#Goblet and saucer

[love-for-carnation]

Tea cup and pink Gordon G Henderson, Scottish painter and photographer

#dianthus #carnation #still life #footed tumbler glass #mug and saucer set #painting #glass goblet

[flowercrowngods]

⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt. 

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not. 

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts. 

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. 

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned. 

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so. 

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets. 

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom. 

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests. 

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors. 

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better. 

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family. 

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache. 

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead. 

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be. 

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy. 

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm. 

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand. 

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness. 

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering. 

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything. 

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over. 

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now. 

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him. 

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time. 

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her. 

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.” 

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that. 

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.” 

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind. 

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?” 

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list. 

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.” 

“But—“ 

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.” 

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand. 

“He sought you out, then.”   

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony. 

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.” 

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.” 

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand. 

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.” 

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him. 

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“ 

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling. 

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.” 

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.” 

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.” 

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands. 

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.” 

God, I hope so. 

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath. 

It will be fine. I know it will. 

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is. 

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already. 

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence. 

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it. 

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave. 

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must. 

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose. 

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave. 

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving. 

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity. 

But he can’t. 

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them. 

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike. 

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.” 

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue. 

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips. 

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.” 

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces. 

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words. 

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack. 

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver. 

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.” 

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in. 

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough. 

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence. 

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes. 

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.” 

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and  even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.” 

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said. 

It makes Eddie weak in the knees. 

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation. 

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike? 

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him. 

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.” 

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words. 

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him. 

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness. 

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin. 

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be. 

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him. 

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that… 

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does. 

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness. 

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it. 

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil. 

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.” 

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?” 

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself. 

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.” 

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing. 

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more. 

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.” 

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes. 

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.” 

He stops. 

And so does time. 

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again. 

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off. 

“I…” 

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. 

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies. 

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before. 

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #bard/knight #steve harrington #eddie munson #knight!steve harrington #bardknight #bard!eddie munson #i feel like this is more of a 6k words intermission but hear me out the bard is pathetic and needs to stew a little bit #live with the consequences of his actions and realise just what he has done and how he feels about his knight and lord harrington #skjdfsk i hope this is okay i really really hope so i am so worried that it's gonna disappoint y'all who've been waiting #dio words

[fluffyquill]

More post-campaign vignettes! It's kind of a crime that I haven't done more art of Lady Chirp. (LOL and there's a technical typo, as I wrote "as as a baby.")

Full page comic and description below the cut!

More of the Goblet Mini-Series! Tiny Hob Fable and Grabalba get the news Grabalba explains, and How Hob Found Out How to break the news?

[Description: ACOFAF comic

Panel 1 Peep (offscreen): Hob! Hob, come play pirates with me! Binx: (holding a teapot and watching Peep) I still can't get over how small she is! So little! Chirp: (cup and saucer in hand, looking like a proud parent) You think Peep is small NOW, you should have seen her as a newborn. Been growing like a weed ever since. Rue: That makes sense. I read that owlbears are only about 9 inches long when they're first born. (They approximate nine inches between their paws.) And now I'm seven feet tall!

Panel 2 Peep: (only her hands are visible in the panel as she reaches for Hob) YOUR EARS ARE SO FLUFFY!! Peep: What about goblins, Hob? How big were you as a baby? (Hob looks up)

Panel 3 Hob: Oh! Well, save for salt goblins who pop into existence fully formed, most goblets average at about 5-6 inches long, so I suppose I was in that same - Chirp (offscreen): Wait wait wait - sorry for interrupting...

Panel 4 (Chirp looks like she's desperately trying to keep her composure. Rue is blushing, though their face is not in frame) Chirp: WHAT did you say baby goblins are called? (to herself) Be cool, Chirp. BE. COOL. Hob (offscreen): Goblets - partially because we're so small, partially because we fit in a goblet cup at that age...

Panel 5 (There is an explosion of hearts with "TOO CUTE!!" stamped across the front. There is a shadowed silhouette of a bugbear and a little girl with wings and a ponytail in the foreground.) Peep: Mama has a weakness for cute things. Hob: I see.

End description]

#my art #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20 #d20 #acofaf fanart #lady chirp featherfowl #binx choppley #delloso de la rue #captain kp hob #knickolas pnackleless hob #kp hob #battlemaster of ceremonies #ruehob #The lords of the wing #phillipa aka peep #Peep fears no fey #talk of babies #post campaign #THERE WILL BE MORE #owlbear cubs based off IRL bear cub info

[tryskomys]

MOONCHILD

Remus Lupin x OC reader

Chapter 3 - Riddikulus

Summary: Remus and Hesperia teach their first class. Prepared and excited, nothing can go wrong…right?

previous chapter

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notes: chapter threeee! i hope you’ll all enjoy. the next part will be…let’s call it a rollercoaster, okay? hopefully. that’s a spoiler, so it’s just between us, reader.

tw: some bad words. snape’s psycho breakfast. also, a bit of werewolf body horror - so that’s a bit nasty if you’re squirmish. and i feel like the squirm-factor will only get worse from now on, so beware of that, my sweet squirmish pals. squirm.

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"I don't know, it just came up in my mind. He looked at me like he was watching it happen." Hessie lamented about last night’s uncomfortable memory, lazily buttoning up her shirt. She was inside her chamber, talking to Remus over a half-closed door. 

They had separate rooms opposite each other. They joined in a short corridor, which led to a small common room with a cosy fireplace, stone walls and a soft burgundy carpet. There were frescos of constellations on the ceiling, similar to the ones in their classroom.

A floating porcelain pitcher was watering the greenery that was decorating the windowsills of the gothic windows. 

It strongly resembled the ambience of the Gryffindor Tower. She wondered if the chambers were accustomed to whoever stayed inside. The entire complex was hidden with an enlargening spell behind the door to their shared office, soundproofed from any inventive students that might enjoy spying on professors in their spare time.

After all, she wasn't a stranger to eavesdropping, courtesy of her unruly best friends.

Remus's head popped out of his ajar door. He was just in the middle of putting his red-and-yellow socks on. Lily Potter had knit them for him for his seventeenth birthday. 

"Are you suggesting that Snape is a Legilimens?"

He got a confused hum for an answer.

"That's absurd." he chuckled and disappeared into his room again, taking a shoebrush from his trunk to polish his oxfords. He managed to make them at least slightly shiny.

As he tightened the thin shoelaces, Hessie walked out of her room, a tweed vest lazily thrown around her shoulders. She made her way to the small kitchen-like corner.

"What's absurd is the way he treats his students. I overheard a couple of fifth years yesterday while leaving the feast. They discussed how he makes them test a potion's accuracy on their animals. Want a cuppa?" she glanced over her shoulder as he came in, his fuzzy tie still hanging untied around the collar of his shirt. 

It felt like they were back at their Yorkshire cottage. The only difference was the fireplace. And the king's beds with feather duvets. And not having to scrap for food. There was actually so much food she didn't know what to do with it. She felt like she could retrospectively feed her starving self.

He walked to a bookshelf next to the door, gathering a few schoolbooks. 

"Yes, please," he muttered and opened the well-used copy of The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts by Arsenius Jigger.

He sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, crossing his legs as he browsed through it all the way to the chapter index.

"Oh, marvellous. We're supposed to do Boggarts first."

Hessie whistled. She carried two ornate teacups that resembled goblets. They were made out of black porcelain instead of metal. The cups dangerously wiggled on their saucers and Remus hopped up to take one of the cup to help her and put it on the coffee table next to him.

She sank in the other armchair with a sigh, carefully sipping her milk tea so she wouldn't burn her tongue. 

"I was thinking of trying Boggarts first as well, it's an interesting and handy subject. But you're the one on duty this time, so I guess you'll have to manage by yourself." 

