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malaismere · 1 year

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more critrole classpecting (m9, vm)! bells hells were definitely the hardest of the bunch, because, y'know, it's hard to judge a character arc when you don't know how it ends.

Chetney: Heir of Rage

Laudna: Heir of Space

FCG: Sylph of Hope/Prince of Rage

Fearne: Witch of Breath

Imogen: Heir of [Doom/Void]/Mage of [Mind/Light]

Orym: Knight of Doom/Page of Rage

Ashton: Knight of Doom

Dorian: Bard of Blood

Lots of Heirs for the Campaign that inherits its plot from the previous two, and lots of rage for a campaign that is thematically very Rage vs Hope. Full analysis/description under a cut and oh boy do I think these are way longer than the last.

For a lunar sway analysis, I'm pretty torn.

Laudna and Fearne are definitely Prospit, Ashton and Chetney are Derse. Dorian's personas/hiding pushes him more Derse to me, whereas Orym's optimism is Prospit, but they're less firm in my mind. Imogen could lean either way, but her Ruidus-born stuff leans Derse to me. FCG I'm also torn on based on the split personality angle, but ultimately I think Prospit.

For order, this is the roughest of the three, but I'm leaning...

FCG -> Ashton -> Laudna -> Chetney -> Dorian -> Fearne -> Orym -> Imogen

But Laudna -> Chetney and Imogen -> FCG are the weak ones here. Too much of this would be deciding how to actually plot an au.

Chetney: Heir of Rage

Chetney’s main theme is being a werewolf.

Okay, there’s more to it than that, but also, their kind of isn’t, because lycanthropy will always be a metaphor. Chetney is tied to creation/manipulation as a woodcarver; he’s an artisan, but solidly working class. There’s some money/class stuff going on with his conflict with Ultgar (selling out, but also cutting Chet out of the deal), and a lot of anger regarding that. The wolf is wild, primal, chaotic, everything untapped and unchained.

There's a lot of stuff about werewolves and understanding yourself and puberty, but that's not what Chetney's wolf is; because while he may not have been bitten until after, Chetney's wolf is the thing that stabbed his boss. It's anarchic, chaotic, defensive, and also specifically tied to like, class/revolution - firmly a thing of Rage.

The transformation involves Chet being changed by rage, which is totally how to describe the passive change class, the Heir. Heirs become their aspect, literally, as well as being just naturally drawn to it. Lycanthropy is also literally inherited - and can be passed on, as Heirs change others with their aspect.

Heirs can be a bit easily manipulated by others, but Rage is the Aspect of skepticism. Chet isn't gullible, he's a pragmatist, but he's also a bit of an idiot. Their main challenge is to not get swept away by their aspect - Chetney literalizes this by trying to control the wolf. He doesn't want it gone, he just wants it in check, only hurting the people he wants it to hurt instead of rampant chaos.

Laudna: Heir of Space

Walking dead girl, Laudna’s in good company here in Homestuck land! So we’ve got to dig a little deeper into themes: death, specifically dying someone else’s death; witchcraft; isolation, loneliness, quiet; crafting/creation; fate, destiny; goopy spoopy nonsense.

Void is the pretty obvious one here - dark, shadowy, and lonely. But, while Laudna has the aesthetics, she’s not exactly background, nor is she big on secret keeping, being pretty open, even with the deep and dangerous stuff. Doom and Time both have ties to the fate/destiny/death angle, while creativity is very Space.

On a personality level, patient, calm, intuitive Laudna is very much Space, although she’s not unaligned with Doom. Space is also the stuff most intrinsic to who Laudna is versus what’s been done to her, so, Hero of Space it is!

Archetypally, Laudna’s a Magician. While it would be gone to have the witch trio be literal, Laudna’s more passive, and that puts her more towards Heir. She’s the inheritor to Delilah’s power. And Delilah, now she’s the Witch of Time/Doom (leaning Time mostly to parallel my Percy classpect and inversion reasons) complete with the serving of a higher power. Breaking reality itself is peak Witch behavior after all.

So, arguably, all of Laudna’s more fatalist elements are the result of Delilah, as she roleplays Delilah’s class as a Witch through her powers and her aspect of Time through her death. This combines with inverting to Mage of Time, where she experiences Time uniquely (being undead) and “suffers it” (being undead).

Freed (?) of Delilah, Laudna also instead takes up the Sun Tree as a patron (which, okay, there’s some Light/Void potential here, and Vecna and therefore Delilah have Void imagery, and Light is the Lesbians Aspect but I still think Space is better) which ties into the plant aesthetic of Space. She’s also finally free to create for herself, in the form of Pate manifesting as a familiar.

Heirs of Space are eclective, transformative, cluttered and chaotic and flea market energy, exactly all of Laudna's crafting energy. Their aspect comes naturally to them, and the challenge is to keep from being swept away by it. Space, as in physical distance, ties in to Laudna's loneliness; she's great at being on her own and away from everything, and her challenge is to keep people close.

FCG: Sylph of Hope/Prince of Rage

Okay, so, FCG has a couple major themes: their role as a therapist, their past as an aeormaton (assassin) and their relationship with divinity/Avandra.

The divine stuff is very much the aspect of Hope - blind, unyielding belief. That’s a pretty central aspect of FCG, and his "connection" to Avandra is fundamentally the same thing as the Flat Exandria beliefs, especially because the stuff Hope covers isn’t necessary real, and is, in fact, often bullshit. This all lines up with the Therapy, because while I do think FCG means well and has actually helped his friends, a lot of his therapy is...pretty bullshit.

There's some aesthetics to FCG as a Prophet archetype, but boy oh boy is he so clearly a Sylph. Sylphs are the therapist classpect, the passive healer guiding you to fix yourself, usually with an info dump. They're associated with motivation and guidance, and Hope doubles down on that, and, more than anything, Sylphs are meddlers.

The counterpoint to that is his assassin past, which is destructive resentful anger, tearing people apart. Murder mode FCG didn’t just hurt physically, he hurt emotionally. Very emblematic of Rage, and specifically I’d say Prince of Rage, as Princes ghost their opposite (pretending to be a friend) and then destroy using it (Rage triggered breakdown, verbal attacks).

Sylph of Hope and Prince of Rage are inverse of each other, and with the two personalities, it’s pretty clear that FCG is dealing with inversion, moving from his natural, base classpect to the unhealth, unstable inverse state. But, I'm kind of torn on which is which.

The obvious answer is the FCG we meet first, the Sylph, is the base, and the Prince is the inversion. Clearly murder mode isn't healthy, and Rage is the scary evil aspect, not like bright friendly Hope, right? right?

But on the other hand, Sylph of Hope is fucking dangerous, which in c3 we can already see; like, we're a bit early on, but I think that the dangers of Hope is a major and deliberate theme of the character. And while murder mode isn’t currently healthy, Prince of Rage really could be - after all, to destroy Rage can be a pretty healing thing. Rage isn’t the evil aspect, we just didn’t see any healthy uses of it in the comic.

So, I think the more interesting version is the one where FCG is the Prince of Rage, but we're a bit too early on for me to be certain that it's the true one, and, either way, he's predominantly acting as Sylph for now!

Fearne: Witch of Breath

Fearne is the most chaotic character to ever show up at the table. As such, it’s tempting g to put her as Rage. It’s also interesting, because that leads to a very rage-heavy party, which has some thematic significance to the campaign (especially as opposing Hope, ie, Divinity).

But, I don’t think Fearne is especially angry, or destructive, or skeptical (she's rather naive, after all). Instead, I think she’s more flighty, airy, and free - a Hero of Breath.

Now, while literally Fearne is a Fairy, she’s not really one to guide, or even make. Instead, she’s much more the Magician. And, well, These Witches Be Bitches.

Witches are rebels, chaotic and lively and free, so, you know, very Fearne. They rebel against the boundary between their aspect and the inverse - and Fearne has a lot of strong connections and ties to the material.

The challenge of a Witch is knowing when to stop, about power going too far. Fearne can't be a daydreamer all the time, because she's here in the material plane, not the Fey, and, you know, random pickpocketing has consequences. It's not that she needs to settle down, but she needs to know how to stop - everything has a time and a place.

Imogen: Heir of [Doom/Void]/Mage of [Mind/Light]

So, Imogen’s main association is her psionics, the Ruidusborn abilities. These manifest as telepathy and telekinesis, primarily, and specifically the reading of other minds and astral projection type stuff.

But, like, half the trolls have psychic powers going on, so it’s hard to pin it to any one aspect. Her powers feel closest to Aradia, who’s Time, or Sollux, who’s Doom, but there’s also the obvious and literal Mind at play. There's also the fact that Ruidus is the driving plot, and Light is the aspect of Plot.

So, hey, what aspect does Predathos represent? There's a couple good arguments here. Predathos is Doom, to the narrative, representing Destruction, and as destruction more than a little bit Time, as well as fairly Rage associated, as the eater of Gods/Hope, but ultimately I think I lean towards Void. Void is secrets, to Predathos the sealed and forgotten, and it's also strongly tied to the eldritch horrors of the furthest ring, which, well, Predathos totally is in their number.

Archetypally, Imogen is the Magician (These Witches) or the Prophet (Ruidusborn). I lean most towards Mage, who experience their aspect uniquely, "suffering" it, the active miracleworker over the passive speaker of prophecy, and Heir, with a natural affinity to their power, as Imogen literally inheriting the power of Predathos/Ruidus from her mother.

These two are, neatly, inverse. So, we might have some fun inversion things going on here - but again, there's a lot I'm not confident in, due to the story not being complete.

Mage of Mind is I think the most obvious one from episode 1; Imogen suffers from Mind, literally hearing other peoples thoughts and having it overwhelm her. The goal of a mage is to not be overwhelmed by their aspect and use it to help others - literally, for Imogen, to start making choices and become all leadery. It inverts to the Heir of Heart, inheriting Soul-power, but it's not a major piece.

(Mage of Time is the inversion of Laudna’s Heir of Space, but I don’t think there’s enough else to properly justify it/Time as Imogen’s aspect)

Heir of Doom inherits Fate, Destiny, and Destruction. It's the epitome of Imogen as Ruidusborn, Cursed and Blessed Child. Heirs come to their power naturally, and can be easily manipulated by it; their challenge is to not be ruled by it, and Imogen is trying to escape from her destiny.

Heir of Void inherits Predathos, secrets, darkness, and irrelevance, with it's inverse being the Mage of Light, suffering from knowledge, attention, and the plot. This is the set of classpects where I think Imogen is actually inverting fully, and again, I'm a little torn as to which way it goes - what is her true self.

I think I lean towards Mage of Light being her true self, and Heir of Void being her inversion, in a lot of ways because I don't think following her Mother's path/Predathos is healthy. She struggles with attention and knowledge from her powers, but she comes through it with an incredible understanding, and I think her ultimate goal isn't to slink back into quiet and the background, but to shine.

But, on the other hand, Light isn't always a good thing, Void is comforting, and there's an argument about 'main character syndrome' to be made with a lot of Heroes of Light that mirrors some stuff that's talked about with her, but I don't think that's a super valid argument, currently at least.

(also, Light is the Lesbian aspect, like, canonically, so, y'know).

Orym: Knight of Doom / Page of Rage

I genuinely think Orym may be the hardest of all Bells Hells to classpect, and I say this following Imogen, who I gave four different titles. The main thing is...I don't know what Orym's story is.

He's a bodyguard, he's dealing with trauma and grief over the death of his husband; he's investigating what's behind hit; he's the 'stable' one of the party; he's associated with plants, the Wildmother, air/wind, and the moons.

None of these super line up with Homestuck aspects. Like, there's the superficial Space/Life to plants and Wind/Breath, but those don't really feel key. Breath as an Ashari trait is interesting, and Blood is very important to Orym, but I don't think it's a place where he needs to grow/change/accept.

Doom/Life has some merit to it as a pair, specifically focused on Doom. Orym's got a lot about duty and obligation as a guard, and he's got the literal Doom going on in the tragedy of the attack.

