#Thistle keeper
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Is this a Dungeon Keeper reference or am I stupid ?
If so, it's very funny of Ryoko Kui.
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Artfight attack on @masterfuldoodler
We lost power, and had no idea when we'd get it back on. We didn't have much water, so I had to use literal raindrops and dew to do the watercolor, hence the nature boy Haru xD
#Artfight#Artfight 2023#Haru#Rhyin#Kloe#keepers#the thistled rose of glishirn#watercolor#colored pencil#alcohol markers#traditional#drawing#friend's oc
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I have a silver pen now and it's very pretty
#lined paper#oc#original character#original story#my story#collab story#keepers#throg#thistled rose of glishirn#kloe#rhyin#wizard#pen#ink#gel pen#sketch#doodle#traditional#artists on tumblr#my art#august sketch#trash dump
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Semper Eadem (iv, ao3)
Chapter four: In the aftermath of the jousting match, Elizabeth and her court go hunting, where Cassian has conspired to get Nesta alone.
(chapter one // chapter two // chapter three)
Nesta wasn’t thinking of the joust.
As the morning after dawned bright and clear, full of promise and expectation, she swore to God and all the old saints above that her mind would not stray to yesterday. She willed resolution in her chest, begged for strength, and as the sky lightened beyond the lead-paned windows of the Queen’s chamber, she focused instead on dressing her mistress. She refused to remember the tiltyard beyond those stone walls— kept her thoughts far from that bastard-born son of a nobleman who had so decidedly won command of her heart, like it were just another treasure he had plundered.
Obstinate, she clenched her jaw.
No.
By almighty God, she was not thinking about it.
Around her, the ladies of the royal household tittered and laughed, the soft sounds of shifting fabric filling the chamber as Nesta tied the ribbons on the Queen’s kirtle. A steady thrum of excitement hung heavy in the air, so thick it was palpable, and beyond the glass, not a single cloud marred the blue of the August sky.
There was to be a hunt, today.
A column of bright golden sunlight blazed through the chamber as the Queen angled a small Venetian mirror, its gilded frame heavy in one lithe hand as she tilted the glass to better glimpse her reflection. Her Tudor-red hair was afire in the morning light, her painted skin as pale as chalk, and glimmering she stood in the centre of her rooms, bedecked in so much wealth it was nigh on incalculable. Assessing, the sovereign let out a single contented hum.
What she saw pleased her.
And Nesta did not disagree— the dress alone could rival the work of the great Italian masters.
The fabric was light in colour, a pale cream with embroidered roses and vines picked out in such detail it was almost enough to stun. A threaded thistle sat above the Queen’s ribs, and on her left sleeve a large needlework snake was coiled, studded with pearls and gems, and from its mouth dangled a small ruby charm— heart shaped, and surrounded by golden thread, silver cloth, and shining, opalescent pearls.
The snake was Nesta’s favourite part of this particular dress.
An emerald no bigger than a fingernail served as the serpent’s eye, and its tongue was rendered in a line of golden thread darting from between embroidered silver teeth to hold that small ruby heart. A symbol of wisdom and cunning, the snake was everything that Elizabeth represented, everything she valued, and the message wasn’t lost on Nesta as she circled the Queen and brushed a hand over the jewels that made up the serpent’s curled and curving tail.
Her sovereign was as slippery and as dangerous as an adder, one that had used the sharp edges of her diamonds to carve a space of her own in a world shaped for the pleasures of men.
And that ought to have been distraction enough, but no matter how many times Nesta hauled herself back to the present…
Her dastardly eyes wandered to the window, and despite the promises she’d made to the Lord above, she damned her soul when she caught sight of the tiltyard beyond the glass, where a privateer had competed for her honourand—
“Are you looking forward to the hunt, your majesty?”
Nesta tried to not startle as Blanche, the Keeper of Her Majesty’s Jewels, stepped forward and voiced her question, bearing in her hands an oak jewellery box with the lid lifted open. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a staggering number of pearls and jewels and gems, shining in every colour.
Elizabeth was silent a moment, handing off her mirror to another of her ladies as her fingers trailed idle over the priceless objects before her, hovering above diamonds and sapphires and emeralds and rubies. Before she answered, she plucked up a ring set with a large ruby and extended it out, holding it towards Nesta in one smooth movement.
“Ah,” she said breezily, waving her hand, and as the sunlight refracted off the myriad jewels scattered across the fabric of her dress, shards of red and silver light danced across the floorboards, “you know that I do so love to hunt.”
The Queen extended a hand as she spoke, and Nesta slid the ring the sovereign had chosen onto her waiting finger. Another of her ladies draped a necklace of pearls around her neck, and if for one brief moment they reminded Nesta of the pearl that hung customarily from Cassian’s ear…
She forced the thought away, and focused on straightening the Queen’s sleeve, her eyes returning to the snake.
But it’s spine was a line of more pearls— to symbolise wealth and purity, virginity, and it shouldn’t have reminded her of Cassian, of the one set in gold that shone amidst his dark curls. After all, Cassian could lay claim to neither wealth nor virginity, and yet the one he wore was a symbol nonetheless. Nesta brushed her hand over the Queen’s sleeve, and thought that perhaps his pearl was instead a symbol of something precious, something rare. Something plucked from the ocean and brought home to treasure.
Oh, the joust had softened her.
That was for certain.
Her conviction had already been wavering when she’d read Cassian’s letters, and seeing him race down the tiltyard yesterday had all but secured his forgiveness. The flames of her anger had burned away to nothing, and now when she thought of him—
She heard his laugh, saw his rakish smile, and felt her heart beat a little faster inside her chest. Like she were a witless maiden, borne of nothing but dreams and naïveté; like she hadn’t spent years at the royal court, growing as used to politicking as she was breathing. Cassian had made her yearn for real romance again, the way she had once as a girl, when her father had told her of Arthur and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde, and all those famous tales that made her heart swell. Oh, after years of ruthless pragmatism and the endless facade of courtly love, she thought her desire for the real thing had been stifled, strangled, but it had resurfaced now, more fervent than ever before. And when he’d bowed before her in the tiltyard, his helm cast aside and his face aglow with triumph…
Her hand fell away from the serpent on the Queen’s arm.
God— she needed to focus.
She pulled her awareness back in time to hear Blanche ask of Elizabeth,
“Will the Earl of Leicester be your hunting partner?”
Nesta paused.
It was a bold question— so bold that if anybody but the most favoured of her ladies had asked it, the Queen might have found reason to divorce a head from some shoulders. After all, they had all of them heard the rumours. Leicester and the Queen had been close friends since childhood— and there were whispers that perhaps it was once more than friendship, and might someday be something more again, if Leicester got his way. He had organised this entire pageant in the Queen’s honour, a gesture far grander than any he could reasonably have been expected to lay at his Queen’s feet. But as Nesta looked up, half expecting to find fury in the lines of the Queen’s face, instead she found her monarch’s mouth pulling into a coy smile, one that said Elizabeth would allow the question.
“I think perhaps he shall,” she answered.
Nesta remained silent, only rounded the Queen to stand before her. She assessed the dress, the jewels, straightening the pearl necklace that twice circled her throat before hanging down to her navel. Elizabeth merely tilted her head in the wake of Nesta’s ministrations, causing the lace of her ruff to tremble.
“And what of you, Mistress Archeron?” she asked. “Who shall be your partner?”
Nesta did not blink, did not pause, did not hesitate.
“Who should you like it to be, your majesty?” she asked, tilting her head in an echo of the monarch’s stance. Approval glimmered in Elizabeth’s eyes, a rare jewel of its own.
“Northumberland, perhaps?” the Queen ventured. “Master Vanserra seemed most determined to compete for your honour yesterday.”
Nesta’s mind flicked back once more to the joust - her soul be damned - and to the way Cassian had almost killed Eris in the tiltyard. As if the Queen could read her mind, Elizabeth snorted and said, smoothly,
“Or Master Cassian?” She tapped Nesta on the wrist with one long, thin finger. “My handsome Bat seems to have an eye on you, dove.”
Nesta forced herself to shrug.
“Perhaps he does, majesty.”
She fought a smile, and Elizabeth hummed. Mirth danced at the corners of her lips, and even though she didn’t approve of her ladies marrying, something about the joust yesterday had humoured her. Perhaps it was the way Cassian had bowed to his Queen, or the way he had cast off his helm and looked up to the stands in such a perfect display of chivalry that Nesta half thought he might have plucked it from the pages of some Arthurian romance. Either way, something had snared the Queen’s attention, but Nesta was not fool enough to say anything more. She merely took a single step back and bowed her head as the Queen smoothed a hand down her skirts one final time.
“Well,” she said, her tone one of musing. “Perhaps we shall see.”
A moment later the Queen clapped her hands, the sound sharp and cutting in the silence of her chambers. As the rest of her ladies waited for instruction, Elizabeth looked the window and allowed another serpentine smile to grace her lips. Her eyes were lit with purpose as she lifted her chin and said, with all the authority and determination only a monarch could muster,
“Let us hunt.”
***
It seemed, Nesta thought from atop her horse a half hour later, that all of England had descended upon Warwickshire to bask in the majesty of the Queen.
Riding two or three abreast in a great train behind Elizabeth, the hunting party stretched across the grounds all the way back towards the castle— all noblemen and horses, ladies and squires and hunting dogs. Trumpeters and drummers followed too, and a host of staff from the kitchens carried the baskets containing the food they would lay out at noon for dinner. Sheaths of arrows were slung across backs, crossbows stowed in saddlebags, and the drumming mirrored the footfalls of the horses as beyond the castle walls, Kenilworth’s expansive lawns began to slope before eventually giving way to lush woodland.
Grand— it was all so immeasurably grand.
Ahead, the Queen’s standard fluttered in the breeze, held aloft by a standard bearer, the embroidered lion shining golden beneath the morning sun. All the trappings of royalty gleamed— the richness of the Queen’s dress, the pearls that had been threaded through her hair; a glimmering vanguard as the trees of the forest grew closer. And at Elizabeth’s right, just as Blanche had suspected, rode the earl of Leicester.
As casually and as easily as if it were the only place in the world that suited him, Robert Dudley filled the space at the sovereign’s side, and their heads were inclined towards one another as they spoke, their horses so close their flanks almost touched. The breeze carried behind them the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter, and as Leicester glanced sideways at his Queen, Nesta saw a flash of teeth, a wide smile beneath the brim of his hat, and she knew with unerring certainty that the earl was in love— so desperately and madly in love that it warranted all of this display, all of this pageantry.