"I'm not sure I can do it without you, love." he mused with a smirk before taking a sip from his cup. She gasped and kicked his shin. She despised that pet name. James and Sirius always used it to piss her off. She hated how condescending it was.

It sounded somewhat endearing from Remus, though. 

"With this attitude, you'll be lucky to live long enough to show up for the class at all." she hissed at him and took another sip of her tea, this time so vigorously she scorched her mouth. She cursed, Remus just giggled, and continued to search through the textbook. 

He still looked so beaten down, purple circles were bordering his eyes, his skin pale and dull. As the first sunbeams entered the room, she could see familiar twinkles in his sad eyes. 

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked silently, nudging his leg with hers, this time softly. He looked up from the book. 

The silver strands in his hair were a lot more protruding than when they were students, but she felt like it made him even more handsome. Like fine wine in a cellar, he aged under the moonlight's glow, remaining startlingly beautiful despite all the suffering he had to endure.

That boyish charm in his grin was never snuffed out, the dimples above his mouth as cheeky as ever. 

"Never better," he replied, his tone laced with both sarcasm and honesty. The duality of the man, she thought as she rolled her eyes. She couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head as if she wanted to get rid of the blush on her face. The one that spilt all over her whenever he smiled at her.

She stood up and walked to the bookshelf, nudging the back of his head when she walked by him. 

"It's missing a few essentials. I need to check the library, coming?" she muttered and put on the vest after grabbing her green robes from a lion head-shaped hanger. Remus shrugged, fishing a Mars bar out of the pocket of his pants. It was a bit melted, but tasty nonetheless when he took a big bite.

"Do you still think Madame Pince is still there?" he mumbled curiously.

"That old hag? Hope not. She took 30 points from me once, just because I brought her Earl Grey instead of Ceylon. As if she was allowed to assign students slave work in the first place."

"You put a frog in her teacup, Mimi."

"That was Padfoot's idea!"

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As the week passed by, they spent most of their time in the library researching and preparing for their classes. It was as if they were fifth-years again, furiously scribbling notes on their parchments. Even Madame Pince was still sitting behind her mahogany desk, as hostile as ever.

The only thing they were missing was Sirius Black’s taunting, James Potter’s annoyingly attractive voice calling them ‘book-flobberworms’ and Peter Pettigrew’s constant questions about when they were finally leaving for lunch.

And of course, Lily Evans sitting between them, her flaming red hair in their peripherals. 

When Thursday came, Remus felt considerably more sick than on the night they arrived, which was quite ironic. He looked a lot better now, the circles under his eyes were slowly going back to their usual light beige and the few new scratches on his face were closed up, now pale pink.

His hair was a bit more tameable as well, his cheeks somehow fuller and even more dimpled than usual when he gave Hessie his signature disarming smirk. He was very pleased when he looked in the mirror in the morning. Not that he felt handsome, he never did. But he looked alive and that's what mattered to him the most. 

The nerves were eating him up from the inside, though, fingers shaking as he held a fork with scrambled eggs. He was looking around the Great Hall, trying to remember as many Gryffindor and Slytherin faces as he could. He hoped it will make him feel a bit more comfortable when it comes to facing a classroom full of strangers. Hormonal teenagers, for that matter.

Hessie sat beside him, a bit less on edge, as her first class was scheduled for tomorrow. She felt terrible for him, though.

"You'll be excellent, Moony, I'm sure of it."

"What if I hurt them, Mimi?" he blurted out, his voice strained and trembling. She sighed and took his hand, lowering it back on the plate so the eggs wouldn't fall on his shabby robes. 

"You still have more than two weeks and you're starting Snape's brew tomorrow, there is no reason to -"

"Will you go with me? Please…" he cut her off, lowering his voice when Snape sat beside him, carrying a plate with a single over-toasted slice of bread and a lump of unmelted butter slapped on top of it.

As soon as it touched the table, the empty cup in front of him filled itself with tea so black it almost matched his robes.

Remus felt like a small boy begging his mother to go to school with him. Hessie mindlessly darted across Snape’s plate and then nodded.

"Of course I will. I'll just work on my notes and be an emotional support cat. I’m quite good at that, am I not?" she grinned and he let out a sigh of relief, finally gathering the courage to take a bite of his scrambled eggs without the fear of throwing up. 

"I was actually kind of hoping you'll demonstrate. You've always been better at charms."

"You received an ‘Outstanding’ in N.E.W.T.s, Remus."

"Besides," he interrupted and ignored her biting remark.

"You know what my Boggart is. It could…you know. Raise some suspicions."

Hessie panicked. Did he forget what hers was? Before she could argue, though, a deep voice filled her ears.

"So, Lupin. I've heard that you are teaching your first class today. I would like to wish you good luck. And a smooth process. After all, we would all be very disturbed if an accident occurred." Snape sneered, his voice frigid and sarcastic.

He took a sip of his tea, not even flinching at the nauseating bitterness. Remus closed his eyes for a second and then turned at him, a wide smile plastered on his face. 

Hessie just dug a fork into her fluffy pancakes, stuffing her cheeks to the limit. She had to make sure she wouldn’t be able to hex him right on the spot. Her nostrils were trembling with anger, though.

"Thank you, Severus. I truly appreciate your kindness." Remus stated calmly, biting his cheek when Snape responded with a twitch of a forced smile. The cold man continued.

"Speaking of accidents, your potion is nearly ready. Stop by my office around eleven o’clock to gather tomorrow's dose. I will continue to bring it to you on every odd date until the last seven days prior your…imminent sickness. Then you will switch to a full goblet twice a day for the entire week. No pauses, no misses. It is very important for you to remember. Write it on Lynx's forehead if you have to."

He ignored the furious look Hessie gave him when he mentioned her. 

"One last thing - mentally prepare yourself for its unique taste. I have not sampled it, for obvious reasons, but it smells like a troll's lair. And no cheating, sugar devalues its properties." he muttered and quickly got up, his black robe swishing behind him as he walked away, holding his plate with an almost disgusted expression.

"I swear to Godric I will cut him open one day."

After spending the rest of the day in the library, they made their way to the classroom in silence, both too nervous to hold a conversation. When they reached the door, they gave each other one last look. Hessie straightened his fuzzy tie and tapped his shoulder as he straightened her robes, brushing off a few cat hairs she had on her arm. 

He gave her a warm smile and then opened the door, walking inside the filled room with long strides as she jogged to catch up with him. 

"Good afternoon, everyone!" he said with a calm, soft voice. Hessie didn't detect any signs of stress on him. After all, he was an expert in masking himself. She echoed his greeting.

"Professor Lynx is here only as a spectator today, you will get to know her wits up close tomorrow. As for today, please, close your books and pack your things. We will only need our wands today. I would like to start this semester with a practical lesson." Remus stated. The students exchanged confused looks and whispers filled the classroom. They were quite curious though, so they obeyed. 

"All packed? Wonderful! Let's be on our way, then. Please, follow us." he said and walked back to the door, waiting for everyone to gather in a group. Hessie led the way next to him, clutching a packet of pumpkin pastries. They moved through the empty hallways, heading for the professors' lounge.

On their way, though, they were blocked by Peeves. The most infuriating poltergeist under the sun, in Hessie’s opinion. When he spotted them, he let out a shrieking laugh. 

"Fucking hell…" she muttered, silent enough for only Remus to hear. He just grinned widely. He beamed as if he was delighted to meet Peeves again.

"Loony loopy Lupin, lousy little Lynx - sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I -"

"Well, that brings out some memories. Peeves, would you be so kind and move? We were just on our way to the -"

Peeves just blew a raspberry, raising his transparent hands to give Remus a middle finger. The only obstacle was that he didn't have any fingers. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil giggled at the implication of the ghost’s sing-song, their cheeks flaming with a blush. Remus just sighed and took his wand out of the depths of his robes.