On the other hand, I'm really interested in Hope/Rage for Orym. There's a lot of the bright and hopefulness to Orym, the idealist dreamer, who's shocked in to the harsh, skeptic pessimism of reality.

Class is easier for me; ultimately, I think Orym's strongly the warrior archetype. There's arguments going for both Knight and Page.

Hero of Doom Orym leans Knight. He's got no lack of duty and responsibility, after all, as a very disciplined trained fighter. I'm not really sure what his mask is, though, because if there is one, we haven't seen enough of the cracks.

Knights of Doom are resourceful, dependable, and responsible. They're also martyrs, but in I feel a lot more practical sense. Orym is ultimately a bodyguard, he want to be the one taking the hits before others; the Knight's just accepting the way things play out. Compare here to my placing Vax as Rogue of Doom, who's very Martyr. This parallel is interesting because Orym was, after all, originally a C1 back up character.

Hero of Rage Orym is a Page. I don't think Orym's a very Rage person to start; he's not very angry, and is more than a bit of a dreamer. He's also very cut off from the real world in Zephrah - Hope and Breath are next to each other on the Aspect wheel for a reason, they're both 'above it' to the more grounded nature of Blood and Rage. Pages are forced in to their aspect, and boy does that describe Orym.

Pages are all about growth, but they go on to become the most powerful form of their aspect. Orym goes on a quest to learn the truth, and replaces that facade of wisdom with true insight. The ultimate form of a Page of Rage is the revolutionary leader, and, like, I could definitely see that as a version of where Orym ends up. Again, this is one where I think we need more story to decide where it lands.

Ashton:

Okay, so Ashton’s themes are his weird space/time brain injury powers, death/falling/abandonment, destruction/rage/anger/barbarian shit, change/physical transformation, and crime.

Obviously the space/time bullshit has some Space/Time energy; dunamancy in general has Light/Void going on (Luxon being both Light in the literal way, in the knowledge way, and in the plot way) but while that’s definitely impacting Ashton’s powers, I don’t think it’s necessarily key to who they are as a person and their aspect.

There's an interesting take on Ashton and Rage(/Hope). Okay, yeah, the barbarian thing, but Rage is the aspect of rebellion. Ashton's cynical, practical, rebellious, and angry, all tie to his Punk Rock nature. Rage and Hope also have a lot of connection to cults, which Ashton was raised in.

But, ultimately, I think the best fit is with Doom, the other punk rock aspect.

But wait, you say, isn't Doom about rules! Yeah, but it's not necessarily about order; arguably, that's Life is role as bright cheery pop-facism and the status quo. Doom is too destructive for that; it's rules in the sense of fate. It's anger, and destruction, and fire/explosions. Cyncical, fatalist, but also full of passion and energy. It's not trying to fix things, but nor is it sitting idly by. It's here. It's helping. Doom also has some connections to abandonment/loss, which, yeah.

Class, I'm also split between two options. There's an interesting read for Mage, even if Ashton doesn't seem like much of a prophet; the class is all about learning through experience, "suffering" your aspect, and he's got his share of miracles.

But, ultimately, Ashton's more a warrior, very much a Knight. He weaponizes his trauma to defend others pretty literally.

Unlike Orym, Ashton as a Knight of Doom isn't about duty, it's about fatalism. He's there to help you through shit, commiserating that life fucking sucks - he'll act, but on the suggestion of others. He's more heavy on the destructive element, reveling in the chaos.

Knights are strong in their aspect, but they lack confidence, and put up a mask to cover this. It's hard to properly define the borders of Ashton's mask right now, but I think you can see it's definitely there. He's covering up a decent amount of trauma as to how much he's been hurt by Doom, specifically, the whole abandonment thing.

(Knight of Rage, I think, is a little about the worry of being a poser, which doesn't really track on Ashton, but is funny given the whole 'oh I think Ashton's secretly some rich kid poser teenager' theories from early on that I'm so glad we're past)

I describe Orym as resourceful, dependable, and responsible. It's not that Ashton isn't those things, but rather, the way I'd frame them is scrappy. Used to relying on themself, good at making their way in the world on their own, same skills in a different context. Knights of Dooms as martyrs also tracks on to Ashton; they're not looking to be martyred, but I think it's clear they'd rather it be them than someone else, last one out the door.

Ashton plays less with inversion than some of the other aspects, but Thief of Life is an interesting one, mostly because Life is luxury/fortune. Ashton is a thief and a crook, and they have a complicated relationship with wealth. There's something in here about who Ashton is working with Jiana Hexum that I don't fully know how to disentangle.

(Mage of Rage Ashton inverts to Heir of Hope, which maybe ties interestingly to the stuff with his parents / being Aasimar? Another case complicated by not knowing enough. There’s a Mage of Void/Heir of Light pair that’s also interesting.)

Dorian:

My gut instinct for Dorian was to go for Heart, which tracks both for a Bard and because he’s got a lot of question around sense of self (which is what Heart is about more so than relationships). But, like, I don’t think Dorians problem is figuring out who he is, it’s dealing with his family/obligations/etc…very much about Blood.

Archetypally, Dorian is a noble - Bard or Prince. The Destroy class may seem a bit of a weird fit, but he is a swords bard, and is definitely more the offensive in combat. However, I do think he's a bit more passive, so, well, Bard. These usually don't line up!

Bards invite the destruction of their aspect, and Bronte's departure broke up his entire family! Dorian more pointedly uses bonds to destroy others - he's a charm person kind of guy, after all.

Both of the Noble classes ghost their inverse aspect - in this case, Breath (specifically, Maid of Breath, which, air genasi joke). Freedom is a major part of Dorian's story, and it's the thing he aspires to. One of the challenges of Bards is to balance their aspect with their inverse, because going too far to that inverse can lead to a breaking point; Dorian wants to be free of his connections to his family, but he doesn't want to be free of connection - he likes his friends, and he leaves the campaign to help his brother.

#bells hells #meta #cr meta #classpect #god tier #homestuck

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combatbootsanddreams · 2 years

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Look I want the Bell’s Hells to meet the Mighty Nein for a variety of reasons but partially so we can have interactions that go something like these.

Beau (about Ashton): Look Yasha this one is trying to protect their friends while attempting to hide how much they mean to him like I did and has rage powers and 2 color eyes like you.

Jester (to Fearne) as they plan pranks: Would you like to hear about the Traveler?

Fearne: Either embraces the chaos or actually does know him

Everyone else backs away slowly as the terror of them meeting sets in.

Caduceus gives Orym some tea and wise words about grief and between cups of tea and Yasha’s flowers he starts to feel a little better.

Chetney and Veth would either hate each other or adore each other and I can’t tell which one would be better.

Fjord and Laudna: Terrible warlock patron alliance

Caleb helps Imogen learn more about her powers

But also the m9 (at Ashton) : I’m sorry your rages do what?!!?!?! What exactly did you get poured into your brain!?!?!

#critical role #the mighty nein #the bell's hells

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lynmars79 · 2 years

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Don’t get me wrong, I love a good romantic ship and idly speculate on potential canon pairings often. I’m just not sure, from what we see in CR Campaign 3, and from a few things said during 4SD, that Imogen and Laudna necessarily are a canon romantic ship.

They definitely love one another—to a somewhat unhealthy degree. There’s a level of co-dependence, or putting on pedestals and/or in protective glass cases going on. In desperation to keep the first friend they’ve each known, they’ve managed to hide a lot from one another, unwittingly.

It doesn’t necessarily read to me as a romantic love, though it could be. But given circumstances, their stories, some of Marisha’s comments on 4SD especially, it feels more like a parent-child situation, where the parental figure is living vicariously through the younger person, while the younger person is trying to protect their seemingly fragile parent from harsh truths.

Laudna was a young woman with a lot of potential and promise, a whole life ahead of her. It was ripped away from her in a horrific moment and she spent the next 30 years in a sort of arrested development, lamenting her lost (literally) life, the voice of her murderer still in her head and no matter how far she ran from Whitestone, the voice was still there. How much control, how much influence, did Delilah have during those long, lonely years?

Then Laudna meets a young woman, hesitant to start her life full of so much potential and promise. A girl whose chances haven’t been torn from her yet. Who helped break through the haze she’d been existing in for decades. Who had lost her own mother as a child, didn’t remember her, and was perhaps wanting/needing/seeking a maternal connection.

Laudna’s cheerleading of Imogen honestly reminds me of the pushy mothers who are convinced their darling is the best athlete/musician/artist/actor/writer/etc in the school district and will totally be famous for their skills one day. They can do no wrong and how dare you for even suggesting anything else.

Meanwhile Imogen is very dependent on Laudna; she helps calm and center the storm of emotions and thoughts Imogen is constantly subject to. Yet she treats Laudna very delicately, speaking to her in an almost humoring way, explaining things carefully, avoiding the worst details of her own powers and her feelings on them while Laudna raves, and otherwise protecting this woman who is actually old enough to be her mother.

I dunno. Late night musing I stuck in a draft for a bit and am unsure of. If they turn out to be a romance, that’s fine, but I usually love to quietly, idly ship one or two likely-canon pairings--and I am not really shipping them, instead looking vaguely at other possibly potential pairings in the BH, cuz Imogen and Laudna feel like their relationship is something else to me.

#critical role #campaign 3 #bells hells #4 sided dive #laudna #imogen temult #musing #speculation #opinion

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ariel-seagull-wings · 3 years

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TOP 12 WICKED QUEEN PORTRAYALS

@sunlit-music @mademoiselle-princesse @princesssarisa @superkingofpriderock @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark @amalthea9 @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @astrangechoiceoffavourites @giuliettaluce

Alongside the Big Bad Wolf, Cinderella’s Stepmother, The Giant from Jack and The Beanstalk, The Witch from Hansel and Gretel and Bluebeard, The Wicked Queen from Snow White is one of the most iconic fairy tale villains of all time. A lot of people come to consider her the real protagonist of the fairy tale, since is her desire to be considered the Fairest of All and her actions to keep that title what puts the narrative in motion. And today, i will rank my favorite portrayals of this fascinatingly nasty foe.

12º Miranda Richardson as Queen Elspeth in Snow White: The Fairest of Them All (2001)

Talk about being typecast: before that turn as Snow White’s Evil Queen, Richardson had portrayed an Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in Jim Henson’s The Storyteller (’The Three Ravens’ episode) and she was a wicked Sorceress Stepmother in Tim Burton’s Sleep Hollow. So it was neat for her to be called for the role of the most famous Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in this Hallmark TV Movie. Elspeth is the sister of a strange, mysteryous creature known as the Granter of Wishes. Having been recently released from his freezing prison, the Granter of Wishes makes a spell to make her look beautifull for human standards, and marries her to the newly crowned and widowed King John. At first she looks content with the prospect, but as time passes, she grows more and more unsatisfied. Her source of joy is the Magic Mirror that praises her beauty, and casting spells to turn gnomes into garden statues. But when the Magic Mirror says that Snow White’s beauty surpasses hers, the unsatisfaction gets mixed with paranoia, and Elspeth slowly abuses her power in constantly harming other people, until there is no magic enough...

11º Herta Kravina in Schneewitchen (1971)

This german TV Movie is the most faithfull adaptation of the Grimm’s tale original edition, not only keeping the three murder attempts by ribbon/lace/corset, hair comb and apple, but also being the only one to show the Queen dancing to death with hot iron shoes in Snow White’s wedding. This is enough to make it worth a checkout. The other reason i find this version interesting is how the Queen comunicates with the Magic Mirror: they sing to each other. And Kravina has a really good voice (no wonder she was a voice actress for Peggy Lee in the first german/dutch dub of Disney’s Lady and The Tramp). Sometimes that is enough to get a spot in a ranking.

