#nob and nobility | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewritetofreespeech · 1 month

Note

This idea literally came to me while I was waiting in line for food.

Could I request reader deciding to cook Lucifer an entire feast because she felt like he deserved something grand after a long day of work?

All while the brothers watch.

Lucifer x Reader - Dinner Date

“Why does he get some fancy smancy meal?” Mammon complained. A pout on his face with his arms crossed as he watched you cook.

“I just thought it would be nice. I’m sure he’s had a stressful week.”

“Hob-nobbing with royalty and diplomats. I’m sure it’s been suuuuch torture.”

Lucifer had been gone all week for a diplomatic union conference with Lord Diavolo and the other nobility. They held these meetings a few times a year to maintain order and the alliance of peace in the Devildom. Luckily, every time Lucifer went the house was still standing when he came back (although there were a few close calls).

“Everyone doesn’t have your social knack for parties and people, Mammon. I’m sure it was harder for Lucifer.” You tell him as you kneed the dough for the bread.

Mammon scoffed. “Well..yeah. I guess you have a point there.”

“Please. Every time you open your mouth at a party, one of those Gucci loafers goes right in.” Asmo teased. To which the second born looked aghast while he giggled. “So! What are you making?!” The pretty demon asked. His chin in his hands as he leaned against the counter. All sweet and sultry. You tell him what you were making, one of your specialties, and Asmo cooed. “Awww! He’ll love it! I of course could never eat something rich like that, since I’m watching my figure, but I’m sure Lucifer would love it.”

“Don’t fish Asmo.” Satan scolded. Realizing what his brother was doing with his backhanded comment. “I already tried and you’re not getting any.” Asmo pouted as well and stood up. No longer looking, or feeling, cute. “Though your efforts are commendable, I have to agree with Mammon. I don’t know why that black heart gets anything nice from us? Surely the break from all of us was enough of a gift for him.”

“Don’t say that Satan!” You scold him back. And his shoulders immediately fell. “I’m sure he missed all of you. Besides, everyone deserves a nice meal when they get home. Why can’t you all be more supportive like Beel?”

“Yeah. Why are you helping?” Mammon asked. His ‘little brother’ looking up from his own dough with flour on his nose and an apron around his waist.

“[Y/N] said if I helped I could have leftovers.”

“Oh come on!!”

“What’s going on here?” The group turned towards the entrance of the kitchen to see Lucifer standing there. Apparently just having arrived as his bag was in his hands.

“Gah! Get out of here!”

“Yeah Lucifer get out of here.” Mammon reiterated; although you have a feeling that it wasn’t for the intent of hiding the surprise like you had.

Lucifer frowned at his brother, but then turned to the group again. “Does someone care to explain?” The group stood their silently before Satan spoke up.

“[Y/N] wanted to make you dinner as a ‘welcome home’ gesture.” He told him.

“But they wanted it to be a romantic surprise!” Asmo chimed in.

“I never said it was romantic!!” You snap at Asmo. Your cheeks pink at the accusation.

“Oh…well…my apologies. Do you want me to go upstairs and wait then?”

“No…I mean…it’s almost done.” You told him. The cat was out of the bag anyway, so might as well not bother.

The boys all seem to get the shift in the air, and single file out of the kitchen to leave the two of you alone. “I’ll go see if Belphie is up from his nap.” Beel said as he took off his apron. “You’ll call me when you’re done?” His eyes already sparkling at the thought of leftovers. You nod and he took off as well.

“Sorry for ruining your surprise.” Lucifer apologized. “When I couldn’t find anyone around the house, I assumed the worst.”

“Well, Levi and Belphie are in their rooms obviously. They didn’t want to come down. The rest just sort of…came in when they figured out what I was doing.”

“They were jealous.” The smirk on Lucifer’s face was very handsome, and very cheeky. “Thank you, for my gift by the way. It is good to be home.” He leaned in to give you a quick kiss. “And I’m absolutely ravenous. How about I pick out a nice bottle of Demonus? Give you time to finish up. I wouldn’t want all your hard work on the surprise to go to waste.”

You nod and Lucifer left you alone to finish up. He seemed to enjoy the meal. Making a lot of positive comments with nearly every bite and telling you about his trip over courses. When you finish you texted Beel that you were done, who promised to clean up & do dishes in exchange for all the leftovers and dessert, while the two of you went upstairs to spend the rest of the evening in his room alone.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#scenarios #imagine #obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #mammon #satan #beel #beelzbub #asmodeus

58 notes · View notes

curarems · 11 months

Text

The properties of papadulapumofofopa

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationships: Samuel Vimes & Young Sam Vimes

Characters: Samuel Vimes, Young Sam Vimes, Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious | MUSE the Swamp Dragon (OC)

Words: 3608

Young Sam spends time at the Watchhouse. Sam Vimes², father-son bonding, because I am a sucker for those. All scientific ramblings in this are about 2% fact and 98% nonsense.

Read on AO3

_____________

The explosion gave them a pause.

A moment of silence followed during which everyone had a brief assessment of the situation. Then, the activity around the Watch House resumed.

It wasn’t that unusual of an occurrence, after all.

Vimes and Angua exchanged a look.

“I’ll go and check,” she told him.

Vimes nodded, then paused. An image projected itself in his mind – his office, the cold mug of coffee left on his desk.

The paperwork. He has been putting it off for the past few hours; surely a few more minutes would be fine.

“No, I’ll take care of it. Get Kipper and you two go and check out that robbery on Gleam Street.”

"Sir.”

Vimes took the steps to the forensic lab at a leisurely pace. He took out a cigar from his case; then thought better of it and put it back. Best not to go in with more fires.

As he got there, he noticed a thin trail of smoke coming from under the door.

Vimes gave that a thought, then another, then dismissed it altogether.

He opened the door.

He was momentarily blinded. He teared up, eyes stinging from the smoke.

Then the smell hit him.

Ankh-Morpork had a natural smell. Its citizens were proud of it. Invaders considered it enough of a deterrent to turn on their heels [1]. The river Ankh made its own contribution, being famous for being the only river that you could sometimes walk on without sinking in [2], as well as possibly the only chewable water on the Disc – and its stench in the summer was unforgettable, much to the lament of those whose olfactory cells simply gave up and refused to recover for months in fear of being exposed to it again. There was Foul Ole Ron, whose Smell had similar effects and announced its presence from two streets away. Sometimes he had that scruffy dog with him. That one carried his own stink.

