#<-There was a well of love that ran eternal for the craft a happiness that those around the turtle could practically float on”

[sofiasfanartcollection]

<3<3<3 I love it so much

A new chapter? In this economy? And it's a Ron and Leo chapter? Yeah, it sure is. This one's for you, Sofia!

[softquietsteadylove]

I came across @theshipper47 's "Forgetting" and something crawled into my mind. We know Mahd Wy'ry is like a mixture of PTSD and Dementia. And Thena is getting confused more often. So i thought about Thena waking up at home, in hers and Gilgameshs bed and not knowing where she is. Gil is making breakfast or something and Thena is wandering around the house, confused, without any memory. Gil is noticing her weird behavior and wants to aks her what's wrong but Thena summons an sword, holding it against his throat and screaming at him, who he is, where she is. And it concerns Gil a lot.

If you have time and feel well enough to write something, maybe this is something you would like to write. Hugs and much love to you! 🖤✨

She woke in a strange place, with a strange feeling. The room was nice, but she didn't know why she was there. She was in a bed. It also felt strange.

It smelled of herself, and of someone else, too.

Thena pulled herself up, looking around the room. The bed was clearly slept in frequently, the sheets wrinkled and the mattress softened from age. There was a breeze coming through the window, making the thin white curtains billow. Wherever she was, the climate was mild.

She slipped a foot out of bed, and then stood. She felt fine. Her limbs functioned as necessary, her breathing was unhindered and she could feel the ebb and flow of Cosmic Energy within her.

She couldn't remember anything, though.

She was Thena. She was the Warrior Eternal. She was chosen by Arishem to be an Eternal assigned to Earth, and...nothing.

Thena approached the door, seeming to be hand carved. A lot of the home around her seemed to be hand crafted, or if not, then certainly fitted into the house to contribute to its comfortable habitat.

Thena listened to the world outside the door. The wind was light, and perhaps it was not just a mild climate but an arid environment in which she found herself. There was someone outside.

Thena breathed in, calling a blade into her hand--something medium in size and manoeuvrable in case her adversary was adaptable. She turned the doorknob delicately, careful of every rattle it made.

There was a man outside. He was humming to himself in the kitchen, preparing some form of sustenance. He had a smile on his face--it was a nice smile. He seemed joyful in nature, but his build betrayed him; he had the form of a Fighter.

Thena poked her head around the corner again, trying to observe more about him. His presence was not wholly unfamiliar to her, which was a surprise in its own right. She didn't know him. But she wasn't filled with adrenaline, her heart wasn't pounding with the thrill of the fight. In fact, it seemed quite happy and contented by his presence.

"Thena!"

She leapt, flying over to him and pinning him against the counter behind him. Her blade hovered at his throat as she held his eyes--deep brown and expressing every thought that ran through his head. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"I will not repeat it," she stated, still holding him back. But his body was totally relaxed. He wasn't even thinking about resisting her, and her questions doubled in her head. "Where am I?"

"Oh," his face fell, and she almost felt a little bad for him (when she was the one in some foreign land). He sighed, "Thena."

Her eyes narrowed; how did he know her name? She remained still, weighing the tactical advantages of her options. Her head tilted just a fraction at him, "who are you?"

He seemed pained by her question, but he smiled. It seemed to come naturally to him, despite the way she had his neck within her grasp. "Gilgamesh."

Gilgamesh: the Strongest Eternal.

His name was in her head. She knew who he was, at least on a conceptual level.

"Gil," he corrected himself, looking at her with those eyes again. There was so much in them she couldn't pull anything from them, like trying to read an entire story with all of its words piled on top of each other. "You call me Gil."

"Gil," she offered, as a test, and he brightened. How could a Fighter allow himself to be so easily read by the enemy? Did he have no sense of preservation? She backed up from him, just slightly. "You know who I am."

His eyes stayed on her, those multitudes - those many, many lifetimes - of words rushing through them again. They were getting clearer to her, though. "I do."

Thena took a step back from him, her hair moving against her shoulders. She was wearing some soft, breezy dress. She liked it, but it was a surprise to not be wearing the armour she had expected, or even the standard grey robes afforded to any Eternal crew.

"Are you hungry?" he - Gil - asked gently, gesturing to a chair at the table. "You can have something to eat. I just made some eggs."

Thena tilted her head at him in the other direction. She could feel the Cosmic Energy in him--could feel the way it reacted to hers and created this funny kind of pull within her. It was as if her body longed to be connected to his, by just a touch--a hand in a hand, a touch to a cheek. She eyed the chair.

Gil held his hands up, stepping away slowly, letting her watch his movements. "You were asleep for a while, this time."

This time. This time?

"Explain," she glared at him from across the table. She didn't like feeling as if this stranger knew things about her that she did not. She didn't like how calm he seemed. She didn't like that she still couldn't seem to get her guard up around him.

"Mahd Wy'ry," he stated as if it were a name, "what does that mean in your head?"

Mahd Wy'ry: punishment. Maybe that wasn't the word, but it certainly seemed to feel that way when she heard it. It was pain, and suffering, and agony. It was disease and decay, misery and malaise.

Thena looked down at her hand, as if the answer could be scrawled there for her to simply read. Gold flickered under her skin. "I...I have Mahd Wy'ry?"

Gil got that grief stricken look on his face again, and her instinctive reaction to remedy it bothered her. "Yeah...it's been a long time."

"How long?" she asked more directly. This little hovel - this home in what appeared to be an endless desert - had so many things in it she didn't recognise.

Gil didn't even blink, "it's been a few hundred years, now. I don't count the days--doesn't make sense for us to, y'know?"

She did know (for whatever reason). But something was reassuring about him not counting each day spent here with her.

With her?

Thena inhaled, preparing herself for the olive branch she was about to extend, beyond dispelling her weapon. Hesitantly, she turned her head, looking back toward the room where she woke. Taking her eyes off him still didn't make her feel that looming sense of danger, which didn't make sense.

Arishem: creator, danger. Deviant: enemy, danger. Ikaris: ally, danger.

Gilgamesh...Gilgamesh...Gil...there was a word there she didn't have.

She looked back at Gil, who hadn't made a single move. He was still looking at her, waiting for her every move to dictate the next step, both of them on some terrifying edge of something.

"You smell like that bed."

He blushed. Fighters weren't supposed to blush. "Well, it is ours."

Ours: yours and mine, shared. Thena just stared at him. There was absolutely nothing in her mind that was an 'ours' in any way. As an Eternal, very little was even hers, aside from her title, her mission, and her mothership.

"I sleep there," she stated, and he nodded. She wondered how she might react if things were different. Were she anyone but the Warrior Eternal, would she feel vulnerable? Would she feel betrayed, or perhaps intrigued?

But she wasn't even surprised.

She knew it was him, in some corner of her mind. She had sensed him outside the room. She had felt the pull to go to him, and she had known as soon as she saw him that he was the one whose arms had been around her in her sleep.

Gil moved slowly, pulling off the apron he was wearing - a pink, flowery thing - and setting it on the counter by the sink. "You eat something, sit and rest for a bit. I'll be outside in the garden. Just...just call for me if you need anything--anything at all, okay?"

Thena just watched him take the furthest route around her to the door. He was giving her space, and it did not seem to be in fear of the consequence for not doing so. He knew her in the same way she knew him (however that was).

Thena looked back to the sink, with a plate sitting next to it and a pan with eggs on the stove. She tilted her head at it. "At least hang it up."

"Huh?"

Thena kept staring at the little pile of apron on the edge of the sink. Something pinged in the back of her mind, like seeing a light through a thick fog. "It doesn't go there--hang it up."

Gilgamesh walked back over to it, picking up the garment that was obviously precious to him. He looked at her, and she sorted through the maelstrom of things in his eyes to pull out that one, louder, stronger, bolder word in them. "And how do you know that?"

Thena blinked, shrugging her shoulders before sitting down in the seat he had left out for her.

"You just do," he supplied softly, handing over a plate with some scrambled eggs and a little sprig of a chive on top.

Because he always wanted her to eat something green.

How did she know the apron hook was by the fridge? She just did. How did she know he was the man who slept beside her at night? She just did. How did she know that she trusted him implicitly--so much so that her own instincts and training knew he wasn't a threat? She just did.

How did she know it was love in his eyes when he looked at her?

Because she loved him too, somehow.

[wndybyrd]

NEVER TASK 002 :     n i g h t m a r e  !

wendy only dreams of neverland. whenever she can finally force herself into a deep enough slumber, the island plagues her with memories ( at least, she thinks they’re memories ) of everything she foolishly ran away from. memories of elated joy, memories of epic adventure, memories of an incomparable life she’ll never be able to recreate in the mundane of london. the dreams are so real — like she’s experiencing them all over again in that moment, projecting herself back into those precious moments — that, each morning as her eyes reopen to the breaking down, she’s left even further exhausted.

when she isn’t dreaming, wendy is tormented by nightmares. there is no in-between, no medium, no escape. she’s haunted by happy memories she can only relive in restless sleep, or chased by nightmares of twisted messages impossible for her to interpret. the girl’s tired, hollow eyes are evidence enough of how strongly she fights sleep until it finally consumes her. she yearns for rest, even if it’s eternal. 

wendy was drowning. her lungs were so full of the murky water they felt like rocks in her chest, weighing her down as she sunk further into the depths. it had grown so dark, she no longer knew which way was up or which direction to swim towards. this time, however, no one was dragging her under. no hands clawed at her legs or pulled her further down down down. like a stone that had been skipped upon the shimmering surface, she merely sunk. the girl screamed with the last bit of air in her waterlogged lungs, a soundless scream, muted by a choir of bubbles that fell from quivering lips.

but they weren’t bubbles, were they ? they were stars, & she was falling down down down through the clouds, closing in on the ground at rapid speed. now, her scream was ringing through the air, echoing across the island like a bird’s twittering song. this was her song. her wendy-bird song; it was the one she’d sung when the lost boys had shot her out of the sky, when the merfolk had tried to claim her soul, when peter had . . .

wendy was in peter’s arms, suddenly, her pounding heart racing against his. he would never let her fall or drown or die because then there would be no more ‘peter & wendy’. even when his toes touched the ground, he did not let her go. he would never let her run or hide or home because then there would be no more story, & peter loved stories as much as he loved himself. even if, in this story, he had no face for he was but a shadow of that oh-so familiar silhouette. the shape of a villain parading under the mask of a hero, a mask she had adoringly helped him craft. a mask he wore so well it was like second-skin.

then, ripping through the night, she heard her name crowed out. the girl’s head spun & glassy eyes widened as john & michael came into view. she was standing now, somehow, & dashed towards them as the tattered ends of her nightgown tangled at her ankles, teasing to trip her. wendy’s hands were outstretched, believing that, if she could just reach them, enveloping them inside her, the armor of her love would shield the boys from — —          two figures stepped out from behind each brother: shadows mirroring the same wicked smile. in a swift motion, they gave john & michael smiles of their own . . . carved across their necks, their essence leaking out into the earth as they crumpled to the floor. wendy leapt for her brothers, but the ground opened up & swallowed their bodies whole before her fingers could even scrape their skin. instead, she fell against the grass with a resounding ‘thud’, though, the ache in her bones could not compete with the searing pain that stabbed at her heart. 

she wept. she wept & her tears melted into land like their blood had. she wept & shook & cried out. his arms wrapped around her, but they weren’t warm or comforting like she remembered them to be. his arms were the steel bars of a cage. “ stay. ” he whispered, & she knew it wasn’t a request or a wish. the word was a promise. a command. an absolute. yet, despite everything, she knew she would . . . because if she left she would never come back. if she left, there would be no more ‘peter & wendy’, there would be no more stories, there would only be the end. 

[pastellepastary]

Just throwing up a small draft of a fic i was making last year, i don’t think i’ll ever finish it but it looked too good to just be stuck in my notes for all eternity 😭

TAKE ME TO CHURCH

yan!selfaware!venti x reader

In which venti would do anything for his windblume.

My lover’s got humor,

Things were calm at first. Nothing out of the ordinary. You two weren’t really anything more than a happy couple if you ignored the fact that one was the hero of mond and the other was it’s archon.

She’s the giggle at the funeral, knows everybody’s disapproval

You are the legendary traveler of Teyvat, capable of turning the tides of ti-

Oh, let’s stop kidding ourselves….

You’re (Y/N). Just an ordinary student absolutely obsessed with Genshin Impact, your current fixation. Things felt a lot slower in your life due to the current situation, pandemic and all and so you decoded to try your hand at the game that your friends have all been chattering about. They were right, it was addictive, the story was beautifully crafted and the characters were all so well made!

You started the game around the windblume festival, sadly, you couldn’t participate in said event and so you just ended up watching youtube playthroughs of it.

Your first five star caught you completely off-guard, Venti came home as you tried to wish on the event banner for the first time since starting the game and from then on, he had become your main and your favorite character. To you, this was nothing but a game. To venti though…

Should’ve worshiped her sooner~

Celestia itself must have blessed him with your arrival. Your sweet voice talking to him, your gentle touch guiding him to where you want him to walk, and what you wanted him to do.

The first time he saw you, it was in the strange traveler’s eyes, a foreign light shining through as you looked around through the outlander, you looked around with uncertainty and curiosity. Everyone you talked to was greeted with a soft politeness that he’d only really seen with you.

The next time he saw you was through the cavalry captain, he thought it was odd how he ran around so responsibly but then he saw his eyes. A small sparkle of your soft kindness showing through the captain’s infamously calculating star-like pupils and it all seemed to fall into place.

If the the heavens ever did speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece

The first time he felt you put him on your team and ran around mondstadt in his form, he couldn’t be happier. And so every time you wished, he answered. He could hear your noises of bewilderment echoing softly as you activated another of his constellations.

Despite having almost no control under your guidance, he had never felt more free. The soft touch of your gentle hand that brought both tragedy and miracles alike, gently guiding him to where you wanted him to shoot. From the first moment he felt your hand, he pledged his bow to you, to follow your every command and to destroy anything that would get in your way.

Every Sunday's getting more bleak,

A fresh poison each week

The world of Teyvat was so welcoming, the characters all interesting and lovable in their own right.

But, something felt… off.

Getting Venti over and over again- you could excuse that, chalk it up to extremely god-teir luck. But it didn’t end there, you somehow unlocked even more overworld dialogue for Venti, ones that even your friends hadn’t heard of. Okay… maybe it’s one of those thing where the devs accidentally unlocked beta dialogue! You tell yourself, after all, you yourself know that thinking too hard about it might make you explode. The last straw for you was when you started receiving odd letters in your mailbox, confessions and proclamations of love and adoration from your favorite little bard, and when you had taken a week-long break from the game, letters begging you to just please, come back.