"Pay close attention, everyone. This is a very useful repelling spell, it is truly a multitasker. Waddiwassi!" he exclaimed and performed a stabbing motion with his wand. Peeves rotated in the air for a few seconds as the spell threw him about five feet back, it looked like he was hit with an invisible projectile.

Remus gained admiring gasps from the students. 

Hessie snorted with laughter, covering her mouth so she wouldn't spit out the tea she’d just sipped from her chipped thermo flask. It came out of her nose instead.

"That was so cool, professor!" Dean Thomas mused as Peeves flew away, loudly complaining with foul words. Remus turned around and gave him a warm smile.

"Thank you, Dean! Let's move, shall we?"

● ● ● ● ● ●

"I'd love to ask my wonderful assistant for today to do a little demonstration. Would you be so generous, professor?" Remus beckoned to Hessie. She did a little curtesy, making the students giggle in anticipation. She took a bite of her pumpkin pastry and took her wand out of the tweed vest. 

Hermione and Harry answered Remus's questions about the nature of a Boggart and the advantages of fighting it in a group. The closet in the middle of the room ominously shook every few moments, rattling with every move. Everyone in the room trembled as well - from fright. Except for the two teachers.

"By all means, professor." 

A few nervous chuckles accompanied her as she positioned herself in front of the ornate cabinet and brushed off pastry flakes that settled in the corners of her lips with the back of her hand.

She took a quick glance at Remus for a green light and he nodded. Then she pointed the tip of her cherry wand at the object’s door, following up with a soft swing. 

The doorknob twisted with a loud click and several students jumped at the noise. They were anxiously waiting on what will come out. A couple of gasps and squeals echoed through the classroom when black mist slowly floated out of the cabinet and materialized into a bony, clawed paw.

A tall, pale creature stumbled out of the closet and fell on its knees. Its ears were large and pointy, skin shrivelled and a sickly shade of white. The patches of fur that scarcely speckled it were thin, the only consistent amount of hairs was on the top of the beast's head.

It slowly rose on its huge sinewy legs and straightened its back, at least as much as the big skeletal hunch allowed it to. Its long snout twitched as it smelled its surroundings, the damp tip of it moved up and down when it locked its glowing yellow eyes with hers. 

Loud thumps filled the air as it vigorously swung its stubby tail and repeatedly bumped into the open door behind it. The children backed away in panic, a few stumbling right into the wall. Harry soundlessly gasped when the creature stepped towards Hessie, its chest heaving in irregular wheezes.

She watched it with great caution, not taking a single step back when it threw its head back, took a deep breath and howled, its voice cracking. The creature's teeth were needle-sharp and crooked, dark blood was leaking from the corners of its lips. 

Her eyebrow twitched when it set its eyes on her again. But it wasn't vicious. It wasn't a feral glare.

Its amber irises were glossed over by misery. Big salty tears were streaming down the beast's scarred cheeks. It looked at her with tremendous pain, pure, pristine agony.

A high-pitched cough hitched in her throat, but when Pansy Parkinson’s terrified squeak reached her ears, she forced out an exhale and swished her wand in a Z-pattern just as the beast raised its frail arm to swing at her. 

"Riddikulus!"

A split second before the dirty claws were about to dig into her flesh, the figure warped into the same dark fog it originated from and then vaporized again - a fluffy grey puppy appeared in its place. She broke into a soft smile when the class started applauding with sighs of relief and cheers.

Even the most disinterested Slytherins were watching closely in awe. A lot of them actually whistled in admiration. 

She crouched and scratched the dog behind the ear before pointing her finger at the cupboard. It barked and obeyed, stomping away with a chipper shimmy, its tail excitedly wiggling. It disappeared into the depths of the closet and she swung her wand again, closing the door with a loud bang. The object started rattling again. 

Hessie stood up and looked at Remus. He was clapping, too, but he stared at the floor with a sad smile. She cleared her throat and turned around to face the class, theatrically bowing when the cheers got louder. She took another bite of her pastry and grinned. Remus walked up to her and chuckled.

"Wonderful, professor, thank you!" he beamed and stuck out his palm to shake her hand. She took it with a laugh and felt her features fill with familiar warmth when their fingers touched.

She hopped up on the windowsill that ran along the room and tucked her wand away, chomping down the last bite of her snack. She dusted off the crumbles from her fingers and watched as Remus called Neville to the front. 

When he successfully polymorphed Snape's bat-like robes into his grandmother's clothes, the class erupted in laughter and she couldn't help but giggle as well. She couldn't deny the uncomfortable pit in her stomach, though.

The students formed a line and Remus rushed to the gramophone that was next to Hessie, carefully placing one of his well-used vinyl records on top. A cold shiver ran down her spine when her gaze fell on the slender fingers that took the needle and gracefully pressed it on the record. 

A catchy swing melody filled the room and Remus grabbed an apple from a wicker basket prepared on a tea table next to him. He took a bite and excitedly wiggled his eyebrows at his friend, twirling around to face the crowd.

"Parvati!" Remus called the petite girl to the front and watched as Snape twisted into a gigant snake. She stumbled backwards with wide eyes. When she heard the encouraging roars of her friends, she waved her wand and another pop echoed around the room. It changed into an oversized jack-in-the-box.

Hessie scrunched her nose.

Not much better.

She seemed amused and satisfied, though, so Hessie gave a little clap and whistled while motioning Seamus to continue. One by one, the students took turns in front of the closet, successfully morphing the Boggart to their will. She shook off disgust when Ron came up and Dean’s incapacitated zombie hand warped into a full-grown Acromantula. 

"Steady, Ron!" she cheered and took another pastry from the packet in her pockets. 

"Wand at the ready, Ron!" Remus clapped and rolled up his sleeves, watching Ron's twisted expression. He let out a small squeak when the Acromantula clicked its mandibles. Then he finally moved his wand.

"Riddikulus!"

With a loud snap, all of the spider's legs disappeared. Its body rolled around the ground like a furry ball. Cheers and laughs mixed with the lively music. While Ron didn't look a hundred per cent convinced, he grinned and backed away, giving high-fives on his way to the back of the row.

The round torso rolled around the room and stopped at Harry's feet. He was up next.

All colour drained from Hessie's face when Remus looked at her with wide eyes, an identical memory flashing behind his eyes. 

Pale, nearly transparent skin peeling off of a face that still carried some eerie resemblance to handsomeness. Glowing red eyes with serpent-like slits for pupils. A green light ricocheting off a disarming spell. Deafening ringing in their ears as they held each other's hand in a tight cramp, apparating away from the annihilated battlefield.

Remus jumped in front of Harry as nonchalantly as possible, right before the Boggart infiltrated the boy's mind. 

"Here!" Remus exclaimed and raised his wand. The fuzzy globe bounced off of the floor like a volleyball and hung in the air for a few seconds before dissolving into a shiny orb surrounded by clouds. Hessie accidentally crushed the pumpkin pastry between her fingers, forcing down a dry swallow.

"Riddikulus!" he commanded, calm and collected. The orb burst open and a cockroach appeared instead, falling on the floor with a dull slap. Remus ignored Harry's confused shrug and searched for Neville in the crowd.

"He's weak, Neville! Finish him!" he waved his hand and Neville awkwardly jogged to the front and pointed his wand at the insect, more confidently this time. It changed back into Snape for a split second.

"Riddikulus!" the boy loudly yelped. Everyone caught a flash of his grandmother's red handbag. Then the Boggart turned into a small whirlpool of black smoke before imploding with an echoing boom, leaving behind a few crackling fire sparks.

The whole class erupted in loud cheers and feverish clapping along with both professors. 