10º Mari Yokoo/Caterina Rochiara/Regina Reagan/Carol Jacobanis as Queen Crystal in The Legend of Snow White (1994)

From the outside, Queen Chrystal appears to be calm, regal, and sophisticated, but in reality, this collected and stately facade hides an extremely sadistic, hateful, cold and sinister person. She is ruthless, jealous and obsessive and wants nothing more than to be the fairest in the land. She also has an extreme vanity that made her utterly intolerant of rivals. Being solely focused on the idea of becoming the fairest of all, Queen Chrystal does not appear to be significantly involved in governing her husband's kingdom, though the skeletal remains of prisoners in her dungeon point to her being a villainous ruler. In the end, her mad vanity and jealousy of her stepdaughter Snow White drove her to murderous insanity. Later is revealed that Queen Chrystal is not unredeamably evil as everyone thins, but an actually kind and gentle person who is possessed by an Evil Spirit.

09º Diana Rigg as the Queen in Canon Movie Tales: Snow White (1987)

This lady is the personification of paranoia multiplied by the double. Why? Because the Magic Mirror didn’t needed to say that the little child Snow White was the fairest, this queen just feared so much that the princess’s beauty would outgrow hers that she ordered the huntsman to kill her. Basically: run, she is bad news.

08º Jeri Arredondo as Sly Fox in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

Sly Fox... What a cunning diva. People try to counsel to not use alone a Magic Mirror that is a portal to the spirit world, but who says she listens? She is just there to hear the singing of her praises, and will try to eliminate anyone who gets on her way. She even goes so far as taking the appearance of the kind hearted nurse Sage Flower to lure her stepdaughter White Snow to eat the poisoned appled. What is not to love about that bastard?

07º Kazue Komiya/Arlene Banas as the Queen in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Interestingly this encarnation starts naturally cold, calm and collected, ocasionally at the princess Snow White to see if she can ever grow more beautifull than her, and dismissing the girl with contempt. It is years later that she lets go of acting calm and collected, because after hearing some gossips in the palace, she asks Snow White if she thinks of herself as more beautifull than the Queen, and her stepdaughter reacts by exclaiming that the Queen is vain and cruel, and to her eyes that makes her ugly. So besides the desire of being considered the most beautifull, you get the feeling that this Queen pursues Snow White as a way to shut a person that dares to rebell against her, wich ads new interesting dimentions to their antagonism.

06º Dorothy Cumming as Queen Brangomar in Snow White (1916)

Brangomar was once a lady in waiting of the palace. But one day, she met the powerfull Witch Rex, who offered to give Brangomar anything she wanted. And what Brangomar wanted was to become a beautifull Queen. Wich was achieved by a faustian deal where Witch Rex would cast a spell that killed Imogene, the previous Queen, while in return Brangomar would have to find a way of getting Snow White’s heart for the Witch. Years have passed, and now Brangomar must kill the princess to pay her debt, or else everything she got will be lost. Hey, here is a way of making a villain tragic, almost simpathetic and complex while keeping clear that she is still a villain!

05º Vanessa Redgrave as the Queen in Faerie Tale Theatre (1984)

The most loud and bombastic portrayal of the Wicked Queen ever put on screen. Bringing to television her sperience from stage, that allows some more over the top emotional reactions, Redgrave had the time of her life in that role, indulging in twirling, preening and screening as much as she could, and his Queen is all the most fun for it.

04º Gudrun Landgrebe as the Queen in Schneewittchen (1992)

What i live about Landgrebe’s Queen is her range: at first she acts all humble, discreet, cold and mysteryous. Then her husband leaves to fight in a Crusade, and she trows the white veil and gray clothing of humility to show a diva red hair and orange dress, as to say “Hey, the King leaved, i have all the power here now and you must do as i say”. Later, a knight comes, offering a magical crystal ball that connected to a mirror says all the truth, and the Queen takes posession of it to ask about her beauty. When Mirror says that the most beautifull woman in the kingdom is Snow White, she gets infuriated, than goes to carefully plan ways to eliminate the princess once and for all. The highlight is when she takes the disguise of a russian male doctor to offer the apple (where she injects poison into with her ring) to Snow White.

03º Maria Antonieta de Las Nieves in El Chapulin Colorado: Blancanieves y los Siete Churín Churín Fun Flais (1978)

This three part episode of the mexican comedy superheroe show is a loving parody of the Disney version, that stands out as an enjoyable retelling of the classic fairy tale in its own right. Interestingly, while most of the comedy in the episode is delivered in the form of over the top slapistick, de Las Nieves’s delivers a straight faced, contained performance. Wich makes her answers to the absurd situations in the story all the more funny.

02º Patricia Medina as the Queen in Snow White And The Three Stooges (1961)

This lady was a hell of a foe: she not only antagonizes Snow White for the title of the Most Beautifull, going so far as to lock the princess in a dungeon for no crime at all, but also, alongside her partner in crime Count Oga, ordered a murder attempt aggainst Prince Charming when he was a child, to prevent him from marrying Snow White, and this way she could become ruller of the kingdoms of Fortunia and Bravuria. Troughout the film, you think that she could win, since she has powerfull magic, spy and a mighty army at her comand, wich makes the viewer get all the more excited on the seat, that is how enjoyable Medina’s Queen is.

And my Number One Portrayal of the Wicked Queen is...

01º Lucille La Verne as the Queen in Disney’s Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs (1937)

The first encarnation of the character that i ever saw in my childhood, and the one that still sends chills/shivers to my spine. As a young Queen, she rarely smiles, acting cold and calculating, intidimidating who is subordinate to her with the expression of her eyes and highbrows. And as a Crone, she lowdly indulges in her cruelty, offering the poisoned apple to her pet raven to scare him, and mocking the dead skeleton of a prisoner inside the castle’s dungeons. That balance between cold calculism and loud cruelty, where both are equally unsetling and scary, is something very hard to achieve, but i think this encarnation did a very good job in achieving that balance, that every other portrayal that camed tried to draw influence from it ever since. And that’s why Disney’s Wicked Queen is my Number One portrayal.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Addi Adamets in Schneewittchen (1955), Marianne Christina Schiling in Schneewittchen (1961) and Sonja Kirchberger in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2009)

#snow white #snow white and the seven dwarfs #fairy tales #disney #brothers grimm #rankings #moodboards #grimm's fairy tale classics #anime #the legend of snow white #fantasy #mithology #folklore #pop culture

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enchanted-prose · 4 years

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#13 Feall’s Deadly Dance

I just-

this is chOnky im sorry

Word count: 6, 991

Characters: Imogen, Jaron, Mott, Harlowe, Tobias, Commander Regar (Original character), Feall Cormeach (original character), the Faola (original character)

Notes: my beautiful editing beta fish said this one was a blast so you have that to look forward to as you read 25 pages worth of ascendance content.

Enjoy!

"I brought you something, Jaron."

Oh, did she now?

His interest was captured. Jaron sat up from where he was lying on the floor. "Imogen, I'm-"

"It's alright, we all have bad days," Imogen said, she handed him a mug, and sat down beside him.

Did he have a good enough excuse for what he did? Probably not. Too much energy pulsed through Jaron's body. It was time to escape. Time to get out.

Taking it out on Roden was all too easy.

It was easier to throw a punch than discuss tender topics.

He was coming to terms with his anxiety by ignoring it. His palms were always sweaty, and his stomach was constantly being squeezed. Something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron scratched the back of his head.

Imogen's hand was on his shoulder, she was there to listen.

"I'll be meeting with Lord Row this afternoon," Jaron muttered. "I have a plan for whatever he asks. A way to help Avenia in any way we can."

"Good, a plan is always good," said Imogen, a tiny smile fluttering across her face.

Jaron lived for those tiny butterfly smiles.

"There's too much waiting in the future. I don't like that I've once again had to bargain with a criminal and I don't like all of this pressure to find Mireldis Thay. I know how it feels to be the lost

royal, and even if she's alive, I'd rather respect her choice to remain hidden. Her name is being

used as a scapegoat, and it's not fair."

Silence settled in. Jaron sipped from his mug; Imogen had brought him some sour tasting tea. The warmth spread through his throat, threatening to overtake the chilling anxiety that hadn’t quite left since he’d returned to court so long ago.

Even if he couldn’t save everyone, he could do what he could to help.

“Do you think I should apologize to Roden for what I did last night?” Jaron mumbled.

A dark curl fell across Imogen’s nose as she shook her head. “I think you might make him mad. Give him a little space, and then apologize.”

An apology was due this time. Jaron had been the one to start their fight.

Uncomfortable emotions tugged at his false sense of normalcy.

He chose to run from what he felt. “Did you know that Jolly has quite the network of people?”

“I did, actually. Amarinda was a little upset when she found out he’d be staying in Drylliad,” Imogen squeezed Jaron’s shoulder. “She fears that many of the people we’ve met aren’t who they say they are.”

“Nobody is who they say they are. We tell people what we want them to think and only show our true faces when we’re alone.”

“That’s not quite true.”

“Oh yes it is, Imogen.”

Anger was rising up in his lungs. Drink the tea, drink the tea. Jaron tipped his head back and didn’t stop drinking the scalding liquid even as it seared down his throat.

It was still hard to accept that no matter how hard he tried to hide, Imogen was there. She was always there with a kind word, and always there with a biting word if he did something dangerous.

But she was welcome.

Everyone’s filled with holes.

When he was removed from his family a decade ago, a Mother sized hole tore through his heart, followed by a Father shaped hole, and a Darius shaped hole.

No, no. It wasn’t a hole, it was a hollow. Hollows could be filled, but not every hole could.

Jaron had a family hollow in his heart for too long.

He was still getting used to having that hollow filled. Still getting used to how Imogen had stepped into his hollow, hollow heart and filled him with warmth.

Sometimes that warmth burst, and he always gave into it.

Emotion was a curse that plagued his family. Too much sympathy, too much energy, too much of everything.

It wasn’t very often that he lost control. In fact, Jaron prided himself on his ability to hold his head high in the face of condescending nobles. They tried their best to use his unorthodox tendencies against him, and he responded with a ferocity that his father, King Eckbert, had lacked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said,” Jaron dragged his hand over his face. “I haven’t been feeling as prepared as I’d like to be.”

Imogen was silent for several moments, then leaned over, and smoothed down Jaron’s hair. “Is there anything I can do to help? As your friend, and your wife, I want to support you however I can.”

There were so many things he needed, but the second somebody asked, he didn’t want to speak of them.

With Imogen, it was different.

She’d seen him at his very best and very worst, there was nothing he could willingly hide from her.

“I, ah, I’m having trouble picking my battles.”

“Which battles? We’ll go through them together.”

Go through battle together. With Imogen at his side, Jaron could do anything. He set down the mug, and reached for her hand. “I’ve been considering my deal with Ayvar, about catching the patched Faola who nearly butchered Feall. There’s too many things I can’t figure out, too many details are missing, and I can’t make a gamble without them.”

“Are there connections you’ve made?” Imogen asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. “There’s more to this than just an attack on a military leader. It reeks of something worse. I think the attack on Feall was very much on purpose; I think it was an assassination attempt.”

“But the motive? What was the motive? Feall has charmed everyone at court, he’s very well liked. It’s very difficult to get a large group of people in on an assassination attempt, and Ayvar’s resistance only proves that.”

“Are we ruling out money as a motive?”

Jaron drummed his fingers against the back of Imogen’s hand. “I think so. Too expensive for a group that large to attack one man. I’m also ruling out robbery, as Tobias, Renlyn, and Mott weren’t harmed on purpose. Any injuries that came were because they fought back.”

The most obvious remaining motive held the lowest moral ground.

Perhaps Feall had been attacked because somebody wanted his head on a pike, because somebody hated him with a fire that could only be put out with Feall’s death.

An attacker thinking like this would find a way to take their revenge, or die trying.

“I’m sorry, I have to stand, it’s hard to-” Jaron began, but Imogen had already sprung to her feet.

She’d extended her hand. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll walk to the atrium.”

His heart was going to burst.

Imogen didn’t need to hear his excuse. She just knew. She’d grown to accept that his mind worked best while he moved.