we were born sick, you heard them say it~

My church offers no absolutes,

~~~ aaand that’s all i had in my notes! thanks for reading <33

[babbushka]

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences 

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :) 

Available on AO3

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

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine. 

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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

Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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

His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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

The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway. 

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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

Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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

Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat  conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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

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

The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.  

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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

Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

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

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target. 

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

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

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”  

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

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

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.  

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!”                                                  ---------------------

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

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl​ @loverofallthings​ 

[gffa]

I have often given Qui-Gon Jinn a hard time because he’s so often used in STAR WARS fandom as a weapon to beat on other characters I love and it makes it difficult to like him, as well as it overshadows who the character himself is. So, to help balance that out some, I wanted to do a set of recs to remind myself–and just share some happiness in!–that I actually do very much like Qui-Gon! He’s a good person who really loved the people around him, he cared very deeply, he had an amazing friendship with Yoda (seriously, that Yoda’s the one he reaches out to when he becomes a Force Ghost, that even after death, Qui-Gon loves his Jedi family, it gives me feelings in my feelings place every single time), and one of my favorite things about Master & Apprentice is that I often got the impression that he knew he was kind of obnoxious sometimes, but he was at peace with it, he was fine with that. That was a straight shot to my heart, I love that dude! So, here have some fics that celebrate that Qui-Gon is actually a really great character. He may not always be the central character, but I remember him being well portrayed in these and they gave me good Qui-Gon feelings! STAR WARS - QUI-GON JINN FIC RECS: ✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & dooku & mace & cast, time travel, 491.1k wip    Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Major AU. ✦ The Way Back Home by Anakinstopyourpanakin, happygiraffe, obi-wan & qui-gon & bant & tahl, 39.5k wip    He had been missing for nearly four years. How could Obi-Wan be alive? It was too good to be true, and simultaneously too horrifying. What had been done to the innocent child who was currently falling asleep against his shoulder, and did his wounds run too deep for Qui-Gon to mend? ✦ When the world gets too heavy put it on my back by nematoda, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon, 29.8k    Obi-Wan is different when it comes to relationships. Not in a bad way, just… different. Studies of platonic love in the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, exploring the master/padawan relationship with Qui-Gon and eventually with Anakin. ✦ Shadows of the Future by stormqueen873, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cast, 129.3k    ObiWan lost the duel on Mustafar, but instead of dying, he finds himself on a ship leaving Tatooine, with his old Master and a familiar young boy. As events begin to unfold, can he stop the future he knows from occuring? ✦ No Galaxy for Good Jedi by Annie_Walker, obi-wan & anakin & padme & qui-gon & dooku & yoda & cast, some obi-wan/satine, sith!qui-gon, 124.8k wip    Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a young padawan when he ran away with three-year old Anakin. He had no choice after his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, fell to the Dark Side by Master Dooku’s manipulations. ✦ Masters and Padawans: Three Generations by GirlwithCurls98, qui-gon & obi-wan + obi-wan & anakin + anakin & ahsoka, 24.6k    Three generations of incredible bonds. ✦ What Is My Heritage? by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda, 7.7k    Qui-Gon, age 13, tries to find a place to belong. ✦ Coming Home by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda & dooku, 18.1k    A story telling how Qui-Gon comes to be Dooku’s apprentice. ✦ Trust Me by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 2k    A certain Jedi Master is less than pleased about being laid up with the flu. ✦ Triviality and QuiGon by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 4.1k    The Council’s infinite cruelty gives Dooku the most brutal of punishments: quality time with the Padawan and his plantlife! ✦ Rainy by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 26.8k wip    A seemingly easy mission goes horribly wrong for Padawan Qui and Master Dooku as they struggle to battle an insane adversary, poisons and curses, and an awful lot of rain. ✦ The Luckiest Man Alive + Letting Go by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & yoda, 7.9k    Yoda, Dooku, and a twenty four year old QuiGon go to the small planet of Omartia to pick up a forcesensitive infant. + Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan go to pick up a Force-sensitive child. On the way back, Qui-Gon is faced with the fact that someday very soon, he will have to let Obi-Wan go. ✦ Lineage by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & xanatos & cast, 35.9k    AU!Jedi Apprentice. Book I: In which master and apprentice meet for the first time, enjoy a disastrous adventure courtesy of Xanatos DuCrion, and reap the fruits of patience and fortitude. A fanciful retelling of the original. ✦ Lineage II by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 40.9k    A year or so has elapsed since the last time we saw our heroes. BOOK 2: In which master and apprentice investigate an evil brainwashing plot, attend a boisterous wedding, and battle the enemy within. ✦ Lineage III by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & xanatos & bant & cast, 49.4k    AU!Jedi Apprentice. Book III: Master and apprentice face an important rite of passage, grapple with a traitorous plot within the Temple’s walls, and discover the limits of obedience and intuition. Appearances by Bant Eerin, Xanatos DuCrion, Yan Dooku, and others. ✦ Lineage IV by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & siri & adi gallia, 39.3k    Master and apprentice endure a stint with the Agri-Corps, and find that trouble has a way of coming home to haunt them. Featuring a pile of bantha poodoo, a tentacled carnivorous plant, a desperate escaped convict, and a highly provocative young woman. ✦ Lineage V by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & tahl (& some qui-gon/tahl) & dooku & cast, 50.7k    An evil scientist wreaks havoc when she captures Jedi Knight Tahl Uvain for purposes of obscure research; Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan rush to the rescue, only to be embroiled in further trouble; and Master Dooku joins in the hunt with characteristic aplomb. ✦ Lineage VI by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 66.2k    Master and apprentice undertake a risky undercover mission to expose conspiracy in a far-flung sector; a comedy of manners abruptly transforms into a nightmare when their cover is blown; and a desperate escape gambit strikes deep at the foundations of trust. ✦ Lineage VII by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & siri & adi gallia & some obi-wan/siri, 74.5k    Sent to the aid of their fellow Jedi on a disastrous mission to New Apsolon, master and apprentice contend with brainwashing, genocide, conspiracy, and the perilous realm of the heart. ✦ Lineage VIII by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 83.4k    Hard on the heels of the mission to Apsolon, master and apprentice find new troubles - in their own backyard. Jenna Zan Arbor faces prosecution for her crimes; the Jedi grapple with the disastrous realities of corruption and personal loss; Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon undertake perilous and disparate quests. ✦ Lineage IX by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & cast, 61k    A year after parting ways, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon struggle to complete their self-appointed quests for enlightenment and justice. ✦ Lineage X by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku, 49.2k    The war-ravaged world Melida-Daan is backdrop to a manhunt, an occult conspiracy, a bitter guerilla conflict, and a test of ultimate loyalties. ✦ Lineage XI by ruth baulding, obi-qan & qui-gon & cast, 56k    The disastrous situation on Melida-Daan takes a turn for the worse; the Jedi dispatch a team to capture a dangerous murderer; and Qui-Gon Jinn and his former apprentice face the consequences of their rebellion. Series finale. ✦ Snakefic by esama, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & yoda & cast, 6k    It was only the matter of time before the egg hatched. ✦ Strokes of Colored Grey by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon, 9.5k    ObiWan has been drawing since he was a small youngling, but only a few people know, including his teacher, Vianro Dleka, and the elderly, trustworthy archivist, KinWan Terius. But what happens when his master discovers his secret? ✦ Pies, Books, and Swords, obi-wan & qui-gon/tahl, 1.2k    Qui-Gon Jinn has made quite a good name for himself, as far as holonet cooking shows go. ✦ They Are by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 1.7k    This is their moment, their eternity. They think its going to be like this forever. ✦ Strongest Stars by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & chirrut & cast, 2.6k    The Force works in mysterious ways. A few quiet moments in the dark create a touchstone spanning across three generations, two orthodoxies, a war, time, space, and the galaxy. A maverick meets a visionary and listens for a song. Spoilers for Rogue One, sort of? ✦ Anecdotally by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 14.6k    The biggest stories are always made up of smaller ones. Here are some of the forgotten moments in the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Will feature a wide variety of genres, characters, eras, and AUs. Oneshots from whenever inspiration strikes. ✦ the floor under our feet by FoxGlade, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & dooku + background pairings, 4.5k wip    or, the adventures and exploits of Qui-Gon’s three adopted children. ✦ A Long, Long Time Ago by ruth baulding, dooku & qui-gon + qui-gon & obi-wan + obi-wan & anakin + anakin & ahsoka, 5.8k    A wisdom tale handed passed down through the generations poses troublesome questions for a line of masters and Padawans, from Dooku to Ahsoka Tano. ✦ Family by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & darth maul & cast, sith!obi-wan, 6.8k    Seven years after the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi has turned to the dark, Maul has turned to the light, and young Anakin is caught somewhere in-between. Can Qui-Gon rescue his Padawan before it’s too late? ✦ Fountain of Force by esama, qui-gon & cast, final fantasy 7 crossover, 8.9k    In which Qui-Gon Jinn comes from Gaia. ✦ Midwinter Sun by orphan_account, dooku & qui-gon, 4.2k    Padawan Jinn is a rebel and Dooku is very much not ready. ✦ Jedi In Winter by bluedragoninamber, obi-wan & qui-gon & dooku & yoda, 12.3k    In which Yan Dooku understands regret and tries to make things right. Something new will be born from the ashes of the old but exactly what remains to be seen. ✦ A New History by Annie Walker, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & dooku & cast, time travel, 533.4k wip    During a heated battle, Dooku escaped into the past! Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker follow to stop him, but discover that Dooku went to the past where Obi-Wan is a young padawan to a very much alive Qui-Gon Jinn. Now, the two must go undercover to stop Dooku’s plans from coming to fruition in order to save not only the future, but also young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ In the Heart of the Force by ReneeoftheStars, ahsoka & qui-gon, 1.7k    Ahsoka Tano travels back to the world between world’s. Searching for answers, she comes across a past event that only makes her question the past even more. ✦ Stitches and Time by ladyarcherfan3, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ocs, 4k    Alara Nel is a seamstress who keeps getting an unusually large number of orders for Jedi robes from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Over the years, she learns why and gets to know the Jedi a little bit better. ✦ The Uses of a Sandwich by Laura Kaye (laurakaye), obi-wan & qui-gon & oc & cast, 17.6k    A few months after being taken as a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi faces a challenge: meeting his Master’s first apprentice. ✦ untitled by elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon, 3.1k    Anonymous asked: if you’re still accepting prompts: smol padawan obi-wan letting slip his law abiding exterior and letting loose the terrifying intensity beneath it. preferably in defense of qui-gon or something. ✦ The will of the Force by Lysore, obi-wan & yoda & qui-gon, 2.7k    Obi-Wan piqued Yoda’s interest early on, except the Grand Master of the Order had known for just as long that the Initiate was destined to be Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan. ✦ I thought I fought this war alone by stonefreeak, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 3.7k    Obi-Wan is thirteen years old, just about to start learning Ataru from his Master. Obi-Wan is sixty-one years old, dead and one with the Force since four years back. Obi-Wan is both, and neither. ✦ The First Trial by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 2k    Accompanied by his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, young Obi-Wan Kenobi undergoes his first trial and rite as a Padawan Learner on the frozen planet of Ilum. ✦ Hearts Entwined by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & shmi & qui-gon, time travel, 6.5k wip    stolen moments between Padawan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker, glimpsed by Qui Gon Jinn, and his continued attempts to understand both this strange new addition to the Temple and the unexplained relationship between the pair ✦ The Orchards by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.6k    When young Obi-Wan Kenobi is injured on a previous mission, Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to accept further off-planet missions until his Padawan’s recovery. Yoda assigns the pair an in-Temple mission of utmost importance while Obi-Wan heals. Master and Padawan welcome the change of pace. ✦ The Path of Totality by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & yoda & qui-gon & cast, 1.8k    Before going their separate ways into exile, Obi-Wan Kenobi shares with Yoda a lesson of wisdom he’d learned from his late Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. A lesson of darkness, light, and hope. ✦ Finding Balance by Raven_Knight, qui-gon & dooku & jocasta, 1.4k    Eleven-year-old Padawan Jinn is left behind while his Master goes on a mission off-planet. Qui-Gon is left in the care of Jocasta Nu, and he’s not exactly enthusiastic about it. ✦ Warmth by Tomatosoupful, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & xanatos & tahl & shmi & cast, child endangerment, time travel, 59.8k wip    Time Travel AU. Anakin has woken up in the past. Time to say hello to past friends, right? Only problem, Anakin is a walking talking human disaster and makes a lot of stupid decisions. Stealing a Jedi baby from the temple certainly isn’t the smartest thing he’s done. ✦ Abducted by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.6k    In trying to rescue the kidnapped daughter of a planetary leader, Qui-Gon finds himself abducted and in need of Obi-Wan’s rescue. ✦ Trust Fall by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon, 1.4k    Two generations of Masters and Padawans. Two generations of trust falls. ✦ Something Borrowed, Something New by Raven_Knight, qui-gon & dooku/jocasta, 1.6k    Qui-Gon Jinn had only been claimed as Knight Dooku’s Padawan for three weeks before he’d managed to get himself into trouble with his Master. ✦ In Memoriam by ruth baulding, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & evan piell, 6.4k    In the midst of a desperate escape from the Citadel, Obi Wan mourns a friendship. A tribute to Jedi Master Evan Piell. ✦ One Day by ruth baulding, obi-wan & qui-gon & mace & shmi & bail/breha & palpatine, 9.9k    A single moment in time, on five different planets. A birth, an election, a discovery, a marriage, and a mission. Because all things are mysteriously united in the Force. ✦ They Are by Charmisjess, dooku & qui-gon, 1.7k    This is their moment, their eternity. They think its going to be like this forever. ✦ The Exchange by MissLearn, obi-wan & anakin & some anakin/padme & ahsoka & qui-gon & rex & cast, time travel, 77k wip    ROTS Obi-Wan and Anakin are swapped with their younger, TPM, selves. It changes things, in both parallels. ✦ Family by lilyconrad, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & darth maul & cast, sith!obi-wan, 6.8k    Seven years after the duel on Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi has turned to the dark, Maul has turned to the light, and young Anakin is caught somewhere in-between. Can Qui-Gon rescue his Padawan before it’s too late? ✦ Fountain of Force by esama, qui-gon & cast, final fantasy 7 crossover, 8.9k    In which Qui-Gon Jinn comes from Gaia. ✦ Rewrought by esama, obi-wan & qui-gon & maul, time travel, 4.4k    Bit o time travel ✦ Lion Jinn by esama, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cast, 5.7k wip    Qui-Gon Jinn reincarnates as a lion. ✦ Brothers (working title) by Charity_Angel, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & shmi & yoda & cast, 17.3k wip    In which Qui-Gon has a very near miss on Naboo, Obi-Wan is very stubborn, and they end up breaking a lot of rules accidentally as a result. All because of that kid they picked up on Tatooine. ✦ untitled by legobiwan, yoda & dooku & qui-gon, 1.5k    Yan Dooku was getting too old for this type of thing. He had rushed into the healer’s ward, Qui-gon’s limp body in his arms. That in itself had been a feat, as the boy’s gangly limbs were everywhere, but somehow the older Jedi Master had been able to deposit his wayward Padawan on a bed before an errant arm took his nose off. ✦ Drifting Starlight by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 60.3k    Just before the fateful Battle of Naboo, Qui-Gon Jinn is brought to the future, to the Clone Wars. He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows one thing for sure: He never, in a million years, expected the galaxy to end up like this. ✦ Although He Smiles by AutumnChild22, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 86.9k wip    She’d counted the 750 steps down from the Temple. She’d said her goodbyes, and left Master Anakin standing below the great pillars. What more could the Force want from her? ‘Everything’ sums it up nicely. Waking 13 years in the past, Ahsoka faces a harsh reality. As events begin to unfold, she faces a ticking clock that times a galaxy’s end. ✦ A New History by Annie Walker, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & dooku & cast, time travel, 533.4k wip    During a heated battle, Dooku escaped into the past! Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker follow to stop him, but discover that Dooku went to the past where Obi-Wan is a young padawan to a very much alive Qui-Gon Jinn. Now, the two must go undercover to stop Dooku’s plans from coming to fruition in order to save not only the future, but also young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ The First Trial by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 2k    Accompanied by his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, young Obi-Wan Kenobi undergoes his first trial and rite as a Padawan Learner on the frozen planet of Ilum. ✦ Hearts Entwined by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & shmi & qui-gon, time travel, 6.5k wip    stolen moments between Padawan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker, glimpsed by Qui Gon Jinn, and his continued attempts to understand both this strange new addition to the Temple and the unexplained relationship between the pair ✦ Highly Dissatisfied by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.1k    Obi-Wan enters the quarters he shares with his Master, intending to ask for help in preparation for his exams. Qui-Gon, however, is dealing with a far more urgent matter. ✦ playing yourself like a red three by EclipseMidnight (EternalEclipse), obi-wan & xanatos & qui-gon, 7.7k    As usual, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s mission has gone spectacularly sideways, this time before they even reach the planet they are meant to be helping. Luckily for them, they get some help from an unexpected source. ✦ so far the suns by blackkat, mace & qui-gon, 1.3k    “My old friend,” Qui-Gon tells Mace, quiet, and his presence comes closer. “I fear I made several mistakes in the past weeks, and I would ask you to correct them for me.” ✦ The Cry by batsojopo, obi-wan & qui-gon & xanatos & ocs & cast, 4.2k    This is my version of how Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived at the Jedi Temple. ✦ kybersong by Shadaras, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.6k    Obi-Wan Kenobi goes in search of his lightsaber’s crystal heart. ✦ What Have We Become by Batsutousai, feemor & qui-gon & obi-wan & anakin & cast, time travel, 43.7k    One of Feemor’s greatest regrets, was that he never had the chance to get to know his brother-padawan, but the Force is willing to give him one more chance. And maybe, if he’s lucky, he can finally make amends with his former master and save them all in the process. ✦ We Start and End With Family by Batsutousai, feemor & qui-gon & obi-wan & yoda & cast, time travel, 8.8k    Qui-Gon had been mostly joking when he’d originally brought up the idea of a lineage dinner, but when his former padawan grabbed for the idea with both hands and a desperation Qui-Gon didn’t understand (and privately hoped he never would), he knew he would never be able to refuse. ✦ turning dust right into gold by blackkat, mace/qui-gon & depa & cast, 1.3k    Mace knows Depa too well. She’s absolutely going to do something terrible, particularly for Mace’s dignity. ✦ A Price to Be Paid by Peach_Bitters (Starf), qui-gon & dooku & cast, 3.1k    Young Qui-Gon learns there’s a price to be paid for his curiosity. ✦ For the Future of the Order by thetorontokid, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.9k    There are important lessons to be found in the Jedi Temple crèche.

