by her. Enjoy reading! 

Chapter Summary:

"Sebek brags about his skills on the art of sparring and proceeds to eat his words."

---

It was training, and Sebek was trying to teach the other First Years what he knows. Ace eventually dared him to apply it in a sparring match, having become annoyed with the green-haired man's condescending way of talking.

And almost like it was a way to put Sebek in his place, they all made Jack his opponent. Now Jack himself didn't think that he could beat someone with much more combat experience, but he wasn't going to back down without a fight. It wasn't in his nature to do so, and Sebek was well-aware of that, so he was . . . Slightly nervous. Jack was well-built, athletic and was no stranger to roughhousing and fistfights. If he wasn't careful here, Ace wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

As the spar began, the wolfman lunged to strike first, and Sebek responded by veering to the side. He reached out to grab the back of his opponent's shirt to flip him to the ground, but he found his wrist getting held instead. Jack moved with surprising agility, his pupils having formed into sharp slits of controlled aggression.

Before he knew it, Sebek soon found himself getting pinned to the ground with a thud, staring up in shock and seeing the other's face merely inches away. Jack had one fist around his collar while the other was raised and poised to strike. 

The others were starting to make a lot of noise from the sidelines.

"Whoa, didja see that? That was over in a blink of an eye!"

"It barely even started . . . It didn't look like Sebek was expecting it, either."

"Bwahahahahah! Hey, where were those knightly techniques you said you were gonna show us, dude?!"

Sebek could feel the hot wave of embarrassment wash over him. If he could, he would've made an effort to glare at Ace, but as the adrenaline of the fight died down, he started to take notice of other certain things from his position.

Namely, the way Jack's legs were tightly pressed against his sides. Honestly, if this wasn't under the context of a fight, this particular circumstance almost seemed suggestive somehow. He looked at the silver-haired man's eyes, which had reverted back to normal and stared at him with mild concern. With the way he was looming over with his tall frame, keeping the one underneath him completely under his control . . .

". . ." 

Something about this . . . didn't feel as bad as it should be.

"Er . . . Sebek, you okay . . ?" Jack muttered, tilting an eyebrow at the other's unusually quiet disposition. 

Yuu, who had been eating a snack on the other end of the room, eventually answered, ". . . I think you broke him."

"N-No, he did not!" Sebek suddenly protested, going red in the face after realizing that he had just been staring dumbfoundedly this whole time. "I was . . . Merely shocked by how . . . Well . . . Admittedly, you were faster than I had anticipated! The fault was on me for having underestimated you! Now, if you don't mind, ple--"

"Yo, what's with your face, bro? You look like you just ate somethin' spicy," Ace suddenly butted in, followed by the others as they started crowding around them.

"A-Actually . . ." Epel mumbled, a flash of realization etching across his pupils.

"Hah . . . Isn't this kinda . . ?" Deuce began to nervously scratch the back of his head.

"Get a room, you two," Grim playfully drawled, voicing out what everybody had been thinking in one go. It was Jack that hadn't realized it right off the bat, and as soon as he did, he promptly scrambled off of him as the others started chuckling.

Sebek helped himself to his feet, dusting off his clothes as an attempt to brush away everyone's teasing stares and his own intrusive thoughts.

"Mm, I dunno if you should've done that, Jack." Ace snickered. He wasn't done terrorizing their friend just yet. "Sebek here seemed like he was enjoying it--"

“Shut it, Ace.” Jack snapped.

"Silence, you lowly cur!" The knight-in-training growled, trying to grab the redhead and stop him from spewing out more baseless nonsense.

Because they were baseless . . ! There was nothing enjoyable about what just happened! Not a single thing!

Chapter 2 -->

(Masterlist)

[twistedisciple]

Reward vs Punishment

// I came across Griss' unused victory lines recently and they had me thinking about just how extrinsically motivated he is. Specifically "How was that?" and "Where's my reward?"

First of all, as an aside, for someone who loves pairs of things, the way the Four Hounds are broken into pairs is fun to think about. You have visual pairs: Zephia and Griss (revealing clothing, horns/spikes, etc.), and Mauvier and Marni (head to toe armor). But you also have thematic pairs: Zephia and Mauvier (intrinsically motivated by a sense of duty to someone), and Griss and Marni (extrinsically motivated by punishment and praise, respectively). With respect to the last pair, this makes Griss the most hound-like of the Four Hounds, winning over Marni only because he has 11 years on her, and that's a long time to let extrinsic reward rot away one's internal sense of right and wrong. Griss would give all those pigeons, rats, and dogs in conditioning experiments a run for their money.

REWARD

When we talk about conditioning, we use the words "reward" and "punishment." Griss uses the words "punishment" and "pain" interchangeably in canon, but what he means is pain as a reward. This is what motivates and reinforces his behavior and, paired with his low (or lack of) morality and personal opinion, makes him extremely trainable. Promise him pain and he'll turn tricks until he hits the one that rewards him. Marni is similar with praise, and we even see her going out of her way to find the right thing that will earn her that praise (e.g. volunteering for missions). Animals that are just beginning to learn a trick tend to do this, too, and that's what trainers take advantage of to scaffold the behavior that they ultimately want to reward. Griss was likely the same when he was younger, and now in TOA, without Zephia and Sombron's expectations, he's back at that stage again.

