#☆~songstress' journal

[twistedsongstressofstarz]

You find a mysterious journal on the songstress' desk, opening it to the first page.

Journal Day 1

[ragingbookdragon]

Warriors Great Tales

Lindir x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: None

Author's Note: I love this handsome, rather nervous elf. -Thorne

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She’d kept to herself during the White Council’s meeting, preferring not to say a word in the presence of such high figures, not as though she’d had anything of importance to speak of, though she couldn’t help but watch Lady Galadriel every step she took. The elven woman walked, no, practically glided with such a grace, and she was beautiful—beyond words comprehension, beautiful. She’d decided that she couldn’t write a song because nothing could capture her in lyrical form.

Still, she’d kept to herself, busing her mind with journalling the latest in their adventures with the company. She hadn’t even noticed the talking had died down until she looked up when silence reached her, and Lindir appeared in the archway, a concerned look on his face.

“My Lord Elrond,” he said. “The dwarves…they’ve gone.”

She and Gandalf happened a look and she innocently replied, “Oh, no…they left? Well, that’s unfortunate.” Gandalf shot her a glare and she cleared her throat, going quiet again.

Elrond sighed, looking back at Lindir. “Lindir, take our songstress to the evening room. We have a conversation that is needing with Mithrandir.”

Lindir bowed his head. “Yes, My Lord.” He glanced over at her, and she rose from her seat.

As she passed Gandalf, she murmured, “Don’t leave without me.”

***

She entered the room that Lindir showed her to, a gorgeous little awning with ivy growing along the marble ceiling and pillars. She took a seat on one of the padded chairs beside a small table, Lindir sitting across from her.

“You knew they were leaving?” he asked, and she met his gaze, sighing.

“Gandalf didn’t explicitly tell me they were, but I sure expected it was coming.” She frowned. “I worry when Gandalf and I are not there. Who knows what trouble they will get into without us.”

Lindir blinked. “Might I ask why you joined this company in the first place?”

A smile grew on her lips, and she leaned back, staring at the moon high in the sky. “What good is life if you there are no tales to tell? No daring escapes? No riches found or love gained?” looking at him, she added, “I think this is the most excitement Rivendell has seen in a long time. I wish for my life to be like this every moment. Joy, laughter, fun.”

“Don’t you want safety?”

“Well sure,” she replied. “When I’m old and gray. But I’m a young woman.” She sighed wistfully. “I know it might be hard for an elf to understand the concept of mortality, but Lindir, my life is finite. At some point I will die. But even so, I want to live all that I can, see and do all that I can. Even if it means there is sorrow and grief. It is a part of being alive.”

Lindir paused, taking in her peacefulness. “Are you afraid?”

“Of?”

“Mortality?”

She shrugged. “I think fearing your death is natural, but what’s the point of spending my life fretting over the inevitable? I’m going to die one day. It may be tomorrow. It may be in ninety-seven years. All I know is that I will live everyday as if I will die then.”

He hummed low in his throat, looking over Rivendell. “I’ve never actually left Rivendell before.”

“Not once?”

“Whenever Lord Elrond makes trips, the rare ones, he takes Erestor. I…stay here.”

Her brows pinched together, and she asked, “Haven’t you ever had a desire to go somewhere other than here? Just to see what the world is like?”

Lindir hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. “Sometimes.” His cheeks darkened in the night. “But…I’m not exactly built for battle. I mean I can fight,” he hurriedly interjected, as if he wanted to appear fit for a fight to her. “But weaponry is not my best ability.”

She smiled and gently picked up the seat she was sitting in, walking it over to sit beside Lindir. “We,” she said as she lowered the seat and settled back in it, tucking her legs underneath her. “Are the writers of our warrior’s great tales, Lindir. While we don’t fight those battles, we make sure they live on forever.”

He was suddenly very conscious of how close she was, what he was more conscious of was that he could feel the warmth radiating from her onto him as close as they were. “O-oh?”

“Of course!” she chirped. “We can’t all be fighters.” Nudging him, she quipped, “Some of us must be lovers.”

Lindir practically spluttered, cheeks turning crimson as he looked at her, then between them, then towards the tops of the other buildings. “I—I see.”

And that gave her a hint as she leaned over, perching her palm on her chin as she asked, “Lindir, have you never been intimate with someone?”

“I am feeling very uncomfortable right now,” he muttered. She smiled knowingly at him, and he frowned. “Why are you smiling?”

“You’ve never lain with anyone, have you, Lindir?”

“This is not an appropriate conversation for a young man and woman to be having. Not an appropriate conversation in the slightest.”

“I won’t tell secrets if you won’t,” she teased and he looked away, clearing his throat.

“Elves, we…do not take union so lightly.” He shifted nervously in his seat. “It is…customary, to save oneself for marriage.”

“A bit pious,” she decided, gently trailing her fingers up the inside of his sleeve, against his wrist; she grinned when his fist clenched, and he looked ready to collapse. “And these marriages, of course to remain faithful to your lover forever and ever even after death. To hold true all that is good and stay during sickness…” Lindir was nodding along when she asked, “Can humans marry elves?”

He went still and blinked a few times as her fingers stopped their tracings; Lindir looked at her. “It is…uncommon, but yes.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling around the edges. “Lindir, you wouldn’t happen to have a young elf lover running around Rivendell or any other part of the land, would you?”

He shook his head quietly.

“Well…I’m unwed, you’re unwed. Perhaps we sho—”

The doors opened on the side and the two jumped as Gandalf entered the room. “Lord Elrond has summoned the two of you. Well, you,” he corrected, looking at her. “Lindir is simply to follow.”

She hummed and put her feet on the ground, intent to stand when she suddenly felt how tingly her legs were—and how numb. She let out a gasp as she stood and immediately went hurtling for the floor, when strong, slender arms wrapped themselves around her back and waist, and her breath caught in her throat as she came face to face with a rather surprised, yet flustered Lindir. Her arm wound around his shoulders, the other grasping at his bicep and she gazed at him.

“I…thank you, Lindir,” she breathed.

He swallowed thickly and murmured, “Of course, meleth nîn.”

“…I don’t know what that means, Lindir,” she whispered, and he smiled at her.

“You will learn one day.”

As they gazed at one another, someone cleared their throat with great exaggeration and, “If you two are quite finished?”

Lindir pulled her upright and they split, her cheeks hot as Gandalf turned on his heel and she hurried after him, Lindir following. She knew though, that Gandalf had a grin the size of the Misty Mountain range on his face.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's plans go awry when confronted with his own past.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 12: Hunt*

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, CPTSD episode during sex, Cazador, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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Vampires are some of the deadliest monsters we may contend with. I do not relish my current mission to seek out the spawn, Astarion. But, he may be the only way we can ever see our children again. I am plagued by visions of them being carried away by these blood hungry creatures. Plagued even more by their screams that fill my mind in the most quiet of hours. Full blooded vampires become consumed with whatever they set their eyes upon. But spawns—I have to wonder—if they were to escape their masters, would they be able to redeem themselves if they took the road less traveled?

— Gandrel of the Gur Tribe, journal entry 567

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“I suppose I should, yet again, count myself lucky: the bastard is alone,” Astarion smirked, picking a few stray leaves from his clothes. He had just returned from a lengthy scouting trip assessing the hunter they may parley with.

It had been several days of traversing rocky footpaths until they arrived in the Sunlit Wetlands. Several days of anxious nights wondering if Cazador sent more pawns to retrieve him. Several days of nothing more than forlorn glances exchanged with the elven songstress.

Wyll crossed his arms, concentrating on Astarion’s face. “That at least bodes well. Did he look familiar to you?”

“Not at all. Though I have met a lot of the city’s miscreants over the years, it’s possible he’s a scorned lover of a lover that Cazador convinced to seek vengeance. He had a lot of connections in the city—so it’s hard to say.”

“Let’s fucking goooo,” Karlach roared as her axe split apart a piece of log. She swiped away wood dustings from her brow, turning to the vampire. “What makes you think this is Cazador’s doing, fancy boy?”

“Oh, how could I forget that it must be one of my many adoring fans, come to shake my hand out in the middle of blasted nowhere,” Astarion replied with a sneer. “Tell me: who else could it be?!”

Of course it had to be his former master! Cazador Szarr would do anything to ensure his spawns stayed forever reliant upon him. For them to know that survival without him wasn’t possible. Astarion knew deep down that no matter how he repeatedly longed for freedom, if he showed up, without question the vampire spawn would still feel betrothed as a slave to enact his heinous mandates. Compelled or not, the attachment to him remained.

The fiery tiefling teetered her axe over her shoulder, ready to swing downward again. “Alright. Alright. As much as I’m always raring to go, I just want to be sure we aren’t getting caught in a trap, yea?”

She had a point. Cazador, reclusive as he was, commandeered powers that most were unaware. Their group was mighty, but could they defeat a vampire lord? It would be nearly impossible, but the fraction of a percentage that they could end his life for good, ignited an invaluable resolve inside of the spawn.

Astarion debonairly examined his nails. “Well, darlings, I’m sure I can go about this on my own if you’re not up for a bit of potential excitement.”

“I have every bit of faith you can handle this by yourself, but I think it goes without saying that hunters are all too well-versed in regions such as these. There may be something we don’t know from what you’ve investigated,” Wyll interjected.

“Why Wyll, the famed monster hunter is going to help protect a monster?! I could kiss you! Or bite you—if that is your preference,” the vampire giddily responded, clasping his hands together as he flashed the tip of his fang.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Astarion,” Wyll chuckled, uncrossing his arms to gesture a stop signal with his hand. “Shall we say around morrow’s noon we head down to speak with the stranger?”

“I’d prefer to stab first, but if you insist, who am I to deny such a handsome face?” Astarion flirtatiously bowed his head.

Karlach visibly shrugged her shoulders, breathing out a long sigh. “Ugh, finnnne. Let’s get this good and over with before something awful happens to your pretty face and you break someone’s fucking heart.”

“My dearest Karlach, are you saying you wouldn’t miss me?”

“I’m saying that our leader wouldn’t be all too happy with any of us if we just let you sod off on your own,” she clarified firmly. “By the way, you may want to speak with Tav about our plans.”

The vampire fisted his hand near his mouth, pretending to cough. “Ahem, well, I’m sure she’s been far too busy entertaining our newest druidic hunk we’ve adopted to camp. They’ve been practically braiding each other's hair since the party.”

“Gods, you don’t sound jealous at all,” she teased. “And look who it is! Mornin’ to you soldier!”

And there she was. Trailing into camp on melodies she sang under her breath. Lavender and vanilla invisibly suffocating him with its whorls of scent around his neck.

Wyll waved in her direction. “Tav! Could we trouble you for a moment?”

Tav quietly nodded, giving him a subtle smile out of the corner of her mouth.

“Astarion just returned back from surveying the bog and it would seem that this hunter is currently alone. Few weapons, but I reckon he has the good sense to protect himself with other means.”

“The three of us are heading down to speak with him come highsun tomorrow. But, if shit goes bad, we’ll be armed,” Karlach added, flexing her arm high in the air. “Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Karlach. Personal matters.” The bard tried to peer behind the tiefling, staring at the elven man that was clearly avoiding her. “Astarion, did you approve of this?”