"Wonderful, everyone, truly professional work!" Remus stuck his wand into the wicker basket to applaud properly. 

"I'm very proud of you all, what a joyful show!" Hessie agreed, giving everyone thumbs up. 

"So, five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin for each student that participated, ten points to The Lion for Neville, as he faced the Boggart twice. And five points for both Harry and Hermione."

"But I haven't done anything!" Harry questioned, his expression as puzzled as his voice. Remus smiled.

"You and Hermione answered my questions correctly! Everyone, this has been a wonderful lesson, thank you!"

"A small homework for the lot of you, read the chapter on Boggarts in your textbooks and write a short essay on methods of recognizing and eliminating them. The deadline is Monday, so you have plenty of time, no stress. Thank you, dear colleagues!" 

Hessie clapped once again and hopped back up on the windowsill, watching the excited students say their goodbyes and flow out of the classroom until it was empty.

They were boasting to each other about how well they dealt with the dark creature. Remus let out a heavy sigh, clearly content. Hessie chuckled and tucked a loose hair behind her ear. 

"Very enjoyable, sir," she mumbled, smirking when he proudly straightened his back. His fist involuntarily flexed at the way the title rolled off her lips. He cleared his throat. 

"Not so bad yourself, madame. They seemed to understand quite well, don't you think? I feel like they all have a lot of potential." he closed the closet door with a swish of his wand and leaned against the wall next to her, taking a big bite of his apple. She nodded. 

"I just hope…you know -"

"Yeah. I'm sure he will understand. Harry is a smart boy."

Strange silence filled the room. Hessie felt like she could hear Remus's thoughts sprinting through his brain. She took a shallow breath to say something but he was faster. 

"I did not realize your Boggart was still…I mean, I didn't think that…"

He fell silent. Stumbling through his explanation wouldn't be coherent enough for her to understand. She started shaking her head furiously.

"No, no. No, Remus. Don't do this to me right now. You know damn well why it's -"

"I'm sorry, Mimi."

"Don't you dare even imply that I would -"

A maternal voice disturbed their hushed conversation. McGonagall's elegant figure entered the chamber, her hair tied in a tight bun. A stark contrast to the mess on Hessie’s head.

"Ah, here you are! Albus told me you have your first lesson today. Did everything live up to your expectations?” she asked, her kind smile as professional as ever.

The two of them exchanged a quick look before Remus cleared his throat, trying to swallow the apple pulp completely.

”Of course, prof- Minerva. They all did their part and eliminated the Boggart Albus was talking about. I feel like they’re all way smarter than we were at that age.” he chuckled and McGonagall pursed her lips.

”I highly doubt that.” she simply stated, her voice full of brutal honesty. Hessie painfully bit her lip to contain a wide smug grin that was cracking her professional smile. The older woman sighed.

“Glad to hear that, though. Anyway, I just came to invite you to our Quidditch practice. I am sure you will find that Potter is even more similar to his father than you think."

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Tag list: @wickedsingularity @messyr-moons @moon-witchs-world

#remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x oc #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders oc #the marauders #golden trio era #potterhead #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #golden trio #professor remus lupin #severus snape #harry potter #marauders

[simplynotcapable]

silver and moonstone snippet

Joffrey alone did not ask her why she came early to Dragonstone.

He had more important things on his mind.

“Again,” he said, hands pressed together as if praying, the furrow in his brow deep enough to call a canyon. She looked down at him from her perch on the crook of Vyper’s leg, her brows raised and a smile playing at her mouth. “Have him do it again.”

Visenya clucked her tongue.

Vyper heaved a great sigh of annoyance, then lifted his tail and let it fall back onto the rocks of the beach with enough force to jostle her a little.

“That!” Joffrey cried, pointing as if she’d missed it. “That! How do you do that without speaking?”

“Blood magic,” she said, airily. “He has eaten of my flesh and drunk of my blood, so now we have one mind and one soul to share.”

Joffrey’s eyes went round as saucers, lips parting in childish wonder, and, somewhere to the left, Jace called, “she is jesting, Joff!”

“Are you sure?” she called, cocking her head to listen. A grin grew slow over her face when only silence came back, and, by the time Jace came around Vyper’s head to enter her view, she was barely fighting off a fit of laughter.

He tipped his head back to glare at her; she liked being able to look down on him from this height, short as he was even a fortnight away from seventeen. He made such a deal of the hair of height he had on her that any advantage was more than welcome. Those big brown eyes narrowed, his curls whipping about in his face from the wind; he’d used oils and pastes to straighten them out for ages, but Visenya’s relentless mockery had finally worn him down into letting them loose.

People would whisper he was Harwin’s bastard with or without the curls, after all, and at least this was he did not look so damned foolish.

“I am sure,” he said, not sounding it. “And you should not make such jokes around children!”

“I said far worse things around you when you were eight, and you turned out fine.”

“That’s not what she means to say,” Luke said, sidling into view on Jace’s heels with a smirk pasted on his face and a snicker already falling from his mouth. He tossed an arm over his elder brother’s shoulder, leaned in close with comically wide eyes, and said, “what she means is: pry the stick from your arse, Jacaerys.”

Thirteen now, but he still looked a babe to her. It did not matter that the baby fat was slowly leaving his face, that he was rapidly approaching matching her and Jace in height, that the maesters suspected he would be as tall as Harwin Strong before all was said and done. Little, little Luke, her little god, with her ring still worn around his finger and fingertip callouses from drawing the bow she’d given him.

Jace shoved him off with a huff, and Luke allowed himself to be thrown. He draped himself over Joffrey instead, arm curling around his neck as he pulled him into a loose headlock. “You’ll have to feed Tyraxes bits and pieces if you ever want him to heed you,” he teased. “A goblet of blood should do for the first flight, no, Enya?”

“Oh, more than enough. Little boy’s blood is sweet as can be, anymore will give him a stomachache.”

“I gave Arrax a nibble from my arm,” Luke said, somberly, drawing away to briefly flap one arm up and down. “Why do you think I am always wearing clothes with long sleeves?”

“Lucerys!” Jace barked, and Luke ducked quickly to whisper something in Joffrey’s ear that turned him white as a sheet. His little eyes blinked furiously a few times, and he turned a horrified look to Jace just as Luke darted away from his brothers and hauled himself up Vyper’s leg to perch beside Visenya.

“Too bold on a dragon not yours,” she said, and he rolled his eyes and shoved her until she twisted her legs about to give him more room.

“What’s yours is mine,” he said, ever a prince, and, with all the maturity of a princess of twenty, she stuck out her tongue.

“They are only teasing, Joff,” Jace said, exasperated, and Visenya and Luke peered back down at the sand. “You’ll not have to give him anything for a first flight, nor to make him heed you without speaking. It comes with practice, is all.”

Joffrey’s shoulders slumped with relief, and he turned his look of childish innocence up towards his eldest brother. “So Vermax did not bite off your cock before she let you fly?”

Jace’s face went through several emotions in a very short period of time, but Visenya fell so quickly into hysterics that she did not catch a single one.

“No,” he finally squawked, face flaming, and then he spun on them with an outraged, “Luke!”

“The stick,” Luke said, his own cackles warping his words to the point that she only barely understood then. “Take it out, Jace!”

#silverandmoonstone #dragonglassandgold #ao3 works #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic

[observeroflaplace]

D23 - Suit

Thanalan’s Manderville Gold Saucer was everything that irked U’rhaya Tia. The promise of easy, unearned coin, the desire for the foolish to throw theirs away in pursuit thereof, the loud noises, bright colours and brighter lights, and worst of all; needing to “clean up” for it. So the garb of a holy man is cheap and shabby, is it? He grumbles to himself, as he straightens his bow tie. Somehow, this was more choking than any necklace. Too close to bringing back unpleasant memories.