[1] This resulted in several broken ankles due to the general nobility’s inability to give up their puffed-up sleeves and thighs and above all, heeled shoes in which some of them had yet to learn to walk, despite decades of trying. It was the Century of the Anchovy and ‘an modern cytie’, according to The Times and Vimes knew better than to imply men couldn’t wear heels or women couldn’t participate in a fight – however, they didn’t need to be utterly stupid about it. Besides, Vimes thought he deserved some kind of compensation for being made to wear those shoes on more than one occasion; and it didn’t count with nobs. He was allowed to ridicule nobs, though they did the job well enough even without any of his input.

[2] Without it being winter and frozen. Besides, even if the river Ankh was covered in ice, only a fool would consider using it for ice skating. Unfortunately for the Watch (who were responsible for dragging the fools out of the river) and for the doctors at Lady Sybil (who often ended up doing check-ups for said fools to make sure no body parts melted and no poisoning occurred) and fortunately for the citizens of Ankh-Morpork (who were not currently in the river)’s amusement, there were plenty such fools in the city.

If one combined all of these, with a pinch of Smell ala Nobbs, spoiled cheese and eggs and rotten fruits, one might get something similar to what was in the lab.

“Ye gods,” said Vimes once he stopped coughing. “Are you trying to outstink the Ankh?”

He was suddenly very glad that it was him who went in and not the werewolf with a sensitive nose.

“Thorry, thir,” the Watch Igor said with what would be a sheepish grin on any other face; one not crossed with stitches and pulled in all directions.

“Nevermind. What were you lot doing?”

Now that his vision somewhat cleared, he could see the state of the lab. There was a strange glowing green liquid splattered on the walls – was it flashing yellow at times? - and one of the desks was partly reduced to ashes. Cheery held a large vial in her hands with some unnaturally orange glittery liquid inside from which all the smoke was coming from. His son was shuffling his feet behind her.

“Trying out this new substance!” Cheery’s face brightened. “They are calling it papadulopulopofomopa, discovered in the Agatean empire. We just got our first samples. The properties seem to be all over the place, but we think it’s mostly affecting the respiratory system–”

“Really,” said Vimes, whose nose was still working only thanks to being a born and bred Morporkian.

“– and skeletal muscles, specifically as a myorelaxant, though it did give Igor brief hallucinations and we haven’t figured out why yet.”

“We were testing out what it does in reaction with sodium and potassium,” Young Sam told him sheepishly, but he was grinning.

“And what have you discovered?”

Young Sam shrugged. The small dragon sleeping on his shoulders almost fell off, but he steadied him in time. “Boom?”

Vimes rubbed his eyes.

“Right.”

The lad was covered in soot. The helmet on his head leaned sideways. The lab cloak was beyond saving, what with being purple – and Vimes didn’t want to know how he managed that colour, it being white the last time he saw it. The safety goggles and shield were almost comically large on his face.

He made a quick decision.

“Come on, Sam, you better clean up before showing up like this at school, or your mother will have my head[3]. When do you need to be there?”

[3] Vimes, on the other hand, would be delighted at the prospect of his son scandalizing all those rich folks Sam went to school with.

“Uh,” Young Sam glanced at the clock. “I still have a few hours. I only have afternoon classes today.”

Young Sam, at the age of fifteen, was a proud student of Assassin’s Guild School. Vimes protested, but Sybil put her foot down about ‘good education’ and ‘tradition’ and the Patrician, blast that bastard, gave him a glowing recommendation at his old school; possibly just to spite Vimes, but possibly because he liked Young Sam. It was only a small comfort that Young Sam had no intention of joining the Black Syllabus and seemed more interested in sneaking into the Watch’s forensic laboratory and helping out every saturday at the Free Hospital, where he had a tendency to tail Mossy Lawn like a very persistent shadow.

“Do you need help with cleaning?” the boy asked Cheery and Igor.

“No, go ahead,” Cheery said.

“I wanth to tetht that green liquid,” Igor said.

Vimes looked at the wall. “As long as it doesn’t crumble the Yard, go ahead.”

He took Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious [4] from his son. Young Sam took off the cloak and threw it in the bin, as well as the ruined gloves, putting away the rest of his equipment. They left the lab together.

[4] Or MUSE for short, as both Sam Vimeses tended to call that mustard yellow lump of a dragon. Vimes the Elder didn't see what was so inspiring about him, but who was he to judge.

The smell had spread through the hallways, though it didn’t seem to reach the busier areas yet.

The dragon huffed in its sleep. This close, the smell of the dragon was mixing up with the smell from the lab. Vimes was close to tearing up again.

He snorted.

“They explode at the slightest excitement, but sleep through an explosion.”

The corners of Young Sam’s lips tugged upwards, then widened into another grin as MUSE’s eyes slowly opened. Vimes readjusted his hold on him, carefully placing that mustard-coloured chemical factory over to hang from his shoulder.

“Isn’t he the sweetest thing?” Young Sam cooed as he tickled the dragon’s belly.

“If you insist.”

Young Sam took after his father in colouring, the wiry figure and thin face, though his nose was unbroken and his features slightly softer from his Ramkin side. He had the same unfortunate ears, though they didn’t stick out as much as Vimes’s had when he was his age. The smile was all Sybil, the lucky lad, as was the height – he already towered over his father, and gods, he had grown up so fast, where did all that time go? He thought of the baby whose biggest interest was whether he could fit his foot into his mouth and whether his hand was bigger than his father’s, and where was his cow; and really, with all the interest the boy had shown in collecting poo, Vimes should have known how letting Cheery take him to the forensic lab would end up.

He looked at the boy - he was now scratching the top of MUSE’s head. Gods, soon he would start shaving.

He had also inherited his mother’s obsession with dragons.

“What is he even doing here?” Vimes asked.

“He didn’t want to let go of me in the morning,” Young Sam told him. “He’s a softie. Mom said I shouldn’t be spoiling him so much, but aren’t you adorable, yes, there, no, don’t eat my finger, good boy, but he’s no bother, he’s just lonely.”

His son leaned across his shoulder to kiss the dragon’s head.

Vimes privately thought the small thing was rather ugly. Not Errol ugly, but certainly more so than the average swamp dragon ugly.

Young Sam thought the world of it.

“Don’t make him explode on me, Sammy.”

“Sure thing, dad.”

They reached the showers. Unsurprisingly, they were empty. Watchmen weren't known for their hygiene, even less so for showering this early in the day.

As they stopped, Young Sam frowned.

"Are you wearing Washpot's boots?"