[ibrithir-was-here]

The Tale of Tanwen Faelach--or how Feanor returned to life unbidden, and what followed after...

Part One

In the first age of the world, upon the rebellion of the Noldor, a Doom was placed upon Feanor, eldest and most dread of the sons of Finwë, that upon his death never would he leave the Halls of Mandos, until the final age of Arda Marred at last had come.

But Feanor was fey and cunning, even in death. Long ages he sought to find a way free of the Doom laid upon him, for he was ever unwilling to humble himself before the Valar. And at last, in the dawning of the Fifth Age, he devised a way to return once more to the lands of Aman.

Not even his father Finwë did he take into his council, for his plan was a dark one indeed, and he did not trust even his beloved father not to betray him to Mandos if he spoke of it.

And so, upon the night his only granddaughter, Mirdaneth, daughter of Maglor, gave birth to her first and only child--Feanor, with his will stronger then any other elf before or after him, forced through the doors of Mandos, unseen and unforseen, and once more breathed in Arda.

Had it not been for the skill of her father-in-law Elrond, and the fortitude of her mother, Naeril, Mirdaneth could have most easily become a second Miriel, slipping away into an eternal sleep as the life of her child consumed her own. But she had aid that Miriel had not, both in the skill of her physician, and the knowledge to be aware of such a danger, and the consequences that could befall after it.

Even with this, she came perilously close to losing her own life. But her will to see her child born and raised was strong, and she held on to life even as her hair paled and her physcial strength was forever lessened.

But the child at last entered the world

Ilyëhína-her mother called her, for in her ran together the lines of all the sons of Finwë, as well as that of Beren and Luthien, and Mirdaneth hoped in her heart, though she had not the strength for foresight, that greater unity amoung the long sundered kin would come through this child born to all of them.

The name chosen of her father was Tamonissë , or Tanwen, in the Sindarin of his youth. For Elladan had inherited something of his own fathers gift of foresight, and felt that great would be the craft she wrought, though he could not see what manner of craft that might yet be.

Tanwen's early years were as happy and peaceful as any in the Blessed Land. She had a bright and eager mind, and loved both her parents as dearly as they loved her. None then could have guessed at what was about to unfold upon them all.

It was in her seventh year that the Doom unlooked for fell. Tanwen had been taken for the first time to visit the halls of Nerdanel, and it was there that she saw at last a likeness of Finwë, first of the Eldar ever slain in Aman, beloved father of Feanor.

The child did not understand the memories and emotions that crowded in up in her young mind and heart. Nor could she find voice to explain to any who she might have turned to for answers. For it felt to her as though she had suddenly awakened from a long sleep, and could not yet tell dream from reality, nor which either should be.

In her child's heart she knew only one thing clearly, that she knew fear at last, and it was the fear of loss. She feared to lose her parents, though she knew not how that could be. And she felt an ache of mourning rise within her, as though she had lost both already.

From then on, she was never quite the same child again...

And that's the end of Part 1! I feel like I have to give a shout out to @idahlrillion even though they're not active anymore really, since their amazing art really influenced a lot of my design takes here, you should all check them out if you haven't they've got some of the best Tolkien Art I've seen

[uhhhhyandere]

halloween special!

hi everyone!!!! 

for halloween this year, inspiration struck and i decided to craft this halloween special demon/angel light au! i had so so much fun writing this and hope yall enjoy it!!!

no matter where you are in the world, if you celebrate halloween or not, i hope you all are doing amazing and know that you are so so loved (by me) and thank you all for the love and support you give! i love every single one of y’all and let’s finish out the year the best we can!!!! 

word count: 7.2k 

And He will bring hell with him. 

The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and colorless in his wake. He takes, and takes, and takes with the full red moon on his back and the stars glittering on his lips in golden lies. Should his, Kira's eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity. 

"Well, that's what the tale says," Misa said. "If you believe in that kinda stuff." She flipped the book over to display the illustrations. You leaned over to get a closer look. "They really have to make evil people this beautiful, huh?" You looked at her incredulously. "What? You're thinking the same thing! I just said it…" Her eyes trailed down to the pages again. 

"He was a mortal once?" Misa nodded her head and adjusted herself on the sofa for you to scootch closer. Her red manicured nails slipped the page over to the next. 

"Who tried to be a god." You squinted down at the new page and pointed. 

"She kinda looks like you." She laughed. 

"Just wait," Misa replied. "Anyway, he was young, a few years below us, when he came across the power to make him a god. He was not chosen nor special. The power was left to be picked up by any traveler. It just so handed to be dropped outside of his family's farm, and he just so happened to be who he was. An ambitious genius with the same hunger for power the poor have for food. He used this power to rise above all others and to kill any who dared step in his way." Tragic art painted the pages as Misa continued to flip through them. 

"How?" Misa shook her head. 

"They don't know. We don't know. A creature crueler than Kira. A bored god looking to stir trouble. A blessing that was used as a curse. Perhaps all. Perhaps none." She giggled. "Exciting, isn't it?" You scoffed. 

"Yeah, yeah. Keep going." 

"But he had enemies. No mortal man should wield what Kira wielded. Those who wanted to strip him of his power and deliver justice to those he had ridden of, not grasp the power, the golden throne, he sought. They played games with one another. Cruel, cunning games of who would outsmart the other. He who was supposed to condemn his power and he who had it used the same means to win.

"Us. Regular people used and thrown away to further their game. There was one," she pointed at the girl who resembled herself, "who picked up the same power as he. It was her who tried to love him, that bent at his word, that carried out his will." Misa swallowed, "but he had lost his ability to love, or that's what was thought until..." Misa cut herself off. 

"Kira and his nemesis continued to use, to manipulate the very ground the other walked on. All until he finally stood at the foot of the throne of the world he thirsted for. Pristine and shining, it stood above the clouds themselves. This is where he was slain, where his blood stained the stone, the rug, the throne, infecting and cursing them. The throne cracked, contorted, twisted, and fell. Down, down it fell until he and the now blackened throne were in hell. 

"One day, when the full moon shines on the bleeding night, he will rise, and he will bring hell with him. He will claim what he has lost to reign over the world of men. The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and—,"

"I know that much," you interrupted, "but I'm confused. Did you leave a part out? Where you cut yourself off, I mean." White teeth dragged across her lip. 

"After," she started to rapidly flip the pages, "after he was banished to hell, they found…" Her flipping stopped at the very last page, "this." 

On the page was a cage with gnarled black metal and a large gash across the bars. A human whose arms crosses on their chest in an 'X.' Their feet were bound together and tied with rope to the middle's central support pole. Blood trickled down their face, torso, and legs. Beautiful, broken, ripped wings crumpled at their back. "He had stolen an angel. Broken them. Claimed them. Upon their back, scars from where he had failed to rip them off their back." She hummed. "Kinda looks like you." 

You laughed nervously then scoffed, trying to get the haunted picture out of your brain. "Should his eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity because you are who he has lost, and he will not fail again.

"But that's just how it goes!" Misa laughed good-naturedly and shut the book harshly. "Pretty scary, right?" You shook your head.

"Absolutely not. First, it's actually pretty disturbing. Secondly, it's so vague! No details on how he died, if the other guy killed him. You'd think after eons of repetition, they'd make stuff up." Misa shook her head. 

"Yeah, if you ask a bard, but do you really want to hear a romanticization of it in a song where they talk about how he loved whom he locked away and claimed? They do not sing about the reality, for it is far too gruesome for even documentation, much less for song. At least, that's what Rem told me. Being vague is the only option to make it tolerable, but I think she actually knows the truth and won't spill." You laughed and rose from the library's sofa. "So? It's my favorite story." 

"That's because that girl looks like you." 

"And?" You clicked your tongue. 

"I dunno. I did say it was disturbing, but you don't really believe in this kinda stuff, right?" You scratched the back of your head. 

"Of course, I do!" She giggled. "Ever since Rem took me in and taught me to read, it's been my favorite book." How could you forget what an oddball Misa was? You sighed. 

"Alright, believe what you want. Halloween is the day after tomorrow, after all. Be as spooky as you want." Misa rose and slipped the leather-bound book back into her bag. "Are you stealing that?" You harshly whispered. She shook her head. 

"Nope! It's Rem's." Oh, gee.

"I'd rather steal from the library—which has free books—a concept I just remembered for some reason than Rem. Do you have a death wish? Nevermind, don't answer that. Why did you make me come to the library again?" 

"Isn't this where people read?

"...You're right. I got nothing. Come on. I need to get back to the market. I promised my parents I would pick up the pumpkins Mello grew and carved. Apparently, people are putting lights in them to make the faces glow at night."  

Your village was reasonably large, set on the misty hillside of the mountain. Though the nearest city where the Earl of the region lived was a few miles down the path and knights on horses frequented here on their patrols, your village felt world's away from society. It was also relatively famous for the chapel, so travelers often stopped to visit, especially with the holiday season. 

It rested closest to where the cliff dropped into nothingness. Flowers surrounded it, and moss grew up its stone walls. Vivid glass windows decorated all sides and around the wooden doors. A tower ascended from the front to where a millennial old bell sat still for just as long, for it was only to ring when the world was set to end.

Within, pews lined the plush red rug. The rug ran straight to the golden altar, where a large statue stood behind. The stained glass filtered color light upon its flawless, stone complexion. Water poured from the few holes in the body down into the small pond around it. 

"Are we going to meet on Halloween?" Misa asked. "You know it's my favorite holiday! Everyone will be on the square dancing and dressed up!" You smiled. 

"Of course. You know my parents would not miss a party. We can meet on my porch since it's closer?" She nodded enthusiastically,

"Yes! That sounds perfect! See you then!" The blonde blew you a kiss and skipped in the direction of her house. You smiled before turning on your heel and approaching the square. 

Of course, the market would be busy with both locals and travelers. It was mid-day, and each stand had its unique, limited-time holiday goods. You had to squeeze your way to make it to Mello's stand. The blonde grimaced as you approached. Ah. He's in a good mood! 

"Afternoon, Mello." 

"Y/N," he regarded you. "You're really going to buy a pumpkin with a scary face? Would it really go with your garden?" You scoffed. 

"It's my parents, actually, and yes! I can be scary and festive! Not as good as you, Mello. I heard that you carved lots of pumpkins for the village." He hummed and motioned to those on the wooden stand. 

"Not for the village," he replied. "You still have to pay, got it?" You rose your hands. 

"Of course, of course." You began to browse the selection. "Will you be attending the festivities night of?" He scoffed. 

"No. Now pick your poison or leave." You smiled and reached for one with a broad crooked smile. "Terrible taste." You furrowed your brows. 

"...But you're the one who made it?" Mello's eyes widened for a second before narrowing once more. 

"It's one of my worse ones. I guess it'll go well with you, then." You laughed and rubbed the carved circle around the stem with your hand. 

"Yep! Sounds good, Mello." You reached into your pockets and dropped a few coins in front of him. "Keep the change. Happy Halloween!" Mello snatched the coins from the table and shooed you off. You morphed back into the crowd, maneuvering your way through the group back to your house.

An abrupt, intense headache wracked your skull, causing you to suddenly stop amid the crowd and wince, nearly dropping the pumpkin under your arm. With your free hand, you grasped your forehead, but the pain only escalated and pulsed down your body. Two particularly intense strands of pain erupted on your back.

Peeking up, the crowd blurred around you, but your eyes on a figure at the corner of the inn. He was too far to make out the intimate details besides his lithe frame and brown hair. For moments you locked eyes before he disappeared behind the inn. 

The pain stopped as if it was an illusion. You snapped back into reality, chest heaving in relief. A few eyes looked at you in concern, but no one stopped to ask. Thankfully so. You wouldn't know what to tell them if they asked what happened. 

Shaking your head, you safely made it to your small house hidden behind a large oak tree. 

"Oh! You got the pumpkin! How was Mello?" 

"Charming as ever, of course. I was just with Misa at the library before that. She told me the story about Kira and his fall to hell." Your mom nodded her head and took the pumpkin from your arm. 

"Ah, that's an old one. I guess she's always been the type to be into that stuff. It freaks me out, personally." You followed your mom to the kitchen. 

"Yeah, me too. I try to remind myself it's not real, but there's also the small tick in the back of my brain that tells me it may be, you know?" She nodded again. 

"Oh, I like this carving! Nice choice, Y/N, but yes, I do that too. Especially since Halloween, this year, is on the full blood moon. An ill omen in all tales. Luckily the town's party rids my mind of such horrors, as should yours. Anything else happen today?" You paused.

"N-no. Nothing comes to mind. I think I'm going to go find father then wash up before dinner. Is he still in the forest?" Your mom nodded. 

"Yep. He's been hunting that same deer for weeks now. Apparently, it has a rack of the like he has never seen before. Something of beauty. I think he doesn't even want to kill it as much as he wants to see it again." Your dad was somewhat of a conundrum. As much as he awed and loved nature, he was a hunter who made income on the sale of its pelts and horns. "I'm sure he hasn't found it yet. Maybe you can help."

Unlikely, but you liked to explore the misty pines surrounding your village. They were too safe and had a few secret spots where hollowed logs led to hidden clear ponds. Wishing your mom farewell, you entered the pines and inhaled their thick scent. 

Your dad's job was handy in that you knew the backwoods like the back of your hand. He taught you the ways to track and navigate through the seemingly identical trunks. 

He also unknowingly taught you to sense when something was off with the forest. After ten minutes of traversing, you finally had the feeling of dread. The mist was inches too low, the grass droplets too wet, and the temperature degrees too low. You held your breath and glanced at your surroundings. 

A silhouette. A deer's head with a rack so vertically high you thought your eyesight was failing you. Except, as you stepped closer, this deer had the body of a man standing upon his two legs. Large hollow eyes oozed mist. 

"..." something was whispered into the air. You continued to hold your breath. "...—/N." The deer-man gave no indication of moving, and you could not bring your feet to even wiggle the frost from your toes. "Y/N."

Your name. Crystal clear. Your breath hitched. His hand with long, natural claws extended forwards towards you. "Y/N," it repeated. "You mus—....—ere. No t—." You could not make out his words. 

"Y/N!" Another yell. This time you recognized it as your father. Eyes blown open, you wretched your eyes from the deer-man and sprinted towards the voice of your father. 

"I'm...sorry." 

…

"You're not telling us everything." Your father accused. After you ran head-first into your father, petrified and stumbling over every word, he urged you home and waited for you to take the bath you begged them to allow you to have before sitting you in the sitting room, the fire roaring under the holiday wreath behind you. 

'It just scared me. I've never seen a bear of its size." Why are you lying? You had no idea. As soon as your mom asked the first questions, lies flowed out of your mouth like the truth. Stories you naturally never could have conjured on the spot. Stories you would never because you did not lie, which is why your parents, despite their dubious expressions, did believe you. "I swear. I just got freaked out. I think it's because of the story Misa told me today."

"That girl," your dad muttered. 

"She told them the story of the man who fell to hell. Kira." Your dad nodded and rubbed his chin with his hand. 

"Ah, I see. That would do it. Y/N, I know the full blood moon is coming, but there's no need to fret. Stories are just stories, alright? Leave your candlelight on tonight should you be scared of the dark, alright? Me and your mom are in the room over, alright?" You nodded. "Good. Now, what's for dinner?"

…

You lit the candle that night. In your nightwear, you sat on the edge of the bed. Muffled moonlight streamed through the frosted window and reflected off the full-length mirror in the corner. You inhaled deeply through your nose and exhaled through your mouth.

"They're just stories. Just stories." Like a mantra, you repeated this under your breath as you ducked under the covers. Opening your eyes, though, you were met with a flash of shadow in the mirror. You jumped and stared at it with eyes open enough to feel the cold air. You waited for something in the still room to move, for it to flash again, but nothing did. Thankfully.

Still, you threw the blanket off of yourself and approached to assure yourself that yes, it was nothing, and yes, there was nothing: just your reflection and the room behind you.

Until you blinked. 

For a second, blood poured down your body and wetted down your clothes against your figure—wings broken and limp behind your back. 

You screamed and smashed the mirror with your fist on impulse. Along with the shards, your body fell to the ground, and actual bloodied hands kept you from collapsing entirely. However, the features in the fragments were not yours. The man, the one from the square, stared back, but at this closer view, you can see his eyes. 

Red. 

You threw yourself back against the wall and screamed. Your door busted open, and your parents barged in. Your mother ran to your side and took your hand in hers while your father took in the big picture around him. 

"I-I thought I saw something in the mirror. Misa told me once the m-mirror is the passage to the other world. I-I know it's stupid for me to react like this, but I just… I don't know. Do you think it's the blood moon?" Your parents were quiet. 

'It could be," your mother said. "The blood moon is supposed to come with magic. It enables beings to crossover from other worlds, from other planes. It is the ill omen, but crossing over is all they can do. They can't touch you or hurt you. That, I promise." You nodded. 

Your parents stayed with you, and, for the first time since you were literally a toddler, you slept in their room, blankets wrapped around you on their floor. Relief flooded your system when sunlight broke through the window. Though your sleep was haunted by vague images and muddled whispers, you slept through the night after the incident. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Your dad asked. "You can skip your daily chores if you don't want to do them. Tomorrow too. Aren't I generous?" You laughed but shook your head no. 

"That's alright. I think if I stay home, I'll just keep thinking about it. I need to get my mind off of it. Doing chores will put my mind at ease. Some normalcy, I think." Your dad nodded, though you can tell your parents weren't eager to just forget the events of last night.

You knew someone, though, that would be eager to learn about them. 

"Misa, can you keep a secret?" She bit into an apple. 

"No," she replied simply. "I tell Rem everything, but that's it. I don't really talk to many other people here besides you and her, so no one else to tell, but I know Rem will mind her business. She talks to fewer people than I do." That was true. You could count the number of times you talked to Rem on a single hand, and Misa said she liked you. 

"Okay, don't freak out, but…" 

She freaked out.

"And they were red?" You nodded. 

"Glowing. A sinister smirk on his face. His hands in the reflection, touching my own through the glass. It was the same as the one I saw in the square right after we met." Misa's eyes widened in enthusiasm and jubilation.

"It's him! It has to be! Kira!" You shook your head. 