His mark for the evening required discretion and study; and most of all, proof. A supposed succubus’ thrall, who used his pact-bonded benefactor’s charms to lure in unsuspecting gamblers, and rob them not only of their coin, but of their souls and life essence too.

U’rhaya’s eyes traced over the room; looking for a card table. Rather than triple triad, the suspect was easy to find with another card game; one using the deck of sixty. U’rhaya cracked his knuckles, waiting for an opportunity to join the table.

In addition to the elderly Lalafell who matched the description of his mark, and a provocatively-poised Sun Seeker as the dealer - almost certainly the subject of his pact, given their subtle but evident collusion, though it was too early to act on it - there were two other figures at the table who caught U’rhaya’s eye.

The first was an Au Ra - strange enough in these parts as it is, though not unheard of; with white scales and a long golden dress, and brilliant white flowing scarves. How she wasn’t boiling in this environment, or been robbed on the way here, he couldn’t say; but gaudy as she was, this was the perfect environment for such an attire. Her expression was complex, like that of someone trying but failing to keep a brave face against terrible odds; or perhaps something else entirely. It appears Nald is not with you this evening, good miss.

The second was an Elezen in his early thirties; the young man was poised with a nigh disgusting level of arrogance about him. Despite a revealing and pompous attire, he bore a distinctive scar on his right cheek which marked him as the survivor of at least one brush with violence; though from his manners, one would have thought him nothing but a spoiled brat. His manner of speaking all but confirmed his status as some spawn of Ishgard’s old money; hardly the entrepreneurial sort.

“All right then.” The dealer announces. “It’s time to reveal.”

Most players at the table - sighed and put forward their biddings. The best among the sorry lot was the Elezen. Pair, two queens of the suits of Sword and Crown, as well as a Jack of Sword and King of Goblets. Tough luck, and such high cards too.

The Lalafellin man grins.

“I’m sorry miss, but this round goes to me. Full house.”

Three sixes, and two of the remaining kings.

Then it happens; the Raen who looked on the verge of breaking down unmasks. Rather than weep however, she smirks, unveiling her hand. Queen, Jack, ten, nine, eight of Wands.

“Straight flush. Queen’s high.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv writing #oh boy I love double meanings in my prose #U’rhaya Tia #Izayoi RKS #Gilberaux Comete

[fairykukla]

I'm back on my dishes bullshit.

Back in the early 90s, I dated a guy that had the coolest dishes. Hear me out; this isn't about him.

It's about the awesome dishes! They were black octagonal plates and bowls. We were together less than a year, and I miss the dishes more than the guy

Many years after we broke up, several relationships later, my new boyfriend and I picked out a set of dishes when we moved into the condo together. They weren't the octagonal set, they were round ceramic dishes with black glazing. He had been shy about suggesting them but I was thrilled.

Around that same time, I met another person with those black octagonal dishes. He was dating my mom. They got married and merged households. Then, a few years later, they moved from the big old house to the small ranch house, he offered me the black dishes. Since I already had black dishes and they'd match, sorta. I finally got my octagonal black plates!

I've been slowly picking up additional pieces here and there. Found a serving bowl, a demitasse cup and saucer, and additional plates and bowls. I have full sized plates, bread plates, and coffee mugs.

I recently went looking for matching glassware. I had seen a lovely black glass goblet set and went searching for something that might match either set of plates.

The brand of the octagonal plates appears to be Arcoroc, it's a French company. The pattern is Octime. The dishes are actually black glass. They made a wineglass and champagne flute to match the dishes:

I just negotiated a deal on a set of 8 of the wineglasses. They still have their stickers on them, never been used.

I intend to do a place setting like this one:

With the Octime dishes and wineglasses. If all goes well, I'll have black flatware to go with it.

Though for the napkins, I may have to borrow a set from the Children's hospital. 😉

#2023 #my life #dishes #back on my bullshit #arcoroc #octime #octagonal black dishes

[sailtomarina]

A Lovely Idea

Scorpius & Rose | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 7: “It’s a perfect mix of sweet and bitter! And the cream just has the perfect texture, see? Just try it!” | WC 726 | Rating: G

The Great Hall looked just as enchanting as it did every winter, with snowflakes falling steadily downward, yet somehow disappearing before even touching their heads. Wreaths and garlands hung from every possible surface, including the walls, doors, tables, and even the light sconces featuring each house’s mascot. The ever-present candles floating overhead seemed to glow even brighter with holiday cheer, and Scorpius spotted what he suspected were snow fairies flitting amidst the river of lights.

“Scorpius, over here!”

His friend’s hiss had him angling his path towards the Gryffindor table, where Rose Granger-Weasley sat behind the biggest goblet of hot chocolate he’d ever seen. A mountain of whipped cream topped the monstrosity. He slid in next to her and bumped shoulders in greeting.

“That’s, uh, an impressive drink.”

She preened at his comment, puffing her chest out as if she had been the one to concoct the confection.

“I know, right? The House Elves took my specifications down exactly. Hopefully it tastes like it should.”

He frowned at that. “Isn’t a hot chocolate just a hot chocolate? What more is there?”

Rose gaped at him, like he’d insulted her favorite book, or said something about her ginger curls–which no one in their right mind obviously would. Her feelings on that particular subject were made very clear from their first day at Hogwarts.

“It’s not just any hot cocoa. It’s Mexican hot cocoa.”

At his blank look, she sighed loudly.

“It’s a perfect mix of sweet and bitter! And the cream just has the perfect texture, see?” She spooned up a bit of the cloudy topping and licked it clean. “Just try it!”

Rose shifted the goblet towards him, and all he could do was stare down at it. Or…up at it? It really was gigantic. How did one even begin to approach a drink of this size? Did he just pick it up, tip, and hope for the best? Wouldn’t that just give him a face full of cream? Should he use a spoon and try to lessen some of the barrier?

“How…?”

“Oh, for Godric’s sake,” Rose groaned, pulling the glass back towards herself.

He watched with a healthy amount of anticipation as she firmly grasped the edges and lifted the beverage towards her face.

“Mmmmmmmf!”

The goblet landed back on the table in a loud thunk.

“I somehow thought that might go differently,” he muttered, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe at her face.

“Here, just…” she pointed towards her mouth, where he dutifully swiped at the whipped cream, before she picked up her wand to finish off the job with a handy cleaning spell. Confusion lined her forehead and she stared at the ruined confection. She sighed heavily. “It was such a lovely idea.”

Scorpius stifled the snort that fought to come out. She’d said the exact same thing when she decided to “enhance” their Levitation spell and ended up nearly sending Professor Flitwick straight into the ceiling. She’d said the exact same thing when she convinced Albus to use the Invisibility Cloak to search for one of the secret passageways they’d heard about in their parents’ stories and ended up running from Peeves instead. She’d said the exact same thing when she attempted to “steady” Albus’ broomstick during Flying Class, resulting in his prompt visit to the Hospital Wing with a broken arm.

“Why don’t we just,” he scooped off the majority of the cream and dropped it with a plop onto a saucer, then gestured for her to try again. “Take a sip, then use your spoon on the cream.”

“That kind of defeats the purpose of drinking the cocoa through the whipped cream,” she grumbled, but she did what he suggested, anyway.

Scorpius once again schooled his features into the perfect picture of neutrality when she squealed her pleasure at the successful endeavor.

“It’s so good! Now you!”

It was good, the way the rich chocolate gave off just a hint of something spicy. The whipped cream did a bang-up job of cutting the heat and adding the right amount of silky sweetness to offset the dark chocolate.

“What makes it spicy?”

“Chili powder!”

“Not bad.”

Rose scoffed at the lukewarm praise, knowing as well as he that the drink was, indeed, brilliant, just like her.

Not that Scorpius would tell her that, at least not until they were older.