There were times when he questioned why he prayed to the Saints, as it was very clear that he was married to one of them.

Arm in arm, Jaron and Imogen left the office, their pace gradually quickening. Fast walking made for fast thinking.

Who on earth would want Feall dead enough to follow him to Carthya?

Memories, memories. Jaron wrinkled his nose as he thought back to when Feall first arrived so many weeks ago.

The Faola had attacked him then too, called Feall by name, who responded in turn. Jaron hadn’t noticed it then. Hadn’t notice how casual the exchange was despite lives being on the line.

Feall knew who his attacker was.

"What are they calling you here? Shrike? The Black Knight?"

"Fight me like a man, Feall. There's a score to be settled."

"Many people want to settle scores with me, you'll have to tell me your name first.”

"Rot in Hell."

“You know that I’m not the one who’ll be rotting with the Devils.”

“Feall insists that the attacker was Mireldis Thay, but I didn’t think it was true. People take powerful names all the time,” Jaron mused, shifting his hand to the small of Imogen’s back. “I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I was wrong.”

The movement was subtle, but Jaron had a trained eye. He saw the tiny flicker of Imogen’s hand as it brushed her left collarbone.

Though her wound had healed long ago, Imogen’s shoulder could never quite forget the pain of an arrow wound. Her ghost pains made the occasional appearance. Jaron trained himself to catch the signs of their return.

He guided her away from the busy hallway, and kissed her fingertips, “Are you alright?”

The smile on Imogen’s face was sharp and bitter, nothing like the shy butterfly smiles she’d been flashing not long ago.

She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over her collarbone. Her hand fell to her side. “I can think of quite a few reasons why- if Feall’s claims are right -Thay would want him dead by her own hand.”

Was it wrong that Jaron nodded his head?

Was it wrong that he knew what that lust for revenge tasted like?

Revenge was easy to justify, it was easy to die for, and it was easy to spiral down the wrong path because of it.

Jaron touched Imogen’s face.

“I don’t want to be coddled, Jaron, I want to continue this conversation,” Imogen rolled her shoulders back. “If Feall is right, then we have to consider where Mireldis is coming from.”

“Mireldis might not be alive, too,” Jaron noted, taking great care to keep his pace slow and even.

“Then we find somebody who’s seen her. Who knows her.”

“I, ah, I can think of somebody who might have our answers.”

“Are we thinking of the same person?” Imogen arched her eyebrows.

He made a face, desperate to distract Imogen from feeling her ghost pains again.“Possibly, but just in case, you say your answer first so I can agree with you.”

“Jolly may have what we’re looking for. He seems to know everyone who ever lived.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Jaron grinned. He looped an arm around Imogen’s waist. “Perhaps we could pay him a visit. With a list of ballads, of course, I have no intention of listening to Ingrithay ever again.”

“Catchy ballad?” asked Imogen, her hand settling atop Jaron’s.

“Catchy and creepy.”

There was blood in the kitchen,

There was-

No! Not again!

There was a time from long, long ago when Jaron’s father would let him play in the corner of his study. . . If Jaron agreed to be quiet. Eckbert had a fondness for yellow citrus in his tea, and Jaron had a fondness for biting into whatever food he could. There would be no forgetting the way that slice of lemon tore through Jaron’s child mouth.

The expression he wore was the equivalent to the face he’d made after realizing how big of a mistake it was to bite into a lemon.

“Careful dear, your face will freeze that way,” Imogen said, patting Jaron’s cheek.

“But would you still love me if my face looked that way? That’s my real concern,” countered Jaron.

“I’d still love you no matter what way your face freezes.”

“Imogen, you’re implying that my face is going to freeze.”

“I’ve seen the expressions you make while explaining what the nobles request.”

Jaron chuckled, he couldn’t deny that. He’d considered becoming a model for gargoyle expressions. They could learn from the deep grimaces he made when reading over suggested policies.

“Would you still love me if I were a miniscule beetle?” He stepped ahead of Imogen, and held open the door to the massive atrium.

She nodded, “I would, in fact. I’d take care of you and make you a little beetle house and give you little crumbs of cake.”

“Promise me you won’t give me lentils. They’re disgusting and bad for beetles.”

“I didn’t realize beetles had specific diets.”

“They don’t, I just don’t want you to feed beetle me any lentils.”

Imogen set her hand over her heart, “I swear I won’t feed you any lentils in the event that you are magically turned into a bug.”

“A beetle Imogen. There’s a difference.”

---------------------------------------------------

Gold sunset light saturated the entire castle. It almost lifted Jaron’s spirits as he looked over each of his regents.

They all stood as he walked into the throne room, flanked by Mott and Harlowe. He held out his hand, prompting them to sit, and sat down in his cushioned chair. Gold sunset light saturated the throne room. One man remained standing. He flashed a small grin at Jaron.

Lord Thomas Row was wearing a splendid hook, but aside from that, wore almost the same clothing that he’d worn the day before. His braided black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and adorned with a series of elegant beads.

He stood out among the richly dressed regents.

“Your Majesty, I once again must thank you on behalf of Avenia for assisting us during this time,” Row said, bowing deeply.

Jaron dipped his head, “It’s what anyone would do for an ally; for a friend. I’m prepared to hear what you’ve come to say, and I’m prepared to give Avenia aid in any way possible.”

With some exceptions, of course. Jaron refused to turn to dishonesty for as long as he could, he’d seen what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

He’d been a victim of what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

“We pray that all is well in Avenia,” Harlowe said. “Please, tell us of Avenia.”

The regents leaned forward in their chairs; Row rolled his shoulders back. “Your Majesty, regents, Sir Mott, I bring news of mixed success. I am proud to say that the southern region is doing well, we’ve allowed everyone an opportunity to learn to read, and in turn, our now literate farmers have been able to bring us economic success with their imports and exports.

“We’ve seen this pattern throughout the entire country, although this progress hasn’t spread easily through the northern regions. This is where we come for Carthyan aid, King Jaron. There are rumors of revolution in Isel. We haven’t found the cause of these rumors, though we suggest they were put into Iseli heads by an outside source, likely Gelynian or another outside source.

“King Aranscot has long envied Isel and its value. King Kippenger’s reign is still much like an unsteady colt stumbling through its first day, it wouldn’t take much for King Aranscot to topple the entire regime, and plunge Avenia into darkness once again.”

“Are you requesting military assistance, Lord Row?” Jaron asked, his hands clasped in his lap.

Row shook his head, “Not to that extent, your Highness. King Kippenger would feel much better knowing there is at least a small Carthyan presence in Isel.”

Ah, yes, Carthyan influence.

If Jaron played his cards right, he’d be able to fulfill Kippenger’s request without causing any offense. He wouldn’t be able to send Roden, his reputation preceded him, and Roden’s presence would likely invoke more fear than peace.

But if he placed a noble there, one with enough popularity, that could bring Kippenger a new sense of ease.

Renlyn Karise’s name bounced around in his head.

She’d be a valuable asset to Isel, she had property there, and enough power to hire her own army if needed.

However, Renlyn was a good friend to Imogen, and Jaron didn’t have the heart to sever that relationship.

Jaron felt a frown tug at his lips. He scanned the regents, trying to find Tobias for support. “Could you see this unease growing into a call to arms against King Kippenger?”

Tobias gave the slightest nod of his head.

“Perhaps, although we’d rather be safe than sorry, Avenia’s armies would be able to handle the insurgents should any fighting arise,” explained Row. “We hope that Carthya’s presence would be enough to stifle any more talk of revolution.”

“Hope might not be enough, but I am willing to take that risk in order to keep the peace.”

“Your Majesty, please understand that Avenia wants no more war, we fear bloodshed, and we fear the implications it would bring to every realm near the Eranbole sea.”

“I see your concern, Lord Row, and I will do my best to ease this fear,” Jaron held his hand over his heart. “I sense there’s more you have to say?”

Row shifted on his feet. “We’ve heard rumors that Mireldis Thay is in your custody, and though King Kippenger finds chasing rumors the work of a child, he does like to be informed. Is this true?”

Now it was the regents’ turn to all shift in their seats. Harlowe looked to Jaron for permission to speak, “I’m afraid we have only rumors about Lady Thay. There is nothing to fear, the young woman in Carthya’s protection is a bandit named Ayvar.”

“Ah, what a pity, I suppose,” Row sighed, and he held his hook in his hand.

Mott frowned, “Your reaction is vastly different from what’s common.”

“I’ve never been one to accept information without picking it apart.”

“If only more people were like you then, Lord Row,” Jaron said. “However, we are here for Avenia’s sake, not Mireldis Thay’s.”

“You are correct, your Majesty.” Once again, Lord Row bowed. “I shall leave you to discuss my nation’s matters with your regents, but I must ask that you do so with speed. I will not see my people suffer and a nation overthrown because of bureaucratic loopholes.”

Jaron didn’t bother hiding his smirk. It was no secret that Carthyan kings rarely got along with their regents. “My word is final, and my regents understand that.”

“I trust your judgement, King Jaron. If you would wish to speak with me, you know how and where to find me.”

“We will send for you the minute the King’s council has come to an agreement,” Harlowe promised. “Thank you for your time, Lord Row, and take care.”

“Your concern is reassuring, Lord Harlowe. I eagerly await the King’s response.”

The throne room remained silent as every pair of eyes watched Row walk away from them. He might not have been born into his title, but he carried himself with pride.

He carried himself with dignity.

“Your Majesty, I know we have an agreement with Avenia, but-,” began the infamous Mistress Orlaine, who would’ve lost her position as regent ages ago if Jaron didn’t care for his public image. She had the means to turn people against him, and Jaron couldn’t have that.

“But nothing, they are our ally, and if they need help, we will help them,” Jaron cut in. “If my father had been more willing to take action, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. We will stand united in kindness and honesty, not through going back on our word.”

“We can’t send military aid, not without angering King Aranscot, he would think that we are preparing to rise against him,” Harlowe mused. He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, obviously thinking of a solution.

Jaron drummed his fingers on his knee, “I will think of something, but whatever we do, we must do what we can to help King Kippenger.”

“Why be kind to them? They’re a nation of thieves,” spat another regent, Master Termouthe. “We must honor tradition, your Majesty. Without tradition, we are nothing.”

“And I acknowledge that, Lord Termouthe, I do, but traditions and times change. A nation of thieves cannot change on its own, King Kippenger deserves our support, and it would be selfish of us not to share what we have.”

The regents were becoming fussy. Another elderly mistress grunted. “We could be sharing what we have with our people. Your disregard for royal luxury is fuel for gossip.”

“And yet, I find that facing gossip is much better than leaving men and women to starve in the streets,” Tobias butted in. “This is a matter of Avenian policy, not an opportunity to scrutinize personal choices.”

“Bold words coming from-,” Termouthe’s sentence never finished.

People rarely finished insulting statements when Mott fixed a glare on them.

“Then it’s settled,” Jaron stood up from his chair. “We are sending somebody to Isel to keep the peace. I will call another meeting when I have made my choice.”

Termouthe, Orlaine, and the other dissenters kept their eyes glued to the ground.

“Lord Harlowe, Lord Branch, Sir Mott,” said Jaron, clasping his hands behind his back. “I would very much like to discuss our options in private.”

“You are dismissed,” Harlowe gestured from the regents to the wide, open doors.

Each regent stood, bowed, and walked out a little too slowly for Jaron’s taste. They were trying to stay and hear what he had to say.

But they would hear nothing that would advance their agendas.

“Mott, do you know anything about Commander Regar? Did you talk to him at all?” Jaron asked, pacing from his throne to Tobias’s chair, to Harlowe, and back to his throne. “Is he still here?”

Mott set his ankle on his knee, leaning back into his charge in the process. “I spoke with him as best I could, but I know him, Jaron. He’s clean.”

No matter how much time Jaron spent with Mott, there were still so many things he didn’t know about him.

“Don’t you find it odd that Lord Row asked about Mireldis Thay?” Tobias pointed out. He was sitting almost as straight as the back of his chair. “I doubt Row has ever met her.”

