#praying art powers will return to me

[asheanon]

Once again, since I've been mostly invested in words (though, I'm hoping the artistic inspiration will return to me soon...!) I figured I'd just take a moment to share some word-y things today.

If y'all like those little story prompts I've been doing, I've also been uploading them to AO3. You can find them all here. 💕 Individually, so far, there is:

A Walk In The Park

An Unlikely Duet

Tea Time

Beyond The Bar

And there are more in the works! 🖊️ (They're tiny reads. Like, snack-y reads. Don't go into them with a meal in mind, just a snack. I come bearing snack reads only. For now. Hahaha!)

They can be found under the "#I write sometimes 📖" tag as well!

[nebbyy]

hello could you do headcanons smut of baldwin and his chubby wife

King Baldwin x reader - Nsfw headcanons

A/N: Wow these is the first explicit stuff I write for Baldwin!! Thank you so much for this prompt, thinking of a chubby medieval woman makes me think of all the portraits of beautiful women with the most harmonious curves I've ever seen😩😩

As always painting name is Romeo and Juliet by Frank Bernard Dicksee for my art enthusiasts :))

Warning: SMUT, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Unlike modern times, a fuller body has always been sign of beauty and fertility through western history

Although during medieval times anything related to attractiveness and sensuality was deemed as "bad", that still meant that a chubby woman would've been judged not for being against the beauty standard, but to be actually too tempting for the public!

So it comes without saying that young king Baldwin thought he might pass out the first time he saw you, knowing you were his betrothed

You'd awakened something in him, this burning desire to have you, to know how your soft curves would feel in his hands, how your silky skin would brush against his own

I see him having a long series of consecutive days where he woke up drenched in sweat, body slightly trembling as he'd come out of yet another wet dream about you, lying beneath him as he had his sweet way with you

He felt himself getting more and more impatient for the wedding night day to come, to finally be able to call you his

He'd also be quite insecure at first, and scared too. What if the sight of his body repulsed you? What if you wouldn't want to go near him to avoid the risk of getting the disease as well?

He wouldn't blame you for it, it'd be the wiser decision for the both of you

But still, he prays and hopes and dreams that you'd return the attraction he felt from you from the very start. He longs for the feeling of your touch against his numb body

He's a bundle of nerves during the whole ceremony, but he's good at hiding it (well the veil covering his head is); he seems to all calm down only once you're both sitting next to each other at the banquet, and you tentatively lay your soft hand over his laying on the table, shy touches blessing his skin

That night your marriage is consumed in no time, he's basically as gentle as humanly possible while he holds you in his arms, as he's slowly penetrating you

There was no really developed knowledge of foreplay or female anatomy in the middle ages, but it just felt natural for Baldwin to keep his focus on your every reactions while the two of you are making love

He doesn't know what he's doing, and neither do you considering that at that time you probably haven't even seen a naked man other than Baldwin himself, but that doesn't stop the two of you from exploring each other, taking your time to get to know what you like, what makes your eyes roll back and your back arch

I'm not sure if he'd be down for oral, I kind of see him as being a bit self conscious of the level of decay his mouth and face has reached, and I'm not too sure his cum would actually taste good with leprosy and all

Nevertheless, his fingers and cock are more than enough to bring you more pleasure than you could ever imagine

Don't expect any public stuff, Baldwin is still an extremely religious man whose values are not to be messed with: these things are meant for the privacy of your quarters alone, there's no need for him to bring this sacred thing you two have out where all eyes could possibly see

He'd probably be more on the vanilla side, being mostly against anything related to giving pain (he'd be indifferent to receiving it since his body is mainly numb, but he wouldn't enjoy it either)

Although he would probably enjoy being the more dominant one in the bedroom, the power dynamic would still remain on a pretty balanced level: you're still his beloved wife, his only equal in his eyes. That's why I could confidently say that Baldwin is the perfect example of soft dom

His favorite position would probably be missionary, just so that he could be able to see your pretty face while he pounds into you

Also because he could get to hold your plush thighs and see the delightful rolls that form on your belly

Your body screams femininity and fertility to him, an alluring combination that gets him going for as much time as you two have

His numbness also grants him a reduced sensibility, so he can afford to go more rounds at a time without having too many problems from it

But as the years pass, his mobility becomes more restricted by his declining health, and along with his agility and stamina in battle his sickness gets the best of him even in the bedroom

And through it all, his burning desire for you was what got him going, what made him spare just a little more energies to later spend with you

The two of you would have to adapt, though, probably changing positions and frequency at which you guys have sex

You might start trying to be the one on top, and he'd guide your every movement while also trying not to lose his mind over just how perfect you look riding him, your every curve bouncing as you move up and down over his cock

He dreams of giving you a baby in those moments, filling you up to the brim, seeing your body get even fuller with your conjoint love. It really saddens him to think that it might never happen

But hope is the last one to die, and he gets his hopes up every time that he comes into your welcoming body, emptying his seed into you, hoping that one day this union will give life to a creature as beautiful as its mother

[zweiginator]

I had a thought about professor!patrick

(I’ve never sent in a request before or even an idea so I pray this is articulate)

What if he finds himself attracted to a really dedicated student. She’s put her all into college and has a drive and ambition he hasn’t seen in years. He tries to screw with her by giving her a B but instead of running to him crying like he’d assumed she has a collected conversation with him about how she know he’s just trying to get in her pants and he’s shocked at how easily she called him out on his bullshit. She leaves telling him to grow up and stop trying to go after vulnerable young women or she’ll report him (not knowing that Head of the Department Tashi was one of those women.) he’s undeterred, of course, and just wants her more. But instead she switches to a different class and avoids him everytime she sees him one campus.

This is where I struggle continuing the idea- what if to blow off steam and forget about the whole thing she goes to a college bar. She meets someone a little older but he’s nice and seems like a total munch. So they head back to his house and hook up and oops- it’s literally the new professor she just transferred to so she wouldn’t be in this exact situation. Professor Art Donaldson.

IDK I just feel like this would be such a messy and fun situation but this idea in my head will no go further past Art and I’m curious how you think this could go.

cw: scumbag patrick??? perhaps

the rumors about dr. zweig are like a game of telephone; they're plentiful, but they get skewed along the way. at some point, the gossip muttered into students' ears was a true statement. but then everything got so convoluted and nobody is seriously going to believe that professor patrick zweig is secretly a porn star. i mean, jesus. so it has the same effect as crying wolf. patrick has had scandals. he has had many missteps in his career due to his own inability to control himself and his urges. but all the tall tales about him are so ubiquitous that it belittles the credibility of each and every story.

but it seems like each year, patrick lusts over a student of his. that's the most widely believed rumor. each year, a bright young little thing piques his interest. causes a tent in his pants. and each year, he'll try to find away to lure her in. maybe through requesting a meeting during office hours, maybe by riling her up so much during a class discussion that she inevitably snaps, and he needs to see her directly after class for a chat.

you had never heard first-hand accounts from any of these alleged girls. but by the way dr. zweig's eyes lingers on the cleavage of girls who bend over to pick up a dropped pen, or up their skirts on a particularly windy walk to the political science building--it kind of adds up.

and as the professor's TA returns your graded essay at the beginning of class, a big red B circled at the top, along with a see me after class scrawled beneath--you wonder if you're next.

now, it's not necessarily a bad thing. there was never any talk about a lack of consent. it was truly just an issue of power imbalance. of him sniffing out pretty young girls with daddy or authority issues and reeling them in with his masculinity, his green eyes and strong arms.

after class, you go to his office. and he urges you to sit in the chestnut leather chair across from his own. but you shake your head and pull your essay from your bag.

"a B?" you ask. a simple question; you needn't say more. you have never gotten anything below a perfect score in this class. it didn't make sense.

"it seems that's the grade i've given you." he's curt with you. maybe because he thinks you'll beg for him to be nice to you. you'll beg for him to affirm your intelligence. you'll beg to do anything, anything to get your grade changed.

"i'm just wondering why." you shrug. "and i'm also wondering why i needed to come here to see you."

patrick again is insistent on you sitting down. you finally do.

"because your quality of work has decreased to a B level." a swallow. a straightening of a stack of papers. "is everything alright? are you struggling?"

how fucking dare he.

"no. im fine. in fact, i would say i grasped these topics more than any other section of the course."

patrick takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. "it's possible you were too cocky about it. that you didn't delve as deeply as you should've and that rendered your understanding of the information as largely inadequate."

"even coming from a perfectionist like me," you start. "a B is not 'largely inadequate'.

"i think for you it is."

you stand up. frankly, he's being disrespectful.

"listen," you adjust your bag on your shoulder. "i know the game you're playing. we've all heard the rumors. i know that i'm an A student and that this--" you wave the paper. "is A-level work."

"i don't follow."

so he's acting stupid.

you lean forward. there he goes again with the wandering eyes.

"i know this is your schtick. to get girls to sit on your lap and beg for better grades or extensions or whatever it is they want from you. and i know it usually is easy for you to get whatever you want. but i'm insulted that you think of your best student as a means to get laid--and i'd tread lightly. i can easily go to the head of the department, or the dean."

patrick furrows his brows. "i have no idea what you're referencing." he clicks his pen. "and you're smart. you know you can't go to them without proof. and from what you're telling me about these 'rumors'"--he uses air quotations. "they are all based in speculation. and they are just that--rumors."

you slam the door.

and you do go to the head of the department. not to report professor zweig, but to request a class change. you tell her that it would work better for your schedule to be in an earlier section.

she emails you back quickly.

I can switch you to a 9:00 AM lecture on Mondays and Wednesdays. We have a new professor of political science starting this coming Monday.

Best,

Tashi Duncan-Donaldson, PhD

you smile at the response.

and that night, in an attempt to cool off from the day's abnormal events, as well as the immense stress of midterms--you go out.

you go alone, which is unlike you. you also go to a bar further from campus. you're more interested in keeping yourself company. maybe flirting with no strings attached.

and maybe patrick was wrong to assume you would fuck him--but he wasn't wrong about his belief that you're attracted to older men.

and as you stir your cocktail, a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and salt and pepper blond hair sits next to you. he smells like peppermint gum and whisky.

"a pretty young girl sitting all by herself? everything okay?"

you roll your eyes playfully.

"real original."

"well--the second part of my question still stands." he tilts his head back to finish his drink. the ice clinks against the glass and you notice he has no wedding band.

"i'm alright. just needed to be alone and decompress."

the man puts his hands up. "hey--I can leave you alone if you want."

you shake your head. "we can be alone together."

"sure we can." his eyes flicker to your lips. you notice how strong his arms look. his posture is perfect. he's soft-spoken but confident. and he's so fucking hot.

"i'm art by the way." he extends his hand and you shake it, but neither of you pull away.

and it's easy to sit in silence. to break it only once every few minutes to say whatever's on your mind. he's a good listener; he tilts his head and nods and makes piercing eye contact--the kind that makes you coy.

you down a few more drinks and so does he. you start to talk more, and you move closer and closer to each other. you're in a booth in the back corner, so nobody can quite see--not that anyone's looking.

so it doesn't faze either of you when you end up on art's lap and he's feeling you up like he's a fucking teenager again. his rough fingers roll your nipples and he's never heard prettier moans. he tells you that against your ear.

you pull him into you. your tongue is more forceful than you thought possible as you push it into his mouth. but his is stronger, and he licks inside you. he's sloppy and drunk and desperate and your hands fumble with his belt.

the bathroom. he gestures to the door and you follow him.

and he doesn't fuck you. not the traditional way, at least. but he pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and he eats your pussy until his hair is ruined by how hard you tug on it. until your lips are bitten and his are soaked in your cum. his fingers are too and he pushes them into his mouth and then into yours.

you yank him forward by his belt. it's his turn. but he shakes his head and points to his watch. it's nearly one, and he has to go. on a thin paper towel, he scribbles his number.

"for next time."

and you think about him a lot that weekend. you don't know the correct etiquette to text or call him, so you don't. not yet. but you program his name into your phone. art. you don't know his last name.

on monday you're still thinking of him as you sit in the front row of your political science class. you want to make a good first impression on your professor. it's 9:02 and you tap your foot against the ground because they're late.

and then the doors swing open and a blur with a briefcase strides over to the grand desk at the front of the room.

"sorry everyone--i'm frazzled. it's my first day as you all know--" he writes his name in messy letters on the chalkboard.

he smiles at the class. it falters when he sees you.

it's bad enough that you hooked up with your professor. it's worse when you read the name on the board.

Dr. Art Donaldson.

[godspeedviper]

Preacher's Daughter - Jonathan Crane x Reader

𖤐 Summary: Jonathan Crane reminisces on a rendezvous he had in his youth back in Georgia with the town preacher’s daughter.

𖤐 Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

𖤐 Word Count: 826

𖤐 Rating: +18. smut. gun kink. blasphemy. degradation. femdom.

“Yer trespassin’ boy.”

  That voice, sharp, succinct, like the predatory click of her daddy’s shotgun, signaled the start of our game. I may have been the prey, but she was the prize. So I raise my hands in defeat, I play along, and quietly walk down the empty church aisle in the dark. She pressed the barrel of the gun on the small of my back and I could already feel myself grow hard. We couldn’t go to her house on account of her 5 siblings and pastoral parents, and my house was no less forgiving (crazy grandma Keeny’s reign of terror was at its peak). So when we wanted to sin, the local church seemed like the safest option. This only served to heighten the illicit nature of our rendezvous. 

“No I aint.” I said to her, a shit eating grin apparent in my tone of voice. “This here is the house of God, not yours.” 

  She walked me up to the pulpit and made me kneel, pushing me to the floor with the heel of her boots. I looked up at the preacher’s daughter as she stood over me, powerful, and committed the image to memory. The way her skin glowed under the silver moonlight pouring in through the church windows, shadows accentuating every curve, and her daddy’s shotgun glittering menacingly. Years later she remains the only woman who could bring the great Scarecrow to his knees, quivering. 

“I am God.” she said, and she was right. 

Suddenly, I feel a pressure between my legs. I look down and see she is pushing her boot onto my tented blue jeans. I gasp, and she swats my outstretched hand with the butt of the shotgun. 

“Now, I want you to put your hands together and pray.” she says. 

“Why?” I reply, voice raspy. 

“Because you’re a sinner.” her voice was curt. 

  My vision, now clouded with lust, begins to see dull halos of moonlight around my lover’s stern gaze. I put my hands together and begin to do as I’m told, closing my eyes and mumbling a Hail Mary as quickly as I can. She pushes the barrel of the gun to my forehead and her foot to my sex. 

“Again.” her dissatisfaction was made clear. 

“Hail Mary fullofgra-'' I ramble off, beads of sweat blossoming on my brow in the thick Georgia heat. She flips the rifle and hits me again. My head begins to spin, and I slowly turn my gaze back up to her, hazy and dream-like. 

“Say it right, boy.” she returns the cool metal of the gun barrel to my feverish skin, and I give out a small sigh. 

“Hail, Mary, full of grace…” I pause and make sure to lock eyes with her. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” 

  She pulls the gun away from my forehead, casting it aside, and removes the pressure from between my legs. She then kneels down before me, cupping my face into her gentle grasp. We share a chaste kiss and she lovingly whispers to me. 

“Good boy,” she says. 

  Her hands reach down and begin to remove my belt buckle. I help her speed the process along, gasping breathily as I free my member from its confines. She puts her hands on my chest, and I can feel her clammy palms through the thin fabric of my white tank top. She was just as nervous and aroused as I. For a moment, our personas dissipate into the surrounding humidity, and we both moan in unison as she lowers her body onto my lap. Her insides felt just like a ripe Georgia peach at the height of summer, 

slick, 

moist, 

sweet. 

“Now,” her voice was little more than a gasp. “Say it again.” 

   I extended my legs beneath me, putting one hand on the floor to lean on, and the other slipping in under her nightdress to feel her bare skin. She held still, defiant, and I could tell she wouldn’t move till I said my part. I took that moment to kiss her neck and lick her ear. She shivered, and I took in one last deep breath. Her skin smelled of old fashioned bar soap and a cheap vanilla body spray that she used to try to hide the scent of Marlboro reds. With each word I uttered she hastened her pace, rolling her hips against mine until she reached a full gallop. 

“Hail, Mary, full of grace,

the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour of our death…”

Like a man possessed, my back arches up, eyes rolling, and I see the light. 