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3.

It’s time to revisit the kids, who I’ve been wanting to write more about for quite a while now but just wasn’t sure where to start just yet. Christmas has given me quite a bit of inspiration with the comfortable themes and imagery. It also helps reading all the other great scenes others have written in the holiday spirit.

#hp yuletide bliss #christmas hp fest #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter flashfic #scorpius malfoy #rose granger weasley

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven!!! Would it be ok for me to request a Lilia piece for the First Flush of Spring event? ;////; I'd love for it to involve white calla lilies and be platonic, thank you so very much in advance and for your kindness doing this!!!

White lilies, white calla lilies... the flowers of beauty and purity.

“There is nothing quite so beautiful and pure as a soul that does not yet know of the world and its secrets.”

When Lilia wants to prevent the world from steeping you in its cruelty—and so, he releases you to it.

The First Flush of Spring.

“One day, I want to go to the ends of Twisted Wonderland just like you have, Lilia-senpai!”

He peered at you from over the rim of his teacup. His beverage was still giving off some steam, a pale white veil wafting up to shroud his gaze. Lilia’s glittering eyes pierced through it, cutting like a sword against a blade of grass.

Deep red orbs so large, yet also sharp, with strange slits for pupils. There was a youthfulness to how they glittered, but a certain wisdom in that vast, expansive color. Aged like a fine wine swirled in a crystal goblet.

Eyes all-knowing and discerning.

It was very slight, but you could sense an immediate shift in the atmosphere when his eyes closed in on you. An oddity, having emerged from the depths of darkness, to observe yet another oddity.

You had his attention--his curiosity, piqued.

Lilia smiled, setting down his cup in its saucer and tucking a hand under his chin. “Well now, it seems you’ve cultivated quite the adventurous spirit.”

“After hearing all those crazy stories of your travels, who wouldn’t want to do the same?” You clasped your hands together. “It sounds like there’s a lot to do and to see outside of NRC.”

He chuckled, his low voice almost set in a vibrato.

“Indeed, there is,” Lilia agreed, throwing one leg over the other. Crossing them, he leaned forward in his seat, his tone turning teasing. “However, that is provided that you are prepared for such thrills.

“While it is true that the world beyond the gates of this school houses wonders untold... it is also true that the world boasts of just as many dangers and threats. Horrors that taint people, and alter their view of life forevermore.”

“Eh? But you’ve come out of your travels just fine, Lilia-senpai.”

“Do I appear that way to you?”

There was a space left in the conversation for a response, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give a sure answer.

“... It is a risk worth taking to learn, to grow.” Lilia smiled reassuringly. “A sapling can only become a great oak through exposure to the elements: both the good and the bad.”

“It sounds like the bad stuff will hurt... or change me forever, and maybe not for the best.”

“It might, and it might not.” He pressed a finger to his mouth, his eyes sly from the shadows cast by his long lashes. “To many, it’s sad to lose one’s innocence, the long-cherished trait of childhood--but purity is not simply to be free of faults and blemishes.”

“It’s not?”

Lilia nodded solemnly. “Is your desire to travel not fueled by passion? By curiosity to know what lies in the unknown? To pursue a singular thing so ardently... That, too, is ‘pure’--embracing the very essence of oneself.

“So long as you have your drive... you shall always be at your noblest and most pure, no matter how the world may try to stain it. You will always be beautiful.”

#Lilia Vanrouge #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland interactions #twisted wonderland scenarios #Reader #self insert #First Flush #disney twisted wonderland #imagine this

[vazaymir]

[IC] The next time Vaza arrived on her own to Ric's apartment, she'd be greeted by new sights. Gone were the Starlight decorations and the massive pine tree with all its ornaments and the gifts beneath its branches and in its place was a new tree. A cherry blossom that gave the room a floral scent, with a small bench to sit upon. A tea pot, and an easel were set beside it. A clear indicator of 'I like you here', without him having to say much at all. Her own corner. Her own space within his.

As usual, Vaza had a tendency to arrive unannounced. It had become second nature to venture through the Goblet, making her way to the apartment building she often invited herself to crash in. It wasn't even that she expected Caelric himself to be there, and typically she was content enough to linger in his space after a day's work or simply escape the heat of Thanalan. Many times she'd wait until he arrived home, all the while looking forward to his company as she passed the time in her books or conversations with the fascinating Singularity ever present within its walls.

Today was no different, the steps beneath her feet so familiar she was certain she could make it there with her eyes closed. Her satchel was slung over one shoulder, worn leather weighed down with a tome as her languid wandering reached up to his front door. She could never deny the satisfaction that swelled within her as it opened to her touch, Moebius' polite voice chiming to greet her as soon as she stepped inside.

"Hello, Moebius," the Keeper hummed in response, dropping her satchel onto the bed before beginning to make herself more comfortable. She was just slipping into one of Caelric's shirts when her nostrils flared, the scent of pine only barely lingering. Instead something else had taken its place, a soft and floral aroma somehow overpowering the persistent scent of metal and oil left behind by her lover's constant tinkering.

Dark lashes blinked, curiosity knitting her raven brows as she slowly slid her other arm into the soft fabric of his shirt. Between the wooden slats of the partition she thought she spied blush-colored flowers high enough to reach the second floor, but it was only after wandering around to the stairs that she'd discover the surprise awaiting her. For a moment she stopped in her tracks just at the top of the landing, staring over the cherry blossom as it bloomed nearly in the center of Caelric's home.

Satin tiers gaped as she peered over the flowering branches, one hand reaching out to graze the tips of her dark claws over a few pink blossoms. Calloused pads gingerly traced over the soft petals while she gradually made her way downstairs, dumbfounded awe claiming her ashen visage all the way down to the metal floor below. It seemed the towering tree was not the only thing to greet her, and there around its base she found more subtle gifts awaiting her.

Heat assaulted the Keeper's expression as the realization set in, helplessly speechless and secretly glad the Hyur was not here to witness her astounded state. Her attention slowly floated over the waiting tea set, leaning down to gently pick up one of the silver teacups. She admired it quietly, the pad of her thumb drifting over its handle before setting it back in place on its saucer. Plush lips pursed momentarily, a stupid smile claiming the corners into a high curls.

Next her attention slipped over to the easel, and she'd hug his shirt a little tighter around her figure with one hand while the other brushed over one side of its wooden frame. Although not even holding an empty canvas she regarded with a reverent delicacy, a tenderness that could only in part portray the undeniable swell aching in her chest. It was all so different from the rest of his space, and many might argue the little sanctuary was utterly out of place amongst the magitek and metal.

Nevertheless it was hers. A piece of his home willingly given like an open hand. A tangible invitation that caused the muscle within her ribcage to size and stutter. Slow breath stumbled from parted ribbons, as if she could possibly steady the unfamiliar sensation surging in her chest. It was overwhelming and strange, an ache she couldn't help but savor as her frame eased down onto the bench. Legs drew up into her chest, warmth still staining the surface of her cheeks. She'd lean into the sturdy branches behind her, hopelessly lost on what to do with that blossoming feeling.

@charm-in-spades

#ric over here trying to kill vaza via emotions #jk #but ah mah gerd that was too cute I just kjahsdf #// fatal attraction #i adore them your honor #[shadow of the shroud] #[ A Shadow's Saga ]

[cog5]

May - The Keep, South, Area 1B

#dungeon23

5.4. Northwest Gallery

Eight paintings line the walls.

1. A handful of snails, crushed on a cement slab.

2. The interior of a clock tower.

3. A hearth, on fire, the blaze is out of control.

4. A lean man with a top-knot and a severe case of posterior pelvic tilt. Their hands, deep in their pockets. They step boldly forward.

