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ebongawk · 1 year

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"(don't want to) break these chains"

part one | part two

She'd done it.

A nondescript Friday in the middle of June, and Chrissy Cunningham had just upended entire her life.

The path of her trajectory had been laid out when Chrissy was still toddling around in diapers. She would be pretty, she would be quiet, demure, unexcitable and small. She would do gymnastics, she would do cheer, she would meet a nice boy in high school who came from a good family, and they would get married in college, move back home, buy a house in Loch Nora and raise two-point-five kids behind a white picket fence.

By all accounts, everything was going according to plan. She was small, and pretty, and quiet, because she was never allowed to be anything else.

But there was one thing her mother couldn't have possibly accounted for––

him.

Eddie Munson stormed into her life like a fleet of ships outside the war-torn country of her soul – unexpected and breathtakingly brilliant. Tossing ashore the aide she hadn't before realized she needed. Stepping onto the beach for only a moment of reprieve, only to be submerged in the help of his extended hand.

She thinks maybe she fell in love with him, just a little bit, that very first day.

As those days stretched into weeks, Chrissy stole away more and more moments to sneak back down to the sand. To dig through the piled heaps of garbage and find all of the gemstones he'd hidden throughout the trenches of her mind.

Mean and scary Eddie Munson became set up in her harbor and sheltered her through the hurricane of her life. He became the safe space she'd never known she needed. She craved him, craved the comfort of his arms, the heat of his hands on her body. The way he kissed her, touched her, like she was something to be savored. The way he talked to her like she was someone worth listening to.

And yet.

As he built her up, creating a beautiful paradise in the eye of her storm, Chrissy never realized that she was slowly killing him.

"I love you," she'd said on Wednesday, lying together in the back of his van next to the lake with a joint clutched between her fingers. The first time she'd ever told him. A truth that had been bubbling beneath the surface of her skin for what felt like her entire life.

And Eddie–– she'd expected him to laugh, or to smile. To say, shit, Princess, I love you, too, because that's what all those romcoms he'd watched with her – the ones Jason had refused to watch, even to humor her – said would happen.

But Eddie laid there for a long stretch of silence before sitting up. He took the joint from her fingers, swinging his legs over the back bumper and flicking what was left into the woods.

"I think you've had too much," he replied instead, fracturing the delicate muscle pumping blood beneath her ribs. He couldn't even look at her. When was he ever not looking at her?

"Eddie?"

"I... Let's go get some food, yeah? Bring you down before I take you home."

She'd barely smoked half of the half-joint he'd just discarded. And her tolerance was low, but it wasn't on the floor.

"Eddie, I love you," she'd tried again as she sat up, wondering if maybe he'd just misheard her. His shoulders shook, and Chrissy laid a gentle hand on one, flinching when he shrugged her off.

"Yeah, Cunningham, I heard you," he'd said softly. "And that's... That's not fair, alright? You can't just.... You can't say that to me."

The fracture in her heart split wide open. And nothing – nothing her mother or Jason had ever said to her could've prepared her for that pain.

"Wh–Why not?"

"Because what does it change?" he'd asked, scrubbing his hands down his face and finally, finally awarding her with his gaze. Her heart, already in her throat, nearly purged itself from her body completely when she saw the wetness, the pain in his irises. "Huh? Tell me, Chrissy. Tell me this makes anything different. Tell me you'll leave Carver and stop treating me like a dirty little secret. Tell me."

The plea in his voice was something she'd never heard before.

Every piece of her was begging her to tell him yes, Eddie, yes, I'll change everything. I'll do anything to keep you. All those little fractured pieces in her throat readied to shatter, to spill into the palms of his hands as an offering she didn't know she was ready to make.

But she didn't.

She didn't.

She stayed quiet. Stayed small. Mouth sewn shut by her mother's incessant machine as it took in her clothes and took in her skin and took in her life. Making her as ill-fitting as the shirts and skirts she struggled into everyday.

And Eddie reached over the canyon in her heart, still splitting, crumbling around her as the earth moved inside of her bones. He took her hands, pulling her palms to his mouth and kissing her like he wanted to fall to his knees and worship her.

"I can't," he breathed against her flesh. "I can't keep ripping myself open and hoping you'll see something you like. I thought I could, but it's gotten too fucking difficult." Dropping her hands, Eddie turned, climbing back through the van and into the driver's seat.

Taking her home without another word.

As soon as she'd been in the safety of her bedroom, Chrissy had fallen apart.

Tears she didn't know she'd been storing poured down her cheeks; a torrential rainstorm. But this time, there were no outside sources to blame, and no harbor within which she could find safety.

The storm tore her apart from the inside. Shredding her flesh and muscle and bone down to atoms, each one imprinted with his name like the tattoos he wore so proudly over his skin.

And it was like this – curled up in the emptiness left behind by his absence – that Chrissy realized she could fear her mother's wrath, and Jason's anger, and every other unknown that currently lived in the whirlwind of her mind.

But it couldn't hold a candle to the absolute hopelessness she felt at the prospect of losing Eddie.

So she called Jason two days later, after wallowing for an entire day and night in bed, and ended their relationship, walking away as he sputtered up excuses and disbelief.

And she took her mother's anger in stride, sneaking out of the house as soon as the sun had set and riding her bike across town.

The bar was called The Nightfall, and it was the first gig Corroded Coffin had scored that wasn't at the Hideout. A coveted weekend slot, and one that had been offered, not begged for.

"We're moving up, baby," he'd said proudly when he'd told her. "These are just the first steps."

Sitting at the back of the bar, nursing a diet soda and watching, enraptured, as Jeff sang lead vocals and Eddie's fingers flew over the strings of his guitar so quickly they blurred. The crowd was significantly larger than five drunks. It made her stomach twist, her throat filling with emotion, because how could she not want him? How could she not want to show him off, parade around on his arm, and announce to the universe that they could keep whatever they wanted of her flesh as long as she could keep him?

Swaying to the music, Chrissy lost herself in Jeff's impressive vocals, his deep tenor of a voice as he carried them through a playlist of covers and original songs.

Then, as they came nearly to an end, Eddie stepped up to the mic.

"I don't normally take the helm," he announced. "But, uh. Y'know. I wanted to tonight. So. This one's for you."

He wasn't talking to anyone in particular. He didn't know she was here. Yet Chrissy was convinced that he was speaking to her. Because that look in his eyes – that pain – was exactly what he'd held in his gaze the last time she'd seen him.

When he'd let her go, and she'd allowed him to drive away.

The crowd was already worked up. They cheered, expectant, as Eddie launched into a song that wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed the air from her lungs. The lyrics flooded her mind, his voice a soulful growl that bounced through her body and left her in jagged pieces on the bar floor.

I wanna love you but I better not touch I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop

She knew this song. She knew it, because Eddie had listened to it in the van. I wanna kiss you but I want it too much I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison

She knew it because Eddie had called it a hate song.

"This is what you sing when you're consumed by someone else," he'd said, "and you know they'll end up killing you. When you're so obsessed you think it's love, but it's just... raw desire and nothing."

Nothing.

Why would you ever think you mattered to him? You're just nothing.

It was a nondescript Friday afternoon in June that Chrissy upended her entire life. Ruining the trajectory of her mother's carefully curated plans to reach for the one thing that had felt safe after so many years adrift in the war.

But it was the barest early hours of Saturday morning, the clock just tipping past midnight, when Chrissy Cunningham's heart broke completely.

#hellcheer drabble #hellcheer #eddissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie x chrissy #angst #poison by Alice cooper #this song didn't actually come out until 1989 but we're gonna suspend our disbelief for the purpose of pain

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azvolrien · 28 days

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We also stopped off at Loch Fleet for a little while. This nature reserve is well-known for its birdwatching, but it's also a great place to spot seals if you get there when the tide's out; they like to haul out on the sand banks. I think these are mostly common seals, but some of them could be grey seals as well; the zoom on my camera isn't quite strong enough to tell for sure.