“Amen.”

ao3 || Ko-Fi || WiPs || Guidelines

[little-diable]

Little Lamb - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

There's just something about priest!Riddle, I love writing for him. This is a very tame Tom imagine, not nearly as dark as my others. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader helps Priest Riddle with his summer camp, guiding young children through prayers, through talks about God, and religion. She had been tied to him for years, he held her heart and soul hostage, taking her whenever he desires her.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, sex in a church, oral (m), wrong use of rosary prayers, power play, dom!Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 3k words)

Incense, a smell so biting, (y/n) had a hard time breathing, hand darting out to grab onto the nearest wooden bench. The smell wandered up her nostrils, clinging to her like the smell of petrichor, so distinct she’d always recognise it. Water filled her eyes, begging her to turn around, to leave this church and the camp she had been forced to join. 

Slowly she took another step, and another, till she finally came to halt in front of the altar. (Y/n) couldn’t remember the last time she had visited this church, nothing more than a hazy memory, a fever dream she had woken from all too suddenly, breaking through the blanket of sweat clinging to her like a veil. 

Her heart was pounding, racing in her chest trying to fight against what she had been forced into. God, how she wanted to take off, running away before her parents could catch up with her plans, and yet she couldn’t, very well knowing that there was no way out. 

“There you are, I was wondering where you were hiding.” His voice echoed through the church as if the Lord himself was speaking to her, booming like thunder rippling through the night, heavy like bricks weighing her drowning frame down. The sound of his shoes meeting the stone ground rang in her ears, one by one, reminiscent of the lives he was praying for. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare look at him, eyes directed forwards, staring at the cross that must weigh a few hundred pounds, heavier than any weight she’d be able to lift. She felt him come to a halt next to her, hands clasped together in front of him, shoulders pulled back to appear even taller.

“Look at me.” It was a soft command, and yet he didn’t offer her any room to pull back. But (y/n) couldn’t move, glassy eyes not daring to blink not even once, scared that she’d mess up on her first day, not ready to face her parents' wrath. “(Y/n).”

Priest Riddle singsang her name, cold fingers finding her chin. Slowly he turned her face towards him, moving as slow as somebody exploring a new piece of art, unsure what to expect, taking their time to admire every inch of the masterpiece. Their eyes met, bound together by the strength he emanated, forcing (y/n) closer and closer. 

“There’s nothing to fear, you’re safe here, with me.” Before she could reply, choking on the quiet gasp leaving her, the door to the church was pushed open, exposing a crowd of excited children. (Y/n)’s insides churned at the sound of laughter, of excitement echoing through the morning, a sound she had once been all too familiar with. 

Years ago she had been one of them, an excited child allowed to spend a weekend at church, learning more about God, about his son, and the fallen angels. She had grown within time, and even as a teenager she had joined the yearly get together, even though her weekends had taken a few unforeseen turns, making her end up with her back pressed against the priest’s mattress, choking on Tom’s name. 

He was a few years older than her, had left the town to study theology, till he finally returned years later. The second he had rejoined the church, taking over from the priest he and (y/n) had been all too familiar with, he had pulled her closer, toying with her body and soul. He was a mysterious man, a man with a soul so dark even Lucifer wouldn’t dare cross paths with him, but he was good at playing this charade, faking the smiles he shot those that were too oblivious for their own good, a facade only (y/n) could see through. 

“C’mon, it’s time for our morning prayer.” 

…… 

“You’ve been here for only a few hours and you already have something to confess?” He clicked his tongue, towering over her sitting frame with a sinister smirk tugging on his lips. The cold floor pressed against her feet, biting through the fabric of her shoes all too easily like poison burning its way through her flesh. She was trembling, not daring to speak up as she got lost in his darkening eyes, wondering if this is how sinners standing in front of Lucifer must feel, forced to spend eternity trapped in the blackest kind of darkness. “Little lamb, what shall I do with you?”

Both knew the answer to that, both knew that he’d do as he pleases, making her body tremble like Noah’s arch had, trapped in a thunderstorm that could rip her body apart. She heavily swallowed as she watched the priest take a step back, eyes ranking over her frame. 

“Kneel, (y/n).” She dropped to her knees without speaking a single word, staring up at the man that held as much power over her as God once had. Oh, how disappointed her parents were, feeling her slip from their and from God’s grasp, forcing her to rejoin this camp as the priest’s helping hand. (Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react to seeing this very scene playing out, watching the man undo his black trousers, freeing his hardening cock with skilled movements. “You know what to do, or have you already forgotten your place in this game?”

“Of course not.” (Y/n) felt anger simmering inside of her, how dare he play with her like that, how dare he think that she’d ever forget how to please him. Her desire for him urged her on, wanting to prove to the smirking man that only she could make him feel good, that only she knew how to please him. 

With trembling hands she grasped his cock, spitting into her palm to soften the touch, coaxing a satisfied groan out of him. She swallowed him down all too easily, eyes not daring to break contact, not even as he jerked his hips, making her choke on him. Her tears fell like the ones Mary had cried for her son, for Christ Crucified, one with the sadness his death forced through those that had dared to believe in him and his mission. 

“See, only a sinning woman like you could touch me like this. I should punish you, should fuck you till you pass out, over and over again, till Lucifer loosens his grip on your soul. But, where would be the fun in that, right?” His ringed hand tugged on her hair, forcing her even closer with his tight grip, making another wave of tears well up in her glistening eyes. 

(Y/n) could only hum around his cock, letting the sound vibrate on his skin, making goosebumps rise on his forearms. It was a beautiful sight, the pleasure drunken expression she’d think of whenever her nights felt lonely, needing to take care of the heat flaring up inside of her. 

She’d forever remember the feel of his soft skin pressed against her quick moving tongue, every inch had burned itself into her mind, allowing her to find him even in the darkest nights. He was hers, as much as she was his, a silent promise that kept the two blemished souls tied together, forever, even for the time following the last judgement. 

He kept jerking his hips, fucking her mouth with more pressure, making the corners of her mouth burn. She didn’t dare protest, didn’t even whine as she walked along the line of pleasure and pain, and yet her cunt kept fluttering around nothing, begging to be filled by him. Curses rolled off the priest’s tongue, the cross chain around his neck rested peacefully on his chest, rising and falling with every deep exhale. 

Once again their eyes met as he came down her throat, forcing her to swallow every drop as if he was pouring consecrated wine into her mouth. Her moans left the man smirking, stepping away from her to tug his cock back into his trousers. For a few more seconds he studied her before his eyes flickered to his watch, “Be a good girl for me today, and you’ll be rewarded.” 

……

The fabric of her dress kept stroking her knees with every hurried step (y/n) took, trying to find the still missing kids, calling them to Priest Riddle’s evening prayer. They had just finished their dinner, able to relax after a day filled with summer activities, with a swim (y/n) had gladly joined – simply to tease the man with wandering eyes, taking in her wet appearance, drenched from the cold water. 

“Guys, come on, we don’t want to miss our prayer, do we?” (Y/n) could still remember all these weekends she had spent here, how she had made new friends, how she had shared her first kiss with the man that now fucked her ruthlessly whenever he was dreaming of her, the sweetest kind of relief. 

Priest Riddle towered over the altar, eyes taking in the crowd of excited children, before his eyes finally found hers. He watched her close the door, giving him a small nod to give him the signal, starting the prayer with a satisfied hum. The words he spoke rolled off his tongue all too effortlessly, filling the church with the kind of magic the children found themselves amazed by. 

But (y/n) couldn’t pay any attention to his words, to his prayers, mind set on the things he’d hopefully do to her. She had decided against wearing any panties, begging whoever dared to pick up on her sinful thoughts that Tom would fuck her till she forgets her own name. 

His voice was softer than silk, wrapping itself around her, cradling her closer like a drug blurring out her surroundings. She couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t stop admiring him as if she was staring at something her human eyes haven’t been fortunate enough to take in before. It was easy, almost too easy, to love him, a sick, toxic relationship she couldn’t flee from, no matter how hard she’d try, he’d always lure her back into his trap. 

“You see, I wonder what goes on inside your pretty little head while you stare at me like that, little lamb.” His voice rang in her ears, breath hitching in her chest as she felt his hands on her waist, toying with the fabric. She couldn’t reply, forced away by the call of her name, eyes flickering back to him before she crouched down to the child begging for her attention. The seconds faded by, and yet (y/n)’s mind was still stuck on his words, on the roughness of his voice, wondering how much longer he’d drag out their back and forth. 

(Y/n) found her way back to the church the second the kids were in bed, finding rest in their rooms, sharing stories of this very day, full of excitement for the days to come. She had stumbled out of the building as fast as she could, called back to him like a lost lamb searching for its flock. He guided her closer, back pressed against the altar he was leaning against with his arms crossed, with his fingers holding onto his wooden rosary and his bible. 

No words were spoken as she came to a halt in front of the man, allowing her eyes to take in his features, wondering how much time God had invested into the man’s creation, sparing extra time on the details she easily picked up on. He reached one hand out for her to take, feeling the wooden pearls pressing into her palm before he pushed the rosary over her head, letting it dangle from her neck. 

Their lips met for a kiss, a kiss so heated (y/n) had to grasp his collar, scared that she’d tumble from his grasp. Their moans filled the church like soft music made to lure those that needed some extra guidance closer, but tonight nobody would dare to interrupt them, unable to open the locked doors. She was turned around, small of her back pressed against the altar as his fingers began moving, disappearing underneath her dress, momentarily freezing as he felt her naked cunt. 

No warning was spoken as he plunged two fingers into her tightness, expectedly curling them against her swollen spot. (Y/n) couldn’t swallow her moans, giving room to the sounds that rumbled through her as her head rolled back, allowing Tom to kiss her throat, teeth grazing her skin. He fucked her with his fingers for a few moments, thumb circling her pulsing clit to push the sweetest feeling of anticipation through her veins. 

“I should punish you for walking around like this, I should punish you for whoring yourself out to me. But you’ve got me bound to you, addicted to the feeling of your cunt clenching my cock.” His words forced another moan to leave her, eyes rolling back as he added more pressure to his touch. Tom pulled away all too quickly, flipping her around to press her front against the top of the altar. She could barely breathe through the excitement filling her, listening to the sounds of Tom undoing his trousers, freeing the cock she had choked on hours ago. 

“Start praying, may He grant you his forgiveness.” His rough voice shot shudders down her spine, momentarily distracting her from the feeling of his cock brushing through her slit, lubing himself up with her arousal. 

“I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.” Her voice trembled, eyes squeezed shut as he pushed into her, taking his time to sink deeper into her tightness. A rough “Keep on” left the priest, forcing a shaky inhale of thin air into (y/n)’s lungs as she kept speaking the Apostles’ Creed, speaking the words she knew by heart. 

(Y/n)’s trembling fingers toyed with the wooden pearls, mind unable to focus on anything but the feeling of Priest Riddle fucking her from behind, sure to leave marks with the way he pushed her hips against the edge of the altar. She struggled to keep on breathing, nails digging into the thin flesh of her sweaty palms, marks so clear as if she had been to one nailed to the cross, letting the rusty metal pierce her flesh. A pain so distinct she’d forever carry it around with her, sticking to her body the way the priest was clinging to her, not daring to let her go. 

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” The prayer left her in pieces, interrupted by her moans and sighs, supported by his own sounds. It was so sinful, and yet it felt so right, bodies made for one another, made to fit their touch like wax copying their frames.  

One pearl after another was touched by her, followed by the fitting prayers, urged on to keep on speaking as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. Soon they’d let go, leaving their stains on one another, hoping that the walls surrounding them would never learn to share their secrets. 

“Tell me, little lamb, how close are you?” Both knew the answer to his question, very well aware of the way she clenched around his cock, how her aching clit pulsed against his thumb. (Y/n) stumbled over her words, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate try to work through the fog of pleasure filling her mind. 

“So close, ‘m so close.” She kept repeating the words, begging that he’d give in, allowing her to cum with his name burning on the tip of her tongue. Priest Riddle gave it a few more thrusts, before he let go of a simple “Cum”, easily pushing (y/n) over the edge. The rosary fell to the ground as she grasped onto the edge of the altar, eyes squeezed shut, teeth buried in her lip, allowing her orgasm to rock through her. 

Was God watching them? Staring down on her with an unfamiliar kind of apathy? Did he remind the sins she has committed numerous times in His holy walls? 

She felt him fill her up, painting her walls white with his relief. Both were heavily panting, needing to give one another a few moments before they parted, taking a few steps away from the altar. No words were spoken as he tucked himself back into his trousers, staring at her with a smirk on his lips and a satisfied gaze filling his dark pupils. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning to take your confessions. Be aware, I won’t hold back on the punishment.” 

And with his release dripping down her thighs, (y/n) was forced to leave the holy halls, stumbling back to her room with her heart racing on.

[mumms-the-word]

Shadow Curse Events Pt. 2

Harpers, druids, and the battle against Ketheric

So in Part 1, I talked about Ketheric’s descent into Sharran zealotry and his attacks against all Selûnite faithful and anyone who so much as breathed a bad word about him. The TLDR is that Ketheric didn’t just become a follower of Shar, he basically became the Prophet-General of her new dark army, her Chosen, establishing new teachings and protocols for what defined a Dark Justiciar. It got so bad, and he became so powerful, that a leader of the Selûnite resistance, Ketheric's own master mason Morfred, made a deal with Raphael to take out his Justiciars just to hopefully give the Harpers a chance.

Because, to no one's surprise, all of this murder and fearmongering has captured the attention of the Harpers, who feel the need to step in and restore some balance.

The rest of this post is basically going to be about the Harper-druid battle against Ketheric and the siege of Reithwin, culminating in him getting sealed up in his tomb. Buckle up and be prepared for a couple of graphic war things (cw: animal death). Part 3 will be about the first few days of the shadow curse itself, because I just find that eerie and fascinating.

Full deep dive under the cut! Super long post ahead :'>

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The moment is nigh; war has been brewing, and now it overflows. When Ketheric turned us toward Shar, I followed him - in appearance, if not in heart. This is my home, and I would not be removed from it, no matter what. I watched at a distance as the darkness here grew; as Ketheric's grief brought him farther and farther from life itself. As he gathered his army, I prayed for his defeat. As the Harpers march upon our little village - our little, beautiful village - I can only hope Ketheric will be felled at last, and Reithwin can begin to heal from this nightmare.

Let me briefly set the stage. Reithwin Town is under the governance of Ketheric Thorm, former Selûnite-turned-Chosen-of-Shar. All Selûnite worship has been driven underground. Dark Justiciars train in some elusive location outside and beneath town, only to return in order to interrogate the citizens of Reithwin about their loyalties to Shar and to Ketheric. Bodies are hanging in the square as an example to those who might think about dissenting or professing their faith in Selûne. People are going missing or being executed every day, and Ketheric's desire to expand Shar's influence beyond the borders of Reithwin is only growing stronger. Rumors abound that he's already completely destroyed a nearby village, another Selûnite refuge called Moonhaven. And now, the citizens of Reithwin hear whispers on the wind that the Harpers will soon arrive from the east...and they're bringing an army.

If a citizen were to wish to flee, they'd be nearly out of luck. The Harpers are coming from the east, but Baldur's Gate lies in the west, and the leadership in Baldur's Gate is already suspicious. Ketheric has drawn the attention of Grand Duke Eltan, the founder of the Flaming Fist and the good-aligned general who aided the heroes of BG1 (like Jaheira) during the Sarevok crisis. He's heard whispers of a Sharran enclave and has ordered a scout to go and investigate. That scout is Art Cullagh.

Incidentally, in the last post I suggested that these events are happening either between 1371-1374 or between 1396-1399. We don't know when Grand Duke Eltan died, so either theory still holds water (pick whichever you like best), but I do think his involvement moves the needle a little more towards the 1371-1374 theory. Eltan has just wrapped up the Sarevok adventure with Jaheira and the other heroes in 1368 and was dealing with other issues in 1369. He would still be in the height of his power as a leader of Baldur's Gate and the Grand Marshal of the Flaming Fist in the early 1370s. So he would have a vested interest in trying to maintain peace in his city, and that includes investigating rumors of civil unrest and strange darkness in a town just up the river from him to make sure that whatever is happening there doesn't come downriver.

Eltan sends Art Cullagh, a lieutenant/officer of the Flaming Fist (and virtuoso with a lute, as we well know). I won't post images of his orders here, since it's a letter most of us have likely read when trying to fix the shadow curse. But essentially, he's ordered to take lodgings in Last Light Inn and begin his investigation in the House of Healing to confirm rumors of corruption and Sharran influence in town. We know he attempts to fulfill these commands because he's seen at the inn and later his lute is left behind at the House of Healing.

Shadow Vestige: You see a man drain his tankard in an inn as he listens to a Flaming Fist play the lute. He's better than his uniform might suggest.

Around the same time that Art is preparing to travel down and begin investigating, the Harpers are already at work gathering an army. They're not just making Ketheric their convenient enemy—they're declaring all-out war.

