#most of these are from Labyrinth: Coronation

[snarwor]

Seriously all of the Labyrinth comics that came out a few years ago are amazing, here are some of my favorite panels across all series (which I devoured mercilessly last night)

[companion-of-the-dragonmark]

Are the Hamishes Based on Book Characters? (HTTYD)

(Special shout-out to @yv-sketches and the link to this particular fanart here. I'll never stop looking at their book drawings, they're so good!)

Well met, my fellow Dragonmarkers! Here's another article for Character Comparison series, where I try to find a plausible, even possible, comparison between show and book characters of HTTYD.

Today, we'll be diving into the Hamishes. Very well-timed, considering what I had found recently.

Shout-out to @noctusfury and his article on the Hamishes and the Mystery of the Missing Portrait(s). Very good read.

Now, for those of you who haven't watched DreamWorks Dragons, or have forgotten who these two are, they are two of several Chieftains of Berk that is seen in the Riders of Berk episode "Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man".

The portrait below is supposed to be that of the two Hamishes.

It must be said, of course, that there is some debate about that due to an apparent error that was made during production and that the portrait of the 1st chieftain and his son (the top left in beginning picture) was the real Hamishes, design-wise.

You'll have to read the post in the link above, since that gets into greater detail.

However, we're not here for that. We're here for who the Hamishes are and who are their closest comparison, in MY opinion.

Hamish the First was Berk's most successful and wealthiest chieftain, having been a raider and pirate and accumulated for himself a massive hoard of treasure. We can assume that his rule was a successful one based on the only description we have of this historic figure.

His son, Hamish the Second, was a Hiccup, in reality, and, after his father's death, and, presumedly after he was coronated as the new chief, he built a labyrinth of traps and riddles to protect his father's treasure, hoping that his successor, a future Hiccup, would be able to find it.

It must be noted that this young man was a rather masterful riddler and engineer — to the point that NOBODY was able to even FIND the labyrinth, much less REACH the treasure. He was also assumed to have been a friend of dragons, since it would've been impossible to build it without their help. Plus, he also knew dragon characteristics and intentionally built the labyrinth to be impossible to navigate without a dragon (you most certainly wouldn't have survived the fall without one).

Now, it is my belief that the two Hamishes — and this is rather obvious given their backstories — are based on Grimbeard the Ghastly and his son, Hiccup the Second.

Like Father, Like Son

When you think of it, everything fits — albeit, with SOME differences.

For instance, they were kings (Hiccup a prince), while the Hamishes were just chieftains — that we know of, anyway, from their VERY SPARCE backstory (come on, DreamWorks, get it together!). Hamish the First died before his son, while Grimbeard lived sometime after Hiccup (for certain - ahem! - reasons). Hamish the First had a successful reign as Chief while Grimbeard's rule as King ended literally in flames due to his crappy parenting. Hamish the Second was the one who hid his father's treasure, when in the books, Grimbeard hid his own treasure for his future Heir to find. Hamish the Second was also a genius engineer/architect, while Hiccup the Second was not, though both were excellent riddlers and writers.

And, while not proven, it is assumed that Hamish the Second wasn't your typical Viking, while Hiccup the Second, despite being a Runt, was your Viking's Viking, but with brains, beauty, and brawn (if yv-sketches' sketches are to be believed lol 😂).

That being said, there were several similarities.

1) Both Hamish the First and Grimbeard had successful reigns for the most part and were best known for their pirating and attaining massive wealth.

2) Both fathers had Runts for sons, but loved them dearly (probably at the expense of their thrones).

3) Both leaders had treasures that Vikings, greedy to acquire the hoard for themselves, tried to find but failed and even lost their lives over it. In fact, in both instances, the true locations of the hoards were hard to find in hard-to-reach places, were booby-trapped, and had dragon guardians watching over it.

4) Both Hamish the Second and Grimbeard had a LOVE for booby traps and hard riddles.

5) In both the show and in the books, it's shown how both Stoicks were greedy for the treasure, but later realize that their greatest treasure was their sons (Hiccup the Third).

6) Both pairs were Berkians and Hooligans.

7) Both Grimbeard and Hamish the First felt confined on Berk and preferred going to other places.

8) Both sons had a great love and loyalty for their fathers, and both, respectively, have shown that through their actions.

9) Both sons have had an ambiguous imprint on history that can't immediately be seen at first glance.

10) Both sons loved dragons very much.

11) Both likely met fatal ends due to schemes for the throne and the treasure. (There is no portrait of Hamish the Second and his son, so it's possible that, like Hiccup the Second, Hamish the Second could've either lost his life or was exiled because of the dragons he was friends with or simply due to the schemes of those who wanted the treasure and throne of Berk.)

12) While the TV show would've never had this in their content for viewer reasons, it would be interesting if both Hamish II and Hiccup II shared similar childhoods of being abandoned and then taken care of by dragons, only to be reunited by their fathers later.

13) Both pairs were likely succeeded after their deaths-cum-disappearances by their respective Chuckleheads as Chieftains of Berk, respectively.

The Viking portrait on the right kinda looks like Chucklehead, doesn't it? 👀

Okey-dokey, I think that's everything. Interesting how I had a point for every Wilderwest King in the books. There are 13 points for 13 kings.

Anywho, that's all for this article.

What do you guys think? Let me know if you have anything to add that I missed or needs correction.

Thank you so much for reading and for your support. It's been VERY fun writing these posts for you guys! 😁

Have a wonderful week!

Long Live the Wilderwest!

— Companion of the Dragonmark

[hoardingpuffin]

I will lose it with a particular brand of Labyrinth fans.

One: It is not confirmed yet that the alleged New Labyrinth Movie TM will be a Remake. There hasn't even been an official announcement from Jim Henson yet - as of 01/01/2025, we are going off of rumours and allegations right now. But it's unlikely that the Henson Company would sign off on a remake - see how they handlednDark Crystal: Age of Resistance.

Two: We all love David Bowie as Jareth but I need y'all to get that Labyrinth is not about Jareth. It's about as much about Jareth as Spiderman is about the Green Goblin or Robin Hood is about the Sheriff of Nottingham - which is to say, it isn't. The Labyrinth movie is about Sarah and her journey toward accepting and embracing growing up and taking on responsibility. Jareth is the antagonist. The villain. He is not the most important part of Labyrinth, nor is he nessecary for a Labyrinth Story. There literally is a whole ass canonical comic series [Labyrinth Coronation] with an entirely different antagonist that works perfectly fine. You can absolutely make a Labyrinth movie without David Bowie by simply having a different antagonist than Jareth.

Three: Instead of losing our heads about "everybody is remaking perfectly good movies" and "Labyrinth isn't Labyrinth without David" maybe we focus on the issues that a Robert Eggers adaption of the Labyrinth source material has? And I have seen my share of Eggers films and liked most of them - but he is just not the right person to adapt Labyrinth. For one, he is a horror filmmaker, and Labyrinth, whilst dark, is not horror, it's more comedic fantasy. Second, he has a habit of showing underage characters nude and/or in a sexualized manner in his work [The VVitch, Nosferatu], which is concerning and weird already but especially in the context of Labyrinth where way too many people already ship the 14 year old Sarah with the several hundreds of years old Jareth. Third and to me possibly most importantly: Eggers' most recent film, Nosferatu, has been said by many to feature heavy anti-Romani racism and stereotyping. That is obviously fucked up either way, but Labyrinth features Goblins. The original movie did avoid the blood libel trope, it's more a "be careful what you wish for" fairytale situation, but considering all I've heard from mutuals about Nosferatu I frankly don't know if I trust Eggers to not - accidentally or purposefully - turn the Labyrinth goblins into stereotypes that do more harm than good.

[2ndstarblog]

Expanding the Labyrinth Universe: From Film to Graphic Novel.

[ ARTWORK BY Rebekah Isaacs EDITED BY Ziggy Dickson ]

The enchantment of Jim Henson’s 1986 film “Labyrinth” has not gone unnoticed in the almost 40 years from its conception, captivating audiences with its imaginative storytelling and unforgettable characters. The movie follows a 16-year-old Sarah (Jennifer Connelly) as she navigates the mystical land of the Labyrinth to reach the Goblin City to rescue her baby brother from Jareth the Goblin King (David Bowie.) With music written by the Goblin King himself, the movie became a cult classic with the character of Jareth becoming a fan-favourite.

With his striking appearance and charismatic yet mysterious flair, audiences adored the villain. However, his backstory and motivations were left largely unexplored in the movie. In 2018, the graphic novel series “Labyrinth: Coronation” was published by Archaia, an imprint of Boom! Studios.

Written by the brilliant Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss and Irene Flores, the series serves as a prequel to the original movie offering fans a deeper and richer understanding of the Goblin King’s origins and expanding the lore of the Labyrinth universe.

Set in the same fantastical world as the movie, the story reveals that Jareth was once a human, named Jareth Williams, who was abducted by the Owl King when he was still an infant. His mother Maria, embarks on a perilous journey to rescue him, mirroring Sarah’s quest from the movie. As the series progresses, readers are introduced to new characters and deeper layers of the magical realm that mimic the original movie.

One of the most important contributions of the graphic novel is the exploration of Jareth’s transformation from a human child to Goblin King. The backstory provides context for his enigmatic nature and complex personality seen in Bowie’s portrayal. The graphic novel series delves into Jareth’s early life, his relationship with his mother and the events that shaped his destiny.

With extended inserts from the movie, the series portrays Jareth as a multi-dimensional character, struggling with his power and identity whilst ‘looking after’ Toby alongside Beetlegum, his Goblin Servant who looked after him as a babe. The novel gives him a vulnerability that was only hinted in the movie, giving the reader an insight into his motivations, his sense of duty to the labyrinth and the loneliness that comes with his role as Goblin King.

The novel also builds upon the world of the Labyrinth, once ruled by a tyrannical Owl King who wanted nothing to do with the Goblins belligerent drinking and partying; a clear contrast to the Goblin King we see in the movie who wants for nothing more than a good musical number and a party. Showing Jareth’s mothers influence and his own care for the goblin kingdom and its inhabitants.

In the wider world, the graphic novel introduces the readers to the political dynamics within the Labyrinth and its various factions vying for control. Exploring themes of power, sacrifice and the enduring bonds between parents and children. It offers a deeper, more nuanced narrative that appeals to both longtime fans and newcomers to the series.

“Labyrinth: Coronation” serves as a compelling prequel to the beloved 1986 film and offers a richer understanding of the Goblin King and the enchanting world of the Labyrinth. Exploring his backstory and the complex dynamics of the Labyrinth, the graphic novel series enhances the original story and adds new layers of depth to a character who has captivated audiences for decades.

For fans of “Labyrinth,” “Labyrinth: Coronation” is a must-read that expands the universe and provides a satisfying exploration of one of fantasy’s most iconic characters.

[angelslovesit]

SECOND ENTRY

Alaska Young (Main character) Enters the story with incredible high energy and the tone with whom I am reading her voice makes me think of my best friend, outspoken and authentically herself. She is obviously good friends with Chip Martin. Miles describing her as the hottest girl in the whole word makes me think that, of course, he might be into her, funny because he hadn´t actually meet anyone besides the coronel and now, Alaska, who talks loud and fast over anyone speaking, is telling the most insane story she lived on the summer involving one of his friends, and the ¨honking¨ of one of her boobs which I found hilarious, boys be boys. I perceive her as this fun, and excellent history teller type of girl, that definitely smokes cigarettes, and also have them for sale. She keeps mentioning this ¨Takumi¨ who I suppose is another friend of her and the coronel. Another character entering the story soon, probably.

¨How will I ever get out of this labyrinth¨ - This quote is associated with Simon Bolivar, mentioned by Alaska. She most definitely reads a lot! Or maybe she heard it somewhere. What is the labyrinth? Is it living? Is it dying? Which one are you trying to escape from?

After all, Miles, on his very first week has already tried a cigarette, his first cigarette ever was handed to him by the coroner. Did he wanted to fit in? Was it social pressure? Was it the willing of looking cool? I think a lot of us have succumbed to similar situations, afterwards we ask ourselves, why the hell did I do that? It didn´t took long for this character to show me that my first impression was somehow wrong.

The pawn of Satan –A Swan swimming on the lake of the campus- Is mentioned for the first time, nobody shall get close to it, ever, the characters state, is it the type of swan that bites you and chases you around endlessly if you get too close to it? Is it so mean as they describe it? Probably has some issues with people, it supposedly was put there by Mr. Starnes, (Also mentioned for the very first time) the dean of students, aka ¨The eagle¨ for keeping the students away from the lake late at night. Seems like the eagle is someone particularly strict.

Picture from pinterest - LonelySwaan1

[twentynews]

Tim Noel arrives, another apparition in the sterile corridors of American healthcare. UnitedHealthcare coronates its new monarch, the bloodless transfer of corporate power occurring mere weeks after Brian Thompson's body cooled on a New York City street—murdered, they say, by Luigi Mangione, a 26-year-old whose rage crystallized into a moment of terrible clarity.

Thompson: shot. Noel: appointed. The machinery of profit churns, indifferent.

Noel emerged from UnitedHealth's internal labyrinth in 2007, most recently shepherding Medicare and retirement—those liminal spaces where American bodies transform from productive units to maintenance problems. His resume, a liturgy of corporate advancement: strategic, calculated, removed.

UnitedHealth Group—a behemoth touching every capillary of medical access, every billing cycle, every denied claim. A company so large it breathes its own weather system of algorithmic compassion.

"The health system needs to function better," says Andrew Witty, a statement so neutrally phrased it could be mistaken for wind passing through empty corporate hallways.

The system. Always the system.