Vimes looked at his boots. “Of course not. Go on. I’ll take MUSE to my office.” And start doing the goddamn paperwork.

“Can you keep him until lunch? I can go and grab us something to eat.”

Vimes thought about his BLT, minus the B.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Young Sam smiled and leaned down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

When did he get so big? The warm tingling on his cheek stayed for a while.

It had been remarked that the Commander’s office at Pseudopolis Yard was swimming in papers. This was, in fact, untrue – A. E. Pessimal was very punctilious about organizing and having papers thrown around just wouldn’t do. Unfortunately for A. E., Commander Vimes’s opinion on the matter differed greatly. In a manner of trying to compromise, they’ve settled on piles in shapes that suited A. E.’s methodical mind, as well as setting up the piles based on their urgency, but which nonetheless had Commander’s messy signature in form of not being separated in any other way – that is, context, author, date of origin, or anything.

There was also the fact that the piles were endless.

A person remarking that the office was swimming in papers would be incorrect. A far more accurate description would be saying that the piles, now stacked on the floor in an attempt to find the desk, reached all the way up to the ceiling[5] and formed a paper wall. It was meticulously organized in a way that made the piles straighter than Vimes would have thought possible, which only served to reinforce the image of a genuine wall.

[5] Much to Vimes’s annoyance. He was not a tall man and to reach the top piles, he had taken to standing on a chair. As much as it would ease his life, he had refused a ladder. A man had his pride.

Vimes took another report from one of the piles on his desk. The misplacement of vowels and switching of c’s and k’s was a nice touch, revealing the author as a watchman before he even started reading.

Getting through all that rubbish people brought him was impossible. Some of the complaints would get him a migraine if he wasn’t so used to them. The spelling could speed up a man’s balding. Filling in all the forms, requests, writing his own reports. But it had to be done. He knew what the Watch was like before; he knew how easy it was to misuse the power it gave. He barely even knew his own Watchmen anymore. Gods, how many even were there? The number was high in the hundreds; not to mention the Sammies, who regularly shipped paperwork to his desk too. It was better to keep track. The reports were buried in the pile-wall, to be seen who knows when, but they were there.

He missed the days his job was less paperwork and more patrolling. But... He was getting older. His knees and back weren't what they used to be. And his responsibilities went far beyond the Watch these days. He thought of Sybil's and Young Sam's identical smiles, and chased away the ideas of daily chases after criminals.

The paperwork, harrowing as it was, made him feel somewhat useful.

The next report’s commas decided to try tango, which meant Carrot. He blinked in an attempt to chase away the incoming headache. He would need to look into the traffic reports today; after yesterday’s busy roads, there were far too many of them.

He paused, then turned around. He stared. He grinned.

Where there used to be a pile A. E. classified as ‘not too important’, which Vimes knew meant ‘people complaining about the sun shining too bright and The Times not posting their funny vegetable’, was now nothing.

“Well done, boy,” he told MUSE.

The dragon chewed through the last bits of paper.

“Hello, Sam.”

The lad waved cheerfully with his free hand as he closed the door with his foot. He had changed into his black clothes for school, which Vimes wasn’t the biggest fan of – they were assassin robes, damn it – but could tolerate, on the account of Young Sam liking them. The smell from the lab wasn’t clinging to him anymore. His hair looked as though a rabbit made its home in there.

“Hi, dad!”

He deposited the takeaway box on the desk, dragged a chair from the corner of the room and dropped in; arms crossed, legs stretched.

“What did you bring?”

Young Sam only grinned. Vimes raised his eyebrow.

“Come on, open it. I already ate on the way.”

Vimes carefully did so.

“I clacksed mom [6] if I could,” Young Sam continued. “And she said yes, so there you go. She says you still have to eat your BLT, though.”

[6] The new disorganizers – what was it, mark 9? 10? 11? Vimes lost track – had a quite advanced clacks function, allowing messages to be delivered quickly even without a clacks tower. Vimes still wasn’t sure how to use them, nor did he want to find out.

The words barely registered in his head at first, him being so captivated by the content of the box. Then, once he fully digested their meaning, an idea started forming-

“She says you are not to feed it to Marquess Underbumble Soarwind Egregious either.”

The idea died.

“You wouldn't have to tell her,” he tried.

“Sorry, dad. Mom’s orders.”

“Right.” He glanced back at the box, then looked at Young Sam. “Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits?”

His son winked mischievously.

“Straight from Harga’s."

Suddenly, even the BLT seemed bearable.

“When did you say your school starts?” he asked as he took the first bite. He savoured the taste. Gods, it's been ages since he had the good stuff - he could feel that Harga hadn't cleaned the chippers in years. Just as he liked it. He would need to get Young Sam something in return. The lad was a gift, always.

“Not until half past two and I have only two classes. It’s exam season and everyone is busy, so the schedule is lighter than usual for the next few days.”

Vimes signed a report he’d been reading – that is, skimming through mindlessly and wishing for its end.

“You’ll be hanging around then?”

Young Sam’s eyes brightened. “Yes, I plan to go to Igor and Cheery again tomorrow. I ran into Cheery when she was leaving on a patrol just as I was going to your office and she say they might have discovered the reason for the violent reaction of papadulopulopofomopa with sodium and potassium. It was rather perplexing, you see – sodium and potassium are fine with each other, and individually neither of them reacted with papadulopulopofomopa, though we expected them to, but the second they were added together?” He threw his hands around. “Boom. So we were rather confused. But Cheery and Igor have a few theories now and we think some of them might work, so we are going to look at it together tomorrow after my morning class,” he paused. “We still don’t know why after the explosion the liquid started flashing green and yellow, though. Evidently, it even switched to purple at some point when they were cleaning up.”

“Goodness,” said Vimes who hadn’t understood a word.

“Yes!” his son nodded enthusiastically. “And I was thinking about the properties of it and it makes no sense! Bronchoconstriction and myorelaxant are pretty straightforward and I think we may figure out how papadulopulopofomopa causes hallucinations, but we also noticed some more minor effects that I have no clue where they are coming from.”

“Papamodopopafa,” Vimes repeated.

MUSE climbed his leg up to his lap.

“Papadulopulopofomopa,” Young Sam corrected him.

“Papadupulofopapa.”

“Papadulopulopofomopa.”

Vimes suspected the way he said it in italics was Carrot’s influence.

“Papadupopolo... Mafamapa?”

“Papadulopulopofomopa.”

“Papadulomofo– Hey!” he swatted the dragon on its head. “Those are my Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits!”

MUSE obliviously swallowed his bite.