They've gathered their evidence (after interrogating locals and possibly attempting to assassinate Ketheric from afar) and now they're ready to take the fight to him directly. But they need backup. So they write to the Emerald Enclave (not to be confused with the Emerald Grove) to arrange an alliance. Ketheric is going against nature, after all, and who better to call on for aid in preserving nature than the Emerald Enclave?

[The first few inches of this scroll are written in formal, elaborate script.] To the Emerald Enclave, and those deemed worthy to see this record, greetings from Those Who Harp. Know ye that the one known as Ketheric Thorm, a paladin of Shar, is guilty of crimes against body and spirit. They include, but are not limited to Murder, Slavery, and Desecration of Temples Most Holy. Let our intent be known: an alliance between the Harpers and the Emerald Enclave. United, we may end Thorm's reign of terror. The High Harpers eagerly await your good word.

The Emerald Enclave is massive, since it basically serves as the high council and umbrella organization for all druidic circles and groves that exist in Faerûn (or those who choose to align with the Emerald Enclave's tenants anyway). When the Harpers declare an alliance with the Enclave, those in charge of selecting allies make sure to enlist the druid circle that is local to that area, the Emerald Grove, since they will be the closest and have a stake in preserving the land around their grove. The Emerald Grove even immortalizes this alliance in their inner sanctum.

Image: Mural of Harpers and Druids shaking hands in front of an oak; Narrator reads: "In darkest hour, a concord made / 'Twixt harp and wild against the shade." Image: Mural of Harpers and druids stand back to back with the fallen armor of Dark Justiciars at their feet; Narrator reads: "The towers seized, the battle done / the moonrise broke the Darkest One."

It's possible that the Emerald Grove was the only circle that joined or was even asked to be in the battle, but perhaps the Enclave sent more. The Harpers needed an army, after all, and Jaheira says they numbered hundreds strong. Either way, the infamous Halsin Silverbough and his predecessor, the Archdruid in charge before him, are among the druids who join the army, though they never meet Jaheira in the battle.

Jaheira: The Archdruid Halsin. Do not be surprised that I know your name - you fit a rather singular description. And one survivor of the shadow curse's fall ought to know another. Halsin: We never actually got to meet, when fighting Ketheric that first time. Jaheira: No. We were a host hundreds strong, after all. Until we were not.

With the druids and Harpers finally aligned, they can at last march on Reithwin and begin their siege.

So let me pause for a moment to confess that the battle itself is...hard to track. Some characters (Halsin, Jaheira) and some accounts suggest that the battle only takes up about one day. The battle seems to either be contained to the banks of the Chionthar, or it spreads into the town to eventually reach Moonrise Towers. Other accounts, like the Harper's Testimonial, suggest the battle raged for three straight days outside of Moonrise alone before Ketheric descended personally into the field. Notes and letters from the House of Healing suggest the siege may have taken even longer, because supplies dwindled to dangerously low levels. Trying to reconcile all these accounts is tricky.

It's important to note that sieging a town doesn't always mean active fighting, it just means cutting off supplies and travel, keeping everyone out, or keeping everyone in, so it's possible the town was under siege for much longer than the battle that was actually fought. So the following is my best interpretation for the events, in an order that makes semi-logical sense to me. Some of this is complete conjecture. But feel free to come up with your own timelines!

Shadow Vestige: You sense a faded memory of marching in an army against Ketheric Thorm. Victory seemed possible back then.

The plan is to lay siege to Reithwin Town and force Ketheric to surrender. Failing that, siege the town until the army is too weak from hunger to fight well, then push forward into Moonrise Towers and kill Ketheric.

Part of the Chionthar divides Reithwin from the rest of the village outskirts (as you can see on the map), making three bridges the only access into town if you're approaching from the east as the Harpers and druids would have done (unless, of course, you want to get wet or you can fly). On one side of the river is the town proper. On the other, Last Light Inn and several farms.

If the Harpers barricade the bridges, or the Justiciars build barricades to keep them out, then Reithwin is cut off from everything on the east side of the river. Cut off the farms, and Reithwin loses food. Cut off travel and trade from the east, and Reithwin is forced to look to the west for supplies...but Baldur's Gate is to the west, and Grand Duke Eltan is already suspicious. He will not be a friend to Ketheric Thorm. Reithwin is essentially (if not literally) boxed in.

It's a good siege plan...in theory, anyway. And if the Harpers lay siege while waiting for their army to grow, waiting for the druids to join them, etc., then it helps them in two ways. It starves out and weakens the enemy and gives them time to increase their own strength.

For a while, the seige seems to be working.

Whether it was the Harpers or the Justiciars who built the barricades and pickets along the bridge, Reithwin is now officially under siege, and trade and supplies start to trickle nearly to a stop. The number of travelers through the tollhouse drastically dwindles, until eventually it seems to be cut off entirely. Reithwin begins to suffer food shortages, enough that the veterinarian in town is forced to butcher some of the stable's horses to provide food. And it's not just horses, judging by the evidence we find elsewhere in town, like the missing pets posters and the pile of bloodied cat and dog collars outside of the tollhouse.

(Ugh I hate it so much. But the Harpers are determined to win. And yes, while some of the food shortage stuff could have been Ketheric failing at governing his town appropriately, a siege makes more sense to me.)

At some point (days? weeks?) Ketheric likely says enough is enough. The battle must begin or he will lose his town and his army to starvation, especially with winter quickly approaching. Alternatively, the Harpers themselves grow tired of waiting. They see that their siege is doing little to sway Ketheric and decide that the only thing left to do is attack.

Either way, the battle will begin on the morrow.

On the eve of the first day of the battle, many Harpers and druids bunk at Last Light Inn, likely including Jaheira and Halsin (who both remember the inn as it was before the shadow curse). Art Cullagh is also staying there. Whether he has already visited the House of Healing and lost his lute there is uncertain, though I think it's likely. Perhaps he visited before Reithwin was sieged, or visited during the siege but before the fighting started. Perhaps he is there in the inn when the Harpers toast one another the night before the battle. The Harpers no doubt expect a hard-fought but certain victory. I can only wonder what Art must have thought, watching them, if he was there that same night.

Shadow Vestige: You glimpse a young Harper on the eve of battle against Thorm, long ago. He and his comrades toast each other in Last Light.

The next day, the battle begins.

Ketheric is a remarkable general who understands how to rouse his soldiers. Minthara describes him, even a century later, as "everything a general should be - a charismatic leader with a brilliant strategic mind." He knows his soldiers and those who would volunteer to join his army are going hungry and are fearful of what the winter might bring to their seiged town. Whether they are Dark Justiciars or not, they're mortal. More mortal than he is. So he gathers them together to bolster their morale before the battle.

[A record of Ketheric Thorm's speech to his troops before his victory over the druids and Harpers.] Take this. You there, take this from me. That is gold, friends. Let those who are coveters and cravens among you take my gold and go. There's enough to keep you warm in winter. But in those cold and lonely winters to come, you will look into the bought flames in the purchased hearth and see a bargained-for peace, and then you'll realise that such a retirement comes at the price of pride. Go on and take it. Take it and go. Those who are not afraid and me? We won't stop you. But neither shall we know a winter in which the coin of regret is idly spent. Instead we shall know blood, and fury, and a triumph worthy of a flame reconcileable only with heaven, I swear it! Against us arrayed is a group of fools - let them be our bank vault! Let us raid them, friends! Let us grow rich on screams!

The Harper Testimonial suggests that Ketheric himself did not enter the battle until day three. I can imagine Ketheric giving such a speech and then watching from the towers (a good vantage point to view the battle below) as his Dark Justiciar army descends on hundreds of Harpers and druids, knowing that victory is well in hand. His Justiciars have trained hard and ritually killed a celestial being, after all. They are an elite force.

~1~ A Harper's Testimonial: The Last Stand of Ketheric Thorm, Chosen of Shar. [The pursuant text describes a battle between Ketheric Thorm's faithful and magical Harper forces.] I do not know what magic the Dark Justiciars summoned to our plane. But if it came from the Weave, then let it be cursed for eternity. For three days, we sieged the Towers. For three days, their darkbolts cleaved our ranks. And on the third day, as his men and woman at last began to fall, Ketheric entered battle.

(The Harper might be conflating the Towers with Reithwin itself, or perhaps I'm wrong about this theory and the Harper is only talking about a secondary battle that happened right outside the Towers. Either way, putting it here because the information is extremely relevant, but here's your warning that there's plenty of conjecture ahead!)

The Harpers and druids clash with the Justiciars on the east banks of the Chionthar, slaughtering each other around ballistae, barricades, and battering rams, trying to push forward across the bridges and docks that connect the tollhouse with the village outskirts. This is no mere skirmish. The ground is slick with blood as Dark Justiciars fight to keep the Harpers and druids from advancing forward into town and reaching Moonrise. Dead and wounded soon begin to litter the ground. The battle is so brutal that vestiges of it remain even a century later, identifiable at a glance.

Character comments regarding the centuries-old remains of the battle around the main bridge into the tollhouse. Astarion: This battlefield must've ran slick with blood - I can taste it in the air, even after so long. Lae'zel: There was a great battle here. The ground stained red with blood long dried. Gale: The site of no ordinary skirmish. This was once a battlefield, and a bloody one, too, judging by the number of bodies. Shadowheart: These aren't the remains of some skirmish - whole armies clashed here once. Wyll: A great battle was fought here - I can practically hear the din of blade against blade, axe against shield. Karlach: This is a battlefield. An old one, but still. Jaheira: Forces from the Emerald Grove. Many stood against Ketheric - only we lucky few survived him. Halsin: A great many druids once stood here to fight Ketheric Thorm. Few ever left. Minthara: Remains of those who stood against Ketheric in the past.

Dark Justiciars rain down darkbolts on the Harpers and druids, bolts of pure darkness that deal moderate damage and can daze the victim. Healers among the Harper and druid ranks begin to get overwhelmed by the amount of wounded. Many of the dead are left abandoned on the field, the fighting too intense to stop and take them away for burial. Most are never recovered.

As the battle rages on for one day, two days, three days, things are growing dire for the citizens inside the town, some of whom are cowering as the battle gets closer and closer, spilling out onto the streets of Reithwin and surging toward Moonrise Towers. The House of Healing is trying to tend to the wounded and the sick, operating as both a regular clinic and a war hospital. Because the siege (and now the battle) has stopped all supplies from entering the town, their potions and tonics are running dangerously low. Additionally, though the House of Healing should technically be offering aid to any wounded person, no matter their faith or creed, Ketheric issues an order that all Selûnites or Harpers must be turned away and that all healing items must be focused on Dark Justiciars alone—an order that his surgeon uncle, Malus, strictly enforces.

[This exhaustive log lists each and every patient to have sought healing in Reithwin, along with their ailments. The minor injuries and common diseases of the early pages give way to critical wounds and deep lacerations - the repercussions of battle. Several unbound scrolls have been slid among the final pages, demanding that healers turn away wounded Harpers and Selûnites, and reserve their tonics for wounded Dark Justiciars - on the orders of General Ketheric Thorm.]

(If Art Cullagh hasn't visited the House of Healing already, he likely can't now.)

The House is still operating as a clinic, accepting patients who come in with ailments or injuries, but they're ordered to essentially ignore them. Malus even forbids the use of sleep aids and anesthetics to ease the pain or passing of the elderly and mortally wounded. Soon they begin turning away even Sharran citizen patients, or leaving them untreated, like the husband of one Cleric of Shar who comes to the House of Healing to be treated for an unknown malady. The husband never realizes that he is suffering the damage that his wife should be getting as she takes on "whole troops" of Harpers single-handedly and walks away without a scratch. He dies, forgotten, either a victim of the shadow curse or of his wife's warding bond.

Things grow so dire that at least one nurse, Sister Anna Lidwin, pens a note to the Chief Chirurgeon (surgeon) of Harbourside Hospital (which is itself kinda sketchy) requesting aid. Potions, herbs, clerics, anything that can help.

To: Chief Chirurgeon, Harbourside Hospital, Baldur's Gate From: Sister Anna Lidwin, Darkcloak, Reithwin House of Healing URGENT! Dear Sir or Madam, We have reached dire times in Reithwin. War has come. Do you not teach that it is our duty to mend all who break, comfort all who ail, without regard for the gods they worship or the champions they heed? Yet our surgeon Malus Thorm abides by his own creed. 'The will of Shar', he might say, and I dare not argue with him - or any Thorm. He allows supplies to dwindle, leaves some patients' injuries to fester so he may 'study', and commands me to nurse only Dark Justiciars that seek treatment. I beg you, Sir or Madam - please deliver us aid, so I might close every tear and cleanse every wound, even those of Harpers and Selûnites. We will humbly accept all you can offer: potions, herbs, sutures, even clerics. Help us to heal. With gratitude, Anna Lidwin

The letter is never sent. It lies abandoned in the House of Healing even a century later. Perhaps she wrote it on the final day of battle and was caught by the shadow curse as she was trying to tend to the wounded.

For the Harpers and druids, the battle has taken a turn for the worse. Ketheric's Dark Justiciars seem overwhelmingly powerful and the damage this battle is doing is only increasing, especially as it spills into town. Eventually, the Harpers weigh the cost of victory and elect to surrender. They get Khelben Arunsun, the Blackstaff himself, to write the surrender letter (whether he was physically there at the battle or not is uncertain).

Ketheric denies the surrender.

General Ketheric Thorm: It is with heavy heart that I must announce the surrender of the Harper forces and its allies to your Dark Justiciar army, under unanimous agreement. 'Harpers work against villainy and wickedness wherever they find it…' So states our code, and so here have we acted. But I also know, all too well, how the statement continues: '… but they work ever mindful of the consequences of what they do.' We cannot be party to the suffering of the people of Reithwin, and indeed, of the great loss of life that this war will visit upon the Sword Coast - and, perhaps, beyond it. So it is written, and so let it be done, Khelben Arunsun, on behalf of the High Harper Council and its allies. [Two words are slashed across the bottom of the scroll:] SURRENDER DECLINED

Ketheric rejects the surrender and clamps it in the jaws of some poor dead soul whose head or skull is then set on a pike at the battlefield (knowing him, it was probably the messenger who brought the surrender letter). The Harpers and druids keep fighting. They have no other choice. It's fight or be slaughtered.

It's the third day. Something has shifted in the ranks. Dark Justiciars are falling in battle, and for once, reinforcements aren't coming. Unbeknownst to the Harpers and druids, an infernal force is destroying Justiciars in Grymforge and in the Gauntlet of Shar. The Harpers and druids at last have a fighting chance.

And that's when Ketheric joins the battle.

The details of this part of the battle are lost to time. We know from Minthara that Ketheric is absolutely fearless in battle. She describes him as a man who leads his troops from the front and cuts through the enemy “like a scythe through stalks.” I suspect that even back then, when the blows and arrows rain down on him as they do when Minthara fights with him a century later, he does not readily fall or falter. With immortality practically guaranteed, he likely butchers more Harpers and druids than they dared imagine possible for one man. The hundreds that made up the original army of Harpers and druids have been winnowed and cut down until only, as Jaheira says, a lucky few remain. The dead number so high for Halsin that he says it would take him a day and night recite all the names of the friends he lost in this battle.

But eventually, somehow, the Harpers and druids at last defeat Ketheric and eliminate all the remaining Justiciars that are still fighting topside. Ketheric suffers a seemingly mortal wound and falls. He utters a "final curse" as he dies and then withers, according to one Harper at least. The effects of this spoken curse are not immediately apparent. For now, the Harpers and druids feel they have won a victory at last, but the curse, whatever it is meant to be, clearly spooks them. Perhaps they think that by sealing Ketheric in the mausoleum, they can avoid the effects of his last dying words.

The Harpers drag Ketheric's corpse from the battlefield and leave him in a tomb in the mausoleum. Jaheira (and possibly Halsin) personally helps other Harpers and Druids seal the mausoleum doors using arcane sigils.

Player: If he's back, perhaps you should have hit him harder in the first place. Jaheira: Believe me - he was well and truly dead. I locked his corpse in the Thorm mausoleum myself.

Halsin: These sigils...druids and Harpers alike tried to seal away Ketheric Thorm in his foul tomb. To no avail.

The remaining Harpers and druids think that this final act of sealing Ketheric away signals a hard-won victory. Jaheira and the other Harpers turn to the task of removing bodies from the battlefield to bury them at Last Light. Halsin and the other druids likely also focus on tending to their dead and wounded, while the surviving citizens of Reithwin breathe unsteady sighs of relief or resignation...until the late autumn air suddenly takes on a midwinter chill.

The shadow curse is only just beginning.

———

Tags for those who wanted the update! @fingons-rad-harp @stuffforthestash

Feel free to request a tag update for Part 3!