And the reminder that all of this grandeur was on the behalf of a man simply trying to turn a woman’s head…
Well, it was foolish perhaps, and more than a touch sentimental, but… charming, too.
And after all, hadn’t Cassian done something similar yesterday— something just as foolish? When he’d all but declared war on Eris, one of the richest dukes in England, because he had dared to ask her for her favour?
She shook her head, pushed the thought away, and kept her gaze straight ahead.
On the Queen’s left was Rhysand, riding silent and all but ignored. His heavy chain of office was draped over his shoulders, and the gold was bright against the deep black of his doublet. He wore a cap with a raven feather at the top too, and though from her position behind him she could not see his face, she could see his hands gripping the reins of his horse— could see, too, his velvet gloves, and the three rings he wore atop his gloves on each hand. His shoulders were stiff, and Nesta smirked.
If there was one thing Lord Rhysand did not appreciate, it was being overlooked, and with Leicester by her side, the Queen had no attention to spare for her dark-haired councillor.
The sight should not have made Nesta as smug as it did.
On Nesta’s own left rode Madge, another of the Queen’s ladies. At their backs was the Duke of Northumberland and one of his many brothers, and Nesta did not think it a coincidence that he had managed to secure such a spot in the procession trailing behind the Queen. Indeed, as she had stood in the courtyard and mounted her horse, Eris had offered her his hand, and though Nesta had not accepted his assistance, he had bowed his head anyway, before taking her own hand and placing a fleeting kiss to the back of her fingers.
She had never been so thankful to have been wearing riding gloves.
Beside her Madge was silent, as if she could tell that her riding partner was entirely preoccupied with her own thoughts. A frown almost creased Nesta’s brow, and she almost considered striking up conversation, but then her eyes fell to her gloved hands tight on her reins, and all she could think was—
I hope Cassian did not bear witness to that ridiculous kiss.
It was a thought as ridiculous in itself as the kiss Eris that had dropped on her hand, but one that persisted nonetheless. So consumed was she by it that the world and all its noise seemed to fade away, until—
“Mistress Radcliffe,” a smooth and all too familiar voice said easily from the empty space at Nesta’s right. Her heart kicked in answer as Madge turned her head, eyebrows rising as she beheld who addressed her. “My lord Azriel asks for you. He wishes to give you news of your brother in Ireland before the hunt begins.”
Cassian did not let his eyes stray to Nesta as he bowed his head; a vision of courtesy.
Madge smiled wide. It was no secret that she missed her brother, sent over to Ireland on the Queen’s orders. A lady from the north, she missed her family greatly, and it was no surprise to Nesta when she nodded her head and gave her thanks before turning around and leading her horse back along the procession that trailed them, to the space about four riders back, where the Queen’s spy had been riding beside the privateer and now sat alone.
Nesta looked behind as Cassian’s horse fell into step behind her. Quietly, she thought she heard Northumberland curse.
“Lady Nesta,” Cassian said in greeting, his voice light and airy as if this were the most ordinary of meetings.
But— merciful God, have pity on her soul.
Would she ever tire of the way her name sounded on his lips? Or the way he imbued it with something that felt like intimacy somehow? Lady Nesta, not Mistress Archeron. She thought back to his letters, how he’d penned her name with such an elaborate flourish. Even on a rocking ship, when ink and time were short for him, he’d written her name like it meant something. She glanced sidelong at him, trying to focus on the rhythm of the horse beneath her, the gentle trot of the hooves. But one look and she was at sea all over again, her sentimentality like a storm that threatened to send her under.
His doublet was the deep red of Burgundian wine, shot through with silver buttons in the centre of his broad chest, and for one foolish and ill-advised moment Nesta let her eyes wander, following that path of silver to where his doublet met his breeches.
God have pity, indeed.
Seated atop his horse, the privateer beside her cleared his throat and Nesta hauled her gaze back up— to a level far more befitting a lady of the Queen’s household. She took in, instead, the slashed sleeves of his doublet that split to reveal a crisp white shirt sitting beneath, and the dark cloak draped effortlessly over his shoulders. A delicate ruff rose from his collar and just barely grazed the edge of his jaw, and oh, lord— this man was beautiful. A velvet bonnet was balanced at a damn near rakish angle atop his curls, and as he brought his stallion into a trot beside her, the feather adorning it shivered in the breeze.
Beneath his unflinching gaze, and despite the heat, Nesta felt herself shiver too.
“Feeling cold, my lady?”
Damn him.
She cleared her throat, and refused to take note of the way several of those curls escaped his bonnet and lay tangled above his ruff, right against the bare skin of his neck.
“Master Cassian,” she said mildly, looking decidedly straight ahead to where the Queen and Leicester still spoke together in low murmurs. “Can I help you?”
He grinned. “Back to Master, are we?”
“Would you have me call you something else?”
“Oh sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice so low it was almost sinful, “I’d have you call me several things.”
Nesta rolled her eyes and tried to force down the blood that rose to her cheeks.
“You are incorrigible.”
“Indeed,” he said brightly, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply, drawing the summer air deep into his lungs. He tightened his grip on the reins, his gloved hands pulling as the riders ahead of them began to slow— as the line of trees at the forest edge grew nearer still.
And Nesta thought she must have lost her mind, because when she looked at those gloves, for a moment she found herself mourning the fact that she could not see the bare skin of his hands as his fist tightened.
“Tell me— did my lord Azriel really wish to speak with Madge?”
Sidelong, Cassian smirked.
“In truth, no,” he said with an easy shrug. “But it is no lie that he received reports from Ireland this morning. It is entirely possible there was something about Mistress Radcliffe’s brother in there.” He shot her a grin, before adding brightly, “I merely thought to join your hunting party, if you’ll have me.”
“I fear I am not much of a hunter,” Nesta answered with a shrug of her own, a slow lift of one shoulder. “My sister was always far better at it than I.”
He shot her a dazzling smile, one edged with mischief. “And yet I am certain we can find some creature for you to bring down.” He glanced behind him, to Eris and his brother. “A fox, perhaps.”
“Perhaps the fox was brought low enough already after yesterday’s joust.”
“The fox remains presumptuous,” Cassian shrugged. His gaze dropped, eyes turning flat as they alighted briefly on her hand, and Nesta’s heart sank a little as she realised that yes, Cassian had indeed witnessed that ridiculous little kiss. “He still thinks to take what is mine.”
“Yours?” Nesta asked incredulously, glancing once over her shoulder, ensuring Eris was still too lost in his own conversation to overhear. Looking ahead, she saw with thanks that the Queen was still too preoccupied to take note, too. “After such a long time away?”
Cassian lifted one hand from the reins and waved it. Like Rhysand, he too had rings decorating his fingers above the velvet, and they gleamed now, the gold bright.
“I thought we’d been over this, sweetheart?”
She blinked, imperious. “You’ve been over this, sir. As far as I recall, I said little on the matter.”
He snorted. “You said much,” he countered simply. “You’ve had me grovelling for days.”
“Grovelling?” she raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t mask the smile that began to spread across her face. “I haven’t seen you on your knees once.”
His eyes darkened. “And is that what it will take, my lady?” He tilted his head, the pearl in his ear brushing the lace of the ruff that peeked from the neck of his doublet. “For my forgiveness, you would have me on my knees?”
She was silent for a moment, and a wicked smirk curved his lips.
“Trust me, love, I am more than willing.”
Her breath caught, her blood raced. His meaning was obvious, and with the way that smirk turned almost devilish, she knew that the blush that rose to her cheeks had amused him— pleased him. Her treacherous heart beat a little faster - a lot faster - and she was about to reproach him for daring to speak so boldly in the presence of a lady of the royal household, but—
The horns sounded, and the dogs began to bark, and the party at last reached the tree line. With a wave of the Queen’s hand, lifted into the air, every one of them fell silent.
Cassian pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked, and Nesta was so momentarily undone by the gesture that she almost set her horse into a straight gallop. She pulled hard on the reins, knuckles straining above the leather, and when she turned, she saw laughter dancing in those damned eyes.
She tore her gaze away, focusing forwards— on Rhysand and the Queen and Leicester.
Slowly they made their way beneath the cover of the trees, delving farther and father into the woodland. The sound grew muffled, the heavy canopy above cloaking the rest of the world from view, and all around them was birdsong and the snap of breaking branches as the great trail of courtiers and servants began to split into smaller groups.
It would have been impossible for the entire party to have remained unnoticed by their quarry, and so— in groups no larger than a dozen, the entire court slipped away, and as Nesta looked over her shoulder when the initial flurry of activity died down, she found nobody behind them now, only the greenery of the forest and the birds in the trees above.
The Queen’s personal hunting party had narrowed, leaving only Elizabeth and Leicester, flanked by Rhysand and two more ladies-in-waiting. Madge and Azriel had joined them too, along with one more member of the Queen’s council. Nesta and Cassian brought the total to ten.
Leicester retrieved a crossbow from his saddlebag, and handed it across the distance to his Queen. Elizabeth grinned.
A hush had fallen, and ahead Rhysand looked over his shoulder and scanned the members of the small group. Catching Cassian’s eye, he seemed to give an exasperated sigh before rolling his eyes and giving the privateer one brief, sharp, nod. Nesta did not much understand the silent and secret language Cassian seemed to share with his brother in arms, but it did not take a master codebreaker to decipher that particular message.
Alright, that nod seemed to say. I’ll do as you ask.
In answer, Cassian grinned.
And as Azriel manoeuvred his horse around them, leaving Nesta and Cassian at the back of the assembly, Rhysand pointed between the dense copse of trees ahead, where the light above was dim and the forest pressed in on all sides.
“There!” he said loudly, his voice startling the birds nesting in the nearest tree. “Over there, your majesty!”
Elizabeth whipped her head to the side, sharp eyes assessing the direction Rhysand’s finger still pointed. Before Nesta could blink, the Queen’s smile had widened, the hunt upon her, and she kicked in her heels and sent her horse barrelling through the trees— at a speed so reckless her other councillor cursed soundly before setting his horse to follow.
Rhysand’s black stallion charged ahead, but before Nesta could urge her own mare forwards, another hand gripped her reins.