Mangione's alleged motivation hangs like a question mark: how many denied treatments, how many bankrupted families, how many silent deaths construct the architecture of a single violent moment?

Noel is respected. Noel is unknown. Noel will continue.

[kckt88]

Where Water Meets The Sea!!

Summary:

Aemond is lured from King's Landing by his wife, Vaelarra, where she confronts him about killing her brother, Lucerys.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Referenced Character Death, Language, Kissing, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut - Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C VAELARRA VELARYON

Word Count: 5063

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond sat alone in his chambers in the Red Keep, a faint glow from the hearth casting shadows on the stone walls.

The letter in his hand felt heavier than it should, the parchment worn at the edges from where his fingers had anxiously traced the letters of his wife’s familiar looping scrawl.

"Skoriot Wendwater meets se embar, māzigon mērī," (Where Wendwater meets the sea, come alone).

He had not seen Vaelarra or their son Aenys since the day he locked them in their chambers. The day of his brother Aegon's coronation, a day meant to solidify their family's power.

Yet, due to his actions, he had driven his family away. Vaelarra, with the help of Ser Erryk, had escaped the Red Keep with Aenys on the back of her dragon, Cannibal. They were now on Dragonstone.

Much had changed since then as now the blood of Vaelarra’s brother, Lucerys, now stained Aemond’s hands.

It was above Storm's End that Vhagar had torn Lucerys and his dragon, Arrax, from the sky, sealing their fates in a violent storm of fire and blood.

Now, Vaelarra was asking to meet him. The request was simple, yet fraught with a thousand unspoken words.

He considered ignoring the message, but something deep within him, a yearning for a semblance of what they once had, drove him to action.

He had to see her, if only to gaze upon her one last time before the war claimed him in its entirety.

Rising from his seat, he dressed in his riding leathers, the familiar weight of his sword at his side a cold comfort.

The corridors of the Red Keep felt less like home and more like a labyrinth of bad memories and regrets as he made his way to where his dragon rested.

With a deep breath, Aemond ascended the rope ladder to her saddle, feeling the tension coiled within him like a dragon ready to strike.

As Vhagar took off into the skies, her powerful wings beating against the night, Aemond couldn’t help but wonder what awaited him on the banks of Wendwater.

Aemond arrived at Wendwater first, the chill of anticipation coursing through his veins as he landed Vhagar near the riverbank.

He dismounted and looked to the sky, searching for any sign of Vaelarra and her dragon. Although he did wonder briefly if he had been a fool to come here.

What if this was a trap? What if Vaelarra had lured him here so that the Blacks could descend upon him and Vhagar?

Despite her immense size, Vhagar could not withstand a combined attack from Cannibal, Meleys, and Caraxes.

The thought gnawed at him, yet he remained. The need to see his wife outweighed the fear of potential betrayal.

Hours seemed to pass as he waited beside Vhagar, the silence of the day only broken by the occasional rustling of leaves or the sound of water lapping at the shore.

Then, a sound reached his ears—a low, thunderous rumble that grew steadily louder. Aemond's heart quickened as he recognized the approach of a dragon.

He watched the skies intently, and soon enough, a dark shape appeared on the horizon, growing larger as it neared.

Cannibal. The second largest dragon in the world and possibly the most feared, did a few laps above the ground, his massive wings stirring the loose sand and sending ripples across the water.

The ground shook under Cannibal's weight as he landed, Aemond stared wordlessly as the dragon lowered himself to the ground, allowing his rider to safely descend down his wing to the floor.

Aemond watched as Cannibal hovered protectively beside Vaelarra, his dark, leathery wings partially unfurled, creating a formidable barrier between her and any perceived threat.

The dragon's immense size and menacing presence were undeniable, a stark reminder of the power Vaelarra wielded.

If Vhagar was the greens biggest asset then Cannibal was the blacks.

Cannibal's eyes, glowing like molten gold, flicked between Aemond and Vhagar, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled deep, rumbling breaths.

Vaelarra ran her hand along Cannibal's maw, her touch calm and familiar. The dragon responded with a low, almost affectionate growl, nuzzling her gently.

Aemond felt Vhagar shift beside him, the ancient dragon's eyes locked onto Cannibal, a subtle tension crackling in the air between the two great beasts.

Aemond's gaze remained fixed on Vaelarra, taking in every detail. Her long braided silver hair shimmered in the sunlight.

Her amethyst eyes, that were once filled with warmth and affection for him, now held a guarded, almost distant look.

It pained him to see the change, to realize how much had been lost.

Cannibal's watchful eyes bored into Aemond, a silent warning in their depths. Aemond met the dragon's gaze, unflinching, though he could feel the weight of its scrutiny.

He knew that Cannibal would protect Vaelarra with a ferocity that matched Vhagar's own.

"Vaelarra," Aemond called out, his voice firm, though the underlying tension was palpable. "Why did you ask me to meet you here?"

Vaelarra's hand paused on Cannibal's maw, her eyes meeting Aemond's.

She stepped forward, her dragon remaining close behind, a looming presence that refused to be ignored.

"I needed to see you," she replied, her voice carrying a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

Vaelarra walked towards Aemond, her movements purposeful and unwavering.

As she closed the distance between them, she removed her leather riding gloves, one finger at a time, and then threw them to the ground with a sharp, decisive gesture.

The gloves landed with a muted thud, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air.

Aemond stood still, his heart pounding in his chest as she approached.

He saw the fierce determination in her eyes, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface now blazing brightly.

When she was within touching distance, Vaelarra raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face.

The force of the blow made Aemond's head snap to the side, the sting of her nails cutting into his flesh and drawing blood.

He felt the warm trickle down his cheek, mingling with the cool air. Pain flared, but he did not flinch or retaliate.

Instead, he turned back to face her, his eye meeting hers with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance.

"That-" Vaelarra hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and grief, "-Was for Luke”

Aemond remained silent, his jaw clenched. The wound on his right cheek was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

He had expected her anger, her grief, but experiencing it so viscerally was something else entirely.

"Do you think I can ever forgive you for what you did?" Vaelarra's voice broke, and tears glistened in her eyes, though she held them back with sheer force of will. "You tore my family apart, Aemond. You killed my brother”.

"I know," Aemond replied, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with remorse.

"You killed Luke! He was an envoy, Aemond! He was a child-

Aemond's face twisted with pain and frustration. "-So was I when Luke carved my eye out of my skull!" he shot back, the rawness of his voice revealing the deep scars the event had left on him.

Vaelarra's eyes blazed with a mix of rage and sorrow. "So that's what it was—revenge? What happened on Driftmark was an accident!"

Aemond stepped closer, his expression hardening. "An accident Luke was never held accountable for—he never even apologized," he said, his voice low but intense.

Vaelarra's breath hitched, her anger giving way to a profound grief. "He was a child, Aemond. A scared, impulsive child. And you-you slaughtered him for a mistake made in fear."

Aemond clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I didn't mean to kill him," he admitted, his voice strained. "But the anger, the humiliation I carried all these years-it consumed me. And when I saw him at Storm's End, it all came rushing back."

Vaelarra's shoulders sagged, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her. "I loved you, Aemond. I thought-I thought that we could be different. That we could rise above the hatred”.

"I never wanted this," Aemond said, his voice cracking. "But the world we live in, the choices we've made-they've brought us to this point. I am sorry, Vaelarra. Truly, I am."

Vaelarra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Sorry won't bring Luke back. It won't ease the pain."

Aemond's eye burned with a mixture of anger and anguish as he stepped closer to Vaelarra, his voice rising with the intensity of his emotions. "How do you think I feel, Vaelarra? My eye is gone, my face permanently scarred, and my own father, didn't even bother to defend me. He publicly chose his favourite child, Rhaenyra, over and over again."

Vaelarra's expression softened slightly, a flicker of empathy breaking through her anger, but Aemond pressed on, his voice trembling with the weight of his pain.

"All through my life, Viserys never bothered with me, Aegon, or Helaena. Do you know what it's like to grow up knowing that your father would probably have preferred it if you and your siblings had never been born? To feel like an afterthought, a mistake he regretted?"

“-Aemond”

"You had your mother; your brothers, and you’ve had three fathers in your life. You had a family that loved you. But for me, every day was a reminder that I was unwanted, unloved. And then, when Luke took my eye, it was as if the last bit of hope I had for my father's approval was ripped away."

Vaelarra looked away, struggling to reconcile her own pain with the depth of Aemond's suffering. "I'm sorry, Aemond-“

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions pressing heavily on his chest as he gazed into Vaelarra's eyes. "I never knew what love was," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and trembling. "I had resigned myself to never knowing it, to never feeling it. But then we got married-"

Vaelarra's eyes softened, her tears glistening in the light, but she remained silent, letting him speak.

"I wanted to hate you," Aemond continued, his voice gaining strength. "I thought I would, that I could. But I couldn't not for long anyway. The way you would look at me, smile at me, hold my hand under the table at mealtimes. The way you would dismiss the maids so you could help me bathe instead, gently running your hands through my hair and taking care of me. You were patient, kind-and you showed me what love is."

He reached out, taking her hand in his, his grip firm yet tender. "You taught me what love is, Vaelarra. You made me feel something I never thought I would. You saw me, not as a monster or a scarred Prince, but as a man, deserving of love and compassion, with you I wasn’t a second son, I was a husband and then a father-insisting that we marry was the only good thing my father ever did for me-it allowed me to have you”.

Vaelarra looked up at Aemond, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and confusion. "If you loved me, Aemond, then why did you help to usurp the Iron Throne?" she asked, her voice trembling. "My mother is the named heir, and I, in turn, am her heir. I would have been Queen one day, and by our marriage, you would have been my King Consort. Our son, Aenys, would have been King one day. You helped to steal your own son’s birthright”.

“Viserys changed his mind,” replied Aemond.

“Changed his mind? According to who?” snapped Vaelarra, her voice sharp and incredulous.

“My mother was tending to him in his final moments, and he declared in her presence that he wished for Aegon to be King,” said Aemond, his tone defensive but resolute.

Vaelarra's eyes blazed with fury. “And my grandsire who that very same day, dragged himself out of his sickbed to defend his daughter in front of the realm—only to change his mind hours later? Do me a favour,” she retorted, her voice dripping with scepticism.

“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Aemond's singular eye narrowed, his jaw tightening.

“I’m simply saying that I refuse to believe it. My grandsire steadfastly upheld my mother’s status as his heir for over twenty years. He would not change his mind, not like that” Vaelarra said, her voice firm with conviction.

Aemond's face darkened with a mixture of anger and frustration. “You think I would lie about something like this?”

Vaelarra's expression softened momentarily, but her resolve remained unyielding. “Honestly-I think your just another victim of the deceit, but your mother is not the head of the beast, it’s your grandsire. It reeks of his manipulation-that man has always sought to reach far beyond his station“

“Ābrazȳrys-please try to understand,” implored Aemond, his tone desperate and quiet (Wife).

“Oh, I understand enough-your cunt of a grandsire is nothing but a green snake slithering about the Red Keep, waiting for the opportune moment to strike,” Vaelarra retorted, her eyes blazing with anger.

“Vaelarra,” growled Aemond, his patience wearing thin.

“I also understand that honey drips from Otto Hightower’s tongue, to conceal the bite of piss that he showers down upon the rest of us,” Vaelarra continued, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Enough,” warned Aemond, his voice low and dangerous.

“A snake is no match for a dragon-it might do you well to remember that, Valzȳrys hen ñuhon,” (Husband of mine).

“Do you think this is easy for me? I have a duty to my family and—”

“What of your duty to me, to our son? Are we not extended that same courtesy?” interrupted Vaelarra, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Of course, you are,” argued Aemond as he reached out towards Vaelarra, his hand trembling.

Vaelarra slapped his hand away, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and fury. “You say that now Aemond, but your actions speak otherwise”.

Aemond’s face twisted with anguish. “I did what I thought was right-”

Vaelarra shook her head, her tears mingling with her anger. “-You took the throne based on deceit. But in doing so, you lost sight of what truly matters.”

Aemond’s voice broke, his desperation palpable. “I love you, Vaelarra. I love Aenys-

Vaelarra's tears flowed freely as she looked at Aemond, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "If you love me," she whispered, her voice trembling, "-Then choose me. Choose us."

She reached out, her hands gently running through his hair, her touch tender and filled with longing.

She traced her fingers over his face, her tears mingling with the rain that had begun to fall.

"Choose us. Here, now. Choose us, Aemond-Issa vēzos se qēlossās" she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion (My sun and stars).

Aemond's breath hitched, the weight of her words sinking deep into his soul. He saw the raw vulnerability in her eyes, the pain and hope intermingled, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the woman before him and the family they had created.

Without another word, Aemond leaned forward, capturing Vaelarra's lips in a passionate, desperate kiss.

His hands cupped her face, as he poured all of his love, regret, and hope into that single, fervent kiss.

Vaelarra responded in kind, her arms wrapping around his neck as she clung to him, their tears mingling as they embraced.

“Nyke iderēbagon ao, nyke iderēbagon īlva” whispered Aemond (I choose you; I choose us)

“Aemond-“ exclaimed Vaelarra.

“Issa glaeson, issa jorrāelagon, ivestragī issa emagon ao” rasped Aemond as he pressed gentle kisses along Vaelarra’s neck.(My life, my love, let me have you).

“Kessa gūrogon issa” (Yes take me).

One kiss, that was all it took. She needed more. She needed him, that fire that had always existed between them roared to life once again.

Vaelarra wrapped her arms around Aemond's neck and drew him in back in.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It had been so long since they’d shared any form of intimacy.

Aemond backed Vaelarra towards the canopy of trees, their hands pulling at each other’s riding leather’s, removing them as quickly as they could until they were a heaped mess on the floor.