"No, my mom explained it to me. It's a spirit from the other plane playing a joke on me. She told me that after I stopped crying and fled to their room before I passed out. That story isn't real. It… can't be." Misa shook her head and leaned forward. 

"It is! It's not that you don't believe it's real; it's that you don't want to believe it's real! Y/N, you have to believe me." You grimaced and backed away to create some breathing room.

"Why would I want it to be real?" You whispered solemnly. "Why would I want that to happen to me? I can't believe it's real. It can't be real. I'm terrified if it is real, okay? If my parents think it's real because I do, they'll tell the church, and if the church finds out? You know how they deal with spiritual trespassers and those they possess. I'd basically be dead. My soul stripped from my being to ensure I do not bring harm to anyone else. I would be a hollow body, Misa! Don't you get that!?" You inhaled a ragged breath. 

"...Has anything happened today?" You shook your head. "It's already almost sunset, so that's a good sign, at least. Sorry, I got too excited. Your feelings and safety are important. Okay, I promise I won't tell a soul about this." You breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Thank you. I just… don't know what to do." 

"Have you gone to the chapel? The water from the statue is supposed to cure any possession." You shook your head. "Okay! I think I know your next steps, then. Come on!" She stood abruptly from the bench and held out her hands. "Let's go!" 

She dragged you across the diameter of town until your footsteps echoed across the chamber. A few holy people greeted you as they did their duties. Some travelers prayed at the pews for good luck and well-being. A single man stood next to the pond where the statue stood. 

"Greetings," he welcomed. "I recognize you two from town, but I don't believe we've met. My name is Soichiro. Are you here to drink from the spring?" Misa nudged you forward. 

"Y-yes. Oh, I'm Y/N." He nodded. 

"I see. Does the blood moon have you nervous? Don't worry. Lots of people come to do the same before a blood moon. Come and cup your hands and drink the water. Any disease in your soul shall be healed." You lowered yourself down to your knees and cupped the crisp water between your palms. You lowered yourself to sip, and you swallowed. 

But it would not go down. 

You began to cough, and your body convulsed with coughs. Liquid did come from your mouth, but the drops upon the ground were not clear, but a vicious red. Soichiro yelled for the other holy people as your body shook and twisted. Ropes bound your wrists, and hands steadied your head—arms wrapped around your waist to keep you as still as possible. A man placed his palm on your forehead and whispered incomprehensible words. When he finished, he ripped his hand away, and your breath was restored. You were unable to fall with the tight grip they still had on you. 

"W-what happened?" You asked, feeling the tears on your cheeks continuing to inch down and the blood drying on your chin. "I-I don't know. I'm sorry." 

"Take them to the purification chamber."

"No! Please, no! Help me! Someone, please help!" It was a joint effort between numerous holy people to lift your struggling form from the ground. "Misa! Mom! Dad!" you called out for, yet, in the chapel, none of them were there. However, your screaming did not stop for them until you were placed on a large chair and gagged. Your legs were bound to the bottom of the chair, and arms rebound to the arms. Holy people circled around you. 

The chair you were in was much less a chair and more so a throne. Pure white metal was attached directly to the ground. Red cushioning provided comfort to your rear and back. With ragged breaths, you looked waited until one of them spoke or did anything besides watch you. It was the man who sentenced you here that approached. 

"Soichiro," someone called, but he ignored them and angled his head down towards you.

"I am going to undo your gag. Do not scream. I just want you to tell us the truth if you know anything. Sometimes… they do things without signaling a mortal." Large calloused hands undid the gag, and you inhaled greedily. "Now, tell us."

"A-are you going to take my soul?" 

"Speak first. I cannot make promises I do not know if I can keep." You swallowed and explained what you could to them. Your eyes were focused on the ground. The terror you would feel if his reaction was bad was too grand for you to meet his eyes. The silence after you ended your experience was deafening. "I see." He looked to a holy person nearby. "We need twenty-four-hours to prepare for the ritual. It leaves us with little room before the blood moon rises. If we do not store their soul… go now. It is much worse than any of us could have imagined." Your heart plummeted. 

"W-what? No! Please! Tell me what's going on! D-don't take my soul, please! I-I want to live! I'll run away! You'll never see me again!" Soichiro stared at you with what you hoped was empathy. The bags under his eyes spoke of his wisdom and his exhaustion. He motioned for the rest of the holy people to leave, so it was just him standing over you. 

"I'm sorry, child." He spoke softly, knuckles wiping the tears flowing down your face. "No matter how far you run, no matter how fast, no matter how well you hide, no matter how you continue on: alive or dead, he will come for you. The moment you locked eyes in the mirror, you were bound to him, just as you always have been." You shook your head, vehemently. 

"It's not true, is it? Kira... is he…?" Soichiro smiled sadly. "It can't be… it can't be me. It's impossible." You sobbed. "How? Please, at least tell me before… before…" You couldn't even make the words out. 

"My son," he began, "was always destined for greatness, but then greatness found him, and he became too great. The power he found was a single, black notebook. Write someone's name, and they would pass. It originally is from a Shinigami, a god of death, that possessed him while he owned it, but… there are forces more potent than Shinigami in the universe. He and his opponent, the one who sought to bring the mysterious killer Kira, my son, that plagued the land to justice, who we called L, always were at a battle of wits, of plans, but, in the end, my son won.

"But this victory angered others. It was they who killed him at the throne of the world. It was they who watched him plummet to hell. It was they who built the statue in this chapel and sealed him in hell so he could never return, but they have long passed. Their magic fading in time. I could do nothing in all this time except pray to angels to keep my son at bay." He paused and looked up solemnly. "You must be wondering how I am alive," He looked down at his pale hands. 

"The notebook is gone now. The Shinigami that dropped it fled back to his world when Lig- Kira, was cast down to hell. I, too, touched the notebook. A scheme my son created to get ahead. The curse of it never went away, and I am now stuck to live eternity until my son ends it." He clenched his fist. "I did not know you were so close. I did not know it was you. If I did… I would have taken your soul long before you could have known life without it." You shook your head. 

"I don't understand. What is my part? The book… the book only showed a cage with… someone in it. The story has no word of them. Just the girl… the weapon that served him." Soichiro sighed. 

"Back then, the plane between the mortal realm and other words was thinner when angels and spirits would roam mortal lands. You were an angel. A new one. Young. Wide-eyed and drawing silver linings wherever you walked. Someone he set to ruin. Someone with a soul so pure that he can take and twist to his own liking. No one should see you except him, so he locked you away and bound his soul to yours and your soul to his. As long as he lived, whether here or hell, you would too. 

"But just your soul. Unlike me, whose mortal body is stuck, it is solely your soul that has been recycled for eons. His part, the part of his soul within you, could only be awakened should your eyes meet his. Then, with his entire soul active and with the power of the red blood moon, he will be able to break the barrier that seals him tomorrow night. We must lock away part of his power, so he cannot walk this land again. 

"Should he, then he will seek to claim all that was taken from him. The mortal world will fall as we know it. Those he inevitably tricked in hell to follow him will breakthrough behind him. What the world deserves for not seeing him as the god he sees himself as." Tears pooled in Soichiro's eyes. "I still love my son. The bright-eyed boy, but he cannot love. What he feels for you is something far darker, something twisted. I do not know what he will do if he finds you. You will be better off soulless." You sobbed. 

"B-but the deer-man in the woods. Do you - I mean…" He furrowed his brows and shook his head. 

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry my son came upon you. No one deserves this fate." You wretched in your bindings, ragged breaths, and eery whines escaping your mouth. "Some will be around to feed you later, and someone… someone will explain everything to your parents. 

"Let me see them!" You yelled out. "Please! One last time! They don't know anything! I just want to… please, I… I get it. Why you have to do this, but please let me say goodbye. Please. I just," you bit your bottom lip to prevent another wail, "please." Soichiro shook his head. The man could no longer maintain eye contact with you.

"I can't. We cannot risk you talking to anyone lest risk his jealousy. As far as we are concerned, you are not you. You are his." You pulled against the ropes once more. "I'm… so sorry. It is best for everyone that he does not see you with others while he is powerful enough to watch this world. I hope you never forgive me." Crestfallen, he turned his back and approached the door. 

"No! Come back! Please! Don't leave me alone here! P-please! S-Soichiro!" Only the slam and locking of the door met your calls. 

You don't know how long you howled and wailed, how many times it echoed back in the circular chamber to your ear. There came the point where your body could make no more tears, so you were left with pathetic dry heaves. It was then that a voice whispered in your head. 

"Y/N…" It was different than the voice in the woods. It was sinister, deep, evil. You focused on anything, the floor's intricate patterns, the ceiling, the running water behind the chair, the plants around the circumference of the room, anything to not acknowledge it. "Oh, aren't you a gift wrapped up for me? Clearly my father's work. Don't ignore me, Y/N. I know your every move. I know you can hear my every word" 

"F-fuck you!" You cried, and he laughed. Then, he clicked his tongue.

"Such dirty words. You're not the angel I remember, fresh out of the clouds. Ah, but there wasn't much angel left, from what I can recall. Do you feel it, Y/N? It shouldn't be long now…" For a long time, nothing happened, then, like two knives down your back, you screamed. "Ah, there it is. Those screams, I do remember. I don't care if it hurts." Blood soaked the cushion behind you and flowed down to your rear. "You brought this on yourself. This is what you deserve." 

"I didn't do anything!" You writhed. 

"Is that what my father told you? Is that what the story says? Oh, they couldn't be more wrong, love. You denied me what I deserve. You could have fallen to hell right with me, where you can be where you belong, but you stayed. I couldn't have you running back to the angels to live your days without me. I wouldn't allow it. If I hadn't had Mikami lock you in that cage, if I hadn't bound our souls, your grave would be in the flower fields above the clouds, but you got conceited. 

"Let me remind you of something, love. You are mine. Your body, your mind, your heart, your soul, what's between your legs, it's all mine. We are bound for eternity, Y/N. There is nothing you can do about it." He got quiet just as the immediate pain receded, leaving you with intense throbs. 

"You��� won't get the chance," you spoke through tears. "Big talk for someone who isn't even going to breach this plane." A flash of pain sparked in your skull. He chuckled. 

"Oh, Y/N. Perhaps you are just as green as you were when we met. I can't wait to feel you again. To have you watch me burn the world." Silence. 

Despite your exhaustion, you could not sleep. You might as well have melted into the chair in how your body did not move a single inch, too scared to bother your wounds, and have the pain come back that is still aching. You did not want to spend your last hours unconscious. No one came to feed you.

"They're coming," he said. "They'd better be quick, then. The moon is almost up out there, after all." He groaned, and you jolted at the feeling of a cold hand on your neck. 

Soichiro and a train of holy people entered the room and surrounded you. He approached your limp body and undid your bounds. You did not miss him tense, and his eyes widen at the pool of blood in the seat from your back. 

'We must hurry. Any minute he will come through." Soichiro enlisted others to help him carry you back up the stairs to the altar. "Twenty four hours in the chamber has amplified their soul. It explains the marks on their back from their past life. Quick, on the altar!" The cloth was smooth against your skin as they placed you. 

Movement flurried around you as different scents were sprayed, various objects were placed on the ground and on the altar around you, and foreign words were spoken around you. Fatigue racked your body. There was not a single inch of your body that you could to move. 

Soichiro stood over your body. Your eyes, dead and clouded, stared up at him. In his hand was a singular, transparent, glass object. Quickly, he lifted his hand, ready to plunge it down. 

A loud bang resounded in the chapel, and the glass fell with a splatter of blood. You rolled your head to the side and watched two bodies approach from the entrance. All of the holy people around you were blown limply against the walls around you. It was only when they were right above you that you recognize it was Misa and Rem. 

"Rem, can you carry them? Do you still have your strength?" 

"Do not worry, Misa," she replied. Long arms lifted you while Misa skipped ahead and smiled reassuringly back at you. Music filled the crisp air. Lights hanging from the trees and other ornaments swept by your visual field. You groaned and lulled your head to face Misa. 

"M-Misa, no." You groaned. "He's coming." She giggled and turned around. Skipping backward, her smile widened. Behind her, the crowd gathered in the village square. Their vivid garments stuck out under the lights. 

"Of course I know, silly! Rem is a Shinigami just as the one who gave Kira his power. Just like he had a notebook, I had Rem's, but it was destroyed eons ago. Still, it binds me to live eternally, just like Soichiro. Luckily, Rem's cloaking magic covered me when I've met him, or he would have spoiled it all for us!

"When I saw you, I knew it was you. No matter how you may physically change, your heart and soul are always the same. Now, he's going to return to us. He's going to spearhead the new world." She twirled her hair around her finger. "Isn't that exciting?" 

You had no strength to fight in Rem's hold. Even if you did, you were unsure if you would be able to beat a Shinigami. 

Eyes were drawn to you as your bloodied and weak form was carried by an almost unidentifiable figure. Gasps echoed across the crowd, the music stopping as you presumably reached the square. 

"They watch helplessly," he spoke. "They know you are not theirs to touch. Soon, they will all know my power. They will all know who you belong to. Keep your eyes open, love."  

"Y/N! Y/N! Move! That's our child! Move! Y/N! The desperate calls of your parents broke through the crowd, but Rem presumably pushed them far back just the holy people, scaring the public to still and part for your funeral march. You heard the sick smack of bodies against a surface. Misa hummed to herself in front of you. Your head rolling back, you met Mello's wide and helpless eyes as he stood in the crowd. 

Misa led you away from the crowd and stopped at the flagpole at the village's entrance gates with the group following. Rem retied you to the base of the flagpole; your arms crossed over your chest in a familiar 'X,' legs and waist bound to the pole. Misa's settled herself next to you.

"All!" She called. "Watch as the blood moon rises behind the chapel! He who fell to hell is rising again to take what is rightfully his!" She pointed to the moon as it brilliantly glowed crimson above the chapel. Murmurs rose from the crowd, suspicious and fearful. "Watch as our god returns to the mortal realm!" 

The church bell rang. Its deathly reverberations echoing in your ear. The crowd fell to silence. 

"Have you missed me, love?" He spoke. "Because I have missed you." 

A red beam of light erupted from the chapel, followed quickly by multiple explosions. The statue, the roof, the infrastructure all crumbling by the expanding beam of light that touched the sky, screams erupted from the crowd, and they began to scramble. You pulled with what little strength you had left, but the pole against your back seized you in pain to cease your movements.

A silhouette could be made out of the beam. Large black wings spread from his back, sharp and jagged. Hands rose above his head before he dropped down in front of the chapel submerged in flames. His shadow enraptured you, and though his shadow was mostly unclear from a distance, you could make out his eyes even from here. Slowly, he took his first step forwards. 

Every needle and leaf in the trees around him fell. The grass withered all around him. Ash from the sky and littered the ground. With each step, the radius expanded until more and more life died around him. Your eyes trailed to the unconscious bodies of your parents against a tree. His zone of death stretched farther than them. 

"Eyes on me." 

"You're going to kill them!" You screeched. "Stop this madness at once!" You shook in your bonds. Misa was frozen next to you, eyes wide in anticipation as he approached. 

"Ordering me around? Perhaps you still are conceited. I think killing them will remind you of your place, hm?" Unfortunate humans were reduced to ash in his radius. The wind blew the ashes all around him, gently lifting his brown tufts of hair. "These mortals are nothing compared to you and I. Accept me as your mate. Accept the part of your soul that is my own, and the pain will all go away. You'll be dragged down to hell, and I'll bring you right back up." 

Your parent's ashes were a different color than the rest. 

"You know, it's been an eternity since I've heard you call my name. Do you even remember it?" You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. The thick scent of smoke, of ash, of death, permeated the air. "Eyes on me." He was almost here. Arms extended to the side, he approached from the other side of the square now. 

"Misa, we need to leave." 

"No! He's here! He's finally here, Rem!" 

"His aura will kill you, Misa." 

"No, I won't! He won't!" Rem, at lightning speed, grabbed Misa and flew in the other direction. "No! Put me down! I'll never forgive you! Stop!" Her voice echoed until it was out of range. Your head lashed back and forth, looking for any sign of life, but there was none: just ash, dying grass, and gnarled, graying trees. 

Dressed in all black, eyes blazing, teeth sharp, wings stretched, he now stood before you with the moon on his back. You pushed yourself against the pole despite the shock of pain. The grass around you died, the bugs vanishing, but you remained fine. You stared at his feet. 

"Oh, love," soft fingers reached down and tilted your head up. "You're as beautiful as I remember." Black wings encircled you, so you could only see him. "Do you remember my name?" You shook your head, and he gripped your chin harder. "Do not lie to me. Say my name, Y/N. Sew the wounds of your forsaken wings and accept your place with me." His voice resounded in you. "You feel it. I know you do. I feel your pain. Your fear. I've felt every emotion your reincarnations have ever felt. Say my name." He leaned in close.

"Kira." He clicked his tongue. 

"Stop resisting," he hissed. "Say my name, Y/N." His breath glided against your cheek. His hand moved to cup your jaw, and the other trailed down your waist.

"Light." It came off your lips quickly, easily, and he smiled, eyes widening with pleasure. Immediately, relief filled your physical body, your back's pain dissolving. Your head tilted back in bliss. 

"Y/N," he whispered against your neck. "Finally." He inhaled your scent deeply, hand tilting your head to give him more access. He placed a small kiss against your skin. His kisses trailed upwards, along your jaw, frantic against your cheeks, nose, until he captured your lips and stole your breath. 

"Oh, Y/N," he whispered against your lips. "I love you."  

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 2/8 - Footprints

~*~*~

Alexander had met the villagers and royal knights, but Graham wanted more than ballroom politeness and hastily muttered, “yes, I’m fine, lovely to meet you”s. He wanted them to be comfortable with each other. His son and his citizens. He was eager to show Alexander all that Daventry had to offer. Almost as soon as Alexander was able, Graham started hovering and gently steering him toward walking the paths with him, to explore what was theirs together. To actually get to know each other.

Even in winter, Daventry glittered. Perhaps even more so in winter, what with the ice in the tree branches and the crunchy snow glimmering in the sunlight. The little waterfalls that cascaded over the rocks in the spring froze into twisted natural sculptures, shards sharp as goblin spears. The air was crisp and clear enough that you could hear a twig snap halfway through the forest.

Alexander dutifully pulled his scarf up higher around his ears and trooped behind his father, silent but observant. Graham chattered to fill the empty air between them, pointing out this place or that.

“Starberries grow here in the late autumn—it's like constellations in the trees. And you won’t believe how loud the frogs in that pond in spring are. You'll hear them from the castle on clear nights. Most of the birds have migrated, but wait until they come back. The sounds they make in the early summer mornings before that golden sun properly comes up over the hills…. Oh, and this path, this one leads to a gorgeous lookout. It’s icy now, but maybe in a couple days we might be able to try it, and you can see the whole valley. It’ll look like it’s been dipped in sugar now, and in the summer the lavender fields make the whole valley purple.”

He desperately tried to paint his kingdom in all its colors for his son. Like he could wrap up the whole thing up as a gift. His son listened and nodded and made occasional noises to let Graham know he was listening, and that was about it.

The first couple walks were the same. Graham babbled endlessly, pressing down his unease that he was being annoying and overbearing. At night, he confessed his apprehension to Valanice, and they talked long into the night together. She insisted that what he was doing was helpful. “He comes back with such a rosy blush in his cheeks.”