“You can share,” Young Sam suggested innocently.

Vimes sent him a look of sheer betrayal. The lad burst out laughing.

“My own son,” he shook his head in disbelief.

Young Sam laughed harder.

Vimes relented, grunting. Then– “MUSE, stop eating that!”

He detangled the dragon’s claws from his breeches and put him down on the floor. He threateningly pointed his finger.

The dragon watched him with an expression of utter bafflement and empty-headedness. Young Sam had tears in his eyes, but he was slowly calming down.

“You,” said Vimes, “stay there. No climbing up my leg. No flying onto the desk. No eating my food without permission. Got it?” The dragon remained unresponsive. “Good. Now,” he turned to Young Sam. “You were saying – papadulapupafapa?”

Young Sam erupted into a new round of laughter. Vimes resisted the tugging at the corners of his lips, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Dad!” he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. The laughter slowly receded.

What followed next happened too fast. Young Sam reaching for his father’s mug, hoping to chase away the sudden dryness in his throat; Vimes’s eyes widening; Vimes’s loud "Don’t!” coming half a second too late. Young Sam started coughing.

“The Watch House coffee,” Vimes told him drily. “I know you don’t like that stuff.”

“No one likes the Watch coffee, dad! Why do you even have it here?”

“I like it.” he said.

Young Sam, in an attempt to get the taste out of his mouth, took a quick bite from the Crunchy Bits.

Vimes didn’t have the heart to stop him.

“Nice, good strong flavour,” Young Sam said approvingly [7].

[7] Young Sam, unlike his father, didn’t consider Burnt Brown Crunchy Bits to be the pinnacle of culinary efforts. He could, however, appreciate anything that could rid him of the famous taste of the Watch coffee.

Vimes grunted. He finished what remained of his Crunchy Bits, ignoring the look MUSE kept sending him. Vimes heard of puppy eyes, but in his private opinion, dragons and Young Sam were far better at them than puppies ever were. For example, MUSE was using award-worthy ones right now.

“I should get going,” Young Sam told him later as he stood up. “I don’t want to be late for class.”

Vimes mindlessly nodded, absorbed in a report which achieved astounding grammatical feats. Then he frowned.

“Not like that, you aren’t.”

Young Sam blinked. “Like what?”

“Lean down"

Vimes got up from his chair and crossed over to his son. Young Sam did as he was told, though confusion stayed on his face.

“Your hair,” Vimes explained as he tried to tame it into a reasonable shape. “That’s a bird’s nest you have right there.”

“As you say, dad.”

He let him straighten up, then fixed his collar. The lad had no right be that tall. He patted him on the shoulder. “There you go. Good luck.”

“Thanks, dad. I’ll be home by six.” Young Sam gave a rather cheerful lazy salute as he left.

The smile on Vimes’s face looked like that of someone looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses.

“Washpot, are those my dad’s boots?”

Constable Visit-The-Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets look down at his boots, good quality and sturdy, then back at Young Sam.

The boy’s eyes were twinkling.

“I don’t know what you mean. May I interest you in Omnianism?

Young Sam winked at him as he walked out of the building.

“Papodulopopufoma,” said Vimes.

Sybil looked at her husband, who was resting against her side with his eyes closed, and frowned.

“Papadupokopata,” he tried again.

“Sam, what are you on about?”

“Just something Young Sam mentioned today.”

Sybil gave it a thought, nodded to herself and went back to sleep. That was all right, then.

#this is actually the first thing i finished writing since 2021 and it's once again a one-shot lol #discworld #sam vimes #young sam vimes

26 notes · View notes

waheelawhisperer · 4 months

Note

Hmm, Doc Heely questions: (1) this guy have any particular weapon preferences? (2) what sort of enemies has he made by the time best horse & crocnurse start working out their triad (or however many that turns out)? and...damn, what else...(3) is Lappy territorial about whatever they have or just Generally Lappy?

Contains spoilers for Arknights story events under the readmore.

Given that his preferred assassination method in the past was decapitation, he's very fond of anything with bladed edges, particularly swords and knives. Kal'tsit tries very hard to keep him away from bladed weapons for this reason and nearly has an aneurysm when Texas and Lappland let him try out their swords.

His enemies are... mainly just the standard canon ones, I guess, with the addition of Kal'tsit as his sitcom archnemesis? He's also Tomimi's mortal foe because Gavial pays too much attention to him.

Jk I lied he also hates Italians because he thinks the famiglie are a bunch of worthless thugs and absolutely despises the way the Signori Dei Lupi play bullshit power games using people as disposable pawns. Doctor Waheela has very firm ideas about the responsibility of those with power to protect and uplift those without, and the famiglie... do the exact opposite of that, so he thinks they're a bunch of losers who only know how to prey on the weak and butcher each other over their share of the sheep. He's very focused on efficiency and all his assassinations and plans and machinations are very no-frills, no-nonsense, no-theatrics, except as necessary to complete the contract or his personal objectives (e.g. leaving the decapitated corpse of a king sitting on his own throne is very dramatic, but it accomplishes something by reminding his court that no one is safe from the Saberwolf of the Headless Valley, so they'd better toe the line), so he thinks all the posturing and such the famiglie and their wise guys engage in is pointless petty bullshit and holds them in contempt because of it.

He was actually involved with the relocation of some of the families to Columbia (not the one who started it, though. Basically, Salvatore Texas got in contact with him and proposed the move and, as someone roughly affiliated with Columbia, he supported it enthusiastically and basically ran interference* with the Signori Dei Lupi while Salvatore and the other families that immigrated to Columbia made the transition). He tried teaching them his assassin wisdom but they learned the wrong lessons from it and it pissed him off so much he left Columbia for Victoria for a bit. He was trying to get them to be more efficient in terms of combat and operations and such and abandon all the egotistical posturing and grandstanding that characterizes the Siracusan mafia and instead they were just like "focus exclusively on profit, got it" so he just facepalmed and left before he got pissed off and killed them all. I think the moment where Salvatore was murdered by his son was the point where he just said "fuck this, you people are unsalvageable" and decided to relocate. He feels a bit guilty about this because if he'd still been around the liquidation of the Texas family would've gone differently (Signora Sicilia would've been forced to come herself instead of just sending the famiglie on her behalf and Texas never would've had to make her deal with Zaaro/Famiglia Bellone. He couldn't have stopped the liquidation entirely on his own, but he absolutely could've gotten Texas out), and also because he later sees how badly Siracusa fucked up Texas and especially Lappland and that's something he could have and would have protected them from if he'd known.