“-Aemond” moaned Vaelarra as he moved away from her to pick up his coat and spread it across the floor before he shoved Vaelarra onto it, her back colliding with the ground with a soft thump.

He covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Vaelarra moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelarra as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up Vaelarra’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaelarra her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaelarra.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaelarra, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaelarra. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Vaelarra; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Vaelarra’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Vaelarra’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” whispered Vaelarra as she writhed against him (Please my love).

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and ploughed his hard cock into Vaelarra’s soaked cunt causing her to shriek in surprise.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” spits Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Vaelarra can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Vaelarra.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

Aemond lifted Vaelarra’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaelarra.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

His wife always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

“I love you-I fucking love you” groaned Aemond as he moved Vaelarra’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” begged Vaelarra, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into his leather coat.

Aemond took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside her once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Vaelarra arched her back and screamed as Aemond pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed through the air.

“Fuck. Larra-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers in the messy braid before he pulled her backwards, her back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Vaelarra tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me Issa zaldrīzes” pleaded Vaelarra her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder (My dragon).

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside her.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and laid on his coat.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelarra breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he manoeuvred Vaelarra on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Vaelarra as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it Larra, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Vaelarra dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Vaelarra as he moved his hands to her breasts, rolling her rosy nipples between his long fingers.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond.

Vaelarra’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her third climax approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelarra.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed-see you swell with my child again-FUCK”

“Y-yessss Aemond, I want it-I want you-please put another babe in me” babbled Vaelarra as her husband moved her back onto the ground his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapping around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Larra. My Larra.” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed.

Aemond and Vaelarra lay together, their bodies entwined in the aftermath of their passionate reconciliation.

The air around them, warm and still.

Vaelarra’s head rested on Aemond’s chest, her fingers gently moving through the sparse hair there, tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

“How’s Aenys?” asked Aemond.

“He keeps asking for you-“ replied Vaelarra.

“I miss him-“ muttered Aemond, his heart clenching at the thought of his son, his perfect little dragon.

As he laid with his limbs entwined with Vaelarra’s, he couldn’t help but remember the joy he felt when he first held his son.

Traditionally men weren’t allowed in the birthing room, but Aemond remained steadfast at his wife’s side, he held her hand and whispered words of love and encouragement as she birthed their son.

Gods he was so beautiful, silver hair and amethyst eyes and when the tiny squalling bundle was placed in his arms the world just melted away-nothing else existed except for Vaelarra and Aenys-

“Aemond,” she whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty, “What if-what if you didn’t truly mean it? What if, when faced with the reality of it all, you can’t choose me?”

Aemond turned his head, his singular eye locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. He lifted a hand to her cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Vaelarra, I meant every word”.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she struggled to find her voice. “I-I just-I don’t want to lose you, Aemond. Not after everything. I can’t bear it.”

Aemond wrapped his arms tightly around her, his own heart breaking at her anguish. “You won’t lose me, ābrazȳrys. No matter what happens, my love for you and Aenys will remain”.

Aemond was suddenly distracted by the distant roar of an approaching dragon. He stood up quickly, reaching for his sword and scanning the sky with a wary gaze.

Vaelarra, startled by his abrupt movement, quickly covered herself with Aemond’s discarded cotton shirt and stood beside him, placing a calming hand on his arm.

“Calm down, it’s only Vermax,” she said softly, trying to soothe him.

Aemond’s eye remained fixed on the sky as the smaller dragon flew overhead, its scales shimmering in the light.

Vermax let out a burst of flame, illuminating the sky for a brief moment before flying away into the distance. Aemond lowered his sword slightly, still tense but less alarmed.

“What was that all about?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice.

Vaelarra took a deep breath, her expression turning serious. “That was the signal.”

Aemond turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What signal?”

“King’s Landing has fallen,” Vaelarra replied, her voice steady but sombre.

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, the gravity of her words sinking in. “Fallen?” he echoed, trying to process the information.

“Yes,” Vaelarra confirmed. “The Blacks have taken the city; the Queen has reclaimed the Iron Throne”.

Aemond’s mind raced as he processed the implications of Vaelarra's words. His expression hardened as a sudden realization dawned on him. He turned to Vaelarra, suspicion darkening his eye.

“Your request to see me-it was a ruse to get me away from King’s Landing, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Vaelarra’s eyes met his, filled with a mixture of regret and determination. “Yes”

Aemond’s anger flared, and he pulled away from her.

“How did-”

“Daemon had been lying in wait, and as soon as you left with Vhagar, he attacked the Red Keep. The plan was to draw you away so Daemon and those loyal to my mother could strike.”

Aemond’s rage boiled over. “I will go back to King’s Landing and deal with Daemon myself-if he dares face me”

Vaelarra quickly stepped in front of him, her hands on his chest. “No, Aemond. Your endeavour is pointless. The city has already fallen. There are more dragons guarding its walls than Vhagar can handle. Going back now would only lead to your death.”

Aemond’s face twisted with a mixture of anger and worry. “What about my mother, Aegon, Helaena, their children—will they be safe?”

Vaelarra placed a calming hand on his cheek, her touch gentle. “Yes, they will be. Only the traitors will meet the sword. My mother’s wishes were clear: to spare those who were innocent and bring justice to those who plotted against her”.

"I don't believe you," said Aemond, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Aegon is a threat, a living contender, invites challenge. In order to secure her claim, she will have him executed-his sons too”.

"That is your grandsire talking," she hissed, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "He has spent years sowing his little seeds of discord, whispering his poisonous words into your ears, and now his time is up. His head will be on a spike before morning's light."

Aemond recoiled slightly, taken aback by the vehemence in her tone. "Vaelarra-"

"No," she interrupted, her anger boiling over. "Do you not see how he has manipulated you? How he has twisted your perceptions, filled your heart with fear and suspicion? All in the name of his own ambitions?"

Aemond's eye narrowed, a mix of frustration and hurt flashing across his face. "He is still my grandsire. He has always looked out for us, for our family."

Vaelarra shook her head, her expression one of bitter disappointment. "Looked out for you? Or looked out for himself? For his own power and influence? Aemond, you must see the truth. Otto Hightower has never cared for anyone but himself. And now, his machinations have brought us to this brink of war and chaos."

"What fate awaits me? I killed Lucerys. Surely your mother will demand my life in exchange."

Vaelarra looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "Aemond, I don’t know what my mother will demand. Lucerys was her son, and his death weighs heavily on her heart. She may call for your life in retribution."

Aemond’s face tightened, his eye searching hers for any glimmer of hope. "Then what am I to do? How can I face her, knowing what I’ve done?"

Vaelarra’s voice softened, her fingers tracing the edge of his shirt. "You must show her your remorse, your willingness to make amends. It may not be enough, but it is the only way forward. We cannot change the past, but we can shape the future."

Aemond shook his head, a mixture of anger and despair in his voice. "And if she demands my life? What then, Vaelarra? Will you stand by and watch as your mother takes my head?"

Vaelarra’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her grip on his shirt tightening. "I will fight for you, Aemond. I will plead with my mother, remind her of our love and the family we have built. But you must be prepared for whatever decision she makes”.

Aemond looked at her, the resolve in her eyes both comforting and heart-wrenching. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "Vaelarra, I am sorry for what I’ve done. I never wanted this. I never wanted to cause you pain."

Vaelarra placed her hands over his, her touch warm and steady. "I know, Aemond. And I love you for your remorse, for your willingness to face the consequences of your actions. Whatever happens, we will face it together."

They stood there for a moment, their foreheads touching.

"If Rhaenyra demands my life in exchange for Lucerys, I will gladly accept my fate. But before Daemon takes my head, I ask only one thing: grant me the chance to hold you and Aenys one last time."

Vaelarra's eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking at the thought. She threw her arms around him, holding him close as if she could shield him from the harsh realities they faced. "Aemond, no," she whispered fiercely, her voice choked with emotion. "I will not let it come to that. I will fight for you, and just as you chose me, I choose you."

[betweenthetimeandsound]

The Sea Gardenia burned at Aleria's hand; despite the promises of the cold to assuage her from her journey, it didn't deliver anything but patches of flayed skin on her palms. A trace of blood trickled across her left hand, penetrating her palm before it swirled with an abnormal cotorsion, like a dance for the spring.

However, spring will never come here, in the cliffs facing the Selerina Ocean. The waves crashed in their consistent rhythm, but they always tempted her to jump in, to become one of them and end up as a legend. Someone who died for her country, not as plain queen who only had the skies under her control.

Clenching the gem, Aleria ground her teeth. But if I were to die in the ocean, then the realm dies with me. Then, there would be nobody to comment about what I do or what could become of this realm, she thought before slipping the Sea Gardenia inside her velvet cloak. It had gotten lost before--it must return home in her grasp, never to be taken again.

Not soon after she started running back from the edge, her thighs aching after days of venturing, did she note two hands approach with a crown. The Carinian crown, with all its golden labyrinths and delicate gems, glowing right in front of her eyes. She trembled at its glory, which she only bore in the most solemn of events, sometimes snagging in her curly brown hair. It fit perfectly at her coronation, but it crooked her neck when she wore it just a few months before.

And then Amber appeared.

"I have the crown for you, auntie," she muttered, though with a sweetness which tinged her voice of innocence. "I believe we could work together, to make the conflicts of our realm history."

Aleria nodded, advancing forward on her graceful feet. The air glided her closer and closer to her niece, offering a warm smile in anticipation for what is to come. A potential breakthrough for the two realms, with one family holding all the cards? She flushed a little.

"This crown means a lot to you, I know." Amber continued, playing with its weight on her palms. "I remember you wearing it on the day you ended our border clashes a few years ago, preparing yourself for what could happen next."

Aleria slowed down, but nodded as she inched closer. The clashes saw Selista reach out its rancid hands against her realm, destroying potential roads and killing soldiers alike. Aleria remembered going out into the east to see the damages; the magic-strewn bodies made her tremble despite being able to defend it with her own aerokinesis. Blowing away the dust from her eyes, she came closer, but her heart raced.

"But if you want this," Amber said, emphasizing every syllable, "then hand me over the Sea Gardenia."

The rocks started crumbling behind her, and Aleria jolted awake.

Author's Note: A day late, but when I saw the prompt for @writeblrfantasy's second day, "crown", I thought of writing a scene for my WIP, Out There. Here, Aleria ponders on the stakes on not finding it, and comes face to face with her niece. Feel free to comment, but I think I could find a good direction with this story.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Have any fun headcanons on how Entrapta runs her Kimgdom pre and post war?

Like does trying to be more social make her try to interact with her subjects

I did a story once of post war series of Dryl hosting a science fair and Entrapta is the judge

Having her be a normal responsible ruler is the most boring thing to think about in the world actually. It's just... absolutely not in her nature, nor should it be ever. The idea of Glimmer settling down is already dull enough.

For your question - Pre-war, i have a longstanding oneshot idea for that. At least the early years. But imo Entrapta was not ready, and the position her kingdom was in when it was handed over was absolute hot trash. So she just buried her head in the sand and let it fall apart, building robots for herself and to replace lost staff.

"Your Highness, sorry about your family, we really need you to leave the workshop though, your dad lost his trade deals with Brightmoon when the Horde attacked so there is a shortage of food and wood, we haven't sold any steel in months so the miners have no work, castle staff are leaving in droves especially now, and your coronation ceremony is supposed to be in six minutes. Surely you want to finally take control of the situation and not repeat the mistakes of the late Prince-- Wait, Princess, where are you going--"

So that's why Dryl is a deadzone at the start of the show and Entrapta only has 3 castle staff who don't like her very much, as well as absolutely NOBODY responding to her distress beacon. The cooks were probably recent hires too because they seem so young, two of them could be younger than Entrapta herself. And she had NO qualms handing over her kingdom to the Horde. Catra said "Dryl's forces have fled". I think this is funnier if the only people who lived there were the 3 castle cooks, some daring squatters like the goblin dude, a postman, and a random elderly couple who keep complaining about the large noisy Horde vehicles. Otherwise she let a kingdom full of people get taken over by the Horde, which is a little fucked up even for Entrapta, but not out of her range.

Post-show I think this is where the question really comes in, who is she now? Entrapta has spent the series on a ridiculous and dangerous adventure moving from place to place, things being chaotic for her moreso than anyone else. She hasn't even BEEN to Dryl since she was left in the Fright Zone!! And she clearly didn't miss it much. The last time Entrapta was in Dryl was in the Portal episode and I thought that scene was quite sad, sure there are her robot friends, but it came across as a safe kind of prison (though ofc it's not safe with what she gets up to) where there are no exciting social interactions to get hurt by or enjoy.

When you've moved to the Fright Zone, survived Beast Island, ran from place to place surviving Prime's attack, spent months on a dangerous space mission, and then come back to find your camp has to move again because all your buddies got chipped, the idea of STOPPING that adventure and "settling down" back into that shitty castle labyrinth you locked yourself in years ago, taking on the responsibilities you long abandoned, it must be terrifying!!!

Personally what I see happening is Entrapta just assuming she can instantly get settled in back home since, duh, it's HOME, and when she gets there and the place is completely falling apart because the Horde struggled to survive against the Prime invasion, the outer areas of the castle are overrun with growth, but the inside is as dark and confusing and empty as she left it, there are no people, there's no sound, how can that possibly feel like home??? Where do you even begin to make this town feel like a home to anyone?

But she does have more support now from all her friends, and there are a lot of new people that NEED a stable place to live, and while I think Entrapta's instinct would be to stay wherever her friends are (most of them may be in Brightmoon), she'd probably decide to head home, demolish the castle walls to let some light in, and set up a sanctuary in Dryl for some of the clones. There's lots of room, and if Hordak and Wrong Hordak are there, together everyone can build a pretty cool town. Maybe even a school, and a spaceport!!! Wouldn't that be awesome! What a bunch of nerds.