While pain is at the top of the list, I do think there are other things that can serve as adequate reward for Griss. He's conscious of the physical ones: gold, food, alcohol, smokes. But acceptance/acknowledgment is one that he responds to on an unconscious level ("How was that?"). For the most part, this makes him a pretty good mercenary. Give him some money and a bed and he'll do whatever you want. Mostly. But he's never going to do more than what's asked unless he's getting something out of it, and he'll almost always take the shortcuts because the faster a job gets done, the faster he gets his reward. Knightly types like Mauvier would find this sort of slapdash approach unacceptable, but Griss is all about working smarter, not harder. Maximize that reward-to-effort ratio. It's amusing that one of his victory lines is "Where's my reward?" since it sounds like the moment a body hits the ground, he's immediately holding his hand out to whoever gave the order. Treat now? Treat Now? Treat Now?

However, this also means that the effort Griss is willing to expend for someone is directly related to how much he trusts that they'll reward him. He's not going to go out and do something hard for a brand new employer if he doesn't have proof that they'll pay him when he's done. Likewise, Nel and Rafal might fill a certain void made by Zephia and Sombron's absence here in TOA, but they'll still have to prove that they're worth being loyal to. Rafal has a leg up already, supposedly having Sombron's blessing, but he could still easily lose that trust.

PUNISHMENT

Given his disposition, Griss would be as equally sensitive to punishment as he is to reward. Pain just doesn't work, and there is very little indication in canon about what might serve as a punishment for him so this is almost entirely headcanon.

Withholding pain would be one way to punish him, but pain would first need to be established as the reward. If pain was not expected to begin with, then not hurting him isn't going to send any sort of message. There are too many situations without pain that Griss willingly participates in, so instead what I think he's most sensitive to is disownment and confinement. He doesn't want to be cut off by the people he respects, and threat of both exile from and abandonment by the fell church would have kept him in line. He understands the importance of his service to Sombron as well, and acts in accordance with Sombron's will to avoid being disowned as one of his "favorites." and yet, in the end, griss realized no amount of service would stop sombron from abandoning zephia, so what did that mean for him? Of course, this only works from those he's aligned with. To anyone else's disapproval, he just says "fuck 'em."

The second, confinement, would work well due to his love of sensation. If you lock him up in a tiny room somewhere for a few hours, where he can't hurt himself or talk to anyone, it's going to get the message across real fast. He can't stand being left alone with nothing to do. Responds well to time-outs if there's something fun going on elsewhere. Might throw a fit though.

Anyway, ultimately these new lines made me want to expand on Griss a bit more beyond his obsession with pain, and reason out how punishment DOES work on him. Every day, a new little gem dug out from the game's data.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein

or

The Modern Prometheus

By Mary Shelley

CHAPTER II.

We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in our ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense application, and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets; and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home—the sublime shapes of the mountains; the changes of the seasons; tempest and calm; the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of our Alpine summers,—she found ample scope for admiration and delight. While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the earliest sensations I can remember.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave up entirely their wandering life, and fixed themselves in their native country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive, the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my temper to avoid a crowd, and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my schoolfellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger, for its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He composed heroic songs, and began to write many a tale of enchantment and knightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays, and to enter into masquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels.

No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families, I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted the developement of filial love.

My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law in my temperature they were turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states, possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of things, or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man that occupied me, still my enquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or, in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.

Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, and the actions of men, were his theme; and his hope and his dream was to become one among those whose names are recorded in story, as the gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was the living spirit of love to soften and attract: I might have become sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And Clerval—could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?—yet he might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his generosity—so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of beneficence, and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring ambition.

I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before misfortune had tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery: for when I would account to myself for the birth of that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny, I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.

Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age, we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which he relates, soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind; and, bounding with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the titlepage of my book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash."

If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me, that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science had been introduced, which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It is even possible, that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with the greatest avidity.

When I returned home, my first care was to procure the whole works of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to few beside myself. I have described myself as always having been embued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted, appeared even to my boy's apprehensions, as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.

The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him, and was acquainted with their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect, anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and ignorantly I had repined.

But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew more. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth century; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self taught with regard to my favourite studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a child's blindness, added to a student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new preceptors, I entered with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an inferior object; but what glory would attend the discovery, if I could banish disease from the human frame, and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!

Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake, than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories, and floundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.

When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunder-storm. It advanced from behind the mountains of Jura; and the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight. As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oak, which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribands of wood. I never beheld any thing so utterly destroyed.

Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of electricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural philosophy was with us, and, excited by this catastrophe, he entered on the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me. All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever be known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind, which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations; set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation; and entertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science, which could never even step within the threshold of real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to that science, as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life—the last effort made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even then hanging in the stars, and ready to envelope me. Her victory was announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul, which followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting studies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with their prosecution, happiness with their disregard.

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.