Commander Regar.

Regar, Regar, Regar.

Saints be cursed, something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron was smart, why was he still struggling with this puzzle?

“I’ll have to add that to my list of questions,” Jaron grunted.

Tobias shifted, “List of questions?”

“Imogen and I have an idea that a mutual friend of ours may know more than we’d expect. We’re going to pay him a visit.”

“He plays a lute and wears colors that murder the eyes, doesn’t he?”

Jaron nodded, “You’re correct, and I will come back with answers, or I won’t come back at all.”

A bold promise, but Jaron knew what he was capable of. His mind was beginning to get ahead of him, he was dreaming of all the possibilities awaiting him.

Perhaps he was wrong about everything, and there was no need to have an entire gang of morally grey thieves be thrown into the dungeon.

Or maybe he and Imogen were right. Maybe Mireldis Thay had come to Carthya with every intention to slaughter Feall, or die trying.

A crime punishable by death.

“Jaron, I do hate to backtrack,” Harlowe inhaled. “But I would propose that we station a small company of soldiers in Libeth, just in case the situation in Avenia goes wrong. It would be much easier to mobilize forces from there than from here.”

“That-, that’s not a half bad idea, actually. Ah, Harlowe, you’re far too brilliant to be working with these regents.”

“As are you, my king.”

Jaron waved the comment away, “I’ll speak with Roden about moving soldiers. Aranscot will likely figure our movements out, but he has nothing to do with the unrest in Isel, then he’ll leave us alone. If he does have something to do with the unrest, then we have our answer.”

“Isn’t it nice when things are straightforward?” Hummed Tobias, who’d begun rubbing his temples. “We’ll be able to move onto our next item of business once the troops are placed, there won’t be any secrets about it.”

Any secrets.

Several of Jaron’s policies were ridiculed by many of the regents. They mocked the way he kept things in the open. But it was because of honesty that Carthya was beginning to thrive.

“Is the castle going to be involved in this year’s Blackberry Night?” Tobias was chipping away at every detail he could.

“I’ll think about it,” Jaron shrugged. “We’ve had a festival already, and Blackberry Night gets a little too wild for my taste.”

“The festival was weeks ago, Amarinda and I could coordinate it, and maybe it’ll draw in-“

“I said I’d think about it, Tobias.”

There were grander things to worry about than a party. Things with more benefits than gaining favor with regents who’d hate Jaron til either he died, or they died.

Mott accompanied him as he excused himself from the tiny meeting. They’d formed a pact in the dead of night not long ago to check in on Feall after the recent attack. They’d also both agreed to keeping Tobias indoors for a few days. Both Mott and Jaron clung to their promises for as long as they could, but eventually Amarinda left with Queen Danika’s investigators to search for Mireldis Thay, and nothing on earth could keep Tobias from going with her.

Mystic and Mott’s mare were already saddled and waiting to be ridden.

“Market day is going to happen shortly before the Morning of the Saints,” Mott said as he and Jaron stepped into the castle courtyard.

“Are you trying to start a debate about my church attendance with me?” Jaron countered. He had enough on his mind. Mystic stamped his foot as Jaron swung into the saddle. “You’re just like Imogen.”

“On the contrary, I’m only stating a fact. Market day technically is starting before the Morning of the Saints.”

“Too many holidays, too little time. I’d like to take a nap for a month or two.”

Mott clicked at his mare, leading the way out of the courtyard. “You’re doing a good job, Jaron. There’s a lot to deal with, and you’re doing your best.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He didn’t want to admit how much he valued Mott’s approval.

Jaron uttered a silent prayer of thanks; he’d left his circlet behind, which meant he didn’t need to nod at each person who bowed to him. The streets were almost crammed, but not enough to render travel useless.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about all of these holidays,” Jaron grinned. “Maybe I should set aside a day where I can forget about my duties and remain calm.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing that now,” Mott guided his horse a few steps closer to Jaron. A carriage thundered past.

They were nearing the middle level of Drylliad, it wouldn’t be long until they were at the lower levels. Feall would have to be there somewhere.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right.”

“I typically am, people don’t like listening.”

“That’s because your version of ‘right’ isn’t nearly as fun as mine.”

“Strange, I’d thought my version of ‘right’ was better than yours because it typically means you don’t return to the castle with a black eye.”

Jaron inhaled deeply and leaned as far back as he could, his face turned to the sky. He couldn’t think of a response, as Mott’s argument couldn’t be countered without sounding like a blithering fool. Instead, he groaned.

“That’s what I thought,” Mott chuckled.

Children with bandages on their feet darted across the cobblestones, chasing after a striped lizard. A woman’s fashionable right boot flew through the air, caught by a pair of grubby child’s hands. Girls in tattered red rags waved from shattered windows. Lower Drylliad was often forgotten by nobles.

They didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

Didn’t want to help those born into a pigpen.

Mott sat a little straighter in his saddle. “This seems more like Roden’s route.”

“I think they switched patrol times,” Jaron racked his brain as he struggled to remember the last time Roden had told him about what he was up to. “With Feall patrolling during the day, it keeps him safe from his attacker. And Roden was very keen on being able to spend his afternoons either beating me at sparring or teaching Nila how to properly use a sword.”

“Probably makes it easier to avoid you, too.”

“Very true, which isn’t really that great, as I’ve been meaning to-,” Jaron gagged, “-apologize to him.”

“Consider me impressed, I know how much you hate doing that.”

Feall wasn’t far ahead, his jacket rested on his shoulders, dirt stained his white shirt. He waved. A large man with a full scarlet beard was gently tossing some of the children into the air. Jaron recognized him; Commander Regar was too massive to forget

“Have you come to visit me?” Feall joked. “Commander, show some respect to the king.”

Regar nodded his head to Jaron and Mott, nodded to the children he’d been throwing, and stood by Feall.

A man sized like Regar would have no problems holding his own against three men.

“We did, but unfortunately, I forgot to bring you flowers,” Jaron wiped away an imaginary tear. “Have you had any trouble, Feall?”

He shook his head, “Not exactly, I did have to separate a pair of urchins as they fought over a shoe.”

Regar gave no comment, which annoyed Jaron to no end.

What was it with people and not reacting to anything?

“Was it a woman’s shoe?” asked Mott, gesturing to the howling children several steps away.

“Yes, yes it was. I suppose if they aren’t bashing heads into the ground over it, they can play with it. Did you really come to check in on me, or is there something wrong?”

Jaron frowned, “Have you done something wrong?”

Ha! Regar coughed! That was almost as good as a biting comment!

“Not that I can think of,” a strand of long, dark hair fell across Feall’s forehead.

“Then we came strictly to check in on you, I’d hate to see a friend of mine come to harm. Again.”

Mott scoffed something about friends and harm, but his statement was almost too quiet to hear.

Feall raised his eyebrows, “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Am I your friend, King Jaron?”

“I suppose so. Be careful, though, I do have bold requests of my friends. Mott thinks they’re ‘a danger to everyone’, and that I’m ‘going to chip somebody’s tooth’,” Jaron made sure to look Mott in the eye as he said so. “Consider yourself invited the next time I try to use a shield as a sled.”

“I’ll make sure to be-,” Feall stood straight, his sentence trailing off.

“Your Majesty, you may want to get away from here,” Regar muttered.

There were no more children shrieks.

His hand was resting on his sword hilt seconds after he recognized the unnatural quiet. Jaron squinted at the alley nearest to him, struggling to decide if the shadow he saw was because of a pile of trash or a lurking person.

“Where’s your horse, Feall?” Jaron murmured, his eyes locked on the shadow.

“Tied up in a stable, wasn’t in the mood to have her stolen from me,” Feall slowly unsheathed his sword. “I’m sure there’s a reason for the sudden silence.”

Jaron rolled his shoulders back, “I’ll dismount, Mystic won’t fit both of us.”

His feet hit the solid cobblestones, the sound echoing across the street. The only sound accompanying them through the streets was the constant clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

What a foolish idea, riding out to lower Drylliad.

What an even more foolish idea, letting Feall continue to patrol the streets despite having a target on his back.

A familiar sensation bubbled in his stomach. He’d grown up on tales of witches and their poisonous brews. Perhaps there was a tiny witch hiding inside him, using his insides as ingredients for her malicious magics.

Every so often, Jaron glanced back over his shoulder. There were too many things that could’ve caused the sudden wave of silence. Too many reasons why the street was suddenly lifeless. There were no girls in red waving from their windows, no children throwing discarded boots at each other, and no men with dirty blindfolds begging for money.

It was bad news when children hid.

It was even worse when the beggars vanished.

Mott scanned each alley. Jaron looked over his shoulder. Feall checked both sides of the street.

But nobody looked ahead to see the patched bandit in front of them.

“A pity, you should’ve told me there was a gathering!” Called out the patched Faola. His voice was rougher than before, and his saber looked a little worse for wear. “I’ve been told I’m the life of the party!”

Jaron’s hand shot out, gripping Feall’s upper arm as hard as he could.“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I know it’s you, Mireldis Thay!” Feall stepped forward, breaking out of Jaron’s grasp. “I had my doubts, but your foolish note to Oberson confirmed my suspicions!”

“I wear only my name, and nobody else’s.”

Feall’s face fell.

The Faola bowed, “Your Majesty, Sir Mott, I humbly ask that you step away. This is, well, a matter of personal business. Don’t take offense when I say I don’t know you well enough to clash swords with the pair of you two.”

“I have to humbly ask you to step away,” Jaron countered. “It’s rude that you haven’t told me your name yet, I’m reduced to calling you Patches as your friend Ayvar does. Patches is the name for a household cat, not a sadistic murderer.”

“Sadistic? You’d see things differently if you asked the right questions.”

Mott dismounted as the banter continued, he too had drawn his sword. “What right questions?”

“Questions like-,” the Faola shrugged, his hood drawn low over his face. “Questions like why- ah, they don’t matter. Nothing will distract me from my chosen path.”

“Disappointing, I do love to talk,” Jaron frowned.

“Coincidentally, I do too when the cards are right.”

“Then maybe we should deal out new hands.”

It was unnerving, watching the Faola press a hand to his stomach and cackle. “You can’t get a new hand in this game.”

“Says who?” Jaron dug his foot into the cobblestones, risking a tiny glance at Mott.

The Faola only appeared to be one person, it was all too likely that there were multiple hiding in the alleys. There was a tiny chance that Roden had begun patrol early, and would come galloping to the sounds of a sword fight.

However, that had already worked once, and it was unlikely that the Devils wanted to play the same trick.

“Buy time,” Mott hissed.

Jaron stepped forwards again, “I don’t know your quarrel with Lord Feall, but I won’t let you shed any more blood in my city.”

Was it a coincidence that the Faola took a step back each time Jaron took one forward?

“You’re no king of mine,” barked the bandit.

“Then why are you retreating?”

He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned the Faola’s subtle retreat. The Faola roared, and flung himself forward, his saber moving with blinding speed. Jaron bellowed back and parried one of the Faola’s blows.

Though the saber was a slimmer weapon, the Faola’s tendency to leap out of the way kept Jaron from landing any debilitating blows. He lunged forward, and the Faola scurried backwards. With his sword raised, Jaron gathered his strength, preparing to sweep across the Faola’s middle.

That would put an end to things.

Feall and Mott were rushing to assist him. Regar, however, stood by Mystic and Mott’s horse, watching the fight from afar.

He wasn’t expecting it when the Faola pressed the inner curve of his saber to his leather gauntlet, and charged forward.

Jaron brought his sword crashing down on the Faola’s saber, locking both of their blades together. Mott and Feall were almost near enough to land a-

The world around him turned to pudding. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

The Faola had delivered a sharp kick to Jaron’s upper right leg, sending stars across his vision. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

“The King!” Feall shouted. “Mott! Regar! Get the King!”

“I can hold-!” Jaron tried standing on his right leg, but the overwhelming urge to vomit his entire day’s worth of food forced him into a loss.