[peachycrisis]

Human Again

Chapter 5

A/N: I was asked if art could be made of this story, and the answer is of course! Just tag me lol, thank you all for the support <3

—————

The Cat, Spider, Fallen Angel, Princess, and Radio Demon- turned human sat in silence within the midsts of Alastors room. Alastor sat on the bed, dumbfounded by what just happened. I am the radio demon, he thought to himself. There is no way I just made a deal with the Princess of hell. He ran a hand through his curly locks before he felt a pinch in his chest.

Fuck, he thought to himself, leaning over in pain, clutching his chest as some sort of support and stability. The 4 demons looked his way, concern plastered all over their faces. Well what was he going to do about it now? He was injured, and he was human, and he was bound to Charlie Morningstar- what was there for him to do but sit and pray that he morphs back into his old self soon.

“Al, you gotta be careful,” Charlie states, walking over to where the brown eyed man is sitting. “You’re not a demon anymore, it’s gonna take more time to heal. You have to rest.”

“yeah, yeah- I kn-“ Alastor tried to get up, but felt the chain around his neck tighten, making his breath hitch.

“Rest.”

“Okay, fine.” The man obeyed, throwing his hands up in surrender- taking a seat back on the bed. He brought his hands up to his neck as if the force had caused him to choke. Everyone watched in shock as the mans smile began to falter, before placing itself back on his sweaty face. They noticed the tear stains that dragged down his face, dried up- but still there.

What the hell happened?

I need to get out, Alastor thought to himself. He needs to get to his radio tower. His radio tower is safe, and he guesses that even Charlie Morningstar is …relatively safe. But he doesn’t want to be bombarded with questions about his change in appearance, or god forbid his lack of powers.

And if in all holy hell if some delinquent decides to mention his scrawny-

“So…” Angel starts, “this has been a very interesting day- huh Smiles?”

“Very much so, Angel Dust.” Alastor replied, pulling himself out of deep thought- rolling his eyes. His hands stay on and massage on his neck wide eyed at the fact that Charlie had, and was capable of using such power.

“So do you still have your powers?”

“I don’t know, Angel Dust.”

“Are you like… fully human now?”

“Seems so, Angel Dust.” Alastors grin turned into a scowl.

“Can I see your-“

“OKAYYYY-“ Vaggie interrupts, sighing and bringing her hand up to her forehead, massaging her temples, noticing Alastor become increasingly uncomfortable.

Human Alastor seemed to be way more predictable. Maybe even more emotional- which was weird to think about considering how cold hearted he had seemed to be.

“Boss, what the fuck?” Husk cried out, walking closer to the bed- examining every inch of the overlords new body. He still felt the chains around his neck, so he obviously still had some sort of power- or maybe it was similar to how humans sell their souls to the devil? He had no fucking clue.

“Yeah Smiles, you were an injured human in the midst of hell for three days, your vulnerable state could have gotten you killed.” Angel crossed both sets of his arms. His brows furrowed.

“I can assure you both, I am perfectly fine. As soon as I get back to normal I will be ruling my territory in no time.” Alastor smile returned to its normal sharp toothy grin, yellow sharp teeth replaced with white polished ones. It looked so wrong- seeing the radio demon look so… clean?

“Yeah Yeah, sure you will.” Vaggie intruded. “Listen, it’s not safe out there- I’m assuming that’s why you and… Charlie… made that deal.” Vaggie walked closer to the bed, to stand next to Husk. “So we will be watching over you for the time being, making sure no one tries to do any… funny business.”

“Such as the Vees?” Husk asked.

“Exactly. Vox has already broadcasted the fight all over the news-”

“He what?” Alastor looked up, his eyes staring daggers into Vaggie.

Vox did… what? How many people knew? … who knew. Is this why Charlie wanted to own his soul? To protect him from… him.

Alastor sighed, not listening anymore- noticeably pissed off at the fact that he most likely needed, and would be… forced… to accept this help. Especially if he wanted to hide himself from… unwanted interactions.

“Well what are we gonna do? Keep him indoors like a caged dog?” Angel added, finding his way next to Alastor on the bed- who seemed to be deep in thought.

He examined the overlord. His brown hair was so bouncy, each curl so perfect and defined. His face was tan and seemingly soft with blushed cheeks and little freckles… Alastor stared forward at the wall, seeming disassociated- staring into nothingness- but maintaining a small, quivering smirk. He looked at the man’s pink lips, glossy from sweat and possibly tears from before. The man’s white dress shirt was 3/4 of the way buttoned, showing a little bit of his skin underneath. The shirt was a little see through, so he was able to see the bandages underneath. He looked so normal. So… enticing. So-

No he can’t. This is the Radio Demon, having thoughts like that would be absolutely foolish.

He was deep in his thoughts until he heard the sounds of deep breathing from the man, taking him away from his thoughts and onto the face of the radio host- he seemed to be deep in thought, but whatever he was thinking about seemed to not be very great by the way that his brows furrowed, and how his smirk tensed- as if it was ready to fall any moment. The man’s eyes seemed glossy.

Well, this is new.

“Smiles, Hey Smiles- you okay?” Angel asked, inching his way closer to the man. He knew that Alastor didn’t like to be touched, but he took it upon himself to take a leap of faith and place his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man was sweating, and with the sudden contact his breath hitched.

“Alastor?”

If he was still a demon, there would be radio dials in the man’s eyes, but when his eyes met the eyes of Angels, all Angel saw was big, brown eyes staring back at him. Angry, Scared, Weak.

The man’s smile trembled, then fell.

This whole scene looked wrong.

He took his eyes off of Alastor to see if anyone else was paying attention, if anyone else had seen what he had just witnessed, but they were too busy trying to figure out what to do with the former Radio Demon. Alastor looked like he was about to lose it.

“What’s going on Al?” Angel asked softly.

Alastor looked away, tightening his fists until they turned red. He looked like he was about to cry. He looked like he was going to either start puking, or hyperventilating- and Angel did not know which one it would be.

“I need my powers… I need something… I can’t… I need to get the fuck out of here.” The man said quietly- his voice breaking. The spider knew that if the man did have his powers, he would be ripping the room apart right now.

“Do you want me to take you to your new tower?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, before responding- staring into angels eyes as a noticeably unwanted tear rolled down his cheek.

“If that’s okay dear, yes.”

[anincompletelist]

year in review: favorite lines! :D

hi friends! so this is entirely self-indulgent (both the part where I share my own work and the part where I tag you all to do the same) but I feel like we all have those special pieces of art/fics that just mean a little more to us but don't really get a chance in the spotlight. plus, any time is a good time for a bit of shameless self-promo and supporting friends! rules and my own contribution below! <3

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RULES: there are no rules! I am quite literally making this up as I go so please don't take this too seriously ksjhdkh. feel free to share your top three/top five/however many favorite snippet(s)/line/quotes/paragraphs from your published fics (or wips, I don't care!) and don't forget to share the link of course! see below for an example.

here are mine!

from Sure As the Stars in the Sky:

They’re both honest people, sometimes to a fault, but Henry’s truths are private, quiet, and Alex’s are loud. From the day Henry met him he’s been brash and earnest, unafraid to speak his mind even when he’s scared, without making sacrifices or harboring fear of punishment for doing so. It’s both intoxicating and infuriating.  Alex screams to a crowd of thousands of supporters, holding up bright posters with encouraging messages, and Henry screams into his pillow. When Alex speaks everyone listens, when Henry does he’s stifled, told to quiet down, to get back in line. Alex tries and succeeds. Henry tries. And tries and tries and tries and tries and still it isn’t enough to make any real difference. His whole life he’s felt linked to Alex in a number of ways. He’d taken comfort in their similarities despite their disagreements on more than a few occasions, because it’d been so nice just to have the knowledge that someone out there in the world had some idea what he was going through. That maybe he wasn’t as alone as he often felt. He and Alex’s paths converge at many points, but this is not one of them.  Henry rolls over and presses his face into the pillow again, stays there until all of his senses have redirected toward something else, until all he feels is the constricting of his airway and the rush behind his eyes, until his instincts force him to lift his head again, to take a breath, to survive.

from take my hand if you can take me as I am:

And it’s probably just a power play. It’s probably just something that Henry enjoys in the bedroom that’s unrelated to anything else. Lots of people like choking, Alex reckons.  But here, now, it feels like— it feels like Henry, Prince Henry, who holds a tremendous amount of power over the whole of his entire country, Henry Fox who tries so hard to balance it all on his shoulders without ever complaining or asking for help even when it’s ripping him apart, Alex’s Henry who shows up in shifts at the oddest of times with his sweet words and his soft, kind heart and his quiet hope — it feels like all of those versions of Henry, each with an equal amount of power, handing a bit of that over for a moment. Like he’s letting Alex have another little piece of him, offering it up like the most precious secret, asking nothing in return. Like he trusts Alex to hold it, to hold him, because he knows he’ll push him only as much as it takes to shake off the dust so he can shine again, never enough to shatter him beyond repair.

from praying our bridges don't make waves:

Alex’s chest burns. Here he is, standing in a bedroom Henry never asked to be in, with someone that’d never been a part of his plans, putting his gentle hands and tender lips on Alex’s roughness even when he’s dirty, even when he’s broken. Even when he doesn’t have anything to offer him but that. Even, even, even. Even when Alex is drifting somewhere miles away, Henry draws him back.

from but I can count on you to tell me the truth when (I've) been drinking and you're wearing a mask:

The ceiling of Alex’s dorm room is cracking in one corner. He knows because he stares at it a lot these days, in between going to classes and lacrosse games. It hadn’t been there when he moved in but it’d steadily grown since that first year. Alex wonders if somehow it’s his fault.

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tags: YA'LL THERE'S NO PRESSURE AT ALL BUT ALSO PLS DO THIS SO I CAN APPRECIATE YOU AND YELL AT YOU IN THE TAGS! @affectionatelyrs @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @kiwiana-writes @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @firstsprinces @sparklepocalypse @littlemisskittentoes @getmehighonmagic @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @zwiazdziarka @luainthewild @england-would-fall @iboatedhere @magicandarchery @gayrootvegetable @raysletters @tintagel-or-cockleshells @eusuntgratie @ninzied AND ALSO ANYONE ELSE WHO WOULD LIKE TO SHARE PLS TAG ME ! also might try to come up with some writer asks for end of year stuff too, but we'll see.

I'll see you all for wip wednesday! I hope you're all well! :D

xx

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Day 2 for @eonweweek

"Lessons in war"

Prompt: Friendships      

Pairing: Eönwë & Ingwion

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Word count: 1K words

Summary: As preparation for the War of Wrath, Eönwë trains his friend, Prince Ingwion, on the art of swordplay.

A/n: for this story, I wrote Telimektar as being a Maia who serves Tulkas.

“You did well for your first lesson,” Eönwë said, “but there is more to be done, my prince.”

Ingwion sighed. He had been thrown to the dirt with ease, and he prayed none of the others bore witness to his defeat. Presently he said, “What must I do, my lord?”

“You must watch the placement of your feet,” Eönwë said, extending his hand, “the swing of your body, and the flow of your arms. If you do not, they will betray your every move to the enemy, just like they betrayed your every move to me mere moments ago. Come. Let us try again.” 

Prince Ingwion grasped the hand that was offered and was pulled back to his feet. “I fear my hands were crafted for the wielding of quills,” he said, his chest heaving from exertion. “And my feet and body were made for the elegance of dance, never the elegance of swordplay. But I will try again, my lord. I swore an oath when I answered the call to arms, and I mean to honor it.”   

“Good.” Eönwë returned the prince’s sword, and he went back to his own position. All around them the sounds of swords clashing, and flails and maces smashing against heavy armor and shields, filled the air. A great war loomed before them, and the warriors who answered the call to arms tested one another to their limits in Valimar’s great sparring yard. They could not afford to fail; to do so meant that Melkor would gain complete mastery of Endorë and possibly beyond. “Now take your place,” the Maia commanded, “and let us begin.”

Ingwion took a moment to compose himself. Then he charged at his opponent with a cry and swung his sword. Eönwë answered with greater skill and swiftness. The sheer force of his blade striking true made the prince grit his teeth in pain. Nevertheless, Ingwion preserved, and he pressed forward a second time. Eönwë did not falter. He countered without a moment’s hesitation, his sword slicing through the air in a glittering silvery arc. It rang with a great clangor as steel cut into steel. Ingwion, shocked, drew back and glanced at his sword; it bore a deep notch.

“Again,” Eönwë said. “Attack me again.” 

The elf circled him, alert and silent. He could never best Eönwë; no elf could ever best a Maia who was at their most powerful. Still, he had to try. He was the crown prince, after all, and it was he who had to lead the Vanyar in the war that was to come. He could not call an end to the fighting so quickly.

The others finished their training. They gathered around the prince and the herald in a circle to watch. Some even held wagers. Ingwion paid little attention to them. He set his thoughts on the one before him instead and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, determined to do better. Eönwë smiled, and he waited. 

Ingwion pressed the attack for the third time. Eönwë countered him with a masterful swing of the sword, and he forced him back. The prince narrowed his eyes. Then he lunged with all his might. Eönwë was prepared for this. In one swift move, he slid to the side, his blade glinting as it caught the golden light of the sun. It fell before anyone could even perceive it, knocking the sword clean out of Ingwion’s hand. The prince stopped, gasping for breath. He turned to face his friend and mentor, ashamed he had failed so easily. 

“Do not give your heart over to shame and disappointment,” Eönwë counseled. He picked up the fallen sword and returned it to the prince. “Failure must be expected, especially now that you have only just begun your training. And you have much time still, to master the sword.” 

“You are not angry?”

“I am not, my friend. Besides, I am Ainu. You are elf-kind. I can never expect you to unarm me.” 

The others left, talking quietly among themselves. Ingwion, on the other hand, followed Eönwë to the little hall, where warriors would gather to eat and drink. Here, beneath the light of gilded lamps affixed to hooks in the ceiling, they kept to themselves and dined on a simple meal of bread and stew and wild berries in honey. An attendant pressed a cup of golden Miruvórë into the prince’s hand. He took a sip and sighed in contentment. The beverage was warm and fragrant, and it revived him, filled him with renewed vigor, and drove away the aches he felt in his limbs. 

“You did well, truly,” Eönwë said. He savored a spoonful of stew, and a small bite of bread. “And you must not be disheartened by your loss. War is wholly new to the Vanyar, and the use of weapons besides. I will teach you all that I know. And I will guide you when we are in Endorë. You will not have to shoulder your burdens alone.”

“Tis strange,” Ingwion said. Another attendant set down a platter of tiny fish roasted to crackling on their table. The prince helped himself to a few, closing his eyes in delight when they crunched between his teeth. “Before the Mariner arrived, you and I whiled away our hours indulging in poetry and delicious food and song. Now, we must spend our time learning the many intricacies of war. I must confess, I never thought such a thing possible.”

“Aye,” Eönwë agreed. “War was not thought of by many, until elf rose against elf in Alqualondë.”

“There you are!” Telimektar cried. The Maia of Tulkas stood by the lip of the doorway, his harp in hand. He was not alone. Ilmarë stood a pace behind him, her silver-pink hair woven into thick braids. “Dining by yourselves and speaking quietly. This will not do. This will not do at all.”

“What do you propose, my lord?” Ingwion said, beaming. No chamber remained quiet for long after Telimektar arrived. 

“A song,” Telimektar told him. He crossed over to the table where the prince and the herald sat, and he found a seat for himself by Ingwion’s left. Ilmarë found herself a seat by Eönwë’s right. “What say you, my lords? My lady? Would any of you care for a melody or two?” 

“A song would do just nicely,” Eönwë said. He grinned when he caught the twinkle in Telimaktar’s eyes. The Maia would sing a bawdy air, no doubt, and make them all flush from cheek to chest. “Begin, my friend! Grace our ears with something delightful.”

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[yuseirra]

The significance of "stars" in onk

A continuation from this previous post about the possibility of Ai and Hikaru being ACTUAL gods!

This particular line from Mephisto always stuck out to me:

星は砕け光る

Hoshi wa kudake hikaru

The stars shatter and shine

this must be important... it has their actual names in it!

also, there are lyrics that go:

あなたに会いたい 星に願いをかけて

I want to see you I wish upon the stars

and every time hikaru appears to his children, he talks about wishes too, you know? He asks ruby what's her wish and he congratulates aqua for having fulfilled his wish. Clearly, wishes are what's important to him (and I think that's why the person who's wishing in Mephisto must be him, not aqua.)

you wish upon a star. The stars must have an important role in this story, and it also could be related to the "star eyes" some characters have, if you look into the lyrics of fatal and mephisto, it seems like they are capable of both "granting wishes" and "ruining lives"

the speaker of Fatal pursues it immensely, going

Please, let me hear your voice

Please, keep your eyes on me

Without you, I cannot live anymore I would sacrifice anything for you I can’t get enough of your love

Keep your eyes on me, my dearest fatale!

as if the "star" is an entity with feelings capable of reciprocating what they give to them. Obviously it's the star that's the fatale, and the fatale in this story would be none other than Ai.

so we now have the baseline that Ai is the star, and we can start to infer a lot of things after deciding that's true.