He raised his head, the state of her startling him. The skin around her eyes was swollen, a glaze of wetness having long filmed over her sclera. It was evident she had been crying on and off since their last encounter. She was lacking her usual demure aura, visibly rundown.

Astarion cocked a bleary eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Then, I trust you to handle this to the best of your abilities.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

In the middle of the night’s air, Astarion stood outside of Tav’s tent entrance, overwrought with a queasiness burning the walls in his stomach.

After their argument several days ago, he left in a panicked state to hide under the forest canopy bordering their camp. The illusion of hyperventilation attacked his lungs—a memory of it really—as he held onto the bulwarked trunk of a tree. And then, blood spewed from his mouth. He leaned over, coughing and vomiting up a mouthful of the bear’s crimson he consumed earlier that evening.

He had charmed and manipulated Tav enough times to create the image that would steal her away like a rogue in the night. And she craved it. She wanted him to fill the role of her abductor, appearing from behind the curtains in her bedroom, to entice her with cool lips on her knuckles and sworn covenants of intimacy with his bite. Urging her to just let go.

Yet, his plan kept hitting snags.

Without a doubt, he knew his instinctual techniques were all in order. When there had been a few mishaps, he quickly adapted and switched his tactics. But, what he didn’t account for—what he had little to no proficiency in—was dealing with these people’s bygone histories for this length of time. Try as he might to reluctantly focus on the lamentable surface details of the bard and the kettle of vultures—their companions—that circled the hearth of their campfire, piles of their shit kept unearthing themselves like the carcasses of burying beetles.

And he didn’t fucking care.

Why should he? He didn’t know them. Oh, they were a formidable bunch, each having inherited an adeptness for physical or magical strength. He extended his belief in them about as far as relying on them in battle would allow him. But what had they truly done for him otherwise? It wasn’t them that offered mercy upon his vampiric existence and allowed him to stay within their group. It wasn’t them that made sure he was properly fed, baptizing him in their blood.

No, the only person he owed a speckle of his acknowledgement to was the songbird with the voice of singing jewels. Though she challenged him at every nook and cranny of their time together, she was the only one to judge him in such a way that seemed fairly balanced.

Until now.

Tav with her saintly observations, was becoming aware of his methodical ministries. Perhaps not in the sense that she could pinpoint exactly what his strategy was, but gods, her cursed awareness and the cloistered tale of her former life, filled him with enough discomfort he almost considered forgoing his plan entirely.

She knew something was amiss with him. She knew he had to be embellishing everytime he damn near spoke to her about anything other than his wretched past. So, why didn’t she make more of an effort to single him out and put him on trial? Had she been waiting for him to tell her otherwise? To correct her misgivings she was having about him.

It made him uneasy to not know. He could poke around in her mind with their worms, but that certainly wouldn’t bode well if she was unreceptive to the notion.

What an absolute shitshow, Astarion chastised when a strained laugh cut silently through his teeth.

Not to mention the realization that it was not only the façade of her companionship and intimacy he would have to contend with. This foe was clever—more so than he. It had been in her life years before him. Knew her in ways he had yet to scour. And when she tried to disobey it, it had a way of enticing her back into the comfort of its everlasting punishment.

And the name of such a formidable nemesis? Her past.

He couldn’t afford to lose her—not yet. It was too soon and far too late to humor his whims on another camp occupant. Nay, he would see this through to the end. Tav’s or anyone else’s lives be damned!

“I can smell the bergamot in your oils,” a meek voice breathed out. “You can come in whenever you’re ready.”

Astarion deeply inhaled, preparing himself to face her, knowing he may have to use his body for another nightfall to convince her not to forsake him. His performance hinged on being immaculate tonight—to be everything she wanted.

Another transaction: imitated comfort for the reinstated troth of her loyalty.

He lowered himself to his knees and opened the flap of her tent to enter. Tav sat with the used lute on her lap, twisting and tuning the pegs on her bare thighs. She struck a chord, listening intently as the sounds vibrated off the walls of blue linen, then adjusted further or moved onto the next string.

She lifted her head to acknowledge him. With the candlelight casting a golden glow across her face, Astarion thought this may have been one of the few times she possessed such a delicate lethargy.

“Is something the matter?”

“I—no,” he paused. What would be the right thing to say in this situation? “I thought it would be in my good nature to check in on you. But if now isn’t a good time, I can come back later.”

Tav blinked at him several times, then gestured for him to come further in with a nod. He scooted closer to her on his knees, allowing the flap of the tent to cascade off his back like a discarded blanket.

“I'm not a fan of this lute, especially the strings on it, but some things can’t be helped right now. I should be grateful Alfira could even find one available for me,” she spoke softly as if he wasn’t there. “Hopefully, when we make it to a different area or even the city, I can buy a new one.”

The vampire cleared his throat, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. “There’s differences between them? I mean, of course the details are not the same, but what of the sound?”

A shallow smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she continued fiddling with the tune. “Lutes, flutes, drums, violins—any musical instrument really—sounds different depending on several factors. The material used. Strings. Weight. Length. It all determines the sound produced.”

“What type of wood do you prefer for your lutes?”

The messy bun pinned on top of her head bobbed as she popped her head up to stare at him. “Spruce. Always spruce. It has the brightest sound—perfect for ballads.” She pushed her bangs to the side as an afterthought, placing the instrument by her side. “I appreciate you coming here tonight, but you don’t need to pretend you’re actually interested in a music lesson.”

“My dear, I have quite the appreciation for the arts of all kinds,” he grinned. “However, since your perception precedes you, I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I realized that the whole thinking part was actually a worry.” He covered his lies by slowly lifting his eyes under a refuge furled lashes to peer at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tav stated, pursing her lips.

“I’ll have you know, that I could be sinking my fangs into a deer al fresco right about now, but instead I choose to be here. Now, let’s forego this game of hopscotch and chat.”

She ran the pads of her fingers along the edging of her nightshirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to revisit parts of our disagreement from a few days ago—if you’re willing to talk about it with me.”

He wasn’t willing, but what choice did he have if he wanted to keep up this charade with her?

Astarion cocked his head to the side to nod, flaring his nostrils with a practiced breath. “If it's truly that bothersome to you, then I suppose I could pencil you in right this very second to listen.”

He could hear the strums of her pulse trembling. She was nervous.

Blood rushed to her lips, coloring them in roses. He saw tears welling up, threatening to spill over her lower lids. She could no longer hold it in. “First of all: I’m so so sorry, Astarion. What you said about ‘power’ reminded me so much of…I…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like I did. You are your own person, not some reanimated villain of my tragedies.”

Ah, so she wished to focus on her reactions instead of the subject he hastily broached during his blood drunken stupor. How very like her to satisfy her own accountability. This could work in his favor.

Astarion would not press. Should she circle back to his unfavorable comments, well, he could always blame it on the mind flayer tadpole having deceptively influenced his mind after their encounter with other ‘true souls.’ In case he needed to change routes in the moment to suit her thoughts and actions, he made a mental note to be considerably more deliberate in reading her facial expressions.

Finding out just how much power these worms wielded, delighted the vamp. Of course they would be valuable in advancing his fight against Cazador, but directing those around him to do as he pleased? Gods.

The positions he could seat! The material wealth he could own! The liberty to indulge in all manners of debauchery and authority!

A future living side by side with an illithid creation suddenly didn’t sound so horrible.

“May I ask who he is?” he questioned, trying to inflict his tone to a more polite wisp.

She shied away from looking at him directly, guilt-ridden and hiccuping. Tav’s lips trembled, shaking her head to refuse him while she continued to weep.

It intrigued Astarion to see the normally strong-hearted woman bearing this unknown man’s crown of thorns with the pith of his blackened blood dripping from her eyes like melted candles. Days ago, during their night’s quarrel, the soul mark behind his ear hammered rapidly to the point of searing pain when she mentioned him. This man—this incubus—still choked her with his malignant hands, even though he was probably leagues away.

The hells cracked open, And he was reborn. With evil tongues spoken, Her scrawled promises would not be mourned.

While bewitching the bard had been as ordinary to Astarion as any everyday routine, she was hiding the flotsam of her personal dogmas sundered by this same mortal, making his task all the more difficult. A heretic to her own emotions.

They were both slaves to their pasts and towed the weighted cold night visions where escape seemed nothing more than mere fantasy. And he felt something by this acknowledgment. A blink of connection to her in the form of empathy.

Empathy?

Hells, it had been so long since he knew any emotion except anger, terror, and numbness. But, empathy held dire consequences. One of the last times he felt any ounce of said emotion, cost him a year of starvation inside of that derelict burial place. The memory still seemed so fresh in comparison to the ages he’d lived. If he let himself know empathy once more, it would mean allowing himself to be in a position of the same weakness he had been in for centuries.

“You don’t understand how awful I feel for how I reacted,” Tav managed to squeeze out of her throat.

He moved further within the tent to sit cross-legged in front of her, angling his head downwards to grab her attention. “Silly creature, of course I understand how awful you feel. Your heart is literally an open wound gushing onto everyone it passes. If someone ran into you, YOU would be the one to apologize.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Well, you are at least, but I do have the advantage of being ravishing forever,” he added with a quip.

The bard laughed as her body shook with sobs. Hands flew to her face, catching the falling tears with dabs of her fingertips.

“Darling.” He reached out to her with his palm up. “Come here. I can’t leave you blubbering like some muppet begging for scraps.”

Taking a hesitant breath, Tav placed her hand gingerly into the inviting salve he offered, holding onto it tightly. “A moment longer. I have more to say.”

Astarion’s mind filled with dread. If she terminated their agreement, that would be it—his protection would cease. The possibility of Cazador dragging him off screaming into the shadows, felt more real than it ever had been. Swiftly, his brain sprang into action. He would use whatever methods possible to adapt.

Touch. Comfort. Sex. Promises. Encouragement. Which would she need?

“Don’t keep me in suspense now, my sweet. You know how I hate to wait,” he smirked in his typical silvery tone.

“I’m trying to word this as not to sound like a psychotic lover here,” she laughed anxiously. “But, I have run ’us’ through my mind more times than I can count and I keep wondering if it would be best if we end whatever this is between us. Casual distractions would be much easier if we didn’t see each other everyday, but we don’t have that luxury and—

“Do you even like me?” Tav questioned wearily. It was apparent such ideas had been consuming her.

No.

“Do I like you? I mean, you definitely have a certain set of allures about you,” he answered slowly. He wasn’t lying about her qualities—if that’s what people choose to call them—but, no, he did not care for her.

A grimace settled on her expression as she removed her hand from his.

“Were you expecting a more defined answer?”

The bard chewed at her lip lightly with her front tooth. “I’m expecting something that doesn’t feel like you’re acting on stage,” she replied stiffly. “You seem so versed in saying all the right things, but there is a pit in my stomach warning me it’s not all true. I don’t want you to force yourself with me.”

Oh, but he would force himself. His survival depended on it.

The spawn ran his hand through his curls, flashing a glib smile she didn’t detect. “Ha! Could that be your own insecurities speaking? Or shall I get down on my knees and recite a sonnet of my undying affections for you? Would you believe me then?”

Turning away, she looked past him towards the ground. “Is it so wrong for me to desire something real, Astarion?”

Hope.

She wanted hope.

He could perform hope.