Regar bounded away from the horses, his longsword in both of his huge hands. The Faola only ducked under his mighty arms, and did his best to strike a blow at Feall.

The Faola froze at the sight of Regar, the tip of his saber clinked against the ground.

Mott held his sword extended as he dragged Jaron back to Mystic, “We have to get you out of here!”

“Let me go!”

“You hold priority!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Jaron roared, shoving himself away from Mott. If he just stood with all of his weight on his left leg, he could still fight!

All it took was a step closer to Feall and the Faola to make his vision burst with white lights.

The world had turned to jelly, to pudding, to sludge. All Jaron knew was that he no longer retained a crisp sense of the air around him. Everything was too warm, too sticky.

His hair was sticking to his forehead. His insides were sticking to each other. His hands were sticking to his sword.

Was he going to be sick all over Mott?

The sword fell from his hands; Mott was shoving him onto Mystic. Bits of conversation drifted through his cotton hearing. He could sometimes see Feall and the Faola’s outlines against his holy-white vision.

It was almost like they were dancing together.

Feall was ever the gentleman, allowing the Faola to always strike at his head. He always returned the gesture with a hard swipe to the Faola’s middle.

“This is a bit-!” Feall ducked. “Below the-!”

The Faola jabbed his sword low, and sadly, Jaron didn’t catch the last part of Feall’s witty retort.

He clung to Mystic’s reigns, his eyes searching for Mott. The whiteness was fading, replaced with unnatural blues.

Mott would guide him to safety. Mott would keep him safe.

“Jaron, ride ahead,” Mott urged. “Keep it slow, I’m going to get Feall out of his mess. Blink if you-”

Jaron didn’t need to blink, he only urged Mystic forward and tried not to vomit into his own lap.

Horse hooves clattered against the pavement in an odd compliment to clashing swords. Somebody was ordering Mott away; ordering him to consider himself and that he’d only make the close fighting quarters even tighter.

The Faola ducked beneath feall’s blade, twirling away from both Mott and Feall like a little girl in a new dress. Sounds of battle were dying. The fight was a music box, twinkling down to its last plink of a note.

Mystic tottered forward.

Straining, Jaron peered over his shoulder, looking just in time to see the music box’s final plink.

The Faola swiped the saber across Feall’s chest, missed, and kicked him in the stomach. Feall went tumbling to the ground. The Faola stood above his opponent, gloating words lost to Jaron’s pudding hearing.

But it was Regar who earned the last plink.

Tossing his sword to the side, Regar barrelled into the Faola. “Get them to safety! I’ll cover you!”

“Let me go!” The Faola shrieked, pounding his fists against Regar’s back

Regar let the Faola slide down his back. The Faola anticipated the fall, and rolled to his sword. He swung as hard as he could, but Regar caught the saber blade with his gloved hand.

Mott tugged Feall onto his saddle, leaving the Faola to his fate.

A sad finale to a short dance between Feall and his lethal partner. Jaron leaned over and vomited. He didn’t hear whatever it was that Mott was saying as he limped them all back to the castle.

All he could think about was that dance of life and death. It was a dance he’d performed himself. He’d seen somebody dance that way before- all jumping and twirling. The dancer’s name was just out of his reach. Knowing that the name was there was enough.

They were strange musings, but it was worth it to avoid vomiting again.

It was the musings of a man in too much pain to see straight.

#its real Mott Saves the Day Hours #and bully Jaron hours #sorry kiddo #this was #uh #too fun sorry #regar is just the dad from brave except hes a grumpy man who likes throwing humans #the ascendance series #mott #prince jaron #imogen #harlowe #tobias #ocs #chaotic #fic friday #fic Friday except its a tuesday #time isn't real

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tartareus · 4 years

Text

Fiona Goode as layers !

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

NAME - fiona borgia vandenheuvel goode

EYE COLOUR - vivid hazel although her gaze visibly darkens when she’s angry

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR - like her father before her fiona has golden blonde hair, a family genetic trait that seemed to almost skip her daughter. fiona personally hates it when her hair is too long and has never had it any longer than at shoulder length. naturally straight with the odd curls at the tips, the supreme likes to keep a classic look that is just hers, with hair cascading down in gentle waves framing her face, but with a modern air to it. eventually, when she begins to lose her hair, fiona takes on wearing wigs ( high quality ones that try to mimic what her hair was like but just won’t curl right ) and headwraps sometimes

HEIGHT - 5ft 8 / 1,73m, that tall and still refusing to wear heels that are smaller than 5 inch

CLOTHING STYLE - black, copious amounts of it. it is not just because she is a widow, she has been fond of the colour ever since she was a teen and not only she finds it classy and charming, it also helps that it gives her an even more threatening and severe look. the cut is flattering, hugging her curves pleasantly but not too much as she’d rather take a classy look than a sexy one anytime. in the odd occasion that she wears other colours, she goes straight to red - vivid blood red or the dark crimson piece she loves so much. she's never wearing cheap stuff - hell, even her sleepwear is from chanel - because fiona loves fancy things, always has && will not hesitate to spoil herself buying them. overall she is stylish, even if she hardly ever leaves her comfort zone and drops the classics that are her favourites , like chanel and prada.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE - to me, it’s her jawline (she’s got a jawline for days - beautiful), but if you were to ask her she’d probably say it’s her legs. they are long, smooth and give her a lean look && while she knows there’s nothing particularly special about them fiona has learnt to use her legs in a way that could easily rival marlene dietrich.

LAYER TWO : THE INSIDE

FEARS - her own death, losing cordelia for good, lack of power, not being loved, being lonely,witch hunters

GUILTY PLEASURE - oh boy, i could say so many things here - sex, alcohol, manipulating people - but let’s be honest she’s not feeling guilty about any of these, they’re just plain pleasures for her. so i’m going with the REAL deal here: crispy spicy fried chicken ! i kid you not ! catch fiona smuggling into the academy some kfc in the middle of the night after she’s done some shit like killing a student or digging up a racist psycho, that is all the comfort food she needs.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE - lack of respect, insubordination and incompetence, seriously...the quickest way to get her to turn your brain into scrambled eggs is by doing any of these. she will not have it.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE - tbh it really depends on the verse, it used to be becoming the supreme, then it became being powerful. i think, in the way i chose to play her, it’s keep her powers and position as supreme as she becomes immortal ; on a side track, patching up things with her daughter is one of her goals, but it never really makes it to her main ambition.

LAYER THREE : THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS UPON WAKING UP - when she’s not waking up with a random joe or jane ( in which she wakes up like “who the hell is that? get out.”) beside her, considering the amount of alcohol she drinks, fiona usually wakes up with a hangover and a thundering headache so it’s something along the lines of “ goddamnit, close the drapes ! where's that painkiller ?? ”

WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MOST - “what can i do to get what i want ?” she’s always after ways to get something for herself, manipulate people so they are useful for her

WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED - she takes a stiff drink and wishes there was someone to hold her - wishing that she truly had someone there for her, because at the end of the day, after parties and fancy meetings, that’s exactly what fiona is: alone and lonely.

WHAT YOUR BEST QUALITY IS - she gets shit done, just goes for it with heart and soul - oh, wait...she doesn’t have one...well, semantics aside, she really applies 100% of herself to whatever she does. that dedication extends to her love life too. she might not be the most romantic person around and will try and manipulate things into her favour but if she really likes you she will do everything in her power to make it clear that you matter and that she cares about you.

LAYER FOUR : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES - she does well in parties and places full of people, she’s extroverted and can be oh so charming and sweet when she wants to, but she’d prefer single dates if she’s serious - especially in the beginning - as they are more private and intimate. once she feels confident that this relationship might work, she’ll be happy enough to show you off to pretty much everybody she knows ( and take the opportunity to claim you as her own, as a way to mark her territory because she sucks at sharing )

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED - love never got her that far, respect is fickle so it’s neither, she’d rather be feared. the respect would come after this.

BEAUTY OR BRAINS - brains, always, what’s the point of looking good and being a total idiot ? she values beauty (in herself and in others) but nothing compares to a cunning mind.

DOGS OR CATS - it might come as a surprise, given her own feline nature, but fiona loves dogs and always wanted to have one but...well, she doesn’t want to clean up after them && have all the responsibility that comes with having one so...she’d rather not have them to save herself from the headache.

LAYER FIVE : DO YOU…

LIE - it might be surprising how much she tells the truth to be honest ? fiona is a truth teller, as crass and mean as that truth might come out, by default except when she lies, a shame is: she has to lie way too often.

BELIEVE IN YOURSELF - oh, she’ll make it seem like she’s THE shit, like she knows everything and that YOU need her... but does that meet her own standards ? no. she despises false modesty ( fiona knows she’s smart and powerful, no denying on her vain nature ) but she is, deep down, a little insecure

BELIEVE IN LOVE - "pft, love is for fools and silly school girls.” yes, of course she does.

WANT SOMEONE - yes.

LAYER SIX : EVER BEEN …

BEEN ON STAGE - in fancy parties when she has to talk about someone and once when she went along with stevie in a tour

DONE DRUGS – the million dollar question that should be asked here is which drugs fiona hasn’t done yet ?

CHANGED WHO YOU WERE TO FIT IN - no, she’d rather change the people around her than change herself.

LAYER SEVEN : FAVOURITES

FAVOURITE COLOUR - black and red. she despises pastels because she never looked good on them

FAVOURITE ANIMAL – panthers.

FAVOURITE MOVIE - she'll say she likes some obscure french movie full of philosophy and complex female themes but that’s bullshit. in reality fiona is a slut for old hollywood movies like singing in the rain and to catch a thief, 80’s slashers and, surprise, the odd nancy meyers movie every once in a blue moon

FAVOURITE GAME – scheming, no just kidding…am i? chess is a bore to her, especially because she never really worked the nerve to learn the rules right. she’d take gin rummy and poker anytime ( not that she’s any good at them though )

LAYER EIGHT : AGE

DAY YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE - october 17th,she’s a libra sun, leo rising with a scorpio moon

HOW OLD WILL YOU BE - if she had lived long enough to actually have another birthday she’d be 63

AGE YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY - 18

DOES AGE MATTER – depends on the situation; by default she finds younger people annoying with all their antics and will not hesitate to tell them so.

LAYER NINE : IN A PERSON

BEST PERSONALITY - someone who won’t be threatened by her or insecure by her status and actions, she likes confident and capable people, someone who won’t back down and won’t quit at the first issue they run into. someone fierce yet passionate, someone intriguing

BEST EYE COLOUR - dark brown

BEST HAIR COLOUR – she’s usually attracted to brunettes and raven haired people.

BEST THING TO DO WITH A PARTNER - sex. kidding, i mean, it really depends on the relationship and the partner ? she’s all for long conversations and dancing by the moonlight but she’s not the type who’ll be making grand love speeches, telling you how infatuated she is with you. Don’t expect any of that. She will however take you to places like paris and Greece, long vacations are a thing that Fiona is very prone to, especially with a partner.

LAYER TEN : FINISH THE SENTENCE

I LOVE - “ the thrill of the hunt, my dance; I love the delicious high magic and power give me, that no drug could ever imitate.”

I FEEL - “ like I’m slipping away, fading as the world goes on without me. ”

I HIDE - “ how much i truly care. ”

I MISS - “ loving and being loved. ”

I WISH - “ cordelia would understand that all I’ve done was to make sure she was tough enough to be able to survive this ugly wide wicked world”

tagged by : no one, i just stole it lmao tagging: @copiesofme (dolores) ; @bloodykneestm (ransom) ; @rosemalice (avis) ; @gdvas (marie) ; @flyingupward (imogene) ; @hismanners && @fencetm !! + anyone that wants to do this, just say i tagged ya !!

