#Far over the misty mountains cold (interactions)

[bramble-mouse]

The Faery Doctor

Chapter 1

Tags: G/t, gentle giant, timid tiny, fantasy setting, adventure Content warnings will be tagged appropriately for subsequent chapters. These may include death, gore and vore. They will include no sexual themes. Minors, please do not interact!

The cold north made a necessity of woolen garments- and thankfully, Trish Mctavish rarely traveled without hers. It was a handsome green plaid piece made by her father, a memento of the cold lands he’d grown up in. The Summer Court’s lands which her parents had built their own on made little need for such heavy garments; true to name, the weather was always sunny, always balmy and a far cry from the rest of Alba’s all-year-round grey skies and sheeting rain. As a child, the sun had been welcome, making ease of play and affording her parents reprieve from washing up a muddy child after a romp in the rain. As an adult, however, when her practice took her on the road, Trish had discovered the cold, misty splendor of a rainy day. 

She snuggled in close to the ram she shared the back of the wagon with, a round, woolie fellow the wagon driver had called Samson. He was a welcome companion at present, when the early autumn chill still clung to the dregs of the morning. Trish reached into her pocket and unfurled a bit of parchment. On it, was a hastily drawn map and the name of her destination: Dalrstead.

‘I was told you’d treat anyone.’

The tall, hooded woman spoke, the glow of her golden eyes pinning Trish to rug in her entryway. The strange woman dwarfed her utterly, being a good few heads taller than the tiny, birdlike faery doctor. She nodded to her guest silently, fiddled with the edges of her apron to keep calm.

The hooded woman’s shoulders had sagged in some relief. She flicked her wrist and a pen and paper appeared, which she used to start sketching.

‘You will find him here. Please, he…he needs a skilled hand. I’ll give you any reward you ask.’

Trish felt the weight of the hand drawn map, the urgency of the woman. Just who was her patient to be, she wondered? Faery doctors often treated primarily the Folk, but her mother had taught her how to treat near every type of non-human under the sun (and even those who favoured the moon). She’d helped a mother mermaid give birth to triplets. She’d soothed a naga’s chronic headache. She’d even fitted a goblin with a prosthetic leg. Trish’s patients were all sorts.

So why had this woman been especially secretive about the nature of this one? All she knew thus far about the fellow was that he was a mountain dwelling hermit and his name was Frio Frostfang. She didn’t even know the nature of his illness- especially vexing. Trish had brought a broad medical kit, as many different ingredients as her pack could feasibly carry. All others she would have to buy in Dalrstead, or forage in the surrounding woodlands. “Look just up ahead, lass.” The wagon driver said, starting Trish from her thoughts. He sucked on the end of his pipe.

“Dalrstead, the Sjev Mountains and the northern woods between ‘em.” Trish turned to glance over her shoulder and was rewarded with the sharp, snow capped peaks, the endless brushwork of ancient pine trees and the hodgepodge of buildings up the road crowned by chimney smoke. “Goes without sayin’, I reckon, but, seein’ as you’re no local, I’ll be the first to give you the warning.” The wagon driver said. “Steer well clear of the northern woods. Everythin’ that grows there is old and beyond our ken. Not to mention it’s the frost giant’s huntin’ grounds.” Trish’s throat bobbed. Frost giants. She could remember meeting one giant in her life, a hill giant with a twisted ankle that’d cried like a baby when her mother treated him. He’d been a big lump of a thing with the sensibilities of a child despite being an adult. He’d been so pleased with her mother’s work to heal him, he’d uprooted a tree to give her, like a clumsy bouquet of flowers. Her mother had laughed and thanked the hill giant, but bade him plant it again for her instead. “Tanner’s boy went missin’ last month when he decided he wanted reindeer hide and went huntin’ for it too far past where it’s safe. Damned fool boy.” He shook his head.

Trish frowned and turned back around, staring down at her boot clad feed as they swung with the motions of the wagon. “But…don’t the…the frost giants…” She trailed off. “Don’t come into Dalrstead, not for a good thirty winters now.” The driver interjected

“Raids were somethin’ terrible when I was a lad. Had to hide in cellars for hours, prayin’ the brutes wouldn’t sniff you out. Nothin’ on countin’ the dead and missin’ after, knowing just where they’d wound up. Or freezin’ while you try to rebuild enough to get through the night.” Trish chewed her lower lip. “And…and why did they stop?” The wagon driver took a long pull off his pipe and breathed out the fragrant, earthy smoke. “No one knows. Some say somethin’ worse is livin’ in those woods now, closer to the village. Others say it’s an old god come back to life that’s started protectin’ us again. Far as I’m concerned, I don’t give a rat’s ass which it is. Dalrstead’s peaceful and that’s what rightly counts.” Trish paid the wagon driver for his time and disembarked at the front gates to the town- though it was more a log arch than anything formal.

Many southerners viewed those who lived up north through one of two lenses: pity, for the poor land they inhabited or condescension, because of course they were all nothing but uneducated peasants. That was the mind of those in cities and larger towns, at any rate. Trish’s first experience with a northerner had come in the form of an adventurer named Gudrun who’d accompanied her orcish travelling companion to the Mctavish’s home for an injured eye. He’d walked away with a salve that would prevent complete blindness and Gudrun had grown fond of the doctor’s then young daughter. Trish and Gudrun still exchanged letters sometimes, when either of them were able. 

What Trish knew for certain about northerners was that they didn’t have time to give a damn about most niceties. They were intelligent, resourceful and hearty folks who took care of one another. They were a far cry from the simple, stupid folk others in cozier climes claimed them to be. The food culture of Dalrstead stood as testament to these qualities. While there wasn’t much that grew well in so cold a place with short springs and summers, folk had learned to transform every ingredient they could lay hands on into hearty, flavourful meals. The mead and whiskeys from this region were second to none, boasting deep, complex flavours built upon carefully cultivated ingredients. Trish blinked free from her far away thoughts and back into the town square, where her feet had mindlessly carried her. The late morning market was a bustling place, the hubbub audible all over Dalrstead. A trio of women with children hanging from their skirts swapped stories. A strong dwarven fellow washed a heavy blanket at the laundry pool, scrubbing dirt out along a washboard. A handsome fellow with dark curly hair and curiously rose coloured eyes caught Trish’s attention and he smiled, offering a friendly wave. She blushed and snapped her gaze back down, all but running in the direction of the town tavern, The Crooked Cat. 

The interior of the wooden structure smelled of pipe weed, a wood fire and yeasty bread still baking in the oven. Instantly, the chill began to depart from Trish’s extremities, and her thin, bird-like little body gravitated towards the comfortable heat. As she removed her gloves and walked towards the front counter, she heard a loud, incredulous snort. “Reward’s bloody good, that’s why.” A deep, gravelly voice insisted. Trish jumped at his tone, every muscle in her body tightening. She peered up through her glasses, the errant brown curls that fell into her eyes. 

There were four men at the counter, geared to the nines in all manner of weaponry, from halberds to claymores, and even a heavy crossbow that Trish would have no chance of ever lifting, let alone getting a shot off of. The man who stood at the head of the pack sported dark hair shot through with silver tugged back into a loose ponytail that trailed down his back. His skin was bitter pale, and a nasty set of scars made by a beast’s claws marred the left side of his face, depriving one eye of sight and drawing the corner of his mouth down in a permanent grimace. “Hunting giants is a fools errand, lad.” The barkeep replied firmly. He was a round fellow with a bushy, ginger beard and keen green eyes. He continued to polish a claw mug with a worn cloth. “I’ve other marks much less likely to bring a raid upon us.” The scarred man leaned forward over the counter top. “I didn’t take the folk of Dalrstead for cowards.” “We aren’t.” The barkeep narrowed his eyes “We ain’t fools either. Now step back, boy. There’s a young lady lookin’ for directions, I reckon.” The scarred man’s upper lip formed a snarl. He backed up, turned his attention onto Trish and sauntered slowly over to her. “That so?” He scoffed. He began to circle Trish, and the woman felt her knobbly knees knock together. She dared not look up now, keeping her attention firmly on the floorboards. She winced when she felt him tease the end of one of her braids, hold a moment and let it fall over her shoulder. “Then by all means, let’s not keep the little mouse. Lest she get lost and a cat decides she’s lunch.” Trish gripped her skirts tightly until her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded in her ears. The scarred man chuckled, whistled to round up his boys and they all trudged over in front of the fireplace, thankfully far away from the bar. Trish felt like crying. Or throwing up. She wasn’t certain which one would arrive sooner when the barkeep’s voice startled her out of her panic. “Now now, lassie, take a good deep breath. Got somethin’ for your nerves.” Trish nodded mutely and claimed a barstool. A warm mug smelling of orange peel and allspice was set down in front of her. “Mulled wine. On the house, on account of the reception you received.” The barkeep said. Trish nodded and managed to get out a near inaudible, shaky ‘thank you’ before taking a first experimental sip. 

She winced at first from the heat but allowed the feeling to ground her. Adventurers of all sorts chattered away in the Crooked Cat. One trio of dwarves looked over a worn map much too large for any of them. A pair of snow elves talked over mugs of something warm- maybe the very same mulled wine Trish drank. A larger group of young adventurers laughed as they swapped stories of their latest exploits in vivid detail. Trish pointedly did not look for the scarred man and his lackeys. “If you’ll beg my pardon, lass…You don’t look much like an adventurer.” The barkeep observed. “What brings you in apart from a drink?” Trish held the mug with her thin fingers, savouring the warmth.