“It’s windchill,” Graham fretted, crumpling his cloak in his hands.

“He’s happy,” she said. “Well. Happier. I think. Don’t stop. It’s important for him to see and to hear. But don’t forget to give him space. I know how much you can talk about Daventry when you get started. I know how much you love it. But...give him room.”

The walks continued, and Graham kept himself quiet as much as he talked. Alexander, when he noticed the lengthy pauses, seemed all the more nervous, as though he was expected to fill the silences. And that made him jumpy. But Graham didn’t expect things, just cautiously helped move the conversation forward. It was a bit like trying to help one of the nervous courtiers speak, he decided. He might not know how to talk to a son, but he knew how to talk to his citizens, and while that might not be a long-term solution, at least at first, at least for now, it might help.

And it did.

Alexander, gently coaxed by Graham, started to talk. Not about the past, not yet. But about their present. Started to ask about where they were going. Wanted to risk the icy overlook to see the valley spread below them like a frosted painting. Wanted to know where people lived, what they did. As he talked, Graham realized how starved the boy was for information. He had spent his life locked in Manannan’s grasp, watching the world go by from a distance, and while he was clever and sharp, he simply didn’t know. So Graham showed him everything.

~*~*~*

“What do you think that is?” Alexander pointed down the path.

Graham leaned around a bend in the trail to see what Alexander had found. “Looks like a scarf.”

Alexander fidgeted with his own scarf. “I bet whoever dropped it is cold.”

Graham knelt to pick it up. It was well crafted, a bright green that positively glittered against the slushy path. It had snowed earlier (it seemed to be snowing more often this winter, each day bringing another flurry of flakes), and there were all sorts of tangled footprints crisscrossing each other. Graham hadn’t been paying them much mind before—it was a road, there were footprints in the snow. Not exactly something to write a fantasy novel about.

But now he looked a little more carefully, looked at the size of the tracks. Most were blurred, but he had an uneasy prickling at the back of his neck. They almost looked like children’s footprints, but he remembered dark caves, ropes, salamanders, and a gut-punch sense of fear rippled down his spine for an instant. His head snapped up, searching the trees for any additional signs of the goblins he knew were out there.

In the distance, now that he was paying attention, he could hear something hammering, very faintly. The twenty-something, newly crowned king in the back of his head immediately decided the goblins were building cages to take the villagers again. The fifty-something established king told himself to stop exaggerating and assuming the worst. The twenty-something king muttered that inattentiveness was how they’d been captured in the first place. The fifty-something king didn’t actually have an answer to that.

Graham glanced at his son—but if there were goblins out there, and if they did mean harm, it wouldn’t be safe to send the prince back to the castle on his own. And Graham couldn’t leave the sound uninvestigated.

“Come with me, but quietly,” Graham said, motioning Alexander down the path, following the goblin tracks.

The hammering got louder. As they walked, though, Graham realized what it was. Not goblins, at least not in this exact instance. Someone was hammering signs into trees. Brightly colored sheets of paper lined the path. Wanted signs, for stolen socks. They rounded the corner and found the source of the hammering and the sheets.

“Aaah, Acorn,” Graham said, relief sparking through his tense shoulders. “Having trouble?”

“Someone raided my stock,” the knight growled, thumping his hammer against the nail in the tree, lodging the sign firmly. The tree had a ring of impact in it from the weight of the hammer. He had blue and green paint streaking his armor from painting the signs in an angry hurry. “Not so much as a single glove left behind.”

“I think I know who.”

“I knew it! That rival craft shop across the river, right? Knitwits or whatever they’re called? Buncha nitwits. I knew it. Mafia creeps. I’m gonna lodge a formal complaint with the royal guards. Trying to button in on my service area, how dare they?”

“No, not them,” Graham said, and offered the scarf. Acorn gently took it, brushing the dirt off it, looking all the more upset about its condition. “Goblins, I think,” Graham continued. “There’s a whole bunch of their tracks just up the lane.”

Acorn seemed taken aback. “No. Really? They haven’t caused trouble for decades. They’ve kept to themselves. Why would they be stirring up trouble again?”

“Good question,” Graham said. “I intend to find out. Something must have happened.”

Instinctively, both men turned and looked at Alexander. Alexander’s eyes widened and he shrank back, stepping into the shade of a tree and tripping over an upraised root hidden in the snow.

“Possibly,” Graham said, mostly to himself. “I wonder if an audience with the goblin king would be useful.” He realized what his mouth had gone off saying and froze, imagining himself down in the goblin tunnels again, those bleak roads he had once trekked as a prisoner, to keep that appointment. He shook his head, scaring the image away. “I’ll deal with that later. For now, we’ll notify the royal guards and let the rest of the villagers know. I’ll head back to town now.”

“Would you take this back to Amaya if you’re going that way?” Acorn asked, holding the hammer out. “I ran out of signs, but I’m gonna go look around, and I promised I’d get that back to her quick.”

Graham was about to protest, about to suggest it wasn’t safe, and then remembered who he was talking to. The strongest knight Daventry had to offer, and surprisingly deadly with a pair of knitting needles. “You be careful,” he said, grinning. “Don’t scare them too badly or anything if you find them. I’d hate to look bad in front of the goblin king.”

Acorn laughed, and then wandered further down the path into the forest, leaving Graham holding a surprisingly heavy hammer and Alexander shivering with wary uncertainty.

“Would you like to go into town with me?” Graham asked. “If you want to go back to the castle, we can do that too, and then I’ll go on to the town myself.”

“Do you...do you think I’m really...the cause of something?” Alexander asked, his voice hardly audible.

Graham was going to flippantly answer, but the look on his son’s face drew him up short. He put the hammer down—stars it was heavy, what did Amaya want it for—and stood beside Alexander. The cold wind had picked up again, and the threat of a storm was blowing in from the west (always from the west these days, so odd, when winter storms normally blew from the north over the mountains). They drew closer together as a screen from the chill.

“Truly, I don’t think it’s anything you did,” Graham said, after a pause. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or unwanted. Daventry has a long and unsettling history with the goblin kingdom, and we were thinking of that more than anything else.”

“Unsettling history?” Alexander asked. He still looked nervy, a deer startled and ready to run, but that eternal curiosity about everything, so delightful in the Cracker family, was roused.

“It’s...you might not want to hear it,” Graham said, uneasy as he looked ahead to where this conversation might go. “It’s a story about goblins...kidnapping all the villagers. And me. They took me. I don’t...it might...” It might trigger your own memories, were the unspoken words. It might ruin everything, to hear this story.

But Alexander perked his head up, looked toward his father with surprise. And maybe some respect. “What happened? Did you...escape? By yourself?”

“Not completely by myself,” Graham said. “I had help from the villagers. But, yes, we rescued ourselves.”

“I had to rescue myself, alone,” Alexander whispered, so softly Graham wondered if he had been meant to hear it or not. It was the first time Alexander had voluntarily offered any detail regarding what had happened to him. “I...” his voice faded to nothing, and then, in almost a normal volume, like he was trying to force himself to speak, “Would you tell me what happened? If...if you’re okay with that.”

With a kind smile, Graham said, “Yes, I can tell you what happened. Would you like to walk back to town with me while I do? We’ll keep a bit warmer if we move. It was a summer evening, then, but the rain was endless. You’ll get a sense for how monsoon season is in July.” And he unraveled the story about what had happened to him just a few short months after he’d been crowned. How he’d been ambushed by goblins, hauled underground, locked away, and what had happened next.

They hadn’t gotten far into the story by the time they reached the town. Graham had told this tale many times, and it always seemed to get a bit longer with each telling. Real life details fuzzed into something with more defined story structure, tugging wrinkles into out into a proper narrative’s smoothness, with highs and lows that seemed effortless to tell. Privately, though, he knew the raw edge of fear occasionally jangled and caught him off guard at unexpected moments, especially on certain lightning-struck nights when he was feeling tired and edgy. Sort of like catching his arm on a jagged nail in the dark.

But now, in the weak sunlight and the sparkling snow and the crisp air, it was light and easy to tell. He was just explaining about the cure-all potion he would need to restore Bramble’s fading health when they walked through the town gates and found Bramble herself shoveling snow off her front step.

“Ahh, Majesties,” she chirped, sweeping low into a bow, shovel held at attention and dripping slush back onto her stoop. “Lovely day for the moment, though I think you should go inside if that storm keeps heading our way.” She thumbed meaningfully at the clouds racing toward them, chasing the last scraps of sunlight away. “Always a joy to see you in town. Anything in particular you’re up to?”

“Bramble, you haven’t noticed anything strange lately, have you?” Graham asked, ignoring pleasantries.

She hesitated, a little put off by his haste. She wrapped her gloved fingers in her snow-crusted apron strings, considering. “Noticed anything? Acorn went off in a huff this morning, but I’m afraid he’s often in a huff in the mornings. Rather a knight owl. But...no, I can’t say that I’ve noticed anything strange, no more particularly than usual. Is there something I ought to be watching for?”

Graham glanced at the roof—goblins had crowded it once, pounced him flat. It was empty now, except for the snow. It was building up pretty high. He wondered if he should order the royal guards down to help clear the rooftops. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for the shingles to crack under the strain, especially when winter was only getting started. With more snow on the way some of these older structures might warrant a little extra care this year.

He couldn’t dance around the issue. “Bramble, I’m afraid there might be an upsurge in goblin activity.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, abandoned shovel falling into a snow-covered shrubbery. Of all the villagers, she had been most affected by what had happened, had been very pregnant and very sick for most of her captivity. “You can’t be serious, Majesty.”

“I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have some pretty solid suspicions. I don’t think they’ll do anything. The treaties are still being upheld as far as I know, and Manny is...apparently indisposed.” He glanced at Alexander, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, although he was playing with his scarf uneasily, too. “I don’t want to cause alarm. I only want everyone to be a little careful. Maybe don’t walk through the forests alone right now, not until we straighten this out.”

“Of course. Did you tell everyone else?”

“Acorn knows, but I haven’t seen anyone else yet. I’m being proactive. They hurt the town first, last time.” He looked at the worry cracking her normally sunny features and smiled warmly, reaching out and taking her hands. “It isn’t something to worry too much about, yet. They like causing mayhem, remember? Stealing scarves seems like just the sort of trouble they would love. I would recommend caution, of course, but don’t panic. We’ll take care of it before it gets dangerous.”

Relief softened her face. “Come inside, then, lad, let’s get you warmed up. King Graham, something hot to drink?”

“You know you don’t have to call me king,” he said, gently, for the thousandth time.

“I know, Majesty. Still. Cocoa?”

“Let me get this to Amaya first,” he said, hoisting the hammer in his hand to show it off, almost losing his balance as he misjudged its weight. “I’ll stop by after.”

Alexander made to follow Graham, but Graham gently shooed him toward the bakery with Bramble. Overhead, the garlands the villagers had used to decorate the town for the season swayed in the increasing wind.

Amaya’s shop always smelled of hot metal and oil, a tangy greasy feeling in the air that felt like sparks were going to crackle off his arms. Graham rapped his knuckles against the counter’s scraped and battered wood until Amaya shouted from her workroom, “In a minute, hold on to your crown!”

Bemused, he leaned back on his elbows, examining the array of weapons nailed to the walls. She eventually came out a side door, wiping her hands on a rag tucked into her skirt. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

“No one else knocks that pattern. Sounds like a song, the way you do it. Ridiculous, dreamy. Like a dopey lullaby. What’s up?”

“Got your hammer.” He dropped it onto the counter with a thump. He winced, having added yet another dent to the rest, but Amaya scooped it up as though it weighed nothing. “Acorn said you needed it back quick. What are you working on?”

“Something for Rosella,” Amaya said.

“Um. Something I should know about?” He still remembered the flaming poisoning raging sword of doom fiasco.

“New game board. Faster version of the home game Battle of Wits—the arrows hurt if they hit the players, ha! Adds some extra tension to rounds. Gotta hammer the board together, and the weight on this hammer in particular is perfect. Wanted to get it to her today if I could. I think she plans on teaching her brother how to play. Speaking of, he here?” She had pulled out said game while talking, hammering the top pieces with wild, ear-ringing abandon.

Graham flinched back from the clanging blows. “He’s with the Feys.”

“That hot chocolate’s gonna fatten him up. Good. Kid needs it.”

“There was something else, Amaya,” Graham said, trying to get a word in edgewise as she delivered a series of ringing whacks to the pieces.

“Has to do with Acorn, I bet. He was in a temper this morning. I mean, he’s always in a temper in the mornings. But he’s usually good at calming down. That bull training or whatever. Not this morning.” Amaya put down the hammer and looked expectant.

“I’m worried the goblins are stirring up trouble again,” he said.

“Ah.” She crossed her arms. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I have reason to believe they were in town,” he said, glancing at the shop windows—crusted with snow, hard to see through. Unless you were pressed right against it you wouldn’t see anyone outside. “They stole Acorn’s winter stock. All his scarves and gloves and socks.”

“That might explain why my order of icepicks and chisels has inexplicably gone walking.”

“They’re not arming themselves, do you think?” Graham asked. He could remember spearheads jabbed against his shoulders, could remember the wooden handles slamming against the back of his knees to bring him to their level before they yanked the ropes around his wrists.

“With a chisel? Unless they’re carving some lovely ice swans and bringing them to life with some black magic to attack us, I doubt it. The picks, maybe, but they’ve still got their spears as far as I know, so they don’t need my stuff. This might just be petty thievery. They like that. I never did get my bed back.”

“You didn’t want it back. I did offer to ask.”

“Not worth the effort.” Or the memories. “Still. I’ll keep an eye out. We started barring the gates again this year—this winter is colder, have you noticed? It's driving the wedzels into town, looking for warmer hearths to sleep against. If I catch one by my forge there will be hell to pay. But we’ll be more diligent. I’m not sure if the gates were closed last night or not. I assume I can expect a visit from Number One about patrol schedules?”

“As always. Number One likes to keep you involved.”

“Whisper thinks he’s flirting with me.”

“Whisper thinks everyone’s flirting with you.”

Amaya scowled. “Ridiculous. Still. We’ll be watchful. We’ve dealt with this before, and we’ll take care of it now. Don’t worry, Graham.”

“I’m supposed to be telling you not to worry, not the other way around,” Graham said.

Amaya laughed, handed Graham the completed board game (which weighed considerably more than the hammer had) and pushed him out the door. The light had a distinct gray quality to it, now, the clouds pushing into place. After the forge-warmed shop, the incoming storm’s biting chill nipped Graham’s cheeks, and he shrugged deeper into his cowl, shifting it up around his ears while trying not to lose his grip on Rosella’s order. It would be best to head back to the castle now, to get the royal guards involved, before the storm hit. The villagers would warn each other about the possible threat, and Number One and the other guards would soon have the place safely under patrol.

Wente and Bramble were crammed around a table with Alexander when Graham pushed through the door. A couple of early snowflakes also entered with him, though they melted the moment they hit the hot air. Everything tasted like cinnamon and sugar dust, and Wente had lit a large number of candles to keep the darkness at bay.

“It’s not at all like it was under Edward,” Wente was saying cheerfully, dunking a cookie in hot chocolate and getting crumbs all over the tabletop. “Your father is really doing some delightful expansion work. Used to be we’d lose half the lavender crop to rain. The irrigation system he implemented? That alone has done wonders for Daventry.”

“Oh, King Graham, let me get you a cup of something,” Bramble said, pushing to her feet. “Cider? Cocoa? Something a bit stronger? Your nose is five shades redder than usual.”

“The storm is on its way,” Graham said, shifting the board game but looking longingly at the sweet cider tap.

“Yes, but Daventry Castle is no more than ten minutes up the road. Come on, sit. We’ll get you warmed up before you head out. No goblins will want to move in weather like this, so don’t worry about raising alarm yet.”

“They’re armed with winter caps now, though,” Graham said, trying to spin it into a joke. “I’ve seen them in grass skirts—I'll bet they look ridiculous in scarves.”

“Wrapped around their helmets!” Wente accidentally dropped the last of his cookie in his cup and his mustache drooped as he looked forlornly at the soggy remnants.

“Mistletoe on their spears,” Bramble said.

“Wearing bright green gloves,” Alexander offered, quiet, with what might have been the trace of a smile.

They didn’t stay long—the storm truly was impending, and it made Graham anxious to get back home, but they stayed long enough to drain their mugs, to tell some awful jokes about snowmen, and to speculate about what the goblins might actually be up to. Nothing at all was decided, other than perhaps they’d sensed the oncoming worse winter and had decided to prepare in the only way they knew how: thievery.

By the end of their brief ten-minute chat, Bramble didn’t seem nearly as frightened as she had before, and Wente remembered he had a cupcake he wanted to send up with Graham for Royal Guard Number Two’s birthday (it smelled a little bit like syrup). Alexander had to carry the little paper box, as Graham was still struggling with the board game. He wouldn’t tell Alexander what it was, sure Rosella meant it to be a surprise, and mumbled something about it being for dull castle business.

Acorn stomped in right before the royalty left, shaking snowflakes from his cloak and demanding a frosted bear claw—Alexander looked horrified and confused before Wente handed over a specific type of pastry. He told Graham that the royal guards knew about the goblins now. Acorn had run into Numbers One and Two making a loose patrol loop through the forest, and No1 wanted to see him as soon as possible to confirm their strategy.

“Absolutely, on the way,” Graham said, and waved farewell to his friends and his citizens. Bramble and Wente both gave Alexander warm goodbyes, Wente offering a huge goodbye hug and Alexander gently refusing (although he openly smiled when he refused, definitely the first true smile Graham had seen). Acorn sprayed crumbs everywhere but still managed to cough out a dry “see ya,” and then the king and the prince walked back toward the castle, glowing with the contentment of companionship.

[talesofsonicasura]

Fallen Royalty

*warning: contains vivid curses and slight gore*

Trust is a very fragile thing. It can easily be shattered by misdirection, lies but the most devastating were secrets. And something very important is kept from someone by those they consider family, it can make a soul fall unto a very different path.

The Snatcher, a legendary and powerful spirit who ruled the Fallen Kingdom known as Subcon. He used to be a human prince married to a princess of a different kingdom named Vanessa. Before the prince and Vanessa lived happily ruling their kingdom but this wasn't a happy story. A misunderstanding had brought out a dark side within the princess. Her love unknown to the prince was actually toxic.

Anything that stood in her way of the prince had met brutal ends. Not even the young man himself wasn't safe. He purchased flowers for his sweetheart only to be accused of cheating by the insane princess now Queen. She locked the prince in the dungeon and unleashed dark magic all over Subcon freezing the land solid. The residents were cursed to live as spirits and the dark magic gave birth to the Snatcher from what was left of Subcon's prince.

Snatcher reigned over his fallen domain that became consumed by the forest around it. His magic kept Vanessa's frost contained in her castle and locked the witch away. Through his magic, the cursed citizens were given new bodies in the form of wooden puppets Snatcher crafted. Subcon Forest was created and its denizens lived in peaceful solitude. Then came the Demon King Satan.

Subcon brewed with so much magic that powerful demons sought it out. Demons dwelled in Gehenna and could only reach Assiah, the realm of man, through possessing an item there. However Subcon Forest's powerful magic could grant demons easy access to Assiah by harvesting its mystical energy. Something Satan wanted and wished to discuss with Snatcher himself. The discussion didn't turn out good for Satan.