#m; f. goode \ hcs #m; f. goode \ isms #dash games.#queued.#cw; long post

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smilingformoney · 5 years

Text

It Lives Beneath Diamond Scene: Horse Riding with Imogen

You and Imogen make your way to a horse corral set up on the fringes of the festival. You: I can’t believe your parents let people ride their horses. Imogen: It’s just once a year, for Lake Day, but my mom says it’s our way of giving back to the community. As you walk up, Diavolos, the dappled horse, whinnies happily. Diavolos: Hrrrnnnn!! Imogen runs up and lovingly strokes his nose. Imogen: You happy to see me, boy? I hope they’ve been taking it easy on you. Don: Take it easy on him? He’s the one who oughtta be taking it easy on us. You: Oh, Diavolos. Have you been giving these nice people a hard time? Diavolos: Hhhnn… Imogen: Can you saddle him up for us, Don, while I take my friend to pick out a horse? Don: You got it, Imogen. Imogen leads you around the paddock, a few people here and there stroking horses’ manes and mounting or dismounting. You spy a stately brown mare feeding slightly away from the rest. Brown Mare: Hff hff… You: Hi there, girl. Aren’t you a beauty? You approach her, extending your hand, but she whinnies and skitters away from you. Brown Mare: HhhHHhhn… You: I guess she doesn’t like me. I’ll pick another one. Imogen: No, no. She’ll let you ride her. Imogen makes sure no one’s watching before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. Imogen: Check this out. She holds out her hand and a faint blue-green glow appears around it. As if in response, the horse’s eyes glow the same colour! You: Whoa! The animal seems to perk up and it comes forward, nuzzling Imogen’s outstretched palm. Imogen: Okay. Now try again. You hold out your hand and this time the horse doesn’t shy away. She lets you pet her and even leans into your touch! Brown Mare: Hhhrrrnnn! You: Holy cow! Imogen +3 Imogen: I think you mean ‘holy horse.’ You: So this is what your power does? It lets you control horses? Imogen: All animals, and sort of. I’m not really controlling them. More like… communicating with them. Imogen: I told Annabelle right now that you’re not gonna hurt her, so she knows not to be afraid of you.

You: That’s… -Awesome!

You: I can’t believe I’m friends with a witch. If you get a letter inviting you to Hogwarts, please take me with you? Imogen: First of all, Muggles aren’t allowed in Hogwarts. Second of all, absolutely. Even if I have to sneak you inside my trunk.

-Weird.

You: Doesn’t it freak you out a little, having… magic powers? Imogen: A little at first. But now that I’m getting used to it I’m seeing how valuable it can be, especially since I want to become a veterinarian.

After Don brings Diavolos around, he saddles Annabelle for you and you manage to hoist yourself up onto her back with only minimal difficulty. Imogen: Looking good, [Name]! Have you ridden before?

You: I’ve… -Never been on a horse.

Imogen: Well, it doesn’t show. You’re a natural. Imogen: If you need any help or become uncomfortable, just let me know and we’ll stop, okay? You: I hope we don’t have to, but thanks for being patient with me Imogen: Oh don’t even mention it! We’ve all been beginners at some point, right?

-Had some experience.

Imogen: That’s great! You better keep up with me then. You: Well, let’s not go crazy. I’m not a pro or anything. Imogen: You can’t achieve greatness if you don’t push yourself! That’s what my mom always says. You: I thought this was just a casual ride but now I’m starting to get nervous. Imogen: Nerves gives you the energy to work harder! My mom always says that too.

Imogen and Diavolos take the lead, and you follow them out onto the street, then into the horse trails in the forests beyond the town.

The forest is dense and vibrant on either side of the trail. The trees hum with insect and animal life, and the fresh scent of pine drifts on the air. You catch glimpses of deer and squirrels as they dart between golden shafts of sunlight. You: This is so beautiful. Imogen: This is nothing. Wait ‘til you see Pine Falls. If you’ve ever seen a Pine Springs brochure, it’s the one on the cover. You: It better live up to all this hype. Imogen: Trust me, it will. When my parents first took me to the falls as a little girl, I thought water fairies lived there. Imogen: Actually, knowing what I know now, fairies might actually live there!

You: Speaking of your parents… -What’s it like being party of the Society? Imogen +3

Imogen: I-I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s too soon to tell. Imogen: At least it’s not the bad kind of cult where everybody worships one guy and takes turn brushing his hair, right? You: Um, yes. Thank god for that. Imogen: I’ll get to spend more time with my mom and dad, though. Time that isn’t spent criticising my life choices, anyway. You: You mean now that you’re oooone oooffff theeeemmmm? Imogen laughs and leans over to swat you playfully on the arm. Imogen: Not when you say it like that. Imogen: But yes. Being part of the Society is hard work, Mother says. There’s going to be a whole other initiation rite and mentoring period… You: Sounds kind of like a sorority, to be honest. Imogen: You know, you’re right! Looking at it like that, it doesn’t seem so intimidating anymore! You: Glad I could help. Imogen: Oh, pshaw. You always help, [Name].

-Are they proud of you now? Imogen +3

Imogen: I think they are, actually. Imogen: It’s like having this secret was keeping a barrier between us. But now that I’m part of the secret, it feels like I’m finally one of them. You: But you’re their daughter, weren’t you already one of them? Imogen: Yes, but now we share more than blood, we share a connection to something bigger than all of us. Imogen: Having these powers is something both my dad and my mom can respect. Imogen: They may have always loved me, but I don’t think I’ve ever really felt their respect before, not like I feel it now.

A red-winged blackbird soars above you. Imogen holds out her palm, a turquoise light emanating from it. The blackbird immediately changes course and dives down, alighting on Imogen’s hand. It looks up at her with bright, trusting eyes. Imogen: I don’t know where this power comes from, or how my parents have harnessed it… Imogen: But I know that it’s a gift, and I have a responsibility to do good with it. You: That’s really beautiful, Imogen… You: But… can you do something awesome with it? Imogen grins impishly and the blackbird flits away, back into the trees. Imogen: Oh, you want me to do something awesome, huh? You: Yes, please. She stretches her hand out and it glows again, the eyes of your horse glowing too. Before you can even brace yourself Annabelle takes off at a gallop! Annabelle: Hhhrrrrrnnnnn!! You: W-w-whoa! You grip the reins as the horse leaps into the air, sailing over a fallen log! You: GAAAHHH!!! Annabelle comes back down to the ground with a bone-rattling WHUMP and skids to a halt. Annabelle: Hnf! For one moment you’re breathless, your heart thundering in your chest… Then you let out an uproarious cry! MC +? You: WOOOHOOOHOOOOOO!!!!! Imogen brings Diavolos up to meet you at a much more sedate pace. You: That was the most fun I’ve ever had in my life! Imogen laughs and strokes Diavolos’s mane. Divolos: Hrrrrn. Imogen: I think what I like even more than having these powers is being able to use them to make those around me happy.

You: You… -Are too pure for this world. +Romance

Imogen: Hahaha! You just think that because you don’t know me that well. You: I want to get to know you, though. Imogen: Even if it means finding out I’m not as sweet as you think? You: I think I’d like you no matter what. Imogen pushes her hair out of her face to hide her blush. Imogen: Flatterer.

-Should get to enjoy your powers too.

Imogen: Oh, I do! Last night when I found out what my powers could do, I convinced an owl to come into my room and let me put a hat on it. You: That poor owl. Imogen: Nah, he was living for it. He knew he looked stunning. You: When you let him go, did you let him keep the hat? Imogen: I have super powers, [Name]. I’m not a monster. Of course I let him keep the hat.

You continue riding for a while until you begin to hear the rumble of running water.

Imogen: This is it. This is Pine Falls. You: This place is… Imogen: Magical? You: Took the words right out of my mouth. You both dismount and approach the rocky edge. You dip your hand into the water. You: Cold! Imogen: Too cold for swimming? You: Nothing’s gonna keep me from swimming in this pool. You brace yourself for the cold and dive into the water. It’s shocking at first but in seconds you begin to warm up. When you pop back up to the surface, you wave Imogen over. You: Come on in! Imogen: Don’t mind if I do. Imogen makes her way up a large rock outcropping and dives gracefully into the falls’ natural pool. You both spend a while splashing and swimming to keep warm. Eventually, you lay yourselves on a soft, mossy stone in a shaft of sunlight. The golden light catches in the droplets of water on Imogen’s bare skin. Imogen: Mmm. This is nice. So peaceful.

You: (I should…) -Kiss her. +Romance

You take hold of her chin and turn her to face you, her eyes wide and questioning. You lean down and your lips meet hers. You feel her sigh happily against your mouth. Imogen: Mmmm… You deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling and exploring each other’s mouths. Imogen rolls onto her back and you end up on top of her, her legs wrapped around your waist. Imogen: Mmmf… [Name]…

You: (I’m going to…) -Keep going. +Romance, MC +?, Imogen +1

You kiss her slender throat, the sharp angle of her collarbone, the curve of her breast. You lick droplets of water off her flat stomach, kissing further and further down. She clutches at your hair, moaning softly. Imogen: Aahhh… You snake a hand under her bikini top, feeling her soft skin, and her thighs tremble around you. Imogen: Haahh! [Name]! Kissing back up her body, you nip at her neck. Her hips roll against yours, sending tendrils of pleasure coursing up your spine. You: Genny… You deftly spin both of you, until Imogen is lying on top of you, her chest heaving against yours. Imogen: You’re fast! You: I hope not. You pull her down into another searing kiss, your hands roaming freely over her back, her hips, her soft thighs. You moan into her mouth as her body moves with your own, building up a rhythm that fills you with so much pleasure you feel like you’re going to burst…

You’re putting your clothes back on when you catch Imogen staring at you. You: What? Imogen: Nothing. Just looking. You: I hope you like what you see. Imogen: Very, very much so. You dip down and kiss her tenderly. When you pull back, her eyes are half-lidded and content. Imogen: I wish we could stay here forever, in this moment. You: Me too. Imogen looks up at the sky and sighs. Imogen: But nothing lasts forever. It’s already getting late. You: You want to head back? Imogen: Yeah… Though maybe… You: One more swim? Imogen: One more swim.

-Wind down. Imogen +1, MC +?

Your passionate kisses melt into soft, tender ones. Her soft lips move against yours, her delicate hands caressing your back. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, both of you breathless and smiling. You: I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. Imogen: What was stopping you? You: There just wasn’t ever a right time. But here, right now, this is… Imogen: Perfect? You: Took the words right out of my mouth. You recapture her mouth. She tastes sweet and fresh, like the forest around you. When you separate, you lie down beside her and pull her close against your side. She rests her head contentedly on your chest. Imogen: I’m glad you did. You: Hmm? Imogen: I’m glad you did kiss me, after all. You: So am I. Do you think I could do it again sometime? Imogen: I think I’d be pretty mad if you didn’t. You glance at the time on your phone and groan. You: We have to get back to the festival before it gets too late. Imogen: I wish we didn’t have to. I wish I could stay here with you forever. You: Well, we can’t stay forever, but… You: No one’ll miss us if we’re gone just a little longer, right? Imogen: I’m sure they won’t miss us one bit. Imogen snuggles closer to you and you both watch the rich afternoon sunlight playing through the canopy, the soft sounds of rustling leaves lulling you both into a dream-like trance…

-Splash her. MC +?

You slyly reach down into the pool… And douse her with a cold spray of water! Imogen: EEEEEE! Imogen: Oh my god, [Name]! You are the WORST! Imogen plunges both hands into the water and they glow a vibrant blue below the surface. A shadow starts rising up from the depths… And suddenly an entire school of fish appear at the surface and spout water at you! You: Aaah! You: No fair! You can’t use your powers for vengeance! That’s the way to the dark side! Imogen laughs maniacally and dips back into the water, the fish swimming like a living cloud around her. You: That is so… Imogen: Magical? You: Exactly. You dive back into the natural pool and laugh as the fish swim against your sides, sending ticklish shivers through you. You both spend longer than you should enjoying the solitude, Imogen’s newfound powers, and the magical beauty of the waterfall.

After some time, you return to the bustling Lakeview Boulevard to meet up with your friends.