[fourtyfourcatss]

Hello! I saw that matchup trades were open, and I thought I'd offer you one on my side blog @courtofmatchups

I'd like to send one in for Twisted Wonderland for an OC if that's cool

How Saima describes themself: I like to say I'm a pretty cheerful and upbeat person. I try my best to smile through tough situations, though it can be hard sometimes. I also like to say I'm a family person, and I will do anything to protect them, and my friends. I am perfectionistic, but sadly I am a bit scatterbrained, much to the dismay of my parents and older sister. Hell, I almost burned the eggs I was making for the first time. I have been working on my organizational skills though, and I’m happy to say that I’ve come a pretty long way. I can be quite petty too. If someone wrongs me, I tell them either bad puns or horrifying facts for a period of time as revenge. I'm also good at math, so my friends come to me for help with that. Also, in almost every friend group I'm in, I somehow become a therapist friend. Lemme tell you, THAT really takes a toll on me. I also have a soft spot for unabridged fairytales (they high-key have me in a chokehold). Some more lil' factoids about me: I wear my hair in low ponytails because I don't like the feeling of hair on the back of my neck. My friends and family often told me my hands get pretty animated when I talk

Likes: Anime, drawing comics, video games, unabridged fairytales, sweets (my favourite dessert is caramel pudding) and spending time with my older sister

Dislikes: Cruelty, confrontation (I will kick butt if I need to, literally or figuratively), anyone who dares to threaten my friends or family, arrogance when it gets out of hand, black tea or coffee (I cannot drink it unless it is sweetened or if I have it with a LOT of milk)

-> for saima !

[i’ll be using both sets of pronouns for her] — hope you enjoy!

twst ✦ silver

✦ saima has captured the heart of… silver!

✦ the first meeting is embarrassing for both parties; saima is waving their hand around wildly at the courtyard while chastising ace, and at the very same moment, ruggie is rushing to get leona’s lunch to the savanaclaw dorm, and runs right into silver. he trips, and saima end up wacking his face. hard. and then, since he was in the midst of falling, he hits the ground extra hard. then grimm, who had been on saima’s shoulders panicked, and saima losing balance on the uneven grass, falls down onto silver. its not a romantic position at all….

✦ after the apologies, neither of them could really let the situation go, small as it is. there was so many people around! everyone was looking! silver feels shame at how he did not notice ruggie, or even dodge saima’s flurry of hands. it was unbefitting of someone with knightly conducts. usually, he does not get so worked up so easily, but in particular, he had always wanted to give a good impression upon malleus’ friend, and now because of his tired disposition… 🙁

✦ buuttt it all works out in the end ✨ eventually, the two of them get a moment of time together, and tie off the embarrassing first impressions to start anew a very contrasting friendship! a man with a fatigued countenance and an upbeat prefect! though, it seems that while silver still seems to doze off here and there, he can still reply and recall what saima has said even while he was in a daze! how odd..

✦ silver greatly admires saima’s values in family and the way she is viewing the world, brightened in optimism and trying their hardest! he himself can understand the amount of love and drive that is given with the meaning behind every action. the appreciation they have for one another runs deep, extremely so the more and more they learn of each other and their pasts. he can see how diligent and endearing she is as a person, trying to improve any aspect — though, he isnt too partial to horrifying facts 😨

✦ he doesnt need a therapist, meaning they dont have to exhaust that extra emotional energy. he’s extremely good at listening though, so he will definitely be someone to confide in for saima! they can tackle vulnerable situations together no problem! he’s not too good at comfort, but he will try, and saima can definitely pick themselves back up

✦ absolutely watches anime and abridged fairy tales with saima! as long as he doesn’t need to do much, he’ll definitely be an active participant (as much as he can). he isnt too good with video games or the like, so saima uses it as a bonding activity for the two of them!

✦ theyre just the sweetest, spinning cotton candy with interactions. saima definitely tones down her voice to whisper in his ears to test if silver is awake or not. it sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. but oh, he absolutely adores their voice.

[jefarawol]

Late that week after a good shoot, Stephanivien and I were surprised when his father came to the Manufactory.

"Stephanivien, my son, the days of shunning your knightly training have come to an end.

Never should I have allowed you to set foot inside this workshop! Had I but known that the curiosity you displayed as a boy would develop into this all-consuming distraction..."

"Is that all you came to say, Father? I am well aware of your distaste for─"

"Nay, Stephanivien, there is more. House Dzemael has sounded a call to arms, and House Haillenarte is bound to answer.

As you well know, however, our companies are light on lances. If we are to avoid dishonoring our name, every able soldier─mine own son included─must take up spear and sword and march to battle."

"I have not the disposition for charging into enemy ranks, Father."

"I did not raise a coward! Consider your next words carefully, boy─as manufactory chief, I hold the authority to expel anyone from this workshop."

"Aye, I understand that our ranks have grown thin. Thus is our house in dire need of the support my machinists will bring.

Challenging the might of dragons with spear and sword is the work of seasoned heroes─warriors possessed of unflagging stamina and robust physique.

Equipped with a firearm, however, even the scrawniest commoner could engage those same scaled demons from afar. Think of it, Father! If the masses were trained in the machinist profession, the casualties of fang and claw would be considerably diminished.

Machinist companies would soon form the backbone of our defense, and, as the master of the manufactory, the accolades would belong to House Haillenarte."

"Train the masses!? Foolish boy! No lowborn army could ever replace a contingent of disciplined knights!"

"It is time, my lord. Svara is expected to descend upon our defenses within the hour."

"Svara!? You mean to engage that great brute with naught but our knights!?"

"What would you have me do? The dragon flies straight as an arrow for our very own Skyfire Locks. Should we let them be destroyed, the price will be steep in both coin and honor."