#photo #our friends in the sea #seal

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su8arandspite · 2 months

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5, 11 and 22 for my queenie pop beth PLES

i… may have gotten a bit carried away (no regrets)

ft. the most beth-coded images I could find… not pictured: her gorgeous, iconic 80s perm

5: guilty pleasures

as part of their unlikely friendship, eddie gets her into weed. she doesn’t really smoke, but she will make the best pot brownies any of them have ever had. he’s not a good influence on her, and she loves it

flavored chapstick. i say this is a problem only because what started with steve gifting her an innocent dr pepper lip smackers (bc it’s her favorite soda) snowballed into expanding beyond her simple strawberry and cherry to tootsie roll and more—up to 10+ and counting. does this obsession make sense when she always has to top it off with a separate gloss for the perfect shine? no. will that stop her? of course not. she makes more trips to claire’s than she’ll ever admit to

secretly has a thing for bill murray. can’t/won’t explain why but she’s kinda into it

still sleeps with her childhood teddy bear

also loves to reread books from her childhood. peter pan is the favorite

11: bad/petty habits

accidentally/on purpose made an enemy of jim hopper during her sister’s disappearance because she wrongly assumed that everyone just forgot about katy and beth wouldn’t let him. it was a surprising day indeed when the 5’2 head cheerleader looked him dead in the eyes and called him a “lazy fucking asshole.” it sure made for some awkward apologies when katy did return

people pleasing people pleasing people p— she has this deep need to be loved & as a result she’s always giving more than she gets.

but there’s only so much of yourself that you can safely give away before you lose sight of who you are

she can be the most passive aggressive bitch in town if she wants to be—never unprompted, though. except for when it comes to carol perkins. not for any particular reason per-say, but she has hated carol since the 1st grade and she’s a heinous bitch so she must’ve done something to deserve it, ok?

will not hesitate to correct anyone who incorrectly states a fact or quotes

22: people who’ve influenced them greatly

in terms of fashion/general vibes, it’s a delicate and carefully curated mixture of lady di, brooke shields, & molly ringwald. she’s put-together, trendy, fashionable, and girly in a way that is enviable to her peers but still creative and uniquely beth (think: designer outfits paired with one-of-a-kind accessory finds she picked up at antique shops)

especially in her younger years/as a teen, her mother has been a big influence on beth. she means well, but it’s more for her own sake than beth’s. mrs. debbie sullivan is all about keeping up with the other pta moms in loch nora for most of beth’s life. she’s the one who taught her her love for fashion and never missed a chance to brag about beth for getting elected cheer captain or winning prom queen. but her mother seemed a lot less interested in anything than wine and her pills after the events of fall 1983

beth’s best friends, amy and tiffany, mean more to her than all of her other fleeting “friends” combined. they’ve been inseparable from the get-go, known by their peers as the trifecta— the redhead, the brunette, the blonde. && it’s amy who teaches her that she should never settle for less than what she wants and deserves. tiffany showed her that it’s okay to be a bitch sometimes, because she doesn’t owe anyone anything. together, they are unstoppable. i like to think of them as a teenaged cheerleader version of the powerpuff girls tbfh

her little sister katy, in more ways than i could possibly name here. her disappearance (and reappearance) alone deserve their own essay, but she admires so much about her nerdy, headstrong little sister. it’s her drive to be the best big sister she can that makes beth such a natural leader and really highlights her warmth and maternal nature. but don’t get me wrong, katy can still be a pain in the ass, as all little sisters are.

dustin henderson!!! sure, he’s the annoying lil brother she didn’t ask for, but he’s also been such a positive force in her life. especially since katy’s disappearance. she adores him and their relationship is parallel to her and katy’s. he helps her to embrace her nerdier side and not feel ashamed that she likes history. she also kind of owes him and his mischievous scheming for pushing her together with the love of her life, too

as cliche as it is, i would be remiss if i didn’t add steve harrington to this list. steve is so much more than just a boy who she likes; he is the first person to every truly understand her. steve was patient and kind and he taught her that she is so much stronger than she gives herself credit for, but she doesn’t always have to be. he makes her a better person, makes her want to be one, and vice versa

there are more ofc (did not include her historic heroes or feminist icons but just so you know, she does in fact love betty friedan. which would probably surprise her classmates but that's another story)

a bonus lil blurb/headcanon based on 5, set in 1980:

she and carol had always been frenemies at best

but when they’re among the only cliques of eighth graders invited to a high school party, none of that matters

at least not until a tipsy sophomore rounds up a game of spin the bottle

beth looks around the room, makes eye contact with steve, and agrees

then it was steve’s turn. as the bottle began to slow and neared beth, carol “accidentally” nudged the glass, causing it to fall just short of beth and land right on nicole, two seats down

it was no secret that, although they were currently ‘off,’ carol had every intention of getting back with tommy eventually

that was about all beth knew about him; it was more than enough

if carol wanted to play dirty, beth wouldn’t hesitate to beat her at her own game (er, at least in the minds of two slightly intoxicated 14-year-old girls)

it wasn’t long after that when beth’s spin landed somewhere between steve and tommy.

despite every part of her telling her that carol was certainly not worth all this, she simply agrees when tommy insists that it was closer to him (even if it really wasn’t)

and so, with a single glance at carol, she made out with him in front of the entire party

the whole thing felt wrong and awkward, because he was too slobbery and his tongue was down her throat in an unpleasant mess

but as he finally pulled away (more due to being pried apart than anything), the look on carol’s face was more than enough consolation

she missed the disgruntled, sour glare steve was giving tommy

carol pretty much avoided beth after that; apparently tommy “hadn’t kissed her like that in ages”

beth considered carol lucky for that

#beth my beloved #character asks #original characters #powderblueblood #kayley speaks #headcanons

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scotianostra · 1 year

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he Battle of Littleferry took place near Dunrobin 15th April 1746.

Also known as the Skirmish at Golspie, near Dunrobin, the Jacobite Earl of Cromartie’s Regiment was defeated by Sutherland Militia loyal to the Government, it is thought that the two Sinclairs in George Mackenzie, 3rd Earl of Cromartie’s Regiment were taken prisoner.

A wee bit background is despite being loyal to the Hanoverian Government, William, the 17th Earl of Sutherland failed to rally his clan against the Jacobite cause as quickly as some of those in power may have liked. Giving rise to a suspicion in London that Sutherland may be disloyal.

However the Jacobite leaders also doubted Sutherland’s loyalty, and, as a result, the Earl of Cromartie and 500 of his men were sent to Dunrobin Castle to engage the Earl of Sutherland. As Cromartie’s force stormed the Castle, the Earl of Sutherland escaped through the back door. Having failed in their mission Cromartie and his men went to re‐join Bonnie Prince Charlie at Inverness. However before they could reach their destination, Cromartie’s men were ambushed at Littleferry by two Highland Independent Companies: Clan Sutherland and Clan Mackay.

Believing that all of Sutherland’s followers had dispersed, the Jacobite officers had allowed their men to march ahead of them; however, this was not the case. Sutherland men lurked in the hills above Culmaily and swept down attacking the gap between the rebel officers and their men on foot. Most of the officers were captured; many men were killed, and the rest were driven onto the beach at Littleferry, where many drowned attempting to swim across Loch Fleet. The result was Bonnie Prince Charlie was denied much‐needed reinforcements at the Battle of Culloden.

More pics from their FB page here https://www.facebook.com/BattleofLittleferry/

#scotland #scottish #history #jacobites #45 uprising

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skinks · 10 months

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soooo in the next few months I am; going on a boat trip to a castle in a loch, going on a boat trip to an island covered in puffins, seeing Shakespeare in the park, camping for a weekend with my friends to see a mountain biking championship, seeing Big Big Train again, attending an adventure mountain film festival, staying overnight with my friend so she can see F.O.B and I can see nothing,nowhere again, seeing Aladdin the musical, and seeing Greta Van Fleet again with my pals, then Mal are her family are visiting for christmas 🤩

#and hopefully we will be getting *******

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erinclaireb · 1 year

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The Ben Varrey and the Dinny Mara

Before we begin, a short note on the research and stories you’ll find here each week. You’d think for such an vital piece of work we’d have a crack team in the field - after all, what is more important than avoiding the life-threatening dangers of the wild places teeming with folklore creatures? Unfortunately (budget cuts and all that) what we have is Edith.