I'm playing around with the timeline a bit here but he's also not at all a fan of the Victorian nobility as a whole and has spent a lot of time in conflict with them for one reason or another. The reason he went to Victoria was to check in on the Aslan royal dynasty because he's invested a lot into them as a counterbalance to the nobility, but then he learned that the Aslan royal family had all been slaughtered, which came on the heels of his disappointment with the Columbian famiglie and all this together frustrated him so much that he decided to a) become a doctor/scientist instead of an assassin and b) fuck off to the middle of nowhere to sulk and write papers. If he'd been thinking a bit more clearly, he could've found and raised Siege, and I'm not sure if that would have made things better or worse.

For the third question, the answer is a bit of both? Lappy's being a bit of a shit because she's Lappy but she's also genuinely close friends with Doctor Waheela and gets very protective of him as a result. She doesn't necessarily get jealous of new additions to... whatever they've got going on unless she feels like she's not getting enough attention (her response is usually "oh hell yes a new friend/[boy/girl]friend/target to annoy this rules), but she watches anyone close to him like a hawk because he's fragile, relatively speaking, and she refuses to risk someone who helped her along the healing process the way he did. Lappy doesn't have a lot of people she's close to, and she does not particularly care to lose the ones she's got.

(Fun fact this actually led to Texas and Lappland giving Nearl the "if you ever hurt him" speech, which backfired completely because Margie got offended by the thought that she would ever do that in the first place and ended up guilt-tripping both of them into apologizing)

*He kicked their asses and made them eat shitty knockoff French versions of Italian food and told them that if they ever set foot in his territory again he'd make them eat more of it, just one of the many reasons they hate and fear him in equal measure

#doctor waheela #heela writes

5 notes · View notes

rallamajoop · 1 year

Note

With regards to the Four Lords, could it be the case in which the nobility becomes less and less prominent over the course of history instead of Miranda just giving the Lords these names? The Four Kings are considerably ancient, their crests and murals predating Miranda. Heisenberg and Moreau seem to have been commoners. Donna at least lived in her family estate. And Alcina, while a noblewoman, isn’t even from the village — but does seem to have ancestral ties to it.

I'd love to answer your question, but I'm really not clear on what you're asking.

I assume you're referring to all the hints I talked about in my post on the four lords, suggesting some-or-all of them weren't originally from the village, and/or probably had no claim to being descendants of the village's legendary families. But by "instead of Miranda just giving the Lords these names" – giving who which names? Miranda could’ve renamed the four survivors of her experiments after the ‘lords’ of legend to give them more legitimacy; she could’ve convinced the people of the village they were descended from the village’s four founders without changing their names – heck, we don’t even know for sure what the four founders’ names were. The game contains a bunch of contradictory info on that point, and you can pretty much come up with any theory you like to resolve it.

For the sake of the argument though, here’s basically what we’ve got to go on.

1. The four statues, presumed to be of the village's four founders/noble houses (and that one old diary referencing their existence), and other very old structures around the village, such as the castle and stronghold

2. Crests and carvings from around the village representing the current four 'lords' as Dimitrescu, Benviento, Moreau and Heisenberg (there’s a vague mention of these in the old diary too)

3. The treasures you can collect, naming the four founders instead as Berengario, Cesare, Guglielmo and Father Nichola (these could be first rather than last names, but they certainly don't add any support for Miranda's version of events)

4. Various statements from documents scattered around the game suggesting that Dimitrescu isn't from the village, that Donna's been a 'lord' less than 25 years', that Heisenberg mocks the idea of his own lordship, etc

How do we resolve all these contradictory clues? However you like! The game runs on twisted fairy tale logic anyway, and for all I know, half these ‘clues’ may be accidents that came out of miscommunication during development. Impeccable lore was unlikely to be anyone’s priority.

But for me, I like the idea I raised back on my original post on the four lords, that none of them have any real claim to being descended from the four founders named on those relics, and Miranda just told the village they had, in attempt to lend them some legitimacy. So why are their names on that one carving in the cave? Look, just because it’s carved in stone doesn’t mean it’s ancient – Miranda could well have had the carving modified or even completely recreated. Maybe the original carving mentioned in that old document was destroyed long ago, and the new one could be a forgery, conveniently ‘rediscovered’ in the last hundred years. It could all be as phony as the notion of Miranda as the ‘protector’ of the village.

You don’t have to buy that answer, of course. Maybe those relics are meaningless, those names have been carved in the cave for centuries, and Miranda just rechristened all her most successful experiments in honour of the legend. Or maybe some of the four lords have legitimate claims to being descended from those legendary founders, and others required Miranda to get creative with the facts. Anything’s possible!

I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that Dimitrescu has any ancestral ties to the village though. The info we get tells us that she's the descended from a fallen noble, and that she’s specifically not from the village (more on this in my other post). It's possible the fallen noble she's descended from came from the village originally, but we’ve got nothing to suggest that. Dimitrescu states in her diary that Miranda 'gave her' the castle. The notes on winemaking allude to the castle having 'previous occupants'. Even her daughters were Miranda’s experiments, ‘given’ to Dimitrescu (and given new names to boot) when they survived. And I kind of love the idea that the imperious Lady Dimitrescu is such a complete phony right below the surface – it ties in well thematically with all the rest of Miranda’s bullshit.

Donna’s the one character most likely to have ‘legitimate’ claims to lordship. We know she at least comes from the village, and from a wealthy family – it makes little sense that Miranda could’ve had her renamed. Moreau and Heisenberg are ciphers by comparison: they could’ve grown up in the village, or they could be outsiders like Dimitrescu. And Lord knows if even the writers of RE8 had clear backstories in mind for any of them.

So unless RE9 turns out to be, like, the definitive horror history of the village from 8 (unlikely), I really doubt we’ll ever get clearer answers than the confusing tidbits from the game itself. And as much fun as I’ve had piecing the clues together that hint that the lords may all be fakes, there are still more gaps than real information. The rest is really up to your imagination.

#Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #meta #asks

7 notes · View notes

dizzydjc · 9 months

Photo

I just watched Blackadder 3x03 "Nob and Nobility"

#Blackadder #trakt

2 notes · View notes

socialoutsider1a · 7 months

Text

Hugh Laurie as Prince George the Regent in the Blackadder the Third episode, "Nob and Nobility".