Doing princessy things like Glimmer and leading dull ceremonies and stuff like that? Never. Entrapta would sooner abdicate. Maybe she does. Or maybe she delegates all the most boring responsibilities to other people and finds a way to do the bare minimum princess work to keep everyone together with the most efficiency. Does anyone see it as princess work or just healthy leadership? I bet Entrapta disappears a lot on science adventures. There is always going to be an edge of chaos in Dryl. People don't like authority in that town, especially not the ruler.

[escher-room-with-a-view]

building on the speculative biology based redesign thing, i was considering doing the entirety of the dwarf and horned beast species inspired by, yet again, star-nosed moles and megatherium. as we see in the RPG it’s suggested that knights of yore resemble small mammals but i want to base them exclusively off of different fox species and possibly dog breeds for the sake of consistency. i think it’ll be a really interesting contrast actually- having most of the main species based on mammals, whereas the goblins themselves are heavily inspired by birds and theropod dinosaurs. this could have implications regarding the origins and evolution of different labyrinthian species but i dont know at the moment. either way it’s really cool for me to think about

also, this passage from brian froud’s companion book seems to imply that the labyrinth has existed for millions of years. i really like this idea because even if it’s far from canon, the combination of:

this,

the fact that merfolk exist in the labyrinth (as cible mentions in coronation), and

the mention of aquatic fossils in the (albeit unofficial) practical visitor’s guide

leads me to imagine a plethora of possibilites. chief among these is the idea that this universe went through its own version of the cambrian explosion, which is an extremely intriguing thought- given the presence of artifacts dating back millions of years, i find it especially interesting to consider whether or not these cambrian-esque lifeforms might have been sapient. but also, it arises questions- where did the labyrinth come from? did it occur naturally? was it sentient enough to change its shape back then, even in the absence of a ruler? did it evolve as a living thing evolves? could it be that before the collapse of good governance, the labyrinth was autonomous, and its word was law; but after that, it lost that degree of autonomy when tyranny became the law of the land instead?

[mercyrius]

Yilin Raen

Get ready this is rather disjointed

Yilin Raen (翼鳞 Yì Lín, Winged Scales) are, as the name might suggest, a subclan of the Raen known for their wing-shaped horns and scales, and tails resembling those of the Othardian dragon.

Location

 Most of them live on the multiple islands on the southern tip of Othard, usually collectively known as Fengyuan (a little like how Vylbrand, Thanalan and Black Shroud… etc are all clumped into one name known as Eorzea). Several villages exist on each island, with a noble clan ruling over a few of them.

see this little collection of islands?? i'm claiming them for my own usage until told otherwise

Appearance

These horns come in many forms, with much more variety than the regular Raen such that some people even believe that no two Yilin have the same horns. Of course that is entirely a myth; close family members tend to have similar horns, especially those of the Nangong family.

The facial and body scales closely resemble those of the other Raen but with more elaborate wing-like patterns, and that instead of back scales, the back of their necks and middle of their spine is covered in thick hair that eventually connects to their tails. This is a trait found in both men and women; size appears to be the only form of sexual dimorphism within the clan as unlike the other Raen, Yilin women appear to have bluish tongues as well.

Showing the hair on the back

Yilin horns, especially those of higher standing, tend to be decorated with piercings and precious gems as well. This practice was originally one only allowed to priests, but over time things have changed, and it is now normal to see even a mere farmer wearing a copper ring on his horns.

Culture/Lore

Yilin culture is heavily based on Chinese wuxia themes and southern chinese/taiwanese folk religion minus the blatant misogyny. The air pollution aspect of it however remains, because it’s not Chinese if it doesn’t involve fire in some shape or form. Instead of the Twelve, they worship both their ancestors, and just like the Oronir, Azim whom they sometimes might refer to as a heavenly emperor. The Nangong clan is said to have been descended directly from Azim and have long enjoyed the position of de-facto rulers on the islands compared to the other families. They have also produced the highest numbers of Prince of Winds* over the years, a symbolic leader of the islands.

*When the current Prince dies or retires, the noble clans sends a few of their eligible youths to participate in a survival game within a labyrinth under the main palace known very creatively as the Coronation Trial. The first (or more usually, the only) person to escape from it will be crowned the new Prince of Winds regardless of gender. The trial is closely monitored by a panel of priest-judges to ensure that there will always be a winner, even if they do come out not entirely in one piece. If a commoner is brave/ambitious/suicidal enough, they can participate and try their luck too. Due to the high mortality rate, the noble clans tend to send their strongest and smartest children with the highest chance of escaping. It is believed that a messenger of Azim resides within the labyrinth to help perform the wanton murder selection of a new Prince.

In recent years, several members of the Nangong clan have departed from the islands in order to ‘branch out’, settling in other Othardian states such as Hingashi and Doma as merchants and changing their surnames from Nangong to the more Hingan-sounding Minami, which simply means ‘south’ (Nangong means South Palace.) Ever since then, even more Yilin (nobles or not) have left as well to seek adventures in greener pastures.

Fengyuan went relatively unscathed during the Garlean Occupation; despite being considered a vassal state by most, the nobles went to ignore Doma’s cries for help, signed a hugely unpopular treaty with the Empire, and stayed in their teeny tiny isolated loser lane instead just as Hingashi did for the most part while Doma got fucked into the ground. Many Yilins resided in Doma as well due to the close proximity, so a lot of people were very upset about the situation. Garlean presence is allowed only on select islands as per the treaty.  

Names

Names work exactly like how Chinese names do, which is slightly different from Japanese names. You put the surname, which normally consists of one character (two-word surnames like Nangong, Situ and Ouyang are rare af) before the first name, which is usually one to two characters. In the case of 2-character first names, it can be written as one word or separated into two (e. g. Tianyi, Tian Yi). Go nuts. There's usually a personal name and a courtesy name too; the personal name is what elders use, while the courtesy name is for people of the same or later generations. It's like how Hien's childhood name was Shun, since the Japanese and Korean have a similar practice :D (further reading)

Examples:

Luo Tianyi

Wang Lei

Gong Lifang

Attires

Sometimes, they have more than one pair of ‘wings’

Yilin clothing is naturally based on Chinese period dramas as well. Of course, the clothes that one is allowed to wear depends on their standing in life. Nobles and members of the Nangong family wear lavish finery and jewelry regardless of gender, while the peasants make do with hempen garb. Slits are made in the back of skirts and pants to accommodate for the huge tails. Ancient Chinese people didn't wear underpants, so neither did the Yilin.

Magicks

Yilin believes that with enough cultivation of the 'qi' (aether) and good virtue, one can gain immortality and great power; therefore qi cultivation is a rather popular thing on the islands. Doman geomancy once reached here a long time ago and the Yilin adopted it for their own purposes like rain-calling ceremonies. In more recent years, it has been combined with Eorzean Arcanima for performing arts. You know what, just go and read MDZS or something.

About Certain Mods

Maybe try doing some research first and ask yourself if this mod you’re about to use respects a race of 1.4 billion people around the world.

would strongly suggest finding a hanfu blog to understand how the clothes and hair work

[psalloacappella]

SSM21 Day 5. Jutsu

Pairing: SasuSaku Prompt: Jutsu Title: I’m lost, so lost, I’m lost at sea you see Tags: Blank Period; Canon Divergence; Bittersweet; Fuck the shinobi state

The sun's setting - it may never rise again.

Ao3 | twt | Full series link | @ssskmonth

The only part of her returned to him are the earrings.

His handmade supplication and silent ardor he’d never had the easy ability to express, and she’d never taken them off since. In an ornate box in a small silk satchel set in a plush compartment they rest, an unnecessary labyrinth of layers for any widower to navigate.

Gleaming, the final remnants of his faithful wife. Like the Sharingan and fresh blood, not such different shades of calamity in the end, the glittered edges of them skewer his soul straight through, churning bile in his throat at the sight:

The ruby and the rust.

Knowing already they’d been torn from her flesh without ceremony, as a thief gropes for gold. He feels sick, chokes down dry heaves at the violence of it — all the ‘what if’s’ between the lines of the detached, clinical summary.

Ino had been the one to slip Sasuke the coroner’s report as Naruto sent back food and any emotional entreaties at a dizzying pace, barricaded in his Hokage office and unseen for the 48 hours since.

The photo is almost too much.

You deserve to know, she’d whispered, casting red-rimmed eyes at the closed door. In the face of her best friend’s death — and the wilting and withdrawing of a man who Sasuke suspects was more to her than just a friend, more than he might have guessed — each breath coming is a ghostly rattle, the human shell through which untenable grief passes. She was . . .

And in an uncharacteristic breaching of his physical boundaries, Ino’s face crumples and she falls into his chest, tears taking their worn fjord paths again, endless and unhealing.

She’s clutching, he’s still as stone. If he ever possessed the ability to comfort to begin with, how could he articulate that he was gutted, hollowed and scraped — had nothing left?

She was yours.

❦

A funeral turnout more beautiful and admiratory than expected. Arrangements of flowers in all sundry varieties, proper rites and rituals, tears and anecdotes from every corner, all the tiny pockets in which his wife existed to keep a hegemony well-oiled, well-healed, well-loved.

The sun’s setting — it may never rise again, and Sasuke leans into the shadowed corners of Naruto’s office as a broken, huddling animal while his best friend drinks in a way he never used to, longing for the desperate peace a substance never brings.

In between empties he tells him all of it.

“Was her idea,” Naruto croaks. “I begged her not to, Sasuke. B-believe me!”

Silence.

“Our intelligence team . . . knew the day after she left. The syndicate . . . they’d marked her. I’m sorry.”

Into his shaking hands, muffled, Sasuke speaks in a voice bland and dead. “Then why did you let her go?”

“Because she was right.” Naruto sniffles, wiping his nose with the heel of his hand. Like a child, a genin again. Both feeling useless and stymied. He laughs weakly. “She always is.”

When Naruto tells him the last bit of the mission — this plan so convoluted and shrouded in lies and kept off paper, officially unofficial, Sasuke’s insides and soul twist in protest and he thinks again of labyrinths, noiseless sinister tunnels of all the worst-kept village secrets. Wishing he were lost in them, deaf, dumb, and blind.

Naruto’s men lingering at their posts hear the end of it:  Raised voices shot through with crackling pain, papers skittering, and when Sasuke kicks open the door he tucks his bruised knuckles into his cloak, gripping his secured, temporary discharge orders in his hand.

❦

Arriving after two weeks of listless travel, it doesn’t take Sasuke long to tease out the location based on a handful of conversations with some of the port city’s more loquacious characters. Worries him, but as he approaches a dilapidated beach cottage carrying a scent of neglect on the salty breeze, he begs forces unknown for a last flickering flame of faith.

Nothing in the filthy windows, no sounds coming from within. But it’s here, the lingering scent of familiar soft skin and now he’s on the back step, staring into a dank and empty den, old furniture laden with dust. He raises his fingers as if to tap gently at a door between him and this void, and now he’s feeling the skip of his heartbeat and he brushes his fingers against the air, again, some melancholy heartsick action, desperate for the sign that he can peel this illusion back.

And he falls through.

In her arms, into an embrace, and he’s letting out a burst of air against her hair and for a moment his chest caves in, shuddering with disbelief, that wounded and breathless sound of stolen speech, lost and found again.

“Sasuke-kun,” she sighs.

Taking in this cottage with gleaming wood floors, void of dirt, curtains thrown open to let the sunlight ring with impunity. In defiance of dwelling and hiding, the small resistance cloaked by the jutsu’s delusion to anyone lurking outside. Sasuke closes his eyes tightly, shuts them against this relief as if it’ll disappear the moment he lets go. She’s here. She’s real.

His hand travels down her spine, fingers memorizing each chine with the intensity of a blind man seeking purchase in lost memory.

“You’re—”

“You made it,” she says, sniffling. Prelude to tears. “I was wondering if I’d have to get on the boat myself.”

Lips in the crook of her neck, in her hair, holding her with the grip of a man clinging to life and still wondering if this is the most devastating dream, if he’s died himself.

“You’re real.” A catch in his throat. A gentle, brittle fracture in the exhaled shell of her name:  

“Sakura.”

A moment, another. Then —

“We don’t have long,” she says, pulling back to look him in the eyes, dabbing away endless tears. “I’m so sorry, Sasuke-kun. For everything you had to go through, for the things you had to pantomime, pretending to grieve.”

He doesn’t tell her how the plan had been fucked up, that wires and signals crossed in the chaos of the penultimate piece of intelligence; that they’d already set in motion the plan, her plan, of faking her death to the syndicate as a feint for a larger stratagem, a byzantine game of chess; that only when Naruto had drunkenly and haphazardly explained the mess they’d found themselves in, Sakura with a price on her head and convincing them she could carry the illusion with the knowledge that they’d let her husband know, and in a timely fashion.

Sasuke doesn’t think he can process it yet, much less explain it to her now.

She’d never forgive herself.

“The ANBU’s jutsu did well,” she explains, swallowing hard, “but it won’t last. I’ve packed everything, I have the route. Disguises.” Thumbing his cheek, brushing away what might be an actual tear his buzzing skin can’t feel, she adds, “I need you with me, darling.”

Pretty words have never been her beloved’s forte. Instead he brings her hand to his mouth, pressing each finger against it one by one in quiet endearment — just as he remembers, the hum of her strength and adoration just beneath the skin.

The art of jutsu, at its roots; some form and blend of technique and magic, a pliable spectrum from love to disaster.