"Father, you must allow me to deploy my machinists! Once you have witnessed them in battle, even you will be unable to deny their effectiveness."

"...Do as you will, Stephanivien. As matters stand, I would not turn away a lame chocobo if it offered to defend our holdings. Be certain to assemble your forces at the Locks ere Svara arrives."

[bxldrsdraumar]

Lately it seemed Sigurd spent much of his time in town, be it merely wandering, or becoming acquainted with the locals and visitors, and occasionally acting on behalf of the Knights of Seiros as protection.

Today it was ostensibly the latter, Sigurd in full knightly kit, with armor and Seiros standard, a sword at his hip, and made patrols about the village itself, hovering a bit in the marketplace - a bright and shining spring day, the sun glinting off of his freshly oiled mail as it was, was sure to attract those of a rowdier disposition after having been cooped up during the long winter.

He'd made his rounds, but eventually found himself circling back again and again to the weapons merchant who'd set up a delightful little game: pull the legendary sword from the stone, and win a prize! He'd no care for any prize other than the delight of competition.

Sigurd watched, delighted, as visitors came and went, some victorious in their endeavor to pull the sword, and others less so. At one point, the merchant caught his eye, smirking at the sound of Sigurd's laughter and issued his challenge:

"Whaddya say, Sir Knight? Think you're up fer it? Test yer mettle, then!"

He could not have resisted if he wanted to, stepping up with a wry chuckle, his gauntleted fist coming to rest comfortably around the hilt of the sword. "If you insist, my friend."

The sword released from its hold immediately, a smooth ringing shearing through the air as Sigurd lifted the sword to the afternoon sun. He inspected the blade for a moment, smiling softly - before, meeting the merchant's eyes, he slid it back into its slot in the stone.

"I would hate to take such a fine sword from someone else. I've no need of a prize, but I thank you your good work today, my friend. What a pleasant little game this is, for all the young boys of town seeking their first blade." He clapped the man on the shoulder heartily, laughing before having a flower pressed upon him in place of the sword as a prize ("If you insist, my friend! Surely some young lady needs a smile today"), and sauntering off into the gleaming sunlight.

@indevouement

𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗴𝘂𝘆𝘀, 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘀𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗼 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗼𝗼𝗻.

[digimonloving]

since you said it was ok! pretty please may I have some possessive!gallantmon hcs? <:3c

Possessive!Gallantmon

(putting under cut for the behavior -- sft

Gallantmon is usually a Digimon who gets easily worried over his loved one. His knightly disposition and his want to keep the one he views as his loved one or one he cares for safe going a bit further when he is more on the possessive side.

He'll use his worry of his darling to excuse himself to spend time with them, wanting to be near them constantly. He hovers over them a bit much, while his care seems genuine it can be a bit overbearing and near suffocating with how much he wants to spend time with them.

Gallantmon doesn't like it when others spend too much time with the one he is possessive over, but he tries to avoid showing it when they are around. Though, if one looks close enough, they can see the disdain and the pure anger in his eyes as he glares at the ones taking away his dear one's attention from him.

He acts as such a charming knight, and always does his best to whisk his darling away from group activities when he's had enough of it. He claims it's for their safety, and that he doesn't want to stick around one place for too long. One never knows when a Digimon might attack, even if it was nowhere near where a Digimon might be able to sneak up on them.

Gallantmon doesn't see his doings and possessive feelings as wrong, and he thinks that it adds to his dear one's safety if anything. He doesn't want them to get hurt! He cares far too much for them, and he doesn't want to see any Digimon, or even human, taking them away from him and possibly hurting them.

It's why he demands their attention quite a bit, so he can "keep them safe", even if he can watch from the side just to be sure. He always inserts himself into some activity they do, but again. It's just his knightly duties, and as their Digimon, it's what he must do to make certain they're alright.!

[mollywog]

What's the most embrassing things Austen heroines had to endure or happened to them?

.cn.

Thanks for the ask!

Pride and Prejudice

Here’s the thing: Lizzie would be in a constant state of embarrassment except that she has a good sense of humor

For she had a lively, playful disposition, that delighted in anything ridiculous

A lot of the time, she can find humor in her family’s antics, especially when they are around other Meryton families, because they are just as ridiculous as her own.

However, anytime they are out is in polite society, her family is bound to be embarrassing.

The Netherfield Ball is the best examples

Mr. Collins claims her first dance set and is a terrible dancer. He then goes on to embarrass himself in front of Darcy and the rest of the party.

Mrs. Bennett loudly brags about the probability that Bingley will propose to Jane and how the union will put the other girls in the way of rich men, which Darcy of course overhears.

Mary’s not good at social cues and her performance was not suited for the occasion. Mr. Bennet made it worse.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success;

Persuasion

Anne is the only person in her family with any sense or an ounce of self awareness: her father, Elizabeth, and Mary are snobs. She’s also been around their absurdity long enough to not let it affect her too much

A lot of the embarrassment comes from her father thinking too well of himself and him snubbing others or rather taking too long to decide that he shouldn’t snub someone.

He’s also hilariously vain: half his dialogue is him mocking others’ physical appearances.

One of my favorite gems is where Admiral Croft is talking about the small changes he and his wife have made to Anne’s home, which they are renting: he goes on for a paragraph about all the mirrors in the house, particularly in her father’s dressing room.