Cassian held tight, and as the rest of the hunting party darted quickly between the trees, Cassian inclined his head to the side, nodding in the other direction. His smile grew as the sound of the racing horses faded, and when he let go of the reins at last, he did not retract his hand. Instead, he extended it further, turned his palm to the sky. A silent offer, unspoken question.
Come with me, that hand said.
And Nesta knew it was a bad idea to follow him through the wood.
Knew it was reckless, to go off with him alone.
Her reputation could end up in tatters. She could lose her position in the Queen’s household.
And yet…
His smile was somehow sweet and devilish at the same time, simultaneously the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the harbinger of her own ruin.
She should have said no.
But God save her…
She didn’t.
Instead, she placed her hand in his, feeling her heart kick as his fingers folded over her own. He drew her closer, until he could lift her hand to his mouth, and without looking away, he kissed the glove above her knuckles. She fought a shiver, and though earlier when Eris had kissed her hand she had thanked the Lord for riding gloves, now she cursed them— abhorred them.
She felt the warmth of his hand sinking through her gloves, and oh, she only wished she could feel his touch against her bare skin, feel the smoothness of his kiss as the trees hid them from view.
At last he blinked, breaking his gaze and flicking his eyes down to the fingers he still had pressed against his lips.
A moment, an age, or a heartbeat later, he let her hand drop. And before Nesta had time to collect herself, Cassian dug in his heels and sent his horse through the trees, looking back over his shoulder, as if unwilling to draw his eyes away.
And when they were alone, with only the two of them riding almost silently, slowly, through the density of the trees, she dared to look at him again as he adjusted the crossbow that now sat across his lap, though neither of them seemed really intent on hunting anything at all.
For a long time, there was silence— as if they were both of them afraid of being overheard. The air between them shifted, growing softer, as if the quiet gave rise to vulnerability. Suddenly, there were a thousand things Nesta wanted to say, a thousand words drifting to her lips, but in truth, she had no real idea of where or how to begin. Instead she watched the forest ahead of her, studied the way the leaves above swallowed the light, and let the silence stretch. And stretch, and stretch, and stretch, until—
At last, the privateer broke it.
“You said you wanted me on my knees,” he began softly. “But what else do I need do to prove myself to you?”
He looked at her imploringly, the rogue cast aside, and Nesta’s heart suddenly began to strain, each beat laboured. Nothing— she knew she ought to tell him nothing, because no matter how much she wanted it, how much desire she carried, how could this ever end well between them?
Cassian studied her face.
“Do I need to sail to a distant land and claim it in your honour? Name a settlement after you? Bring you back a ream of treasure?”
She was silent, and his eyes were lined with a wealth of desperation that gave the lie to his bravado.
“Or shall I cast off my cloak before you and lay it over puddles, so your silk slippers may never touch the ground? Or—“
Nesta shook her head, and when she opened her mouth, his voice died to make way for hers. But her words grew tangled in her throat, and she hesitated— even though she never hesitated. She closed her mouth and sighed once more, and atop his horse Cassian smiled a little sadly, with so much longing her own heart ached, and when she looked at him…
Oh, he was the road her heart begged her to travel, even though it was one she knew in all good sense she wouldn’t be able to see through to its end. What was the point in letting herself fall, only to be hurt again when he left? Or when her father succeeded in tying her to some wealthy duke— if not Northumberland, then some other who came along? What was the point in any of it?
Love, a small and starving part of her whispered. The love the poets write about, the kind the troubadours sing about. The kind that makes you feel the way you do now, ready to cast off the world and find home in the arms of this one man.
As if he could see her battling with herself, Cassian drew his horse closer to hers— so close she could almost feel his warmth.
“You should know,” he said quietly, and whether the whisper in his voice was because of the need to stay hidden or the vulnerability of his words, she wasn’t sure, “that your letters were a greater treasure to me than anything I could take or steal from any ship on the high seas. Greater to me than any ransom any king could demand.”
A heartbeat passed, one where her heart seemed to thud so loudly in her chest that she feared the flock of deer they were pretending to hunt might hear it and flee.
Charming— did he always have to be so damned charming?
And God— would it be so bad, to tell him that he already had her forgiveness? Would it be so terrible, to tell him that despite it all she was his, if not in body but in mind and soul at least?
She was speechless for a moment, and he managed a weak sort of grin at her evident surprise.
And then—
The trees thinned, and a clearing lay spread before them, golden sunlight pooling in the centre like a small slice of Arcadia. Cassian sniffed a little, like the long grass and the wildflowers had irritated his nose, but still— there was beauty in that clearing, unspoiled and harmonious.
And— a doe.
A doe stood frozen in the middle, her ears pinned back as she caught sight of the approaching horses. The sunlight dappled across her white-spotted back, and as she slowly lifted one slim leg, ready to bolt, Nesta’s eyes drifted to the crossbow in Cassian’s lap.
She prayed he wouldn’t shoot.
But Cassian’s hand didn’t so much as twitch towards the weapon, as if he couldn’t find it in himself to hunt the creature either.
Yet on the other side of the clearing— there was the flash of auburn, the glint of an arrow.
Nesta’s heart lurched, and whether by design or divine intervention, beneath the hooves of Cassian’s horse a branch cleaved with a crack.
Readily, the deer bolted.
A curse sounded from the trees, where only a moment ago an arrow had been knocked and drawn, ready to be loosed.
“Privateer.” A snarling voice drifted from the tree line, sharp and cutting, and Nesta recognised it immediately— saw the auburn hair like burnished bronze as Eris came into view. “You just cost me my prize.”
The duke pointed to where the deer had escaped between the trees, and though the rest of his companions remained in the shadow of the forest, she thought she could make out a handful of their faces, two of them bearing that same auburn hair. His brothers. Eris’ sneer grew wider, more vicious, and as he turned his head to fix Nesta with a stare across the distance, she wondered if his prize hadn’t only been the doe, but her, too.
He brought his horse forwards into the clearing, further into the light, giving her an unrivalled view of the shining bruise that marred his temple.
He hadn’t taken his loss at the joust yesterday well, it seemed, and though he cast his eyes over Nesta once more, it was to Cassian that he returned his gaze, letting out a single, dissatisfied huff. The bruise stretched up to his hairline, a livid purple stark against his pale skin, and in everything else but that, he appeared every inch the nobleman. A ring sat on every finger, and his doublet was unbroken black. Like Rhysand, he too wore a livery collar draped across his chest and shoulders, but where the Queen’s councillor had a Tudor rose dangling from his chain of office, Eris had instead the badge of a dog, its head back, lifted as if howling at the sky.
He had a dagger out, too, presumably for slaying the deer, but the glint of the blade in the sunlight still promised bloodshed, and the way his hand flexed around the hilt said that it didn’t matter the doe had fled.
That dagger was to taste blood today, one way or another.
“Piss off, Northumberland,” Cassian said easily— but his own hand had strayed from his bow to the sword hanging at his hip, his wrist resting purposefully on the pommel.
Eris’ eyes flashed, quietly furious as his lip curled. “I will not stand to be insulted by one of such low standing.”
Cassian barked a laugh, but it was low and rough and dangerous. “You won’t stand for anything, sir, if I knock you from your horse as easily as I did yesterday.” He paused, and then added, “Shall I give you another bruise to decorate the other side of that pretty face?”
The duke sneered, but before he could let loose the insults that Nesta could see were rising to his tongue, there was a cacophony in the distance, and a hundred horns suddenly flaring loud enough to be heard all the way back at the castle.
It was a summoning— a call to arms, to usher Elizabeth’s court back to her as the sun reached its highest point in the sky and dinner was served in the great tents at the edge of the forest.
For the moment, at least, the hunt was at an end.
Eris twisted his head, looking behind him to the direction the horns had sounded. His brothers did not wait for him to make up his mind before they disappeared, following the call for food that was, apparently, of far greater worth to them than any loyalty they had for their brother.
Cassian bowed mockingly in the saddle, but his hand did not stray from easy reach of his blade, and when Eris turned back to them, his lips were a thin line.
“These woods are treacherous,” he said flatly. “It commands great skill as a rider to avoid the pitfalls that litter these grounds. You might have won the match yesterday, sir,” - the duke’s lips pulled back over his teeth - “but how about another match? Here and now?”
Nesta watched as Cassian grinned, almost feral.
“First to the Queen wins,” he said as he moved his horse forwards, drawing level with Eris’.
The duke’s face darkened, and the nod he gave was sharp before flicking his eyes to Nesta once more. As if this were another attempt at winning her, at securing her favour for a second time. Cassian’s smile fell away, leaving behind the same murderous expression that had fuelled him at the joust yesterday.
“For the lady’s honour, then,” Eris declared, every word imbued with venom.
And when Cassian nodded, looking behind him over his shoulder to give Nesta one final wink, Eris clenched his jaw before slamming his heels into his horse’s flank, sending the beast galloping through the trees.
Cassian swore, a curse so filthy she was sure he could only have picked it up at sea, and surged forwards, letting the forest swallow him.
But as Nesta followed, dipping beneath the cover of the trees, she saw that only the thinnest shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves above, leaving the forest floor just as treacherous as Eris had described. The ground was slick with mud, and even though the August heat ought to have dried it out, the summer sun had never made it to the ground here. Petrichor was thick in the air, and the long limbs of the trees snatched at the skirts of Nesta’s dress as she rode by them, wild and overgrown. Treacherous— this part of the forest was most definitely treacherous.
Indeed, Cassian could not ride as fast as he had yesterday, and neither could Eris, and it allowed Nesta to keep both the duke and the privateer in her sights as she followed behind, watching them weave through the trees in search of stable ground.
As her horse almost stumbled over the gnarled roots of a tree half concealed by fallen leaves, she wondered if stable ground even existed this far into the woodland, and as the wind brushed against her cheeks and another branch snagged on her cloak, she almost called out to stop the madness that had Cassian spurring his horse onwards, regardless of the danger.
The ground began to slope— sharp and steep, and it was madness, utter madness to continue—
Eris noted the slope, and Nesta watched as the duke swiftly studied the way the ground all but dropped away to reveal a small dell below, home to wide a stream that ran slow and idle through the undergrowth. Its banks were coated with mud, turning it slick and dangerous.
Wisely, he veered to the side, directing his horse around— to where the ground sloped more evenly. A longer path, but a safer one, and he looked back only once before disappearing into the trees, avoiding danger altogether.