This unlucky fate, he supposes, is its own dark spell.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Shuffle Playlist - Rewrite - Part of Your World - Part 8 - Fights and Sisters

=

Mal lifted her foot into the air as she leaned to her right to get the perfect curve of Evie's hair, biting her lip in concentration as she listened to the calming sounds of a spray-paint can fill the room. she clicked her heel as she leaned back onto the box she was standing on and nodded to herself, the mural for her friends was almost done, the last thing she had to do was add detail and she would be done.

“At least I don’t see myself with horns and a pitchfork” Mal spun around with a gasp, holding up her can defensively as she looked onto the sheepish Ben who stood before her.

He waited for her to lower the can, but Mal didn’t budge, keeping her finger on the spray mechanic. “Mal-“ Ben took a step forward, stopping as Mal shook the can threateningly, her eyes staring into Bens with a warning to back off.

“How’d you get here” Mal whispered, she had thought it would take just a bit longer for her friends to get here, she wasn’t ready to face them again.

“I- Mal I’m so sorry about the fight, it was all my fault” Mal shook her head defiantly, no, it wasn’t Ben's fault, not completely, it was hers too.

“How.did.you.get.here” Mal stressed, shaking the can again as if it was a weapon.

“The limo, Jay drove us-“ us. That meant Evie was here, Carlos too, god she hoped Cruella and EQ didn’t know they were here.

“Of course,” she muttered, chucking her can to the floor, seeing Ben flinch out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it, kicking her old makeshift stool over and growling.

They were her family, why did she think they would take a week to come get her, of course it would only be hours before they found her.  But she just needed to escape for a bit, she didn’t want to stay on the isle, not after she crossed the barrier again, but once inside there was no way out, not without the remote.

She was happy that they came to get her because that meant they cared enough to do so, but she wasn’t ready to go back to the craziness of Auradon just yet.

“Mal” Ben started again, attempting to walk up to her but stopping as she held up her hands. “please come home” he held out his class ring, the one Mal hadn't taken off since his coronation.

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure how to word what she wanted to say ‘(y/n) did always say I had a habit of saying things the wrong way’ she scoffed at herself, shaking her head. “Ben….I-“ she shook her hands in frustration “im-not gah!” Ben blinked in surprise as she suddenly yelled and shook her head and arms “words! Ben!” he jumped as she yelled out his name, she calmed herself with a deep breath "I am home….you’ve said before that home is where you feel like you can be yourself well”

she held her arms out, gesturing to the hideout “this is it; this is where I feel most comfortable, in leather, with purple hair, with my knife in my sleeve, baring my teeth when someone looks at me funny, swearing to my heart's content because fuck it!” she let her arms go limp and felt them smack against her thighs. She sniffed, feeling her nose burn “Ben, I love Auradon, I love the skies, I love the food, I love the school but….but it's just-”

she lifted her hands up again, her frustration showing in her face and hands as they clenched “I couldn’t even blink without someone in my face asking me about my mother!!” Ben glanced to his left, seeing a large tank with the tiny black and purple dragon sitting on a mini cloth couch, small puffs of green smoke exiting through its muzzle, her toxic green eyes locked onto his form.

 “ or bugging me about me being the lady of the fucking court!! Ben, I don’t know what you expected from me but HOW did you expect me to be able to just flip a switch and turn into this perfect pink princess who always smiles and-“

“I never asked you to change!” Ben yelled, finally shutting Mal up “I didn’t want you to become a perfect Auradon girl Mal! I wanted you! I wanted the girl that told Chad fuck off, I wanted the girl that was adorably possessive of her strawberries, I wanted the girl that growled at people when they stepped to close to Evie or Carlos, I wanted the girl that fought Jay for six hours about the logics of lightsabers, I wanted the girl that jumped off the dorm building because Carlos dared her, I wanted the girl that chewed on her hair because it smelled like grape juice!” Ben panted, giving a small smile to Mal as she stared at him in shock “I wanted you Mal, I didn’t want you to change.”

Mal was silent for a few moments, eyes drifted from Bens once more outstretched hand to his eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Then why didn’t you say anything” she muttered in a wavering voice. Ben's heart dropped, his body slumping as he looked into Mals watering eyes. “Not once did you ask ‘Hey what happened to my hair’ ‘hey, why that dress’ ‘hey, what happened to your leather’. Not once did you ever SAY you liked my purple hair better, or my leather clothes, or anything like that, you just stood by and smiled, because you are always in this happy glitter world where everything is good. 

Well, it's not Ben! I was stressed out of my mind about everything. I could hardly eat because I was always reading those damn etiquette books, I was up every night till four am studying because I was so tired from learning fucking which spoon to use for soup that I couldn’t keep up my grades anymore, I failed art class did you know that?! no! because you didn’t ask!” Mal panted as she tried to catch her breath, Ben shook his head and stomped his food slightly.

“I shouldn’t need to ask! You should tell me about this kinda stuff I’m your boyfriend! I’m not psychic Mal! I don’t know what's going on in your brain, that’s not my job!!” Mal shook her hands in frustration, her headache returning as her eyes glowed slightly.

“that is-GAH! I’m not saying it's your job! Do you think I know what's going in my fucked-up brain Ben?! It’s a fucking labyrinth that I only just started to navigate! I’m fucked up Ben! And I’m sorry if you can't handle it because I can't either! I’m trying to be better but if you don’t help then I’m never GOING to be better! And before you say anything, I don’t mean help me be the perfect Auradon girl I mean help to be a better me!”

She harshly patted her chest to accentuate her words “call me out on my bullshit, call me out when I say the wrong thing, call me out when I hurt your feelings! I've needed help since I turned against my mother, I don’t know what I’m doing Ben, I needed someone to guide me to be a better person yet all I've gotten is (y/n) being the only person in the universe to notice that I’m imploding!” Mal covered her face with her hands and sighed “Ben, you make me so happy, but-but….you don’t notice anything about me, not really”

Ben tilted his head in confusion, shrugging as he did so “what the hell does that mean? I always pay attention to you!”

“Not really” Mal sobbed, making Ben stop…Mal never cried “Ben I’m was so fucking confused and stressed about…everything, and not one time did you ask ‘are you okay’, and-and I know I lied to you about using my magic but-what harm did it do? I didn’t spell you to think I was perfect, or anybody else! Just items to help myself because I’m not a superhuman who can do everything at once with no-fault! So what I used a speed-reading spell, or a blonde hair spell, or a food spell?! I understand why you are mad about it, because yes! I lied to you about what I was doing and how I was doing it, but even if I never told you, would you have found out?!” Ben sighed, holding his hands up.

“let me calm down, I don’t want this to turn into a screaming match, because if it does (y/n)’s gonna come up here and hurt us” Mal let out a breath like laugh, taking a step back and hugging herself.

After a few moments of silence, Ben finally spoke again “I’m sorry Mal” she looked up at him, a single tear trailing down her cheek “you’re right, I should have noticed you weren’t okay, because….it is my job as your boyfriend to take care of you, and I didn’t do that…I had the same problem with Audrey, sometimes she would come back from her grandparents place a wreck, but put up a front to not worry me, and while everyone else noticed, I just looked away as if her problems didn’t exist. I did the same to you, I’m sorry…” Ben looked down at the floor, playing with his fingers nervously. Mal sighed, stepping closer to Ben and rubbing his arm. “I’m sorry too, if I had asked for help months ago all this would have never happened.” Ben looked back up at Mal, holding out the ring.

“Please come back with us” Mal stared at the ring, slowly reaching out to grab it, smiling as she felt the cool metal of the ring. Then she shook her head, placing it back in his hand.

“…we don’t work right now Ben” Ben gaped at her, trying to speak but she held up her hand “listen to me, we don’t work right now, I’m too mentally closed off, and most of the time can’t look past my own nose. I-I need to fix myself before I can be with you in a way that’s not…toxic. Because that’s what this is, it's toxic, we don’t communicate at all and never look past the surface of each other…I need to take myself out of the picture because its what's best for you and myself…if we kept going like we are now it's only going to hurt us in the end…I’m sorry” she closed Bens fingers around the ring and pushed it back towards him. “But I can't do this right now”

“But I love you” Ben whispered, making Mal stop as she turned to the wall “Don’t you love me?”

She was silent for a few moments before she looked back at Ben. “I know that I’m always happy when I see you or even think of you. I know I love my friends; I love Auradon, and I love the idea of us together but….I don’t know if I’m in love with you Ben, I know I love you but….I’m not sure I’m in love yet…I’m sorry”

She turned and walked back to the mural of her friends, sighing as Ben tried to follow her, she turned, shaking her head “Ben you should go…Tell them that I’ll be ready to come back to Auradon in a week okay?” she looked back to the wall, closing her eyes as once again Ben stepped closer “Ben please go, please leave” she stared into Ben’s sad eyes, feeling another tear drop down her cheek and off her jaw.

Ben slowly nodded, stumbling back towards the stairs and leaving the hideout. Mal let out a low sob, leaning against the wall and covering her mouth.

‘This was the right thing to do’ she reminded herself, breaking up with Ben was the best thing for both of them. At least until she got ahold of her own mind.

=

You looked up as Ben finally descended the stairs again, Mal, like in the movie, not behind him. Evie perked up, walking over to him and looking up towards the hideout “So…Where’s Mal?” Ben shook his head dejected.

“She's not coming back.” Ben muttered, pushing past Evie and Carlos and walking down the alley to get some alone time. You narrowed your eyes, should you follow him? There could be a chance that Uma wouldn’t send anyone to kidnap him…without Harry, you didn’t even know if Uma had a crew, let alone the lost revenge, since Harry's old wharf rats from before were Uma’s crew. You shared a look with Gil and made to start following Ben, but noticed he was already out of your sight.

“How does a scrawny boi like that move so fast?” you muttered, smiling a bit as Gil shrugged and turned back towards the other vks.

“GO AWAY” the makeshift comm system was closed off, leaving Evie staring at the speaker with sad eyes.

You turned back to the alley, seeing a tall figure beginning to walk toward you…that wasn’t Harry, you knew that…who was it then? “guys” you interrupted Jay and Evie's conversation, they turned to you with wide-eyes and raised brows “Ben’s gone”

Evie rushed to your side and called out for Ben “Ben?” no response, but the tall figure continued to move closer “Ben?!” once more no response, but Evie seemed to think the figure was Ben, which you knew it wasn’t….but it also wasn't Harry. Evie sighed in relief and placed her hands on her hips “Ben don’t scare us like that!”

“don’t scare you?!” a teen stepped out of the shadows, his fiery red hair stark against the grunge of the isle walls “but that takes all the fun outta it!”

Yeah, you immediately hated him, you glared at the teen, watching carefully as a monkey chatted away on his shoulder…Jack…that must mean…

Who knew Barbossa could have such a distasteful son?

“Davy” Gil growled, clenching his fists and taking a threatening step towards the smaller teen. Davy glanced at him, his eyes widening for a moment as he looked at Gil's now even larger form.

“What did you do with Ben?!” Jay yelled, Davy pursed his lips in thought before he “miraculously” remembered what had happened only moments before. He turned and pointed down the alley, grinning as Jay grit his teeth at him.

“Oh um, we took him, yeah, and if you want to see him again, have Mal come to the chip shop tonight” he looked at Evie, Carlos, and Jay  “Alone” he turned to you, a flirty grin spreading across his face. “Well well, hello beauti-AHHH” as he reached out with his left hand to grab your hand, you grabbed his finger and pushed it back till you heard it crack.

“touch me again and it's your neck next” you growled, smirking as Davy whimpered in pain. Gil let out a laugh, giving a little wave to Davy as he looked at him with wide eyes.

“you should know Davy” Gil snickered “if your names not Harry Hook, you don’t touch (y/n) without a few bones being broken~” Davy paled at the way Gil said it so cheerfully, looking back up at you and squeaking as you gave him a sharp grin, almost reminiscent of Harrys.

Your other hand drew to your waist and you un-did Harry’s hook from your belt and held the pointy end up to Davy's neck “and I don’t mind spilling some blood~” you released Davy's hand and he scrambled back, giving the five of you a scared look before bolting down the alley.

“he’s gonna lie and say he scared us half to death, isn’t he?” you muttered, slipping the hook back on your belt and crossing your arms.

“yep, that’s what he does” Gil sighed, watching as Jay started to climb up the side of the stairs to go tell Mal about Ben.

=

Smee cursed himself for being old and slow, he had finally made it to Harriet's ship after thirty minutes of walking, and she wasn’t here! His oldest son, Sammy, didn’t know where she was either, only that CJ had told her something and she had left as soon as she was done with work.

His younger sons, the twins, walked up to him and made him sit down, noticing his heavy breathing from overexerting himself “dad please just sit for a while, I’m sure Harriet will be back soon” Smee slowly nodded. But he didn’t want to wait, Harrys freedom and life were at stake.

“my boy, please go out and look for her, I need to speak with her as soon as possible, it's urgent” Sammy furrowed his brows but nodded, turning to the crew and putting Xiaohui, Shan Yu’s daughter, in charge. The girl nodded, turning to the crew and barking orders.

“I'll be back soon dad, Skipper-Sterling, stay with him okay” the twins nodded and turned back to their father mostly distracting him from his worries as they told him about their day.

Smee smiled but the thought of Harry rested in the back of his mind. Oh, how he hoped there was enough time to save him before one of James ‘clients’ decided to take their ‘payment’

=

“This wouldn't have happened if you didn’t bring him along, what were you thinking?!” Mal yelled, leaning on the wall next to her as she glared at her friends.

You and Gil sat on the couch, watching as the four vks as they argued. “He was going to come with or without us we were just trying to protect him!” Evie reasoned, Carlos shook his head and looked to Evie.