“I’m…I’m looking for someone.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “A…A ‘Frio Frostfang’. I…I’ve been told to seek him out.” The barkeep paused, his gaze flitting quickly to the four men by the fireplace, silently drinking as they listened to their scarred boss talk. “Why?” The barkeep inquired. Trish pursed her lips together nervously. She reached into her coat pocket and produced the rolled up bit of parchment her mysterious client had given her. She slid it towards the barkeep. “I’m a…a faery doctor. And…a client gave me…gave me the name. And these directions.” The barkeep unfurled the map and scanned over the paper. He let out a little chuckle. “Trust that old worrywart to go about things the complicated way…” He muttered. The barkeep pushed the map back towards Trish and dug about in his apron pocket. He withdrew a stone covered in runes, which he pressed into Trish’s hand as she made to reach for her map. “On the north-eastern outskirts of town, there’s an old road leading out towards the forest. Follow it but be careful not to stray off the path. Keep close to the mountainside. Turn right at the fork and follow the road up into the mountains until you reach a clearing with a lake. You’ll find this,” He indicated to the cave mouth on the drawing “On the opposite side of the lake. You’ve got the key inside now.” Trish turned the stone around in her fingers curiously before stowing it in her coat pocket. She started rolling the map back up. “I…” She started, stopped. “Do you…do you know the woman that…” “Can’t tell you about her, I’m afraid.” The barkeep shut Trish down quickly. “Not in the company of this lot, anyroad. All I can say is she’s worth trustin’.” Trish felt some weight lift. Yes, she’d fully intended to do her work regardless of what type of person that hooded woman had been, because a good faery doctor healed every patient they received without question. But to know she wasn’t walking into some awful trap was something of a relief. 

“Thank you..for…” She trailed off and gestured at the mug when no words would form. The barkeep laughed. “Come by for a mug any time. Best in the village.” He took her empty mug and set it in a basin under the counter.“Call me Filip, lass.”

The faery doctor managed a bashful smile, pushing her large, round glasses up the gentle slope of her freckled nose. “Trish. Trish Mctavish.”

[thexwarriorhearts]

@woundedwrldd for Pippin for a closed starter 

“By Mahal’s Beard a Hobbit.”  Kili said coming upon the male.  The dwarven prince really was getting lonely being the only one from Middle Earth here. . .even if they never met he’s already considering him a friend.  “Hello !  I am Kili at your service.”  He bows to him 

[bravenessandboldness]

@4heartsforever for a closed starter 

“Awww come on !  I’m not that short i can totally ride the ride !”  Kili argue; he just wants to see what this is all about but here he is. . .being called short !  “You’re lucky I’m in public or your knee caps would have been destroyed.”  Kili threatened as he wanders to try and find a new ride or something to do. It was then he remembered a blue haired girl.  “Evie !  Hello !”  He goes and gives her a hug.

[dwarvesandarrows-blog]

The Escape

@what-lies-within-us

This was not how he expected leaving Rivendell to go.  Not only did the spiders ruin everything, but now they’ve been taken by elves who rule this forest. . .or something he didn’t really pay attention to who they are.  All he knows is they are not like Hihfaeriall.  While she had a curiosity for dwarves these only had one thing in mind, imprisoning them.  All the dwarves try to escape their grasps, especially those of Durin.  While Thorin is dragged to talked to the king, the rest were thrown in the cells, which did not sit well for Kili who already hated being closed in after his time with the trolls.  

[a-funny-little-sunflower]

♡ Yandere Maedhros Alphabet ♡

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Maedhros shows his affection in little ways, like taking you to watch the stars with him or by leaving soft lingering kisses against your skin.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Although Maedhros is the calmest of his kin and doesn’t exactly like having fights, when it comes to you, he would rip a man apart with his bare hands if need be.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Although he is renowned for his frightening nature, he knows the value of family and thinks that it's unforgivable to ever do harm to your spouse, so he’d treat you like a fragile flower.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He would probably try to keep you away from others, especially potential suitors because he’s convinced that you will find someone better and leave him all alone again.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Maedhros is quite guarded about his trauma so it’ll take gentle soothing words and a determined attitude to get him to open about anything along those lines, he’s also quite self-conscious about his missing hand.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It would frustrate him, but he would understand your side of things, after all, he was imprisoned against his will for years. But he can’t help getting frustrated because he just wants to keep you for himself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It’s not a game to him, he wants to keep you all to himself and the fact that you keep trying to leave is something that annoys him to no end.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The worst thing is the punishments, they are few and far between but when you’ve tried to escape too many times and misbehaved for days, he finally snaps, and punishes you. And the punishment...Well, we’ll get to that…

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Maedhros ideal life with you is to move into a cottage near the Misty Mountain’s and have a garden filled with flowers to attract butterflies.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Maedhros is incredibly protective of you, something as seemingly innocent as a man looking at you for a little too long could anger him, he will stare at the man with a cold murderous stare until they catch on that you're taken.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He loves to touch you because it’s a reminder that you’re really there and that you love him enough to let him touch you. He likes to keep an arm around your waist and give you sweet cheek kisses at random intervals.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He would be tentative about courting you at first, he is aware that you bring out yandere tendencies in him and he doesn’t want to frighten you. His first interaction with you would be during a starry night when all is quiet.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Maedhros has to hold up a stoic front with everyone else, the only exception being his family, so when he’s alone with you, he’s able to seem more relaxed and he is more tender with you, one of his favourite things to do with you when you’re alone together to lay in bed together, facing each other with your foreheads pressed together.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

His punishments are few and far between, but they do happen. When you misbehave too much, he will have you strip, and tie you to the bed, leaving you completely exposed, then he will go a retrieve the riding crop that he keeps for occasions like these and how long the punishment lasts will depend on how much you’ve misbehaved.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Maedhros would probably try and keep you away from anyone he sees to be a threat, which might include male friends that you have, he also might keep you from going to certain places because he’s suspicious of them.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He is the most mature and patient of his kin, aside from maybe Maglor, so he will be patient with them, but there are times when you push all his buttons and he spanks you till sunrise.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He would never be able to move on from you, he loves more than anything and he’s already lost so much, losing you would be the thing that would finally break him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Given as he was captured and kept against his will, he would most likely feel guilty for abducting you, and as for letting you go, he might do it once, and a few days later, truly realises how deeply he loves and needs you, and go and abduct you again.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

It comes from a mixture of two things, the constant need to share things with his younger brothers, never being allowed to have one thing all to himself, and the second, all the torture and pain he’s gone through definitely twisted his moral code a bit.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It makes him feel incredibly guilty. He knows what it’s like to kept against your will, and he remembers what it was like to be so frightened, so when you let out sobs that shake your entire being, pangs of guilt fill his chest and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He would do his best to make you feel comfortable in his presence, not wanting himself to be viewed as a monstrous captor, but rather as a loving protector.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His fear of loud noises. They trigger his PTSD the most, to the point where he might even collapse. So, if a large thunderstorm hits and he falls into his own fearful flashbacks, you have two choices. Escape while you have the chance and leave Maedhros alone and frightened or stay and comfort him.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

During his punishments with the riding crop, he would but they are as rare as cherry wine, so if you behave, you don’t have anything to worry about.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He may be self-conscious about what he can offer you, but a part of him still has that fiery determination, and that part of him will do whatever it takes to get you to love him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He would pine until Dagor Doriath came around if he was allowed to, but the threat of you being snatched away by either time or a suitor frightens him into action.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If pushed to every limit, and the threat of you leaving becomes too real, to the point where he can almost feel you fading from his arms, he would break you, and unlike Glorfindel, he would do it purposefully. His shattering of you would be methodical, attacking every weakness you have to get to yield as quickly as possible.

[brokenmimir]

Within the Mirror

White Rose Week 2020, Day 1: Mirror

Weiss is having the worst day of her life, when she hears a friendly voice coming from her bathroom mirror.

I can't believe it's already time for another White Rose Week! For this prompt I selected Mirror, and I hope that you enjoyed it.

The quarantine has really messed with my usual writing flow, so I barely wrote anything coming into this. Instead I wrote my first four prompts yesterday, which should (hopefully) give me enough breathing room to finish this week's prompts.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646000

“Weiss!” Jacques Schnee shouted. “Weiss! Where are you!”

Weiss Schnee hid in her large bathtub, one hand pressing hard against her eye. Her father had always been angry, but after her older sister turned eighteen and joined the military, he had become far worse than angry. She had swiftly transitioned from 'spoiled younger daughter' to 'new heir', and everything she did was a failure, now.

Today, her failure had been punished with backhanded blow to her face, her father's ring tearing a jagged, bleeding wound from cheek to forehead, right over her thankfully closed eyelid. It was all she could do to keep silent as the blood stained her white dress, her hand clutching the throbbing wound while she begged anyone listening for her father not to find her.

“Please, please, I just want to hide,” she whimpered under her breath. “Please, please don't let him find me.”

“Hello?” a small, high voice called.

Weiss froze, unmoving, terrified that the voice would bring her father. Who was it? They sounded even younger than her own barely a teen self, but other than her brother there shouldn't have been anyone like that in the manor. Was it the child of a servant? Her father didn't allow her to interact with commoners, which had prevented her from ever making friends.

“Hello?” the voice called again, a little louder this time. “I thought I heard someone?”

Slowly Weiss sat up, peering over the edge of the tub. The door was still closed, the lights still out, the room empty save for herself. The voice had sounded so close, but there wasn't anyone in the room with her.

“Hey!” the voice said. “There you are! Oh no, what happened to you?”

Weiss scrunched down lower for a moment, before finally daring to peek above the rim of the tub again. This time she saw the source of the voice, even though it was simply impossible.

The back of her bathroom door had a large, antique mirror, which had been in her family for generations. Normally she should've been able to dimly make out the reflection of the darkened bathroom, with her own bleeding, bedraggled form peering just over the rim of the tub. Instead, she saw a dark, misty forest, with a girl a little younger than herself looking at her with concern.

The girl was wearing a short black dress with black tights, and tall, black boots. Over this was a large red, hooded cloak, which made her cut an almost intimidating figure despite being so young and small. Her face was still chubby with youth, and her silver eyes were bright and cheerful, although they still held a look of concern.

“What happened to you?” she repeated.

“Wh-who are you?” Weiss countered. “How did you get in my mirror?"

“I'm Ruby, Ruby Rose!” the girl said brightly. “What's your name?”

Weiss sat up primly, despite one hand still desperately clamped over her injured eye. “I am Weiss Schnee.”