But Cassian—
Irreverent, he glanced once over his shoulder. Manic, he grinned as he barrelled ahead, shooting Nesta a wink as he urged his horse faster still in Eris’ absence. The creature’s hooves slid in the mud, and Nesta called out his name, but Cassian had turned his face away, and if he heard her, he gave no indication.
Idiot.
She had no choice but to follow, and when he reached the banks of the stream, he did not stop. Instead he pressed in his heels, riding even faster, compelling the stallion to jump—
And Nesta watched as the horse made the jump, but its hooves slipped on the bank on the other side, its landing far from smooth.
And just as Eris had been thrown from his horse yesterday, now Cassian was thrown from his— but it was a fall that was far more treacherous, far more dangerous, and Nesta swore her heart stopped dead as she watched him land roughly, heard the muffled groan as the ground came up to meet him. Forgetting all notions of her own safety, she urged her horse faster, willing it to cross the stream his stallion had just jumped.
“You fool,” she hissed, feeling her horse whicker beneath her as she pushed the mare onwards. Cassian was lying on his back, a hand cast over his ribs as he looked up at the sky. “You could have broken your damned neck.”
Cassian twisted his head to look up at her as she pulled her horse to a halt.
“Got your attention though,” he muttered. “So I’d say it was worth it.”
“This was a bid for my attention?” Nesta echoed, dismounting roughly as he continued to lie there in the earth churned by his horse’s hooves. The mud was seeping through his breeches already, and the white sleeves of his fine cambric shirt were, she feared, irreparably stained.
“Well,” Cassian said lightly, as though he hadn’t just been thrown from a stallion. “You started it, sweetheart.”
“Started what?”
He looked up at her again, turning his head in the dirt. “You gave Eris your favour.”
Nesta blinked. “You had your horse make a jump like that, risking your own bloody neck, because I gave the duke of Northumberland my ribbon? Have you lost your mind?”
“No,” he countered evenly. “My heart, perhaps. But my mind is still wonderfully intact.”
“Up,” Nesta said sharply. “Let me look at you.”
He grinned, as though vindicated, but as he made to raise himself, he hissed sharply, sucking in a breath as he pressed a hand to his ribs. His brow furrowed with pain, eyes darkening, and Nesta sighed heavily as she pulled off her gloves, held out her hand, and helped him to his feet.
“Take off your doublet,” she said flatly, looking at the expanse of muddied velvet.
Cassian’s brow quirked. “Well, that’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress but—“
“How else can I check to see if you’ve shattered your ribcage?” she interrupted, but Cassian only grinned again and began loosening his ties. Soon enough his doublet was parted entirely, and as he slipped it from his shoulders, he winced. He let it fall to the floor, and Nesta was about to chide him for dirtying it so, but then she caught sight of his sculpted chest showing through the thin fabric of his cambric shirt. She swallowed, letting her gaze wander across his collarbone, at the tanned skin there that had been masked by his doublet’s high neck.
“And this?” Cassian said lowly, nodding to his undershirt. “Does this need to go too?”
“I… suppose it does,” Nesta said with a sniff, trying to affect nonchalance when all she could focus on was the curve of his shoulder, the muscles lining every inch of him. “How else can I check that no ribs are broken?”
“How else indeed,” Cassian hummed, and wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head.
And good Lord have mercy, Nesta knew that Cassian was sculpted like Italian marble but nothing could have prepared her for the bare skin of his chest, hardened with muscle. Those months on a ship definitely suited him, and as she looked, she forced herself to focus on his ribs, on the task at hand.
Innocent, she thought as she tentatively traced a finger across his ribcage, where a thin scar marred his skin. It’s all entirely proper, completely innocent. Just a lady checking a friend for injury.
He was warm beneath her, so warm, his skin softer than it had any right to be. He’d spent eight months in the sun and salt air, and he’d come back looking finer than ever. Hers— this man could be hers, and as her fingers splayed across his chest, Cassian reached up with one hand and caged her touch right above his heart.
She felt it beat— sure and steadfast.
“Will I live?” he asked softly. “Or am I doomed?”
Nesta swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away from his hazel ones, boring down into her with an intensity that had her feeling slightly stunned. Her lips parted, she tried to speak, but all she could feel was his heart beating beneath her fingers, his smooth skin and the warm heat of him that had her feeling breathless.
“You’ll live,” she said at last.
He nodded, his hair falling idly over his forehead. In the sunlight, the pearl that dangled from his ear winked, the gold setting glimmering.
Nesta blinked, and somehow found the strength to drag her eyes away, dropping her gaze to the floor. Where his shirt lay in a crumpled pile next to his doublet, there was a hint of pale-blue, a small flash of colour against the white. She frowned, tilting her head, unable to understand even as she knew what it was, what it must be.
“Is that— my ribbon?”
Cassian pulled back, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face as he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.
“Perhaps.”
“How did you even get it?” she asked, bending to retrieve it from the pile of his clothes.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let Eris have it.”
Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the noise of the forest and the sounds of the horns, distant.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asked quietly. “About the betrothal.”
Nesta shrugged. “Because I’m trying to get out of it,” she said easily. “It was foolish of you to think I’d still be here, unwed, when you got back. You know my father—“
“Fuck your father,” he muttered. And then he softened, his eyes turning wide with something akin to pleading. “I’m here now, sweetheart. And I’m not going away again.”
“But you will,” she countered, turning her face away. He always would— he could not be tied to the court as she was, had too restless a spirit to spend his life idling away on an estate somewhere. “And I’ll be left behind, waiting for you, again.”
“You could come with me,” he offered instead, even though the both of them knew it was madness.
Elain had moved to Spain with Lucien— but that was because his place was in the Spanish court, somewhere settled. It was bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship, everyone knew that. No, Cassian could not take her with him, but she adored him a little for even offering in the first place.
“Or you could promise not to stay away so long,” she said instead, her voice quiet. “Come home, Cassian, as often as you are able. Don’t sail so far away from me.”
“Never again,” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “How could I ever stray so far, when I love you too much to stand the distance?”
Her breath caught.
I love you.
Oh, the words were said so often at court. She’d had countless dukes and earls call her their dearest love during dances and revels, and she couldn’t even begin to fathom how many had written her poems or bowed deep and told her she held their hearts in her hands. It was part of the game they played at Elizabeth’s court— part of the realpolitik that made up their world.
But it was different when he said it.
So different Nesta might have sworn the earth beneath her shifted, that standing beneath that canopy of trees, all the riches in the world lost their value.
She blinked, and he waited— waited for her to say something, to acknowledge his declaration.
And in the end, Nesta found the strength to dip her head, to smile a little demurely before stepping forward and pressing the softest, the chastest, of kisses to his cheek. Then, she turned back to her horse and mounted, leaving him standing there, looking up at her, one hand pressed to the cheek she had just kissed.
“I suppose, then,” she said, “that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.”
And as she began to ride off into the forest, she looked back once— and waited for him to follow.
Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer @andrigyn @beansidhebumbling @burningsnowleopard @asnowfern @xstarlightsupremex
#nessian#nessian fic#semper eadem#extra long authors note on ao3 as per usual this time featuring:#Elizabeth's actual surviving dress; the real Madge Ratcliffe; and a little bit about the relationship between Elizabeth and Leicester
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There's a child's clammy fingers squeezing the color out of his palm—five little points, soot in the skin; a gunsmith prodigy in a fleece-wrapped girl—and it makes Silco, strangely, think of love.
(Not of the way it devours—that starved hunger reserved for other years, other lifetimes, other men, that makes heat of the rains' chill and claims walls and clothes and teeth alike; builds vessels of longing from one's bones and strips mind-logic to single-syllable beggings, no—
But of the way it aches.)
This girl is like a knife-edge picking through sinew and rot. A jagged point that's found a cavernous maw still-bleeding—one another soul had scraped clean on their way out—and slotted itself in.
(Is he still bleeding?)
Five points: little fingers, little nails, clinging to his palm like a lifeline.
A tiny, monstrous thing. Much the same as he had been.
(Burden to his mother; bastard to his sire. A dredging cog in the tunnels' machine.
A father? Hardly.)
"I didn't—I didn't mean to do it," Jinx hiccups.
(The lab smoldering in ash? Or the knife in his chest?)
He draws in a breath.
Slowly, as though those small, steel-edged bones were made of glass, he loosens the snare of her fingers; squeezes the rough lines of his own around them, instead.
"I know, child," he mutters, smelted glass on his breath.
A three-week setback, dismissed as flippantly as that.
(Does one often make such dismissals, for a daughter?)
Her head nudges into his arm. So heavy, for a body so young. And for all his attempts at tenderness, at a memory he has too long forgotten, she finds a way to bend it towards violence: another little hand, little nails, desperate carvings, shackled to his wrist—as though this girl has only known affection through anger; only known the sting of care when muddled with pain.
A cruel irony.
He knows it as well as he knows the mines' heat.
He sees Vander: hand at his collar, rage on his breath, concern skinned to contempt and fanged teeth-glint growling—
(I've made us a deal—a deal for you—don't'ya understand?—)
He sees this girl's blood-knuckled sister: same fighting spirit, same piston of a fist, same mantle of protection, same spite—
(I never asked you to be my keeper—)
His claws pinch back: devil to devil-spawn. Same damned language of hurt.
The girl winces.
"It's alright," he says, a foreign reflex off his tongue. Not the apology he means; the one he ought to give. His touch eases. "It's alright," he hushes again.
She snuffles in a breath.
Slowly, he shifts: lays his palm against her nape. Bird-thin thing; her hair a nest in need of brushing, her pulse pattering as a rabbit's.
(Had he been this small, once?)
But these bones aren't made of glass. Not the frailty her stature lends her.
No—this child burns like a beacon: a rage that singes off her like a second skin: one he too knows, has already lived, still wields, as this girl wields weaponry like an extension of her soul; as she has reclaimed a title of her own choosing, own redemption; as she stands a wealth of potential none have dared to unleash.
A glimmering pinnacle in a city led to wallow in its own gluttony.
A promise.
(His wrath embodied; his resolution rebirthed.)
A legacy.
(A knife of hope between his ribs.)
A daughter.
His thumb soothes through the thistle of her hair.