#hugh laurie #blackadder the third #blackadder

0 notes

rosielovemore · 1 year

Text

Magical Inherency

Let's take a deep dive into the concept of blood purity in my universe. Now, before we proceed, it's important to note that this notion isn't new and has been explored in various fictional writings. From anime to literature, the theme of bloodlines and their significance has been a recurring motif. In my world, we have our own take on this concept, and I must say, it's on the least terrible end of the spectrum.

💫 Blood Nobility and Generational Influence 💫

Within the wizarding community, which includes Humans, Divae, and Brutes, there exists a sense of blood nobility passed down through generations. However, it's important to understand that this nobility is primarily a generational trait, much like wealth or last names. It doesn't define an individual's worth or character but is simply a part of their heritage.

🌟 Beings of Noble Magic: The Pure Divaes 🌟

Beings of Noble Magic hold a special place within our world, and they are known as Pure Divaes. These individuals are incredibly rare, often receiving their education through homeschooling. Imagine a mild elf-like appearance with semi-pointed ears, canine teeth, no body hair, purple or pink eyes, pale skin and hair, and a high metabolism. Legend has it that Pure Divaes possess the ability to pass down magical powers to other beings—an extraordinary legacy indeed.

🔮 Beings of True Magic Inherency: A Gifted Lineage 🔮

True Magic Inherency belongs to wizards who possess the 2nd generation of Noble Magic Inherency. They are born from the union of a Pure Divae and another being or bestowed with the magic "inherency" by a Pure Divae. These individuals carry within them the powerful essence of their lineage, their magical prowess rooted in their noble heritage.

🧙 Beings of Partial Magic Inherency: Blending Potent Lineages 🧙

Partial Magic Inherency refers to wizards who have the 3rd generation of Noble Magic. They arise from the union of a fizzle and a wizard or another inherently magical being. Alternatively, they can be born from a combination of true and fuzzy inheritances. Brutes, for instance, are taller and naturally muscular humans—reminiscent of half-titans. Their unique heritage intertwines magic and physical prowess, creating a harmonious blend of traits.

🌪️ Beings of Fizzy Magic Inherency: The Magic of Fizzles 🌪️

Fizzy Magic Inherency pertains to wizards who possess magical powers but are born to two fizzle parents. This can occur between two Hexed Magic Inherency beings or those with dormant inherency. Fizzles, as they are often called, harness a level of magic that emanates from their lineage, channeling the sparks of the arcane arts.

🌑 Beings of Hexed Magic Inherency: Magic Within Limitations 🌑

Hexed Magic Inherency encompasses individuals born to two magical parents but lacking the ability to perform strong magic. However, they retain the capacity for a fizzle's level of magical prowess. This unique circumstance is often attributed to a curse or enchantment placed upon their family, limiting their magical potential.

🙌 Beings of Divine Inheritance: Embracing Supernatural Connections 🙌

Divine Inheritance refers to humans who are unaware of the existence of magic yet work with divine beings or tap into the essence of nature itself to produce mild supernatural effects. Though they cannot perform magic as conventionally understood, their connection to the divine or natural forces empowers them in their own unique way. These individuals, also known as Fizzles, hold their own supernatural wonder.

🚫 Beings of Nob Inheritance: Disdaining Magic's Existence 🚫

Nob Inheritance belongs to Fizzles who vehemently reject the existence of magic, refusing to acknowledge its reality. These individuals not only lack the ability to use magic but actively deny its presence. Some may even prosecute others for their magical practices, harboring a deep-seated aversion toward the arcane arts.

#nyxwings #original writing #magic #fiction #anime

0 notes

hologramisms · 5 years

Text

😍😍

#chris barrie #Blackadder III #Nob and Nobility #just wow #i'm in love 😍😍😍

38 notes · View notes

sky-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Party banter with Inquisitor Essek

(Because this ridiculous crossover has taken over my life. A brief explanation, as much as explanation is possible: a mis-cast spell has yote a post-campaign Essek through a planar rift and into Thedas, and he happened to land in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. These banters go up to the destruction of Haven, which is why Cole isn’t here - but he will be in later instalments!)

Cassandra: Leliana has found no information about you. Not a thing. Essek: Considering that most mages are met with disgust and imprisonment, it would be... imprudent of me to advertise my presence. Cassandra: Living in secrecy is one thing. Leaving no mark on the world at all is another. Essek: And you would prefer, I think, for all my secrets to be at your disposal. Cassandra: Are you surprised that I suspect you have something to hide? Essek: Is hostile intent the only possible reason for secrecy, Seeker?

Solas: It would appear that your mark is affecting you physically, Herald. Essek: My hand was not green before, no. Solas: Aside from the obvious. While I tended to you after the conclave, you did not always seem to be asleep. At times, you lapsed into true unconsciousness. At other times, you seemed to trance, half-sleeping. Essek: Ah. Yes. I suppose... the connection to the Fade has altered the way I sleep. I find I can enter these trances at will, as a substitute for sleep. Solas: That is fascinating. The ancient elves could enter an endless dream called uthenera. Perhaps this is a related phenomenon. Essek: So one would assume.

Essek: So, Sera. I was going through my research notes - Sera: [Sniggering] Essek: And I found that they had been expertly illustrated. Sera: That's what your weird rifty timey magic shite needs. All the butts. Essek: They certainly add interest. Although... that drawing of me closing a rift full of demon butts? You should have shaped my cloak so that it looked like a dick. Sera: [laughs] Like a dick! You're all right, Herald Weirdyhand. Essek: And you are quite the jester.

Varric: How is it you can just walk around pitch-black caves without a problem? Don’t tell me you're part-dwarf and it's stone-sense. Essek: Ah, no. I would assume it is yet another change from the mark. Varric: So this thing lets you fix the sky, and it's a free torch? Who knew that being Andraste's chosen came with a multi-purpose toolkit? Essek: There is no evidence for my being chosen by anything other than political convenience. Varric: You’re not crazy about the whole Herald business, are you? Essek: About people deciding that I am the mouthpiece of an unproven god who does not speak to anyone, and yet whose name and teachings people use as an excuse for war and conquest, without investigating the truth behind those teachings? No. I am not.

Blackwall: So what does an apostate do, if he's on his own for... I don't know, how many years? Essek: Arcane research, mostly. Why, what does a Grey Warden do when he's on his own for however many years? Blackwall: Kill darkspawn. Recruit for the Wardens. Kill more darkspawn. Essek: And your fellow Wardens do not accompany you? Blackwall: You don't need more than one person to say 'how do you feel about fighting darkspawn for the rest of your life?' Essek: Did you... ever find yourself becoming lonely, in your solitude? Blackwall: I... sometimes, I suppose. Never gave much thought to it. Easier that way. Essek: Mm. I know the feeling.