The powerful specter had immediately been ready to refuse the Demon King access to Subcon's magic. Even though Snatcher hated outsiders, he understood the balance between their worlds and saw Satan as a threat! Being devious, Snatcher had the Demon King signed a contract. Before realizing what it read, Satan had already signed the paper. The demon began screaming in pain unaware of his own folly.

Snatcher could create powerful magical contracts that become true once signed. He had tricked Satan into hurting himself and his schemes greatly. The first was Satan could never possess any nonhuman for his power will burn it to ashes and humans will die from his possession. Second was the Demon Lord couldn't touch or set foot in Subcon for eternity and neither could his servants. And finally, a chunk of Satan's power became Snatcher's own along with a particular possession the Demon King would acquire in the future.

Satan cursed Snatcher before being banished back to Gehenna while the King of Subcon laughed. Though the spirit knew it wouldn't be the last time he'll see the demon or his schemes. The ghost didn't know what this key possession the Demon King would seek but he had enough time to prepare so he could eliminate it. However, he didn't suspect this.

A small boy ran through the busy crowd of Kyoto, Japan. He had dark blue hair and the brightest blue eyes leaking tears down his cheeks staining his white shirt and black shorts. His name was Rin Okumura and today wasn't a good day. The boy knew he was always different from everyone else. He was much stronger than what a 7 year old should be also he was more aggressive and easy to lash out at those who anger him.

People from kids to adults would look at him like a monster and call him a demon. He thought he could trust his foster father Shiro Fujimoto and his twin brother Yukio but clearly it was a lie. Rin had come back home a bit earlier than he usually did to see his Father and brother talking. What he heard broke his heart. Demons were real, Fujimoto and Yukio were exorcists that killed demons and Rin…was the bastard son of the Demon King Satan.

Rin had Satan's flames and they were sealed in a sword along with half of his soul, his demon half. Yukio being trained to kill demons by Shiro himself. His mother killed by exorcists the day they were born. A whole basket of lies and secrets hidden under his nose. It didn't take long for Rin to slip out of the monastery that served as home his whole life and run away. The boy didn't care where he was going but he had to get away.

Tears blinded his sight and sorrow messing with his rationality, Rin ran into the woods specifically a section banned from the public. A part of the forest where people disappeared and never came back, the Snatching Woods. After a few minutes of nonstop running, Rin sat on the ground and cried. He didn't notice how the forest around him had transformed into something otherworldly.

Glowing mushrooms of yellow, pink and red shining in a garden around him, a large picket fence with spikes lit in flame, a large marsh like pool surrounded by pumpkins, wisps of blue, green and orange floated about and finally the large tower shaped mushroom house that the boy currently sat on the front doorstep. Something large and dark purple began to slither through the home, no doubt searching for the crying source.

The dark purple thing was a large ghost. He had a noodle like body with thin arms each carrying two large claws, a mane of fluffy fur around his head, bright yellow childish looking eyes and a jack o' lantern smile with two small fangs. The towering ghost looked at the small crying child in utter confusion. "Hey kiddo? How the peck did you get all the way here?" The ghost questioned with his raspy and light static echoing voice.

Rin looked up from crying to see the ghost hovering above his head. "I don't know and I don't care! Rather die lost in a forest than live a lie." Rin cried. That clearly got the ghost's unwanted attention. "Why the peck do you want to die because of a lie? What kind of lie would get a kid this depressed?" The ghost asked as Rin looked back at the spirit. He definitely had to know the kid's story.

"I lived in a monastery with my twin brother since I could remember. I never knew that Father Fujimoto and my brother were keeping secrets from me. I walked in to hear their conversation about me. Demons are real and evil. Father Fujimoto teaching my brother to be an exorcist and...I'm the bastard son of Satan! My mother was killed because of it and I learned half of my soul was stripped out then sealed away." Silence carried through the woods once Rin spoke that last sentence.

The ghost figured Satan would find a new way into Assiah but...this was going too far even for him. And he was Snatcher, a spirit that ate unlucky souls and toss their husks away like a banana peel! However, he would never use his own child, even though he didn't have one, for a sick game like this. A particular girl and a purple hat flashed through his mind. He was going to regret this but he didn't care. No way in hell was this kid going to suffer from his bastard old man.

"Then to hell with them!" Snatcher exclaimed grabbing the boy's attention. "Kid, I ain't a good person but even I know common sense. Just because you are the son of an idiotic peckneck demon doesn't make you him! The fact that your own foster father not only kept important information like this from you but now your brother is wrapped around his finger. Not all demons are evil. Some of us are mischievous or just want to be left alone." The ghost began.

"You have the right to know your origin and your own mother. Plus, that peckneck doesn't know the damage he has done sealing half your soul away! Your power even though suppressed is unstable without your demon half. It messes with your mind making you aggressive as it fights to the surface. You are a walking infernal bomb capable of wiping out half the continent and yourself by reaching a major mental meltdown! You are a person, a child for pecking sake! YOU ARE NOT SATAN!!!" Snatcher exclaimed voice roaring with irritation at the cause of the boy's misery.

Rin stood shellshocked at what he witnessed. Other than Father Fujimoto and his brother, no one ever helped or cared about him. To see a ghost he just met get so angry at his mistreatment made the pain in his heart fade. "Thank you." Rin said as Snatcher looked at the boy. "Boy, what's your name?" Snatcher asked as Rin wiped his tears. "Rin Okumura." The boy replied. "Rin Okumura? You can call me Snatcher, boy. How would you like to stay with me in Subcon Forest?" Snatcher asked as Rin had a look of surprise.

"You aren't safe staying with an exorcist who sees you only as the Son of Satan and potential threat but also filling your brother's head with half baked truths. That kind of person can turn your own sibling into your potential murderer even as an unwanted consequence. I can teach you how to forge your own path and control the power within you. You see, I met your blood father and suckered him into giving up part of his power and any potential of escaping Gehenna." Snatcher explained conjuring a ball of blue flame in his hand.

"Pretty." Rin said looking at the glowing blue flame. "This pretty flame can also be used to craft some powerful spells as well. Along with fixing your unstable power, I'll be teaching you magic and the ways of Subcon. This place will be your safe haven and no secrets will be kept from you here. A clone crafted from my magic will take your place so no one will suspect a thing. What do you say kiddo? Want to live with me in Subcon Forest?" Snatcher asked offering the boy his hand.

Rin looked at the hand and remembered all the years living with Father Fujimoto and his twin brother. What glittered gold slowly rotted away to faded gold paint old wood. The boy reached his hand towards Snatcher's and took it. The deal was struck as blue light surged throughout Subcon forest. Many unaware of the single act that sent ripples throughout the world and it's future. 9 years later…

A 16 year old Rin Okumura was being attacked in the home of True Cross Monastery. A powerful demon hunting him had attacked the boy out in public forcing to realize he wasn't normal or human. Father Fujimoto had taken him back to the momastery fending off hordes of undead demons coming after them. However, one demon possessing a teenager had crashed a truck into the monastery giving it and other demons easy access to the sanctuary.

Rotten dogs, growing demonic fungi and any other unholy creature bridled with maggots, rot and decayed flesh were creeping towards the young man, head priest and his follow exorcists. Father Fujimoto faced Rin who wielded a blue scabbard sword in hand. Running a hand through his short gray hair and dark eyes was prepared to shove Rin into the hidden basement for safety only for the boy to push him down.

"Rin! What's the meaning of this?! You have to run!" The man shouted only to be confused when the boy began chuckling. "Why should I listen to the words of a liar? I'll handle these pecknecks myself." Rin spoke earning confusion from Fujimoto and the monastery men. "Pecknecks? What kind of insult is that?!" The possessed boy laughed only to jump back as a burst of blue flames erupted from under him.

"If I knew you guys were going to attack me earlier than I would have put on my best clothes already! Oh well! A quick costume change won't hurt. Ain Soph Aur!" Rin said before snapping his fingers. He ignited into blue flames to the group's horror and absolute confusion before it died down. The young man was completely changed from head to toe. His suit was replaced with a dark violet long coat with azure flame, a dark blue tunic bearing a peculiar symbol that looked like a spirit surrounding a burning tree, black tights often seem worn by royalty, fancy black Italian shoes, white gloves and a violet top hat with a yellow ribbon.

His ears were pointed as he had small vampirish like fangs and hints of yellow in his blue eyes. He was also much taller having 5 inches more than Fujimoto's 6'5 height. In his hand was a long dark blue umbrella with dark violet flame like flares on the fabric and a yellow handle. The air Rin now carried was of royal but very ominous and eerie compared to his cheerful street punk one. "Rin?" Fujimoto questioned.

He was caught off guard by Rin's sudden change but the boy merely ignored. "I'm giving you demons a chance to leave with your souls intact. I can't guarantee you'll even survive the trip to Gehenna if I slay you instead of the exorcists." Rin said with a wicked glint in his eyes despite his jovial smile. "You think we are afraid of your clothes change and a dumb umbrella? Sorry brat but you're going back to Gehenna to your father Satan!" The possessed boy laughed only to suddenly flinch.

The air was flooding with instant killing intent that leaked from Rin as he looked at the demons with a disturbing malice filled smile. "I gave you a chance but you spat on it. Prepare to die because your contract has just expired!" The young man laughed as his voice sounded distorted saying the last few words. Rin suddenly vanished from sight only for a group of demonic fungus to explode in blue flames!

Rin burst out from the burning blue mass almost as if he teleported from underneath them. He faced his umbrella at the demons he hovered above as blue flame spheres manifested at the tip before firing them like a gun. Multiple ghoulish corpses and vile living fungus ignited which crashing sphere burning in pure anguish. The horrifying part to the child possessing demon was the flames were actually destroying the demons instead of sending them back to Gehenna!

Demons possessing objects or people couldn't die in Assiah since their real bodies existed in Gehenna but Rin's fire was burning both through their souls! The chilling part was Rin was singing with the carnage. "Run along this forest trail. Now you'll find you'll failed. Never gonna reach that goal, now give me your soul! Some advice, don't think twice! Should have known I wasn't nice! Off with your head! Tata, your dead!" The boy sang as he continued his carnage. However the next few lines was when the demon truly realized that initiated a fight with someone that Satan himself couldn't win against.

"Got no more use for you! When you sign that dotted line you should've thought it through! Your subconscious holding on clinging to your fear. Every haunt just moved along but now the SNATCHER'S HERE!!!" The demon's face along with Fujimoto's grew dramatically pale. "You?!! You know the Snatcher?!" The demon questioned shivering in terror within his host's body. Rin merely laughed at the demon's frightened words.

"Know him? More than just that little peckneck! He's my true father! Not your dumbass king or this lying priest bastard that kept so many secrets from me! He treated me like his own son and taught me all I know. He was honest with me and actually gave a crap about me for being myself, Rin Okumura, not Satan's bastard son!" Rin roared as Fujimoto looked a bit hurt. "And don't think Satan will pop up here either. My father's magic will immediately expel him upon possession. It was listed in the contract the Demon King was tricked into signing." That had gotten the demon to literally piss itself in its host body.

"Enough talk! Time for the finish!" The young man shouted as he began waving his umbrella and danced as if he was on Broadway. "And the weird and the wild should have left you all beguiled. That is that, you little bastard child. Rid my jobs that took time and bask! Now it's time to take you to task!" A ring of blue flames surrounded the remaining demons preventing any chance of escape.

"As the ink is slowly drying, it's time you get dying! Your contract has expired, sleep now in the fire! You gonna meet your match! Your soul belongs to Snatcher! Now let's sing higher!" The flaming ring grew smaller as the flames burned brighter and more intense. It was so bright that Rin's face was shadowed revealing a terrifying jack o' lantern eyes and mouth smiling at the torture.

"AND THE WEIRD AND THE WILD SHOULD'VE LEFT YOU ALL BEGUILED. THAT IS THAT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD CHILD. RIP MY JOBS THAT TOOK TIME AND BASK! NOW IT'S TIME TO TAKE YOU TO TASK. THE INK IS SLOWLY DRYING AND IT'S TIME THAT YOU GET DYING! YOUR CONTRACT HAS EXPIRED! SLEEP NOW IN THE FIRE! YOU HAVE MET YOUR MATCH! FOR YOUR SOUL BELONGS TO SNATCHER! BURN TO ASH IN MY MELODIC BONFIRE!!" With those last lines, the ring of fire exploded into a large burning blaze.

Every demon and their host burned away until their screams became silent and bodies turn to ash. The young man snapped his fingers as the blazing blue flames extinguish themselves before Rin glared down at Father Fujimoto. "Rin…" Fujimoto spoke only for Rin to interrupt him. "Don't say a word. I learned about the truth coming home 9 years ago. I watched you through a clone crafted by my father's magic and gave you multiple chances to tell the truth." The boy started.

"Did you know that sealing my soul's demon half made my power so unstable that I was a walking timebomb? Not only did you kept secrets and lie to me but you put everyone in danger. You didn't see as a child or son but a potential threat because of my damned sperm donor. If you did, you would have told me and trained me to be an exorcist than just Yukio. I wanted to die that day but Snatcher saved me from potentially killing myself." Fujimoto flinched and looked truly hurt once realizing what he had done.

"I won't kill you or get revenge for keeping secrets because you spared my life instead of killing me or my brother on the spot when we were babies. However, you, Yukio and everyone in this room are no longer my family. A true family would see me for me, not some bastard son of Satan or a potential threat. And if you go after me, I won't protect you from the full might of the Subcon Kingdom! You have been warned." Rin explained as he took the sword that contained his power before stuffing it in his hat like a magician.

"Rin! Please don't go! I'm sorry! It was for your own good!" Fujimoto cried out but Rin merely ignored him. "Goodbye Shiro Fujimoto." And with those last words, Rin Okumura disappeared in a flash of blue fire. Shiro Fujimoto fell to the floor and weeped. Secrets were a dangerous thing and he didn't listen to his friend's warning. The price he paid was his own son's trust now in the hands of the infamous Snatcher. Yukio came home to his weeping father and the approaching pike of mistrust that crucified his father's heart. It wasn't anyone's day at the True Cross Monastery.

And that's it! This was written last year so if the writing style looks different then that's why. Blue Exorcist was one of the first Mature mangas I ever bought, I got Volumes One to Three.

And honestly, I feel really bad for Rin. His brother tried to kill him, his foster father kept TONS of secrets, his friends immediately turned on him for his heritage despite him saving their asses and trying to regain their trust, or just being marked as a target for existing. I mean WTF?!

Poor boy needs better friends and a hug because I don't think Kuro or Ukobach(from the anime) could help for so long. This was also one of my early attempts into writing Snatcher before I got the game myself.

I did watch someone play it quite a few times but limited my experiences to the first three end chapter bosses and Snatcher's area being Subcon Forest. This was something I usually do before deciding to buy a game.

Snatcher honestly felt perfect for this especially taking the dad role. When you take his experiences in the ghost's past life to now, betrayal and mistrust are two big factors.

Even if Snatcher is an antagonist character, he does have some morals and personality than just the common soul eating specter with a grudge. This also takes place after the events in a Hat In Time.

And yes. Rin was singing 'Your Contract Has Expired' cover by Man On The Internet although the last bit was abridged on purpose. If this Rin had a theme, it would be the Phase Two Version theme of Your Contract Has Expired.

Anyways, until next time folks! Smell ya later.

This is an Phase Two Version of Man on the Internet's Your Contract Has Expired, done by Ben Newsome. Please read the description because they cited this song belongs to their original owner and not stole it. Poor guy doesn't need anymore accusations involving copyright.

[spaceskam]

92 or 98 for malex? 💗💗💗

92. “I want you to be happy.” & 98. “Take a deep breath.”

ao3

For a king who had been hailed as a genius, Alex found that Michael was a goddamn idiot.

“What is wrong with you?” Alex breathed, tears already covering his face as he stared at the man he loved more than anything. It was late and the rest of the castle was asleep aside from a few guards, leaving them stuck with speaking quietly over candlelight.

Alex Manes had been found as a toddler, abandoned and hungry with an infection on his leg. The queen at the time had taken pity on him and brought him home, letting a doctor do what he needed so he could learn to walk again. With a specially crafted leg funded by the royal family, Queen Nora gave him to her staff as sort of a side project. He grew up inside the castle as the son of 20 different women who doted on him like their own and 20 different men who thought it was their duty to teach him to be a man. It made him skilled in a vast number of trades as the king and queen watched. 

By the time he was 10, they realized how intelligent and capable he was and began letting other, higher staff members teach him things like how to read and write. He was 15 when he was granted tutoring sessions alongside Prince Michael where they became close friends, but things didn’t start becoming complicated until they were 16.

King Heinar died, leaving the throne to Michael who was panicked and sad, but he took on the duty. Alex took it upon himself to help him to the best of his ability, but they soon found that their attraction ran deeper than simply friendship. They talked through royal plans while naked in bed most nights, sharing thoughts and ideas and it never bothered Alex when Michael passed them off as his own.

At 17, Queen Nora suggested that, for appearances' sake, it would be best if Alex officially became a Gentleman of the Bedchamber. It would explain why they were so close without stirring the wrong kind of gossip. There had already been publications of drawings with Michael as a giant baby with Alex spoon-feeding him political ideologies. People were already assuming, so he agreed.

Alex’s duties for the last five years as Gentleman of the Bedchamber was to be Michael’s closest companion, to help him dress, to wait on him when he ate, to guard his chambers when he was most vulnerable. He quite typically did none of that. His sword and prosthetic leg usually laid beside them on the bed for easy access, but no guarding or servent-esque duties took place. Alone, they were equals. That was their rule.

Which worked quite fine until Michael had to begin courting a young princess. He needed heirs after all and that was something Alex couldn’t provide. It made it harder to steal time alone with him, harder to show affection, harder to stop his heart from aching in a way he couldn’t heal. Because as of tomorrow, Michael would be married and he would need to begin working to provide heirs. Loyalty was no longer an option.

“What is wrong with you?” Alex repeated, feeling disgusted not for the first time as he stared at Michael. He looked sad and lost like he did most days lately. “How dare you ask that of me? I know you are a king, but I am not your plaything. I never have been and I refuse to let you treat me as if I am.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Michael insisted, struggling to keep his voice down, “I just need you there, beside me, to give me strength.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Alex scoffed, “What we have is ending tomorrow morning for good and you want me to stand beside you as it happens? You want me to stand in front of everyone as you rip my heart out of my chest?”

Michael stared at him, bottom lip quivering as he let his tears flow freely. Alex assumed he didn’t have any control over them. He gasped a desperate little breath and wiped at his face, but Alex didn’t back down from staring. He knew he had no right to be angry, he knew what he was getting into when he first laid with a king, but, God, he was.

“It’s normal for kings to have mistresses,” Michael said weakly, the same argument he brought up every single time they’d spoke about this since it came apparent that he would need to get married, “It’s normal. We can still be together. I don’t love her, it’s pure politics. I’m sure she’ll have her fair share of men as well.” 