"I'll fix this," he says quietly—(this, not you, because she is not an object in need of fixing, has not asked him to piece her back together, has not admitted she sees herself as a weakness rather than a strength, one she may one day learn to embrace)—and turns down to her.
He finds a cosmic implosion in her eyes. Fire and storms. Resilience and determination.
Jinx sniffles. Her fingers uncoil from his sleeve: cling tight again.
"Promise?" she whispers.
He brushes the matted fringe from her soot-grayed cheek. Tucks it lightly behind her ear.
"I promise," he answers her, simply as he can—and means it.
silco and jinx / promises
#in my feelings again over these two#silco#jinx#crime dad daughter duo#arcane#arcane ficlet#prose#writing
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Photo from the book, The Other Side of the CoinHi Skippy & Friends-Here is a part of this chapter: Our Own Monarch of the Glen, describing how this beautiful portrait came about. In the book on page 178 the author, Angela Kelly writes, “The day of the photo shoot arrived, and we awoke to heavy rain showers. Her Majesty said firmly that she was not going out on the moors in that weather-we would all be soaked through, and the rain would ruin the beautiful velvet, Thistle Robe. After a couple of hours, though, blue sky began to break through the grey clouds-the showers were passing. The Queen called for me and said, ‘If I do this, we go now.’
It was all hands-on deck. I alerted the others and helped The Queen to get ready. In her long gown, tiara and Thistle Robe, she got into the car, and I can only imagine what Her Majesty was thinking as she wrapped and tucked the robe around herself so that she could sit somewhat comfortably. Her face was a picture.
Paul and I followed Her Majesty in the car behind and it only took a short time to drive to the chosen location. Paul, Julian and I helped The Queen out of the car, ensuring that the long robe didn’t drag along the rough ground as she walked to the rock on which she was to stand. Some purple heather surrounded it but not quite enough - Paul and I quickly unearthed a few clumps, making sure to keep the soil around the roots, and placed them nearer to Her Majesty. The beautiful green robe was placed in such a way that it gave the impression of flowing down the grassy moors. Holding the Thistle hat, The Queen looked so elegant and regal. It was moving to see our Sovereign standing amid the stunning Highland scenery.
As Julian took his photographs, The Queen kept shooting pointed looks at me and Paul, as if to say, 'Have you seen the sky?’ It was getting darker by the minute. Eventually Julian was happy that he had the shot he wanted and, job done, we all bust into giggles of relief-even The Queen. Her Majesty removed her tiara and passed it to me with a look that said, 'Are you happy now?’, followed by a twinkle in her eye and a beaming smile. We packed up quickly, replanted the heather in its original position, jumped into our cars and the heavens opened as we headed back to the Castle.
Later that day when we were all in The Queen’s private rooms, it was clear that she thought the shoot had gone well: and with a grin, she said, 'I really enjoyed that!’ ”
This took place in 2010, photographed by Julian Calder on the Scottish moors, near Balmoral. The request asked if it would be possible for her to wear the Thistle Robe, the Vladimir Tiara as she stood in Scottish heather for a book called Keepers: The Ancient Offices of Britain.
It seems like yesterday when the double rainbows happened over London. Pilgrim
Thank you so much! This is really beautiful!❤️
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OC lore time (weird boygirl edition)
thank you sm for the tag @zoroarkthief!! I'm always happy to share about my wol :'))
Khed'a Dakwhil
—B A S I C S
Name: Khed'a Dakwhil
Nicknames: His adoptive mother called him cicada :> The scions will sometimes call him khedy (tataru started it and then everyone else followed). Aymeric calls him angel as a term of endearment.
Age: 28 at the beginning of ARR
Nameday: Second Astral Moon, 16th Sun
Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te
Gender: Nonbinary, Genderfluid
Orientation: Bisexual with a slight lean towards guys
Profession: He's held every odd job you can think of but predominantly considers himself a white mage.
—P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S
Hair: Dark brown bob
Eyes: Orange-Brown
Skin: light skin tone
Tattoos/scars: He has a scar of hardened skin in the center of his chest. He also has crystalline streaks going up his forearms. Both are a result of prolonged exposure to earth attuned aether.
—F A M I L Y
Parents: His birth mom is [redacted], and he doesn't know who his father is. His adoptive mother, Aria-A-Yan, was his conjury mentor when he was taken in as an orphan to the conjurer's guild. She was really supportive of him and helped him open up.
Siblings: None!
Grandparents: He heard stories of his grandmother but never knew her.
In-laws and Other: I really like him with Aymeric and considering the end of Heavensward, he's not on good terms with his father-in-law. Lol. As for other relatives, he's very close with the brother of his adopted mother, E-Sumi-Yan, and considers him like an uncle.
Pets: He has a little bird that follows him around named Thistle. He befriended it on the road to Ishgard.
—S K I L L S
Abilities: Khed'a has precise aetheric control as a highly skilled white mage. Due to the condition with his body, he has to keep a careful eye on his aether. During his time with the padjal, he learned how to properly manage and control the aether in his body. He is a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to healing. He learned self-defense techniques while among the padjal that later served him when he moved on to pick up lancer/dragoon as a job.
Hobbies: He enjoys collecting and brewing different teas. He also really likes going on walks, especially when he is in a new place or just needs some time to think. Khed'a has a journal where he takes notes on the local flowers, plants, and insects of an area (and will sometimes press flora in it). He also likes to keep plants, though as a traveler he's found that difficult to maintain. He has a plant in a small pot that he's kept alive by propagating every so often. Khed'a also enjoys birdwatching.
—T R A I T S
Most Positive Trait: His resilience and commitment to making the best of things in any given situation. He doesn't get discouraged despite it all.
Most Negative Trait: He's sometimes too willing to help others, to the point of stretching himself thin. He has issues with being objectified/being treated as a tool for others. He still falls into that role and struggles to properly adovcate for himself since it's a deeply ingrained pattern of behavior he's unlearning.
—L I K E S
Colors: Deep green, earthy browns, red, deep blue, smoky gray.
Smells: Freshly fallen snow, bergamot, chamomile, freshly washed sheets, a warm fire, flowers in bloom.
Textures: soft fabrics like silk and satin, freshly polished wood, the steadiness of a lance, leather, smooth pieces of metal (like jewelry or trinkets).
Drinks: He likes tea most, especially bergamot. He will also drink juices and lemonade. He enjoys hot chocolate as well.
—O T H E R D E T A I L S
Smokes: Nope.
Drinks: He doesn't drink alcohol but he will enjoy tea :3
Drugs: Nope.
Mount Issuance: Black Chocobo gifted from his friend Haurchefant. He will also use the unicorn he befriended as a conjurer, or the witch's broom mount.
Been Arrested: Yes (Post ARR :) Aside from that he hasn't run into too much more on that front.
I tag @freckledfemme @redgemwink @eirikaily @lululeighsworld @cogentsummoner @gnusnoteunuchs & anyone else who wants to talk about their wol/oc in general :3c
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druidcraft + orym & fearne
this idea was in my head instantly and i’ve just been on vacation so i couldn’t write it for DAYS. but GOD i love fearne and orym. they’re my silly rabbits. their friendship is everything to me. so have some grade a feelings!
•
Druidcraft is a cantrip on the druid spell list. We all know what it does—it can do other stuff but those flowers man—they’re an rp killer.
•
Fearne misses Orym something fierce, and it’s really not fair. It’s not fair that they were separated after everything that had happened, it’s not fair that her prayers had gone unheard, it’s not fair that she can’t seem to hold onto her people in any substantial way, and it’s not fair that nobody seems to know what the hell is going on. It’s not fair that the sky is trying to rip Imogen from her arms, not fair that Laudna’s not here, and not fair that F.C.G. keeps running headlong at threats without Ashton there to watch their back. It’s not fair that Chetney has to face his past alone because Fearne certainly has no idea how to help him and couldn’t calm him down when he turned in the woods.
Also, Fearne’s flowers are dying.
She’d never learned how to make flowers like Orym could. He liked to say that he couldn’t do anything special, but Fearne couldn’t make flowers. She could try, sure, and if she tried hard enough, something would probably happen, but she can’t do it like Orym. Dorian was the one who first suggested her new hairstyle one night with the Crown Keepers, and after he’d left, Orym had kept weaving flowers and vines and honeysuckle through her horns, handing her belladonna when she needed it and thistles when she was mad.
And now, as she stares at her own face in Deanna’s lovely little house, she sees that the edges of Orym’s lovely petals are browning. Fearne doesn’t know how long it takes for flowers to decay, but usually Orym would help her daily, so it wouldn’t get close. But now, well, there’s no Orym, and all her flowers are askew.
She huffs, turning from the mirror, and resolves to ignore it. If she never sees Orym again, well—first, she’ll find whatever made that happen, murder them very harshly, and then she’ll cling to the shriveled carcasses of his flowers.
But it won’t come to that. Obviously. Because she won’t let it.
•
And, of course, the first thing Orym notices once they’re alone in the Spire by Fire is that her flowers are wilting. He smiles, that same halfling smile, the same lovable smile, even with the shadows under and behind his eyes, and leans in conspiratorially.
“Fearnie, you still haven’t figured it out?” Orym chides gently.
“I know how to do it, Orym,” Fearne says softly, “I just—I didn’t want to, without you. You—you do it better, okay? So—so you can’t leave again. Okay? I’d look like a mess. It’d be bad. Mister would start gnawing on my horns without any honeysuckle to snack on.”
“I know, Fearne,” Orym says. “I’m not leaving again. Not if I have anything to say about it. You deserve better.”
And ah. Well. Does she? Does anyone? Isn’t that just how this works, in this stupid dimension? People come into your life and change you and make you care and then they leave, unceremoniously and with ever-broken promises on their lips. At Nana’s, nothing ever changes. Her friends are always there. It’s always colorful and bright and fun.
Why is she still here? If they’re all gonna leave? Why?
And then Orym gently wipes her tears, already forming more vines of honeysuckle and mint sprigs because he knows they’re her favorite and always calm her down when she’s stressed, and she can’t help it. Of course this is why she’s still here. Because he’d miss her, and she’d miss him, and they’re together until the end of the line.
“I’m sorry,” Fearne says mildly, as if tears aren’t streaming down her face almost of their own accord, “I just… I missed you so much.”
“I know, Fearnie,” Orym says, climbing up to press his forehead against hers. He grips her hand tightly. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t be there. I missed you too. And you deserve us.”