I had looked into the lore of Amaterasu way back when I first read the series because I thought it was oddly specific to be mentioned out of the blue, and the lore is briefly mentioned once in Vol.10 too-

when the goddess Amaterasu(the sun god) had retreated to a cave, the goddess of the arts, Ame-no-Uzume, brought her out with her dances. That sort of parallels the relationship Ruby's had with her mother in a way, since she's the one who's given birth to her new life and had her pursue being an idol(a star)

Ame-no-uzume also has a husband, Sarutahiko, and guess what, he has the title Daimyōjin (大明神, great bright god). He's the god of "light"= hikaru.

It all fits in so nicely together for it to be just a coincidence...

There was a part in this comic where everyone prays at Ame-no-uzume's shirine, and the wishes all come true but in a pretty twisted way. That's exactly what the "star" does described in the song fatal

身勝手な巨星、狂わされた生

Selfish giant star, ruined lives

身勝手な< this is translated as "selfish", but I looked at other translations and the word means "unpredictable and arbitrary". This description suits Ai, then, for having unintentionally caused a lot of people's misery although I don't think it was really her fault..

I've said in my other post that Ai could literally be a star and has returned to being one. The things she said to her children, about Aqua becoming an actor and Ruby becoming an idol, literally came true. Maybe she really is watching them from afar as a star now. Maybe she's become the next ame-no-uzume and is granting wishes, but her powers aren't perfect and flawed. Either she's favored by a god or was one without realizing it, she's referred as a star an awful lot to the point I feel it's being shoved in the face...

the songs are really onto something, I think the theme of "stars" and gods may be revisited in the final arc,

which is, conveniently named "Towards the stars and dreams"!!!

The stars are definitely up to something here!! The songs seem to be indicating that!!

[ick25]

My favorite movie Wukongs.

Journey to the West fans love to see the monkey king represented or even mentioned in different media, there are so many versions of the character that its hard to decide which one is the best or who even is the most accurate to the novel. A lot of people grew up with Journey to the West cartoons and tv shows from China or Japan which has many of the most iconic and beloved versions of Wukong. However, this was not the case for me, my exposure to the Monkey King was when I was a teenager, when I decided to read the novel after noticing so many mentions of the character in different shows.

Aside from the recent Lego Monkie Kid, which has the cutest version of Wukong I've ever seen, I noticed that there is almost no other recent shows or movies that are successful in introducing this legendary monkey to American audiences.

So instead of shows, I'm gonna be talking about recent movies, and with the new Monkey king movie out in Netflix, I thought it would be the best time to share my thoughts about the different versions of the character in movies where Sun Wukong is the main character or is important to the plot, both animated and live action, from worst to best.

*Spoiler Warning if you want to watch these movies by yourselves.

10. Monkey is back (2021)

I have this habit of watching every movie the has the Monkey king in it, that is how I came across this one. Unfortunately, it was the most confusing and boring movie I had ever watched.

Wukong is called the Ling Ming Stone Monkey here, and he is a deity who already has people praying to him. He is turned into a human without magic and stays like this almost the entire movie.

This version of Wukong is strangely mild mannered, and just like me, he is seemingly lost through out the movie.

So many things happened in this movie that it was hard to keep track of what was going on, and it made me ask myself, when is this movie set? Before or after Journey to the West? And what did that ending mean?

9. The immortal demon slayer (2017)

I thought this movie was gonna be the last one in my list until I saw Monkey is Back. Before that, the Immortal demon slayer was the movie I actually hated for how they treated my boy by making him a human without any magic! T T

Just like in the previous movie, Wukong is a magicless human, and all he has is his martial art skills and Jingu Bang (his iron staff) to protect himself, but even Jingu Bang loses its abilities halfway through the movie. The story is basically him and a group of immortals getting stranded in the mortal realm, and have to learn to work together to save a village from a demon.

This version of Wukong is grumpy and a little tsundere because he has this potential romance going on with one of the stranded immortals. Near the end, Wukong finally returns as the super powerful monkey who beats up everyone in heaven.

The movie finally got interesting at the end, but by that point it was already to late for me to forgive the movie's boring story.

The battle at the end between Wukong and Erlang Shen with his newly acquired third eye, was the only thing I liked, that, and the adorable French bulldog that appears with little fake bat wings!

8. Monkey King: Hero is back (2015)

Not a fan of this design.

It was a cute movie, but it was lacking in so many areas. This Wukong is a legendary hero that is known by the humans. After being sealed for 500 years he seems to have lost his powers, so now he is just some grumpy tall monkey through out the movie, and I don't blame him, because he becomes a babysitter for two literal children.

Pigsy appears in this movie and he is almost entirely accurate, personality and all, but Wukong looks so weird that I forget he is a monkey, he is strangely tall, has that Chad chin, and he doesn't even have a tail, and those little monkey feet he has makes me laugh every time I see them, its like he has stumps for legs.

The reason this movie isn't lower is because it does a better job of conveying what the Monkey King is all about compared to the previous movies. The intro of the movie was pretty good.

7. New Gods: Nezha Reborn (2021)

In this futuristic world, Wukong has an important role, training the reincarnation of prince Nezha. He starts out as some cooky old man wearing a creepy mask wanting to buy Nezha's bike, but later reveals himself after saving the boy from some demons. He teaches Nezha how to use his powers and watches over him till the end of the movie.

I like this version of Wukong because it shows how wise he really is, many versions have him seem naive or even dumb, but he is actually very clever in the novel. He is also visibly old which makes sense, old monkey has been around for more than 500 years after all.

To protect his identity, he calls himself the Six Eared Macaque, who was known for copying Wukong's power and technique, but its canon that Wukong did kill Macaque during his journey to the West, so sorry Shadow Peach shippers.

Also, those little monkey clones he makes are super adorable.

6. Monkey King Reborn. (2021)

Ah yes, the movie with the edgy Wukong and where the whole group is killed near the end... But comes back to life again.

Yeap, this movie was a rollercoaster of emotion, but it does a great job at setting up the tone of the original novel and its world building.

This Wukong is edgy and mischievous, his relationship with the Tripitaka was short but very cute, I wished it was explored more, but this movie just gives us the second best thing, Wukong putting up with an adorable little baby who is just another version of Tripitaka's soul or something.

This Wukong is powerful and has a really bad temper like the original, but he still lacks that charm and sense of humor that makes the Monkey King so memorable.

And, what did they do to Sandy?!

I swear, they never seem to get Sandy right in most movies.

5. The Forbidden Kingdom. (2008)

I have a soft spot for this movie, not only was it the movie that introduced the Monkey King to my family (Who I was already a fan of), but it also made me give the novel a try, and now I freaking love it!

The story is a retelling of how the Monkey King was trapped for 500 years in a mountain, the villain being a Jade Warlord who turns him into stone, but Wukong manages to saves his Jingu Bang by sending it to the mortal realm. A teenage boy from the future gets isekaid to ancient China after touching Jingu Bang where he meets a young Jackie Chan who tells him that he must release the monkey king from his prison by returning him the golden staff so he can go back to his own world.

The Monkey King's appearance in the movie was short but memorable, maybe because he was played by Jet Lee who is not known for laughing and smiling very often. I think he does a good job portraying the character, he is strong, skillful, and very clever, but very trusting of his own abilities which is the reason he left his guard down and got turned into stone.

4. Journey to the West 2; The Demons strike back. (2017)

A movie that gives Wukong so many different appearances that I don't know what he even looks like anymore. Shapeshifting is something very common in journey to the West, so it makes sense that Wukong can look any way he wants. First we have this human form where he looks like a stinky hobo fed up with life who barely obeys or cares for his new master.

Then we have this form where he has golden hair covering his body which I thought was his real appearance.

But then we get this nightmarish thing that looks more like a demonic monkey with bright red eyes like in the novel.

And none of these forms are even close to what he looked like in the prequel, but I'll get to that later.

This movie is a comedic retelling of the story, so many crazy things happen in this movie. Aside from the fact that Tripitaka punishes Wukong by whipping him, their interactions are pretty funny, specially because Wukong wears a magic ring on his head that used to belong to a woman the monk fell in love with in the previous movie, so he thinks about her every time he looks at him.

But it's also kind of messed up because Wukong was the one who killed her in front of him so...

3. Monkey King; Havoc in Heaven's Palace. (2014)

The movie summarizes the first 6 chapters of the novel that are all about Wukong's life, from seeing how he was born from a magical rock, to the reason he attacked heaven. Wukong starts out as a sweet and naive monkey who is curious and very playful, and he even has a little love interest. However, instead of just getting angry and causing trouble in Heaven, Wukong is fooled my the Bull demon king who tells him that the Jade emperor destroyed his home in flower fruit mountain and even killed his love interest. So naturally, Wukong picks a fight with heaven, the bull demon is discovered, and our protagonist humbly accepts his 500 year punishment from the Buddha, until the actor was re-casted in the sequel.

I like how nice this Wukong was, but not how the havoc in heaven wasn't entirely his fault. He was manipulated and still got punished for the misunderstanding. Wukong is not evil, but he isn't completely innocent either, which brings me to my next pick.

2. Journey to the West: Conquering the demons. (2013)

This guy right here is a hilarious representation of how the Monkey King is described in the novel.

The movie is about the Tripitaka before becoming a monk, and is instead a "demon hunter" who tries to subdue demons by being nice and singing to them. He encounters Sandy, and then Pigsy who are terrifying man-eating demons. Sandy is captured by a woman who is a real demon hunter and who falls in love with Tripitaka, Pigsy manages to escape, but is then captured after being lured into a trap set by the two humans and Wukong, who was still trapped in a mountain.

Wukong once again looks like a dirty hobo, only this time he is crazy looking and bold, but after he fools Tripitaka into removing the seal from the mountain, he shows his true form in all his glory. He appears with his golden armor and head piece along with some fancy decorations, three demon hunters appear and make fun of him saying how short, ugly and skinny looking he is.

I love this because that is exactly how the novel describes him. Needless to say, Wukong completely obliterates the three of them easily and without remorse, and to make matters worse, he even kills the girl who Tripitaka finally confessed he was in love with.

I know I keep saying how he is not evil, but we have to remember that he was a demon, a man-eating one even, so he naturally seems evil to us because he sees humans as insects that are not worth his time, you know how many people he killed in the novel? He even killed a guy just because he called him a ghost!

The sequel did a better job of making a Journey to the West story, and with better visual effects, but this demonic version of the monkey king and how he was stopped by the Buddha was the most accurate depiction I've seen of the character.

Monkey King 2 and 3. (2016)

This is my favorite movie Wukong!

For some reason they changed the actor from the first movie, but I guess it was because of how his personality completely changed in the sequel.

These movies are the best representation of the novel, Wukong is a badass and the one who has to do everything because Tripitaka is a moron and the other two disciples are really bad at their job.

The day he met Tripitaka he asks the monk if he doesn't want him to protect him, Tripitaka being a coward says no and Wukong took this opportunity to yell at the heavens and zoom out of there, only to find out immediately that they are being forced by the gods to travel together, like it or not.

This Wukong is clever, intimidating, selfish and a little grumpy, but he still likes to play around and he does take his job of protecting Tripitaka very seriously.

I admit I also find him a little attractive, just look at those muscles!

So what are your thoughts about these movie Wukongs? Do you agree with this list? Who is your favorite Monkey King?

[tgrailwar-zero]

Look, Rider, I have been listening, I just feel guilty about summoning someone only to drive them out. Yes, we shouldn't have summoned her in the first place, but we did.

Also, I am starting to feel worse every time she acts like a kid if I am honest...

Are we really doing the right thing by killing her? I mean it's probably in part because she looks like a little kid that I am having such trouble. It's hard when it's directly in front of you.

CONSTANTINE: "…Right. The Beast has bewitched you with it's appearance, and you deign to pity it. I understand. Heroic Spirits cannot be children. Nor is the Whore of Babylon a mere child. That thing does not deserve 'guilt', we must…"

He stopped, before crossing his arms with a sigh.

CONSTANTINE: "…Nevermind. Continue your talks with the Beast."

A moment of long, dejected silence hung before PRETENDER sidled up to him, watching as the Emperor gave another attempt to tug his blade free from the sheath to run through DRACO, only to be met with the resistance of the Command Spell.

PRETENDER: "Oho. With that sigh, I'm sure that means you've heard a lot of apologies and not much agreement. Now, I get that we're technically enemies- as you're the Rider of Red..."

PRETENDER: "...Though you're not much of a 'Rider of Red' anymore, are you? Your allies are now your enemies, and everything you say gets brushed off by your current allies. You want to be a hero, but you're tasked with a different part. I mean, if I were you, I'd be furious. I mean, if my enemy openly wished to behead me, I'd want my Masters to do everything to support me- and yet here they are now, with nothing but excuses..."

CONSTANTINE: "There's no reason to be furious. Besides..."

PRETENDER: "Ooh. Want to mark that ego blow, or should I? I'm sure you expected your Masters to rally behind you against evil, not saddle you with performance art and baby the demon, right?"

With an airy laugh, PRETENDER leaned in closer.

PRETENDER: "Listen, you seem like a stand-up guy. But that still doesn't change the fact that your Masters are giving more courtesy to a Beast than to you. Maybe they're already enthralled by it. The power, the opportunity… I can understand you're the type to 'turn the other cheek', but sometimes you need to just do the right thing. You know… like slaying a dragon."

The PRETENDER-Class snapped his fingers, as CONSTANTINE felt a surge of magical energy rush through his body. Compounding his innate magical ability, the resistance to magic blessed upon him increasing exponentially.

He drew his sword. Smoothly, simply, easily. His eyes widened, as he turned back to look at the PRETENDER- who returned the Emperor's surprise with a coy smile and a wink. CONSTANTINE turned to look at the Beast.

Slay a dragon. Like the great Saint Georgios.

He began to walk forward, slowly. The Beast wasn't paying him any mind. Arrogance, made manifest. He felt a myriad of things- guilt, anger, frustration… mostly towards himself. He was given an order, and he was disobeying. Even if it was the right thing, he made an agreement. This was treachery, but…

He began quietly praying to himself.

CONSTANTINE: "Remit, pardon and forgive, O God, our sins committed voluntarily and involuntarily…"

This was the right thing. He could ask forgiveness later, if needed. He shook his head- why feel shame for enacting justice?

By Saint Mary. Saint Martha. Saint Peter. Saint Paul. Saint Michael, who had boldly fought the Dragon in order to bring peace to the world, as prophesied by Saint John. This Beast must be laid low. Destroyed, completely and utterly.

He continued quietly praying to himself as he marched silently onward.

CONSTANTINE: "…By word and deed, knowingly and in ignorance, by thought and purpose, by day and night…"

Closer. Closer. Step by step. Moment by moment.

He raised his blade.

CONSTANTINE: "…forgive all these... for You are gracious and love mankind."

[anniflamma]

Saint Boris and George the Hungarian

I'm going to start with this. Where are all the retelling books? The discussions? The TV series? The Movies?

So let me begin by talking about Saint Boris and his favorite servant, George.

In medieval Russia, Saint Boris and his younger brother Gleb, both princes of Kiev, played crucial roles in the state established by their father, Volodimir, who introduced Christianity in 988 Russia. Boris had precisely 12 brothers, and himself was born from Anne the Bulgarian. He wasn't the oldest, but due to being loved by his father, he was trusted to be called upon to lead troops against enemy invaders.

However, upon returning from the military campaign, Boris received devastating news of Volodimir's death. Svjatopolk, the accursed, his half-adoptive-brother, had concealed their father's passing and seized power for himself.

Despite having the opportunity to claim the throne, Boris refused to raise arms against his brother, choosing instead to trust in him and God's will.

"He (Boris) was in distress and grief, and his heart was oppressed. And he entered his tent and wept with a broken heart but a joyful soul, sorrowfully lifting his voice: “Despise not my tears, O Lord. For as I have my hope in Thee, so shall I, together with Thy servants, accept my portion and lot with all Thy holy ones, for Thou art a merciful God, and unto Thee shall we render praise forever. Amen.”

Svjatopolk then conspired to assassinate Boris, due to his being a potential threat to his rule. He ordered Boris's assassination, sending men to attack him while he prayed in his tent. Throughout the night, Boris fell asleep and with him by his side was his favorite servant George The Hungarian.