5. A frame with no picture, the bare wall shows through on the other side. From behind the wall, the sound of knocking.

6. A bathtub, filled with just enough water to drown in, should you fall asleep.

7. A woman hunches, picking up the pieces of a shattered plate.

8. Ice cream. The kind you like.

Under a glass cloche: A spindly plant, sprouting vibrant, green leaves with dark purple veins that pulse like a heartbeat.

5.5. Northeast Gallery

Eight paintings line the walls.

1. A house, but only half. A half-house.

2. A room with large windows, from which pale light pours in. In the room’s center a tree, with flaking, pale bark. Its growth stunted by the ceiling.

3. A highway at twilight, filled with empty automobiles. In the distance, an old woman waits high upon the overpass.

4. Abstract. Remarkably, the feeling summer.

5. A taxidermied bear, its muzzle missing. Mechanical parts protrude from the hole. If it could sing, it would.

6. A void, absent of form or light.

7. A flawless reflective pane of glass. A mirror.

8. A wild dog standing in a dark doorway. Its eyes are large, spinning spirals of incandescent sparks. It hunts.

Inside a glass display: An exceptionally heavy scepter, laden with excessive ornamentation. Grasping the handle is troublesome and getting it through doorways is inconvenient.

5.6. Hema’s Pool

The floor of this room is filled with knee-deep water. At its center, a suspended, metallic sculpture, an amalgamation of human organs intersecting with one another.

If the surface of the water is broken, the organs will activate and manifest a “thing”. A scene, object, or being, based on 2D2 art pieces from the four rooms surrounding it. If a complex “thing” is conjured, the sculpture is likely to be lost in it, obscured by the illusion.

This “thing” is seeded by the last thought that entered the adventurer's head, before they stepped into the pool.

This “thing”, for all intents and purposes, is real, until a situation is resolved. The situation is whatever the adventures perceive it to be. However they decide to solve the situation, is correct. Alternatively, they can find and destroy the organ sculpture, to break the illusion.

5.7. Southwest Gallery

Six paintings line the walls.

1. A young servant, holding a water jug. Her smile contains far too many teeth.

2. An old man, a farmer. Face cracked and dry, hands knotted and gnarled.

3. A ceremony, six figures dance around a goblet under moonlight.

4. A large fish with feeler fins that seem to probe at the edges of the canvass it’s painted on.

5. A faceless man, dressed in a suit tailored from the skin of cucumbers.

6. A stark bedroom, an empty bed, a massive hole in the wall, as if something had been blown out of the room.

Inside a glass display: A chunk of bark, carved to look like a sea-side village. Rows of fishermen with vacant eyes sit upon the docks, each in various states of casting their rods. Above them, long legged birds perch, waiting to see what the ocean will bring.

5.8. Southeast Gallery

Six paintings line the walls.

1. An empty pub washroom, broken stalls. A row of urinals, more of a trough, really.

2. A body of a bee, crushed, laying at the bottom of a small hole, surrounded by pristine grass.

3. An alien saucer, vaporizing a city skyline.

4. An endless hallway, unnerving angles, accented with pastel stripes.

5. A picnic table in the dark, seated with a lonely minstrel.

6. That sandwich shop you’ve been meaning to try, abandoned, boarded up.

Under a glass cloche: A mechanical model depicting an old water mill, operating in a forest clearing. Droplets of oil simulate a rain storm as they drip down strands of fishing line, coiled around the scene.

#ttrpg #dungeon23 #ttrpg maps #dnd #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #osr #drawing #inkdrawing #ttrpg art

[the-baschet]

#30 - Sojourn

It was warm there. It was always warm.

Glasses clinked with ice, sweating in the heat of a drinking hole in the Goblet where Mattisaux helped himself to an empty seat. Sweet smoke and liquor filled the air along with the candied perfume of a Hellsguard who swayed her hips as she walked past. Sparkling, dim lights hung low from the ceiling, highlighting just enough of a person to catch the mischief of their smile or the suggestion of their body. It was the type of place he could never enjoy idling his time away but knew how easily he would fit in.

Before settling in, he flagged down the barman for whatever whiskey available. A drink to set the mood for the rest of the night. He would need more than the one glass to sink its teeth into his shoulders and ease him into himself. He needed someone, some woman, to spend time with to cut the edge. Someone airheaded with plenty of curls in their hair, mayhap a soft tail to pull.

Lidded eyes glowed a brilliant blue when the light caught it just right as a golden pair, slitted and framed with long, fluttering lashes, locked with his.

She might be enough...

Sandy blonde hair to her hips, skin blessed by an afternoon sun, bashful lips glossing in the low light. He wanted her to be enough, especially so when she took the seat beside him. The light scent of pineapple and rose clung to the smoke around the pair as she fluttered her tail, softly grazing his leg on occasion. She helped herself to his glass, to which he had no qualms with refilling, and leaned closer as she flipped her hair out of the way, exposing the smooth nape of her neck. Whatever words spilled out of their mouths were drowned by spirits and forgotten by her lowering décolleté.

The charade could only last for so long, however; he never enjoyed a tease that overstayed its welcome. His impatience stumbled them into an inn for a reckless abandon of more harsh drinks and violent desires. He wanted her screams to haunt him for the rest of his days if he could help it. A shame the night refused to last forever.

And a slight shame how light a sleeper he was.

Gingerly, as to not wake him, she slipped her bare frame from under the sheets, plucking his arm from around her waist as they tangled together in slumber. While her eyes were mostly on him that evening, she caught the glint of his sword and the make of his armor. It was plain to see they were tailormade and with expensive quality. That such a vulgar man had that much value was beyond her grasp but she would not have to wonder overlong if she hurried.

“If you wanted to be intimate with the edge of my blade, dear, you need only ask.” Addled from drink and languid from sleep, Mattisaux’s voice growled deep, creeping a wide grin over his expression as he hopped out of bed to meet her frozen guilt. His build told her not to run and the ache between her thighs would not allow it either way. All she could muster was a pitiful whine as he grabbed her by the neck. “We will make a trade, yes?”

Without allowing her a chance to speak, he lifted her with ease, her nails flying to his arms digging in for a release. Seeing her trying to struggle out of his grip was enough to excite him all over again but, for her sake, he cut it short. Opening the door with his free hand, he tossed her out over the hard floorboard, towering in the doorframe baring his leafless pride. She curled into herself but her arms and tail could only cover so much. Golden saucers darting up and down the hall out of shame until landing on the Elezen.

“I will keep your clothes, gil, and whatever else in your purse, and you will keep your life.” Then he stooped down to her level, whispering with a possessed grin. “Retaliate and I will eat you alive.”

#Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #FFXIV #ff14 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #Mattisaux Baschet #Ishgardian #Elezen #Writing

[mikauzoran]

In Which We Make Progress With Shading

Hi there! I didn’t do a whole lot of drawing practice this week because I was busy writing, like, four chapters of Adrienette Accidental Baby Acquisition, but I feel like I made some good progress with the drawings I did do. (Plus, I did some watercolor, so it was still a productive week.)

First up, the below is a drawing I did in my drawing class this Thursday (09/22/2022). We were specifically working on shading. I feel like my drawing is a pretty good likeness of the objects, but the shading is a little inconsistent. ^.^; I especially had trouble with the cast shadows.

On the left is the Chinese vase you guys have seen before. I didn’t do any of the clouds or the dragon because I only had so much time, and I wanted to focus more on the shading, less on the details of the objects.

The mug on the right is just a plain, white, ceramic mug. I actually think I posted a picture of this before too. It came in a set of six. Its brothers and sisters are all gorgeous shades of blue and green. When I first drew the mug, I was really pleased with the depth and dimensions of the handle...but then I did the shading, and it didn’t look as great afterwards. XD

In the front center is my ocarina. I think this turned out the best of the objects. (Maybe because I love it best out of the three.) I drew it face down, so what you’re seeing is the back where the voicing hole and the thumb holes are. (Because I didn’t want to draw all ten of the holes on the front because I didn’t have a lot of time in class to work on this.)