“Can we change up my flowers?” Fearne asks. “I have new skirts now.”
“Of course, best friend,” Orym says, smiling brilliantly at her again. “Anything you need.”
“You should get some too, Orym,” Fearne says, trying to hide her damp face. “Color looks good on you.”
#cr#cr3#fearne calloway#orym#roll performance#charisma save#spelling disasters#this is like. actual hurt comfort for once lmao#i adore them so dearly also i got a LOT of druidcraft prompts so they might spiral a bit
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Hey can you explain the main plot of keepers?
I'll do my best, I hope this will answer your question 😂
So the main concept of "The Keepers" is a collection of stories that play with the crossover trope. It's hard to say exactly what the plot of the keepers would be at this point in the development, since we're still coming up with the plots of all the individual stories that make up the crossover.
Each of the main characters has their own story they were/are the protagonist of, who's "happy ending" is interrupted by the instability of the universe. They end up meeting and teaming up when they realize they all share exactly the same villain and he's still trying to win.
The main villain is a scientist driven mad by grief, still trying to make his vision a success despite all the loved ones he's lost along the way as a direct result of his research. His end goal isn't necessarily bad- bringing magical equality to the world- but ends don't justify the means and he's tearing apart the universe trying to make everything "fair".
Functionally, Skylar is the main protagonist, mainly because his story kicks off the plot time-bomb but also because he's kinda the one rolling around the multiverse inadvertently collecting allies. (Despite the fact he vehemently insists he's a one man show lol) The other Keepers are Ketsler, Felix, and Betty, but as you might have noticed the cast is pretty extensive. 😂
Skylar's story is a folk fairytale style adventure of two brothers trying to learn what it means to be a Man and also break a curse, but unfortunately the end of the world happens.
Felix's story is a sci-fi/fantasy superhero story set in a dystopian future about family, friendship, and what true bravery is. The main character accidentally becomes the leader of a planetary revolution and meets his true love.
Ketsler's story is about "the prophesied one" struggling to fulfill his role when deep down inside he's just another regular dude, but thankfully the power comes from outside and not within. He, his cousin, and the med student they befriend try to figure out what the source of the evil magic is and it goes terribly wrong.
Betty's is still in the early stages, so I don't quite know what the themes will be, but she is an orphan with psychic powers that lets her hear other's thoughts... including the thoughts of ghosts. In search of a way to use her powers for good and also find a place where she belongs, she moves to Earth and joins the interplanetary organization that studies and controls the supernatural. She certainly meets some supernatural things. :)
There are a Lot of other characters, but those are the main four. Other significant persons would be: Gigi (Skylar's brother), Grace (Felix's wife), Vokku (prince of the Fae), Rhyin (Ketsler's cousin), Haru (Ketsler's apprentice), Vinni (Rhyin's girlfriend), Edmund (the bard from Thistled Rose of Glishern) and the kids from the Ageless War wip.
It's a. Really big story because it's kind of like a 12 book series, so there's a lot of stuff still up in the air that could easily change next week or two years from now, but that's how it stands currently.
If you have any more questions or would like clarification on a point Please don't hesitate to send another ask! I don't want to hit you with a three page essay right off the bat lol
Thank you SO MUCH for your interest and your support!!! 😭💕
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Hello live, it's me :3 the anon who asked about having troubles with a common drarry dynamic. I just wanted to thank you because i didn't expect to feel so seen 😭 or find someone who felt the same way. I didn't get to speak much about it, but YES i also do feel very strongly about emotional imbalance. It's so important to me. Thank you so much for that kind and understanding answer.
This has encouraged me to really look at some of your personal recs knowing they're from someone with similar sentiments. I'm not saying this to put pressure on your personal recs! Please, this is your blog and i can really simply fuck right off, it's so not on you. the same way it's not on authors to write what makes me feel comfortable 🥂. It's just that i think your answer has given me newfound courage to look at some of your tags and faves with gusto~ I know some recs are made specifically for the askers and some works won't be in line with my preferences so I'm still very careful.
ALSO, thank you for reccing me authors!!!! Gosh! DID YOU KNOW THAT I'VE YET TO READ A FIC FROM TACKYTIGER?? Liv u rock.
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regarding my previous ask, i guess then, do you have lengthy wholesome fics or those that end wholesome-lly 💛🍂☕? Feel free to recommend absolutely anything on that regard hahahha. And please only answer when you feel up to it, I'm good over here 😌 ✌. It's the holiday season, you shouldn't have to do things u don't feel like doing.
In light of our kinship regarding a certain veritaserum scene, i shall call myself, veritaserum anon.
Hi again, anon! I’m so happy you felt seen and validated 🫂 I noticed some comments on that post sharing the sentiment so we’re not as few as you might have thought! I’m very excited to hear your thoughts on those lists but I’d maybe start with the ones below and see if they work for you. Most explore Draco’s redemption arc in ways I personally found satisfying and without belittling any character. I avoided fics that deal with hardcore emotional imbalance (I love the secret identity trope but I didn’t want to take any chances) and tried to include some recent, lesser known fics in case you’ve already read the popular ones. Also - I’m biased af when it comes to my pal @tackytigerfic but imo you should definitely start with Modern Love then make your way through their superb catalogue! Happy readings, and Happy New Year :)
8th Year/War Years:
Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch (T, 43k)
The July Tree by @oknowkiss (E, 51k)
Seeker, Chaser, Keeper by VivacissimoVoce (M, 59k)
The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 66k)
Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks (E, 73k)
At Your Service by Faith Wood (E, 95k)
Changing Tides by carpemermaid (E, 109k)
Far From the Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)
Eclipse by Mijan (T, 287k)
Post-Hogwarts:
Take a Chance on Me by @mintawasalreadytaken (E, 41k)
Here’s The Pencil, Make it Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)
Take the Air by dysonrules (M, 51k)
Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)
Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)
The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)
A Young Radical's Guide to Love by blamebrampton (T, 66k)
Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (E, 67k)
Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, 70k)
Timecode by Rasborealis (M, 73k)
Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)
Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)
Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose (M, 96k)
Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)
The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 104k)
The Paradox of Active Surrender by @korlaena (E, 108k)
Way Down We Go by xiaq (T, 109k)
All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (E, 114k)
A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)
Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 130k)
By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)
All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound (E, 150k)
Foundations verse by Saras_Girl (E, 364k)
Angst with a happy ending:
Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)
Holly and Hawthorn, Thistle and Thyme by bryoneybrynn (T, 31k)
Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 77k)
Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)
I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)
Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110k)
Medium Length:
Tidings of Comfort by blamebrampton (G, 10k)
Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)
How We Throw Our Shadows Down by thistle_verse (T, 14k)
Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 16k)
Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)
Nice Things by aideomai (M, 22k) - 8th year
Doing the Lambeth Walk by blamebrampton (T, 26k)
Speak (and may the world come undone) by @shealwaysreads (E, 26k)
Slithering by astolat (E, 27k)
The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren (E, 27k)
Waiting by an Open Door by Femme and noeon (E, 29k)
Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 29k)
The Consolations of a Summer's Day by blamebrampton (T, 33k)
Open for Repairs by @drarrytrash (M, 35k)
Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 (T, 38k)
In Dreams by @moonflower-rose (E, 38k)
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Lena Ravenwood
A more official character sheet for Lena.
Full name: Lena Aurelia Ravenwood
Born: 6th of June
Blood status: Half-blood
Love interest: Ominis Gaunt
Nationality: English
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
MBTI: INTJ
House: Slytherin
Patronus: Jaguar
Boggart: Herself as the person her father wants her to be.
Wand: 12 3/4”, laurel wood, dragon heart string
Amortentia: Books. Apples and vanilla. Fire.
Hair: Almost black, wavy, often braided back or has the top half pulled back.
Eyes: Light brown
Skin: Fair. Blushes very easily
Height: 5’2” (157cm)
Face: A soft face. Heart-shaped. Big eyes. Button-like nose. Natural soft pout: lower lip is thicker than upper lip. Small chin: weakest feature. Dimples under right eye and on either side of mouth.
Build:
- Curvy. Larger breasts, hourglass shape - solidly defined waist-to-hip ratio. Thick thighs and large booty.
- Broad shoulders for someone so small.
- Strong looking. Muscle definition on legs and arms and back is obvious.
- Has a soft tummy. 
- After her 5th year, Lena’s body is so covered in scars from fighting goblins and poachers that she keeps her entire body covered except her face. Scars all over her arms, legs, belly and chest, neck and back.
- Keeps the scars a secret for a really long time.
Weight: 140lbs (63kg)
Nickname(s)
Little One (Octavius)
Little Demon (Octavius)
Lee (Sebastian, Anne, Poppy)
Lala (Ada, Hazel. Sebastian tried once it didn’t end well)
Darling (Ominis)
Occupation(s):
Seeker for Tutshill Tornados
Seeker for the English National Quidditch Team
Potioneer
Family:
Octavius Ravenwood (Father)
Ada Ravenwood (nee Thistle) (Mother)
Alaric Ravenwood (Brother)
Arcturus Ravenwood (Paternal Grandfather)
Felixa Ravenwood (Paternal Grandmother)
Agrippina Black (Nee Ravenwood) (Paternal Aunt)
Antares Black (Uncle by Marriage)
Serpens Black (Cousin)
Aquila Black (Cousin)
Franklin Thistle (Maternal Grandfather) [Deceased]
Hazel Thistle (Maternal Grandmother)
George Thistle (Maternal Uncle) [Deceased]
Leonard Thistle (Maternal Uncle)
Sally Thistle (Aunt by Marriage)
Mark Thistle (Cousin)
Morris Thistle (Cousin)
Ominis Gaunt (Husband)
Athena Noctua Ravenwood (Daughter)
Elias Alaric Ravenwood (Son)
The Gaunt Family (By Marriage)
Alleged ancestors of Rowena Ravenclaw (Lena is 95% sure that is bullshit)
Key Traits: Quick-witted. Quick to temper. Charming. Caring. Sarcastic. Warm. Shy at first but it comes off as being mean.
Likes: Quidditch. Potions. Reading. Fighting and Dueling. Helping people.
Dislikes: Killing. Homework. Losing. Stupid people.
Strengths: Potions. Killing. Flying. Fighting and dueling. Talking her way into and out of trouble.
Weaknesses: Will not ask for help. Hides emotions easily. Lies easily. Masks. Can be volatile.