Edith does her best - she occasionally falls prey to the tricks and vagaries of the Folk, but she’s proven surprisingly resilient at getting out of scrapes. I sometimes think she may be partly of the Folk herself - not that I’d discuss it with her. When Edith isn’t running around the wilds, sharing stories with the people she meets in old farmhouses and mills, or falling into suspicious lakes*, she can be found reading. She’s particularly fond of the Encyclopedia of Fairies: Hobgoblins, Brownies, Bogies, & Other Supernatural Creatures by Katharine Briggs (1976), but will work her way voraciously through anything she can find about the folklore of the British Isles and surrounds. *Edith would like it to be known that she’s only fallen into one suspicious lake. The other one was a loch. And there might’ve been a river one time.

The merpeople of the Isle of Man can be as dangerous and deadly as any other, but there are also stories of their softer sides and even the close relationships they may have with some humans - especially fisherman and their families - and with each other. The Ben Varrey is the Manx name for a mermaid, the Dinny Mara is the Manx merman.

Below you’ll find

Where you might encounter the Ben Varrey or Dinny Mara

How to identify them

Are they dangerous?

How to survive (or even benefit from) an encounter

Story time!

Where you’ll find the Ben Varrey or Dinny Mara

You might find the Ben Varrey or the Dinny Mara in the seas around the Isle of Man. The intrepid adventurer might be aware that some mermaids in other places have been found in inland lakes or even up rivers, however, there is nothing in Edith’s reports so far to suggest the Manx merfolk ever finds their way inland.

How to identify them

Unlike some, such as the merrows, the Ben Varrey and Dinny Mara don’t have any distinguishing features to tell them apart from other merfolk. They’re reported to be beautiful - as are most mermaids, the better to lure humans into the water - and of course have the traditional fish tail and human upper body. (Edith is sceptical about the beauty aspect - she notes that the Folk are frequently described as either incredibly beautiful or hideously ugly, and has strong thoughts about this just being human nonsense).

Are they dangerous?

There is every chance that if you meet a mermaid she will want to draw you under the waves - whether by temptation or by force - and you will not make it back alive. However, it is possible that some of them simply cannot comprehend that humans can’t survive underwater, and are not driven by a murderous intent. For example, a Ben Varrey once fell in love with a human sailor and nearly succeeded in luring him into the sea (he was fortunately saved by the quick thinking of his crew mates), but it is doubtful she intended to kill him. While some mermaids have been known to create storms, the Ben Varrey has on occasion warned of them, rising among a fleet of fishing boats and calling ‘shiaull er thalloo’ - sail to land - before the storm arrives.

How to survive (or even benefit from) an encounter

As with all of the Folk, the first protection against an encounter with the Ben Varrey and Dinny Mara is a healthy respect and a safe distance. It is important to heed their warning if you hear it. If you find yourself tempted to jump overboard and join one in the water, the story above about the sailor suggests there is a counter charm (however, Edith is yet to discover its nature). If you find a stranded or trapped mermaid, it is always wise to free her - if you are fortunate, you may be rewarded (of course, as the rewards of the Folk usually go, there may be a catch).

STORY TIME

Evan Sayle and the apples

Once upon a time, a large fishing family, the Sayles, lived in prosperity. Old Sayle was known to be fond of apples and always took some from the latest harvest with him in his boat when he went fishing. However, at last the time came for him to retire and then things began to go poorly for the family - fewer and fewer fish were caught, and the cold, hungry winters loomed darkly. Soon all but the youngest son, Evan, had left to try their luck as sailors. Evan alone remained to look after their parents.

One day while clambering around the rocky shoreline checking the lobster pots and looking for eggs in the birds’ nests, Evan heard a voice asking him what he was doing. He looked down and saw a Ben Varrey sitting on the rocks, and he went down and spoke with her. She was sweet, and asked after his father, and her told her all their troubles. When he went home, his father was most pleased with him, and suggested he take some apples with him the next day. He did, and the mermaid was delighted to get her ‘sweet land eggs’ again, and almost immediately the Sayles’ fortunes were turned around and they began to flourish once more.

But Evan and the Ben Varrey grew more and more fond of each other. Evan began to spend all his time in his boat so that he could talk to the Ben Varrey, and the people in the village started to call him lazy and lovestruck. Evan was so upset by this, after all the hard work he had done when his brothers went away, that at last he decided to follow them and become a sailor. Before he left, he planted an apple tree right on the edge of the cliff over where the Ben Varrey lived and told her that once it was large enough, the apples would fall right down to her as they ripened. So, even though he left, the Sayles remained prosperous and his parents fared well while they lived.

But apple trees take a long time to grow and the mermaid grew weary of waiting and lonely without Evan so she left to search the seas for him. No one can tell if they found each other again, all that is known for certain is that neither of them ever came back to collect the apples.

mermaid treasure

Two shorter accounts of the Ben Varrey.

Once there was a fisherman’s young daughter who loved to play by the sea. A Ben Varrey girl would watch her sometimes, and coveted her favourite doll. One day the doll was left close to the water and the Ben Varrey stole the doll. She was delighted with it and took it down underwater to show her mother, but her mother rebuked her for the theft and sent her back to the surface to give the fisherman’s girl her own necklace of pearls to atone.

Once a fisherman found a stranded Ben Varrey and kindly carried her back to the sea. For this, the Ben Varrey rewarded him with information about where to find treasure. Once he found it he realised it was antique Spanish gold coins that he and his wife had no way to spend. However, one can hardly expect the merfolk to keep abreast of what treasure is currently in vogue among the land folk.

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jellyyshark · 6 months

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⋅⚬*🫧⋆｡˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

11/10/23

Prompt: Choose your own cryptid - Loch Ness Monster

Waves crashed against the side of the wooden ship. Shouts and commands were being thrown about as everyone was sent into a fleet of panic. Captain Maggie rushed to the side of the boat, hands gripping the wooden rails as her eyes frantically searched the rouged waters.

Shiny scales broke the surface of the water, sending even more waves to rock the boat. Maggie knew what it was immediately.

“Holy shit.” She gasped as her eyes met the monstrous beast.

“THE LOCHNESS MONSTER!!” A crew member wailed.

Captain Maggie looked back with a glare. She had faced many monsters in her life and knew that panicking wouldn’t get them anywhere.

She whipped her head back to face the monster. Behind the terrifying glare of its eyes, she could see its own panic and fear. These waters were its home and many ships disrupted the peace. The monster was only trying to defend her space.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” She shouted back over the loud sounds of the ship.

I found this one to be so cute even tho I didn't get far. Might make it into a short story later lmao

- jelly 🦈

#new writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writeblr #free write #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #cryptid #loch ness monster

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bruiisedpetals-a · 1 year

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TRIAL MUSES ; IRONBORN COUSINS.

PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE / REPLY IF YOU’D LIKE TO POTENTIALLY INTERACT WITH EITHER OR BOTH OF THESE MUSES.

𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦 , sometimes called ‘ narra ’ also known as ‘ lady bone-hand ’ & ‘ the salt death ’ — she is the secondborn of house drumm , the lords of the isle of old wyk. she is named after high king regnar drumm , who was known as ‘ raven-feeder ’ & was the fourth high king of the iron islands. considered touched by the drowned god after regnarra threw herself to the waves in a contest of faith , drowned , and then was revived with the kiss of life , thrice.

𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐟𝐫𝐲𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 , a lord of house goodbrother of shatterstone upon old wyk , and captain of the longship the bloody wanderer in the iron fleet. known as ‘ the sea wolf ’ due to his famed ferocity in raiding and reaving ; a staunch believer in the old way & iron price , devoted to the drowned god. wulffryd is renowned amongst the ironborn for (first raiding) and then sinking a lyseni fleet of six ships against his one , deep in the sunset sea.

further basic details of both muses below the cut & though they are not set specifically in a show verse or era as yet , they are crafted in asoiaf lore. these are trial muse / ideas and i may bring them in for an ic trial run based on interest !

𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌 ; 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃

title : lady of house drumm — also known as ; lady bone-hand (reference to her houses’ sigil) & the salt death (reference to her role as ritual executioner)

name : regnarra drumm ; reg-narr-ah / narra ; narr-ah

fc : thea sofie loch næss

age : 23

faith : the drowned god

role : elected ritual executioner for house drumm , serving in honour of the drowned god.

overview : fiercely devoted to the drowned gods , with house drumm considered the most holiest of the ironborn , regnarra often saw herself into fights with aspiring acolytes of the drowned men who mocked her for being a woman and thus unable to join the religion as a priest. both her parents were incredibly proud of their fierce child , who may have been small from birth but every bit as wild as the seas. when she was six , twelve and then sixteen , regnarra voluntarily entered into contests of faith upon the black cliffs of old wyk and gave herself over to the seas by falling from the heights — each time she had drowned but been revived by a priest with the kiss of life. she would never join the religion as a leader , but they now respected her beyond questioning and no longer sought to mock her unyielding faith. she was trained to sail and fight , which she is proficient in , but since her sixteenth nameday and her third brushing of the drowned god regnarra has been the elected ritual & sacrificial executioner of house drumm ; elected by her father as his representative in command as well as by the priests upon old wyk.

regnarra considers herself an oracle of the drowned god , whether that is agreed upon is another issue , but it is a known phenomenon that when lady bone-hand proclaimed the drowned god would battle the storm god ... a monstrous turn of the seas would come. when she burned dried salt and seaweed into the air like an incense and then proceeded to bathe naked in the salt waters as acolytes did , regnarra would often leave the ocean with the echo of prophecy in her mouth as she tasted of the fortunes of others at the hands of the drowned god ; for good or bad.

parents : lord dunstan iv drumm and lady yorra drumm (goodbrother)

siblings : denys drumm , ( herself ) , donnel drumm

half-siblings , by her fathers salt wives : keryn pyke , ellana snow , ulfurd pyke

other connection — cousin : lord wulffryd goodbrother , captain of the bloody wanderer. his is the son of regnarra’s mother’s elder brother ; thus her maternal first cousin. protective , rivalry , allies , ironborn support.

𝐖𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐅𝐑𝐘𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ; 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅

title : lord of house goodbrother of shatterstone — also known as ; the sea wolf (reference to his name and his ferocity in reaving, etc.)

name : wulffryd; wolf-frid

fc : zach mccgowan

age : 37

faith : the drowned god

role : captain of the bloody wanderer in the iron fleet

overview : born with a taste for salt and blood he was always training , he would attend his lessons and devote himself to the drowned god , but was first and foremost an utter savage upon the seas. after getting into a brutal fight-turned-brawl that left his elder brother with a broken arm and two others dead , lord orys sent his out of control secondborn to work on a longship under the harshest taskmaster on the island. wulffryd flourished under the savage challenge , rod and salt and lash , never bowing under and returned still a beast , but a wiser and far more controlled beast with sharpened teeth and skills honed. some years later he would become captain of his own ship , the bloody wanderer , and carefully cultivate a specifically wild crew of devoted ironborn who possessed a similar savagery as him yet still honoured him as captain. wulffryd and his crew would carve a name in the name of the old way , the drowned god and the iron price — the laws stood firm : everything was earned with blood , salt and strain.

before setting off on a voyage of any sort , he will seek out his cousin regnarra and ask her council as he supports her claim of connection to the drowned god ; he’d been there each time she’d prevailed in her recklessly confident tests of faith and believed it without question. he will also have himself and his crew-members blessed by a priest , as well as the ship itself , and insists he and the crew of the bloody wanderer dedicate the last two days ashore to aiding the priests and drowned men in charitable service.

parents : lord noarne goodbrother and lady saralyn goodbrother † (botley)

siblings : orys ii goodbrother , ( himself ) , elfryn harlaw , noare goodbrother † , netha goodbrother

half-siblings , by his fathers salt wife : darrin pyke , oshara pyke

other connection — cousin : lady regnarra drumm , lady of old wyk and ritual executioner of house drumm. she is the daughter of wulffryd’s father’s younger sister whom married into house drumm ; thus his paternal first cousin. protective , rivalry , allies , ironborn support.

THEIR CONNECTION

house goodbrother and drumm were close before lord denys iv drumm wed the young lady yorra goodbrother , they have always been close allies. it wasn’t a huge surprise that the cousins mixed well together and shared similar dispositions and values , despite their varying ages.

wulffryd is fifteen years regnarra’s senior and they were not close in her initial youth for obvious age reasons. they would begin to bond over a shared devotion to the drowned god , and how even as a child she would brave the icy waters of the sea , as he would as a man grown , to bathe as ironborns ‘should’. by the time she had initiated a contest of faith at six years old he had already considered becoming a drowned man himself and had shared with her many more of the stories of the drowned god and his adversary the storm god.

several years later when noare , wulffryd’s younger brother , died unexpectedly in the night and with his eldest sister married to house harlaw — coupled with regnarra’s wild outbursts whilst her elder brother dagon tenured as a sea captain — he took her under his wing , and his own correcting under a harsh had allowed him to curb her impertinent and fiery temper. wulfrydd was often amazed at her fierce loyalty , understanding and recollection of the drowned god’s rites and rituals , particularly during her youth.

years gone by , when regnarra approached her father for the right to act as commanding executioner for ritual or sacrifice of house drumm in his stead , and then was granted that right — wulffryd was the first of her relatives she announced the news to. the two celebrated long into the night at the honour and privilege she had finally been granted after so many years of being dismissed of the religion due to her gender.

#( trial muse bio! )#( yes thats the tag )#( my ironborn cousins that appeared out of nowhere )#( using minimally established houses )

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usafphantom2 · 6 months

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A 736 Sqn Buccaneer at low level over Loch Borralan.

credit Fleet Air Arm Boys and Girls

@CcibChris via X

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quinnsendtoend · 10 months

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Days *checks notes* 8,9,10

The weather started to improve, which I was super grateful for. Though it did make me more concerned about being sunburnt (since I’d already managed it once while it was raining).

Soon after leaving Helmsdale I met another person who was hiking, he was also attempting to walk from John o’groats to lands end, but with the 3 peaks along the way, which is pretty crazy. We walked together the rest of the way to Brora and it was a nice change from walking alone. It was almost entirely on the beach, at one point we had to cross a river which meant getting my boots wet again, just when they were starting to dry out.

I took a small detour of the trail to go and look at cairn liath, a broch near Golspie. There are lots of them all around this area but this one is especially well preserved. They are buildings from the Iron Age and there exact use isn’t really know, possibly a variety of things. This one also has the remnants of various buildings added on around it. It was pretty incredible to walk around.

Part of the route was round loch fleet, which involved a long road bridge to cross. But was totally worth it since I saw seals. (Keep the sound off, it’s just wind)

I also made an attempt to see the northern lights, but I’m honestly not totally sure whether it was successful or not. I’ve included the photo so you can decide for yourselves. It was about 1 in the morning, I was looking north and it looked more green in person. So I don’t know what else it could have been, but also i was half asleep and it was cloudy.

To all the cosmo fans, I apologise for the lack of photos, he’ll be back next time.

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waheelawhisperer · 1 year

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Making the story I wrote for the writing prompt its own thing so anyone who wants to comment on it can do so without clogging up the writing prompts blog, putting it under a read more because it's kinda long, commentary always makes my day

Chapter 1

Seven feet and more of demoness looked down her nose at the scrawny, trembling human in the summoning circle in front of her. The little worm trembled as it stared up at her in dumb animal fear, clearly only moments away from soiling itself. She was amazed it hadn’t already.