Dorian: So you think Alexius’s perception of time was fundamentally flawed? Essek: I do. Time is not a straight line, through which one can jump ahead, skip back and rub bits out. Dorian: How would you have done it differently? Aside from the whole ‘conjure a world infested with red lyrium and catastrophe’ part. Essek: Imagine time as a branching thing. Every choice we make causes potential timelines to fade into non-existence. Essek: But their potential remains, waiting to be tapped. Alexius should have attempted to manifest a timeline in which I was never here, rather than removing me from this one. Dorian: Well, don’t tell everybody how to make it work. Wouldn’t want them to get ideas. Though perhaps you’d like to compare notes, later? Essek: I... would like that.

Vivienne: You carry yourself remarkably well, Herald. Almost like nobility. Essek: Only 'almost'? I shall have to try harder. Vivienne: And despite your youth, you deflect personal inquiries with the deftness of a seasoned player of the Game. Quite remarkable, from a hedge mage. Essek: I'm mildly curious: 'hedge mage'? Vivienne: A self-taught mage, dear. One who has gone without the instruction of a Circle, or even a Dalish clan. If you ever require tuition, I am at your disposal. Essek: I’m sure you are. But I am not especially interested in whatever you think you have to teach.

Sera: You’re proper weird, you are. You go all swanny around the noble piss-bags, all smiles and pretty words like Lady Josie, but you put teeth in it, like Vivvy. Essek: Like Vivienne? I should hope not. Sera: And then you screw the nobs over like Josie does, ‘cept she makes them love her for it and you make them scared. Leliana kind of scared. Essek: When people don’t know you, or what to make of you, they fear you. It makes them... malleable. It’s something I’ve learned to use. As has Leliana, it would seem.

Varric: You doing all right, Smiles? Essek: 'Smiles'? An intriguing choice. Varric: Same reasoning as Iron Lady and Sparkler. Meet as many messes as I have, and you get good at spotting masks. Essek: Indeed? Varric: You fell out of the sky, got attacked by a shit ton of demons and put in charge of an army, and never once stopped smiling. Kind of impressive, actually. Essek: Thank you. Varric: Also, creepy as shit.

Solas: I'm curious about your name, Herald. Essek: My name? It's Essek. Sera: [laughs] Solas: I meant that it isn't elven, though your family name sounds very like it. Solas: ‘Thelyss’. I wonder if it is is a result of syllables from the name 'Lethallas' being lost and altered over the years. It means, 'a gift to one's kin.' Essek: Ha. Solas: You don't find that likely? Essek: Me being a gift to my kin? Highly unlikely.

Iron Bull: So, boss, what do you make of my guys? Essek: They clearly have an array of talents. Iron Bull: Oh, come on. I didn't ask for what the Herald thought of his new recruits, I asked what you make of my guys. Essek: Very well. They are... unusual. Enthusiastic. I think that some would underestimate them, some would be thrown off-balance by them, and many would do both. Iron Bull: Ha. Yeah, we like to keep people guessing. Essek: I like them. They are... lively.

Sera: I don’t get it. You can screw over noble shite-faces without being scary. And you’re not scary! I know you and you’re not scary, so why be scary? Essek: Well, I don’t find you scary either, Sera. But I’m sure our enemies do, when they’re on the wrong end of your arrows. Sera: That’s different things, though. I learned arrows because arrows mean nobs are dead and I’m not. Essek: Exactly. Like you, I have had to fight for survival in my own ways. And unlike you, for a long time, I was without friends. Sera: So... you learned how to do scary because you’re scared? Essek: I would say more... aware of potential dangers. Sera: So, scared.

Solas: As for your first name, the final syllable is not even a sound that occurs in elven. Is it Qunlat? One of your parents is Qunari, I assume? Essek: Ah. Yes, of course. Solas: So it is Qunlat? Iron Bull: Nah, that’s not Qunlat, whatever it is. Almost sounds like it, though. Kinda like ‘isskari’. Name for Ben-Hassrath who get hold of weird magic crap. Essek: Oddly appropriate. But since I'm not in contact with my family, the truth shall have to remain a mystery.

Blackwall: Are you all right, Herald? Essek: Fine, thank you. I simply have somewhat sensitive eyes and skin, and it is a very bright day. Blackwall: If you need to stop, I could... I don’t know. Hold a shield over your head? Essek: I appreciate it, but no, thank you. It is tolerable. Blackwall: Didn’t meant to offend. Essek: It is all right. I - [sighs] I apologise. That would help, if you could. Years of solitude have made me... reliant on my own self-reliance, I suppose. Blackwall: I know what you mean. Shield parasol it is, then.

Sera: Don’t need to be scared, right? Anyone gives you shit, I give ‘em arrows. Or just pies. Or worms in their shoes. Essek: [chuckles] Thank you, Sera. Please do. Sera: Did think you were scary at first, you know. Essek: What changed your mind? Sera: Scary wouldn’t grin when I drew butts on things. Essek: ... Are you at all fond of cupcakes, Sera?

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #critical role #inquisitor!essek #essek thelyss #is a lying liar who lies. but he's trying his best #his relationship with vivienne will improve i swear #sky's writing

118 notes · View notes

tally-ho-hurrah-bravo · 3 years

Text

i dont know about you but my happiness depends on that scene in nob and nobility where george tries and fails to put on his new trousers

#blackadder #blackadder the third #blackadder iii

9 notes · View notes

prokopetz · 5 years

Text

The most hilarious thing about the history of golf is that it used to be considered a working-class sport, but then the King of Scotland outlawed it because he thought it was distracting peasants from their archery practice, and since nobody actually enforces laws against the nobility, the nobs kept right on playing it; by the time the ban was lifted fifty years later, the damage had already been done, and it’s been considered a gentlemen’s sport ever since.