I’ll spend time with… -Parker. -Tom. -Danni. -No one.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices it lives beneath #choices ilb #it lives beneath #it lives beneath walkthrough

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katwriting · 7 years

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Fic: It’s not easy

A little 2x12 reaction fic. Magnus deals with the consequences of the body switch and Alec tries his best to be there for him.

Magnus’ silence was more than enough for an answer. Alec sighed and buried his head in his hands. He felt so stupid. He should have known, had to have known that it had been Magnus all along.

And yet, he had hesitated.

Word count: 2,583 | Read on AO3

„That agony rune…it made me relive memories I spent centuries trying to forget.”

Magnus didn’t say much after that. Alec didn’t either. They just sat there, next to each other, each of them lost in their thoughts.

After a while, though, Alec tried again.

“Magnus, what happened at the Institute…I…I didn’t…”

Magnus cut him off with a slow wave of his hand. “It’s okay, Alexander. You didn’t know it was me.”

“But I should have. I should have believed you right away.”

Magnus’ silence was more than enough for an answer. Alec sighed and buried his head in his hands. He felt so stupid. He should have known, must have known that it had been Magnus all along. Especially after Magnus told him about their Tokyo trip – nobody knew what happened that night, they had agreed to not tell anyone about that hotel terrace and instead agreed on making it a place where they could go when things got too much at home. Alec had kept his word, and he was sure Magnus had. So, there was no possible way Valentine could have known those details.

None.

And yet, Alec had still hesitated. Put all the signs that it had been Magnus – the gestures, the soft tone is his voice, the way he’d called him Alexander, the fear in his eyes when Imogen had sentenced him to death, freaking everything - aside and let the Inquisitor tell him what to do. Had acted like the loyal puppet of the Clave he was supposed to be instead of spending a single second actually thinking, considering all the signs and how weird “Magnus” had acted earlier that day, and maybe put two and two together.

Looking back, Alec felt like punching himself into the face for being so stupid. He should have known the second “Magnus” had acted so strange on the phone, but he had ignored the signs.

And now the man he loved more than anything wouldn’t even look at him and it was his own fault.

“I can hear you blaming yourself from all the way over here. Stop.”

Alec’s head jerked up. He turned over to look at his boyfriend and was surprised to find Magnus looking back at him. His usually so soft brown eyes were incredibly hurt and sad, but still, he was looking at him. That was more than Alec had gotten for the past two hours since they’d said goodbye to Jace and Magnus had disappeared into his bedroom for a nap.

“I can’t”, Alec admitted in a strained tone. “It’s my fault she treated you like that. I should have stopped her.”

Magnus’ voice sounded incredibly tired when he answered. “You did what you had to. What all your training and experience in the field taught you to. You did not know it was me.”

“Yeah”, Alec grumbled, looking away from Magnus and starting with the hem of his sweater. “Except you told me it was you. Multiple times. And I still ignored you.”

Alec startled a bit when Magnus’ hand on his wrist stopped him from fidgeting with the fabric. He looked up again and found Magnus still watching him, only that his eyes were now not only hurt and sad, but also…annoyed?

“Alec, stop. I’m not blaming you, okay? I could never.” The tiny bit of anger was now also clearly audible in his voice. Magnus closed his eyes and shook his head, like he wanted to get something out of his mind and then looked back to Alec. “Look, there’s nothing that will change what happened. Let’s just…let’s just not talk about it right now, okay? I’m exhausted.”

Alec frowned, but then nodded. Deep down he knew that they were far from done talking about this, but for the sake of how exhausted Magnus looked and acted, he stopped himself from bringing it up again. His own guilt still wavered inside him, but he would deal with that later, maybe sneak in an hour at the training room at the Institute the next day. Now was not the time to think about himself, not when his boyfriend was feeling so bad. So he pushed his doubts aside, stood up and held out his hand so he could pull Magnus up from the couch. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you some sleep then.”

Magnus had excused himself to the bathroom, so Alec took care of the mess the fight with Valentine had left behind. He cleaned up the puddles of spilled potions on the floor and put the rest of the broken jars and bottles into the trash can, then took out the trash altogether. When he came back into the loft, the bathroom door was still closed and the warlock was nowhere to be seen.

Alec walked over to the door softly knocked twice. “Magnus?”, he called out through the wood, “are you done?”

He didn’t get any response. Alec knocked a couple more times, but when the bathroom still stayed silent, he got worried. “Alright Mags, I’m coming in”, he announced and then slowly turned the doorknob until the bathroom door sprung open.

What he saw when he entered the bathroom made his body flood itself with worry and guilt. Magnus was standing at the sink, shoulders hunched, eyes closed and hands gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles stood out against the skin. His usually so soft and warm face was pulled in a mask of pure pain, his eyes were pressed shut and his lips were pulled into a tight line. Magnus still didn’t say anything, but Alec found out the reason for that soon enough: his shoulders were heaving with muffled sobs he was desperately trying to hide.

Alec had tried to be understanding and give Magnus some space, he had really tried. But seeing his boyfriend so obviously miserable, with the tell-tale streaks of drying tears on his beautiful face, made him throw everything he’d done earlier over board. Instead of thinking too much whether this would upset Magnus even more, Alec just acted without second thought. With two long steps, he closed the distance between him and Magnus. He stepped behind him and immediately wrapped his arms around the warlock, pulling him into a warm embrace. Alec placed is chin on Magnus’ shoulder, and turned his face to the side, pressing his lips to the warlock’s cheek for a moment. “It’s okay”, he mumbled, “you can let go, Magnus. I got you.”

And those few words were all it took. A second later, Magnus was no longer facing away from him. Far from it. He turned around in Alec’s arms and crashed against him, burying his face in the crook of Alec’s neck and letting his hands rest on Alec’s chest, gripping the fabric of his sweater tightly.

In response, Alec only tightened his embrace and pulled the warlock flush against him. He let one of his hands wander to the back of Magnus’ neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. The other stayed tightly wrapped around Magnus’ back, keeping him in place, holding him steady.

Alec didn’t know how long they stood there, Magnus wrapped tightly in his arms and melting into the warmth of Alec’s body. Magnus’ breath was shaky and Alec heard him sniffle against the fabric of his sweater a couple of times, but he didn’t comment on it. He just kept mumbling soft words of comfort into Magnus’ ear and hugged his boyfriend tight, offering him all the love and comfort he could.

In a way, it felt like after the attack of the rage demon on the Institute a few months prior, only with reversed roles. Back then, no words in the world could have helped Alec, no matter how well-intended they might have been. He had not wanted to listen to anyone, had not wanted to see anyone except for Magnus. Magnus had understood that and just welcomed him with open arms, without many questions, he had let him cuddle up against him and shut the world out.

Looking back, Alec realized that this very moment, Magnus’ selfless act of love and affection, had been the first step to recovery for himself. And now it was his turn to return the favor.

It took Magnus a while until his breathing evened out. When he’d calmed down a bit, he moved his hands from Alec’s chest back around his back, hugging him close and breathing in the familiar scent of detergent and a hint of cologne. Silence engulfed them, but this time, it was not the uncomfortable kind from earlier. Far more, it was the one where you felt like the other was about to say something. So Alec waited for Magnus to make a move, trying to tell him without using words that he would be here to listen to whatever Magnus wanted to talk about.

He didn’t have to wait long. Magnus took a deep breath and then began to talk. “They made me remember the day my mother died”, he said, voice still thick from crying. “I have tried to forget that day for hundreds of years, and all it took was a single rune to bring it all back. I didn’t even realize that those memories were still so intense.”

Alec started running his hand up and down Magnus’ back when he thought of an answer. “How were you supposed to know? You’ve had to be so strong for all those centuries, you didn’t get the chance to process”, he answered, his hands running up and down Magnus’ back, drawing patterns over the tense muscles.

Magnus sighed deeply. “Yeah…I guess I didn’t get a chance to choose anything else, did I?”

Alec let his hand travel from Magnus’ neck to just below his chin, nudging his face upwards so the warlock would look at him. “No. No, you didn’t. And yet here we are, and that’s what I admire most about you”, he said, taking a deep breath for what he was about to say. “You’ve never had it easy in your life, I think no one has had a harder path than you did. It would have been so easy for you to…drift off into the dark, and still, you chose not to.”

Alec smiled softly and cupped Magnus’ face in his hand, his thumb slowly caressing his cheek. “And now look who you are – a respected downworld leader, one of the most powerful warlocks of all time, and the strongest, most caring, compassionate person I know. You’ve overcome so many obstacles and now you’re going to overcome this, too. I know you can”, he said, holding Magnus’ gaze the entire time.

Magnus smiled, his eyes showing how tired he was. “Well you sure give one hell of a pep talk, Alexander.”, he mumbled, then leaned up a bit to kiss Alec softly. “Thank you for being there for me”, he added, mumbling the words against Alec’s lips.

Alec smiled at his boyfriend, relieved that a bit of his positivity had come back. “Anytime”, he retorted and leaned down to kiss Magnus once more. And this time, he didn’t hold back anymore, just poured everything he had, all the love and the worry and the happiness that Magnus came back to him, into the kiss. He felt Magnus gasp against his lips and then one of his boyfriend’s hands travelled up his back, landing on the back of his neck and pulled him in, pulled him closer. The kiss and Magnus’ gentle hands made goosebumps spread over Alec’s skin and his heart beat ever faster against his chest. It was one thing to nonverbally pour his heart out to someone, but it was a whole other thing to get the same in return. And apparently, Magnus was not in the mood for holding back anymore either.

When they broke apart, both of them were a bit short of breath, but Alec still laughed when Magnus barely managed to stifle a yawn. “Nice to know that I’m boring you, babe.”

Magnus just rolled his eyes. “It’s not…. it’s not you”, he said through another yawn. “I’m just really, really tired.”

Alec felt his lips pull into another smile just because he was relieved that the mood had lightened a bit. He leaned down to peck Magnus’ lips once more and then stepped away from his boyfriend and pushed him towards the sink. “Let’s get you some sleep then. But first I would recommend you take off your makeup. You’re starting to look like a raccoon”, he chuckled, ducking away immediately but still unable to escape from Magnus lightly slapping his arm.

“You are lucky I love you, Alexander, because otherwise I would have cast a very, very unpleasant spell on you by now for that rude comment”, Magnus muttered under his breath and then turned towards the mirror. “Now hand me my makeup wipes so I can get rid of this mess.”

Alec smirked. “Must be my lucky day.”

He watched in comfortable silence as Magnus started washing off the remains of the classy black makeup look. Even after all those months they had been dating and the many of nights he’d spent at Magnus’ place, he still felt kind of special that Magnus let him see him like this – with his guard down, vulnerable, letting him witness his true self without any of his protective wards. Most people got to know Magnus as the flamboyant, confident High Warlock who didn’t fear anything except a boring party without any alcohol. They didn’t realize that this was only a façade Magnus put up every day, just to hide who he really was so nobody could hurt him.

In here, in his apartment, when he was only with Alec, he let these guards down so he could just be Magnus, with all his flaws and insecurities. And for all Alec loved Magnus’ entire character – it was probably this more calm, vulnerable side of him that he loved the most. In the past couple of weeks, he had been able to enjoy this side of him more and more often, and Alec would be entirely grateful for Magnus trusting him enough to let his guards down like that.

When they lay in bed a few minutes later, Magnus curled up against his side, with Alec’s arm wrapped around him and already peacefully asleep, Alec thought that Magnus had been right earlier. What the warlock had been through the past two days had been terrible, and it would probably take a lot of time for the two of them to overcome it. But there was nothing he could do about that, nothing that would change what had happened. Right now, all he could do was be there for Magnus and make sure that he recovered as best as he could.

And if the road to recovery started with making sure his warlock got a good night’s sleep after all he’d suffered through, then so be it.

Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

#malec fic #malec fanfiction #malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #magnus bane #alec lightwood #katwriting #mywriting #writing #fluff #angst #drama #alec pov

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