Ordinarily, something this pathetic never could have bound her. Frankly, the glow of the magic she could sense within him was so weak, so dull and lifeless, that she was surprised that he had managed to pull off a summoning at all. The effort of keeping her bound within the mortal realm seemed like enough to kill him if he tried to maintain it much longer, so limited was his potential for magic.

It was that which had intrigued her enough to answer his summons. She’d felt it before any of her subjects, as she felt all such summons which entered her domain instead of any of the other fiefdoms that made up the Infernal Realms, and the hesitance and the tentative nature of it, the sheer lack of any power or authority or command, had piqued her interest enough that she had followed his call before one of her lesser adherents could seize upon it. It represented… an opportunity, perhaps, or maybe just a snack. Humans were so easily corrupted, the men slaves to the pleasures of the flesh or their lust for gold and glory, the women just as easily broken to her will by careful manipulation of their loneliness, their ambition, their frustration with a world that treated them with a subtle disdain so rarely afforded to their male counterparts as a matter of course. The proof of it was in the rolls locked within the treasure room of her vast stronghold, the great ledger in which she and her retainers had written the names of the damned in blood. It was in the golden topaz and tourmaline that flashed on the choker around her throat and at the lobes of her pointed ears, each a receptacle containing the souls of a thousand fools who had sold themselves to her for wealth or power or the love of a woman, realizing too late what their fleeting victories would cost them. It was in the soft, supple leather of her favorite pair of boots, dyed black and flayed still living from a pet she’d taken a thousand years before, a woman who had unified a continent by fire and the sword before the demoness had gently coaxed her into ruin.

Archduchess Agara of Sha’il, Marshal Paramount of the West of Hell, the Whisper of Desolation, the Jewel of the Infernal Courts, one of the four most powerful nobles outside the ruling family of the Infernal Realms, favored the wretch in front of her with her regard, letting the tension build until it was a mere moment away from breaking her newest diversion. Finally, just before the boy reached his limit, she tossed a lock of jet-black hair behind her in a move designed to draw attention to the smooth curve of her neck and the fullness of her bust beneath her long black dress and spoke at last.

“Why hast thou called upon me, mortal?” she asked. “What bargain dost thou seek?”

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She’s… gorgeous.

The incongruous thought slipped through his terror as the creature in the circle spoke. It was her voice that did it to him, a deep, melodious contralto, rich with power and promise and bearing just a hint of an accent that put him in mind of the lochs and burns of his homeland. The waves of hair that fell to her hips rippled like water, swallowing the light, a stark contrast to the way her arresting golden eyes, the same color as the gems she wore, burned brighter than anything else in the room, brighter than all the candles he’d lit when he’d started the ritual.

“Art thou struck dumb, mortal?” the being he’d summoned asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. “Didst thou not summon me for a purpose? Speak thy desires, that I might grant thee what thou seekest.”

Her voice was equal parts amused and impatient, and Calvin MacPherson forced himself to swallow as he tore his eyes away from the red, red skin just above her bodice and met her piercing gaze. His mouth was dry as he looked at her, and his throat worked as he struggled to speak. Power rolled off of her in waves, washing over him like a flood and drowning him in an ocean of arcane might, its vastness swallowing the meager spark of power in him, just barely enough to let him cast spells and earn him a place in the storied halls of O’Malley Academy, without even a thought. She eclipsed him without effort, with casual indifference, and he gave thanks through the fear that the summoning circle kept her bound.

Surely the masters should have sensed this by now, Calvin thought. There’s no way they could’ve missed this much power. It’s like every Archmage on the Academy Board started flexing at once!

“I-I was trying to summon a familiar,” he stammered, barely able to force the words out.

Please don’t eat me…

“Well, it wouldst appear thou hast succeeded,” the woman in the circle informed him, her full lips curling into a knowing smile. “I am Agara, Archduchess of Sha’il, and I accept thy covenant. The details of the contract art known to me. No modification of the terms art required for mine service.”

“You’re kidding me,” Calvin breathed. “I thought I’d be lucky to get an imp or a Beast of Wisdom or a minor Fae. I thought I’d be lucky to get anything at all!”

“There is more to you than you know, young mage,” his new familiar said gently as he felt the contract lock into place. “You summoned me, after all, didn’t you?”

Her words sent a thrill down his spine, hope he hadn’t dared to nurture blossoming in his breast. He could be a mage, a real mage!

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There really wasn’t, Agara thought, hiding a sneer as she watched the effects her words had on the boy, save for the fact that his very inadequacy made him an interesting plaything, his resentments and insecurities fertile ground for her manipulations. She’d seen his like a thousand times: weak, ostracized, pushed down to the bottom of any hierarchy they found themselves in, desperately craving attention and validation and praise… desperately craving power. She’d known what a simple crumb of her regard would do to him, a few words binding him to her and blinkering his eyes to the dangers a contract with an Archduchess represented just as if she were calming a skittish horse. Really, these humans were too easy…

She tested the bonds of the contract, concealing a smile as she realized her new “master” was so weak she could snap his hold over her anytime she pleased. He probably thought that first the circle and then the covenant kept him safe. More fool him. A lesser demon would have been bound as tightly as he believed her to be, but she hadn’t risen to her position without a mastery of the arcane. She knew how to find the weakness of a spell, how to seek the places where the magic was fragile, how to apply her considerable arcane power to shatter bonds that should have been as strong as steel like so much glass. Should her new pet become tiresome, it would be the matter of a moment to devour him and return to her domain.

“Wilt thou not introduce thyself, o Master?” Agara asked courteously, dipping into a curtsy that just coincidentally afforded the sniveling creature before her the opportunity to look down her dress. She pretended not to notice as he jerked his eyes guiltily away from her bodice as she straightened. A virgin, this one, she was certain of it, not that men with more experience with the wiles of a woman were any more proof against her seductions. She’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand soon enough, and then the true fun would begin. She would break this pitiful boy to her will, forge him into a weapon that would soak the heaths and moors and fields in war and cruelty until the tarns and corries were filled with blood and the Macsen River ran red to Idris Bay.

“I’m, uh…” her new master began before losing his nerve. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and started again. “My name is Calvin MacPherson. I’m a student here. A first year. Just finished my first semester.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Calvin,” Agara murmured demurely. It wasn’t even a lie. She’d enjoy using him to break the realms of Tintagel and Tara and the rest of the confederation that her rival Be’hil-Barath had used the warrior-king Beathain Boru to build three centuries ago.

“The, uh… The pleasure is all mine, uh, ma’am,” the boy mumbled, still clearly tongue-tied around her. She’d have to work on that. Reducing men to stammering fools was part and parcel of being a demoness, but her new tool would be useless if he couldn’t even speak a full sentence in her presence without tripping over his tongue. Still, familiarity would come with time.

“Should not your ritual have concluded by now?” she prompted him, raising one eyebrow. He blinked.

“Oh, shit!” he gabbled. “Uh, sorry, ma’am!”

Hmph. How vulgar. Then again, she didn’t expect much from someone whose student robes were of middling quality and whose boots were worn and patched. It was clear this 'Calvin' hadn’t come from money and breeding. A small-town boy, if she had to guess, from a family of farmers or laborers. He didn’t come from soldier stock, of that she was certain, for he lacked the wariness that came from growing up around constables and fighting men, his posture held no readiness for battle, and the way he moved was frightened and timid. Weak. Bullied. Prey.

“Uh, I need to register my familiar real soon,” the boy fretted. “The masters are gonna flip when they see you, though!”

“Worry not on the matter,” Agara answered dismissively. It was the work of but a moment to focus her power, and she saw the wonder on his face as her form flowed and melted, shrinking until what stood before him was not a beautiful woman but a feline the size of a bobcat, its coat the color of obsidian save for the red markings on its legs and stomach.