“You don’t understand,” Alex said, shaking his head, “You simply don’t understand. Mistresses are normal because you have power. This is all power. The fact that I am forced to have a title simply to be close to you is all power. And I don’t want a love that has any sort of fucked up imbalance in it any more than I’ve already accepted. I refuse to be some sort of mistress. You either have only me or you don’t have me at all. That’s how it’s been for years and that’s the only way I’ll take you.”

“Alex,” Michael begged, coming closer. Alex took a step back. “Alex, this isn’t an option for me. I have to produce heirs.”

“I know,” Alex said, sniffling as he wiped his eyes, “Which is why I can’t stand beside you at your wedding. I’ll attend, I have to, and I’ll take up duties as the Gentleman of the Bedchamber, but I no longer can be anything more. I can’t take it.”

“Fine!” Michael said, falling to his knees and taking Alex’s hand to place over his heart, “Fine! I won’t touch her! I’ll marry her for appearances and I’ll only touch you. Fuck heirs, fuck it all, nothing matters without you.”

“And what if people find out that your marriage hasn’t been consumated? What happens when she asks you won’t touch her? And what happens when she is publically and ritualistically shamed by your people for not producing heirs? She doesn’t deserve that either,” Alex said, “The only way is to stop. You marry her, you learn to love her, you have children with her.”

“I don’t want that! I want you!”

“Michael,” Alex said, resting his hand on his wet cheek. His face was a wreck from crying and Alex assumed he couldn’t look much different. Still, he looked in his eyes and told him the truth. “I want you to be happy. For that to happen, you need to let go.”

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head, “I can’t be happy without you.”

He dropped his head forward, resting on Alex’s stomach as he wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t seem to have many intentions to let go. It was times like these that Alex realized that, although they’d grown up at the same time under the same roof, they were taught many different things. For example, Alex was taught that all good things come to an end eventually. Like when Sir Aubrey, the only other man he’d met with an artificial leg, died the night he told Alex he had a surprise trick to teach him at his next sword lesson. Years later, Alex still wondered what it was.

And, years from now, he’d wonder what it would be like to have had Michael to himself for eternity.

“I’m going to sabotage my own wedding,” Michael said into his stomach. Alex huffed a humorless laugh, losing a bit of inhibition as he dropped his crutch and combed through Michael’s hair for the last time. Michael held him upright easily. “I-I’ll insult the priest. I’ll forget what I’m meant to say. I’ll trip and need a doctor.”

“Your new wife doesn’t deserve that. Give her a nice day,” Alex insisted. Michael squeezed him.

“Stop it, you’re too kind. If you must push me away like this, you’ll have to make me hate you,” Michael stated firmly. Alex laughed softly, closing his eyes as he slowly started to get to his knees. Michael helped him, eyes still full of sadness as they found themselves face to face. Alex wanted to kiss him, to grab him and run away, to go somewhere that they could be together without consequence.

But Michael was a good leader, the best they’d had in years, and Alex played a crucial role in making that happen. Neither of them could leave for the sake of their country.

“I’ll make you hate me,” Alex promised, taking his face in his hands, “Just you wait.”

“Good luck,” Michael said, chin raised and jaw set in determination despite his wet eyes, “Nothing you could do would make me hate you. I lo-”

“Shh,” Alex said, shaking his head as he put his thumb to those lips that he’d kissed daily since he was 16 years old, “Take a few deep breaths. You need to calm down before you go back to your room.”

Michael shook his head. 

“I’m not leaving until I figure out a way around this,” Michael stated, “We think best together, we always have. If anyone could come up with a way to make this work for everyone, it’s us.”

Alex’s shoulders dropped as well as his hands, scared to touch Michael when he was speaking that way. It was too easy to fall into habits he hadn’t had the chance to break quite yet when he did. He still wanted to touch him, still wanted to find a solution, and it made it harder to stand his ground when Michael wanted to do the same.

“Michael, we’ve already tried. We’ve been trying,” Alex said weakly. Michael looked at him for what felt like an eternity and Alex stared back. It was easy to get lost in his face again and just think about what could’ve been.

But then Michael’s eyes widened.

“We haven’t tried one thing,” Michael said. Alex, refusing to get his hopes up, eyed him suspiciously. “We haven’t tried talking to her.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“I mean,” Michael said, already moving to get to his feet. He grabbed Alex’s crutch on the way before holding out his hand to pull Alex up as well. “We need to talk to my soon-to-be wife. Maybe she has someone I don’t know about that she had to give up for me. Or maybe we can have her fake a pregnancy and adopt. There are other options, but if she’s going to be my wife, she’ll need to be included. And I want to keep you, so we need to ask her. Come on.”

“Come on? Michael, it’s the middle of the night,” Alex said, though his heart was beating in his chest. He knew telling this woman would be a very risky thing and she could easily confirm the suspicions of people, but she was their only option. 

“Yes, and our wedding is in the morning. We’re low on time,” Michael said, pulling him just a little bit closer, “I refuse to lose you, Alexander. You are a gift from God himself and I don’t intend to give you back.”

Michael kissed him to seal his promise and Alex was couldn’t say no. This was their last chance to have a future and if that meant doing something reckless, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much to stand beside him as he married someone else if he knew he was still all his.

[captainkurosolaire]

Reverie of Winning

“She has a name, you bastard!”

At no chance would that sufficiently hit Shiro who was calculated always and right now as he began returning to his evil ways, mental tormenting drew satisfaction. All forms had thresholds he felt compelling and screaming other demon’s floating inside him screaming the gap of their power was tremendously in his favor. The indifference's were believed absurdly countless to count. An aetherial icy hand began molding and attempting to seal in his block. More ice surrounded Shiro’s entire frame that often was always around him in a transparent bubble. He had a certain radius that kept him clean and secure from filth and pollution. A protective aura of sorts or defined as his safe-zone. The ice that spawned forth was rapid and not in any sense logically gathered as his corruption defied his normal limits. The Captain predicted a counter only under the many battles they contested his better instincts and judgments kicked in. He followed up in his motion high-kick while allowing them to remain linked to trace behind his spine and unstrap his revolver charged with high dense explosive hollow rounds. Taking a point of aim. Shiro laughed between the true portion of this fight began shaping full-on something associated with likeness of a Voidal presence alarming around the stage of this contest. Horns and demonic runes began burning his flesh and replacing his birthed markings. “Did I hit a nerve?” Before Kuro could hit the trigger Shiro ran his finger into the barrel jamming and stuffing it with a diamond icicle shard perfectly sculpted. Causing a clogged discharge and a catastrophic boom. At the same time releasing Kuro’s leg letting the forced impact entirely boom him ever comically over to the other side of the Ruins from a discharged recoil. He ate it up. Shiro manically became more unstable like a misperformance tune on a violin string. So this is what he sacrificed and sold his every remaining piece of humane for..?                   Good riddance. This power activated only in unmatched hatred and only festered parasitical growth. Captain’s entire frame clashed into a heap of old rubble as many additional falling slid onto his downed canvas in a burial pile. Shiro began a hymn step in casualty coolness while seeking to lecture and berate his cringe of a foe. “I uncovered recently in my travels all your memories of your loved one have stripped from you too, ironic, opposing my rightful claim in trying to get mine returned. However, I’d ask what you were doing coming here for this Treasured Relic was your intentions really any far from my own? Do you really believe yourself better than me, somehow, at all? That you could forgive yourself for letting that part of you freed.  Yes… You threw all the other Stars to fall, those other so-called gems you go on about, everything and cast them aside for her sake, even abandoning the seas pledges in the pursuit of straying to whatever pact once that made you somewhat mildly amusing as a character. Though what makes your bond more important than mine? My sake is just as valued as yours! Losses of glory are always painful no matter so tell me your differences, fiend!” Long absence and pause happened on Captain’s side as he had to work much harder to catch his breathing from a hit like that. Suddenly softer pieces of rubble over-top began rolling down the pile. His hand breaking forth before shoveling himself into the landslide. Scratches, bruises, and blood already began dripping from him in disarray his eyebrow on his skin peeled back. His rigid lungs forced him to cough out the dust and debris.

As he slowly began to reclaim his posture. “Who said anything about mine is more important in comparison? I legitimately and full-hardheartedly messed up. It’s not my first-voyage or time, probably won’t be the last. I’ve been on the verge of being n’ the whole happily ever after sunset many times and I screwed them all up. There’s no blame outside my own. Look at me. I get n’ these types of injuries and situations all the time. This isn’t anything unusual, I’m a handful in every sense, sometimes, there’s more pain in that than the actual intended pleasure. Even to other Voidsents on my crew formerly, or mythical creature’s beyond mind, I can be an exhausting nightmare to even them. Ye think that’s healthy or stable or somehow certified sane? Doesn’t matter even if you’re eternal or everlasting or blessed by some creator that’s bound to taint and soil any waters. She cast me out and extended mercy on me and freed me even as I turned to the epitome of fright, a prediction she foresaw, even when I wanted to fog from reality.”

 “T’ sow these rifts like this one I can’t make my departure soured without learning. No one deserves more happiness than what Ayla gave and should have gotten or any of the recognition I lacked in providing… I’ll always have a part of me that love’s her and owe every fortune I obtain here on and out as her claim too. But In order for that to transpire reassuringly all that I formerly had in the light and was known for my fame and all my signs of openly living must forever be the shadows ownership for now. Nightmares were meant to end when eyes are opened! So... WITH THAT BEING SAID. I’ll show you who I’m fighting for in this!” He took on a charge once again reinvigorated even knowing in every sense this was futile, outclassed and outmatched. Last time he came close to defeating Shiro first-time it took him preparing and actually expecting the battle. Using Grade 2 - Wyvern-Obsidian to carve through the Diamond Ice. He didn’t have that courtesy in this encounter. The pirate wasn’t selfishly throwing these in some self-made vault or intending to use any of the trophies acquired in usage. He wanted to secure and put them into a slumber further away from the worst in his sector corner. To let them be with either their people of origins or to reside with researchers in museums or artistic wonders if they didn’t forebode troublesome damnation. Regardless to Shiro’s belief the Captain had no plans or intentions to encounter his bettered-rival here in this map and next adventure and when he did stumble across and saw with his first sight. It broke a cord inside him with a sign of sympathy and regret. Shiro believes there was no such thing as a pirate of compassion. He was wrong alongside with that whole illusion of wishing-well when someone was in a compromised and fallen mood was a ruse. It was understandable coming from the upper echelon in society, people always swindled and played the same card to merely keep a connection or contact with status closely to them. There wasn’t an entire flaw in Shiro’s jaded thoughts though there was more depth he refused. Realms were led by statistics. It’s why categorization and separation hierarchies had to exist. There was realism and there was idealism. Those that weren’t taught the exact same ways as others those so-called privileged weren’t known by the same eld textbooks or hand-me-down spew from fossilized oaks. Those that had nothing but a scrap of their own knowledge and perception crafted their own past droid teachings. Eventually, there was one part of a group line that coherently believed in all formed free. Fears of free often were doubled-sided, naturally, as one part of the definition of free could simply just mean pure anarchy and chaos an excuse for lawlessness. While another believed that any and all forms of corrupt and foul could exist no matter the origins it was all individual influenced and decided. And shouldn’t be determined until active clarity was known but over time this became a worthless fight. It was easier just to knuckle up for these arguments and drive home their value.    (Previous)  — /References/ —   ♫ ‘Black Holes’ — (Next Page)

[hervoidfury]

Gratitude [ Tribute to Jon Huber, 1979 - 2020 ]

He knew exactly how to captivate a person both in ring and out of the ring, you could see it in his eyes; the way he moved, the way he spoke ... His work will never be forgotten, Luke Harper and Brodie Lee will never ever be forgotten. Thank you Jon for bringing life into both these characters and most importantly for making everyone smile with your hilarious bits on Being The Elite 🙏❤

- My Original Female Wrestling Character is built around one of my all time favorite role models Selena Gomez, her name is Vanessa and she's one of the best characters I have built in my life. You can see just how much Vanessa had been impacted by Jon's infectious light. ❤🙏

Heartbreak comes in many forms, the most painful form is the loss of someone who defined the meaning of an angel; in life you meet individuals that leave a lasting impact in your life and for Vanessa, Jon Huber was one of those people — initially the two had never spoken beyond pleasantries whenever Vanessa trained with her best friend Stephen Farrelly, and even then she could see just how friendly and kind the male was, which presented a clear contrast to his on screen persona.

Jon was more than a wrestler, he was an entertainer, a person that captivated you with his words, in ring skills and most of all his intimidating, strong presence in the ring. That's how devoted he was to his craft, behind the scenes he presented a vibrant supportive soul that loved to bring a smile onto anyone he crossed paths with.

Vanessa recalled two of the many significant moments in which he truly left an impact in her life and career as an in ring performer, …

__

— 2016,

“ Stephen wasn't lying when he said it was a party ” muttered Jordan as she and Vanessa stood at a corner watching their fellow peers chat with one another.

It was a rarity to find time to just relax and enjoy yourself in this hectic business however luckily, just two days before a pay per view was set. Stephen decided to host what he referred to as a small party to help his friends relax, Vanessa being the only non WWE performer felt a bit like an outsider despite having many friends within the company.

“ Yeah he wasn't ” muttered Vanessa, Jordan sensed the distress on her best friend and gave her a smile. “ Don't worry I'll be fine, I am gonna get some water to drink and get some fresh air ” she adds making a beeline for the kitchen.

Taking the glass of water, she went out to the back porch and took a deep breath to calm her nerves, she hated how easily her anxiety got to her. Come on, you're better than this! She chastised herself silently.

After a few minutes she went back inside to find Jordan, who was conversing with Jon Huber and his wife Amanda. Vanessa admired Jon's dedication to his character but even more so she admired the love he carried for his wife and sons. It was a rarity to find in this world, Jordan immediately smiled at Vanessa. “ I am sure you remember Vanessa, Jon ”

Jon smiled, “ I do, Stephen talks highly of you and I had seen clips of your matches. You got a light in you every time you step into the ring ”

“ Our son loves your show as well, he goes around the saying ... I am gonna be as strong as Alex Russo ” adds Amanda smiling.

It wasn't as often that people mentioned Vanessa's past as a Disney child, so it definitely warmed her heart to know that not only she can do what she loves but she can also inspire the younger generation — “ That's so sweet to hear! ”

“ You seem a bit anxious, is everything alright? ” said Jon.

“ It's nothing, I sometimes struggle with anxiety ” Vanessa shrugs.

“ Don't belittle your struggles, you got this far — you're a fighter ” said Jon, “ You both are, and one day the world will recognize the change you ladies are trying to bring into this world ”

Both Jordan and Vanessa smiled in gratitude, the conversation changed and flowed so easily as the couple began talking about their kids — Vanessa's heart always warmed when seeing love right in front of her and that was what Jon and Amanda held for one another, true love.

__

“ Vanessa, Are you okay? ”

Much like Vanessa, Jordan had been gutted by the passing of Jon. She recalled seeing him in Chikara here and there but only ever got to speak him during her time in WWE and in AEW as well.

“ I want to do a tribute episode on my podcast, to celebrate his life because so many people only see what is on screen and a rarity got to see the man behind the characters he played. So I am gonna contact Amanda and hope this all goes well because I feel like I need to do this to pay my respects ” said Vanessa.

Jordan nodded, fondly remembering the last interaction they both had with him during a taping of Dark, backstage where he congratulated the pair on their impeccable in ring work. “ I'll help ya out! ”

“ That'll be greatly appreciated ” said Vanessa, smiling as she remembered meeting him right before she made her debut in AEW.

__

— 2020,

“ Okay, you can do this! ” said Vanessa as she stood near the entrance area, today she was set to make her debut as the mysterious entity who would be assisting Jon Moxley to deter and throw off his opponent MJF.

“ Hey kid, you alright? ”

Vanessa turned around to see Jon smiling at her, apparently he had heard about her debut which up until now only a handful of people knew about it. “ I am nervous, and excited. I don't know how the social media sphere will react ”

“ They will be happy, of course some might not be but that's the way it is. What matters is when you go out there? You show them why you are the best at what you do! I saw Jordan doing just that when she got here, you will be making that exact same statement that'll get them talking ” said Jon encouragingly. “ Then, when all is set in stone! You unleash that beast within you and show them why the wrestling world calls you the Hardcore Queen ” he adds smiling.

“ You think so? ” said Vanessa with a smile.

“ Oh I know so! Those clips I saw were just a glimpse of what you hide inside of you and tonight you will throw that first stone in, that'll have the fans coming back to tune in and see more of the incredible talented girl you are ” said Jon.

Vanessa sighed in relief, feeling the bundle nerves slowly leave her body. “ Thank you, for always reaching out and showing your support be it through text or social media. It means a lot to me ”

“ Remember what I told you and Jordan, you ladies will change the business, five years, ten years, fifteen years from now, your legacy will always resonate ” said Jon.

Vanessa nods, fighting back the tears. “ Thank you, truly ”

“ Go out there and knock them off their feet ” said Jon smiling.

__

— Instagram,

@jadebug92; Around 2016, I had ran into @brodielee in a party hosted by @wwesheamus before that we didn't actually have proper conversations beyond pleasantries here and there whenever I saw him. But even then I was captivated by the way he carried himself, we truly got to talk when he saw how anxious I was due to the fact that parties were never my cup of tea.

He saw me and @jtofficial at a corner and was so kind and gracious with us, telling us how proud he was of our work and the effort we put day in and day out. One of the things he said that will always stick by me was " You and Jordan will change this business " and that's what we set out to do. His belief in us was a breath of fresh air. 💕

We saw the love he carried for his wife and it was beautiful to witness something so raw and real, he was a family man and a genuine soul. ❤

When I got to AEW, he was one of the first people to welcome me. And I got to witness him be his true self as Mr. Brodie Lee, leading a large group of talent with his wisdom, strength and experience in the business.

Thank you so much Jon for your undying support and love to myself and every young wrestler out there, I send my thoughts and prayers to his wife, his children, his family and all of those close to him. Your spirit will shine on for all eternity, Fly High ❤🙏

Note; this is only the beginning ... I will try my best to keep his memory through every piece of writing. Because he was truly someone you cannot forget 🙏🙏

@worldxwonders

[karoiseka]

#24 Beam

((The idea had started yesterday, but written today.  This may get expanded even more later, but... finally.  5.3 spoilers as usual for me!  Have some happy sappy [longish] shippiness))

The grandiose hot halls of the Labyrinth blurred past as Karoiseka ran down the deserted quarters. What a difference from the first time she had entered the maze! Those years past, still fresh from the glow of what she had thought was defeating Lahabrea and the Black Wolf, and definitely having destroyed his Ultima Weapon, she had happily joined the band of researchers at Saint Coinachs.  She had always been curious about the Crystal Tower soaring above Silver Tear Lake, the blue glowing in the night like a beacon calling out to her.  Learning that her friend Cid was going to help in unlocking the secrets had her solidly on board with the plan, having no problem fetching materials from every corner of Eorzea. 

And on one of those quests she found herself surrounded by a mysterious voice, light and teasing as she had been beaten to her target.  A race it was to be then, and one she was determined to win. To her surprise, the mystery voice was impressed and not upset, leaving her rewarded with what she had sought all along.  Finding a handsome red-haired historian-archer behind all the games was a fascinating development.  The two were soon found all around Mor Dhona black and red heads pouring over tomestones or an old textbook, practicing archery out on the crystal hills, or sometimes even just in the cafe outside the Rising Stones sharing a meal while deep in conversation.  