#history #sports #golf

1K notes · View notes

curarems · 10 months

Text

Ankh-Morpork's nobility had to intermarry a lot, right? So the family tree would look more like a wreath in places

What I am saying is, Lord Rust has either No Chin or a Habsburg jaw and there's no in-between

Not all of nobility shares this trait, but Vimes considers having a normal-sized chin a point of pride and a proof of him not being a nob anyway

#he insists he doesn't have to wear thighs. he isn't missing a chin. thighs or no thighs - he is visibly not a nob!#he isn't fooling anyone!#sybil has to remind him she Also Has A Chin and sam loses the argument #discworld #sam vimes #lord rust

14 notes · View notes

fandomn00blr · 4 years

Text

It’s Thursday again! And boy howdy do I have lots of things that I should have thrown away a long time ago. Tagging @funkypoacher again, because we have an understanding 😉. Also tagging eranehn@parera-zuul-jar, @zuendwinkel, @johaeryslavellan, @convenientcoma, @grumpkinvicky, @serial-chillr, @paraparadigm, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @factorykat, @pinkfadespirit, @barbex, @ginnyq, @lostinfantasies38, @elveny, @kunstpause, and anyone else who has something that they never finished or cut from a WIP but couldn’t quite get rid of! Feel free to use the banner if you want!

I dug way deep this week, to the very first DA fic-type thing I ever wrote down (and have subsequently never shared with anyone because it’s just that good). I may have mentioned before that I started playing Dragon Age games when I was pregnant (now it’s a theme, I guess), and I started with Inquisition, so I apologize to the entire fandom for what I’m about to share...

Without further ado, here’s a fade-preggo SolAdaar/SerAdaar? baby shower situation at Skyhold (under a cut because I warned you...also, it’s pretty long):

“I know that I am incredibly popular now that I am the size of my own war nug, but at least one of you has to shove off and mingle before Josephine throws a fit.”

Solas only reinforced his dutiful stance at Adaar’s side, planting his feet, and clasping his hands together behind him, looking as immovable as a statue in his determination to stay.

“Hey, I’m following the rules for once. I’m on the schedule! At least, I think…” Sera turned pleadingly toward Dorian.

“Oh, but I really wanted to be a part of this adorable love triangle...er, quadrangle?” He winked at Solas, who met this gesture with the same stoney glare. “Very well, then. If you need me, I’ll just be entertaining your guests in the library upstairs.”

As Dorian strode away from them to break up some of the group of Orlesians that had surrounded Cullen, an unfamiliar masked visitor approached.

“Inquisitor Adaar, may I introduce myself? I was expecting a formal pronouncement in the reception hall, as is the custom in Orlesian society, but I see this is not Orlais.”

Sera made no attempt to hide her eye roll as she let out a loud audible sigh. Solas tensed slightly at his accusatory tone, but his facial expression remained unchanged as he stared out over the hall.

“I am sorry you were disappointed, friend. What is your name and your relationship to the Inquisition?” Adaar was the only one of them who even pretended to have any manners. Such was the burden she had to bear, she supposed, as she felt the other burden kicking at her insides.

“Oh, another unfamiliar custom, but I will take it as an honor that you call me your ‘friend.’ My name is Etienne de Beaulieu. My family was one of the first that Lady Montilyet asked to aid your cause in the Exalted Plains after Haven fell.”

“Well then, you are indeed a friend to the Inquisition. Thank you.”

“Excuse my boldness, Inquisitor, but perhaps you can settle a great mystery circulating throughout the lands.”

“Probably not. Solving mysteries is really not one of my skills.”

“This mystery pertains almost exclusively to you.”

“Even more reason I probably won’t be able to solve it!” She laughed, trying to mask her discomfort as the thing inside her did some kind of somersault into her bladder. How many knees and elbows could it possibly have?

This was, of course, not how these conversations were meant to go according to the extensive books on Orlesian etiquette that Josephine had provided her. Again, she found she just didn’t care. Her house, her rules, after all.

The other man, however, seemed perplexed that she was not willing to answer his questions with questions and go round and round until they both believed that the other had confirmed what the other had wanted to hear without actually saying anything.

“Well, I…”

“Oh just ask her your friggin question!” Sera blurted out.

“This is quite a departure from what I am used to.”

“I’m sorry, Etienne. But you will find that we are all quite terrible at the art of Orlesian conversation here. Please, just tell me, what do you want to know?”

“Well, there are many rumors, many speculations.”

“About?” Solas was growing impatient with this conversation as well, especially once he realized where it was headed.

“The parentage of the...child...growing inside of the Inquisitor.”

Solas shot Adaar a quick look, as if to warn her to be careful about her answer or retreat entirely from the conversation. Maybe she would need to use some of her conversation lessons, after all.

“Parentage? Well, I am clearly the mother.” She chuckled again, though it sounded far more strained this time. She didn’t know whether or not to play coy, pretend she didn’t know, or to turn and embrace Solas and loudly declare him the father of their mysterious Fade baby right there in front of the whole hall to dispel any other possible speculations.

As if he could read her mind, he shook his head just enough for her to notice, a thin smile across his lips as his eyes continued to stare out in front of him.

“Many fear that it could be the Tevinter Altus you have taken as a companion.”

This broke the spell of uncertainty that had suddenly made her pause and she burst out into deep, genuine laughter. This young, inexperienced nobleman had just given her the perfect out.

“Ah, Dorian Pavus? He is of high standing within the Imperium. Would the Orlesian nobility object to this match?”

Sera was pretending to puke behind her, an effective discourse strategy that somehow was not mentioned in any of the Orlesian handbooks she had read.

“I believe it would be quite the scandal, Inquisitor, to have the spiritual figurehead of the Inqusition, a Qunari at that, matched with a Tevinter of any standing,” he explained with the condescending patience of one who thought he was speaking to an imbecile. “But then, we hear other rumors, too...”

“Well, you may find the answers you seek in the Library, Monsieur de Beaulieu, but for now, I must bid you adieu.” Adaar felt the sudden petty rush of winning, however unconventionally, this small part of The Game, and her attempt at an ‘adieu’ was a bold show of chutzpah. Plus, it rhymed.

“Not that it’s important in the least, but it’s pronounced, ‘ad-yoo’...” He dared to try to get the last word with a pronunciation lesson? He truly was new to this.

“‘Frig you, nob!’ is how I actually pronounce it,” Sera announced, rather loudly, moving towards the nobleman menacingly.

He took a few steps back, realizing this was as much as he was going to get from the Inquisitor on this matter, and Solas shook his head at them, a broader smile creeping across his face as he looked down at Adaar’s swelling ankles.

“It is natural that they are curious, but I think you were wise not to declare the truth in front of everyone,” he murmured, once Sera had chased the man out of earshot.

“I wouldn’t have --” Adaar began to protest, but Solas turned and tilted his head at her with that infuriating smugness. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting me some cake?!” she demanded.

#dragon age #throwaway thursday #adaar #solas #sera #baby shower #please don't ask me how this happened #the answer is always magic #does this count as crack fic?#i sure hope so #melihan adaar

19 notes · View notes