The drawing was originally on bigger paper, but I don’t draw too terribly big, so I cut it down for storage purposes.

In the upper left-hand corner of the above picture, I drew a mini teapot and sugar bowl. These are actually about life-size in the drawing. My grandma always had a bunch of what-nots, and when she and my grandpa used to watch me when I was really little, I always used to play with them. I often “stole” them and brought them home with me. My mum always had to bring them back with us the next time my grandparents watched me. XD

At some point, I “borrowed” a whole shoebox of them...and never gave them back. Seriously. They are legit still in a shoebox under my bed twenty years later. XD

Anyway, so, the little tea set was one of my grandma’s what-nots. There’s a tray, teapot, sugar bowl, milk jar, and two cups and saucers. This isn’t one of the what-nots I “stole” or “borrowed”. I inherited the set legitimately when my grandma died a few years ago.

The main picture above is a glass goblet (inherited from my grandfather), a tissue box, and a banana sitting on a placemat on our dining room table. There are two chairs on either side of the composition in the background. Below is a reference pic from a slightly different angle.

I didn’t do all of the details on the tissue box because I couldn’t be bothered. XD The banana looks pretty good, though! I’m really pleased with it. When I did a banana about three weeks ago, I had such a hard time with it, and I didn’t do any of the brown spots. This time I think I did pretty well putting in the details.

Let’s not talk about the goblet other than to say that you can tell it’s a goblet. XD That’s my first attempt at drawing a glass object, and it was really hard! The reflections and highlights were really difficult to capture. I feel like I need to spend some time drawing glass objects and getting used to their eccentricities so that I can render more realistic glass in the future.

There are a lot of little things that aren’t quite right with my drawing, but there are also a lot of little things that I feel I did a good job on, so I’m really happy with this picture. I drew multiple objects, incorporated shading and shadows, and even drew the surface they’re sitting on and the background. I feel like my drawings have really improved from my teapot doodles a month ago. XD

Thanks again to everyone following my art journey from the beginning. Next up (besides practicing drawing glass objects) is more fanart-y things. I’ve decided that I want to try to do my own art for Adrien Trapped in AU-Land, and the first thing I want to work on is a small “chapter heading” drawing for each AU. For example, for the coffee shop AU, I want to draw a takeaway cup with “Chez Plagg” and a little Camembert logo on it next to an undetermined amount of chocolate chip cookies. For the ballet AU, I want to do a pair of red pointe shoes.

So, yeah. I want to start working on that, since that’s about my level right now. I’ll probably end up redoing it all when I get a tablet and start doing art digitally, but I think it will be fun to do rough drafts so I can get my ideas down and show you guys.

I also picked up a book about drawing manga anatomy, so I’m going to start trying to do figure drawing. I’ll probably start with trying to draw Adrien from different angels and making different expressions. I need to do some Marinette practice too. ...And I’ll need to Plagg in human form. Maybe Tikki too. We’ll see. ^.^;

Thanks for reading!

#Graphite #Drawing #Mikau's Art #Still Life #Mikau #Anecdote #Mikau's WIP #Adrien Trapped in AU-Land

[copperhawkthoughts]

Happy Wednesday! Have an Essek-POV Aeor WIP snip ft. self-indulgent obsession with what spells look like

Jester moves a little way further up the tunnel to a stretch where the floor appears to be smooth stone. From her garish pink haversack she produces a bolt of green fabric and a squat, ugly little cup thoroughly encrusted with sparkling stones.

She unspools the fabric and shakes it out, coaxing it to settle neatly into a long rectangle. She seats herself at one short end, placing the cup in front of her, and begins to chant.

You observe her closely, intrigued. You hadn’t seen her cast this spell the last time, too caught up in exploring Caleb’s magnificent tower, and the feel of Jester’s magic fascinates you, the strong conjuration energy laced heavily with something odd and crackling that must be her patron’s divinity, and her own sugar-spice signature.

As she brings the ritual to a close, you feel an upwelling of power centred on the gaudy cup. A swirling golden-green shimmer begins to fill the bowl, bulging above the rim for a brief moment before the surface tension breaks and it spills over like fog, like mist, dissipating into a shower of sparks before reaching the green cloth.

The others join you, arranging themselves around the edges of the makeshift tablecloth. Jester twirls a hand over the chalice and it boils over, covering the ground between you with a thick layer of glittering cloud.

The cloud slowly dissipates and as it does it leaves behind, in gleaming array, all the trappings of a courtly dinner, incongruously laid out on a rough cloth on the floor of a dream-flesh tunnel beneath an impossible city in the Astral Sea.

The gilt-edged porcelain service - dinner plate, salad plate, soup bowl; bread plate; cup and saucer - features a wide border of vivid cerulean overlaid with a gilded wreath of kelp and banyan leaves, framing an ornately calligraphed golden ‘LC’.

The teardrop handles of the abundant silverware - salad fork, fish fork, dinner fork; dinner knife, teaspoon, soup spoon, seafood fork; cake fork, dessert spoon; butter knife - are likewise engraved with the same monogram, nestled in a frame of curled leaves and seashells.

The crisp white napkins are monogrammed too. As best as you can tell at a glance, the sparkling crystal stemware - water goblet, red wine, white wine - is not.

Between one astonished blink and the next, the glasses fill.

You are certain that this spell was nothing like so elaborate last time; you can’t for the life of you recall the details of the place settings when you partook on the floor of Caleb’s tower, but you are certain you’ll remember this. A glance around at your friends’ faces - variously delighted, startled, nonplussed - proves your hypothesis; this is something special.

A little overwhelmed, you reach reflexively for the tall-stemmed white wine glass and nearly sputter at the unexpected sweetness of unfermented juice.

“Jess,” Beauregard begins, all the edges buffed out of her voice, “what is all this?”

“Oh, this is how they set the tables at the Chateau when my mama gives parties, you know. I just thought,”-her lower lip wobbles alarmingly for a moment-“it would be nice. I thought it would be nice.”

Fjord takes her hand in his large green one. “It’s great, Jessie.”

You mutter formless agreement along with the rest, unable to look at their faces, abruptly more aware than before that this might be a last meal for any one of you.

The silence hangs thick and weighted for a moment before Veth breaks it with an only slightly too-loud request for chicken satay.

#love is stored in the Jester #cr fanfic #the mighty nein #wip snip #wip wednesday #critical role fanfic #critical role #copperhawk writes #essek pov

[nyanto5]

i feel as though ive been undersold on the concept of a cool cup. you can go to goodwill and get a teacup n saucer on the cheap. a wineglass. a goblet. and u can put whatever in there. i promise

#water and frozen fruit. arizona tea. monster. seltzer. mulled bullshit. gatorade. a slice of lemon with honey and hot water. mio.

[alic3y]

I think it might be about time to do a intro post lmao

My name is Alice I'm a lesbian and a demigirl I AM A MINOR My fave colors are pink, purple and blue My fave foods are Tuna Sushi, Sour patch kids, Flying Saucers

Games I play: Roblox, Dead by daylight, Suchart, Little Inferno, Mortal Kombat, FNaF, Danganronpa (I don't support the creators), Emily is away too, Plague Inc. Evolved, Youtubers life My Favorite Movies: Spider-man Into the Spider-Verse, The Book of Life, Coraline, Harry Potter and the goblet of fire, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban, The Sorcerer's apprentice, Tangeled, Moana, Demon Slayer Mugen train, The Amazing Spider-man 1&2, Spider-man No Way Home

DNI LIST Proship, NSFW, Racist, Homophobic, Sexist, Whitewasher, Art "fixer"