The vampire enclosed her ruddy cheek with his hand, thumbing a gentle swipe across the roundest point. She shut her eyelids lazily, microscopic tears still adhering on her lashes like diamond dust.

“Don’t turn away from me, Tavelle,” he commanded her gently. “A woman that has as much to offer as you, deserves to hold her head up high and be worshiped.”

As if to confirm her yearning for him, her eyes roamed half-opened to search his face. She fisted the ruffling of his shift tightly, pulling herself taut against his chest to crash her lips fervently against his with a tight gasp.

The kiss was urgent. Delivered as if they’d both turn into smoke in an instant. Like she’ll lose me someday, Astarion thought.

He could hear her heartbeat stepping out of its darkness, begging, begging, begging him to cradle her adorations for him.

Kneading his pale lips on hers instinctually, she tangled a free hand into waves of silvery-white earning her a low hum from the deepest reaches of his voice box. “Star…" she incanted into his mouth.

Fluidly, he reached up to unpin her hair, allowing her tresses to fall over her shoulders. He decorated his lithe digits with her silken strands, tugging her head gently backwards to drop fervid pecks down her throat. She cried out, sputtering lilting syllables of his name everytime he idly rearranged his hold on her hair.

Tav held onto his arms as he worked his tongue in circles. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” she pleaded, clawing at his clothes.

Releasing her hair, he pulled Tav back in to seam their mouths together. She sucked tenderly on his upper lip, grazing her tongue horizontally across it, before she finally nipped at it playfully.

He pushed his nose into her cheek, abruptly stopping them. She was short of breath, heaving in anticipation for him to kiss her again.

Grabbing her chin firmly, Astarion’s eyes flitted down to her lips as he spoke mere centimeters from them. ”You’ve slowly been driving me insane,” he roughly asserted, avoiding her want for affirmations.

She snuck her fingers up the length of him, lacing them behind his neck. Her lips parted, a husky reply threatening to swallow them whole. “What do you mean to do with me then?”

A lukewarm thumb found safety pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue tunneled through the gap of her mouth and licked a teasing small patch of skin on the inside of it. Debauched images of him drawing blood from her tongue filled his mind. Biting and biting every inch of her supple flesh until he had his fill of her essence settling like a fine wine in his veins. He panted maddeningly at the thought, his shaft hardening immediately.

Then, the minx slinkingly shifted onto his lap, encircling her legs on either side of his hips. She undulated on the length of his bulge compressed in the middle of her soaked smalls and his trousers. Insolently, she yanked a handful of his hair. He hissed at the delicious pain now aching through his cock and the back of his head.

Pallid dexterous hands ripped the front of her shirt open, cutting buttons loose to fly into the air. The strength of his paw found her breast hiding behind the torn fabric and he squeezed it considerably, pinching an erect nipple. She moaned his name, trying to keep her body upright.

Sharp teeth nibbled a sliver of flesh near the corner of her lips. “Is this what you need? For me to take you as I please?”

Tav nodded innocently, her whole body turning flush with desire.

And then something feral snapped inside of Astarion. That spine-tingling rapacious trait that was half vampire and half carnal man. He could have her if he wanted her; whenever he wanted. Fill him with her blood just to sate him. Her life belonged to him, if he so chose to take it.

“You can follow instructions properly, can’t you sweetheart?” Astarion grumbled as he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. A strangled noise squeaked from her mouth as she shook her head. “Good. Now listen closely: I want you to unlace my pants, push your smalls to the side, and slide my cock inside that very wet slit of yours.”

The songstress whimpered, whilst she untied the bindings of his fly. “I want to be good for you, Astarion.”

Fuck, his name sounded like the filthiest sin coming from her mouth.

He peeled back the material of her shirt from her heaving bosom, exposing her soft milkiness. Humming around one of her pink buds that popped into his mouth, he felt her remove him from his pants with a few precursory strokes. Instinctively, his gaze feasted on the light bluish veins spreading across her breasts. Just a single bite couldn’t hurt?

“Hells,” he groaned as she sunk the crown of his cock into her clenching heat. “You like being this drenched for me, don’t you?”

“Only you…gods…make me like this,” Tav sang out, holding the back of his head while she adjusted to him inside her.

Her wetness dripped down his length as she stuffed him further into her, trickling down to settle on his testicles. A howling wail started from the middle of Tav’s diaphragm up through her windpipe when she glided up his erect prick once and came back down to his hilt. Astarion chased her mouth with his, muffling her frenzy with open-mouthed kisses.

“Shhh. Shh, songbird,” he hushed in a chuckle. “We are about to wake the lot of this camp soon.”

“I’m sorry. Just love…having you…inside of me,” she giggled lowly, kissing him with blistering ardor between her words.

Surprising the bard by grabbing under her ass, Astarion cajoled her to ride the stiff hardness in his lap. Tav hooked herself onto his shoulders, using them for support while she bounced upon him. Her tits brushed against his shirt with her movements, causing her swollen buds to stay hardened.

My prodigal son, what do we have here?

Master.

Ah, of course. Tonight would belong to the echoes of Cazador. There would be no need for the paralysis that enthralled the spawn’s body to take over, not when his master’s commands needed to be minded.

The vampire busied his fingertips by pressing them further into her flesh, focusing on her slickness encompassing all those nerves at the tip of his cock. He pushed her all the way down to his base, relishing the swaddling of her warmth around him.

A bard, hmm? Bring her to me.

Yes, master.

He reached a hand down in between them to swipe his thumb through her folds, caressing her clit in gentle circles. Tav’s mouth formed into a small “o.”

Look at her—enjoying your flesh like a whore. She’s exactly like all the others. You are only meant to satisfy her needs as a means to fulfill my hunger.

I won’t disobey you master.

“My sweet, turn around and let me fuck you from behind,” he urged mildly, trying to maintain his composure.

Astarion couldn’t let her see. He was steadily losing his grip on their surroundings, disappearing into the quilted stars of the night sky he summoned as he disconnected. If she saw he wasn’t present again, she would send him away.

Tav didn’t respond, continuing to pump his shaft with her tight cunt at a steady pace. She opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, replaced by heady breaths. Did she not hear him? He placed his hands on her waist attempting to settle her motions.

Would you like to hear her sing, Astarion? How do you think she’ll sound with her blood gurgling in her throat as I feed from her?

“Turn around,” he demanded firmly.

Body slowing to a near halt, she cupped his cheeks with a litany of fingers rasping the sharpness of his bones. She pressed a peck to his lips. “Lover, I want to look into your eyes while I’m on top.”

He bucked his hips maneuvering his legs to lift her off of him enough to push her down onto her bedroll. Spreading her legs open, he swiftly settled in between her thighs, and brashly reentered her with a concrete plunge. The bard yelped in shock, clutching his biceps tightly.

Soulmates? Tsk. Did my beloved spawn forget that he is not allowed to be connected to anything except me? Get rid of her mark.

I wish to please you master. Allow me to show my fealty to you.

His vision rapidly moved from side to side until he arched Tav into him to rest his forehead onto her soulmate mark, hiding, endeavoring it to disappear on its own so he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He thrust up into her hurriedly, trying to chase her to the banks of her climax to end his delusions.

“Wait,” she uttered as he drove into her.

Astarion ignored her, opening his mouth to frame his teeth around her soul mark. He must dispose of it.

“Astarion, no. Don’t bite there,” Tav ordered, snaring his curls at the root. “Look at me. Please.”

He’s everywhere. He knows where I am. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ll never be free, Astarion screamed inwardly in anguish.

His fangs pricked the first layer of her epidermis, pellets of crimson gathering around the invasion. The bard severely yanked his head to detach him, dribbles of her blood coating his lips. “I said no! GET OFF OF ME,” she shrieked, thrashing her body under him.

They became motionless. Her face had morphed into thousands upon thousands of blurry conquests. Voices: high and low, moaning, whispering their pleasures. Luring each of them in the dead of night to their death eternal. And Astarion, bound to the scaffold with a noose around his neck, forever being led back into Cazador’s arms.

And then her eyes were suddenly there in focus. Afraid and sorrowful. Full of tears. For her. For him. Rainy storm clouds floating across the earth. Tav with her inquisitor view, leading him on a pilgrimage away from the haunts of his deadened soul.

She covered her nakedness, pulling her ripped shirt over her breasts. Two pin prick spots of blood seeped through the fabric, reminding him of his violation. He was disgusted with himself.

What had he done?

“Tav, I’m sor—” Astarion proclaimed hoarsely, loosening his brace on her waist.

Tav reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Leave,” her voice whispered sternly.

He couldn’t wash this away and escape what he was made into.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Burning iron-vine powder levitated in a cloudy haze around them.

A Gur?! A godsdamned bloody Gur. Cazador’s cruel humor never seemed to fail; he must have sent him.

His mind started to race. Astarion’s safety may be coming to an end. It was a misjudgement to ever presume that he could disappear without facing the repercussions of his former master. Would he ever have somewhere to land from all this falling?

“You’re Astarion?!” The monster hunter loudly said in surprise. “Apologies to your companions, but you’ll need to come with me.”

“Gandrel, was it? I’m not going anywhere.” Astarion removed the blade from his back, pointing it towards the man.

“Fuck! This is bad,” Karlach muttered to Wyll.

“Then, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take you by force,” Gandrel declared, shooting an ‘Ensnaring Strike’ spell at both the vampire and fiery woman.

Thorny vines raised up around their legs, holding them in place. Astarion sliced at them, trying to wriggle free, but the bindings only reinforced their seizure. “Uh, a little help?!”

He was too distracted to fight. Flooded by the memory of how Tav’s tears flowed like blown stars living their final moments. But, he could still feel her hands upon his cheeks. Her hands where flowers bloomed in the dark; flowers that emerged wherever she appeared.

Karlach swung her axe in a criss-cross pattern. “I can’t move! Wyll, you’ll need to repel him!”

Wyll lunged forward casting an Eldritch Blast that narrowly missed the hunter’s cheek. “Damn!”

Gandrel placed another arrow in his crossbow, aiming it at the spawn as he approached. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you’re needed else—”

The hunter suddenly collapsed onto one knee, a spray of blood ejecting from his mouth. He looked down at the arrow protruding out of his right side, then looked past the spawn.

Astarion followed his gaze, mouth wide open in shock when he reached his destination. “Songbird? But why?! I don't—”

Tav threw down her bow, reaching to unsheathe her rapier. “You’re a beacon of trouble, ‘Star.”