In the text "The Narrative Passion And Encomium Of Boris And Gleb," it never mentions that Boris' servant George was with him when he was sleeping; however, in ancient arts, George is depicted being by Boris' side at all times. He confides his fears of death to George. They pray close together. And George guarding over the sleeping Boris.

We get a short but concise description of Boris and George's relationship.

"He was a Hungarian by birth named George, and upon him was placed a golden necklace; and he was loved by Boris beyond measure."

While Boris and George's bond was initially perceived through the lens of Christian views, it transcended mere "a very good friendship." After all, the lord bestowed a golden necklace to his servant, suggesting something much deeper.

Eventually, three assassins arrived, entered the tent, and Boris was pierced without mercy. In the midst of chaos, George refused to abandon his lord. He threw himself over Boris and said: "I shall not leave you, my precious lord; where the beauty of your body withers, there too will it be granted me to end my life.”

The assassins then tore Boris out of George's embrace, stabbed George, and threw the servant out of the tent, bleeding and dying. And as he was wounded, Boris ran out of the tent (presumably went to George's side) and told their assassins to finish their job. Boris prayed and forgave the murderers....

Unable to remove a golden necklace from George's neck, one of the assassins beheaded him and disposed of his body.

The land mourned the loss of Boris, a righteous and humble prince, while Svjatopolk's reign of terror continued. Yet, Boris's legacy lived on, and he was canonized in the year 1071. Boris and his younger brother Gleb became the first saints recognized by the Russian Orthodox Church, earning the title of "Passion Bearers" for facing death with Christlike forgiveness. They rest at the Church of St. Basil near Kiev in Ukraine, alongside their parents, Volodimir of Kiev and Anne.

While Boris and his younger brother Gleb gained widespread recognition as saints in Russia and Ukraine, George the Hungarian's role has been increasingly marginalized and obscured over time.

Despite Boris being a prince and a skilled military commander, it was his profound love for George that left an indelible mark on early biographers and hagiographers. Professors, such as Simon Karlinsky delves into their same-sex love story in his analysis of the medieval classic, "The Legend of Boris and Gleb," compiled between 1040 and 1118.

Boris's gesture of crafting a magnificent gold necklace for George is highlighted as a testament of love. Karlinsky emphasizes the sympathetic portrayal of their mutual affection and acknowledges the unjust fate that befell George due to the open expression of their love. However, George is recognized in some traditions as a co-martyr, passion bearer, and saint.

Wikipedia on St. Boris (and his brother Gleb)

Blog post from a professor and art historian focusing on their relationship

English Translation of the 1100 year old text "The Narrative and Passion and Encomium of the Holy Martyrs Boris and Gleb"

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Wrestling with God

1 And Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him.

2 And when Jacob saw them, he said, This is God's host: and he called the name of that place Mahanaim.

3 And Jacob sent messengers before him to Esau his brother unto the land of Seir, the country of Edom.

4 And he commanded them, saying, Thus shall ye speak unto my lord Esau; Thy servant Jacob saith thus, I have sojourned with Laban, and stayed there until now:

5 And I have oxen, and asses, flocks, and menservants, and womenservants: and I have sent to tell my lord, that I may find grace in thy sight.

6 And the messengers returned to Jacob, saying, We came to thy brother Esau, and also he cometh to meet thee, and four hundred men with him.

7 Then Jacob was greatly afraid and distressed: and he divided the people that was with him, and the flocks, and herds, and the camels, into two bands;

8 And said, If Esau come to the one company, and smite it, then the other company which is left shall escape.

9 And Jacob said, O God of my father Abraham, and God of my father Isaac, the Lord which saidst unto me, Return unto thy country, and to thy kindred, and I will deal well with thee:

10 I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which thou hast shewed unto thy servant; for with my staff I passed over this Jordan; and now I am become two bands.

11 Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau: for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the mother with the children.

12 And thou saidst, I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.

13 And he lodged there that same night; and took of that which came to his hand a present for Esau his brother;

14 Two hundred she goats, and twenty he goats, two hundred ewes, and twenty rams,

15 Thirty milch camels with their colts, forty kine, and ten bulls, twenty she asses, and ten foals.

16 And he delivered them into the hand of his servants, every drove by themselves; and said unto his servants, Pass over before me, and put a space betwixt drove and drove.

17 And he commanded the foremost, saying, When Esau my brother meeteth thee, and asketh thee, saying, Whose art thou? and whither goest thou? and whose are these before thee?

18 Then thou shalt say, They be thy servant Jacob's; it is a present sent unto my lord Esau: and, behold, also he is behind us.

19 And so commanded he the second, and the third, and all that followed the droves, saying, On this manner shall ye speak unto Esau, when ye find him.

20 And say ye moreover, Behold, thy servant Jacob is behind us. For he said, I will appease him with the present that goeth before me, and afterward I will see his face; peradventure he will accept of me.

21 So went the present over before him: and himself lodged that night in the company.

22 And he rose up that night, and took his two wives, and his two womenservants, and his eleven sons, and passed over the ford Jabbok.

23 And he took them, and sent them over the brook, and sent over that he had.

24 And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.

25 And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob's thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him.

26 And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.

27 And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob.

28 And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.

29 And Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name. And he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name? And he blessed him there.

30 And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.

31 And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he halted upon his thigh.

32 Therefore the children of Israel eat not of the sinew which shrank, which is upon the hollow of the thigh, unto this day: because he touched the hollow of Jacob's thigh in the sinew that shrank. — Genesis 32 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain. Cross References: Genesis 14:6; Genesis 18:2; Genesis 24:27; Genesis 27:41; Genesis 31:3; Genesis 31:10; Genesis 31:41; Genesis 33:1; Genesis 33:8; Genesis 35:9-10; Genesis 43:11; Deuteronomy 2:37; Joshua 21:38; Judges 8:8; 1 Samuel 25:19; 2 Kings 6:16-17; Psalm 34:7; Hosea 12:4; Luke 12:45; 1 Corinthians 13:12; Hebrews 11:12

The Man who Wrestled with God (sermon)

[welcomingdisaster]

1k || t || canonical character death || ao3

Emeldir sits and sews, watching her daughter wake in the crib across the room. Hiril screws up her eyes for a moment before she opens them, inhales deeply as though she is about to scream. Emeldir sets down her sewing, ready to stand and take her child in her arms, but the scream does not come.

Instead Hiril reaches for the crib decoration hanging over her. She traces the woven pattern with a pudgy hand, transfixed by the way it catches the light and holds it long after the sun has fallen over the horizon. It is of very fine make, golden thread pulled taut to form the shape of the sun. Barahir had cut it free from where it had once been sewn into his own crib, so old every seam of the wood had come undone. But the thread looks new, still, hanging over the new oak crib for their babes to grasp at. Shines bright despite their grubby hands, despite the countless times, now, that it has been gnawed on.

Beren climbs up on the side of his sister’s crib, his feet on the lower rail. He is four, tall for his age but bony as a bird, with a pointed little chin and big brown eyes. He reaches, too, to touch his the little sun, but does not pull it from his sister’s hand. He is kind, her Beren — thoughtful of the little one. She wishes soft times on him each time she bends to kiss the mop of his dark hair, praying to gods that no longer visit this earth. 

“What’s the sewing on it, Mama?” he asks, holding his fingers up to the little golden circle, so that its faint light dances over his fingernails, “looks like there’s sunlight caught up in it.”

Emeldir does not know.

“Maybe there is,” she says, her hands returning to her work, “if you can catch river-water in a bucket, and fire in the fireplace, why not sunlight in thread?”

Beren hums, satisfied. The little sun glints.

In truth it is something much older and stranger than that.

***

Nóm comes to visit him as the sun rises over the horizon, fresh-faced and cheerful, his long blond hair newly done. It cascades around him in gorgeous golden waves, the top layers twisted up in circular braids that much resemble stars, decorated with flowers from the meadows and green leaves.

Balan greets him on the porch of his cabin, exhausted and rather under-groomed himself.

“Ever thou brings me more reason for admiration!” He cries, standing to embrace his friend, and gestures to the sparkling cascade of gold, finely done. “Whenever could thou have done all this, before even the sun has woken?”

“It is simple,” Nóm laughs, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, “my kind do not sleep so often as thy folk, and some not at all. I sat by the firelight to clear my head and comb my hair, and I got quite carried away with it. But I felt thy weariness even before I held thou in my arms, and I am even more certain of it now. What ails thee, my friend?”

“Naught ails me,” Balan says, “I watch Boron, my son’s son, for he is colicky and gives his parents no rest. He does not calm for me. Why, I think all this night he must have been quiet ten minutes put all together!”

It is only then he realizes the baby, cradled yet in his arms, is not crying any longer. He has caught one of Nóm’s braids in his hands when they had embraced, and he stares, wide-eyed and mesmerized, at its looping pattern.

“Forgive me!” Balan cries, reaching to pull it free, “I meant not to let him take thee by thy hair.”

But Nóm only laughs and takes out the hunting-knife on his belt. Balan watches, horrified, as he pulls the braid taut and cuts it. He ties it off at the end with a ribbon, and turns to smile at Balan as though he had not just desecrated a work of art.

“Let him take it, if it calms him,” he says, “it is only hair; more shall grow, and I would do all my power to bring thee some measure of peace.”

“What madness!” Balan cries, and there is something of a hysterical laugh to it. “What gifts, my friend! What value they hold I do not know, and yet I know I shall never have wealth enough to repay it!”

“It is hair,” Nóm repeats, “it shall grow.”

Boron is captivated. Slowly, with the clumsily, he reaches up with his other hand and grabs the other side of the cut braid. Golden light dances in his wide brown eyes, falls upon his cheeks.

“I never asked thee about the light,” Balan realizes, “do all of thy people glow so?”

“Some,” Nóm says, “before any could even imagine the sun, before your people were awake upon this earth, I danced in the first light; the light of Laurelin, the great golden tree of Aman. It is a little of that light I carry, still.”

“Treelight,” Balan says, “before the sun! Sometimes I think thou art quite fond of fairytales, or else of the gullibility of your younger friends!”

Nóm smiles, but his green eyes are distant and old as mountains. Somehow he is only fairer with the braid cut, the tuft of hair sticking up from his head at an odd angle; only more darling for the little imperfection. Balan knows, then, that he shall follow him to the ends of the earth; that should Nóm leave their people Balan shall too.

***

Finrod’s hair tickles his foot.

“Can you hear me?” Beren asks. There is no answer; no breath, no twitch of the hand, only the smell of blood in the air and the drip of it into the grate by the iron bars.

(Sauron is practical. His dungeons are well-equipped with draining systems.)

“Hear me,” Beren says, command in place of question, “hear me! My friend, do not leave me.”

(Drip. Drip. Drip.)

There is no light in the room, nothing for him to see his friend’s injuries by. Almost nothing; Finrod’s hair glows faintly even in the darkness, casting pale golden light upon his fair, pale face, upon his wide green eyes and the drops of blood on his long, arrow-straight blond eyelashes. It looks as a ray of sunshine caught in the most horrible darkness.

It looks familiar. Comfortable. Beren’s wrists ache where they are bound, and his chest hurts as though his heart has been ripped free from it. His head spins. Finrod’s hair tickles his foot, as though trying to provide one last comfort. Sunlight caught up in thread, he thinks.

He cannot remember where he had heard it.

[neoninky]

TWST Fic: 'Her Devoted Shield' Chapter 2

Not gonna lie this chapter was a bit of a challenge BUT here it is!

I will be updating the links on my Masterlist for anyone who may have missed a chapter or would like to read my other stories - everything to stories, art, random silly posts are linked there. You can also find all my writing on my AO3 page.

For anyone who wants to read this story but hasn't played through the Diasomnia chapter in the game, just a heads up - there are references to the game canon in this chapter and will be in future chapters. Just FYI. Likes, comments, and reblogs (not reposts) are appreciated as always!

Chapter 2: Breaking Through the Silence

Petra fell face first into the soft bed, letting the pillow consume her exhausted sigh. This entire week had been the longest 'day' of her life. The night was quiet save for a chorus of crickets outside her window. Astrid made sure Moselle got settled in before returning to her room. Tai also had his private room, but he always stayed in the gardens until late into the night. Petra never questioned it. He had been that way as long as she knew him. She could see him once again sitting quietly under the moon as usual. Her thoughts about the meeting with Reine would be keeping her up, so who was she to judge? Ultimately, she came to the same agreement between Rollo Flamme and Reine. That didn't stop the anxious gnawing in her gut, however.

"I don't know if this is a viable possibility as of right now. However...what about Briar Valley? At the very least, Moselle is already acquainted with Malleus Draconia, so there will be one less stranger waiting for her." Rollo Flamme couldn't think of any other place on the planet safer for a fellow dragon fae than the last place he wanted to send Moselle to. It wasn't a guaranteed option either, but where else could a dragon like Moselle live and thrive? 

"Briar Valley?" Petra felt the words prick at her like their name's sake. Everyone turned their attention to her, waiting to hear her thoughts on the suggestion. It wasn't too outlandish aside from the fact that even she knew very little about the fae kingdom that neighbored her own. The princess thought, slowly piecing together her case. 

"Well, most dragon fae do live there so it's not a terrible suggestion. The only other place for a dragon community would be The Land of Red Dragons, but I don't think they would accept her. At least not from what Tai's told me. The Long that rule there are dragon fae but not like the Draconias or other Briar dragon fae..."

Like people, Petra learned, that not all dragon fae were alike, and not all societies operated the same. Especially when it came to outsiders. The ancient Long were once a powerful empire of draconic fae that ruled over other fae native to their lands and kept their territory separate from humans. Nowadays, they were regarded as mighty guardians and lived peacefully alongside humans. People even regarded the remaining Long as gods to pray to for prosperity or protection. Their world was peaceful but elite. They were the only dragons in the land and they wanted to keep it that way. The chances of a foreigner like Moselle being welcomed there were improbable. "Our treaty with Briar Valley is fairly new. This and Moselle's previous introduction to Lord Draconia may give us some leverage, even so, we must tread carefully. The situation seems very tempestuous," Reine's expression was serious but still reserved a bit of hope for Rollo's sake, "However, I agree with Monsieur Flamme. This is the best course of action. I will reach out to Queen Malefica tomorrow and start the process, if at all possible." 

Rollo gave his deepest thanks to Reine for her help before the call ended. As soon as the mirror darkened, Reine sat back on her throne with a troubled sigh. Petra felt the same energy wash over her as well. 

'Tempestuous' was an understatement even to those on the outside. Riddle and Petra had both been there during Malleus' overblot episode all those years ago. While the situation was resolved before it could spread further across the ocean, Sage Island wasn't the only one affected. The sleeping curse had spread offshore and onto Sacred Crown's island as well. Reine was spared from being in the epicenter, thankfully, as she was in the Rose Queendom at the time. Whether or not Malleus knew the girls' school was affected too was unknown. Later on, when Petra asked her classmates and friends about it, most couldn't remember exactly what happened just that they had all fallen asleep for an extended time and experienced strange dreams. Night Raven had kept things quiet enough that the truth never reached the other island's shores. So the following year, everything was normal on the surface: classes, exams, festivals, none of the female students of Sacred Crown were wise to what had happened and their friends from NRC didn't speak of it. Only Petra saw it in their eyes whenever with her friends from Sage Island. They had been told to keep quiet.

Like them, Petra had to pretend not to know the truth. She had been there, right there, on NRC's campus when it happened. Lilia had sent her an invitation to his going away party and her headmistress gave her permission to go to Sage Island for the ocassion. Petra already had mixed feelings about the event. She didn't know what made Lilia decide to leave the school and set off elsewhere. She wasn't told where exactly he was going either. Even so, in the short time, they had known each other, Lilia and the other Diasomnia boys had become dear friends to her so naturally she wanted to show up for him. And then it happened. Petra had trouble falling asleep ever since, never knowing if it was her dream she was having or the one someone else put in place for her. That night wasn't any different. 

-

"What do you think of him, Petra?"

Petra was barely awake during her breakfast with Reine. The young queen had something, or rather someone, on her mind and asked to have a meal with the one person she knew she could discuss it with. Even in her dazed state, Petra knew who Reine meant. 

"I haven't seen him since that time," Petra stared into her teacup, "But honestly, I think Malleus is a good person deep down. That's what I want to believe anyway. I don't think Silver, Sebek, or Lilia would have fought as hard as they did if he wasn't. Why do you ask?"

Reine's smile was colored with sadness, "I believe that my dear friend has been suffering for a long time for reasons I cannot understand. I also believe that he's been suffering even more since that night." 