Her sister, Mary, can’t tell the difference between boredom and illness.

Another great bit is where Anne visits Mary, and has to field a round robin of complaints between Mary, and Mary’s in-laws.

One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too much in the secret of the complaints of each house.

Known to have some influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.

To her credit, Anne isn’t embarrassed by this so much as inconvenienced by it.

Probably the most embarrassing thing that happens to Anne in Persuasion is Captain Wentworth taking a petty jab at her appearance when they are first reunited.

"Altered beyond his knowledge." Anne fully submitted, in silent, deep mortification.

Emma

The thing I like about Emma is that she defaults to annoyance rather than embarrassment.

She completely misreads Mr. Elton’s ‘affections’ despite the Knightly brothers warning her otherwise. When he proposes instead of being mortified that she jumped to the wrong conclusions, she’s outraged that he would think them social equals.

Mrs. Elton is on a mission to snub her, but Emma doesn’t hold her in high enough regard to care.

Oof and for half the story Emma is unknowingly poking fun of Jane Fairfax to her secret fiancé: She has the good grace to be embarrassed about that in the end.

But the Box Hill incident is by far the cringey-est. I love how Austen set it up: Emma wasn’t loving the excursion the way she thought she would so overcompensated with false bravado: It’s a train wreck. I don’t think a single person there had a good time (maybe Mr. Weston.) She says something she immediately regrets and then Mr. Knightly gives her a major dressing down.

Sense and Sensibility

Oh Elinor: She’s is up against her sister-in-law, Lucy Steele, and Mrs. Jennings (however kindly meant) who all in out to mortify her.

Fanny - to remind her that she isn’t good enough for her brother, Edward

Lucy - to remind her that Edward is already (secretly) spoken for

Mrs Jennings - to entertain herself

It’s been a while since I’ve read Mansfield Park or Northanger Abbey so I’ll defer.

Tell me what I missed!

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2/5

Book Blurb: Emma gets a fresh Indian-American twist from award-winning author Sonali Dev in her heartwarmingly irresistible Jane Austen inspired rom com series.No one can call Vansh Raje’s life anything but charmed. Handsome—Vogue has declared him California’s hottest single—and rich enough to spend all his time on missions to make the world a better place. Add to that a doting family and a contagiously sunny disposition and Vansh has made it halfway through his twenties without ever facing anything to throw him off his admittedly spectacular game.A couple years from turning forty, Knightlina (Naina) Kohli has just gotten out of a ten-year-long fake relationship with Vansh’s brother and wants only one thing from her life…fine, two things. One, to have nothing to do with the unfairly blessed Raje family ever again. Two, to bring economic independence to millions of women in South Asia through her microfinance foundation and prove her father wrong about, well, everything.Just when Naina’s dream is about to come to fruition, Vansh Raje shows up with his misguided Emma Project... And suddenly she’s fighting him for funding and wondering if a friends-with-benefits arrangement that’s as toe-curlingly hot as it is fun is worth risking her life’s work for.

Review:

Two rivals, competing projects, and romance. This was pitched as a modern day Emma... but it unfortunately missed the mark, it was very very loose on the Emma aspect. I usually adore Jane Austen adaptations and inspired stories but this one missed for me. The story follows Vansh Raje ( Emma ) a rich, handsome, well meaning guy who upon discovering a friend’s secret decides he is going to help him and also help the homeless population. Knightlin or rather Naina (Knightly) has just gotten out of a ten year lobg fake relationship witih Vansh’s brother and has finally stuck it to her abusive father and is so excited to work on her passion project... only to have Vansh steal the funding from her and now she has to fight him for it. Throw in a weirdly magical romance story about two other people (literal magic), the romance between Vansh’s older brother and his gf, the tragic abusive relationship between Naina’s mother and abusve father, and this story is jam packed. For a story inspired by Emma I was expecting a bit more Emma influence.

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager, Avon for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 2: Potions Class

A Loki fanfiction!

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

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“Freya!” a booming voice called your name from the courtyard.

You turned around with your books in hand and walked towards Professor Odinson. His cropped blonde hair shone in the sunlight as he gave you a winning smile. You had to admit that he was handsome in a knightly sort of way.

“Yes, professor?”

“You’re headed to potions class, right?”

“Yes…” you said, looking at him suspiciously when he reached into his pockets.

He took out a small blue envelope with the words “Loki Laufeyson” in swirling black ink across the paper. Your heart stuttered as you wondered what Professor Odinson wanted. He smiled at you again, in a requesting sort of way, and your stomach clenched. “Freya, would you do me a favour and pass this along to Lo-Professor Laufeyson after class?”

“Why can’t you?” You blurted out. Your face flushed as you apologized.

He laughed and rested a large hand on your shoulder. “I know it’s strange. But I can only entrust this task to you. My brother is…well, I don’t think he will want to speak with me yet. So I must make this request of you. No questions asked.”

You sighed. “Yes, professor,” you mumbled, taking the envelope and putting it inside your textbook.

He smiled at you and sent you on your way. “Ten points for Hufflepuff!” He called behind you.

You walked down the stairs into the dark hall that led to the potions classroom. Most of the class was seated and as soon as you entered, the doors slammed shut behind you. You nearly jumped a foot in the air from the sound. Professor Laufeyson was at the front of the room, smiling at your dread.