[altrie]

my gjhm hcs/prompts/scenario/drabbles 5️⃣🎶💘

more personal hcs i have! also in continuation/addition to my utahime hcs post 👍 this is just a mix of gjhm, utahime and some sprinkle of utashoko, sugushoko hcs if you stare hard enough..

i stand by the idea that these two started out as hot and cold frenemies during their time as students. so not exactly fluffy/shippy material here but i digress, it's fun to speculate what gjhm were like as annoying students getting on everyone's nerves.. i think those two would have been adorable, funny, and annoying ��

also, i wrote this in mind that gojo is the one that fell first and fell hard for utahime. so almost everything here is just a perspective of someone crushing on their senpai LMAO. in my head, utahime doesn't start noticing gojo until they're both in their twenties. i feel those two would be a slow burn like a very angsty slow burn 🫠🫠🫠

note: i had to research more of the tokyo tech school, calculate the years, ages to try and be accurate as possible to the canon timeline. this long list starts at around 2005/2006 pre-HI arc. if gege doesn't state something explicitly, i feel it's free real estate to interpret and develop headcanons 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

young gojo and utahime formally met around late spring to early summer of 2005 and immediately had a rocky start. they met through shoko one afternoon after class. however, gojo has already known about utahime prior to this. while not paying attention to yaga's lecture. he noticed the senior singing to herself as she tended the campus community garden with the other upperclassmens/sorcerers. her soothing voice is what he notices first

gojo was awe struck by utahime at first glance and it's been bad for him since then. his senior who is 2-almost 3 years older, short, calm and too easy of a target to pick on is very much adorable when angy

bc of the nature of shoko and utahime's CT, they're often at the main campus ground together. they'll hang out in the infirmary or chilling somewhere nearby. post missions, the boys tend to visit the infirmary just to annoy them and get treatments/checkups even if they don't have a visible scratch

the gang made it a tradition to have dinner every sunday, every week as possible. it started with utashoko going to a potluck/bbq restaurant frequently until the boys learned about it and crashed it >_>. since then, they have dinner at campus where they all cook together. everyone has to pitch in. utahime likes to incorporate in-season crops to the cooking. gojo doesn't usually eat veggies but somehow can have seconds of songstress's hotpot

when on missions, utahime keeps a journal and a camera to document memories. gojo makes fun of her for it, but ends up enjoying it and helping her with the camera work, finding spots to take pics. he sometimes helps take pics too bc of his tall stature

the tokyo tech high campus is LOUD when gjhm are bickering. and they're always bickering! it doesn't matter who started it (it's gojo always), so those two end up getting scolded by yaga often

on days when utahime is paired with another sorcerer for support, the campus is quiet and gojo is sad :(. when he gets sent to missions, he doesn't get the same support. he's aware he's a special grade and don't need it but it's so boring to do it alone!

when utahime comes back from missions, she always brings back treats and souvenirs for everyone. yes, that includes her annoying junior who in return starts doing the same thing at his missions. she ends up bringing him sweets, like tons of sweets she thinks he'll like (he does). gojo started doing the same gesture but he tends to lie that he didn't bring anything for utahime--which she'll say she doesn't care. but by the time she returns to her room, she'll find a gift bag and a note placed on her desk from the same junior who likes to be dramatic about everything

since utahime is the top student at their campus and aces every exam they have. it's become a thing for her to lead their study sessions. she does her best to tutor and simplify things for them. gojo tends to be a distraction at first but tends to help her out on these sessions. they end up pass out next to each other with his uniform jacket placed on her as a blanket. the others often wake up early before those two and notes how peaceful they are

sugushoko definitely picks up on gojo's crush on utahime before gojo is even aware himself. they been quiet about it the whole time, just watching the disaster unfold. shoko brings up the idea of mentioning it to one of them at one point but geto wants to see how much longer until one of them realizes it or something funny happens

geto one day asks gojo who's his type. gojo's answer makes it so obvious he's describing utahime but he doesn't even know. geto teases him that he just described their senior. gojo just gives him an annoyed look and changes the subject

shoko just drops the information about gojo's crush to utahime out of the blue and utahime just gives her a disgusted look. "gojo just likes to be a brat." utahime goes into a long tangent about gojo. shoko notes the songstress definitely does not look at gojo like that except as an annoying junior and laughs to herself about it. poor gojo 🤭

utahime gets asked out a lot by upperclassmen and non-sorcerers. it definitely doesn't bother gojo! nope, not at all! but he makes it a goal to disturb whoever he sees talking to his senior when utahime should be studying or tutoring. their courtship is distracting the flow of education! utahime ends up apologizing for her junior's bratty actions

december 2005: gojo turns 16 and the new years are near. the trio decides to celebrate over break. everyone except utahime are present during this month. due to the songstress graduating in a few months, she's been occupied in missions back to back. it doesn't bother gojo that she's not present during his bday or the gang's winter break or for new years celebration. but he is annoyed he doesn't even get a simple text or email from her! what kind of senior is she not to acknowledge her junior's bday or greet a simple new years? he definitely does not miss her or wait for her message on his phone 💢🙄

what he doesn't expect is to find himself walking to campus in the crisp january weather after new years. he sees utahime sitting on one the benches. she stands up after noticing him and waves at him. gojo quickens his steps towards her, already planned out what snarky comment to say. what he doesn't expect is for her to suddenly reach out a big giftbag to him. gojo pauses and looks at her. "happy belated birthday and a happy new year, gojo"

utahime's gifts to him were handful of sweets, varying from different prefectures. there are mochi, chocolate, pastries, etc. one that stood out to him was a stuffed white cat keychain wearing some dark glasses. she states she saw it and thought it resembled him. she got matching ones for sugushoko as well and can't wait to give it give to them. gojo doesn't have a joke or anything in return to say and thanked her for the gifts. he doesn't end up using the keychain but places it in his desk inside his campus room. displaying it neatly next to his lamp and a picture of their friend group

gjhm rarely fights. sure, they get into arguments, bickering contests, loud banter--but fights are very rare. when they do fight, it's usually something that started from stubbornness, pettiness, even miscommunication. but they're both willing to apologize soon right after the heat of the moment ends. they don't like giving each other the cold shoulder

since gjhm are pretty young and are still inexperienced, i think them apologizing won't be so direct. they're both equally stubborn when it comes to each other and stumble with getting their thoughts across but they'll make it up halfway towards other means (likes small gifts, tea, nonchalant convos about it, etc)

[scotianostra]

Isobel Gunn was born on August 5th 1781 at Orphir on the Orkney Islands.

Little is known of her early life until the summer of 1806, she enrolled as a man in the Hudson's Bay Company and was the first European woman to reach western Canada, using her father's name, John Fubbister.

Gunn quickly distinguished herself for her bravery. Her canoe treks and expeditions through the most remote stretches of Canada saw her travelling some 1,800 miles between remote trading posts. Hugh Heney, who led one of the brigades Gunn travelled with to Pembina, wrote that she “worked at anything and well like the rest of the men.” She even earned herself a pay rise for performing her duties “willingly and well.”

Although she disguised the fact that she was female at least one man knew of her true gender for she fell pregnant. On December 29, 1807, she excused herself from work at the Pembina trading post, citing stomach pains to Alexander Henry, who was the head of the post. She begged him to let her rest in his home by the fire. Henry’s journal takes up the story.....I returned to my room, where I had not been long before he sent one of my own people, requesting the favour of speaking with me. Accordingly, I stepped down to him, and was much surprised to find him extended out upon the hearth, uttering most dreadful lamentations; he stretched out his hand towards me and in a pitiful tone of voice begg’d my assistance, and requested I would take pity upon a poor helpless abandoned wretch, who was not of the sex I had every reason to suppose. But was an unfortunate Orkney girl pregnant and actually in childbirth, in saying this she opened her jacket and display’d to my view a pair of beautiful round white breasts.”

Henry’s journal continued: “In about an hour she was safely delivered of a fine boy and that same day she was conveyed home in my cariole, where she soon recovered.”

The name Gunn registered on the birth certificate? Hudson’s Bay labourer John Scarth, who she said had forced himself upon her.

This story is plausible. There are records to show that Scarth had been with Gunn at numerous HBC postings. Some historians say Gunn was trying to cover up an affair gone wrong; others believe she likely was taken advantage of by Scarth, who could have discovered her ruse as a man, and threatened to tell their employer.

Gunn and her child were returned to Scotland on the ship Prince of Wales on 20th September 1809. There, she lived in poverty, working as a stocking and mitten maker until her death.

Canadian songstress Eileen McGann wrote the following song about Isobel, but called her Isobella, probably for artistic reasons....

My name it is Isabella Gunn, I'm a woman both true and strong From Orkney's rugged Isles I come, but now listen unto my song When I was young I had a lad, as I loved, so he loved me Poverty made him sell his land to travel across the sea It was in the summer of eighteen and six, my lover and I set sail To stay with him I used my wits and my courage it did not fail In men's atire I stowed away to join that jolly crew Side by side we worked each day and only my lover knew And oh how I loved those rocky cliffs and that windy and treeless shore And oh how it broke my heart to leave, but I loved my dear one more, one more But I loved my dear one more. My love was signed by the Hudson Bay for to be a Voyageur To map and explore the northern ways, to trade and to transport fur And if you think I'd be left behind, it's little you understand For on the very next line I signed for to do the work of a man And O how I loved the life we led, though my love and I worked apart But adventure delighted my very soul and the forest had healed my heart The company signed me to work three years, and well had I proved my worth But eighteen months fulfilled my fears and I found that I'd soon give birth. I hoped that the trees would give me rest but they found me where I lay With my newborn baby at my breast there was little that I could say. They sent me downriver to wash the clothes of the men I had worked beside And though I did well enough I suppose, I felt that I'd rather have died. The only thing that gave me joy, the baby grew strong and hale And I looked for the day I'd take my boy and we'd follow that northern trail Oh how I loved those rocky lakes and the stands of birch and pine And oh in the spring how my heart turned north for to search out this land of mine My name it is Isabella Gunn and it's many long miles I've roamed From Orkney's rugged Isles I come, now Canada is my home. For it's here I've come and here I'll be and Here I'll find my rest And my son's son's and daughters will follow me in the land that I love the best

[rosenongrata]

Heart of the Sea

⋯ 𓆩♡𓆪 Summary. A serene jazz songstress slowly makes her way through the artistic ranks of Fontaine—hoping to eventually connect the dots to her past and lost memories through music. And as she always says, "People come and go as the tides of the sea do."

⋯ 𓆩♡𓆪 A/N. a mostly sweet chapter <333 we love soft neuvi

⋯ 𓆩♡𓆪 AO3 Link.

⋯ 𓆩♡𓆪 Chapter W.C. 1873.

⋯ 𓆩♡𓆪 CW. Fluff. Blood & Injuries. Angst. Character Death.

Chapter 4 — A Friend of a Friend.

For the past two days, Kafka's mind stirs endlessly—not that it is unusual by any stretch of the imagination. But that presence at the graveyard that she felt drape upon her grieving mind weighs heavy on her shoulders still. To her, it was no ghost that haunted her there that day. It had to be someone daunting, imposing, and with a position higher than heaven itself (she's convinced, even if it's the paranoia talking.) She's been so plagued by this sensation that she simply couldn't sleep.

…Or perhaps that's an excuse for her to avoid sleep some more?

She mindlessly disregards the potentiality of that concept. She'll learn sooner or later whether staying awake for two days straight was a wise decision or not.

On the third morning of staying wide awake, she barely rises from her bed with a huff and a push—she had been writing in her journal. All her paranoid thoughts and mild delusions fill the pages. She sighs, turning to the side to stare down at her leather-bound diary. Her eyes are heavy as unrefined stone, hardly even open anymore.

But she can't rest. Not now.

…Not when she has groceries to buy.

With the sudden reminder of that chore needing to be attended to, she groans and her head dips low as she feels her energy sink further.

(I should've done groceries yesterday…when I had more energy.) She grumbles nonsense to herself when this thought passes through her mind. (…And it's raining. Again.) She glances out through the windows attached to her balcony, seeing the light raindrops dance upon the polished city.