The tired princess tried to hide her guilt, but her face was too honest. The rose queen sipped her tea before lowering her voice, "I will not pry, Petra. What you, Silver, and Sebek experienced within the dreams is none of my business. I'm just glad you all made it back safely. However, if you need to talk to someone about it, we have many healer mages trained in counseling." 

This wasn't the first time Reine had made this offer to Petra and it wouldn't be the last. It wasn't that she was ungrateful, it was just that everything she saw in Lilia's dreams seemed far too personal and tragic to discuss with anyone not directly involved. She even felt like an intruder just being there alongside Silver and Sebek.

"Thank you, Reine, but I'm fine," A half lie if there ever was one, "I've gotten so used to keeping everything a secret anyway." 

Reine poured herself some more tea before adjusting the topic just enough to not, hopefully, overstep, "I understand. I imagine Silver and Sebek feel the same way," she smiled saying their names, "I do miss them. I hope they are well. How long has it been since you've seen them?"

Petra hesitated, her brain stuck in the memories of following them both through the dreamscape, "Uh...not since we graduated I think. I haven't been able to stay in touch with them since I left home." 

Even after they were all out of school, Petra immediately plunged into her crusade so naturally they had lost contact. She never admitted it but Petra did wonder how the two were doing.

"And...Tsunotaru?"

Petra nearly choked on her tea making her and Reine laugh at the nickname, "Oh Seven, I haven't called Malleus that in years!"

What had started as a joke during the girls' initial visit to the Night Raven campus had quickly turned into a full-fledged nickname for the fearsome prince of Briar Valley. The girls thought it cute and endearing. The boys? They nearly passed out when they found out what Petra had decided to call the 'tall guy with horns' she kept seeing outside their temporary dorm's windows, not knowing who he was at first. True, Reine was the first one to befriend Malleus Draconia, but Petra formally introduced herself to him during the ball on the last night. Well, as formal as the tomboy prince could muster anyway. Petra laughed at the memory.

She was dancing with Silver when Malleus joined the girls on the dance floor as they flocked around him like curious little birds. This caught the bewildered eyes of his schoolmates who normally avoided him like the plague. Clearly, these girls were insane. And then it happened. Petra joined the little group along with Silver and Lilia and made herself known to Malleus...by walking right up to him, no hesitation in sight, and greeting him. 

"Hey Tsunotaru! It's nice to finally see you face to face!" She laughed with the smile of one who stepped right over decorum without batting an eye. 

Had there been a record player in the room at the time, it would have scratched tremendously as the words left her mouth. Everyone within hearing distance all froze in shock all at once. 

"TSU-TSUNOTARU?!"

Malleus stood wide-eyed before breaking into a wide smile and hearty chuckle, "Is this what you wish to call me?"

Honestly, Petra found the nickname just as funny, "If you don't mind, sure!"

The proud fae's eyes narrowed with amusement as his grin turned a bit mischievous, "Very well, Child of Man."

Petra groaned in second-degree embarrassment at the memory, "And THEN you tell me who he is AFTER the fact even though you knew it was him right away!"

Reine giggled brightly, "Oh come now, it was adorable! And Malleus was very fond of it, wasn't he? He kept responding to it all night and every time you two saw each other after. He even kept calling you 'Child of Man'. He never called any of the rest of us that. He must have been quite fond of you. Poor Sebek though." 

Petra's eyes playfully rolled as soon as she heard his name again, "Oh good grief, that boy was so mad!", she quickly mimicked the grumpy crocodile's furrowed brow and boisterous voice, " 'HUMAN! HOW DARE YOU REFER TO MALLEUS-SAMA WITH SUCH BLATANT DISRESPECT!! RAWR RAWR RAAAAW!'"

Riddle heard his wife's laughter down the hall. When he entered the atrium where the two young women sat, Petra was using her hands to imitate a toothy maw as she continued to make fun of Sebek's enthusiastic nature. 

" 'Furthermore! Did I mention how grand Young Master Malleus-sama looks today, HUMAN?! Cease what you are doing this instant and let me tell you the tale of how Malleus-sama elegantly brushed his majestic fangs this morning!! I should know I was there! COUNTING each brush stroke! SUCH TECHNIQUE!' "

Reine was nearly in tears from laughing so hard, "You're terrible!" 

Riddle did his best not to laugh as he cleared his throat loud enough to be heard.

"Oh good morning, darling," she wiped her eyes and calmed her laughter.

"Your Majesticness," Petra gave Riddle a playful half bow from her chair as she settled back in with a cat-like smirk. 

The redhead kissed his wife on the forehead before apologizing, "I don't mean to interrupt a flawless Sebek impression-," This made Petra snicker, "-however, I just wanted to let you know that the mirror is ready and Her Majesty Queen Malefica has agreed to an audience this afternoon." 

Reine thanked her husband before he left the two old friends to their privacy. The unsettling anxiety returned and Reine noticed before Petra could even think of hiding it, "Petra. What is troubling you? You've seemed uneasy ever since Briar Valley was brought up yesterday."

The rose queen had a way of speaking to her friends and loved ones that was both comforting and discreetly authoritative. One as headstrong as Petra had little defense against it. Reine sat poised and ready to listen. Great Queen of Hearts knows she could and would wait as long as she needed.

"I'm just concerned for Moselle," Petra was treading lightly, "I mean...it's hard to say what the night fae are like. I only know Lilia and Malleus. I'm sure they would both treat her well. But...from what I can tell she's..." 

Petra had many great qualities: bravery, loyalty, dependability, and good-natured humor, she had all of that in spades. The ability to express deeper emotions or even comment on emotionally vulnerable topics? Here is where the princess struggled. People like Astrid and Reine were far more suited for those things. Reine knew this about her friend for years and offered her a lifeline.

"You're worried about her ability to adapt, yes?" Petra visibly relaxed now that Reine understood her, "I am a little worried myself. From what you and Tai found out about her, she hasn't known anything about the world outside Fleur City. I imagine she is hundreds of years old much like the fae in Malleus' kingdom, but their culture is very sophisticated and traditional. It may be a bit overwhelming for her." 

The princess grimaced at the word choice, "And by that you mean full of hoity toity nobility and their ridiculous rules and expectations? Doesn't sound too different from human monarchies..." 

At face value, Petra was speaking to both her and Reine's experiences only. In truth, Petra clearly remembered the Senate and their attitudes towards those outside of the royal family during her time in the dreamscape. They were cold, harsh, and ugly to poor Lilia when all he wanted to do was help Malleus. She hadn't known Moselle long but the thought that the dragon fae may be treated the same made Petra feel sick. That and as much as she believed Malleus to be a good person at heart, what if that same senate, that same society changed him?

"Reine, can I ask you something? About the Draconias?"

Reine watched as whatever was weighing on Petra dimmed her usual light, "What is it?"

Petra felt the words clutter up in her mind. A million questions kept writing, erasing, and rewriting themselves on her tongue that couldn't seem to untie itself. In the end, she settled for the elephant in the room. The room being the entire hush pulled over Malleus Draconia's swift disappearance from school life and the rest of the world.

"What...what happened to Malleus? Do you know? I mean, I get it if it's top secret royalty info or something but...wasn't he supposed to be the next king after he left school?" 

Petra had assumed that to be the result, especially since the dragon was far beyond the typical school age. As soon as the Overblot was resolved, Petra was immediately ushered off Sage Island and back to her own school. There were no goodbyes, no explanations, only her vow to keep silent on the situation altogether. The next time NRC opened its campus was the following semester when the juniors had, presumably, left the campus for their internships. Any mention of Malleus Draconia was dismissed with some vague answer that implied he did the same.

Reine's expression reflected the gravity of the truth. She slowly stood up and spoke to Petra in a hushed voice, "I think this conversation is better continued elsewhere." 

She beckoned for her friend to follow her to the throne room. 

- 

The once entirely ivory hall was now a rich mixture of white and red after Reine had taken over. Any servants or guards that were in the area were quickly dismissed as the two royals entered. Reine seated herself before continuing, addressing the confusion on Petra's face. 

"You already know how important reputations are in noble courts. I don't want to provide wandering ears or loose lips with ammo against our newest ally. Especially when Malleus' reputation is already severely wounded." 

Reine sat poised, clearly aware of the power anything she said held, inside or outside her walls. Petra quietly sat by her throne, ready to hear what the queen had to say. 

"I don't know all of the details but I do know that Malleus has been kept from taking his place as king for these past five years. This is why his grandmother, Queen Malefica, is still my point of contact. I gather that...the powers that be in Briar Valley saw him unfit to rule after everything that happened," Reine's eyes were incredibly sad as she spoke about her dear friend, "This is just speculation, but no one has seen him since the Overblot, yes? ...I don't think he was allowed to stay at Night Raven after that. I haven't even seen him through my communications with Briar Valley either. I have a feeling, he's being isolated as a punishment."

"They're treating him like a criminal?!" Even keeping her voice down, Petra's shock still ripped through her whispers.

The queen placed a gentle hand on Petra's shoulder, to comfort herself just as much as her friend, "I can't say for sure. I don't like whatever is happening, but this is beyond me or anyone outside of the kingdom. I hope things are changing just from the treaty between the Rose Queendom and the Valley. This is the first they've opened themselves to the outside in several hundred years." 

Petra couldn't argue with that, "That is true, I guess. They haven't even opened their gates to my kingdom and we're on the same continent. Can't say I blame them, given...ya know...history."

History textbooks around the world talked about the infamous Human-Fae war that happened hundreds of years ago. Petra grew up hearing the stories she thought were true as a child from her people. She learned the hard way that you cannot put faith entirely in history books written by those who survived the war. In word of mouth, King Henrik's side of the story was passed down from generation to generation as a fallen hero to many and a greedy brute to others in the minority. Petra still had nightmares about what he did in Lilia's memories. Her father, King Bernhard, never said much on the matter. He always preferred to look to the future, not the past. Remembering her father made Petra suddenly feel light-headed.

"Petra? You look...very tired. I think you should rest today," Reine helped Petra to her feet, "Don't worry about the meeting. I will fill you in later." 

-

Petra felt deja vu hit her as she once again flopped onto her bed, face first. She didn't want to argue with Reine. She knew she needed to sleep but getting a peaceful sleep was still a challenge. She lay there in silence and let her thoughts skitter around like invisible beetles as her eyes grew heavier. Petra remained asleep for only a moment before the nightmares overwhelmed her again. A scream was pushed out of her lungs like air pushing against dark waters as she flailed to break back into the waking world. Before she even opened her eyes fully, she heard a familiar voice.

"Petra. Petra! Wake up!"

Tai's concerned face focused into view as Petra's heavy breath regulated itself. The fox sat on the bed at Petra's side, brushed his ward's hair from her face, and gently pulled her close to him as she calmed down. 

"Tai...?"  her voice shook with uncertainty.

"I'm here, pup. You're awake."

After a few assurances and fresh water, the two sat on Petra's bed together. Tai had been with her on this journey every step of the way and saw her like this often. Any time he insisted she tell him what was going on, she refused. Unfortunately for her, Tai had been through his share of stubborn wards before and enough was enough.

"Petra," his tone turned firm and serious, "Tell me what is going on."

She looked away, ready to deflect, when the fox gently cupped her chin and made her look at him, "Please talk to me. Whatever it is, you've proven your strength. You shouldn't have to break your back just to make a point, pup."

He released her once her eyes told him she was ready to open up. The fox listened without interrupting for as long as she needed him to. When she needed more water, he fetched it. When she struggled with her words and needed a moment to collect them, he was patient. She told him enough about her experience in seeing what had happened to Malleus' family, to Lilia, and even fighting against the raging dragon fae to save him from the horrifying Overblot. She told him how it all still haunted her. What she did not tell him was the dream Malleus had placed her in. He didn't ask. In the end, Tai just grinned about one detail in particular.

"Silver and Sebek," he tested out their names with a teasing air, "Sounds like you three are close?"

At this point, one of Tai's fluffy fox tails was out, swishing back and forth playfully. Petra felt awkward and huffed, knowing what the fox was getting at, "They're just friends."

"Friends you've never told me about before now. Male friends. Interesting..."

"I've had guy friends before!" 

The fox's wry grin deepened at Petra's defensive tone, "Yes when you were a child. You constantly tried to keep pace with the knights and the other boys your age around town. Then you became a teenager and blossomed into more of a young lady..."

Petra groaned and used the pillow to shield her face as Tai continued.

"And suddenly boys started taking a different interest in you. One that you had no desire to reciprocate whatsoever. So it's nice to hear that somewhere in the world, there is at least one young buck that doesn't repulse you. Two in fact, miracles of miracles."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Petra's muffled voice groaned through the pillow, "you always make these things weird," she finally came up for air with an even more tired expression, "We're just friends."

Tai's grin weakened as he moved the conversation along, "And the...other one? The one who dreamed about the past?"

"Lilia," Petra laughed, "He's a hoot. I think you'd like him a lot. Turns out he's Silver's dad. Well not biologically, but you know what I mean. I figured he was older being a fae and all but damn." 

The fox's tail stilled and his chuckle was a bit muted, "He sounds like an interesting fellow. They all sound like a close-knit group too. Which begs the question, are you afraid of possibly seeing them again?"

The notion made Petra freeze up, not exactly in fear, "Wha-I mean, no, not exactly. It's just that...if, IF, the royal family allows Moselle into their kingdom, she'll be all on her own." 

Tai watched every signal Petra's body language was giving off, big and small, as he listened to her. He knew she was scratching the surface of her true anxieties, but perhaps that was enough for now. This was also something Tai had been broading over since the possibility was brought up. He figured now was as good a time as any to make his suggestion.

"She doesn't have to be. If she does decide to go that is," he saw something light in the princess' eyes, "If Moselle is given entry and decides to take it, I imagine she would like to have familiar support to go with her. And while it's not the same...it is close to home, pup. Home that neither one of us has seen in almost half a decade." 

Petra inhaled and exhaled roughly, "You do have a point..."

The fox gently rubbed her back to put her at ease, "Let's see what our rose queen can do before we get too ahead of ourselves first, hmm?"

-

King and Queen Rosehearts stood before the mirror ready and waiting when the doors opened for Astrid. The petite healer bowed to them both before approaching to stand beside them before the mirror. 

"How is she doing, Astrid?" 

"Incredibly well, Your Majesties! Moselle's appetite is on  the rise and she's been doing vocal practices all morning," Astrid was brimming with soft sunshine, "She's currently resting in the garden pool as we speak." 

The relief was palpable between the three humans. Reine especially, "Excellent. Hopefully, we can ensure a future for her today." 

As the queen spoke, the surface of the mirror began to ripple. In place of Malefica stood her advisor, a dragon fae man with a calm mature expression that clashed with youth. As with many fae, his hundreds of years were hidden by a face that couldn't be a day over twenty-eight at most. He was a quintessential fae of the night: deep obsidian eyes, long rich navy colored hair, and dark twisted horns atop his head. Unlike the royal family that wore their hair down with ornate crowns framing their horns and brows, his hair was tied up in a silken tail with a few silver adornments on his horns to show his status as the queen's right hand. Reine had only spoken to him once or twice before but greeted him cordially just the same.

"Lord Nocturne, thank you for meeting with us today." 

The dragon fae gave the young queen a graceful bow, "Your Majesties, it is an honor as always."

His voice was deep baritone, clear gravitas in its canter. His dark eyes ticked over towards Astrid who gave him a practiced bow. 

"This is Astrid Piperita, one of our trusted healer mages," Reine introduced her with a clear hint of pride, "She will be contributing to our discussion today." 

"Miss Piperita, a pleasure," Lord Nocturne nodded to her before continuing, "I apologize that Her Majesty Queen Malefica is not present. She is feeling a bit under the weather as of late. Do trust anything you have to say will be relayed-" 

The distant sound of large metal doors opening rang in the background as a commanding voice interrupted the stoic fae. Queen Malefica brushed aside the small fae servants who fussed over her as she walked into the room. In her old age, she still carried herself with dignity and command despite her much slower pace.

"Borlean, you dare hold official council with our ally without your queen present?" Her words held a moderate bite towards her young advisor but no true anger. The young dragon remained unruffled as he greeted his queen. 

"Not at all, Your Majesty. I was merely greeting the Rose Queen on your behalf," the advisor offered his hand to Malefica to properly seat her on the throne behind him before stepping aside.

The ancient queen addressed the three humans with grace before cutting right to the quick, "I understand you have an urgent matter to discuss, Rose Queen."

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will not waste another moment of your precious time," If Reine felt any nerves under the imperious dragon's gaze, she hid them flawlessly, "We are  currently hosting a dragon fae who was rescued from poachers and an exotics collector after years of imprisonment." 

The dragon queen sneered in disgust at the mention of this 'collector' and poachers, "Utterly deplorable. May they all suffer for their brutal savagery. Was this poor fae one of ours?"