“Note that I will not hesitate to shut the door on anyone, regardless of where they are standing. So do be on time,” he said to the class, eyes glancing at you briefly. “Broken noses are such a bother.”

You took a seat beside Pom, a seventh year Ravenclaw, and placed your textbooks on the table. She smiled at you as both of you took out your feathered quills and inkwells. You opened up your notebook and hoped that Professor Laufeyson’s class would not screw up your good standing for the N.E.W.T.S., though it was inscrutable what sort of curriculum the man would present. Anything would be better than Rattowl...right?

Professor Laufeyson shed his cloak to reveal muggle clothes underneath. Your breath caught in your throat. They looked good...distractingly good.

You lived as a muggle in foster care until an owl had landed right on your head on your eleventh birthday and dropped a letter in your hands. From then on, it was magical history. However, it was so rare to see a witch or wizard in muggle clothing, you could not help but stare.

He wore a form fitting gray shirt, with a thin black tie and black trousers. You ran your gaze down his body to his silver belt buckle when a vivid image of him unbuckling it with his slender fingers flashed before your eyes. A heated ripple ran down your chest. You blinked several times and looked back at his face. He was looking right at you. Was that a ghost of a smile on his lips? You blushed and looked down at your notes. Luckily your dark skin hid your flush from plain sight, though the room grew incrementally hotter.

“Advanced potions are not for the weak,” he began, rolling his sleeves up and standing at his podium. “You may have come to believe that conjuring a few ingredients together in the correct quantities is what it takes to create extraordinary brews and concoctions. This is not true. Potions require more than wand flicking and sheer force of will,” he said. He waved a hand and a dark green swirl of light emerged from it. A cauldron suddenly appeared on the table beside the podium, and tubes of ingredients floated over from the shelves behind him. The class gasped in wonder, as he could use magic this way without his wand. “It requires intelligence, focus, and an unyielding mind,” he continued. A vial of pink liquid he poured into the cauldron caused it to bubble, then the room began to lower in temperature. Frost formed at the edge of your textbooks. You breathed out and saw the vapour of your breath in front of you. Once again, the students, including you, clapped.

You had never seen a display so fantastic in all your lectures. Your stomach dropped as you realized this would be the toughest class of them all.

Freya.

Your thoughts shifted back to the dream. You pictured him in the darkness, calling your name. There was something about the way he had said your name that stuck in your mind. So you did all you could to push it out of your thoughts.

“He’s kind of handsome, isn’t he?” Pom said under her breath as you both took notes. She giggled and focused back on her papers. “Though I heard that he’s got quite a past - been to Azkaban, apparently.”

You looked at Pom, trying to contain the surprise on your face. She continued, “Killian told Jatin, who told me he’s-”

“Am I interrupting, ladies?”

You looked at him, standing at the podium. His eyes were light, but his expression was stern, as if you only had to poke him further to reveal the wrath just under the surface. You both vigorously shook your heads and stopped talking. He continued his lecture.

There was a fluidity to his movements, the way he stood and the way he carried himself that nearly bordered on arrogance but somehow felt unquestionable. It was a regality that felt familiar to you, and then it hit you. His motions were similar to Headmistress Frigga. There was an air of royalty about him. However, it was not the same warm and kind disposition that she carried. Professor Laufeyson carried something darker with him. His very presence was a mystery. His aura pulled you in the deeper you looked into it; an ever-growing vacuum, and you feared getting too close.

Class was finished before you knew it and you nearly stepped out the door before you remembered the blue envelope in your textbook. You turned back and searched for him, but he had already disappeared. There was a curved stone staircase that led up the tower to his office. You took a deep breath and climbed up the stairs.

A series of arched windows passed you by. Cloudy skies awaited you outside and you wondered if it might rain. The rainfall did wonders to calm your nerves.

Once you reached the large wooden door of his office, you heard voices from inside.

“You’ll never find what you’re looking for!” grumbled a voice. It was not the professor, but you almost recognized it.

Then you heard Professor Laufeyson’s voice. “Shut it, you old fool. Odin’s time is almost- “

The doors rushed open and the tall figure of Professor Laufeyson stared down at you. “What are you doing?” He said, his eyes darkened. The easy going composure he kept in class wore thin on his face now.

You tried very hard not to stare at your feet, but the weight of his glare was immense. It was as if all the wonder of his presence during his lecture had dissipated into a cold shadow. “I-I was supposed to give you this, Professor Laufeyson.” You presented him with the envelope and tried very hard not to tremble.

Suddenly, the professor smiled, and the shadow disappeared - or so it seemed. He picked the envelope from your hand and gestured you inside. “Please come in, how kind of you to deliver my mail.”

You reluctantly stepped inside and looked around. There were tall shelves filled completely with vials, bottles, jars, and cauldrons with all sorts of exotic ingredients. There was barely any wall space save for a section to the right of his gigantic oak desk, where the paintings of previous professors hung. Most of the old professors were snoring away in their chairs or staring into space absentmindedly. There was one painting with an empty chair that bore the name “Hubert Rattowl” below its wooden frame. You wondered where the old man was and that was when you realized it was his voice which you heard earlier.