“Nice to meet you, Weiss!” Ruby said, grinning and bouncing in place.

Weiss frowned. “You didn't tell me how you're in my mirror.”

“Oh… right,” Ruby chuckled sheepishly, pushing her hood back to scratch the back of her head, revealing short, raggedly cut black and red hair. “Um… I dunno. I found the Mirror World years ago, and I guess you just found a way here, too.”

“Mirror World?”

“Yeah, it's a really cool place! There's all kinds of fun adventures, and neat people, and monsters to beat up and everything! And I can eat as many cookies as I want, and nobody can tell me what to do. It's the bestest place ever!”

“R-really?” Weiss asked.

“Yeah,” Ruby said, nodding. “Hey, why don't you come with me? I know where we can get a plant that'll heal you right up!”

Weiss bit her lip. Ruby seemed nice, but she was kind of a lot. Fighting monsters? Adventures? That all sounded scary, and she knew she wasn't supposed to run off with strangers. Plus, how could she go into a mirror? It sounded more likely that she'd gotten brain damage from being hit than that there really was a portal to some kind of magical world inside of her bathroom mirror.

“Weiss!” her father shouted, making her flinch in terror. He was close. “If you don't come out right now… I assure you you will not like the consequences, young lady!”

That settled it. As much as she was afraid of going with Ruby, she was more afraid of staying with her father. Gathering up what courage she could find, she stumbled out of the bathtub and rushed over to the mirror. Ruby stepped back with a grin, and after taking one more deep, steadying breath, Weiss stepped from her world.

It was like stepping through water, a cool, giving membrane that she passed through quickly, but on the other side it was comfortable, a little cool and foggy, but no colder than her father kept the manor. The air was fresh and crisp, full of the smell of growing things and new opportunities.

“Come on, let's get you something for your eye!” Ruby said brightly, grabbing Weiss's free hand.

She flinched for a moment, the sudden movement after what had happened spooking her, but Ruby's hand was warm and gentle in her own, firm but soft as she was pulled away from her bathroom. She only had time to look back briefly, enough to see a mirror identical to the one hanging in her bathroom suspended in the boughs of a great pine tree and rapidly fogging over like a too hot shower had been taken, before she was pulled away.

“Don't jerk my arm so hard,” Weiss grumbled.

“Sorry,” Ruby said insincerely. “I just want to get your eye fixed! It looks like it really hurts.”

“It doesn't hurt that much,” Weiss said stoically, puffing her chest out.

“Oh good!” Ruby said brightly. “I was scared you'd lose an eye or something. I mean, an eyepatch would be cool an' all, but I don't think you'd look as good as a pirate. I mean, you look like a princess! And princesses don't usually lose an eye, right?”

Ruby continued chattering away as she lead Weiss through the forest, following a seemingly random path through the trees. After a while Weiss began to hear a distant rushing sound, and soon enough the forest opened up into a beautiful meadow with a swiftly flowing river cutting through the center of it.

“Be careful!” Ruby warned. “Its spring, so the snow's melting up in the mountains, so the water's real cold and fast! Real, real cold! My sister Yang fell in once, and she got so cold I thought she'd never get warm again. We had to find the Good Witch to heal her up, and that was a whole big thing.”

“You have a sister?” Weiss asked.

“Yeah, Yang, she's the best,” Ruby said. “Now, why don't you clean your face off, and I'll get the herbs to heal you! And remember, be careful. The water's really cold, and sometimes you just get dragged in if you aren't careful!”

Weiss bit her lip, but when Ruby skipped off to gather some plants growing further down the river, she delicately sat down and washed her hands in the water. It was just as cold as Ruby had promised, her fingers swiftly turning red and burning with the chill, but she ignored it with all the grace of someone Atleasian born and bred, getting as much of the dried blood off of her hands as possible before wiping at her face.

She had just begun making headway when Ruby shouted, “look out!”

Weiss pulled back, before gaping in shock at what she saw in front of her. Just beneath the water was a hideous woman, with a long, warty nose, wrinkled, leathery green skin, solid black eyes, and long, seaweed-like hair. Her figure appeared distorted, with short, bandy legs, and long, sinewy arms ending in cruel, grasping fingers. Upon being noticed the figure gave up on stealth and simply lunged, long green fingers seeking to grab onto Weiss, and in that moment she knew that the creature wanted to pull her into the river.

And then Ruby was there. Before Weiss could do more than awkwardly sprawl onto her back the other girl had pulled a huge red scythe from nowhere and brought it down between them, embedding the large blade right between Weiss's ankles, inches from the foot long, spindly fingers about to grab onto them. There was a long, long moment where everything save the rushing water was still, and then the creature returned under the water.

“I'm so sorry,” Ruby shouted, the scythe breaking down into a smoky vapor before floating away. “I didn't think Nelly Longarms would be this far into the forest! She usually waits way downstream from here.”

“Wh-what was that!?!”

Ruby smiled sheepishly, before helping Weiss move back from the water's edge, sitting her on a smooth stone. She then began to crush the leaves she'd gathered against the rock with the flat of a knife, creating a sticky green paste that smelled like peppermints. “That was Nelly Longarms. She's a water hag.”

“Water hag?”

“Mmhmm,” Ruby hummed, gathering some of the sticky goo and carefully smearing it on Weiss's injury. She flinched from the pain, but soon relaxed as that faded, leaving a comforting warmth behind. “Hags like to grab stuff that gets too close to the water. One time Peg Powler almost got Yang under, but then she grabbed her by the hair and Yang got so mad! Peg swam away so fast, and she hasn't tried anything since.”

“There's more stuff like that here?!” Weiss shouted, looking around the clearing. What had once seemed pretty if mysterious now gained a sinister air.

“Yeah, there's all kinds of monsters and adventures and stuff here!” Ruby said brightly. “Don't worry, it's not all bad! There's also all kinds of cool stuff living here, and I've made a bunch of friends with 'em. I'll sure they'll love you!”

“There are other people here?” Weiss asked.

“A few,” Ruby said with a nod. “There's Yang, and Jaune, and Pyrrha, and Nora, and Ren, and-”

“Who are they?” Weiss asked. “Are they from here?”

“Nuh, uh,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “The only humans come from the other side. There're not humans here who're nice, too, though. Pitys is a dryad that lives pretty close; I was on my way to see her when I saw your mirror gate! And there's Ovinnik, and Blake, and-”

“What do you mean by mirror gate?” Weiss demanded, cutting off Ruby before she could ramble more.

“Oh, well… sometimes when people really, really want to be somewhere else their mirror turns into a gate to here!” Ruby said. “I don't know what was happening to you, but…”

Weiss flinched, looking away when Ruby trailed off to gesture at the cut on her face. Clearing her throat, Ruby continued in a softer tone. “Anyway, sometimes people come through, and that's where most of our friends came from! I was so lucky that my sister came with me. Jaune has like, seven sisters, but he's here by himself. Anyway, this place is great! I mean, it's kinda dangerous, and there's scary stuff too, but… that just makes it better! It's like being in the best story book ever, but its all real! And we can stay here instead of having to go back home.”

“So you just… stay here? You don't go back?”

Ruby looked solemn. “Some people go back. I know Jaune used to go back and forth a ton, but… this is our home, you know? Our real home. Anyway, when he started hanging out with Pyrrha and Ren he started staying more, and I don't think he's gone back in years. Are you… are you gonna stay?”

Weiss bit her lip, looking at the friendly, if kind of scary girl, and then over at the icy cold river, where she now saw the hag peeking just out of the water, looking at the two of them hungrily. This mirror world was obviously a dangerous place, but…

Back home she was never allowed to make any friends, and after her sister left she was all alone, and now she wasn't allowed to have any fun anymore. And her father… but here, they could do anything they wanted, and… and there may have been monsters, but her father wasn't here.

With a shy smile Weiss reached over and grabbed Ruby's hand. It wasn't nearly as hard of a choice as it should've been.

[anikkis-fantasirealities]

“Misty Meets, the Valued Rocks and Seas”

��� Travelogue ┊ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʳᵉᵃᵗᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʳᵃᵍᵉᵈʸ ᵃˢ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᵗʳᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ··· ᵗʳᶦᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᶜᵗᶠᵘˡ ᵗʳᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗᶦᵗˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵉˢᵗᶦᵐᵒⁿᶦᵉˢ·

꒰⁺˚₊·₍₍loading...₎₎ ✎...۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ -ˏˋ 🗺 ˊˎ- ༘✶ ㊉ ㈦〘 ⅯⅯ 〙⋆｡˚𓆟 ༉ ║ Posted : ０６/１５/２１° ｡༄ ‧₊˚ ๑ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ •ଓ.° ｡❍ ㈩ ㊇

- - ——— ꒰ An article by Nicole “Nikki” Elaine S. Chua ꒱

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ࿐ྂ—͙❬₊° ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵇˡᵒᵍᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃˡˡ·“= ‹⸙͎

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ❐ · ⸰ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ · ◦ ㅤ ㅤ ⁕⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ☁

⊹ ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ ㅤ ㅤ ·⁕ ㅤ ㅤ ◦ ❏ ⋇

ㅤ ㅤ ◦ ⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ◍ ㅤ ㅤ ⊹ ⁺

· ㅤ · ⊹ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ · ◦ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ❏

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ⁕ ㅤ ㅤ ⋇ ⸰ㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹ ·

ㅤ ㅤ ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ · ⊹ ⋇ · ◦

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ · ❏

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ· ㅤ ㅤㅤ⁕ ⸰ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ⊹ · ⁕

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ❐ ⊹

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ.ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ .

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ.

“Wait, it’s about to rain?” I can vaguely remember saying something similar to those impulsive thoughts, as I look up into the gray skies and those monotoned clouds steadily sailing in mid-air. I felt the raindrops on my face—the mix of awe and worry from my father, mother, and sister who were about to trek on those rocky grounded fields of the wild Yehliu. The other visitors, whose language I could not understand, fiddled through their belongings. They opened umbrellas and covered themselves in pastel-like colored jackets, transparent in design, as I observed their casual clothing for a supposed sunny adventure. This was about to be one of the greatest family travels out of the thousand places I’ve visited—one that was like no other.