“A Hellcat!?” her master gasped in delight, leaning down as if he wished to ruffle her fur and then thinking better of it. “Those are pretty hard to bind, though. Not sure how many people will believe I managed to make a contract with one.”

Hellcats are notoriously fickle, she thought at him, hiding a chuckle as he started. Calm yourself, my master. Our bond will allow me to speak to you directly, and for you to speak to me in return. This form’s well-known reputation for choosiness and… unusual standards will help make the fiction believable.

You’re talking differently now, he sent back at her, followed by a surge of chagrin that told her he hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

The act of entering into a contract requires a certain gravitas, she informed him patiently as she leapt from the floor to his shoulder, draping herself around his neck and torso with a purr carefully calculated to sound contented. With the covenant made, there’s no need to stand so on formality. Come, let us not tarry. We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the masters.

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Chapter 2

Agara sat on the table next to her master’s lunch, tail flicking behind her as she surveyed the bustling meal hall. Students hurried to and fro, collecting their meals and taking them to their seats, each accompanies by a familiar. Agara dismissed most of them contemptuously, finding nothing worth noting in the imps and beasts and minor Fae, or even the small number of elemental spirits or angelic beings that seemed to have chosen a few of the luckier aspirant mages. A small number of students seemed to have bound youkai from the far south, which were notable only because forming a contract with such creatures was outside the bounds of traditional wizardry here in the north. They certainly weren’t worth acknowledging for their power.

“Cal, did you hear?” the boy sitting next to her master asked him through a mouthful of roast beef sandwich, narrowly avoiding spraying food on her fur. Her master’s only friend was only slightly less pathetic than her master, the pulse of magic within him weaker than average for a mage, though still much more powerful than her master’s own. He’d likely graduate, she supposed, but Lachlan Wells would never be more than a journeyman mage, selling luck charms and basic enchantments to afford his daily bread. She marked him as the son of a clerk or a journalist, someone who kept records or wrote stories for the Confederation’s many newspapers, for he was slight and held a quill readily and seemed reasonably well-spoken, and his robes were of somewhat finer make than Calvin’s own.

That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t have her master dressed in rags.

“Hear what?” Calvin responded, swallowing his peas before he spoke with a nervous glance at Agara. She sent faint approval brushing against his mind, pleased that he’d remembered his manners this time, and felt a frankly pitiable rush of pride and eagerness to please in response.

“About Camille a’Couralaine’s familiar,” Lachlan continued. “Gwen said she made a contract with a wyvern!”

Oh? That was the first interesting thing she’d heard since Lachlan had sat down. A student strong enough to bind one of the lesser cousins of the great dragons must be a rare talent indeed, perhaps even one worthy of more than her cursory attention. It would be wise to find out more…

“Gwen Adaire talked to you?” Agara’s master asked skeptically. She could understand why. The thought of a woman of any quality sparing a word for these two pathetic whelps was… difficult to understand, to say the least.

“Well, she didn’t say it to me,” Lachlan admitted sheepishly. “She was talking to Sara and Kirsten. I just happened to be in the area.”

And probably closer to this ‘Gwen’ than she would’ve liked, Agara scoffed, making sure to hide her thoughts from her master. She doubted he had enough awareness to pick up on anything she didn’t practically scream into his skull, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She aimed her next question at her master, directing the thought through their bond. Master, who is this ‘Camille a’Couralaine’?

She’s basically the queen of the school, Calvin responded as Lachlan continued waxing poetic about the passing loveliness of Gwen Adaire, or at least the first-year class. Her mother is a high-ranking knight in service to the High Queen of Armorica and her father is the Queen’s chief Battlemage. She’s the most beautiful girl in the school, rich, better at magic than half the upper-level students in the school and probably some of the teachers, and I heard she even won a tournament up at Dun Venydh in Tintagel when she was only fifteen, before she was old enough to enroll at this school.

Agara avoided taking offense only through the knowledge that she was so much more than just a girl and that no coltish adolescent could possibly match her resplendent glory. Still, this ‘Camille’ was intriguing, and would perhaps present an impediment to her master’s ascension… or an opportunity.

“Well, well, well, what do you know? The Failure managed to bind a familiar. How’d you grab that Hellcat, Failure? I didn’t even think you’d figure out how to activate the circle.”

A sneering voice interrupted both her thoughts, and, thankfully, Lachlan’s enthusiastic extolling of the virtues of Gwen Adaire, among which her legs and backside featured prominently. Agara looked up curiously to see a tall, well-built young man of remarkable handsomeness approaching their table with the look of a hunting dog scenting prey, several others of similar apparent status and disposition at his heels. A bully, it was clear as day, and one with wealth and influence besides, his robes made of the finest silk and cut to show off his athletic figure as well as such clothing realistically could.

It seemed he’d set his sights on her master. How interesting.

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“Go away, Eamon,” Calvin groaned. Couldn’t this asshole let him have one day where he felt good about himself? It wasn’t enough that Eamon Aethelred a’Laurant was rich, handsome, noble, and a hit with all the ladies. He had to go out of his way to make sure everyone knew it. Why the guy couldn’t just be happy with being sixth in line to the throne of Armorica, Calvin would never know, but he seemed to have taken offense at the idea of anyone with a hint of common blood or anything less than the standard facility at magic for those few gifted with the talent gracing the halls of the Grace O’Malley Academy of Magecraft. Since Calvin was the son of an iron miner and quite possibly the single least talented student to ever qualify for entry into the Academy, he’d rapidly found himself becoming Lord Eamon’s favorite target.

It wasn’t like bullying was a new experience for Calvin. Growing up poor in a highland mining town in the eastern kingdom of Calidon was rough enough as it was, and being the only boy among his peers inclined toward a life of anything but toil in the dark bowels of the nearby mountains hadn’t made things any easier. His studious nature had set him apart from the other children, and most had responded to the fact that he was different from them with cruelty, as people so often did. Passing the aptitude test one of the Confederation’s mages had set him during the yearly trawl for talented children had been the best thing that had ever happened to him… or so he had thought.

Eamon had singled him out almost immediately. Lachlan thought His Lordship had used his family’s influence to get access to the test results somehow, but Calvin didn’t know and didn’t care. Even if Eamon hadn’t known on the first day, he would have found out during classes, when Calvin struggled to even light a magelamp, a task so simple most mages could do it instinctively. Besides, Lord a’Laurant would’ve taken one look at him and seen the poverty writ large on his face and the condition of his clothes, and that would’ve made him a target as surely as his lack of talent.

“You know, normally I’d give you a beating for talking to your betters that way,” his tormentor said, his entourage chuckling behind him, “but I’m in a pretty good mood today. See, I managed to bind an Armored Elk today.”

Calvin blinked in surprise. He’d done a lot of reading in preparation to try claiming a familiar of his own, and while he hadn’t held out hope of getting anything more interesting or powerful than the most basic of magical creatures or spirits, he’d devoured all the knowledge he could find written in the books the school librarian had allowed him access to, and he knew all about the familiars he imagined the more powerful students would be aiming for, and Armored Elk ranked near the top of the list.

“Congrats, Eamon. Whoop-de-doo for you. Will you please leave me alone?”

“Sounds like you don’t believe me, Failure,” Eamon said. Calvin believed him just fine, actually, but it was clear that Eamon wanted a fight, or at least an excuse to humiliate someone in public, so he wasn’t sure it really mattered what he sounded like. “Check it out.”

Eamon tapped the necklace dangling over his chest. The emerald within the silver setting began to glow, a green mist flowing out of the gem and coalescing behind Eamon. A form took shape in the mist, huge and bulky, standing a good three feet above Lord a’Laurant, who was no small man himself. As the mist faded, Calvin looked upon a creature that resembled nothing so much as an enormous moose, its skull and flanks and shoulders covered with heavy plates of bone. From what he’d read, he knew that Armored Elk were immensely tough and strong, their armor more durable than the finest plate, capable of resisting even the fangs of a dragon or Hrodvitnir for a time. The beasts were favored by battlemages, for they were aggressive, near-fearless, and could be ridden like destriers, and well-versed in the earth magic so valuable in war besides. It figured Eamon had managed to bind one. It was rare for anyone below the rank of master to call an Armored Elk to their side, but if not for the Lady Camille, Eamon would have stood head and shoulders above the rest of the class in magical aptitude. Just one more reason to hate the bastard.