Before you could think on it deeper, you noticed that there was a separate door behind the coat rack that must lead to his private chambers. You wondered what his room would be like. Would he keep anything that would reveal his personality? You quickly glanced at him as he put away some papers on his desk. His hands were slender and long, yet underneath his seemingly lean frame you could see the muscles of his forearms.

You wondered what his bed might be like. Satin or cotton sheets? Did he prefer the coolness of an open window or the warmth of a fire on his bare skin? A vivid image of you naked on your back with him crawling on top of you flashed before your eyes and you were so startled that you flinched. The back of your hand hit the edge of his desk. There was a chipped section of wood which dug into your skin.

He turned to you from behind his desk. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” You said, too cheerfully, and noticed that your hand was bleeding.

He saw it, put the envelope down and reached over to take your hand. “My dear, humility will get you nowhere.”

You froze when he held your hand in his. He waved his free hand and the same green aura emitted as a drawer opened and a small jar floated over to you. Once he opened it, you saw a yellowish cream that he hooked a finger into. He looked at you and you nearly gasped at how blue his eyes looked from up close. “This may sting slightly, but it’s better than what they have in the infirmary,” he said with a wink.

You nodded and flinched slightly as the cold cream touched your skin. He was so gentle as he smoothed it over and around the cut. His fingers worked accurately and quickly.

“Shall I assume it was Thor who put you up to the task of delivering me the letter?” He said as he continued to hold your hand in place and conjure a stack of bandages on the table.

You looked from the bandages to his face. “Yes,” you said meekly.

“My brother, predictable as ever,” he said. His eyes hardened, but you pretended not to notice.

“There you go, Miss Eves,” he said, letting you slip your hand out of his grip. You felt yourself do it slower than was appropriate, as you looked into his dark blue eyes. He raised his eyebrow. “I would have asked you to sit and catch me up on all the Hogwarts gossip, but seeing as you’ve injured yourself, I shall not keep you,” he said.

Please do. “I apologize, professor, I can be a bit clumsy on occasion,” you said.

He smirked and looked you in the eyes. “Why do I doubt it’s only on occasion?”

You smiled at the tease. “Thank you for the bandage, sir,” you said. And turned to leave.

“Miss Eves?”

You turned around and he glanced down at your books, which were still on top of his desk. The embarrassment you already felt could have filled the Great Hall. You quickly walked over, grabbed them and thanked him for reminding you. He chuckled as you left.

***

“It was mortifying!” You said to Valkyrie as you both tried to make your goblets disappear.

“Evanesco!” You said with a flick of your wand. The bottom half of the goblet disappeared, leaving a cup that looked like it was floating.

Valkyrie did the same, and the top half of her cup disappeared, leaving the bronze stem visible.

Footsteps approached. “Together, you both might make one competent witch,” Professor Sif said as she walked by. “Try again.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Someone’s in a mood again,” she said, glaring at Professor Sif’s back. “Odinson probably turned her down for the tenth time.”

“Shh! She’ll hear you…” you said, glancing at Professor Sif. Her face was drawn into a serious expression that almost invited provocation. As you and Valkyrie worked, you brought up what Pom said about Professor Laufeyson’s apparent background.

Valkyrie suddenly looked troubled and focused extra hard on her goblet. “I talked to Killian this morning. He told me who they’re saying Professor Laufeyson’s biological father was.”

“Who?”

“The Dark One,” she said, looking down.

You dropped your wand and the entire class looked at the both of you.

The rest of the lecture was spent practicing in silence as a response to the raging glare Professor Sif gave you and Valkyrie. She also decided to give all of you a ten-page assignment on the history of disappearing spells. It was one of her more generous moods.

Everyone groaned, and she crossed her arms, chin held high. “Transfiguration requires a knowledge of the spells, perhaps then one of you will finally make an entire goblet disappear. Now off with you lot!”

You and Valkyrie rolled your eyes at each other and quickly shuffled out of the classroom. Both of you fell into step together. You spoke first. “He’s the Dark One’s son?”

Valkyrie shrugged. “It sounded just as crazy to me. Let’s ask Mo tomorrow. That boy knows everything about everyone,” she said.

“Good thing he’s our friend,” you said with a laugh.

Once you both came out of the hall that led to the Transfiguration classroom, you saw a figure with locks of black hair that almost made you stop in your tracks. His blue eyes passed over you inconsequentially, as if you were an anonymous student, as he continued walking towards Professor Sif’s office. Both you and Valkyrie turned your heads to watch him glide down the hall.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Valkyrie said.

You tried not to be bothered by the fact he did not notice you. It was a stupid and silly thought you pushed deep down and away.

“So, what was your dream about? Was it the glowing thing in the lake again?” Valkyrie said.

You sighed as the memory of the dream resurfaced. His screams echoed in your mind. “It was sort of the same...but I saw him, Valkyrie. I saw Professor Laufeyson.” You led her to a secluded area by the trees. “I think I saw him die.” You left out the part where he said your name. It was too strange. The thought of Professor Laufeyson saying your name at all sounded quite embarrassing and ridiculous.

Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! You have to tell someone, it’s way over my pay grade,” she said. She looked up at the sky and tilted her head. “What were those things? Zombies?”

You shook your head. “They seemed similar, but I don’t think so…They were something else.”

Valkyrie looked thoughtful. “Remember that time we snuck into the restricted section of the library?”