“yeah, and great job we did there huh?!” Evie opened her mouth to argue with Carlos when Jay held his hands up and spoke over them.

“OKAY!...okay” you all turned to Jay “what do we do now?” Mal huffed and stepped down from the archway she was under.

“We” she gestured to the other vks and you “Are not doing anything, this is between Uma and me, and Uma’s a punk, and guess what! Now I have to go fix your mistake!” she grabbed her bag and swung it over her shoulder, gritting her teeth as Carlos stopped her again. “Hey hey, you’re still gonna have to go through whatever crew Uma’s got” Jay nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need us” Mal shrugged.

“Uma said to come alone” Evie sighed and stepped forward.

“Mal come on” she just gave Evie a look and Carlos sighed.

“Uma said to come alone…I don’t know about you guys but I’m not going anywhere” he flopped down on the couch between you and Gil. Mal sighed, looking at her friends. “I know you didn’t mean to get Ben kidnapped” she muttered, finally calming down from her earlier frustration “but that was the stupidest thing any of you have ever done…” Mal glanced at you, sighing “ (y/n), Harry said he’d be at his apartment and Jay could take you there, see you guys later” Mal left the hideout with that. you jumped up and beamed at Jay, who sighed and nodded, gesturing towards the stairs.

“I’m coming with you” Gil muttered, standing up from the couch and following after you and Jay “never bad to have extra muscle” Jay nodded at that and followed you down the stairs, laughing a bit as you skipped some three at a time.

“come on!” you yelled up at them, passing Mal and jumping off the last flight bouncing on your heels as you waited for them

“We’re coming!” Jay yelled, he and Mal making it to the bottom at the same time. “come on” Gil caught up a moment later and you followed Jay down the alley as Mal headed towards the wharf.

“don’t do anything stupid Mal” you called back, smirking as she lifted her arm up and gave you the middle finger.

“Okay, so” Jay stared, keeping a brisk pace as he leads you to Harry's apartment “Harry's place is about ten minutes to and from here, so let's get a move on” you and Gil nodded, easily keeping up with Jay as he took several turns and backways towards Harry's apartment.

=

Mal took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to hype herself up. She couldn't afford any mistakes; Bens life was on the line. She pushed open the doors, smirking as the whole restaurant went silent. She dropped it as she made eye contact with Uma “Looser party of one” Uma droned, gesturing to a free table with two seats around it “Right this way please”

Mal rolled her eyes, walking over to her, stopping and catching the chair that Uma slid towards her. Uma chuckled and rose her brow in challenge. Mal twisted the chair around and sat backward on it, setting her arms on the backrest and sighing. She glanced around, eyeing the rest of the pirates that were resting her then finally looking at Uma, whose dark-now almost black- eyes were glaring into hers.

Mal was silent for a moment, contemplating her words as Uma stared into her soul. Mal smirked, leaning on her palm as she attempting to look as if she wasn’t there on business “How's life~?”

Uma chuckled, tilting her head “Oh pretty good, ya know, considering the food shortage and contaminated water” Mal felt her eye twitch at that. How could she have forgotten all the bad stuff on the isle?

Why did she ever ask her friends if they ever wanted to be back on the isle? Of course Evie and Carlos wouldn’t want to come back this place sucked. Mal forced herself to roll her eyes and lean back on her chair a bit “Where is he” Uma ripped off her apron and let it flop on the floor, giving Mal another smirk.

“you know I’ve dreamed of this?” she laughed again, walking over to another table and leaning on it “You wanting something from me, and me watching you squirm like a worm on a hook~” Mal rolled her eyes again.

“I’m flattered, but I’m done trash-talking, where’s Ben” Uma furrowed her brows, Mal was usually the one to keep talking until the sun went down, it was odd for her to get straight to the point. But she shrugged it off and took a seat across from Mal.

“here's the deal” Mal raised her brow.

“there's always a deal with sea witches” Mal muttered, smirking as Uma gave her a look. Uma lifted her arm on the table, her elbow resting on the surface as her hand arched into the air.

“If you win, Bens free to go!” Mal stared at her for a moment, really? An arm-wrestling match?...she should have brought (y/n), Uma had always been a bit physically stronger than her. “Hmm?” Uma taunted, smiling as Mal finally hiked her arm on the table and started to line up their hands. Uma pulled back for a moment, pouting at Mal “Don’t you want to know what I get if I win?”

Mal stopped…then nodded, letting her hand lay flat on the table. Uma blinked in surprise, Mal never waited to hear the other end, always assuming she would win so she never bothered to learn what the other person wanted. She brushed it off, her teasing smirk slipping into a sharp grin. “If I win…you get me the wand” Mal took a sharp breath, cursing herself as Uma chuckled at it.

Mal closed her eyes and nodded, lifting her hand again to start the match “Fine, If I win; you give me Ben, If you win; I get the wand and bring it to you” Uma smiled, clasping her hand with Mal’s and nodding.

“On three” Uma ordered, Mal sighed and rolled her eyes, starting the countdown.

“One”

“Two~”

“three!” Mal pushed her hand to the left, gritting her teeth slightly as she felt heavy resistance from Uma’s side. Uma let out a small chuckle, smiling at Mal as she started to taunt her.

“You know, that whole princess act. Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, a sharp grin growing on her face “Never bought it for a second. You can stick a tiara on your head but you’re still a villain” Mal smirked, wow she actually thought that was an insult~ how cute.

“Thank you~” Mal purred, enjoying the look of confusion in Uma’s eyes. She jerked her arm heavily to the left, turning the match more to her side, Uma grunted in exertion. Mal hummed to herself, maybe she was stronger than the last time she had “fought” Uma. “and you can slap a pirate hat on and call yourself captain; but you can’t even hold out for your ‘boys’?”

Uma’s eyes flashed and a weight settled in her chest. “I mean come on” Mal cackled, feeling her headache return as her eyes glowed “it's only been five months~ you really gave up on them so quickly?” Uma’s hand was inches away from the table, her teeth gritting in exertion as her mind ran a thousand miles a minute. “How would Harry feel if he knew you already replaced him with Davy?”

Uma looked back up at Mal, glaring at the purple-haired fae “when you see them” she growled, her eyes flashing turquoise “tell them they're dead to me” Mal gasped, what?! No! that wasn’t how Uma was supposed to react!! In her moment of confusion, Uma took the chance of Mal’s now loose grip and slammed her hand down on the other side.

Uma stood from her seat and yelled in victory, pumping her hands in the air as the pirates around them cheered. Uma slammed her hands on the table, smirking as she stared at Mal's shocked and defeated form “Now, if you want beasty boy back” Mal raised her brow at the nickname she thought only (y/n) and Harry called Ben “Bring me fairy godmothers wand. To my ship tomorrow at the wharf docks next to the old garage near the pair at twelve noon.” She stood straight and flipped her hair back “Sharp, got it?”  Mal finally looked away from her hand to Uma, glaring at the sea witch.

Uma cackled turning and walking back towards the kitchens when she stopped, turning back to Mal and smiling at her “Oh and if you blab? You can kiss your baby goodbye~” she blew a kiss to Mal and walked off.

Mal sat at the table for a moment, before rushing to stand and get back to the hideout. If Uma told her to go tell Harry he was dead to her, that meant Harry had never talked to Uma.

And they had gotten to the isle at six pm, it was now almost nine pm. Something was wrong.

=

You huffed a bit as you climbed the rickety metal stairs up towards Harry's apartment. Jay stopped In front of a black door with silver and red spray paint all over it. Harry's name scratched into the door. “Here it is” Jay muttered, opening the unlocked door and stepping inside. “ Harry?!” Jay yelled, furrowing his brows as no response followed.

“Harry!?” you yelled, pushing past Jay and stepping into the apartment, your chest tightening as you heard nothing back. Mal said he would be here, why wasn’t he here! “Harry!?” you ran towards the back end of the apartment, going through the red curtain door and looking around.

All you saw was an old queen-sized bed with red and black sheets, a painted red dresser in the corner, a cracked wall mirror, and some clothes thrown about the floor. “He’s not in his room!” you called, stepping further into the room and glancing about, you saw a connected room showing rusty bathroom, pretty nicely kept but unused for a while.

“It looks like he hasn't even touched the kitchen” Gil yelled back, you heard some doors slam closed and Gil walking around the main area.

“…” you pressed your lips together, walking back out of his room and into the living room/entrance area “do you think he went to talk to his sisters? Or Uma” Gil shook his head.

“No, if he talked to Uma, she wouldn’t have sent someone after Ben…or Harry would have been the one to take Ben” Gil sighed, holding his hands on his hips and shaking his head “It hardly looks like he even stepped foot in here” he muttered, glancing at the dark brown couch to his left and the old TV to his right.

“But someone has obviously been in here” Jay pointed out, gesturing to booted footprints on the floorboards “Not Harry but someone else” Gil crouched down, trailing his fingers on the print.

“…CJ’s” Gil confirmed, standing and whipping his hands on his pants “those are CJ’s footprints” you and Jay looked at him with wide eyes.

“How do you know?” Jay asked, rubbing the back of his head as he stared at the footprints. Gil shrugged.

“Dad taught me how to tell people apart just from their boot size and stride length, this is CJ’s, see how they don’t show the full boot and they aren’t far apart? She skips as she walks so she wouldn’t touch the ground completely or take full strides” you let out a low whistle.

“Impressive….and those are?” you pointed at another set of much bigger prints that were opposite of CJs. Gil took one look and beamed.

“Harry’s! so Harry was here! But probably not for long if nothing else here is touched” you sighed in relief, so Harry was at his apartment like he said he would be…but if he wasn’t here, and he wasn't at the chip shop…where was he?

“Okay, so…how do we find out where he is?” Gil shrugged, crossing his arms.

“Best bet? Harriet or CJ’s place, he probably hasn’t talked to Uma yet considering she sent Davy to do her dirty work” Gil shivered at the mention of the red-haired “pirate”

“Then we go to Harriet or CJ’s place” you decided, turning to exit the apartment,  only to be stopped by a cutlass blade at your throat "oh... it's you" the girl in front of you growled. Your shoulders dropped in realization as you looked upon the girl's face. Dark curly hair, bright ocean blue eyes lined with black eyeshadow, red coat, hook earrings, and a hook patch on her sleeve

"Harriet?" you whispered "Harriet Hook?" The girl, Harriet, raised her sculpted brow and tilted her head "that would be me, and you are the Auradon brat that stole my brother" you shook your head "we can talk about that later, Harry’s not here and he hasn't talked to Uma" Harriet's eyes widened and the sword drew away from your neck "what? But CJ said he went to talk to Uma two hours ago” you and Harriet stared at each other, horror blooming on your faces as Jay and Gil looked at each other with wide eyes as they came to the same realization you and Harriet did.

"Harry’s missing”

-end of part 8-

and there we go~ Ben and Mal have officially broken up! hopefully that fight made sense and didn't sound like a therapist was talking through either of them lol. also ive decided to fix the timeline of D2 a bit since its just all over the place (it starts on Thursday, when Ben and Mal go on their picnic date, and cotillion is said to be three days from that point (for me that means Thursday (1) Friday (2), Saturday (3rd day/cotillion day)) Mal goes to the isle on Thursday, Uma and Mal arm wrestle on Thursday night/early Friday morning, and the wand for ben fight happens noon the day after the arm wrestle( which is friday i think?) and then suddenly cotillion is the same night as the wand fight? even though its really only been a day and a half) so now im my timeline, the first quarter of d1 happens ALLL on Thursday, up until Carlos n Jay head back to Auradon for the phoney wand, then the big fight happens on Friday, then cotillion on Saturday to give Evie time to fix up Mals cotillion dress

also dont blame Uma for saying Harry n Gil are dead to her, she don't know they love her with all their heart and are still her boys 

anyway permtaglist

@queer-cosette​ @sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​ @daughter-of-the-stars11​

@musicarose​ @random-thoughts-003​

@remembered-license​ @rintheemolion​

@verboetoperee​ @imtryingthisout​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​

taglist

@thesailbells​ @beccad10x​

[chubbyreaderchan]

Unexpected | Geralt x chubby!reader

Content warning: Alludes to attempted assault on MC as well as mentions of blood and bullying. Also super long with cursing. Also I can definitely see a second part. I definitely want Geralt to train her and such.

Tags: @evyiione @labyrinth-of-thoughts @zestygingergirl @pantrashtic

(Y/n) stared silently at the party being hosted in her father's home. Her face was filled with boredom and her eyes were particularly dull watching people dance, eat, and drink. She flinched hearing laughter behind her. It was always that way. Nervous of the laughter from behind, wondering if it was about her or not. It was stressful.

She was the daughter of a nobleman. A man who had five daughters and one son. Her sisters were beautiful, thin with perfect curves and skin. Always having boys begging for their attention. Begging for marriage. Begging just for one night even. They all seemed to take after their father. He was handsome. Strong. Villagers often claimed that he had four beautiful daughters and one pig. Not that they'd ever say that to her face but she had ears.

Unlike her sisters, (Y/n) took after her mother. Her mother was beautiful of course but she was plump. No matter what they both tried they never seemed to be able to shed the weight. It was embarrassing especially since she had never been in a real relationship with anyone while her sisters were constantly turning someone down. Even more so when this whole party was in celebration of her last sister's engagement. Many disappointed suitors were present plus many villagers who were simply excited for free drink.

Another hearty laugh could be heard from behind the young woman. She decided to walk off, perhaps speak with her father or one of her sisters. Her mind was slightly cloudy from drink and anxiety. Maybe next year would be her year but she knew it wouldn't be likely.