“Wow. Cool,” Calvin said dully, wishing Eamon would just get on with whatever he wanted and leave him alone. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid it if his classmate wanted to hurt or humiliate him. Even leaving Eamon’s wealth, connections, and noble blood aside, Calvin didn’t stand a chance against him in a fight. He’d tried, once, very early on. Having to defend himself from the other children in the town where he grew up meant he’d picked up a few tricks and wasn’t totally useless in a scrap despite his unassuming appearance, but that didn’t mean much against someone who’d been training to fight since he could walk. All surprising Eamon had accomplished was make his beating worse.

“You know what, Failure?” Eamon asked him. “I don’t think I’m inclined to let your lack of manners pass today, after all.”

There was something uglier than usual in his tone, something that sent sick fear shooting down Calvin’s spine to coil in his stomach. He looked around in search of one of the teachers, but none were in sight. Had they simply decided to let the students celebrate alone, or was there a more sinister explanation?

“Crush that Hellcat,” Eamon said, gesturing his Armored Elk forward. The massive creature shuffled forward one step first, and then another, whuffling eagerly.

Agara, who had thus far expressed no interest whatsoever in the confrontation and appeared to be taking a nap on the table, slowly turned her head. Her eyes met those of the Armored Elk… and the enormous familiar stopped in its tracks. She stared at the beast for a long second before it took a step back with a low sound of distress, shaking its colossal head in dismay.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eamon snarled at his familiar. “I gave you an order!”

The Armored Elk ignored him, retreating once more and tossing its head in visible reluctance. Lord a’Laurant’s face twisted in rage, the expression contorting his handsome features.

Eamon moved.

Calvin didn’t even see the punch the other boy drove into the side of his head coming. His head rang as it hit the table, and he saw stars as Eamon grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back for another blow. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but Eamon held him fast. He heard the sound of a scuffle from behind him as Eamon’s cronies prevented Lachlan from coming to his aid, not that there was much his friend could have done in any case.

“You’ve sullied these halls long enough,” Eamon snarled, punching him again. Calvin felt his nose break under the blow. “I don’t ever want to see you in this school again!”

Calvin coughed as his own blood ran into his mouth. Some of it got on Eamon’s robes. With fury burning in his eyes, Eamon hit him a third time. Calvin watched, head lolling, as Eamon drew back his fist again, hoping that this time the bastard would go ahead and knock him out so it would all be over.

“What is the meaning of this!?” a strident voice demanded, blazing through the air like a trumpet’s clarion call. Calvin fell limply on the table as Eamon released him, turning to look at his rescuer as she strode toward them. “You shame yourself and all of Armorica!”

Of all the people to rescue me, it had to be her, Calvin thought in dismay and embarrassment as Lady Camille a’Couralaine placed both hands on her hips and glared at Lord Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant, her entourage fanning out behind her to square off with Eamon’s adherents. Bet I look so cool right now.

“The Failure offered me insult,” Eamon growled, glaring right back at her.

“And this gave you leave to beat him half unconscious?” Camille asked in disbelief. “Hardly chivalric of you. The poor boy can’t even stand! Besides,” she sniffed, “I think you offered him insult first with that demeaning nickname you forced upon him. If anyone owes an apology, it’s you!”

“Me!?” Eamon bellowed, flabbergasted. “Apologize to that!?”

“No, Lord Eamon, I’m not so foolish as to hope for you to find some heretofore-undiscovered spark of chivalry or decency somewhere within what passes for your heart,” Lady Camille answered caustically, her deep blue eyes locked on his, “but you will cease beating him, or I will find your wanton brutality unpardonable, and demand that we settle my grievances regarding your manners upon the field!”

Eamon’s face paled and he let go of Calvin, who bounced off the table and promptly flopped bonelessly to the floor.

Yeah, didn’t go well for you last time you tried dueling her, did it, asshole? Calvin thought, trying to look past the long blonde hair filling his vision to catch a glimpse of his tormentor in a rare moment of humility. She kicked your ass up and down the lists, first with magic and then with a sword.

“As you wish, my lady,” Eamon said sarcastically, dismissing his familiar and offering Camille a mocking bow. “The Failure is all yours. I won’t waste any more time on this wretch.”

So saying, he turned on his heel and strode from the hall, his pack of lordlings and sycophants on his heels.

“Are you all right?” Lady Camille asked as she knelt over him. Calvin winced as she fished a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of her robes and dabbed at his bloody lip with it. “Holly! Come fix up his nose!”

Calvin sighed in relief as Holly Halligan crouched at his side and lay her hands on his face, her dark brown hair falling over him in a curtain as she did. She sent a pulse of soothing magic into his nose, the cartilage repairing itself exponentially faster than it would have naturally, the annoying itching sensation nonetheless far superior to the pulsing pain of only moments before.

“That should do it,” Holly said, standing up and brushing off her hands. Calvin prodded his nose carefully, relieved to find that it was completely healed.

Sheesh, he thought. No wonder she’s the best in our class at healing magic.

Lachlan had offered a great deal of lurid speculation regarding the Lady Halligan’s proficiency with life magic, the school that contained within it the manipulation of the human body, and the whispers among the student body had followed suit and had led to more than one foolish proposition, but none dared to speak them aloud, not after the duels to which the Lady Camille had challenged those foolish enough to besmirch her friend and ally’s reputation in her presence. Calvin wasn’t sure he believed a word of the rumors, and in any case was not inclined to be uncharitable to someone who had just fixed up his nose, so he just thanked Lady Halligan politely as Lady Camille pulled him to his feet with a warrior’s strength, the power in her arms far eclipsing his own.

“Don’t take what Eamon says to heart,” Camille a’Couralaine told him, placing her hands on her shoulders to steady him as he wobbled. She was taller than he was by at least an inch or two, able to look into his eyes with little effort. “The Wolf-Mother sends us challenges that we might overcome them. Your courage and your willingness to try does you credit.”

“Thanks,” Calvin mumbled, unable to form coherent sentences between the head trauma and the fact that one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen was standing only a foot away from him. He’d never been this close to her before. He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“I would recommend avoiding Lord a’Laurant as best you can for a time,” she continued. “The Wolf-Mother may send us challenges, but she has little patience for fools. His temper will cool in time, but for now… He fears me too much to strike back, but his need to avenge himself upon someone may well place you in more danger.”

“It’s almost time for class, milady,” one of the other girls interjected.

“Understood,” the lady replied. “Allow us to depart, my fellow apprentices.”

She clapped Calvin on the shoulder reassuringly, looking into his eyes with utmost seriousness.

“Watch your back.”

Calvin watched as the girls left, blinking slowly as he tried to process the fact that Camille a’Couralaine, the Camille a’Couralaine, had just talked to him. To him!

Well, that was interesting, his familiar said, washing her paws.

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“Tell me about this… Eamon boy,” Archduchess Agara said nonchalantly as her new master sat at his desk and labored over his schoolwork, injecting just the right air of command into her voice to endure that the whelp would obey without an injury to his pride. That particular edifice was already fragile enough after the scene in the cafeteria and the nature of her inquiry would stress it further, so it was important to ensure that it wasn’t shattered altogether. The boy was little use to her broken, after all.

“I hate him!” Calvin said viciously. “He’s been making me miserable ever since I got here. I thought… I thought I was going to be happy at the Academy. I studied for years in the hopes of getting a scholarship somewhere. I thought it would be one of the universities in Caledonia, or maybe Tara or Tintagel, or even the Royal Academy here in Aquitaine, the one two blocks from here, but I always dreamed that one day I’d be able to do magic, that I’d earn a place here. My dad was a miner, worked himself until he dropped so that I’d have a chance at a better life. He and my mom went hungry some nights so that I could learn to read and write, so that I’d have books to study and something to learn besides how to swing a pick. It all seemed like it was paying off… until I met him.”