While she doesn't dread the rain by itself, it's certainly not pleasant to get groceries during such weather either. She sighs at the thought of getting soaked to the bone when running home later. There's that chance of the rain stopping by the time she arrives at the store, but she's not that faithful in the weather.

Without wasting more time, she gets into a modest dress with a sheer shawl adorning her shoulders. She then sits down at her vanity set, staring into the mirror only to see a disheveled man with a twisted grin and blood smeared across his right cheek. She yelps and jumps so far in her chair that she sends herself tumbling back onto the ground.

…She briefly forgot about her less-than-spectacular curse with mirrors.

Without looking even once into her vanity mirror again, she gets ready for the day. Although, her makeup is a bit messy thanks to the lack of, well, a mirror. Once she's proper to go outside, she drags her feet down the stairs of her studio loft with a basket in hand.

Today is going to be rough.

———

Kafka—sleepily dragging herself through the wet streets of the Court—ends up found leaning against a building…asleep. How can one fall asleep standing up? Who knows… Neuvillette certainly doesn't know when he finds himself as the one finding the poor, sleep-deprived woman. He's terrified to wake her, one hand partially outstretched to tap her shoulder.

His icy eyes dart around from one end of the street to the other. There's no one else here. Not even shopkeepers. He sighs a little, figuring it'd be best to wake her and escort her home—so he taps her on the shoulder.

"Mademoiselle Kafka?" Neuvillette whispers, his head tilted as he leans in a little to watch her face closely—to see if she wakes up any time soon. He feels his gut turn when he uses "mademoiselle" for her like it's some sort of insult to her lost relationship.

It doesn't appear she will—

A gasp.

And a wicked yet broken smile tears through her expression. But, it only lasts for a split moment before it's gone with the wind. Neuvillette noticed it, though—how couldn't he? He's not quick enough to ask her what's wrong, either.

"O-Oh… I'm so sorry…" Kafka mutters, still on the verge of falling asleep—that much is obvious with how her eyes flutter. "I-I'll get out of your way, Iudex." Her eyes screwing shut and her hand bracing itself against her forehead as she tries to trudge out of his way.

"Hardly necessary, Mademoiselle Kafka…" He stops her in her tracks the moment she moves past his side. Worry strikes his pale features more than before despite his usual stoic demeanor.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like this, haha." She laughs weakly, her hands raising in defense and shaking side to side a little bit. "It's improper to fall asleep in the streets like some drunkard—"

"Please." Neuvillette intercepts. His expression shifts to something more stern—eyebrows knitted downward with a thin frown. "No need to put yourself down. I hope you believe me."

"I-I…" Kafka sputters haplessly, her fatigued, half-working mind unable to conjure the right excuse. Her hands slap against her face with a wet sound, letting herself let out dry, but quiet sobs. "I'm so sorry… I haven't slept in days…" She chokes.

His eyes dart away, noticing her abandoned basket on the pavement next to where she had fallen asleep earlier. He picks it up and approaches her once more.

"…Is it because of Lubin?" He whispers, effectively tearing her out of her own mind to answer his simple question. He wasn't sure how else to ask, so he decided to be as blunt as he could manage while still maintaining gentleness.

"…I…" She blinks rapidly, arms flopping to her sides. She stares at the ground with soft pink eyes full of distant, forlorn longing. All she wants is Lubin.

"Here." He hands her the basket, her trusty basket that's decorated in ribbons and fake flowers. When she takes it, he smiles a little that she isn't posing much of a brat right now. "No need to answer my question, I…believe I know the answer. Now, let me escort you home, Mademoiselle." He offers his arm to her.

"Thank you… You're far too kind to me…" She murmurs pitifully, her arm looping around his own before she stumbles home alongside him.

"Ah. I think it's an apt amount of kindness I'm giving you. I also like to think most would help out given it wasn't raining." He reasons, his voice soft as a feather again. He believes he's upset her enough for one day.

"…You'd be surprised at the cruelty of humanity, Iudex." She retorts, shaking her head. "But… I concur. I like to think so as well." She smiles, but it's so very thin and fragile as cracked glass.

"Ah, trust, I am aware of some people's…cruelty." He sighs, "It comes with the job."

"Hehe, I suppose it does."

"I will say that you should have stayed home today." He lectures softly, "If I were not here…"

"I-I know." She mumbles, "I'm not sure what's wrong with me anymore… Haha…" She shakes her head.

He nearly sighs at her self-deprecation. In his eyes, she's done nothing wrong to warrant such words. But, while he may be the Iudex, it's still not his job to judge how others treat themselves no matter how much he would like that otherwise. In a perfect world…

Arriving at the doorstep of her studio and loft, he takes her inside. He turns the dim lights on before sitting her at one of the tables, his large hands leading her around by her shoulders.

"Here you go. Allow me to get you some water." He strides away to the bar. At first, he's confused and nervous about touching anything, but when he notices she's starting to doze off again, he pushes away his current plight.

It's the last bottle of water that he grabs. And it's rather warm, too… He brushes the thought of lukewarm, flavorless water off for now. Returning to the table, he opens the bottle and sets it next to her. She giggles—causing one of his white brows to raise.

"What's so funny?" He inquires.

"You're just…so darling." She laughs more. He begins to think she's delirious.

"Ah… Well…" He clears his throat, knowing it's not the time to reject her compliment, "Thank you, Mademoiselle Kafka. I am touched by your words." He smiles. (Even if I don't quite understand what you mean by "darling…") He thinks briefly to himself.

"Uhm…" She begins, staring up at him with laden eyes and parted lips, "Can you stay a while? It's okay if not… I know you're more than busy."

"Hm? Me?" He blinks. It's a rare occurrence that a stranger wants him to sit down with them for a while.

"Yes—" She stops and blushes, "Sorry. You just…feel familiar to me." She nods, glancing up at him with a broken smile. (Familiar as Lubin…almost. Is it because they were like coworkers?) She sighs inward.

"No need to apologize." He shakes his head as he takes a seat across from her. "We hardly know each other and yet…" He attempts to register her sentiments, but it isn't quite coming to him. At least, not right now.

"I know, I know… It's a bit weird. It's that…" She trails off, taking a sip of the water he got her. "It's that you worked close with Lubin, I'd imagine… So, it's like… a friend of a friend, I suppose?"

"Ah, I see now." He doesn't. "Lubin was a good man and a spectacular lawyer." He nods.

"Hehe… He thought you were pretty weird."

"W-Weird?"

"Oh, don't worry. He prefers weird people. It's why he wanted to marry me of all people…"

"You are not weird—"

"I couldn't remember even so much as my name when he found me on the beach outside of the Court."

"…Point taken." He sighs lightly, "Although… I'd argue that is more concerning than weird."

"Heh, I suppose so. He named me Kafka that day, too…" Her elbow props itself on the table, her chin resting in her calloused hand.

"He's the one who named you? That…is not unlike him."

"I agree. It's very in character!" She giggles. "I…have a small question." She mumbles, brushing some hair behind her ear with her spare hand.

"I will answer to the best of my ability—"

"Did Lubin ever talk about me?"

Silence.

"Ahem. He did, yes." He had to get over his initial surprise at the question. "I do not recall him mentioning you by name, but he often praised you otherwise. Some days you were the only person he would talk about. He was always very animated those days." His pale eyes soften, "Sometimes it seemed like he didn't have a care in the world, but it was always evident how much he cared about you."

"Ah…" She blushes, a soft pink dusting her cheeks. "Thank you for telling me. I'm…a little flustered."

All he can do is smile.

They end up talking well into the evening, the topic hardly shifting from Lubin and their experiences with the lively young man. When Neuvillette finally realizes what time it is, he feels his heart jump into his throat. Much to his dismay, he ends up parting from the lovely conversation with Kafka.

…And when he leaves, he finally understands what she means by, "a friend of a friend."

[dragonskxn]

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

🖤- For something they secretly wish they could do with your muse (Max 👀)

- @viciouslyfilthy

- 🍏

"...Hatred. Such a strong emotion that harms so many. I wish it never existed, but it's still one of the many emotions that humans have, sadly."

- 💃

"I'd like to think I'm an excellent songstress, but I'd get embarrassed easily if someone I didn't know caught me practicing."

- 📒

"I keep my journal tucked away in the branches of the tree growing through my home. Its entries are...well, just day to day things, I assure you."

- 🖤

"I...well, I'd like to take him somewhere nice. Somewhere...memorable. Maybe even bring a homemade dinner. Just to get to know him better, to see what he likes...."

[caitlinelizabethisanandarose]

Today we celebrate Mother Earth. Earth Day, the 50th anniversary. Public Radio has featured segments with some of the original organizers of Earth Day- folks who didn’t realize how grand their plans would become.

I sang an original song for the first time in a few days. That is a long time for me. The song I chose, that has been resonating with me since my move back and really began in Puerto Rico, was Steady Like a Mountain. Words inspired by the ventures of Isabella Bird, her time and my time in the Rocky Mountains. 

When I wrote this song, it was a literary exercise. A way to venture into the mind and writings of another person. I was reading A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains, a collection of letters and social descriptions written by Isabella Bird during her travels through Colorado in 1873, an incredible venturer if there ever was one. 

The song did not resonate then as strongly as it does now. Leaving Colorado helped me realize the strong appreciation I do have for mountains and a more natural environment; and the comfort that the Earth can lend us when humans hurt us, a fact of life that seems inevitable- A part of the human condition I suppose and a reflection of our imperfect selves. We hurt others and others hurt us; but the Earth can offer a quiet peace. 

Born and raised in New York City, I had an obnoxious relationship to nature when I was younger. The only exception really being the ocean. I found landscapes boring, not as inspiring say as swimming or floating in the water pretending to be a mermaid. But at this time, I also did not have an appreciation of quiet. Quiet experiences were not quiet in my mind. They provided amplification to the emotional struggles plaguing my train of thought; something that I dealt with for many years. It wasn’t until I started climbing mountains, that that perception started to change. And it would be about another ten years until I really came to understand the lessons and love a relationship with the Earth has to offer. 

So here’s to Mother Earth- the giver of life to us all. Despite our lack of care, she continues to offer sustenance- an example at times of unrequited love. Let us shower the Earth with love and appreciation today and be grateful for the wonder of life that we would not know without it. 

[lmjupdates]

Lauren Jauregui Feels 'So Much More Secure' in Her Artistry as She Releases Debut Project PRELUDE

"You always receive what is meant for you when it's meant for you," Jauregui tells PEOPLE as she opens up about her new music and growing from Fifth Harmony

Lauren Jauregui is finally writing again — and learning a lot about herself in the process.

On Friday, the Cuban-American songstress, 25, released her debut project PRELUDE, a deeply personal seven-track project fully written by Jauregui. The soft, sexy, meditative tracks provide a new perspective to the singer's artistry and life up to this point.

"I learned a lot about myself sonically," Jauregui tells PEOPLE about the writing process. "This round of life and music that I'm giving people is genuine expressions of my experiences in life, and introspection into my own inner world and just s— that's happened to me in my life. It's not necessarily all tragic, but there are definitely a lot of layers to the emotions."

Among the tracks are songs such as "Falling," a song about feeling emotionally exhausted while pleading for support, the 6LACK-featuring "On Guard" about being afraid to open up to a new lover and "Sorry," a poignant song about falling out of love.