Welcome to 𝙔𝙚𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙪 𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙞𝙥𝙚𝙞, 𝙏𝙖𝙞𝙬𝙖𝙣! For this article, I’d like to tour you around one of the most memorable and breathtaking travel destinations that my family and I visited during our second vacation in Taiwan. To be honest, the Chuas loves to stroll around new locations together—whether we linger the Pearl of the East, or the rest in the Heart of Asia. Whenever there is time to escape from the world of academics, we break out from that comfortable 3D box to walk to the outskirts of recreations, entertainment, and sights to behold. Dad, who was always our captain on the steering wheel of our adventures, would schedule the perfect itineraries during our summers. Mom tends to take pictures and post mementos of our times together on Facebook—as my sister and I enjoy the blissful moments noted in our own book of life.

This geopark, however, gave a different kind of atmosphere to our typical visits. The humidity has been thickening and the cold crisp air swept through the open area. A geopark is molded by nature’s wonders. There are no futuristic buildings, leaning towers, nor brilliant inventions of men standing uproot, rather, jaggy rocks and murky land persists in this long-cape landscape. It has 1,700 meters of earth carved from top to bottom—shaded by bland hues of brown and green. However, such a scenery cannot be underestimated just because there is nothing but bumpy stones, flimsy pathways, and barren holes on the crust. This is the sole reason why it is visited, for Yehliu Geopark is not only a tourist attraction, but also a habitat for rich ecological resources and thriving fishing communities. The entirety of Yehliu’s cape runs through a sea—yes, you read it right, a 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚 of soothing waves that compliment the greenery of the mountains above.

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝dissolve into seafoam. ❞

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Do you know the story of how Yehliu Geopark became to be in its present form? Each rock and stone structure in this site has its own character, as if they are interacting with one another. The locals here in Yehliu witnessed how nature refined itself with its own miracles. Hence, they are also the ones who shared the geopark’s origins to tourists like us. The landscape was crafted by marine erosion, because it so happened that the seashore’s layer is made out of limestone. Because of the scientific method of weathering and movement by the Earth, the limestone crumbled over time—dissolving slowly by the seawater bashing itself into land. It resulted into those eerie, yet interesting sea-water eroded holes on the ground. What’s even more amazing is the fact that because of the flurry winds, blinding sunrays, salty water, harsh rains, and dreadful northeastern monsoon paths, the rocks gained identity and almost became celebrities due to their unique figures.

It is truly a work of God, that these elements who continuously burdened stones to rapidly change and adapt to the impact they cause, made them into what they are today. It is like humans, who also tolerate, endure, and persevere from pain to transform into better people—tested by time, yet surviving with resolve. The day my family and I visited the geopark, the rain drizzled from the heavens. There was the thought that I could slip over wet ground and plunge into the sea if I was not careful, but looking around, I figured that this peaceful nature will not allow anyone to be taken by its mystical works. It embraces you, like there’s nothing to be scared about. Instead, it greets you hello with open arms—wanting us to continue our plans despite the misty dewdrops.

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝ bridge to terabithia. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

The chilly atmosphere was actually quite relaxing, especially when nature desires its visitors to breathe for a while after an industrious environment in the urban society. My family and I walked with our umbrellas on our heads with smiles on our faces—the waves from the sea yearning to approach us, only being stopped by the sturdy ground that we walked on. If ever you visit Yehliu Geopark, you must get ready to meet some of the rocks in this travel destination! There are candles, mushrooms, a cute princess, that arch-shaped gorilla, some kind of marine bird, ice cream, tofu, and the main attraction: the Queen’s head. Just like the other tourists, we did not hesistate to take home souveniers of our adventures from the unwinding views we’ve seen. Even though more than 1,000 meters is a big horizon to explore, we walked around—hoping to spot more rock formations.

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ❝ uniting the cynosure’s roads. ❞

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Imagination is what created those rock formations’ attributes and parts in this still story of Yehliu. If you have tons of imagination of both the possible and impossible, then your sightseeing will be plenty of fun to commit to! The 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 are like little children sitting on the seashore, except they were not just two but 180 of them all together in one area. After stepping with caution across the slippery rocks, you will notice a familiar figure that looks like a woman with a large headdress. She wears it with all honor and responsibility as the star of Yehliu. Oh! You guessed it, we found the 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣'𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙! We captured a shot with her hazel beauty which you can see in my cover edit. Mission accomplished, now let’s look for the other rock characters, shall we?

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ㅤㅤ ❝ ephemeral angst, nefarious epiphany. ❞

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After walking for a while over bridges and stairways that connect the geopark together, we discovered the 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨. They were soaked in sea-water, so its usual beige color like all the rocks we’ve seen so far has dimmed to pitch black. Though, you will be surprised that they are shaped like short candles—with their wicks sticking out in the middle, as if it has already melted deeper into its center. According to the brochure we held before entering the tourist spot, these rocks were originally ball-like concentrations with softer surfaces, before they were completely scoured off. So, that must be the magic of Yehliu, huh?

Then, we noticed an unique rock formation that was not documented on boards or printed material by the management. It was like an animal, laying down on a rock—resting with pride and confidence. I wanted to call this the 𝙇𝙮𝙣𝙭 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠, because it looks like a feline who is about to hunt, perhaps the marine bird from meters away. It’s not the official name of the rock formation, though, I felt closer to it when I made the connection. I felt chills all over my body when I heard the tiny pitter-patters hit my navy blue umbrella. It was definitely a fateful encounter—the calm rain, the rushing of the sea ridges, and a new found friend. When you come over to Yehliu, do say hello to Lynx for me! I terribly miss her, after all these years that I haven’t picked up my suitcase for another trip.

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ㅤㅤ ❝ the serendipity of tranquil encounters. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

There is apparently an anecdote documented in Yehliu’s history about a certain fisherman, namely “𝙇𝙞𝙣 𝙏𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙝𝙚𝙣.” In 1964, a group of students were visiting the scenic charm of the rocks and sea, when one of them unintentionally fell into the sea. Without thinking twice, Lin Tianzhen showed his courage and jumped into the raging sea to save the helpless pupil. Sadly, none of them were able to come back to shore alive—devoured by the depths of the salt water, unaware of its crime. When the news came to the attention of President Chiang Kai-Shek, the first president of Taiwan, he quickly ordered for a monument of Lin Tianzhen to be built in Yehliu. That’s why if you would see a marble sculpture of a man in baggy pants, that is the heroic fisherman in the stories of the locals here.

Throughout the rest of the adventure we’ve challenged to carry on despite the moist surroundings, we faced the 𝘾𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 and her adorable figure, like she was posing her bent head to the camera. We found the arched-shape 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠, who stood still, yet to our surprise, it was a literal arch! You can see the Gorilla in one angle if you do it correctly, though, you could also look at it in another angle to realize that it has a hole through its structure. We raised our peace signs in eagerness of the enticing discovery while the camera flashed. The 𝙄𝙘𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠 and 𝙏𝙤𝙛𝙪 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 made us hungry, because they looked like actual food enlarged and hardened in their positions—though, of course, they never expired! I could imagine that famous Taiwanese ice cream brand scoop on that jar-like rock, and the dream of tofu soup, for the Tofu rocks laid in two rows within the middle of the sea.

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ㅤㅤ ❝ a pluviophile soaked in hyperborean aqua. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

Since we were hungry, we looked for a place to fill our tummies to satisfaction. Thankfully, Yehliu Geopark still has facilities to accommodate tourists’ basic needs. A visitor’s center is established for dining, renting of wheel chairs & baby strollers, and inquiries of guests to the staff of the geopark. You can also ask for assistance from the friendly tour guides of the travel destination—if you are able to speak in Chinese, that is! Don’t worry—they are able to understand and speak basic English. Just make sure to pack your skills in speaking the foreign language if you’d like to talk more with the locals here, then! They also have a nursing station & lost and found section in the center in case of emergency or urgency, which is useful for scenarios such as the unexpected rain when we visited.

Because Yehliu Geopark takes care of the reefs and water ecosystems nurtured in their location, they also have a oceanpark in the geopark! It is called “𝙔𝙚𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙪 ��𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙,” though we were not able to spend time taking a peak into the realm of sea creatures and corals freely living in the pictures of exhibits. There are diving performers in the oceanpark, too, that make visitors astounded by their splendid act. Oh, and how can we not forget the souvenier shop for merchandise from Yenliu Geopark? It’s always great to show your loved ones how much you enjoyed Yenliu, its stories, and the sights you’ve seen! It also supports the geopark’s operation, so that it can continue its goal and mission to keep sharing the wonders of this valued scenic area by the Heart of Asia.

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ㅤㅤㅤ❝ iridescently frozen in an ethereal epoch. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

There are also many earthy figures here that were molded by weathering. They are known as “𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨,” that possess an artistic style like that of a solidified sponge. Through these rock structures, Chinese culture is shown—an example being the “𝟮𝟰 -𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙡-𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡” that presents the importance of superiority and inferiority relationships to Chinese people. The hill of rocks have 24 men-like figures standing nearby each other, revealing a picture of hierarchy based on the positions of each men.

Additionally, the geopark has fossils scattered across its long cape. We only found this urchin fossil in the picture above, plaqued like a prized possession with the proud mark of Taiwanese tourism. The words, “Tai Power,” reminded me of the rest of the adventures that my family and I had in the warmth of this country. Even though the distress comes, it fades away with the power of bonds to go against the negativity to be refined everyday—that’s Tai Power, the ability to touch hearts wherever you are right now!