Agara listened carefully as he spilled his secrets, as he told her everything she needed to know about how to control him. A wiser man might have guarded his tongue, might have remembered what she was, but she had sensed her new master’s loneliness the moment they’d met, known how desperate he was for anyone to even pretend to care about his petty problems. He was hers, and he didn’t even know it.

“Eamon’s had it out for me from the start,” the boy continued. “I’m too poor, too common, too bad at magic… whatever it is, he’s been trying to force me to drop out since the day we met. I can’t get through a day without him or his stupid friends messing with me.”

“He does sound… trying,” Agata agreed as she lounged on his bed. It was a far cry from the decadent furnishings she was accustomed to, but the Academy took a dim view of luxury for its apprentices, though of course the wealthier and more nobly-born had their ways of circumventing that. She’d exchanged her earlier dress for a more casual shirt and a pair of long pants, much like those her soldiers wore when they trained. With no one but her master to impress, she could afford to dress for comfort.

“That’s one way of putting it,” the boy answered. Agara made a noise of agreement, studying her fingernails, long and sharp and filed like claws. She waited for a moment, knowing he still had more to say, knowing what he was going to ask.

“Hey,” Calvin said brightly, “you’re an Archduchess, right? Can’t you do something about him?”

Hmph… How predictable.

“I could,” Agara agreed, waving her hand. “Should you ask it of me, my master, enacting your vengeance would be child’s play. At your command, I could string a harp with his entrails and serenade you while he danced.”

She hid a smile as his face turned a little green. How delightfully soft her new toy was! Ah, well, she’d harden him in time.

“All that you ask is within your grasp now that I am by your side,” she told him. “There is little indeed outside the realm of your power. I could break your tormentor with a thought, make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams… even help you win the hand of the damsel a’Couralaine.”

“Really?” her master breathed in excitement.

“Really,” Agara assured him, favoring him with a fond smile. “But consider this, my master: would it not be more satisfying to earn these things yourself?”

“What to you mean?” the boy asked, confused.

“As I understand it,” the Archduchess said, holding up a fist, “a trio of desires war for primacy within your heart. Arcane knowledge and power -” she raised a single finger, pointing it toward the ceiling, “the destruction of Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant -” she raised a second finger, “and the love of the lady Camille a’Couralaine.” She raised a third finger and waved them at him. “All three are attainable under my guidance. I could grant them to you right now, if you wish, but they would forever ring hollow, and you would live all your days with the knowledge that your triumphs had come at the hand of another.”

“Isn’t that a good thing from your perspective?” Calvin asked. “Aren’t demons supposed to lure people into making deals like that?”

“Ah, but I am your familiar,” Agara answered, waving a hand at him lazily. The boy was a fraction more perceptive than she’d thought, but hardly enough to pose a problem or force her to reevaluate any plans. It wasn’t like she hadn’t prepared for this contingency. “When we formed our covenant, I swore to act in your best interests. I would hardly be doing my duty by allowing my master to take shortcuts.”

“Fine,” he agreed grumpily, crossing his arms and pouting. How childish. “We’ll do it your way. What’s the plan?”

“Tonight, you will go to bed early instead of sneaking out to drink with your friend, for you will need your rest come the morrow,” she answered. “You will wake at first light and make your way to the training yard within Ulvr Company’s barracks, where the knight-cadets train. When you arrive, you will plead with the master-at-arms to accept you as a student. Instruction in the martial arts is open to students of both this school and the Royal Academy, so all you need do is avoid acting the fool to be allowed to join the class. Eamon trains elsewhere, so there should be little risk of you encountering him, and even he is not fool enough to arouse the ire of the Wolf-Knights by bringing his grudges into their territory.”

“Why am I going to the knights?” he asked sullenly. “How is that supposed to make me better at magic? It’s just going to make me look like a fool in front of all the soldiers instead of all the students.”

“Because a sound mind in a sound body is the fundamental principle on which all of the martial and scholarly arts are founded,” Agara said patiently. “Neglect either and the other will suffer. A domain that fails to nurture both body and mind will find its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools.”

“Fine,” Calvin grumbled. “I’ll go to the barracks. I’m putting a lot of faith in you, you know. This better work.”

It’s not as if you have anything else to put faith in, you sniveling cur.

“Good boy,” Agara said approvingly. “I promise you, all that you want will be yours. All you need do… is trust me. Now finish your schoolwork, bathe, and go to bed. You’ll need your strength on the morrow.”

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“Where are you going to sleep?” Calvin asked, freshly bathed and just now realizing his newest problem. While he was technically the master and thus entitled to the most luxurious accommodations available, such as they were and what there were of him, it would also be impolite to deny his new familiar the bed, and something told him that expecting an Archduchess to sleep on the floor was a good way to sour the relationship between him and the Lady Agara in a hurry. “I can take the floor if you want.”

“Right here,” his familiar answered, patting the bed with one hand while thumbing through one of his textbooks with the other, “but there’s no need for you to put yourself at such an inconvenience.”

Did she mean… that they were going to share the bed?

He had to admit that the thought of it was enticing. She was beautiful, graceful, alluring, as exotic and exciting as a woman could be. And perhaps she would want to do more than just sleep…?

“H-how does that work?” he asked, not quite managing to hide the tremor in his voice, his mouth suddenly dry as a desert.

“It’s quite simple,” the Archduchess answered. Her body glowed, just as it had before, and moments later she sat upon his pillow in her Hellcat guise.

I’ll take this form during the night, she told him. I’ll guard you in your sleep, should the need arise.

Oh… he thought back, doing his best to conceal his disappointment. That makes sense.

Come, she urged, you need your rest. You have a great deal of work ahead of you.

With a tired sigh, Calvin sank into what passed for his pillows and closed his eyes as his familiar curled up beneath his arm. Weariness overtook him rapidly and he drifted off to sleep to the sound of the Hellcat’s comforting purrs.

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Late, late into the night, Archduchess Agara of Sha’il smiled a wicked, wicked smile. One moment, she was a beast, the next, a woman once more, nestled in the crook of her master’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder and one arm draped over his chest. The Archduchess appraised her master carefully.

He was adequate enough, she supposed. He wasn’t much to look at at the moment, but time would allow her to mold him to her liking. His frame was too scrawny, his limbs and torso too thin to be pretty in the manner of some men, but time in the yard would fill him out and give him a fighter’s grace and muscle. His face was nothing special, but that was nothing a little sculpting couldn’t fix, the work of tiny applications of life magic a little at a time, and he was young enough for any observers to assume that her alterations were simply the changes one might expect as a boy became a man, and at least he hadn’t striven to emulate his friend’s inadvisable attempt at a beard. Yes… This boy would do.

It wasn’t time to take him to her bed, not yet, no matter how she’d enjoyed getting his hopes up earlier, wrapping him ever further around her finger. She would welcome him into her embrace in time, once he’d proven his use and sown the seeds of the Boru line’s destruction, but that was a ways away. For now, she had other ways to keep him compliant, other ways to bend him to her will.

Agara smiled, tilting her head to whisper softly in his ear. The little bit of life magic she’d sent into him once he’d closed his eyes would keep him asleep until the time came for him to wake, by which point she’d have donned her disguise once again, but her sweet words would reach his dreams regardless, and his body would remember the scent of her and her warmth against his side. It was a dance she’d danced a thousand times, and soon, he would crave her for the rest of his life, an aching need for which only she could offer solace.

Golden eyes shone in the darkness with an unholy light. Soon, the Confederation of Cornwall would drown in an ocean of blood.

#heela writes #feels weird to write something with actual themes behind it #instead of fanfic where I just wanna make dope shit happen

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