"You say you don't wanna break up, but I don't really wanna fake it anymore," she sings on "Sorry," as she seemingly alludes to her two-year relationship with Ty Dolla $ign. (When asked if the person the song is written about had heard the track, she says, "They haven't heard that one.")

It's those painfully relatable stories about love lost and self-reflection and growth that are laced throughout her songs' lyrics.

"It's just me being myself," she says. "I'm a f—ing artist. That's what I've always been. I feel just so much more secure in that now."

"It's exploring yourself as you grow through life, and it's expressing that however it comes up, whenever it comes up," she adds. "I don't have anybody telling me what I can and can't do creatively anymore. It's my vision."

It's that independence that was not really available for Jauregui for a large portion of her life as she performed as a member of Fifth Harmony, the girl group she last comprised alongside Ally Brooke, Dinah Jane and Normani. For Jauregui today, putting a pen on paper has become a crucial aspect of her expression.

"I've always had little notebooks and journals and kept notes of all kinds of things that just pop into my head. It's how I'm able to explore my inner world is through writing," she says. "But then while I was in the group, it was interesting because we wrote sometimes... But when I attempted to write in that kind of environment, I didn't feel valued as a songwriter, and I felt like what I wanted to say as a songwriter wasn't necessarily the collective voice of the group, and so it just got rejected."

The music coming from Jauregui today is a complete 180-degree change from her music in the group — and Jauregui is cognizant of that.

"When motherf—ers come up to me outside, they're like, 'Oh my God, are you Lauren Jauregui?' Not, 'Are you that girl from Fifth Harmony?' No. No, I'm not," she says. "I don't know who that is anymore."

Since the group's 2017 hiatus announcement, all of its members have described the grueling aspects of being in the group. (Brooke has said she faced "mental and verbal abuse" in the group, Normani revealed that it "took a toll" on her confidence while Jauregui said she felt "disgustingly uncomfortable" with rumors that she dated ex-member Camila Cabello.)

But though there were negative aspects to being in the "Work From Home" collective, she maintains that what the group did together was "beautiful."

"It was such a beautiful, inspiring experience from the outside. I think that there was a lot that we went through internally that has nothing to do with anybody, to be honest," she says. "It's our own business. Unfortunately, in this music industry, internal business is always everybody's business or is assumed to be everybody's business. But what's important, I think, about what Fifth Harmony did was that we inspired so many of y'all to love yourselves and to be yourselves."

"That's what matters," she adds. "That's what kept me grounded through the whole process... A lot of people don't understand or can even conceptualize what being a [teenager] doing those kinds of things at that kind of caliber, what that could do to just mental health in general, regardless of all the other external factors that went into play."

After all they endured, the "Colors" songstress looks at her former members with love, saying that they all are finally "shining individually as we did together."

"We're all our own light," she says.

It's through those years in the group — and the handful of years after releasing tracks like "More Than That" and "Expectations" — that have taught Jauregui to "trust [her] instincts" and be unapologetically herself.

"You always receive what is meant for you when it's meant for you. It can't miss you, as long as you're being you," she says. "The only way that it can miss you is if you block it and you're not being yourself."

"I had to learn that," she adds. "And I did learn that."

PRELUDE, the first half of Jauregui's upcoming album, is out now. (On Wednesday, Jauregui surprised fans in Los Angeles with a Wave Silent Disco special listening party at Santa Monica Beach, featuring a sound bath, meditation and dance therapy from Julia Grace.)

Link: (x)

[the-melting-world]

art by @ aircane

For @into-the-daniverse

Kipling x Alec

Hey. Hey. Guess what??? 🌺Girlfriends🌺

50 Kiss Prompts: Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

If you entered the home of Kipling Bronne without knowing her, you might be able to easily guess that she was a gardener. When it came to the songstress Alec of the most well known traveling band in Vesuvia, you could also easily tell that the home belonged to that of lifelong musicians.

But these days, one could not be so sure. Ever since Alec gave Kipling a key to see her as often as she was in town, the lines between a musician’s home and a gardener’s home had begun to blur.

Not that Kipling or Alec minded at all. The band’s instruments all had their own place in the shop. And now they had a potted plant or two to keep them company. Sometimes Alec would come back from gigs to find the guitar mounted on the wall wrapped up in the embrace of one of Kipling’s hanging vines.

These days Alec found her lyrics drifting more and more towards descriptions of sunlight and water and growth. Kipling, too, noticed how her poems, which she kept mostly private, seemed to have taken on a more lyrical bent as she incorporated details of distant starry nights and faraway lands. They were all of the things she connected to her musician, and whenever Alec was gone, they made Kip feel closer to her.

On the days when Alec was home and booking gigs in the local area for the next few months, she often found herself bringing her guitar down from the mount and getting comfortable on the couch with Kip, who was scratching away in her journal with Taro stretched across her shoulders.

Without looking up, Kip slid her legs through the gaps in Alec’s, much like her plants did with instruments scattered throughout the house.

“Hey babe,” Kip said softly as Alec craned her neck, wondering where she last left her lyric book.

Alec squeezed her girlfriend’s thigh. “Hey. Have you seen my–”

Kip lifted up Alec’s book before she could finish her sentence. “It was under the couch.”

“You’re an angel,” Alec said, reaching for inky papers bound in old leather.

Taro chirped in soft indignation.

Kip narrowed her eyes slightly at her familiar before smiling. “Taro was the one who found it. But that’s only because she likes hoarding our things.”

Alec leaned close enough to let Taro nuzzle her cheek. After the purple pygmy lemur wandered off to go find Ravah, Alec kept close by Kip’s chin and whispered another quiet thank you.

Neither of them was sure who moved first, but their lips found each other’s. Light and sweet sensations passed between the gardener and the musician before they broke apart.

“I love you.” Alec said.

“Love you.” Kip hummed.

Their words came out in the same breath. And they meant them.

Kip’s maple brown irises reconnected with her poems and Alec’s gem blue gaze scanned over her lyrics. They shared their sweet love in the energy between them where their skin connected. And in the words they crammed in between the narrow lines on the paper.

[kenkamishiro]

Jack Jeanne Playthrough Part 3 (April 5)

1 month later. April 5th in the VN. Kisa is at Univeil and excited she passed the entrance exam. She runs into her childhood friend Yonaga who's also been accepted. He's shocked that Kisa is attending too, but before she can explain Suzu joins them, introduces one each other.

Quartz's theme is "transparency" where many inexperienced performers who haven't specialized yet tend to go.

Onyx = Jacks whose forte is in dance.

Rhodonite = Jeannes who specialize in song.

Amber is where talented and unique students gather.

Suzu theorizes Kisa would be in Rhodonite because of her appearance, himself in Onyx because his physical abilities make him more suitable for dancing than singing or acting. Yonaga would like to be in Quartz.

Yonaga: Quartz...would be nice.

Suzu: I get what you mean!

Yonaga: Huh?

Suzu: Tbh I enrolled in Univeil cause I really admire Tachibana Tsuki, the legendary Jackace of Quartz!

Kisa: ...!

Suzu: That's why I wanna be in the same class as Tachibana Tsuki...come to think of it, your last names are the same.

Kisa: (If people find out I'm related to Tsuki-nii, it might make it even easier for them to discover my identity...! But it might be better than lying poorly...)

Kisa: It's true. It's the same (nonchalantly)

Yonaga: ......

Suzu: Maybe you guys are distant relatives!

Kisa: *nervous laughter*

Yonaga cuts in and says they should go check which class they're in. Kisa thanks Yonaga for the save. Their year is the 78th class of Univeil. All 3 are in Quartz.

Kisa gets called to the headmaster's office.

Chuuza congratulates her and informs her about her admission. The only ones who know that Kisa is a girl is him, Quartz's homeroom teacher Enishi Rokurou, and now Yonaga, Kisa's childhood friend. Chuuza is surprised that someone who knew about Kisa enrolled in the school.

But if anyone else finds out that she's a girl, expulsion. But since a lot of students are feminine, she won't have to go out of her way to act and dress like a boy. He reminds her to build trust with the rest of the students, and aim to become a lead and aim for the top.

Kisa arrives to Quartz's homeroom late.

??: Yes, yes, come right in.

Kisa: (The teacher...? But he's in a student uniform.)

??: You were called in quite loudly during the school announcements. Did you run into any issues on the first day? Theft, robbery, manslaughter, extortion, coercion, or a bank robbery, perhaps...?

(Please watch the clip of this scene. Can you tell he and Furuta share the same VA? 😄)

Fumi: No one like that would be in our school, Kuro.

??: But wouldn't be great to have such a plucky 1st year around, Fuumin! All the world's a stage!

Fumi: And, if the cops came?

??: I concede! Law is what keeps society together.

Kai: ...you two are bothering the 1st years.

Kisa finds a seat by Suzu and Yonaga.

Neji Kokuto (3rd year, 76th class of Univeil) welcomes the 1st year students to Univeil and Quartz. Class leader-slash-scriptwriter-slash-director-slash...all kinds of other things! He provides an info-dump about Univeil for us.

5 performances in total: Rookie, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Univeil Exhibitions. The Rookie Exhibition is where the 1st years take the lead roles, which is going to be held May 30th. Today is April 5th, so less than 2 months remain. Most viewers will watch over them warmly,  but others will be more strict, like journal reporters, critics and avid Univeil fans. Neji will write a script to allow even novices like them to shine on stage. Casting will be announced mid-April. Upper years are also participating and support the 1st years.

Neji: If you have any questions, all you need is to ask. I'm sure all our seniors here will be more than happy to help you.

??: What, no way.

Neji: With some exceptions of course! Mwahaha. Mikki's a 2nd year now, you can be a little nice to your juniors, hm?

??: ...

Kisa notes he looks cute like a doll. Shirota Mitsuki, noted for his singing. He catches Kisa staring at him, and she apologizes.

Neji asks if anyone has any questions. You're given 3 options: 1) How casting is determined, 2) Type of training to be done, 3) No questions.

Casting is based on Neji's subjective judgment. Everything from how they're doing in lessons, campus life, the way they walk, talk, physique, voice, facial expressions. Essentially based on his intuition, which he uses to find gemstones in the rough.

Training I'll explain later, there's gameplay related to it.

Neji finishes his spiel and passes it on to Quartz's homeroom teacher, Enishi. Pretty low energy. Lessons start tomorrow. Class is dismissed.

Suzu meets Kisa outside the Quartz dorms and asks if she's ready to introduce herself to the other students. He notes it's hard to find people since Univeil is so large. They chat for a bit, Suzu asks Kisa to call him by his first name, so Suzu-kun it is.

Inside Yonaga's dorm. He's finished unpacking, though he's still yet to put away his books (on theatre). He asks how Kisa got into Univeil, and she explains what happened. Yonaga says he'll help Kisa to make sure she stays at Univeil. He's glad that Kisa is here with him.

Yonaga: Kisa-chan, about Tsuki-kun...

Kisa: I can't get in touch with Tsuki-nii, but I'm sure he's doing fine wherever he is. 

Yonaga: I see. Yeah, I'm sure he is.

(Isn't that sketchy? Maybe he turned into that weasel with the moon on its belly lol)

Kisa begins her search for the Quartz students. At the Univeil courtyard, Kisa hears Mitsuki singing.