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ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ❝ petrichor at selcouth midday. ❞

╰──────────────────────────────────────⋞╯

Before I forget, if you’re looking for extreme activities, you can try tracking down the caves of Yenliu that were also crafted by nature’s power. They are placed in spots that are hard to reach by visitors—including me and my family who did want to risk getting harmed. Do try it out, however, if you’re looking for the thrill! There are other rock formations to uncover in Yenliu Geopark aside from the ones we were able to locate. You can trace down the footprints of a fairy in the 𝙂𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙨 and notice the 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙮'𝙨 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙚 was left behind before it has taken flight again. The locals here believe in a legend that this fairy sent by the Jade Emperor, from Taoist beliefs, cursed a turtle elf who troubled the seas and caused many shipwrecks back in the day. So, if you see white smoke coming from the mountains, locals will exclaim that the turtle elf is taking its last breath. It’s a motivating tale to conclude this article, and our visit to the geopark.

Most importantly, I’d like to remind everyone who plans to visit Yehliu Geopark to obey and respect the guidelines given by the management of the landscape, as well as the North coast and Guanyinshan National Scenic Area Administration! If you observe red warning lines on the ground, do not pass that zone—always stay on the path, because it is for our own safety. Let’s 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩 these astonishing wonders offered to us by the beloved nature we owe daily. We need nature, but nature does not need us. We should not touch nor damage these creations of Mother Earth. Climbing & tagging on the rock formations, smoking, biking, wading, swimming, fishing, littering, or disturbing the plants in the location is strictly prohibited! Otherwise, you might need to pay for a fine when caught.

Our duty to look after Yehliu Geopark, while saving the environment in our own way, is for the sake of the next generations whose imagination will also be aroused by these treasured beings and narratives of this place. The staff would like more people to enjoy the unique scenery it offers to the world. The rock structures in this geopark are still actively developing and dynamically changing with the tides of our times today. So, it is only rightful if we give them the same amount of growth they need, as much as we do.

At the end of the day, the trip I had in Yehliu wasn’t too bad at all! It was beautiful, stunning scenery to keep in my memories as I move forward to the present. Through my travel to Yehliu Geopark, we were able to unveil the mist and take a glimpse of the true colors of ordinary rocks and common seas. We got to know many stories of still stones, and the amazing people who make the geopark the apple of the eye for more tourists. A part of nature—to witness its ability and wonders through an alleviating journey to find peace—Yehliu Geopark can surely be described that way. If you’re interested in travelling to Taiwan, Yehliu Geopark is a tourist spot that you absolutely must consider in your own bucket lists! Maybe not now while the pandemic is still ongoing, but someday, hopefully! I’d love to hear your own experiences in visiting the geopark in the comments!

╔ ———————————————————————————— ╗

Yehliu Geopark is open from 8 AM to 5 PM. One entry ticket costs 80 NTD or New Taiwan dollars for one adult tourist. On the other hand, kids aged 6 to 12 can avail an entry ticket half its price. In the Philippines, 80 NTD is 139.54 pesos, while 40 NTD is 69.77 pesos, as of June 15, 2021. However, you can get a 20% discounted group ticket if you are a group of 30 or more people. The geopark is located in the Heart of Asia—Taiwan! Its exact address is No. 167-1, Kantung Rd., Yehliu, Wanli, New Taipei City, Taiwan.

If you are already in Taiwan, you can get to Yehliu Geopark either through bus or car. There are four routes that you can choose from if you will ride on a bus. Meanwhile, if you choose to arrive at the geopark by car, there are five dispatch options that are possible to use, depending on your starting point. You can check this link for more information regarding a planned trip. Safe travels, and thank you for reading! Let’s meet again in another blog where my fantasies become realities! A Nikki reminder: find passion in your work, and you’ll never tire from it! See you!

╚ ———————————————————————————— ╝

· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚ . . 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . * · . · · + . ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ· ** ˚ . . + 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ. . + 　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧ ⋆ · * . · . · · .. . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ· + ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ · ** ˚ . . + ㅤㅤ　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ⋆ · * . · ㅤㅤ . · · .. . . · + .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. · + . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ * . * . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ . · ·

ㅤㅤ﹙dedication. ﹚ ୨˚୧ ˚ ༘♡.↳ ₊˚‧

This blog is dedicated to heroes who stay to be ordinary, because they glisten the most when their humbleness is that of the rocks and seas. You are truly the ones who give Rising Hope to all of us.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹋﹋﹌﹌﹌「 🌄 」﹌﹌﹌﹋﹋

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ┊彡 Credits

➥ Cover Edit

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[revivedandabandonedkids]

The Portrait of Afuro Terumi (01~05)

! Double Gods

! Unfinished 

-

01.

There's a long corridor in the deep of the mansion, and a giant room at the end of it that Father tells Hiroto to keep away from.

"Why?" He asks whenever he catches a rare chance to occupy Father's time.

The answers are different every time.

"There's a cool draft seeping through. You might catch a cold."

"There's nothing at the other end to entertain you with."

"It's a dusty dusty room. You might catch a cough."

None of them are convincing enough.

He turns to Hitomiko-nee-san once to see if he can get a more satisfactory explanation, but his sister merely rolls her eyes and say. "It's because the hall is haunted. Duh."

Hiroto can't tell if she's trying scare him off or if she's just tired of trying to come up with an excuse, but the answer sends shivers down his spine.

"Have you ever been?"

She scoffs. "Of course not. Father told us to stay out for a reason."

She's a goodie-two-shoes like that.

So Hiroto asks on.

"You might get lost in the dark."

"The door is locked and I've lost the key."

It's obvious that with the older he gets, the less patience Father has for the question. The answers turn short and clipped, when eventually it turns into a single-

"Just keep away."

And then he stops talking to Father altogether.

-

02.

His curiosity stays unquenched.

-

03.

It's easy to get bored inside the mansion.

It doesn't matter how ridiculously large a house is, once you get used to the bounds, the place settles in a quiet thrum of mundaneness, and Hiroto's spent years trapped within those walls.

It's ridiculous, how the mansion's settled on a mountain. Isn't it awfully inconvenient to get to society? Maybe the land's cheaper on the mountains, but it's not like his family lacks money, so what's the excuse there, Father?

The Kira mansion looks like one of those CGI layered Haunted House In The Deep Of The Woods On A Stormy Night in horror movies. Clearly the best place to raise your children.

Hiroto used to freak out at night when the shadows stretched too long on the ceiling and the air conditioner whirred too loudly in his spacey room, but as he grew, the fear started altering into gaping loneliness. Then even that was gone, and all that was left was emptiness.

It's a miracle that he hasn't developed some sort of emotional trauma from all the neglect.

Or maybe Hiroto is traumatized, and just doesn't know how to identify it.

He can't wait to be old enough to get his own place. A place far far far away.

And that's when Hiroto gets the first idea of the secrets residing in the house.

When he tells his future escape plans to his friend(?) Haizaki, the dark skinned underclassman only nods thoughtfully and says, “I’d be dying to move out of a cursed house too.”

Hiroto narrows his eyes. “Cursed?” That’s the second time he’s heard that word applied to his residence, but it’s the first time he’s hearing it from an outsider. “What do you mean cursed?”

“There’s a rumor.” Haizaki seems reluctant to answer. “People talk about it all the time: There’s a ghost, or an angry spirit of some sort? Anyway, it supposedly killed a bunch of dudes before finally being sealed inside a secret chamber. I wouldn’t know. I just think your house is creepy.”

Creepy it is. Cursed? Hiroto doesn’t know.

“I think I know what chamber you’re talking about.” Hiroto tells him. Because what other room would be considered as a secret chamber other than the room he’s prevented from entering?

Is that the reason it’s forbidden to him? Because his Father is a superstitious shithead? Why keep living in the house, then?

“Seriously? That chamber exists?” Haizaki’s eyes widen. “That’s freaky.”

“You wanna come see it?” Hiroto offers with a smirk.

Haizaki scoffs. “Because we both know that you don’t have the guts to poke around by yourself.”

Hiroto flushes darkly, trying to uphold some sort of composure as the elder one present. “That’s not- I’m just granting you the chance because you look interested.” So really, Haizaki should be thanking him.

Haizaki guffaws, and it’s a very unattractive voice, mind you. “I’m not risking the chance of getting cursed, rumor or not. You’re on your own, buddy.”

"You still believe in sorcery and witchcraft?" Hiroto taunts. "What a baby."

For once, Haizaki doesn't take the bait like the easily-riled-up dumbass he is, and simply retorts. "Like you're one to talk. You wouldn't be yapping at me to go with you if you weren't afraid of it yourself."

Shit. He actually has a point. Except-

"I'm not afraid." Hiroto narrows his eyes. "The only reason I haven't gone into the room is because Father explicitly told me not to."

"And you listen to him since when?"

Hiroto shuts up. He hates it when other people are right, especially if "other people" is Haizaki.

-

04.

"Why am I not allowed to go in that room?" Hiroto asks. It's been years since he last questioned about it.

"You can't just barge in here whenever you want, Hiroto." His Father has a look of displeasure on his face, probably upset since Hiroto bursted into his home office abruptly without even a knock.

"Tell me why I not allowed in. The truth. Not some half-assed lie."

"I thought you've dropped that childhood nonsense already."

Hiroto feels his throat closing up. His clenched fists shake. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm your father, Hiroto."

Hiroto scowls.

"Hitomiko-nee-san says it's haunted. There's a rumor outside that it's cursed." He says bluntly.

"There's no such thing as ghosts or curses, Hiroto. You're the heir of the Kira company. We don't indulge in fantasies or superstition." His Father furrows his eyebrows condescendingly. "You should know better."

-

05.

And that's why Hiroto's sneaking into the Forbidden Corridor, glaring at the giant door in front of him.

So there is a room here.

Well, that's pretty much a given, since a corridor leading to nowhere would be a pretty idiotic design.

It looks like a fairly plain door. It's wooden and the paint is peeled. From the bright beam of the flashlight on his phone, he can see that there's dust all over the surface of the doorknob. This place hasn't seen any visitors in a long while.

"Listen, I can't stop you if you still want to get cursed, but word of advice: Don't interact with anything. Don't touch anything. Don't respond to any noise. In and out. Higher chance of survival."