"No, Your Majesty. She is a dragon of a different kind. She comes from Fleur City, in the Shaftlands, but cannot return home, unfortunately. She is without blood relations as well." 

"Alone in the world without a clan or mate. A pity," Malefica sighed as certain details stood out, "Fleur City, you say? What is her name?"

"Moselle, Your Majesty," Reine's hope that the name rang a bell for the dragons was satisfied as something sparked in Malefica's shrewd gaze. 

The elder queen pondered before addressing her advisor directly, "Borlean. Do we know of any Shaftlandian fae by that name? It sounds familiar..."

Lord Nocturne seemed to be weighing his next words carefully while lowering his voice to speak only to her, "I believe...the prince may have mentioned that name before, my queen. Though he hasn't been sociable in some time." 

Some maternal interest suddenly lifted Malefica's serious expression, "Did he now?" 

Reine saw an opportunity to seal the prospect in question and drew the conversation back on track, "If I may, Moselle did have a close friendship with several humans during her time in Fleur City. One in particular, she was very close with. He was the one that alerted us to her situation and informed us of her acquaintance with Lord Draconia during a past visit to the city."

This claim intrigued the briar queen as she received additional confirmation from Lord Nocturne, "His Highness did travel there to an academic summit during his junior year at school." Malleus had strategically omitted the part about Rollo's intended homicide on magic. Reine smiled to herself, making one last push.

"In that light, perhaps Your Majesty could offer a haven to Moselle. After all, Briar Valley is renowned for being the home to many dragon and night fae who have thrived under your esteemed rule, Queen Malefica. Where else could be safer for a lost child such as her?"

In any other case, this would be laying it on a bit thick. Reine, in her cleverness, knew that dragon fae were an especially proud people. At least they had been reported as such by historians. Reine was banking on this information remaining true in the current times. Malefica pondered over the young human's words while her advisor stood silently, watching her with a somewhat expectant look on his otherwise stoic face. It was hard to tell if he liked the idea, but as any good advisor should, he waited for his queen to speak first. Malefica finally answered with resolve.

"I shall like to observe Miss Moselle before I decide. Unfortunately, it is not possible to do so directly. Our ambassador's assessment shall do in my stead. I believe she is already preparing a journey to the Rose Queendom. Borlean will inform her of my decision before she leaves," she gestured to her advisor who saw himself out to do just that, "In the meantime, tell me more about this young fae."

A foot in the door! The three humans sighed in relief before Astrid stepped forward to give the queen more insight into her patient.

-

Lord Borlean Nocturne walked the halls of the dark castle in search of the royal ambassador. After several years of service, he knew the exact places to look. One not being her office. He gave polite greetings to each servant and guard he passed in his quest until he left the main castle and entered the main courtyard just in time to see the changing of the guard. He paid no mind to the captain barking commands to the other armored fae as he continued to the administration's wing. Nocturne's composed expression crumbled into annoyance at the sound of a familiar laugh. That boisterously posh voice signaled his destination. In front of the Senate's chamber stood a proud figure chatting away to the guards refusing to let her inside. 

"So I said, 'Polyester? In this economy?! I think not!' Ha, ha, ahhh...Anyway! I specifically scheduled an audience with the Senate for exactly an hour ago, today, and I do not wish to be kept waiting any longer, thank you very much." 

This was a lie. The ambassador wouldn't schedule anything having to do with the Senate if her life depended on it. Regardless, Borlean approached in his usual quiet steps as his presence made the guards stand at attention faster than a Draconian lightning strike. 

"Is that so, Ambassador Valida?" 

The shorter fae woman turned on her heel with a self-satisfied grin, "There he is! Lord 'Boring' Nocturne finally gracing the peasantry with his untimely presence!"

Ambassador Valida was easily towered over by the dragon but always carried herself as she believed a lady should: with the grace and elegance of a prima ballerina standing center stage, commanding the attention of all within the room. She was the finest ambassador the royal family could ask for, after all: charming, well-spoken, and always engaging and witty with her audience save for the man currently before her. That was the impression most in the castle had of her. Borlean, however, saw her as she was: a chattering little raven fae obsessed with pomp and circumstance and taking as many jabs at him as possible like her bird namesake pecking at an eagle. Where she saw a rivalry, he barely noticed her unless he had to. The ambassador, in her own words, preferred to lead by example and took the current fashion from each country she visited to show solidarity while also 'bringing a bit of flare back to this gloomy kingdom'. Today Valida was dressed to the nines in a prim suit, dripping in ruffles and ribbons, and a top hat pinned into her jet-black curled hair, clearly prepared for her journey to the Rose Queendom. Why a pitstop to harass him and the Senate had to be on the itinerary now of all times was beyond him.

"I do not recall any such appointments being made today aside from the meeting with our allies in the Rose Queendom, which I naturally prioritized."

The raven stood unphased, "Resolute as always, my lord. If you could be so kind as to spare me an audience as Senate Representative as well, it would be most appreciated." 

The dragon's eyes narrowed ever so as he leaned down to look the raven in the face, "Imagine if you focused your attention on your duties, Ambassador, just how much more you could gain aside from another tacky frock for your wardrobe," Valida gasped, her cool veneer finally breaking, but was cut off before she could retort, "If you insist on arguing the same case before the Senate once again, let me save you some time. The topic of Malleus' coronation is up for discussion today. A discussion I will be leading and bringing to a conclusion."

"Well, well, it's nice to hear you finally took a page from my book in consideration for our noble prince," the ambassador scoffed only for the dragon to blow a puff of smoke into her smug face, making her bristle and cough roughly.

"I always consider Malleus's welfare in this kingdom's affairs," Borlean resumed his full height and turned his back to the ambassador, "Her Majesty has another task for you. You are to meet a fae by the name Moselle during your visit to the Rose Queendom's royal family and make a proper assessment of her. Focus on that instead of worrying about what the rest of us are doing."

The tall doors to the Senate's hall opened and slammed behind Borlean with finality. The raven dusted herself off and marched away with a huff, "Ha! Just like the old sack of scales to take his time listening to my proposal before presenting it  as his own to the Senate. Typical."

The spectral Senate held court in a large hall, rarely traveling outside of it anymore as their powers slowly waned over time. One of two of them was replaced by living descendants from designated noble houses within Dragonopolis, the ones that remained anyway. Because of this, Borlean acted not only as an advisor to the monarch proper but as the face and voice of the ancient Senate as well. After the truth of the Senate's involvement during the war surfaced, Malefica insisted on flesh and bone support being present and active at her side and Malleus once he took over. Though the remaining pyres had grown weaker, that certainly didn't make them any less opinionated on royal matters. Stubbornness and tradition often caused the living members to agree with whatever point the old Senate stood for, only swaying when their interest lay elsewhere.

"Senators," Borlean addressed the room before taking his place in the  center seat, "I would like to begin right away with our kingdom's most pressing matter: the succession to the throne."

A few disgruntled murmurs already began to brew about the room. One of the large specters spoke over the room, "Our queen has kept the Valley safe and intact for years and remains to do so to this day. The Valley is thriving. This matter isn't of consequence." 

The murmurs echoed the Senator's sentiment. Borlean continued, knowing this was going to be an uphill battle, "I agree that Queen Malefica has given protection and prosperity to our people during her reign. However, gentleman, how much longer must we force the chain of succession to remain a standstill? Her Majesty is well beyond her years of service to her country and I believe Prince Malleus has been waiting long enough. If we continue to halt our kingdom's progress it will fade away into a lost history even more than it already has." 

This caused an upset amongst the other senators. One dragon fae stood, demanding to be heard, "If Malleus takes the throne then our kingdom will fall into ruin even faster! He is reckless! Juvenile! He's already influenced Her Majesty in making a pact with that child from the Rose Queendom! What else will he do to expose us once he is in power?!"

Borlean kept his cool and addressed the fae, "Do you suggest a better solution then?" This was hardly a question. He knew what was coming. "The only solution is that Her Majesty chooses a proper heir from one of the noble families! One that is disciplined, forthright, and puts the Valley's best interest first!"

The hall burst with irate shouts being hurled between the members, some arguing that their houses would be the best choice while others were outraged at the notion of breaking a long-standing tradition even in the face of their clear disapproval of Malleus. Borlean sighed and rested his head in his hand, silently bolstering his sanity. One even more ludicrous notion cut through all the rest.

"My Lord, if the Queen is unable to continue her rule then by rights, you may oversee the throne in her stead! The Nocturne house has always been faithful to the royal family!" 

The furious look on Borlean's face silenced the room in seconds, "That is out of the question. It is not my right nor my place. Senators, do you hear yourselves? It has been five years."

"Five years is but a moment for our people," the old Senators outright laughed in their representative's face, "What difference does it make if it's five, ten, or even twenty years?"

Borlean's eyes narrowed as he dropped his trump card, "And it's been hundreds upon hundreds of years since we lost our late king and Queen Malefica was forced to rule alone. The prince has been nothing if not steadfast in his preparations and decorum. How much longer must he be kept from his birthright? Would you continue to sully the Draconia legacy all for the sake of familiarity? By doing so, you spit on our princess' sacrifice by neglecting her son and refusing her mother her proper rest."

The room fell silent at the mention of the late king and Princess Maleanor. Borlean did not speak of them lightly. He knew what he was doing. When the Senate finally came to a peaceful quiet, Borlean took command of the room once again.

"Senators, it is time that we allow Briar Valley to move forward. Time is molding the world around us and the only one fit to bring our kingdom into an even more prosperous future is Prince Malleus Draconia. We will not heal old wounds and ill repute by keeping him in the shadows forever. It has been said many times by our own Ambassador Valida and I will echo the sentiment one last time. Let it be decided once and for all." 

After years and years of juggling this back and forth, the Senate finally and begrudgingly conceded on the matter. 

"We agree then, Lord Nocturne. We entrust the decree to you."

- 

Before the news was officially announced to the rest of the kingdom, Borlean took initive to tell the one person who needed to hear it the most. Unlike the ambassador, the prince was more difficult to pin down. The dragon fae moved strategically throughout the castle looking for the next best indicator. He spotted two familiar heads of green and silver hair standing about the eastern gardens seemingly guarding the large tree they flanked.

"Silver. Sebek."

The two knights snapped to attention as soon as they heard their names. Sebek bowed to the fae like clockwork, "Lord Nocturne, good afternoon, sir!"

As he grew into his twenties, Sebek had gained some control over his loud voice. Some. Silver was just the same as always minus longer hair he now wore in a short tail at most times, "Good afternoon, my lord." 

Somehow the two boys had both grown taller and even more toned in body. Sebek, especially. Probably due to his unyielding rivalry with Silver. Their armor bore the Draconia family emblem like the rest of the royal guard but was designed to set them apart as Malleus' guards, making them easy to spot.

Borlean's eyes flicked to the tree and back to the two young men, "May I speak with him, please? I bring good news." 

Both of the knights looked expectant and stepped aside for the advisor. When he circled the tree, he found Malleus sitting in the shade, silently reading. With no one else around, the older dragon fae dropped formalities and sat with the prince on the grass.

"Malleus."

"Borlean," a tiny smirk pulled at the prince's lips as he continued to read the page, "You say it's good news today? Dare I hope my dear cousin is being honest with me?"

It was common knowledge that the Nocturne house was the same noble family Malleus' late father, Duke Raverne, came from. It was lesser known that Raverne Nocturne, or Draconia as he took his wife's name, was Borlean's uncle. Borlean preferred to keep it that way seeing as how nepotism was already running rampant in the court.

"I wanted you to be the first to hear, Malleus," his tone barely changed even when he was in familial company, "Your coronation is set three months from now." 

The prince finally lifted his green eyes to look at his cousin directly. His expression was somewhere between surprise and doubt. Before either fae could say a word, they were blasted with Sebek's enthusiastic outburst.

"AT LAST! Malleus-sama! Congratulations!!" Joyous tears prickled at the corner of Sebek's eyes as he and Silver peeked around the tree. 

"Is it true?" Silver looked hopeful but hesitant as he spoke to Borlean directly.

"It is," Borlean answered plainly, "It was decided and put into an official decree barely an hour ago. I wanted you to be the first to know, Malleus."

His cousin was never one to gush or give grand displays of emotion or affection. Malleus had known him to always appear distant and cold on the surface. Borlean always put his duty to serve the crown above all else. This was a point of tension between him and his cousin in the past, especially when Malleus was forced back home. After years of isolation, Malleus had come to understand while Borlean's ways weren't full of obvious warmth, his intentions were good. However, not enough time had passed to put Malleus' distrust in the Senate to rest. He wasn't sure if there was enough time in existence to break that, honestly.

Malleus snapped the book shut and rose to his feet with a guarded look, "I thank you for your efforts, Borlean. I suppose now there is much to do in preparation...?"

The advisor stood, promptly brushing himself off before falling back into his proper stance, "Very much to do. We need your approval on current administration positions, the royal guards, and the like. Any changes you desire to make in the staff you will inherit from your grandmother are better decided sooner than later. Along with some paperwork as well. That said, I believe your mental preparation should take priority today, Malleus." 

It was a long-winded way of saying 'boring busy work' but Malleus still appreciated the last sentiment the most. Borlean bowed to his cousin and turned to go before something else crossed his mind. 

"Master Lilia should be home before the coronation, I believe. There will be a formal celebration ball on the day of, naturally. I'll make sure to sneak his name onto the guest list."

Malleus smirked in amusement at the implication as his cousin and advisor walked back into the castle without another word. Lilia had decided to return to Briar Valley after finishing his third year at Night Raven instead of quitting flat out. After his return, his reputation with the Senate was as sour as ever thus keeping his presence in Dragonopolis scarce. It was thanks to Borlean turning the occasional blind eye that Lilia got to see any of 'his boys' at all once they were all in the Valley once more. And it was thanks to Malleus' change of heart that let Lilia travel to the Land of the Red Dragons. What had once been a decision to permanently move across the world changed into a month-long trip. His reasons weren't entirely clear. Either way, all three young men were happy that their beloved father figure and teacher would soon be with them again. Especially now.

"Lilia-sama will be so happy to hear the news!" Sebek was beaming as he and Silver followed Malleus down the corridors. Silver hummed in agreement though something else crossed his mind.

"It'd be nice to have a welcome home party for him...but now, there may not be time." 

The two knights talked back and forth as the prince's mind wandered. He should feel happy. He was happy, wasn't he? He was finally getting what he had worked towards all of his life. What he wanted...wanted? Was that the right word? He did want it. His grandmother wanted it. His parents before him wanted him to take the throne and continue the royal line just as they had done and just as his children would someday do. It was a natural course of action and a joyous time now that it was finally coming to pass, right?

Malleus frowned at the notion. Finally succeeding his grandmother was a relief and an honor. It was also an incredible burden. He would technically have more power to dictate his life and establish his own rule, but ultimately, the reality felt like his leash was only being lengthened by a small margin. Not to mention the doubling, and tripling, of expectations. He had prepared for this his entire life and continued during his probation, and yet, Malleus felt very little joy concerning his future. Power, prestige, status...a trivial circus of courtship to find a suitable queen that checked all the strategical boxes for everyone around him except for him. Ugh, he was probably looking forward to that part the least. The small taste of a simple, peaceful life away from home as a student and not a crown prince was so distant from his life now that he wondered if it was real. Simple. Easy. Natural...

His heart suddenly ached for those times while simultaneously feeling immense guilt for ruining them in the end all because of his selfish fear of losing them. His heart ached for a time, for people, for a person he had lost.

"Silver. Sebek. I wish to be alone, to rest."

The two knights halted at Malleus' sudden request. He didn't wait for them to answer before he disappeared in a flash of green fairy lights. Malleus reappeared in his room in the far tower of the castle. He would apologize for suddenly ditching his two knights, his friends, later, but now there was only one thing on his mind. He was drawn to the desk, cluttered with trinkets, books, ink, and parchment. It had been a constant shifting state of disarray for quite some time now but there was one consistancy he always kept in neat order. Malleus opened the drawer that held a box of unread letters he had written over the years. The earlier ones had been sent out and returned unanswered. Others were never sent at all. Each one was addressed to the same person: Moselle. 

His past circumstances surrounding the hows and whys these letters never made it into her hands were a mess of variables. No matter how he tried to reason through them, Malleus always came out the other side feeling hollow. He had even considered getting rid of them before but could never bring himself to. The prince sighed and slammed the drawer shut before he could make himself feel even worse. He spent the remains of the evening humming a wordless lullaby to himself in hopes of quieting the harsh thoughts in his head.

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@foxwitchaine @iscarlettappel @nuitthegoddess @wysteriadelights @1ndigowitch @victoria1676 @yunaemiya @ladyrosemoon @aiimee9