"Within this chest of mine I dance, the rhythm of possibilities"

Kisa: (I'd heard he was lauded for his singing, but he really has a beautiful voice...the lyrics paint the scene in my head.)

Mitsuki: ...could you not stare at me like that? It's uncomfortable.

Kisa: Oh, I'm sorry!

Mitsuki: Oh, you again. The 1st year who came in late.

Kisa: Yes. My name is Tachibana Kisa. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Mitsuki: Huh...you've got a face like a girl.

Kisa: Eh? Y-yes, I suppose so.

Mitsuki: A high-pitch voice. A delicate figure. And a Jeanne at that. At least be aware of your own features.

Kisa: I-I'm sorry.

He sighs and introduces himself. 2nd year, 77th class of Univeil. A Jeanne and a tresor (songstress/diva) of Quartz. VA is Kajiwara Gakuto (Asta). Kisa compliments him on his singing.

Mitsuki: So you were eavesdropping.

Kisa: I-I'm sorry.

Mitsuki: Well, not like I care either way. Later.

Kisa: He left...I guess he doesn't really like interacting with people. But his voice really was beautiful.

(If I had to describe Mitsuki's tone, it would be similar to Kenma, but a bit more antisocial lol)

Kisa finds Kai in the forest, seemingly concentrating on something. She decides to come back later, but Kai notices her.

Kai: ...? Quartz's 1st year?

Kisa: Yes! I'm Tachibana Kisa.

Kai: I see, you're...

Kisa: Yes!

(awkward silence between the two)

Kai: Mutsumi Kai, 76th class of Univeil. I'm a 3rd year.

Kisa: So I should call you Mutsumi-senpai!

Kai: Kai is fine. You can call me that around other people too.

Kisa: But...

Kai: ...

Kisa: ...(agrees)

Kai: ...

Kisa: T-then, I'll call you Kai-san!

Kai: Okay.

Kisa notes Kai is the Jackace of Quartz. And since Tsuki was also the Jackace, that means he must be talented too.

Kai: I'm a vessel meant to garnish the Aljeanne. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kisa is confused by his statement. Convo ends.

Kisa runs into Neji next in the hallways. He enters a room then promptly comes back out.

Neji: Welcome!

Kisa: Ah!

Neji: What're you doing in a place like this?

Kisa: I'm going around introducing myself to everyone in Quartz.

Neji invites her into his workroom where he writes his scripts and plans his staging. But he also performs on stage, any male or female role, from a shining prince/princess to old grannies/gramps.

He's currently working on the script for Quartz, but he won't reveal it just yet. Kisa asks if the other class leaders write the scripts like he does, but Neji is a special case, who screenwrites, directs and performs.

Neji: Once you get carried away, you can't see what's going on around you. What we do has no end to it. Acting, dancing, singing, they're fields that you can pursue for a lifetime. You could reach the stars, or merely end up as a master of none. No matter how much time,  it will never be enough. It's a terrifying world out there. That's why it's so engrossing. The stage is a colossal device. The Jacks and Jeannes make up the gears, and I am the craftsman who pieces them together. Let's create a fantastic stage together, Tachibana-kun!

Neji must continue writing, and wishes Kisa the best for the Rookie Exhibition. (Neji definitely talks the most out of the main cast lol. And fast too, talks a mile a minute and tone varies hugely)

Kisa finds Fumi standing languidly in the middle of the dance room, taking deep breaths before beginning to dance. A Japanese-style dance where his movements are gentle, beautiful and brilliant. He comments on Kisa staring intently at him, just like during the entrance exam.

Kisa is surprised that Fumi remembered, despite the number of applicants.

Fumi: I remember you and the red-haired guy well cause you two danced so terribly.

Kisa: Oh...

Fumi: I'm just kidding. Though the red-haired guy really did suck.

Kisa introduces herself, and Fumi pauses at hearing the name Tachibana. 3rd year Takashina Sarafumi, 76th class of Univeil, but he prefers being called Fumi, no senpai honorific attached. Kisa ends up calling him Fumi-san.

Fumi: Let's have fun, Kisa. (leaves)

Kisa: It's overwhelming seeing him up close. So that's the power of an Aljeanne.

Kisa goes to her room excited for her new life at Univeil and retires for the night for her 1st day of classes tomorrow.

＊＊＊

previous || next (to be updated)

[fulcrum-agent]

014. Commend [FFXIVwrite2021]

"Open it and see."

She looks down at the box, brow furrowing a little at it as she starts unbinding the present. Then, curious, she lifts the lid to reveal...the exquisite rapier that sits upon soft packaging. She takes her current weapon and swaps it for the new Bozjan relic, making sure the foci don't get too close in the process.

"Holy Solus! She's beautiful!" the duellist exclaims, immediately standing up and testing the weapon's balance. It is, of course, absofuckinglutely perfectly balanced.

"I have.. been meaning to.. have this delivered sooner.. from Bozja. 'Tis a relic reborn from.. the old tales of Bozja," he explains to her. "My father... He had this be commissioned by a blacksmith.. working with the Bozjan resistance. It is.. yours now, Aquila."

The Seeker notes the blade, stating, "Thought I recognised that, excellent taste in blades, Byleth, that looks absolutely incredible."

She shifts out of a combative stance, giving Leth a wide-eyed expression.

"Jeralt...had this commissioned? So he could fence?" she asks in a bewildered tone.

The Bozjan nods in Karuis' direction. He then looks back at her and explains, "In my father's journal... He had explained to me that.. he was a Blade. A.. Queen Gunnhildr's Blade, the journal said. But.. yes, he was an.. excellent swordsman."

She looks back down at the blade in her hand, tearing up a little; she still feels a little guilty for Jeralt's death.

Confused, he asks softly, "I.. do not understand... Is the gift.. unsatisfactory..?"

Meanwhile, her twin just smiles.

The rest of the collective group keep quiet, letting the scene play out for a bit longer as they listen in.

She looks back up at her lover, giving him a delighted smile that half the room's never seen before.

"No, Leth. It's absolutely perfect," she answers, adding, "I just...miss your dad, is all."

Her reflection nods in agreement, "He was a good man; I'm sorry we couldn't do more..."

"I see..." the Bozjan looked down at the floor for a moment and closed his eyes. A passing thought and mental image of his father goes through his mind's eye. He then lifts his head and opens his eyes. "He is.. resting in peace now. Bozja is free. His memory.. is now with that weapon, Aquila. Please... Do me the honour.. and keep it."

"And... He was, Liocyon. Thank you," the minty-haired Hyur agrees before giving the rest of the pleasantries, "... Happy nameday, you two."

She nods slowly at her boyfriend before looking down at the weapon.

"Does she have a name?" she asks quietly, glancing to the frog-closure scabbard on her right hip, making sure it'll work for the new blade.

The ginger Miqo'te songstress smiles gently as she watches from afar, one hand reaching for the Highlander beside her's hand to squeeze it, as her tail brushed against the Seekers leg.

"The smith who.. forged this has called it... Talekeeper."

((Note: the birthdate is July 27th.))

[mythgirlimagines]

Here is a brand new talentswap for this week! Let’s give a sweet welcome to Myth, the Former Ultimate Mathematician!

——————————————————-

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Myth was raised by a family of academics and alumni of Hope’s Peak, and thus, Myth has a massive appreciation for all things academia. Ever since Myth was little, she has shown stunning aptitude in math, and eventually, it became her favorite subject in school. Myth was also captain of her school’s Math Bowl team, after usurping the previous captain in a battle of wits. Before Myth was invited to join the Hope’s Peak roster, Myth attended a very prestigious school district, and garnered local fame for her mathematical prowess. Her mathematical aptitude is so large, that she can solve complex mathematical equations, such as calculus, mentally and in under half a minute. These skills make her a valuable asset in both competitions and mathematical journals. As an adult, she runs a mathematics tutoring business, for younger struggling students.

 ——————————————————-

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Baton Twirler

Two halves of a whole nerd, these two have been best friends ever since they first met in the same prestigious academy. As opposed to the math club, Wyre was part of the marching band as the head baton twirler, and garnered infamy for her prowess at leading the band. Despite Wyre’s wild and crude nature contrasting heavily against both her former academy and Myth’s personality, Wyre is like Myth’s personal cheerleader and hype girl, always there to pick Myth up on her low days and defend her against people who want to pick on Myth’s weight. In return, Myth offers Wyre tutoring to help her get through the private school. 

Outfit: A blue and red majorette outfit with a matching hat, glasses are clean and unbroken.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Gardener

Fancying herself as the “Supreme High Overlord of The Valley of Death”, said ”Valley of Death” is actually simply a very large flower garden that Scar tends to all by herself. With a vast botanical knowledge and a caring and maternal nature towards both plants and people, underneath her constant supernatural boasting. Myth never really had much experience with botany, but she uses her conversations with Scar as learning experiences. While Scar finds Myth polite and kindhearted enough, Scar’s maternal instincts just flair up, every time she witnesses Myth get stressed and then shoving unhealthy snacks into her face.

Outfit: Hair in a side plait and decorated with small flowers, a hooded black cloak and matching makeup, over a copper and green dress, nothing on her feet.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Billiards Player

Originally from a less-than-fortunate family, Fusion has taken it to the pool tables to earn his family money. Fusion’s accurate eyesight and strategic mindset lets him dominate every pool tournament that he enters. Myth and Fusion both bond over their intellectual interests and their love for snacks. In fact, Myth and Fusion usually meet up to exchange snacks with each other. Fusion is currently trying to teach Myth how to play billiards, viewing Myth’s intelligence as a great advantage on the pool table. Similar to Scar, Fusion carries himself with a parental air and regularly looks after the other Ultimates like they are his children. 

Outfit: A blue and yellow striped vest over a red tie with a star on it and a white dress shirt, glasses, pants and shoes from original design, always carries and stims with his lucky pool cue.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Knitter

As much as Fusion II tries to pull off the rebellious teenager act, it’s a bit hard to do that, considering she knits in her spare time and donates her knitted crafts to charity. While at first, Myth viewed Fusion II as simply a thug from the wrong side of the rails and Fusion II viewed Myth as a reminder of her nerdy self from middle school, her opinion of the knitter quickly changed once she learned about her charitable and kindhearted side, particularly to children and elders. Now the two’s relationship are on the more positive side, with a private intellectual meme chat being the ultimate deciding factor in their friendship. 

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with a red scarf around her neck and blue gloves and brown boots with white fluff on the inside.

Just Anon, Ultimate DJ

DJanon is well-known in underground nightclubs for his energetic music mixes and his expertise in hyping up his audience. Many rumors claim that he is nocturnal, and it’s not hard to see why, for he seems to lose all of his energy during the day and become grouchy and lazy. Myth never really was experienced when it comes to music, and Janon’s music just seems to hurt her ears. Janon doesn’t seem to like anyone who reminds him of school, so the hatred between Myth and Janon is mutual. However, Janon has a secret soft spot for the preteen fanbase of his that he desperately wants to keep hidden.

Outfit: A pink Daft Punk style helmet with bunny ears on top, a pink jumpsuit with blue circuit patterns, light blue boots.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Jazz Musician

As both an expert on both the saxophone and the piano and a person with a very flashy stage presence, it is no wonder that Sparkle is the leading lady of her all-female jazz troupe, ”THE SPECTACULAR SONGSTRESSES”. As opposed to Janon’s music, Myth finds Sparkle’s music to be much more pleasant to listen to. Myth may not understand much of Sparkle’s over-dramatic demeanor and vocabulary, but she stays silent and tries her best to keep up with the energetic attitude of the jazz musician. Sparkle appreciates the high class and intelligent musical tastes of Myth, and usually lets Myth preview her new jazz songs. 