With her mind so fuzzy she hadn't noticed the white wolf himself, to the point of bumping into him knocking his drink over another man. The man who was spilled on instantly got angry.

"Oi, bitch watch what yer doin'!"

(Y/n) began to react, an expression on anger forming on her face. She never took well to being yelled at, even by her father.

Geralt rolled his eyes at the man and turned to look over the young nobel woman. Catching his eyes instantly changed her attitude.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bump you" she opted for ignoring the angry man. He simply grunted and nodded in an acknowledgement of her apology.

"Let me get you new one" she offered, slightly avoiding eye contact from the white haired man. A short nod was his only response as they both ignored the angry villager, walking off to get more mead. It was quite easy to lose the man in the crowd.

"You're the daughter of the Lord here" The Witcher spoke finally, once he had a drink in his hand. (Y/n) nodded once, drinking her own beer. She nods. "Why were you alone all night? I assumed you'd be having a time like your sisters" he nodded towards one dancing away gleefully with a handsome young man.

Her eyes glanced at the strong face shape of the man next to her. A slight shrug came from her. "I'm not a fan of dancing"

The white wolf raised a brow and gulped down some of the liquid. A grunt in acknowledgement was all that was heard from him.

"I'm guessing you must be the Witcher."

He nodded. Clearly, he wasn't much of a talker.

"What's your real name?" She cocked her head to the side slightly.

"Geralt" he responded. (Y/n) nodded. "I'm (Y/n)." He chuckled slightly.

"I figured as much. The Bard already explained about you and your sisters" He nodded towards a thin man playing a lute and singing a bouncy happy song. The dancing and laughter began to get louder with each strum and note. In fact they were both bumped into this time by a very drunk couple. Geralt and (Y/n) both grumbled in annoyance.

The couple sauntered away, giggling without acknowledgement towards the Witcher and the young Lady.

"I think I'm going to go to my room." She paused. "You're welcome to join me if you need a break from.." she gestured to the increasingly chaotic party. Geralt looked at the room with irritation on his face. He gulped the last of the mead and slammed it on a nearby table.

"Are you sure your father wouldn't mind his daughter going to her room with a stranger?"

"I think he'd be glad of it" she said with bitterness in her voice.

He looked over the young woman as she turned towards the door. "Maybe in a while" he responded. "I must keep an eye on my bard for now." His eyes turned back to said bard as a drunk Noble began yelling at the lad. "Well my room is..."

"I'll find it" he nodded a thanks to her.

His foot fall was heavy as he went to talk to the drunk. Occasionally he glanced at the door hoping perhaps the young woman would come back to lead him away. The other part knew a noble like her would only be a night of fun. He grunted upon hearing the man threatening the Bard for sleeping with his wife. Even still, he could be having a nice quiet night with her instead of being muscle for an irresponsible musician.

Geralt essentially scared off the man quite easily but damn he could use another drink. He walked back towards the table from earlier, when he noticed the man that got mead spilled on him earlier. He watched as he left the party and out the door. Instinct kicked into the Witcher instantly. He was still visibly pissed, drunk as hell and most likely going to have a bad plan in his head.

"Shit" he grumbled, changing his path and following the man. It was very clear he was going the same way. Her scent was strong and sweet. Easy to track and his was strong and musky, mixing bitterly with hers.

And the little bastard was quick. As Geralt was rounding a coroner he heard a yell. It sounded like a young women. He cursed himself again as her shoved open the heavy door. The smell of blood filled his nose. His golden eyes looked upon the scene in surprise. There laid the man, curled into a ball gripped his loin in agony. Blood seeped through his pants.

"...The fuck?" Geralt spoke softly. He looked up and there (Y/n) stood blood on her lip, clearly from getting hit in the face. Her hand held a blood covered dagger. She was breathing hard, anger on her face.

"Asshole attacked me" she stated pointing the dagger at the man. He whimpered and cursed. "Fuckin' bitch. She stabbed me in the dick." He whined.

Geralt winced slightly before walking forward into the room. He lifted the man from the floor and dragged him out the door. His golden eyes glittered in annoyance as he did so. Quickly he shut the door to her room, attention back on the plump young girl. Suddenly he found her more attractive than before. The way she cleaned the blade off with the silk of her dress intrigued him, a soft grunt of curiosity escaped him. She didn't even flinch as she wiped the blood from her face. Of course it was just a man, not any sort of beast but his opinion that she was just a silly rich girl was slowly disappearing. Geralt approached her carefully. He didn't want to upset her by coming forward to quickly.

It took a lot in him not to grab her and take her then. The candle light seemed to dance off her skin in that moment. A moment of fury.

"While my sisters were being doted on by boys... I choose to fight. Play with swords and knives. I've never actually had to use for like before tonight..." She admitted. Why was she admitting something like that to him. Was it skill or dumb luck? She wasn't exactly sure. But the adrenaline from the fight was intriguing none the less.

The Witcher was quite close to her now, one hand carefully taking the small dagger from her hand tossing it onto the bed with his other he lightly ran his thumb over her slightly swollen lip. A slight grunt was the only sound he made to acknowledge her words.

Her breathing hitched as her looked into his eyes. He took a deep breath himself.

"Fuck" he grumbled softly. Now wasn't the best time. He knew that. She was just attacked. Geralt pulled away, shoulders slightly more tense as he turned towards the door.

(Y/n) couldn't gain her voice. It seemed like centuries passed before she finally said to him just as he reached for the door knob. "You don't have to go... I'm no party but... I do have wine." Geralt paused.

"You were just attacked..." He grumbled. (Y/n) for a moment thought he reminded her of a grumpy old man. Perhaps he was. She honestly only knew about Witchers from stories.

(Y/n) nervously licked her lip, wincing as she touched the cut with her tongue. "Yes... But you are a Witcher. I'd feel better with you here" A half truth. The fight with that man gave her confidence in her skills enough that she knew now she could defend herself, but there was something about this so called white wolf that she enjoyed. "I... Also like your company"

"You barely know me" he said matter of factly.

Her face scrunched slightly. "Yes... I suppose that is true. But what a better way to get to know a man than through wine and conversation?"

"Did you make that up just now?" He challenged, turning back to her.

Her cheeks turned warm as the embarrassment in her chest built. "No, I believe it was my elder sister that said it. When I was a young girl asking about boys"

The Witcher scoffed but didn't leave.

"You're a strange one." he muttered, heavy foot steps were heard as he came back towards her.

"No stranger than you, good Witcher"

He hummed again, as she motioned for him to sit in her bed. She poured two goblets and joined him.

"Just conversation for tonight" he mentioned.

(Y/n) looked up at him, quite innocently. It was much clearer to him that though she was older her experience with the seduction of man was minimal. "Of course.... What else....?" He chuckled and slightly shook his head. How endearing she was.

"Nevermind what I said"

"And I'm the strange one?" She scoffed playfully.

"More like... Unexpected"

[noosphe-re]

‘The Future of the Future’ by JG Ballard

One of the most surprising but barely noticed events of the period since the Second World War has been the life and death of the space age. Almost twenty years ago to the day, 4 October 1957, I switched on the BBC news and heard for the first time the radio call-sign of Sputnik I as it circled the earth above our heads. Its urgent tocsin seemed to warn us of the arrival of a new epoch. As a novice science fiction writer, I listened to this harbinger of the space age with strong misgivings — already I was certain, though without the slightest evidence, that the future of science fiction, and for that matter of popular consciousness in general, lay not in outer space but in what I had already christened `inner space', in a world increasingly about to be remade by the mind.

None the less, I fully expected that the impact of the space age would be immediate and all-pervasive — from fashion to industrial design, from the architecture of airports and department stores to the ways in which we furnished our homes. I took for granted that the spin-off of the US and Russian space programmes would transfotm everything in our lives and produce an extrovert society as restlessly curious about the external world as Renaissance Europe.

In fact, nothing remotely like this occurred. Public interest in the space flights of the 1960s was rarely more than lukewarm (think, by contrast, of our powerful emotional involvement with the death of President Kennedy and the Vietnam war), and the effects on everyday life have been virtually nil. How many of us could name, apart from Armstrong himself, a single one of the men who have walked on the Moon, an extraordinary achievement that should have left a profound trace upon the collective psyche? Yet most of us could rattle off without a moment's thought the names of lone transatlantic sailors — Chichester, Chay Blyth, Tabarly, Clare Francis ... Looking back, we can see that far from extending for ever into the future, the space age lasted for scarcely fifteen years: from Sputnik I and Gagarin's first flight in 1961, to the last Skylab mission in 1974 — and the first splashdown, significantly, not to be shown on television. After a casual glance at the sky, people turned around and went indoors. Even the test flights taking place at present of the space shuttle Enterprise — named, sadly, after the spaceship in Star Trek — seem little more than a limp by-product of a television fantasy, More and more, the space programmes have become the last great period piece of the twentieth century, as magnificent but as out of date as the tea-clipper and the steam locomotive.

During the past fifteen years the strongest currents in our lives have been flowing in the opposite direction altogether, carrying us ever deeper into the exploration not of outer but of inner space. This investigation of every conceivable byway of sensation and imagination has shown itself in a multitude of guises — in mysticism and meditation, encounter groups and fringe religions, in the use of drugs and biofeedback devices — all of which attempt to project the interior realm of the psyche on to the humdrum world of everyday reality and externalize the limitless possibilities of the dream. So far, though, the techniques available have tended to be extremely dangerous (drugs such as LSD and heroin), physically uncomfortable (the contortions of classical yoga), or mentally exhausting (the psychological assault course of the suburban encounter group, with its staged confrontations and tantrums, its general hyperventilation of the emotions).

Meanwhile, far more sophisticated devices have begun to appear on the scene, above all, video systems and micro-computers adapted for domestic use. Together these will achieve what I take to be the apotheosis of all the fantasies of late twentieth-century man — the transformation of reality into a TV studio, in which we can simultaneously play out the roles of audience, producer and star.

In the dream house of the year 2000, Mrs Tomorrow will find herself living happily inside her own head. Walls, floors and ceilings will be huge, unbroken screens on which will be projected a continuous sound and visual display of her pulse and respiration, her brain-waves and blood pressure. The delicate quicksilver loom of her nervous system as she sits at her dressing table, the sudden flush of adrenaline as the telephone rings, the warm arterial tides of emotion as she arranges lunch with her lover, all these will surround her with a continuous light show. Every aspect of her home will literally reflect her character and personality, a visible image of her inner self to be overlaid and enhanced by those of her husband and children, relatives and friends. A marital tiff will resemble the percussive climax of The Rite of Spring, while a dinner party (with each of the guests wired into the circuitry) will be embellished by a series of frescoes as richly filled with character and incident as a gallery of Veroncses. By contrast, an off day will box her into a labyrinth of Francis Bacons, a premonition of spring surround her with the landscapes of Constable, an amorous daydream transform the walls of her bathroom into a seraglio worthy of Ingres.

All this, of course, will be more electronic wallpaper, the background to the main programme in which each of us will be both star and suppotting player. Every one of our actions during the day, across the entire spectrum of domestic life, will be instantly recorded on video-tape. In the evening we will sit back to scan the rushes, selected by a computer trained to pick out only our best profiles, our wittiest dialogue, our most affecting expressions filmed through the kindest filters, and then stitch these together into a heightened re-enactment of the day. Regardless of our place in the family pecking order, each of us within the privacy of our own rooms will be the star in a continually unfolding domestic saga, with parents, husbands, wives and children demoted to an appropriate supporting role.

Free now to experiment with the dramatic possibilities of our lives, we will naturally conduct our relationships and modify our behaviour towards each other with more than half an eye to their place in the evening's programme. When we visit our friends we will be immediately co-opted into a half-familiar play whose plot-lines may well elude us. Even within our own marriages we will frequently find ourselves assigned roles which we will act out with no rehearsal time and only the scantiest idea of the script — on reflection, not an unfamiliar situation. So these programmes will tirelessly unfold; a personalized Crossroads or Coronation Street perhaps recast in the style of Strindberg or Stoppard, six million scenes from a marriage.

However fanciful all this may seem, this transformation of our private lives with the aid of video-systems and domestic computers is already at hand. Micro-computers are now being installed in thousands of American homes, where they provide video-games and do simple household accounts. Soon, though, they will take over other functions, acting as major domo, keeper of finances, confidant and marriage counsellor. `Can you afford the Bahamas this year, dear? Yes ... if you divorce your husband.' The more expensive and sophisticated computers will be bought precisely to fulfil this need, each an éminence grise utterly devoted to us, aware of our strengths and weaknesses, dedicated to exploring every possibility of our private lives, suggesting this or that marital strategy, a tactical infidelity here, an emotional game-plan there, a realignment of affections, a radical change of wardrobe, lifestyle, sex itself, all costed down to the last penny and timed to the nearest second, its print-outs primed with air tickets, hotel reservations and divorce petitions.

Thus we may see ourselves at the turn of the century, each of us the star of a continuous television drama, soothed by the music of our own brain-waves, the centre of an infinite private universe. Will it occur to us, perhaps, that there is still one unnecessary intruder in this personal paradise — other people? Thanks to the video-tape library, and the imminent wonders of holistic projection, their physical presence may soon no longer be essential to our lives. Without difficulty, we can visualize a future where people will never meet at all, except on the television screen. Childhood, marriage, parenthood, even the few jobs that still need to be done, will all be conducted within the home.