Fears: Ominis dying. Failure. Being forgotten.
Close friends: Anne Sallow, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes, Slytherin Quidditch team.
Best friends: Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, Poppy Sweeting, Natsai Onai
Goals:
- Win a Quidditch World Cup
- Keep the Repository protected.
- Find someone to take over as Keeper before Lena dies.
Character Inspiration: Nesta Archeron, Aelin Galathynius, Arya Stark, Eowyn, Dean Winchester.
Bio:
She is the eldest child of Octavius Ravenwood and his wife, Ada Ravenwood (nee Thistle). Lena had one brother who is three years her junior, named Alaric. Her father, Octavius, was born into a wealthy pureblood family and was in Slytherin house himself. He was prone to fits of rage, and was widely feared by his classmates. While attending Hogwarts, he met muggleborn Ravenclaw Ada Thistle and fell in love. Octavius was forced to hide his relationship from his family, who would certainly kill Ada if they found out she was muggleborn. When Ada fell pregnant, Octavius stole away his inheritance and hid it in a vault deep within Gringotts. He and Ada married in secret, and Octavius removed his wife’s memories of Hogwarts and all things magic using the memory charm. Once settled in a muggle village in the south of England, he removed his own memories of the magical world into a pensieve that was cleverly hidden within the cellar of their small home. Lena’s magic showed early. She had several experiences of unexplained events, such as the chicken coop combusting when she was pecked by the rooster, or appearing in the sweets shop when her mother said no to going in. Eventually, it grew too much to hide, and that is where Matilda Weasley and Eleazar Fig stepped in when Lena was in her mid-teens.
Lena was fierce and independent from childhood. She strongly dislikes being smothered, preferring to be left to her own devices. Lena has a very strict “do not touch me” rule unless you are on her very short list of the people she likes enough to have physical contact with. Touch is Lena’s love language, so she limits her touch to those she truly cares about. If you are outside of that list, Lena will punch you. She was introduced to fighting at a young age with her father instructing her to protect her younger brother, Alaric, no matter what. He was a soft boy with an open heart, and that made him a prime target for the older boys in the village. Lena is extremely protective of those she cares about, often tip-toeing across the line of moral codes to defend them. In the words of her father, do not harm your enemies - destroy them. On a surface level Lena is tough, intimidating, and cold. She often has an arrogant smile on her face, and she does not suffer fools gladly.
Beneath the surface, Lena is far more complicated. She somewhat resents her father for forcing her to be the tough one. She carries an overwhelming sense of duty to protect others, however sometimes she also needs to be protected. Once she attends Hogwarts and spends extended periods of time away from her parents, she really blossoms into a friendly and warm young woman. Lena doesn’t mind going out of her way to help people, and she learns it is highly beneficial to have many friends in different corners of society. She copes with humour, often making her friends laugh. She prefers who she is at school, and compartmentalizes most of her rough exterior in favour of someone who offers free smiles and a listening ear. She’s a charmer and a flirt, often using her big light brown eyes and dimpled smile to get herself out of trouble - which she gets in far too much. While at home, Lena is like ice. When she has room to blossom into her own being, she learns she is fire and wind. She’s always down for a fight, and she’s a little firecracker with a big mouth. People tend to trust her quickly with deep secrets. Lena gathers these secrets, and keeps them to herself in case she needs to use them in the future. She carries an unfortunate talent for identifying a person’s greatest insecurity, and she absolutely weaponizes it when she’s pissed off and then feels awful about it. She falls in love quickly, and forgives her loved ones far too easily, which makes her a prime target for manipulation. Despite being very friendly, Lena is absolutely an introvert. She is most comfortable and most at peace when she is alone or with only Ominis. After large social interactions she’ll sleep for 16 hours straight.
Following Lena’s fifth year, she is prone to fits of depression where she withdraws into herself completely and becomes a ghost of a person. She suffers from horrible night terrors and sleep walks. Lena experiences overwhelming anxiety at times, and is no stranger to panic attacks. She speaks less, while previously it was difficult to get her to stop talking. She tries to play it off and mask it all with humour, and she does a well enough job that only those who are closest to her notice - but she actively tries to push them away so they don’t notice. It takes a long time for her to heal and learn how to cope with all she’s been through.
#Lena Ravenwood#my oc#my hogwarts legacy oc#Hogwarts legacy#first of all the HL MC bodies are all slim#my girl here is not this slender#but it’s fine it’ll have to do#also it’s so hard to get nice screenshots of her I swear#reni writes#bonus photo of Lena giving hella side eye
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Names and Titles based on Forests / Nature . . . for @hisreturn's 150 follower event : a non-character thing you relate to
Titles, notes, and plain text below cut.
NAMES ,, rowan , birch , aspen , ash / ashwood , sequoia , redwood , sycamore , fir , pine , maple , allthorn , arrow / arrowwood , alder , elder , buck / buckthorn , boxwood , beech , cy / cypress , myrtle , cedar , ches / chestnut , juniper , hazel , holly , hawthorne , hickory , rose / rosewood , yew , oak / oakley , elm , willow , pop / poppen / poplar , mulbery , almond , fig , fern , moss , lichen , ginger , wormwood , thistle , valerian , hyrcinian , vercors , river , creek , reed / reid , shaw , wild / wilder , ainsley , amber , autumn , vern / vernal / vernon , clover , elwood , fern / ferne / fearne , florence , forest / forrest , rain / raine , ridley , robin / robyn / robynne , yale , wren , any flower name , any bird name , any animal name
( many are taken from my own hoard )
EPITHETS* ,, the forest guardian / forest guardian {name} , the woodsman , of the fallen leaves , the {forest animal} , the antlered one , the ent / {mythical forest creature}
SOBRIQUETS** ,, {prn} of the fallen leaves , {prn} of the towering trees , {prn} who sits in high branches , {prn} who guards the meadow , {prn} who dances in the glades / meadow / forest / woods , the {title of nobility*** / noun} of the glades / meadow / forest / woods , guardian of the woods / etc. , keeper of the woods / etc. , beloved by nature , beloved of the woods / etc. , {prn} covered in bark / (fallen) leaves , {prn} of the earth , {prn} to whom the forest belongs
*meant to be used following a name, but some can be used in isolation
**meant to be used solely in isolation
***examples: lord / lady / laird, duke / duchess, king / queen / monarch
[ Plain Text: Names and Titles based on Forests/Nature ... for @/hisreturn's 150 follower event (link to event post): a non-character thing you relate to. End Plain Text. ]
#⎯ ✶ the stars#glitchys150#titles#title list#title ideas#title suggestion#title suggestions#names#name list#name ideas#name suggestion#name suggestions
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I just listened to the finale of @bridgewaterpodcast (out this friday!) so I thought it'd be appropriate to share my secret playlist for the season. if you're not caught up, look away.
I shared my notes on this playlist (and will share my notes for the season two playlist next month) in my monthly mixtape newsletter! and if you want access to all my playlist notes that I've shared in the past, you can become an atypipal plus! but this month, I'm gonna share my notes right here, under the cut:
I didn’t set out to make this playlist, but as I was building both the season and its accompanying playlist, I realized that there were songs popping up that felt right for the season but separate from the main characters. I quickly figured out that these were songs for the Legend Tripper, our mysterious friend turned antagonist. The playlist is called “The LT” because I wanted to make sure no one could figure out what it was for if it was hanging on my Spotify profile (thought I did make it private, I’m always paranoid) and also that’s how we refer to her in the script, especially since the role was not written for a specific gender and therefore all the scripts used “The LT” in place of most pronouns until Tricia was cast.
I wanted this playlist to feel like wandering into the forest and then slowly realizing that you’re far more lost than you thought. So there’s not a lot of story in this playlist, or even that much character work, just the creeping sensation that you’re not as safe as you thought you were. That someone is having fun at your expense. It’s about the vibes, baby.
1. “The Rockrose and the Thistle” – The Amazing Devil
LOVE starting with a totally a cappella creepy lullaby type song.
And I know the kindest thing/Is to leave you alone
2. “Spirit Walks” – Nerina Pallot
Dark is the forest/And bitter are the trees/But I don’t fear/The spirit walks with me
3. “Devil’s Spoke” – Laura Marling
But I am your keeper/And I hold your face away from light/I am yours till they come
4. “It Will Come Back” – Hozier
As with the main Season 2 playlist, there’s two Hozier songs on this one as well! What can I say, this album is perfect. I am obsessed with this idea of feeding something dangerous and it coming back again and again–be careful what you feed. And the casual way in which this sharp-toothed thing is putting the onus on you, the listener – “you know better”, etc. Giving a warning with no intention of heeding it. Jeepers creepers, Hozier is a good lyricist
Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it/Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it/Honey, don’t feed it, it will come back
5. “Your Fault/Last Midnight” – Into the Woods
The other side of the coin to the placement of “No More” on the Season 2 playlist. This song doesn’t necessarily flow so well in this actual playlist, but it is a song I listened to ad nauseum, especially when writing the last two episodes. The LT is the witch toying with everyone’s petty human problems, even if narratively speaking they serve very different kinds of functions. Also “Your Fault” is just one of the best patter songs ever written.
6. “In the Woods Somewhere” – Hozier
No lyrics to pull out of this specifically, because the whole song is just a great, creepy narrative. This is when the playlist turns from the LT to more of Jeremy’s POV on the LT.
7. “Killer + the Sound” – Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Gunderson & Abby Gunderson
There’s a frenetic, disjointed energy I wanted to accomplish with this playlist, the feeling that you can never get your footing and I love that this song, like the one from “Into the Woods” is really two songs in one.
Nothing ever comes, ever comes if you call it/Choking like a dog, like a dog on a collar/Open up your mouth, your mouth if you want it/Listen for the sound, the sound/The sound is coming down
8. “Flowers” – Hadestown
I opted for the musical version of this song over the Anais Mitchell because I’d already broken the musical theater seal on this playlist and, tbh, I just love singing along to this version. Without spoiling, Jeremy as Eurydice, the LT as Hades…I’ve already said too much.
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Sketch dump ft. ponytail Kloe yay. Oh and Ketsler
#lined paper#oc#original character#original story#my story#collab story#throg#thistled rose of glishirn#aithus#kloe#keepers#ketsler#pen#ink#ball point pen#sketch#doodle#traditional#artists on tumblr#my art#august sketch#trash dump
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Lastest chapter for Full-time Soulmates, Part-time Problems
Stab my heart Again and Again and Again
Dorian receives blooms from Bassuras
It starts with a thistle briar from Ashton.