It's not like Hiroto needs survival tips from Haizaki Ryouhei. That would most likely increase his chances of getting his soul sucked out of his body or whatever.

The door makes an ominous creak when it cracks open.

It's brighter than he expected. There's a beam of afternoon sunlight spilling through a ceiling window. He turns off the flashlight.

It's an almost empty storage room. That is to say, it would be empty, if not for the enormous life sized painting strung up on the wall to the far side of the room.

It's a portrait of a person. Or maybe an ethereal being. The depicted subject sat regally in the center, with a Greek chiton draping over their slender figure. Long blonde hair the shade of melted sunlight flows down their shoulders, shrouding a pale, fair face with elegant eyebrows arching over striking red eyes and a teasing smile twitching at the edge of their mouth. Between their left fingers is an elegant wine glass, a golden fluid fills it to the brim. The background is a muddled mistiness.

It looks like a very ordinary painting. The frame has little cracks littered all over. Under the frame lays a caption:

Afuro Terumi (????) It is said that this painting brings happiness.

Hiroto snorts. Some cursed room. There's nothing but what looks like a religious painting. Is this what Father is so amendment on keeping Hiroto away from? Does Father even know what's inside this room? Why would he hang a (seemingly expensive) picture where no one could see it?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Hiroto crosses his arms in front of his chest and tips his chin up in a mock sneer. "They say you're cursed." He says loudly, fixing his gaze on the being portrayed in the center of the canvas- Afuro Terumi, probably. "Well, they say the room is cursed, but you're the only one here, aren't you? What do you say?"

Afuro Terumi's face breaks into a wide smile. "I'd tell you they're right. I am cursed."

-[Next]

Okay just to be clear, this is still some what a wip.

I have most of the plot figured out, and have written about 1/3 of the entire story already, but I have a reputation of not finishing wips. So.

I don't know when the next part will be out yet. Keep a lookout if interested. Ignore this if not.

Bear in mind that this is written at the spur of the moment. I put like 0 effort into this, but still spent a lot of time because typing takes a considerable amount of time oof.

I am not going to apologize for putting 0 effort, because I wrote this piece purely to entertain myself. It's very very self-indulgent. And also because it's just not worth it putting too much heart into my ina eleven stories.

Nothing against the ina eleven fandom. I love this community, I really do, but it gets tiring sometimes and I don't have the energy to fight off bad emotions. I'm only trying to protect myself.

Being a fanfiction writer isn't easy work. I've been writing for roughly six years, and only recently did I come to this realization that as a writer, I don't need to write to please anyone else. It's my own opinion that matters. I write for small fandoms and very rare pairings, so feedback never comes easy. I'm sure other writers can relate. No feedback makes it way too easy to doubt oneself. That had taken a toll on my emotional health in the past, over and over again. Then I decided that I'm done with doubting myself over a hobby. So I no longer ask for comments, because I don't want to set myself up for disappointment.

There had been a time in my life that I thought I would stop writing. At least stop putting my writing online. There's just no motivation for it. But then someone came up to me and told me that they love my stories, that I'd convinced them to ship a rarepair, that they want to try writing now. That changed my mind, and helped shape my mindset the way it is today. I don't need to write for a crowd. I just need to write for myself, and the very few who enjoy my stories as well.

This rant turned out to be more personal than I'd intended, and ended on a happier note than I thought it would. So if you're still here, advice for other struggling writers: find your audience, your support system. Find those who are willing to discuss ideas with you. It gets better from there. ♡

[spacebookettes]

A Dark Town Undone

The Dark Town was to be in a movie. Yes another post apocalyptic.

Extras all dressed up in whatever they could find as Victorian ghosts. English pale skins and delicate bodies. The usual characters of Dark Town sent to the side streets and light towns for holidays.

The pale skins were dotted with silver glitter, an ethereal picture they made; fake dust in their hair and on the top of the hats. Some brought their large ethereal dogs.

The neon was turned off, an occasional spasm.

The main characters were given torches, some things were thrown over and there were lots of helpings of apocalyptic trash.

Beams of light stretched out along the abandonment and up toward the airy black ceilings occasionally disappearing into the great dark caverns. A zap of blue or pink would attract the direction of the torches. They were hoping someone had left food. Torches invaded old food trollies and cyber restaurant windows and then storage. The occasional glint of hidden silver glitter.

The usual horror movie conversation about something not feeling right and we should get out of here.

No food.

Of course an underground town with no lights on can be made to look like an ever expanding lost city.

Increasing tense voices as the protagonists venture deeper into abandoned food carts and dusty cyber restaurants. Their thoughts echo around the cavernous dark spaces, getting more desperate.

The last of the water shared and finished.

Tiny spots of veiled glitter seem to be getting closer as the torches dart around the blackness. Conversations from one who swears they’ve seen a face out there.

SNAP something breaks and echoes around them, “it sounded wooden"

Back to back with furious torches they continue deeper into the dusty no food.

An ancient brick drops next to them, all the torches clash to inspect it and then inspect the high concrete places.

“LETS GO BACK” a little piece of faded silk floats down onto their head, SCREAMING as they run backtracking their journey. SNAP SNAP SNAP

Only their breathlessness sounded. The lost cars of the abandoned parking spaces had flashes of reflective eyes on the back seats. The breathing stops as the main characters lower their torches, not able to stand the animalistic eyes any longer. The sound of a car door opening. Running up the sloping roadway. Such a long roadway, a giant wooden cart wheel on one side, dustily decomposing. Up and onto a northern English moor of heathers and slowly retaking trees. “NO, WE HAVE TO GO BACK... THIS ISN’T RIGHT.” Turning to little flecks of glitter emerging out of the dark underpass, pale faces, ghostly hair and peppered vintage hats. Tools of the modern world, taken from the dark town. Aluminium piping, a flash of shiny new hammer, a shopping trolley, with one wooden cart wheel, full of dangerous reflections.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Clowns

An old car racing down a forest road. No honking. A covered painting vibrates in the back. The art dealer had found the Worst painting in existence. He was bringing it to the castle, a castle sometimes lost in the mist, that local people swear disappears sometimes. In fact the locals will not go up to Gray Stone Castle, ever. The surrounding villages have never had any contact with anyone at the castle, no local businesses used by the inhabitants; in the whole history of the region not one interaction... though the castle has always been there in perfect condition, a little smoke with the faintest tinge of red escaping from a little gargoyle chimney on one grey stone corner... ALWAYS a little plume of smoke for hundreds of years, as far back as anyone’s ancestor’s could remember.

Winding up into the mountainous region the car stops at the closest village. An older lady sat with a plinking smartphone looks up and at the car “I’m looking for Gray Stone Castle.” ‘it might not be there today' said the lady. The man laughed. The lady got up, went indoors and locked her door. “huh... mountain folk.” The clouds parted higher up in the rock, a small turret could be seen in the sunshine. Distant thunder cracked from darkened clouds somewhere behind the castle.

The car reached the courtyard outcropping of the castle entrance. A robot made with skin coloured metal, opened the door. ‘you drive yourself' asked the robot “yes when I find a place where it’s still legal, I always find a car and take it for a spin... and no tracking, makes things easier.” The robot took the painting inside. ‘smaller than I expected.’ said the robot about the painting. ‘the mistress will be pleased though... when she gets back.’ It started raining with a misty grey chill. In the distant valley below there was still sunshine.

Sat by a small fire in a vast grey fireplace “when will your mistress be back" the robot flinched slightly at the word your. ‘this evening or tomorrow morning I believe.' “I might have to wait?! That wasn’t part of the job!”

The man had a look around the castle ; hundreds of grey stone rooms with slit windows that only had views of mist and rumbles of thunder. A few locked doors but all in all a cold drab uneventful place. IKEA furniture.

The man sat by the small fire. A little D2 robot brought him food, it too was made of skin coloured metal. Canned meat, pickled beetroot slices and mayo sandwiches with a glass of milk that had a hint of red tinged that the man didn’t notice. The first robot stood over the man while he ate. ‘the mistress likes to hunt for mountain pigs in the mist.’ “mountain pigs?? How does she dispatch them?” ‘with her bare hands.’ Answered the robot. The man choked a little and drank some ‘milk'. The castle entrance slowly opened and a small grey haired kindly older lady walked in from the rain. The man glanced at her hands, they were clean. The robot introduced them. They walked into her study. Inside was the painting on an easel, still covered. The mistress sneaked a peak of one corner and giggled in anticipation. She looked at the man. ‘you see the paintings always reflect the man' said the mistress. The man didn’t understand. “I thought you wanted the worst painting I could find?” he asked. ‘yes but your worst.’ Said the mistress. The robot snatched the cover off of the painting. The mistress turned around to take in all of it. The spotlight revealed a mixture of fluorescent paints and pale skin coloured acrylics. A face of a smiling gorgon; scaly skin with fluorescent highlights, BLACK irises, stale breathy strands escaping from it’s mouth of fluorescent pink teeth. ‘OOOOOOO WHAT A GLORIOUS PIGGY.’ The robot said. The man wanted to run. He slowly got up and walked calmly to the castle entrance. He went outside. Outside was a half ring of skin coloured robots blocking the man’s route to the car. It started raining... the skin colours started dripping to reveal patches of stainless steel and shiny red painted manic smiles, demonic red painted noses and arched white painted eyebrows. The paint dripped further revealing stainless steel robot hands. The man stared transfixed, his face expressionless. A mechanical shunting noise came from around a castle corner. A 10 foot heavy lifter contraption walked slowly around and into view: it had a giant red nose on the front and white arched eyebrows. A mega phone speaker inside it announced with an older ladies voice. ‘GET AWAY FROM HERE YOU LIL BITCH.’ The man looked down at his hands... they were glowing with a hint of neon red light. He found his feet and ran, the mist parted to let him through and it stayed parted to let the clowns through.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Geese

Granny Bluddyfords fed her geese. They looked bored she felt. ‘I’ll let them forage in the fields.’ Granny Bluddyfords organic farm was one of the last to convert. Solar powered contraptions now did all the work. Small fidget robots humanely kept the crops free of pests.