Conceived by artificial insemination, brought up within the paediatric viewing cubicle, we will conduct even our courtships on television, shyly exchanging footage of ourselves, and perhaps even slipping away on a clandestine weekend (that is, watching the same travelogues together). Thanks to the split-screen technique, our marriage will be witnessed by hundreds of friends within their own homes, and pre-recorded film taken within our living rooms will show us moving down the aisle against a cathedral backdrop. Our wedding night will be a masterpiece of tastefully erotic cinema, the husband's increasingly bold zooms countered by his bride's blushing fades and wipes, climaxing in the ultimate close-up. Years of happy marriage will follow, unblemished by the hazards of physical contact, and we need never know whether our spouse is five miles away from us, or five hundred, or on the dark side of the sun. The spherical mirror forms the wall of our universe, enclosing us for ever at its heart ... — JG Ballard, The Future of the Future, Vogue, 1977 (A User’s Guide to the Millennium)

[valhallanrose]

Catriona Astoria Elspeth Canonach-Fenharrow 

(Usually, and especially professionally, just Astoria Fenharrow)

character reference sheet by @hirodraga

bio sheet format by @arcanecadenza

Meaning of name: 

Catriona - Greek origin. Gaelic variant of Catherine, meaning “pure”.

Astoria - English origin. Variation of the name Astor, meaning “hawk”.

Elspeth - Scottish origin. Variation of the name Elizabeth, meaning “chosen by god”. 

The use of their name is a little funky, so to say. They prefer Astoria, and have gone by their middle name for as long as they can remember, but they aren’t necessarily opposed to being called Catriona. It would be surprising for them to hear you call them that casually, as it’s not how they typically introduce themself, but you can find their name in plenty of places. They sign all official documents with Catriona Canonach-Fenharrow, as it is their legal name and it is additionally hard to duplicate that signature, but they will still sign letters and casual correspondence as Astoria Fenharrow. 

That being said, this isn’t a ‘true name’ situation. Astoria prefers being called Astoria to Catriona in all situations. To them, it feels more like who they are - the archaeologist with a love for bones and old books - rather than who they were expected to be as Catriona of Kintyre. Both names are a part of them, they acknowledge all sides of themself as the person they are, but Astoria is free to be as they wish to be. 

Family: Senga Canonach (mother), James Sinclair (stepfather), Malcolm Canonach (maternal half-brother) Riordan Fenharrow (father), Myrna Catriona Canonach (maternal grandmother), Astor Canonach (maternal uncle), Sachairi Canonach (second cousin), Grace Canonach (first cousin once removed)

Astoria’s family tree is rather large, but the family that will be mentioned frequently throughout their story were listed above. 

The direct family tree is included below, including their relationships in regard to Astoria. 

You can find more about Astoria’s family, Clan Canonach, and Rosinmoor in this post here.

Catriona was born at the family estate of Balgaire’s Rest in Kintyre, a province that makes up the southeasternmost point of the nation of Rosinmoor. At the time of their birth, their great aunt Malvina Canonach held the Barony of Kintyre, along with her wife, Lady Consort Lorraine Tolmach. 

Senga Canonach was nineteen when she met Riordan Fenharrow, who at the time was getting ready to take over his father’s fleet of merchant ships when he would eventually retire. They fell into a whirlwind romance, and by the end of the following summer, Catriona was born. They stayed together for a time, even going as far as to plan a wedding, but Riordan quickly came to learn the deeper he fell in that Senga was after more than what he had bargained for. 

He was not unaware of her position as a Canonach. Senga was the niece of the standing Baroness, newly welcomed into Rosinmoor society as a lady of high station, and he thought himself privileged to be the apple of her eye. But Riordan was a clever man, and over the years, began to piece together a larger picture. Senga was possessive of their child, rarely letting them out of her sight, and seemed to bask in the recognition their child gained as the firstborn of a new generation in the Canonach family. 

Catriona was born a mere four months before their cousin, Sachairi, landing them securely in the position of heir to the Barony when the time would come for their turn to take the crown. Senga had been distant after 

No longer was Senga the woman he’d fallen in love with. Riordan had every intention to leave and to take Catriona with him, hoping that he could give his child freedom away from the life they were born into, but Senga stood between him and that goal. She threatened him, saying that if he took their child he would never know peace, no matter how far they went from Rosinmoor to try and start over. Catriona was her child, her legacy, and she would go as far as she had to in order to defend that. Senga had wanted a child she could raise as she wanted, to influence so that she could have a hand in how Rosinmoor was ruled given she was third in line for the title herself, and now that she 

So when Catriona was four, Riordan Fenharrow left, taking his merchant’s fleet north to Glenarden to put some distance between himself and Senga in hopes that perhaps with time, he could be a sort of sanctuary for Catriona to turn to when they were old enough to understand. 

The following two years would leave Catriona drifting. Senga, then between the ages of 23 and 25, had little in the way of maternal instinct, but their grandmother Myrna and their uncle Astor both stepped in to care for them without a moment’s hesitation. Astor had always been frail, but he was the first ‘father’ figure they could remember, and Myrna has been a constant figure in their life even as an adult. 

Astor passed when Catriona was six, but Myrna continued to care for Catriona, though as they grew older their mother found it easier to care for them than she did when they were a child. But they were rarely allowed to leave home, even to go to Rosafearn a few miles away, and they craved some sort of change and to explore all the places they read about in the books they devoured in and out of lessons. 

When Catriona was eleven, Baroness Malvina chose to step down, but the line of succession became a little scrambled. 

Malvina had an older brother, Ualan, who had abdicated and passed her the Barony - but his children were the oldest of the next generation and had first claims to the title. 

Grace and Quinn both abdicated. At 44 and 41 respectively, with families of their own, they thought it best to not disrupt the lives they’d always known when they’d never intended to take the Barony for themselves. As the next living eldest, Senga took the Barony, and became Baroness Canonach of Clan Kintyre. She was thirty then, and Astoria, merely eleven. 

Senga had always hoped to claim power in one way or another - if not herself, then through Catriona, as the heir apparent to the Barony when Senga would one day step down. Myrna, however, who had spent more time parenting Catriona than her own mother, had been a constant defender of their say in the way they got to spend their days. 

At thirteen, Catriona learned the truth, learned that their mother had only wanted them so that she might get her hands on control, on influence, for no reason more. They’d never felt close with their mother, but to hear it confirmed was heartbreaking. They ran to Myrna, who realized her daughter was beyond reasoning by then, and Myrna decided that it would be best for Catriona to get some distance and to see the world beyond the boundaries of Rosinmoor. 

This would become Catriona’s first journey, taking them to Prakra, where Myrna was assigned to work at a dig site in the Prakran jungle among a team of archaeologists. It was their first breath of fresh air, and they remember sitting on the edge of the dig pit with notebook in their lap, taking notes their grandmother dictated as she sifted through the artifacts that had slowly come to surface. This pattern would continue for years, with visits back to Rosinmoor to keep their mother appeased as they fell in love with the world and with travel. 

At sixteen, Catriona’s life came to a crossroads. Based on the line of succession and their position as the oldest of the children of the Canonach clan, they were of the age to officially be recognized as heir apparent. No longer were they simply Catriona Canonach - they were therefore Luxe Catriona Astoria Elspeth Canonach-Fenharrow of Clan Canonach, descendant of Cliamon the Great and heir to the Barony of Kintyre. No longer could they be just themself, but they felt they had to fulfill a role, to shape themself in a way a future Baronet should be. 

The realization, with the diadem upon their brow, was absolutely terrifying. 

On the night of their coronation ceremony, Catriona ran from Rosinmoor, packing a bag and leaving their home in the company of their grandmother. They didn’t care where they went, they just needed to get away from it all, refusing to go back despite the scandal that arose from their disappearance. 

Sixteen and full of hope, they chose then to go not by Catriona Canonach, but by Astoria Fenharrow - a name they could make their own, rather than the identity that had been forced upon her by her mother. 

Their journey across the continent took the pair to the Bulan Mountains, where Myrna had once again been tasked to survey a possible historical site by the Republic of Galbrada. It was Astoria’s first time officially titled as an assistant, and they were eager to survey on their own, ready to start a new path for themself. 

Until they fell in a hole.

Astoria had stumbled upon the site in question, through part of the ruins which had given way once their weight had come upon it and revealed the catacombs beneath it. And while they were thrilled in hindsight at their accidental discovery of the Bulani Labyrinth (which is credited to them, fortunately and unfortunately), there was a very desperate situation at hand: they were trapped.

The walls were stone, and given their grandmother’s tendency to want to take notes at sometimes the most random moments, they had chalk in her pack - so they began to walk, marking the turns they’d taken as she went. They thought it’d be smart to be able to find their way back out if they ended up not finding an exit like they hoped, but alas, things would not go as planned. 

They found their way into an antechamber, decorated with lavish murals, and a simple jump from being startled by a spider they weren’t expecting meant they dropped their lantern and shattered the only source they had at that point in the labyrinth. They stumbled blindly until they came to a pool of liquid, and in a moment of relief, drank deeply from it under the impression it was water. 

It very much was not. 

The thing about the people of ancient Bulan was that they’d struck a bargain - specifically, their king did, asking for power from the Devil in exchange for a sacrifice. When the bargain was struck, the magic in question was tied to a pool of blood that was so heavily laced with magic, keeping it preserved until the day Astoria drank from it more than eight hundred years later. 

(There is an extensive history of Bulan tied to this post here, but given that that alone is quite long I’m hoping to save you some reading time unless you really want to go on a lore deep dive.)

They don’t really remember much after the pool.

The next memory they have is waking up, being attended to by Myrna, and spending multiple days being absolutely fucking terrified of the nightmares they were having until it got to a point they were staying awake as much as possible. 

And, well, when you aren’t sleeping, you begin to learn. And when Astoria realized that in the emptiness of the night, when all were asleep, that they could hear the pounding of every heart in the encampment...they thought they were losing their mind. But this was the earliest days of their sangromancy coming to being, and though Myrna didn’t know how to help her grandchild, she did know somewhere that could. 

Their grandmother took them to the Republic of Galbrada, where Astoria enrolled at the academic facilities of the Whitethorn Citadel and found themself under the close mentorship of their tutors. 

They stayed there from the time they were sixteen until they were nineteen, and the longer they spent there, they realized that they were nothing more than a creature to study in the perspective of their peers. They felt themself growing more and more withdrawn, and eventually left, realizing the only path they would be offered was one not unlike the one they’d been trying to escape from: a life where all choices were made for them, rather than considering what they might have wanted. The Galbradans feared what they might become if allowed to learn about their curse, but Astoria 

Rather than return to Kintyre, Astoria went to Auchmara on High, a safe haven for magicians like themself who needed help finding their way. It was a sanctuary, a place for them to find their way, and slowly they began to learn how to control their sangromancy rather than suppress it like they’d been forced to all along. 

After reconnecting with their grandmother - though they’d been communicating, it had been years since they’d seen each other in person - Astoria began to travel again, getting roped into some misadventures involving pirates and cursed artifacts that allowed them to come into who they were meant to be rather than who they were born to be. 

Astoria moved to Vesuvia only within the last few years, taking up a position to preserve and collect items for the collection at the Palace - and, hopefully, they’ll be able to sweet talk Nadia (or Lucio) into founding a museum for the history of Vesuvia that they’ve been planning for pretty much since they took the job and found out how full storage is. However, they still do a fair amount of traveling, and it’s unlikely they’ll stop anytime soon. 

Favorite meal: Sticky toffee pudding

Favorite drink: Chamomile tea

Favorite flower: Harebells

Birthday: September 6th

Age: Thirty-one

Zodiac: Virgo Sun, Scorpio Moon, Sagittarius Rising

MBTI type: ISTP

I wanted to live the life - a different life. I didn’t want to go to the same place every day and see the same people and do the same job. I wanted interesting challenges. - Harrison Ford

Patron Arcana: 

Major - The Devil

Upright - The Devil knows there is power in perception. He binds those who cannot see their path to freedom. Shake off his veil; you are not trapped. There is always a way out of even the darkest places. 

Reversed - The Devil loses influence over his flock as the chains of bondage drop from his tight grasp. It is time to clean house; purge the things that harm you from your life. Take back your power. 

Minor - Eight of Pentacles

Upright - Your attention to detail and willingness to learn make you an ideal student. Your raw talent can be honed - it may be time to embark on a new venture or learn a new skill if you have not already begun. 

Reversed - You have become mired in the details, unable to see the big picture. Your focus has become a detriment. Take a step back and look at all you have accomplished. Refocus yourself on the things that matter. 

Gender: Nonbinary

Uses they/them and she/her pronouns

Prefers gender neutral terms (Mx., partner, grandchild, etc)

Would normally ask you don’t call her your girlfriend if you’re dating but there is a big romantic soft spot for ‘lover’

Orientation: Demisexual

Languages spoken: Moorish (the language of the people of Rosinmoor), Galbradian (from the Republic of Galbrada), Prakran, Zadithi, Vesuvian, and Scourge fluently - they can read the language of the Kokhuri and several dead languages for the sake of transcription, but their speaking prowess is all guesswork. They think it’s fun to try and speak Old Galbradian or Bulani, and while she thinks she’s close, she doesn’t have anyone to really chat with, since...they’re dead languages. 

Magical Specialties: Sangromancy, otherwise known as blood magic. Astoria’s branch of sangromancy does cover the manipulation of blood, both inside and outside of the body, but toes the line of other life-based magical practices. They are usually extremely aware of the presence of others, particularly the sounds of beating hearts, and their blood makes magic cast with it particularly potent. They’re very well versed in curses and countercurses as a result, which has been useful when obtaining objects with possibly shady backstories. 

This is a magic that has its roots in their arcane patron, the Devil - not a bargain struck by them, but one struck in Bulan many years before, as previously stated.

Familiar: Nathaira, a Shetland Sheepdog. Holds the title of world’s best girl (in Astoria’s humble opinion) and acts as Astoria’s canine PA. Usually, if you see one, the other isn’t far behind.