Outfit: A black fedora, a black overcoat slung around her shoulders, a white dress shirt with golden music note buttons, a red tie, black pants, black slip-on shoes.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Soccer Player, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Actor

Both of these twins have achieved stardom and became role models for NB youth everywhere. They also have a penchant for creeping people out with the cursed images they put into people‘s heads, but the similarities stop there. While Egg is an inspiration for non-binary people thanks to their athletic prowess securing wins for their varsity team, Wet Sock inspires and astonishes non-binary people, thanks to their famous face and stellar performance skills on both theater sets and movie sets. As much as Myth tries to be polite when interacting with the Freak Twins, their verbal intrusive thoughts just disgust her.

Egg’s Outfit: A green headband, a green and dark blue track jacket, a white tanktop, shorts that match their jacket, white socks, blue and green cleats.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A black and white tuxedo with a light green scarf.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Film Director

Despite their age and relative newness to the job, Curious has garnered fame for their high-budget and gripping emotional tales on the big screen. But the one film that truly sealed their fame as a director was ”The Ice Cage”, a film detailing a person slowly moving out of the glass shell that they have been put into by society. Because of their similar polite and passive temperaments, Myth and Curious get along very well. While Myth may not have much experience with the arts, she uses her conversations with Curious as learning opportunities to gain more knowledge on the creative process.

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with a black jacket and beret.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Kickboxer

Dominating the underground kickboxing tournaments that are frequently held in his less-than-stellar hometown, Nerd‘s sheer physical power is nothing to laugh at and many people yearn to learn Nerd’s ways. Unfortunately, Nerd isn’t exactly the best when it comes to being kind to others, and responds to foreign emotions with his fists and feet. Nerd can’t help but want to whip the chubby mathematician into shape, upon seeing her get stressed and stress eat as a result. But Nerd’s aggressive training just scares the kindly mathematician away, much to the kickboxing champion’s chagrin and anger. 

Outfit: Black shorts held up by a white drawstring, bandaged-up arms and feet, a black bathrobe over all that.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Party Planner

As a strong believer in Murphy’s Law, Eldritch shoots and double-shoots to make sure that every party that he plans goes off without a hitch, and nothing bad will ever happen. This mindset may make him a great planner, but he isn’t so crash-hot, when he actually attends the parties he planned. Fortunately, Myth is polite and easily-pleased, which is a pass in Eldritch’s party-planning and people-pleasing book. Unfortunately, Eldritch found out that Myth gets easily stressed, so he has to remove any stress—arousing things from any party that she happens to be attending. At least Eldritch now has some common ground with Myth.

Outfit: A green and yellow party hat on his head, hair stained with streamers and sprinkles, a pink camo jacket with his pockets stuffed with party favors over a light pink shirt with blue and yellow balloons on the front, shorts and slippers from original design.

Dream Anon, Ultimate BMX Biker

Commonly known by the stunt community as the “Pink Pinball”, Dream became famous on the internet for her filmed BMX stunts, and her bright pink ensemble she wears while performing said stunts. She regularly frequents skate parks and bike-racing tracks to practice her skills, and even established a BMX club at her school. Dream and Myth are complete opposites in just about everything, so Dream regularly gives proper workout sessions (unlike Nerd) and encourages Myth to loosen up and live on the edge, and Myth regularly looks after Dream to make sure her stunts aren‘t too dangerous. 

Outfit: A bright pink and grey jump suit with a matching motorcycle helmet. 

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Glassblower

As the latest child in a long and prestigious line of glassblowers, it was expected by her parents that Iris would carry the family business. Despite her parent’s doubts due of her supreme clumsiness, Iris is amazing at both creating and delivering drinking glasses and adorable glass trinkets, which happen to be her two major specialities. Despite her optimistic temperament, Iris has anxiety that she tries desperately to hide underneath her happy and slightly ditzy facade. Myth can especially relate to keeping up a facade to mask anxiety, and Iris regularly imparts wisdom onto Myth to help the constantly-stressed mathematician.

Outfit: Hair pulled back into a braided ponytail, a pair of brown goggles over her eyes, a grey jumpsuit, black gloves and boots.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Sailor

Well-known amongst her peers for piloting the P.S Prose, Purple sailed across the vast and open ocean, and dodged dangerous storms, waves and wildlife along the way. Unfortunately, spending all your time surrounded by nothing but water doesn’t exactly do wonders for your social skills, for Purple is shockingly timid and regularly hides behind her good friend Fusion. Despite Purple’s archaic maritime terms confusing everybody but Myth and Fusion, Purple is still very sweet and kind. Myth offering Purple some of her anti-stress candy was the start of a simply beautiful friendship. 

Outfit: A white captain‘s hat, hair tied into small pigtails, a purple overcoat over a blue and white striped shirt and a black ascot, black pants, tall white socks, black shoes.

This series centers around the secretly-stressed mathematician learning about new anti-stress techniques from her colorful peers, in order to combat her constant stress-snacking.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Myth wears her brown hair down with hairpins on each side that resemble a plus and minus sign. Myth wears the same uniform from her old private school that she (much to her embarrassment) still is able to fit into. It consists of a black jacket that has math-themed pins over a white dress shirt and a red and blue tie, a white and light blue checkered skirt that resembles a line graph. On her legs and feet are black leggings and red Mary Janes. Because of her chronic snacking, Math!Myth has a plumper figure compared to Romantic!Myth.

——-————————————————

PERSONALITY

Because of her upbringing, Math!Myth has a taste for anything scholastic or pertaining to academics, and always appreciates a good intellectual conversation. Math!Myth carries herself with a polite and courteous demeanor, treating all men like kings and all women like queens. Unfortunately, underneath that calm and well-put-together facade, is a very stressed young lady. Because Math!Myth doesn’t like stress, she tries her best to stave off the stress. However, stress-eating is her go-to-method for dealing with stress, and the other Anons are trying their best to teach Myth a proper way of dealing with constant stress and anxiety. On the plus side, Myth is a constant source of snacks for the other Anons. If anyone needs a snack, they just head over to Myth and ask for one, for she will have it stashed somewhere on her person.  ————————————————-——

I’ve done Buff!Myth before, but I haven’t done Chubby!Myth yet, so here you go. Let me know what you think of this Myth and the other Anons in this AU!

-Fusion Anon

[sezja]

I requested Sanson journal prompts! (Still accepting)

@pakchamkae: Reflecting on the first time he heard Jehantel play a song \o/

Note that this does make some brief references to my headcanons for Sanson's family.

I have at last allowed curiosity to override my sense of propriety, and surrendered to the temptation to seek out the man they call the Godsbow: so named for his allegedly preternatural skill with a bow. However, it was not his archery which drew my attention, but his reputation as a bard. The art has all but faded from Gridania and the Twelveswood in recent decades, as the more intangible art of song lost its lustre in favor of more obviously practical battlefield skills: archery, the lance, conjury - leaving song instead in the hands of minstrels, songstresses, and other performers.

I was surprised to find Jehantel a reflective, humble sort. Once he recognized that I was no aspiring archer seeking to train at his feet, he became eager to discuss the history and arts of the bard, doubtless seeing in me a kindred spirit... or at least a willing ear, where so many have been uninterested in the more musical aspects of his career.

He says he has found an apprentice, and hopes that through her work, the bard's arts may once more flourish in Eorzea.

He claims some familiarity with my father from his days with the Gods' Quiver, though of course they served in different units. Indeed, it was hearing my father's name which seemed to convince Jehantel of the sincerity of my interest in song: he was grieved to learn of my father's retirement, though pleased to know he has found joy elsewhere - and pleased to learn that his son followed him in service to the Twelveswood, and to Eorzea.

It took very little persuasion to convince Jehantel to sing for me, though I'd have done a good deal more shameless wheedling for the pleasure: so fine and pure a voice I've never heard. It seemed, for a moment, as though the sun shone more brightly through trees that were, abruptly, a more vibrant shade of green. The birds were silent as though to listen, and even the wind through the leaves felt as though it danced.

I lack the words to do it justice. Memory will have to suffice.

But I am filled with a new purpose: If one song from a bard's harp may have so profound an impact on me, what then might be possible with a unit of bards? If the strength of a bard may be woven into harmony with other bards, what new songs might emerge? A dream, perhaps, with no bards left in active service... but I know the thought will stay with me, regardless, and I cannot set it aside entirely. Perhaps Jehantel's apprentice may stir others to follow in her footsteps.

[eporea]

You are the oceans gay wave~ Nina & Azura

What a lovely day it was. A new day, a new opportunity to be a menace and get in trouble. Yet it wouldn’t be her getting in trouble because she had a little songstress to do that for her. Even better that Azura was apart of the faculty. was it really? 

Rubbing her little hands together, Nina stood in front of Azura’s office door. She could barely contain her excitement as she gently knocked on it. How would Azura think of the song? Would Nina get in trouble? Would Nina get detention? Would Azura get in trouble?

 She didn’t care too much if the songstress got in trouble- if it meant her song would be sung out loud then she would take chances.When Nina heard a soft reply of ‘come in’ she practically slammed her body into the door to open it. She would most likely feel that later. “Hehe Lady Azura its so good to see you on such a fine afternoon.” 

She used her foot to close the door, ignoring the loud noise that came after it. She finds the songstress at her desk and makes her way over. With a glint of mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her face, Nina pulls out her journal and rips a page out, slamming it on the desk. “I wrote a song for you!”

@sheergrace

[womentowatchnowblog]

Kenya Gray

Kenya Mary-Darlene Gray is a life coach, healthy lifestyle coach, women’s fitness and nutrition specialist, author, coach, senior admissions advisor at State Career College, songstress, lyricist, and author.   After facing her own struggles with obesity, rejection, loss, abandonment, and low self-esteem into her late 20s and losing weight with Weight Watchers and becoming a leader in the company, she started her own fitness business Purpose2Prosper Inspiration and Fitness.

 She expanded her business by working as a fitness coach through an online fitness company Beachbody in 2013. Through her business, she has helped members adopt healthier lifestyles spirit, soul, and body.  She desires to encourage others to pursue their dreams and walk in their purpose despite past hurts, rejection, abuse, low self-esteem, and experiences of loss through.

 In addition to her full -time career and business, she launched her twelve-year-old daughter Mariyah’s business CreativelyMariyah in Jun 2019 selling her published books, cookies, and personalized gifts.  Kenya released her first book “Making Fit Happen for Me (My journey from hurt to wholeness) “in October 2018 and it is already impacting lives around the country.

 She released her second book “Miraculously Made Women’s Healthy Lifestyle Journal (Six months to a healthier you spirit, soul and body)” in March 2020.  She recently graduated from Grand Canyon University with her Master of Science degree in Psychology with an emphasis in life coaching in 2019. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Performance Psychology from Grand Canyon University. She has been married to her husband Myreon for 24 years and they have four beautiful children and three grandchildren. Kenya acknowledges that her life is a testimony of God’s amazing grace

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