Granny Cripplings fed her geese. They looked a bit bored. She let them into her fields for a forage. Granny Cripplings was also one of the last to convert. She too had solar powered pest control.

Granny Bluntscar fed her geese. They also looked a bit bored. She too let them into her fields to forage. Granny Bluntscar was one of the first to convert to organic farming with robots.

Millions of geese covered the fields of Cendiary Bay. The shining white of billions of feathers looked down on the small coastal port of mirrored cube buildings; Every surface of solar panel.

The gaggle of grannies all liked to keep their geese nice and aggressive. The little fidget robots fashioned the geese’s tiny teeth razor sharp, in their sleep.

Two old lads burped and cajoled their way down a lane that runs between Granny Bluntscar ‘s farm and Granny Bluddyford's farm. They hadn’t noticed the mass of white feathers. They were drunk. Millions of goose eyes followed the two older men. One of the older men climbed a wooden stile to get into and cut across a field, he reached the top, looked out at the white masses as far as a drunken eye could see. The second old lad climbed up after him. They both stood there looking at the millions of goose eyes staring back at them. The bottle of red wine in the second mans hand slipped, the first man caught it. Not a drop spilled. They laughed and said “the geese are out again;” climbed down and wandered through the throng of white, on their way.

A rat walked along the top of a dry stone wall that ran between Granny Cripplings and Granny Bluddyfords farm’s. It was terrified. It didn’t want to know what millions of razor sharp goose teeth would do to one scrawny rat body. A rock in the wall dislodged as the rat passed. It crashed down onto the ground scaring some geese. The rat carried on along the wall. A florescent butterfly landed on the fallen rock. The minute vibration this caused cascaded through the rock and deep underground and with an unlikely twist of fate started a rare, for these lands, shockwave. An earthquake rumbled around Cendiary Bay smashing solar panels. Shards of solar panels screeched all over the streets of the modern port town. There was much blood. Granny Bluddyfords fell to the ground at the sight of a blood stained Cendiary Bay. A heart attack.

The dry stone walls, that bordered and divided all the fields, had all shook down into neat little lines: no longer goose barriers. The geese waddled onto the fields with crops and tucked in to crisp green fresh things. At the sight of this, Granny Cripplings had a heart attack and dropped to the floor. The geese gorged themselves on juicy sweet delights all afternoon.

Granny Bluntscar sat drinking tea sweetened with a little evaporated milk. A tear from one eye for her sister, a tear from her other eye for her other sister. A manic smile gleefully looked out onto her new super farm and her newly tripled evil goose stocks.

The end

By Peter Stringer

[natethenade]

An Exchange of Words

Happy Holidays to you @mutantenfisch, I’m your Secret Santa! (Forgive me if my writing doesn’t hold up, its been a long time since I’ve written anything and when I saw Santa Age I decided to give it a shot again. Thanks to @santa-age for making this happen! For this story I thought it would be cool if two of our characters met each other and how they would interact; I hope you enjoy!) On top of the walls of Skyhold, Night time rolled quickly into the misty mountains. It was lightly snowing at the home of the Inquisition, something that wasn’t out of the norm for them. Tonight, we find our Inquisitor standing on the battlements; staring off into the night sky; taking in the well-deserved peace she has been pleading to herself for some time. Her friends and team mates were either spending time to themselves respectfully as well or having a good time at the tavern. Roxana Trevelyan looks over her right shoulder to stare at the tavern below with the corner of her eye. She had just become the Inquisitor not too long ago, a title that she was still trying to get adjusted to. Roxana had become so used to following under Cassandra’s guidance that now she would be the one making the orders, the one that’s supposed to give guidance to hundreds; no; thousands upon thousands of people looking to her for direction… well that was a bit daunting to say the least. The herald turned her gaze away and from the tavern and lights and began to take a couple foot steps along the snow-covered battlements. She lifted her hood up to cover her head from the cold and held her cloak tightly around her as she walked. Roxana walked probably a quarter of the battlements, losing herself to her thoughts for some time before she raised her eyes to see someone standing by a ledge not too far from her. It almost startled her but she immediately recognized who it was. The figure heard the footsteps behind him and slowly turned to see who it was but paused when he noticed it was the Inquisitor. “Inquisitor,” The man said as he fully turned towards her, “I didn’t see you there.” Robert Hawke; famously known as the Champion of Kirkwall; stood in front of Roxana. He was wearing his roguish equipment with his hood lifted to also shield him from the cold. Outside of his infamous red paint splattered across the bridge of his nose you wouldn’t think he’d be any different from any other man with his short hair and stubble developing. “Its quite alright,” Roxana reaffirms him, “I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here.” “Neither was I,” Hawke replies, “If you were wanting to be alone-“ “No! No, no, its quite alright,” Roxana says as she takes a couple of steps towards him, “I mean, I was hoping to have some alone time but now seeing you here I think I wouldn’t mind the company.” “Are you sure? I don’t mind leaving if you were wanting to have some privacy. Believe me, I understand.” “Were you wanting to be alone?” Roxana asks with a raised brow. She was beginning to feel that she was the one intruding on him. “Oh no, its fine,” he tells her, now feeling like he’s making things a little awkward, “Its just—uh, never mind. Forget my confusion. I could use the company myself.” “Oh, ok…” Roxana walks over to where Hawke is and the two turn to stare out into the valley and the mountains. There’s a moment of silence between the two of them as they take in the view. “Its quite the view isn’t it?” Hawke says as the two continue to stare at the landscape, “Prettier than the mountains outside Kirkwall that’s for sure.” “The things I’ve heard from Varric; outside of Kirkwall itself; there’s not much else to see.” Roxana says. “You could say that. The streets look the same, the mountain valleys look the same, the coastline looks the same. You see it once and you’ve pretty much seen everything.” Hawke snorts to himself, remembering a time when he, Isabela, Anders and Fenris got lost in a cave and believed they were just walking around in circles. It didn’t help much that he had to listen to Anders’ and Fenris’ bickering. That was his fault for bringing the two of them along. “I gotta say, at least you have a dandy looking castle as well with a great view.” Hawke points out. “But you had a whole city to look at didn’t you?” Roxana asks him as she hugs herself with her cloak, feeling the cold getting to her a little bit. “Only when there wasn’t a qunari invasion to stop at least.” Hawke jokes again. At this point Roxana could start to pick up on Hawke’s humor a little. He likes to mask some of his feelings with jokes and humor here and there. It was a defense mechanism. “At least you don’t have half of Thedas depending on you.” Roxana rebuttals. The champion turns to face the herald with a sincere face. “You and your Inquisition are doing everything you can to do just that. Its quite remarkable what you’ve managed to achieve in such a short time. You’ve built a force for good. If I was in your shoes I don’t think I would be able to do all that. Hell, I wasn’t even able to stop my own friends from fighting each other.” Hawke says before looking down to the snow by his feet, turning his gaze away from the Inquisitor. “I apologize, I’m letting my past get the better of me. It seems to be a pattern of mine as of late.” Hawke says as he returns his gaze back to Roxana. “Its okay Hawke. We’re all going through things right now.” Roxana reaffirms him. A moment of silence falls between the two of them. No word said for a few seconds before Hawke decides to change the topic.   “I’m also sorry about earlier, you just caught me off guard.” Hawke explains to her. Roxana giggles to herself, finding what he just said a little funny and the champion raises a brow. “I’m sorry, I caught your roguish skills off guard?” She smirks. Hawke turns to her and understands why she finds that humorous. “No one said my skills were the best, certainly not me,” Hawke smirks back to her, “Maybe Varric went a little overboard about some things when he wrote his book.” “Only some?” Roxana jests. “Okay, maybe a couple of things.” He jokes back to her before the two chuckles. After that there’s a moment of silence that falls between the two of them before anyone speaks. Roxana thinks to herself that if there was anyone here that could maybe understand what she’s going through it would be him. “How do you do it?” Roxana asks after a minute or two of silence, “Be a leader I mean.” “The Inquisitor asking a no body how to be a leader?” “What do you mean, you’re a hero. A legend.” “That may be another thing Varric exaggerated about,” Hawke retorts, “I don’t consider myself a hero or a legend. I’m just a man who wanted to help support his family and friends. I’m just someone that got caught up in a big ol’ mess that I helped cause.” “You didn’t cause the sky to rip open.” Roxana says to him. “In a way I did,” he responds, “I freed the person that did, therefore I am responsible for it.” “Hawke,” Roxana pauses before saying anything else for a moment, “What Corypheus did is not on you.” Another moment a silence falls between the two of them before Hawke speaks. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say… but in my heart, I feel he is my responsibility. I freed him, I unleashed his chaos unto this world… but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit in a corner and cry about it. I killed the bastard before, I can do it again. Remember I’m doing this as much for you and the Inquisition as I’m doing this for myself.” “I remember Hawke,” Roxana responds, “But that doesn’t mean you have to hold that burden all by yourself. We’re all here to stop him and return this world to order.” “Sounds like you’ve been listening to the Seeker talk a lot.” Hawke jests. “She knows how to deliver speeches, that’s for sure.” Roxana says, the two chuckling again. Maybe this is what Roxana needed tonight, maybe not to talk about business or how the world was in such a dire situation, no, maybe she just needed someone to talk to about anything else to get her mind off things. To remember that we’re all people from many backgrounds fighting for the same thing. To fix the world. But that doesn’t mean we have to be all business all the time. “Hawke, did you want to come back to the tavern with me?” Roxana asks. “If that’s what you wish Inquisitor-” “I’m asking as a friend,” Roxana cuts in, smiling, “And you can call me Roxana.” Hawke stares at her for a few seconds before nodding. He feels like Roxana may be asking because she wants the company, a distraction even for a moment, to enjoy the little things in life. Hawke may not think of himself as a hero or a legend but he does remember a time when it was just him and his friends hanging out at the Hanged Man, having a blast regardless of their many backgrounds and differences. He misses those days and… deep down would love to relive them. “Ok Roxana,” Hawke responds, “But only if you let me tell you the time Isabela managed to get me and Varric involved in a bar brawl over some ale and a jar of pickles.” “What,” Roxana raises a brow and a slight smirk, “This I have to hear.”