You smiled. “Oh my god, and Skurge almost saw us!”

“And we had to hide in that damned cabinet for two hours! My legs were so numb I never thought I’d walk again…” she said, and started to laugh.

“And you nearly gave us away, scratching at the damn door!”

“I was marking our secret hiding spot! For future generations of troublemakers to be inspired.” She glanced at you, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “There might be something there.”

“We couldn’t do it again!”

“Why not?”

You shuffled your feet. “What if we get caught this time? They could expel us.”

Valkyrie put her hands on your shoulders. “All I’m sayin’ is that your answers could be in there.”

You smiled. “I’m going to go see Professor Heimdall. He’ll know what to do,” you said.

“Alright, bet you five sickles he’ll already know what’s on your mind.”

“I’m not betting against that!” You said, giggling.

Eventually, both of you split off as Valkyrie went to Quidditch practice and you went to see Professor Heimdall. The trip took you longer than usual. Two sets of stairs changed on you, and it led you on a dash across the fifth floor and then back down to the third floor before you could get to the divination tower. But you eventually made it to the classroom, where the air smelled of peppermint tea leaves and pipe smoke.

“Come in,” Professor Heimdall’s deep voice said before you even knocked on the door of his office.

You opened it and walked inside. Today it smelled of lemon tea, which he sipped on as he graded assignments. You saw the grade in red just below his quill on a student’s assignment; the poor kid was not passing this one. Divination was not for everyone.

“Sit, would you like some tea?” he said.

You nodded and set your books down on the table. He reached behind him and placed a black mug on the desk. The scent of warm lemon tea permeated through the air and you inhaled it deeply as he slid the mug in front of you. “Thank you.” You took a sip. “I suppose you already know why I’m here?” You said with a smile.

He chuckled. “Freya, I am not a mind reader. The gift of divination is just that, a gift. Gifts do not always come when we want them to.” He paused to take a drink. “You have had a vision, haven’t you?”

You set the cup down and rested your thumb on the rim. “I...don’t know.” You explained your dream to him, from the lake to the pale bodies that attacked Professor Laufeyson. Once again you refrained from mentioning anything about your name being uttered. When you completed your recount, you sat back and sat on your hands, waiting.

Professor Heimdall looked at you with those glowing orange eyes, as if he looked right through you. Perhaps he did. You looked back at him and saw the minute changes of expression in his eyes, inscrutable to most. First he was serious, then he grew pensive. As the silence extended, there was a slip of fear that disappeared behind the two blazing suns. He took a deep breath, his voice deepened to almost a growl. “Do not go near that man Freya.”

“What?” You nearly tipped your cup, spilling a drop of tea on the table.

He folded his hands in front of him on the desk and looked at you sternly. “Keep up with your classes, but keep your distance. Professor Laufeyson is a dangerous man.”

You drew your eyebrows together in a confused expression. “But - he’s the one that’s in danger. I saw him die!”

“You don’t know what you saw. You’re not in control of your dreams. Perhaps it was just that.”

Heat flushed your cheeks. “I know what I saw.”

Professor Heimdall grew more fierce. “Do you do the extra homework I assign you? Do you meditate in the dream trance like I told you?”

You remained silent, trying not to look like a pouty child.

“So you are not in control of anything, Freya. You have a gift, which you waste by not harnessing it. Then you have a nightmare and come to me for an explanation that is not there,” he said. His face was so still it could have been cut from rock.

You stared at him, an incredulous expression on your face. He sighed and leaned forward on his elbows. “Because I care, and because most of this information is of public record - to those who know where to look - I will tell you of his origin.”

“What, that he’s the Dark One’s son?” You blurted out.

If Heimdall was surprised, he did not give it away. “I see you students are far more privy to scandalous information than I had initially thought,” he said, taking a sip from his cup. “When Odin fought the powers of darkness nearly a century ago, he fought the Dark One, known to a select few as Farbauti. Many fear speaking his name, but he is long dead. To fear the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Farbauti had two children, one died alongside him in battle. The other was Loki. He was an infant that Odin found in the ruins of Farbauti’s castle. The other wizards wished to slay the child; they wanted to cleanse the world of anything related to the Dark One.”

You barely breathed at the thought of several adult wizards wanting to kill a child.

“But Odin did not believe in infanticide. Instead, he took the child to raise as his own and to show the world that evil is not in the blood but in the actions of the person. However, when Loki grew up, he displayed much of the...unique abilities his birth father had. He was drawn to dark magic, and in his youth he found several Farbauti loyalists and went into league with them. Loki was in Azkaban for one year as a teenager, they only released him on account of him being a minor.”

“W-why was he sent there?”

Heimdall’s eyes were grave. “He killed someone. A close friend of his father’s.”

Your skin erupted into gooseflesh as a shiver ran through you. A sense of dread coloured your vision.

“So you see why I ask that you leave him be?” Heimdall said.

Emotions raged inside you, both frustration and fear. Even if Professor Heimdall was right, were you the judge and executioner of this case? Perhaps you would not be the one to kill Professor Laufeyson, but was your inaction not an act of murder in itself?

You straightened in your chair and said, “but sir, what if what I saw was real? What if I’ve seen his death?”

Professor Heimdall tightened his grip on his mug. “Then I suppose he deserves it.”