Exploration of the Labyrinth well underway by the time they finally got the doors unlocked to the main Tower had lent enough time for Karo to see through the arrogant exterior of her friend and know it was his own way of protecting himself from the outside world and what they thought of him and his strange red eye.  She cared not, but enjoyed teasing him about always having a tale of one hero or another to look up to and emulate in some form of his life.  When they finally opened the great hulking doors to the Tower with the help of Doga and Unei, Karo was protective of her friend, agreeing that he needed to stay behind while she cleared the dangers.  He was there for her at the end though when crippled by another echo flashback and defenseless after defeating Xande.  Side-by-side they entered the World of Darkness, determined to win back their lost companions and seal off the portal once and for all.

He returned changed, distant, not truly seeing the present for what it was.  The Warrior of Light watched as her friend said goodbye and sealed himself into the Tower they had bonded over, to be unlocked in such indeterminate time it might as well be forever.  She mourned, and set her sight on the horizon as he had wished, but forever keeping the Tower in her sight, it’s memories fading to a dull ache as she surpassed every obstacle thrown at her.

Reunited on the First--through time and space itself--reconnecting as strangers she still sometimes had a hard time melding and merging the two men into the same individual; the one that was the dear lost friend, and the one that had stolen her heart without her ever seeing his tell-tale eyes.  The past few moons she had spent most of her time on the First, knowing that that world was just as much her’s now as the Source ever was.  As she finally exited the Labyrinth into the open air before the tunnel heading to the forbidden locked doors she felt the gentle urging of her soul to keep going--the steadfast optimism she needed putting on another burst of speed into the long hallway, the afternoon light streaming down.  

The amber soul crystal given to her by Hythlodaeus bounced to the floor with a ping as she skidded to a stop to return for it.  What a funny thing souls were, fractured, mended, or completely whole they could employ varying levels of consciousness and awareness even within the same body.  The insistence to keep moving came again--Ardbert cheering her on as she held the embodiment of whom she-they once were in the palm of her hand.  Tucking it away safer than before, she touched the pocket upon her breast to make sure her other precious cargo was still with her.  The warmth of the vessel pulsed a heartbeat next to her own as she made her way to the doors--a lifetime ago locked against those that would use it’s secrets for evil.

Holding the white and red crystal out, the blue light sprang once more to the figures engraved there, opening for the blood of Allag cradled in her palm.  As she steadfastly walked into the antechamber, she turned to look behind as he once did, a whisper of a prayer on her lips.  The doors closed with a deafening thud as she took a deep breath and tried to determine wherein he might be.  Deep in the core of the tower, was there even a path down there without the Ironworks technology that had been a fixture on the First?  Or--yes.  That was probably more likely--at home in his private chambers off of the Ocular.

Nervous now, her blue-tipped tail whipped behind her as she climbed the wide and winding staircase up the now very familiar path.  Small touches were missing, the Bard noted, having forgotten what certain rooms were closed off, and seeing forgotten research tools scattered from when he had chased his fellow NOAH scholars out in preparation to seal.  The crystal was almost muted, the light not seeming as bright as she continued up through the platforms and the winding blue, finally arriving on the level she had been calling home on the First.  

She braced herself and opened the Ocular door slowly peering it at the ornate floor and the portal of polished crystal along the opposite wall.  As expected the public antechamber was empty, the lights dimmer than she was used to seeing.  Bypassing the door on her right-the Umbilicus-she headed to the left and the personal quarters she had spent so much time in a million malms away.

Opening the door let revealed a beam of light shining from one of the openings glazed over to let light in.  He had created a small nest here it seemed tucked off the main staircase where he felt comfortable, though the quarters were the most spartan of camp outfitting's instead of the carefully crafted furniture he had acquired on the First during his century long visit.

There on the camp cot he lay, a book still caught up in his fingers as he sprawled on his back, a foot hanging off the edge.  A light blanket covered half of him, as if he had thrown it off in his slumber. If she hadn’t known better, only bells had passed since he had settled in, rather than the years it had been.  

Breath catching in her throat she leaned against the door behind her, shutting it quietly as she shook.  The red hair so vibrant still, not a touch of the grey she had gotten used to seeing, his ruby eyes still closed.  This is what she had wanted, right?  The chance to travel, to soar upon the Eternal Wind with him at her side, not tied down and chained to the Tower that sapped energy and aether both, but true freedom.  To let himself be able to follow his dreams, to well, do anything that revolved around himself instead of his purpose, his destiny.  That was completed, and hopefully, she took a hesitant step forward, hopefully a new day was going to dawn for him, whole of both body and merged soul.

The tentative footsteps were almost silent on the stone floor as she finally fell to one knee at his side, her heart pounding in her chest.  Her fellow Scions were back hale and well, each and every one, there was no reason to doubt the magic that he had created.  She picked up the book (one of fairy tales of all things), and placed it on the floor next to her.  The spirit vessel she placed gently on the pillow next to his head, and she took his hand ever so gently as she tucked a lock of his hair off to the side.

The glow of the crystal flared gently infusing him with light as the Warrior of now Light and Darkness held her breath, even as his deepened.  As he started to wake, she dropped his hand, realizing it may not be welcome, even as he arched his back in a stretch, arms pulled above his head.  Blinking away the years, ruby eyes locked into her sapphire ones and time froze once more.  Reaching out with his right hand, he stilled again looking down at it wonder and flexing the fingers as if feeling them for the first time.  Quickly sitting up, the blanket falling forgotten, he patted himself, chest, shoulders, and a hand lingering on his face where the crystal once encroached, an incredulous laugh sputtered to life.  Hope beyond hope at every movement sprung into her chest as she gasped for breath once more watching his motions.

Eyes locked once more, and he gently reached out with both hands to cup her face-wiping at the corners of her eyes where tears had already started to spring.  Leaning forward his lips caressed hers lightly before they crashed together meeting for the first time on this World, yet ever familiar and desperate for confirmation.  Hesitation gone, her own hands reached greedily for him, raising up on her knees to hold him close, to know it was really him--all of him there to stay.  

The beam of light had moved across the floor as they had their reunion, foreheads leaning against each other, arms still encircling the other, soft laughter echoed throughout the chamber.

“Good morning, G’raha Tia, my love, Welcome Home.”

[breannacasey]

May I please also have number 99 from One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ - “Be careful” for Rebecca/ Brian (Limitless)? I think this one can be as angsty as you'd like, since you write angst so well ^_^

Hold On To The Light

Brian Finch/Rebecca Harris. Angst with a Happy Ending. 1599 words. Read on ao3

               “Brian, be careful!”

Brian stood on the snow covered roof, fixing Christmas lights to the side of it. He fully intended on making this the prettiest house on the whole street. He didn’t earn himself a craft reputation for nothing. He’d made enough models at work to help them solve crimes, surely he could do a good job with this too.

               “Always.” He said with what Rebecca called his best shit-eating grin.

               “Cause you remember last year-”

               “Yeah, yeah, last year I slipped off the roof, I know. Don’t worry, I promise it won’t happen again. I’ve grown since then. I’m being really careful where I put my foot. Ice won’t take me down this time.”

The look Rebecca gave him from the front lawn seemed doubtful, but he’d prove her wrong. He had learned from his mistake, now he expected there to be traitorous ice hiding under the snow. He really was being careful. He didn’t know why she had so little confidence in him, he’d done so many more dangerous things before and came out the other side unscathed.

               “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t even celebrate Christmas!”

               “Yeah, but I like to make you happy. And most importantly, I think your mom only likes me because I can climb up here to put up the lights for her.”

Maybe that was a stretch considering how last time went, but he’d still gotten the job done before he fell and sprained his ankle.

               “That’s not true! She also likes that you’re... that... that you can change the bottle in the water cooler.”

               “Exactly. Anyway, you coming tonight? You know my parents always make a big deal of the first night.”

               “Of course. Besides, Rachel made me promise to. She wants a friendly face to be on her side when your brothers’ wives gang up on her.”

               “And I’m not one? Should I remind you I was doing that job just fine before you came along?”

               “By grabbing all the forever single attention, and adding no career path to it. I wouldn’t be so proud of that. Aren’t you glad Rachel and I get along now?”

               “Starting to worry about you leaving for my little sister, but yes, I’m really happy you got over whatever it was between you two.”

               “I’d never leave you. I can’t resist your big heart. Besides, no one is more exasperatingly adorable as you.”

               “Good. Here, all done. See, just like I told you, everything went well. I can handle it. Don’t even need NZT. Your mom will get so many compliments for this and she’ll be forced to change her mind about me.”

               “Oh, for sure.”

He was beaming, so happy with himself. He started making his way down, but he got his foot into one of the string lights, tripped and fell over the side of the roof, Rebecca’s scream the only thing that existed anymore.

               “Brian!”

He landed on the ground and he couldn’t say where the pain was coming from, it was all over his body, overwhelming. He tried to focus on Rebecca. On the sound of her steps in the snow as she ran towards him. On the sound of her voice as she asked, again and again, if he was okay. He thought he answered, but maybe he didn’t. He stared at her as she leaned over him, tears brightening her eyes, and her phone glued to the side of her face as she called for an ambulance. He tried to smile to reassure her and she gently let her fingers trace the side of his face, telling him help was coming and it would all be alright. All he had to do was hold on.

Then everything went black.

----

It was so much worse than last year.

Last year, he’d slipped and landed on his foot that sprained. This time, he got his foot stuck in the lights which caused him to stay suspended for maybe a second before falling head first, bringing all the lights down with him. She ran, yelling, screaming, wishing he’d answer something stupid and witty along the lines of “see, I didn’t slip on the ice this time, it’s completely different.” Anything to show he was fine.

She reached for her phone and called 9-1-1 right away. He lied down on his back, his eyes unfocused, but at least he was looking at her, breathing. That was a start. His face contorted in some kind of expression she thought could be an attempt at a smile, ruined by how much pain he must’ve been in. She brushed her fingers on his cheek, hoping to comfort him.

               “Help is coming, Brian, just hold on. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re with me, Brian? Hold on. Please. For me.”

When his eyes fluttered shut to not open again, no matter how hard she tried to get any kind of response from him, it felt as though her own heart stopped. Thankfully, she could feel both of their heartbeats going, hers fast as she worried he might’ve broken his back or something even worse, his slow but steady. His breathing was ragged, likely from the shock the fall had on his lungs, but at least it was there.

As she waited for the ambulance to get there, what felt like an eternity later but was in reality only a few minutes, she concentrated on the fact he was still alive. She never let go of his wrist, his pulse grounding her in that important part of reality. She wanted to pull him closer, to hold him warm and close in her arms, but she knew moving him risked making matters worse. So she settled for his hand and his wrist.

The paramedics finally got there. They put a collar on him, tried unsuccessfully to wake him up. When they started moving him, it turned out his arm was broken under him. The bone was poking out. They reset it, put it in a brace and moved Brian to the gurney. They carried him away toward the ambulance and Rebecca found herself frozen in place. She couldn’t help her eyes locking on the patch of red snow he left behind.

One of the paramedics came back, put a hand on her shoulder and asked, ever so lightly, if she wanted to ride with them. She nodded and wiped a tear that had been about to escape her. They told her it was alright to hold his hand and she did. Feeling the warmth of his skin, and his pulse still, brought her just the smallest bit of comfort as they drove to the hospital.

He would be alright. He had to be.

               “It’s okay to let your feelings show, Rebecca. You can’t keep everything inside.” Naz said, after the both of them sat in silence for half an hour, waiting for news it was still too early for.

               “I need to be strong for Brian.”

               “You know that’s not what he’d want.”

               “It seems like if I let myself feel, I’ll break and will never be able to pick myself back up again.”

               “See, that’s the problem. You don’t have to pick yourself back up. I’m here, Boyle’s here, Mike and Ike are here, the Finches are on their way. We’re all here for you. Let us in.”

               “What if he doesn’t make it?”

Her voice broke and Naz pulled her into a hug. She let herself relish in the comforting gesture. She even let herself cry for a little while. It brought her some relief, maybe more than she’d admit.

She was woken by Naz shaking her shoulder. She couldn’t remember when she managed to fall asleep, or who put their coat over her. She looked up, the sight of the doctor standing in front of her quickly ridding her of the haze of sleep.

               “Rebecca Harris?”

               “It’s me. Is Brian okay?”

               “Yes. We managed to repair the damage to his back, there was nothing too major. He arrested during surgery, but he’s stable now. He’ll need a lot of rest, no climbing up a roof anytime soon. Bed rest for a week, and he’ll have to wear the cast on his arm for at least 6 weeks, probably more. But he will make a full recovery.”

               “Can I see him?”

               “Of course.”

Brian smiled when she entered the room. He was laying there, his eyes foggy and heavy from all the painkillers keeping him comfortable, but his face still lit up as soon as she walked in. She couldn’t stop herself from doing the same. She was so relieved. As hurt as he was, as tired as he was, his spirit was still good.

               “I held on.”

His voice sounded rough, but right now it was the best thing she could ever hope to hear. She approached slowly, hesitant as she sat next to him on the bed, afraid the movement would cause him pain. He let his head fall on her shoulder, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when she carefully wrapped an arm around him. He intertwined their fingers, his strong grip all the reassurance she needed to know he was fine.

               “I love you.” He breathed.

               “I love you too.” She answered.

He smiled and cuddled in closer. She had been rubbing his back for less than five minutes when he fell asleep. She followed not long after. Nothing like feeling his warmth against her, knowing he was safe, to make all her worries go away. They were both alright and now they could rest together.

[shadowlover]

✂

No don’t die ur so sexy haha  🥴

Plenty of victims came from Ionia, though however hard they may lie to themselves. Evelynn found that, over time, no matter how much they devoted their spirits to nature, to spiritualism, and other holy things, a fat ass and a large chest, just the right touch of attention, yet not giving too much, could crumble even the most devoted of Ionians until they were on their knees, begging for her beauty for a small touch, something, anything to grace their skin.

It seemed like the knife dancer would be no different. In fact, it wasn’t hard at all. Despite the strength, she had yet to have the years behind her to ward herself off from demonic urges she pushed into the mind of the woman. Evelynn, amidst the heated passion of quick romantic urges, managed to push her up against a broken wall, something yet repaired from the Noxian invasion. Though the brick and mortar slowly shifted, it would not crumble and fall; it still had its strength to stay up. “Good,” thought the demon. 

Evelynn took her hand, her pale white hand, and wrapped it around the neck of the Ionian. The eyes on her legs started to appear and she could see the pheromones leak out of the woman’s body. Pure lust rushing like burning smoke emanating from her pores, a frightfully pink color; everyone had a different color. The Ionian closed her eyes, expecting another kiss as she felt the hand around her neck tighten around her veins, cutting off a small amount of blood. She could feel the pulse rise against her fingertips. It was like the thump of a rabbit; quick, short, excited.

And easy to kill.

Evelynn squeezed her neck harder. In an instant, the Ionian’s eyes opened wide from surprise. “T-too rough...” She gasped out between pretty pink lips.

“Rougher? Haha, okay baby~” Evelynn smiled. Her grip tightened even harder and she could feel the bones in her neck shift. Evelynn knew human necks were like an instant shut off for their pathetic bodies, so she kept the pressure right under the amount where it would snap her bones and collapse her trachea.

The Ionian pulled in as much breath as possible and summoned forth knives. They hovered in the air, though shaking slightly. Both of Evelynn’s lashers appeared and knocked them out of the air, holding on to one of them. Her lasher threw it up in the air and she caught it. Her three other hands passed the knife around, feeling the sharp Ionian steel press against her form.

“You’re into knife play honey? Why didn’t you tell me you were so naughty? Baby, I hate it when you keep secrets from me. Don’t you trust me yet?” Evelynn snickered. She ran the knife across the blade dancer’s cheek, cutting into the flesh and allowing a small bit of blood leak from the cut. “Don’t worry, you will~” 

Evelynn held the knife and thrust it into her shoulder. She knew where every vein, every artery, every single cell was on the body. The knife was only pushed in half deep into her body to avoid any serious injury. The blade dancer attempted a scream, but not enough air was in her blazing lungs to summon one forth. She could only manage a pathetic whimper. Evelynn cackled and tasted the blood that leaked out. Her long forked tongue lapped up every drop.

It was in that moment Evelynn knew exactly who this Ionian was. Evelynn let go and the blade dancer fell to the ground. “You’re why my brother is on the Noxian’s arm.” Evelynn said as as she tapped her chin with her finger. The blade dancer coughed up blood and looked at the demon. She tried to speak, but her throat was too injured to muster it up.

Evelynn cocked her foot back and delivered a kick to the Ionian’s stomach, causing her to push up against the wall. “This was all your fault!” Evelynn cried, real pain coming from her voice. Her eyes welled up with small tears as she kicked the Ionian again. “How could you hurt me this way! I trusted you!” Evelynn cried out as she delivered more kicks to her. 

Her hands wiped away her tears and in a moment, Evelynn felt a surge of happiness at seeing the crumpled girl on the ground. Evelynn picked up four of the knives on the ground, one for each hand, and started throwing each of them with pinpoint accuracy. The first knife went through the Ionian’s right hand and hit the ground, the second through her forearm, right in between the Radius and Ulna. The third pierced the Ionian’s ankle and the fourth went into the girl’s cheek, cutting her tongue nearly clean off.

The Ionian jumped with each pierce, which caused the third knife to slice open her Achilles Heel. Evelynn took note of this and knew she hadn’t much time left. Evelynn kneeled down and pulled the Ionian’s hair, forcing her bloody face to look at her own. “You’re a real homewrecker, you know that? But... I still love you so much baby.” Evelynn said softly as she held her chin. 

Irelia’s eyes met Evelynn’s. First, they were filled with hate and pain, and for one single eternity, they were filled with love. Her eyes glistened with all the beautiful memories Evelynn and her shared all her life. She remembers vacationing on a beach, doing small crafts with Evelynn on a rainy morning, celebrating Snowdown, all the intimate moments. Her eyes sparkled with love as she mouthed the words 

“I love you too baby.” 

Evelynn nodded and kissed her lips once. She stood up and summoned one-thousand, six hundred and sixty-six hatespikes and shoved them into the body of the Ionian dancer. They went through the wall, sticking her up on the wall like a work of art and placed her on a vulgar, disgusting display as the once-proud warrior was now a mangled corpse. The glisten of love left her eyes in a moment, and Evelynn couldn’t help but plucking one out and holding it in her hand. “We could have been so much more honey~” She said to the eyeball before crushing it in her hand. “A good woman is hard to find.”