And really, Dorian is glad that it starts when the Crown Keepers aren’t up to anything. It’s nerve wracking enough to receive battle blooms on their own. Being in the middle of your own, completely unrelated fight just makes it worse.
There’d been a smattering of blooms in the preceding minutes, but nothing overly concerning for yet another scuffle in an adventurous life. The thick briar from Ashton that bloomed in seconds, though? That’s a sure sign that Bells Hells has been found by trouble, and truly dangerous trouble at that.
Continue on AO3
#MQfic#soul bloom au#critical role#cr3#cr c3#cr campaign 3#dorian storm#orym of the air ashari#MQ AU machine
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Dusted Mid-Year 2023, Part Three (The Lists)
Natural Information Society
Swapping records is fun, but when it comes down to it, we like what we like. What’s that? Glad you asked. Read on for our writers’ mid-year favorites.
Jennifer Kelly
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Robert Forster — The Candle and the Flame (Tapete)
The Drin — Today My Friend You Drunk the Venom (Feel It)
En Attendant Ana — Principia (Trouble in Mind)
Stella Kola—S-T (Self-Release)
Mudhoney — Plastic Eternity (Sub Pop)
Sleaford Mods — UK Grim (Domino)
The Tubs — Dead Meat (Trouble in Mind)
Nighttime — Keeper Is the Heart (BaDaBing)
Purling Hiss — Drag on Girard (Drag City)
Lonnie Holley — Oh Me Oh My (Jagjaguwar)
The Toads—In the Wilderness (Upset the Rhythm)
Dan Melchior—Welcome to Redacted City (Midnight Cruiser)
James and the Giants—S-T (Kill Rock Stars)
Ben Chasny and Rick Tomlinson—Waves (VOIX)
Bill Meyer
Natural Information Society — Since Time Is Gravity (Eremite)
Elkhorn — On the Whole Universe in All Directions (Centripetal Force)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Robert Forster — The Candle and the Flame (Tapete)
The Necks — Travel (Northern Spy)
Milford Graves — Children of the Forest (Black Editions)
Peter Brötzman Heather Leigh — Naked Nudes (Trost)
Yo La Tengo — This Stupid World (Matador)
Magic Tuber Band — Tarantism (Feeding Tube)
Drew Gardner — Flowers in Space (Feeding Tube)
Jozef Van Wissem and Jim Jarmusch — American Landscapes (Incunambulum)
Dave Rempis/Elisabeth Harnik/Tim Daisy — Earscratcher (Aerophonic)
Alasdair Roberts — Grief in the Kitchen and Mirth in the Hall (Drag City)
Jonathan Shaw
BIG BRAVE — nature morte (Thrill Jockey)
Wound Man — Human Outline (Iron Lung)
Gel — Only Constant (Convulse)
Home Front — Games of Power (La Vida Es Un Mus)
Sleaford Mods — UK Grim (Domino)
Spirit Possession — Of the Sign… (Profound Lore)
Bryon Hayes
Yo La Tengo — This Stupid World (Matador)
Big Blood — First Aid Kit (Feeding Tube / BaDaBing)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Califone — Villagers (Jealous Butcher)
M. Sage — Paradise Crick (RVNG Intl.)
The Reds, Pinks & Purples — The Town That Cursed Your Name (Slumberland)
John Atkinson — Energy Fields (AKP Recordings)
Joseph Allred — What Strange Flowers Grow in the Shade (Feeding Tube)
The Far Sound — The Far Sound (Centripetal Force)
Ulaan Khol — Milk Thistle (Desastre)
Powers / Pulice / Rolin — Prism (Cached Media)
Lia Kohl — The Ceiling Reposes (American Dreams)
Tim Clarke
Jana Horn — The Window Is The Dream (No Quarter)
Arrowounds — In The Octopus Pond (Lost Tribe Sound)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Pile — All Fiction (Exploding In Sound)
Tim Hecker — No Highs (Kranky)
Califone — Villagers (Jealous Butcher)
King Krule — Space Heavy (XL/Matador)
This Is The Kit — Careful Of Your Keepers (Rough Trade)
Cory Hanson — Western Cum (Drag City)
Andy Shauf — Norm (Anti-)
Patrick Masterson
Pile — All Fiction (Exploding in Sound)
Yves Tumor — Praise a Lord Who Chews But Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) (Warp)
Wednesday — Rat Saw God (Dead Oceans)
Jayda G — Guy (Ninja Tune)
Ryuichi Sakamoto — 12 (Milan)
Malla — Fresko (Solina)
Skech185 — He Left Nothing for the Swim Back (Backwoodz Studioz)
Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru — Jerusalem (Mississippi)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Andrea — Due in Color (Ilian Tape)
Memphis LK — Too Much Fun EP (Remote Control)
BigXthaPlug — Amar (United Masters)
Andrew Forell
Algiers — Shook (Matador)
King Vision Ultra — Shook World (Hosted by Algiers)
Asher Gamedze — Turbulence & Pulse (International Anthem)
99LETTERS — Makafushigi (Disciples)
The Drin— Today My Friend You Drunk the Venom (Drunken Sailor)
Comet Gain — The Misfit Jukebox (Tapete)
billy woods & Kenny Segal — Maps (Backwoodz Studioz)
Kevin Richard Martin — Above the Clouds (self-released)
SQÜRL — Silver Haze (Sacred Bones)
The Murder Capital — Gigi’s Recovery (Human Season)
Parasite Jazz — Paradise Jazz (Disques de la Spirale)
Christian Carey
The Reds, Pinks, and Purples — The Town that Cursed Your Name (Slumberland)
Aaron Cassidy — A Way of Making Ghosts (Kairos)
Arrowounds — In the Octopus Pond (Settled Scores)
V/A – Red Hot and Ra: Nuclear War LP (Red Hot)
Oval — Romantiq (Thrill Jockey)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Black Duck — S/T (Thrill Jockey)
Mother, Sister, Daughter — Musica Secreta (Lucky Music)
Natural Information Society – Since Time is Gravity (Eremite)
Alasdair Roberts — Grief in the Kitchen and Mirth in the Hall (Drag City)
Fever Ray — Radical Romantics (Mute)
James Romig — Spaces (Sawyer Editions)
Brad Mehldau — Your Mother Should Know (Nonesuch)
Nina Berman and Steve Beck — Milton Babbitt: Works for Treble Voice and Piano (New Focus)
Marc Ducret — Palm Sweat (Out of Your Head)
Jennifer Grim — Through Broken Time (New Focus)
Erkki — Sven Tüür: Canticum Canticorum Caritatis (Alpha Classics)
James Ilgenfritz — #entrainments (Frequent Seams)
Brandon Lopez — vilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevilevile (TAO Forms)
Lonnie Holley — Oh Me Oh My (Jagjaguwar)
John Liberatore — Catch Somewhere (New Focus Recordings)
Sebastian Rochford, Kit Downes — A Short Diary (ECM Records)
Frederic Rzewski — Late Piano Works (Naxos)
Rebecca Saunders — Skin (NMC)
Guided by Voices — La La Land (self— released)
Susan Narucki and Donald Berman — This Island (Avie)
Chamber Music From Hell — Chris Opperman (Purple Cow)
Elkhorn — On the Whole Universe in All Directions (Centripetal Force)
Purling Hiss — Drag on Girard (Drag City)
Caterina Barbieri — Myuthafoo (light-years)
Yo La Tengo — This Stupid World (Matador)
Ian Mathers
Fifteen, in alphabetical order:
Aarktica — Paeans (Projekt)
Acid King — Beyond Vision (Blues Funeral)
ALL HANDS_MAKE LIGHT — “Darling the Dawn” (Constellation)
Avalon Emerson — & the Charm (Another Dove)
Brìghde Chaimbeul — Carry Them With Us (Tak:til)
The Drin — Today My Friend You Drunk the Venom (Feel It)
Ladytron — Time’s Arrow (Cooking Vinyl)
loscil // Lawrence English — Colours of Air (Kranky)
Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)
Mute Duo — Migrant Flocks (American Dreams)
The National — First Two Pages of Frankenstein (4AD)
Tacoma Park — Tacoma Park (Self Released)
Tørrfall — Tørrfall (De Pene Inngang)
Yo La Tengo — This Stupid World (Matador)
Yves Tumor — Praise a Lord Who Chews but Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) (Warp)
Derek Taylor
New releases
Kirk Knuffke & Joe McPhee Quartet + 1 — Keep the Dream Up (Fundacja Sluchaj)
Natural Information Society — Time is Gravity (Eremite/Aguirre)
Aruán Ortiz — Serranias — Sketchbook for Piano Trio (Intakt)
Mark Dresser — Tines of Change (Pyroclastic)
Andrew Cyrille — Music Delivery/Percussion (Intakt)
Steve Millhouse — The Undwinding (Steeplechase)
Archival Releases
The Jazz Doctors — Intensive Care/Prescriptions Filled: The Billy Bang Quartet Sessions 1983/1984 (Cadillac)
Milford Graves w/ Arthur Doyle & Hugh Glover — Children of the Forest (Black Editions)
Abdul Wadud — By Myself (Bisharra/Gotta Groove)
Sirone — Artistry (Of the Cosmos/Moved By Sound)
Marion Brown — Mary Ann: Live in Bremen 1969 (Moosicus)
Steve Swell’s Fire Into Music — For Jemeel: Fire From the Road (2005-2006) (RogueArt)
Margaret Welsh
Wheatie Mattiasich — Old Glow (Open Mouth)
Rozi Plain — Prize (Memphis Industries)
Glass Triangle — Blue and Sun-lights (Relative Pitch)
Andy Shauf — Norm (Anti)
Yo La Tengo — This Stupid World (Matador)
Horse Jumper of Love —Heartbreak Rules (Run for Cover)
Bill Orcutt — Jump On It (Palilalia)
Lana Del Rey — Did You Know That There’s A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd (Interscope)
#dusted magazine#midyear#midyear 2023#writers lists#jennifer kelly#bill meyer#jonathan shaw#bryon hayes#tim clarke#patrick masterson#ian mathers#derek taylor#margaret welsh#christian carey#andrew forell
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