[thexwarriorhearts]

@rainbowmuses for Magnus for a closed event starter ! 

Kili tries to push the sign down so he go on the ride.  “Come on sign move down !” 

[dwarvesandarrows-blog]

"Well thank ya Sigrid." He says and takes a sip of the tea in the mug after coughing a bit. "Your kind."

dwarvesandarrows:

Kili has no idea what’s going on, not really at least.  Everything is jumbled up right now that he can’t think straight.  Whatever he was trying to think of was gone the moment he heard someone talk to him.  “T-thank you my lady.”  He says and grabs the blanket and mug, though he doesn’t answer if he’s all right.  Mainly because he’s not too sure himself if he is or not. ��

She flushes a little as he addresses her as ‘my lady,’ letting out an embarrassed little laugh. “ I’m not a lady, ” she corrects him. ( As if! A lady, smelling like fish and nearly her entire kitchen supplies emptied by thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit? ) “ My name’s just Sigrid, ” she tells him politely, watching him take the blanket and mug, waiting to see if he’s going to drink. He hasn’t answered if he’s alright or not, and having spent years looking after her family, including a very stubborn father and brother, Sigrid is more than aware that a lack of answer is sometimes as much of an answer as words would have been.

[bravenessandboldness]

@littlest-winchester for a closed starter 

“Make way !”  Kili called, using a stolen shopping cart to ride down the hill because. . .well it’s fun !  He still can’t stop yet so he again hit something and toppled over. . .but this time it was on grass so it stopped the blow a bit. 

[dwarvesandarrows-blog]

@bowmaidentilda for a closed starter

When Kili woke he was in pain.  All he remembers was seeing that beautiful woman speaking over to him and then all he saw was blackness.  Now, he sees an unfamiliar setting.  When did he get here ?  How did he get here ?  Is his family here ?  “Fili ?  Uncle ?”  He calls out for his brother and uncle as he tries and sits up, hand gripping his wound.  Wherever he is doesn’t look too bad, in fact it’s quite comfy looking, but still he needs his family.

[triumphorce]

I hope you enjoy these poems,

Been long enough since I’ve opened, but what’s wrote here is longer,

Sequoia length,

Hyperbolic-time flow in composition,

Bestowin lines of hopeful intervention,

Archs of ideas risen over an extended period, sheddin blood and perspiration,

No menopause, or birthin babies, no days off or on vacation, just endless effort,

An ellipsis stasis, pausing mentally to pay tribute and revisit thoughts degraded,

Or friends neglected,

Pausin like Nintendo, to eat some dinner before it’s cold and tastes of resentment,

Coldest chest bearin my truest intentions, similar to Sloths’ paws in my grip,

Skeptic in the presence of predators, pause to remain calm from all the norm’s digestion

On my South Paw Tekken method, so I stagger to keep them guessin,

In a mega melee between every one of these beings

And their baseless, no basis for patience, faceless and conceited bantering,

So, I’ll get angry if I get angry,

Pressin pause, once again before, just in case, breathing deeply,

Moment of recollection to intellectually understand the present,

And fast forward through every pressure, as I wordplay on endeavors,

All the while trying to buy me time and spare my mind displeasure

From hiding all these lines, wondering if it’s better to attribute pride

And be forever biased toward my dreams, ignorin finding securer ties

Amidst future porch-lit oblivions,

So I chose to approve all I choose with a stronger sense of what to do, Truth in use,

My Love for Truth reaches deepest distances to defining deeper motive behind the chosen,

Chase my dreams or loathe them, stop wasting time on goals or continue on toward them,

Still I end up writing my mind half the time, a bad habit of thinkin it’s lunch time

When it’s crunch time, bursts of ideas, floodin skies, rainin food for thoughtful animals

So now it’s hunt time and I’m roaming cranial parameters, ramblin in Rome-like stadiums,

A Rome of ages, no Brutus betrayal or Germanic invasion,

No collapsing, I make full course, my own track and traction,

Presidential pioneer of passion; a growth in hope from anger,

A ronin-rioteer, slashing throats of loathe and fear, lies and anguish,

Meaning is now the Home and I’m Forrester, on occasion,

Lovely to me to be left alone, to zone and be free from true isolation,

To redefine, no, renovate my limits, halls of castles spreadin from DNA,

To roofs, my being raising from half staff, saluting empires of past and present acceptance,

No predictions or master plans, only assumed direction and adaptive passion, always fittest,

Regardless of destination or where I land, its presence is foremost and always welcomed,

Whether I am or not, but okay, whatev, bet I’m still gone write, yep, bet I’m still gone type, gone but bet I’ll be right

Back, and bet I’m still gone knock, bet I still remain as obsessive as day one, towards an art,

So check the tech of this apex poet’s level in rap, floetry runneth over and I keep it coming like porno,

And…yea, good, that’s a wrap,

Horde of spun gears in wholesome work, cog-nizant abundance here,

An aggressive submissiveness, self competitive modes of progression shown in

An impressive stanza collection, goin all the way back, ’07, low and undetected,

007 impressions all the way to present moments, presenting poems,

Where 117 is now the logo, a present decree of freeing motives,

Steering hope to fearless and it couldn’t but be made more clear, this here

Can’t be on apprentice level s***, not anymore, I’m no where near, I’m better than,

Mirror Anakin, made aware of hidden traits, clearly bred colossal wake

As the inevitable dawn of day, endless skywalkin in either night or day,

On my Goku and Brolly game, got me on my jolly way,

So hold up, I’m bout to blow it up,

Bomberman noggin blogs, pardon the post-ignited fury,

Sparks from muse are used to light the fuse, moving through my spine,

To the keys I strike, to viewable words through screens of yours,

And then boom, my H2O line of sight crosses Alkaline insides,

Fleeting debris of my being sinking six feet in fire’s keep,

Leaving only a smoke flow of unspoken life, rise to flight,

About to air it out, openin insides to fair against the pain,

Another verbal hurricane, reign of Hadouken waved verses

Bringing pages, like a journalist, cursor brain attached to qwerty nerves,

Constant saving, birthing a freeze frame nature to nurture critiqued allure,

From observin to shining light on might of mind on mind excursion,

Lyrics of Merlin, magickal bound occurrence of astounding verbal wizardry,

Showin beauty in comprehension between the likes of those alike

And others who talk against,

So much hate, yet little mercy, despite what they claim to be in the first place,

So next to action, I narrate..

My part,

a poetic curator organizing deep extractions of Art within an Art,

Sorta clean cause of time off, still far from set Par,

Seeing only as far as I’m made able, free of cataracts

and until the rest is made available I place my faith in words,

Come out unscathed and church

Clean, from housing Temple worship,

Sermons of mental journeys, Hobbit-length, traversing Misty Mountain cliffs,

Where Stone Giants wage war, Bid on shoulder’s girth, a foundation never destroyed,

Only converted, only a change in surface, only courage

Made under fire, slay the dragon buried under the least of worries,

Traded violence and bias for brighter means of time spent,

Breaking dawn of storms, over shores of lore,

Growing force from self-remorse, stored distortion,

From getting used to moving forward,

overcoming obstacles, that before had me stuck in floors, all the lags had me glitchin,

Took a minute but I gathered, from the tension, a meta-genomic grasp

On philosophic-bloodlust in retinas of optics searching for oxygen,

yin-yang-third-eye watchin, a mind concaved to problem solvin at the microscopic,

Supplyin a macro-meson metropolis, comprising atomic gardens,

Ever meso-fixed in topless limits, I can’t stop, no need for friends,

Only accomplice to accomplishin, raising the bar again and again within myself,

Machine-like of John Conner, type neurologic, a bionic Laureate, I been on it,

A token-Conan,

A hint of Homer,

From scarlet bowties and formal clothing

To swinging forth the sword of warriors,

Spreadin life with an aura flourished in poetry,

Sort of like Tenseiga but just as sharp as Tessaiga to slay and defend what’s important,

So I Bakuryūha when cornered, no more warnings to get off my Case,

A Sherlock self-entitlist, just decipherin Edgar Poe whims,

With magnifying-focus, John Locked at poems coordinates,

Geologist-range, Rovin problems over with mecha-method,

reignin hectic over perfect tempo,

Mental metronomes, metabolic gyroscopic, hydraulic steps over all the bulls*** people talkin,

Supplyin medic-tomes to audiences, I guess,

Instead of poems, just a chivalric code in ir-realistic flow,

Just another dose of illness, to strengthen defenses

Here we go and, oh yea, that was just the beginnin’, oh snap, no he didn’t

lul.

So here is my written vaccination, a statement of my mission,

Sick of losing my mind and always seeing accepted ignorance,

Lettin go of trust, just to grab hold of hope I choose to trust again,

Desire to love and forgive poses more importance than holding in

Or holding on to thorns of torn rose stems,

Better at maintaining a utopia within, Jesus-morale through crucial friction,

Yieldin malice to oncoming Semi-driven peace,

Even when afflictions make it uneasy,

I make sure love is not only at its peak when toward family,

Because Kin is everybody I co-Exist amongst, an invisible brand in genes,

Givin me infinitely hope that I can defend beliefs of neighborly bred instincts,

Leading actions to condone sequence of repeated interactions,

Like dominos,

Between

people’s

compassion’s

path’s

Crossing

With that of

My own that I’m steady walkin, not really lookin back,

Exponentially increasing from lack of to getting back up,

Ours, as a world, to combine, or back up, and Choose disbelief,

Giving power to the powers To be, whose power to Be is defiling

Our Choice’s portrait of supposedly empty highlights, making ordinary

Unimportant, so thus this becomes the light of truth and leads life to corrupted view,

Either you losing sight of you or me of myself, misconstruing reason to pay it forward,

So I’m usin lucrative lines to lubricate the minds still a little prude to the nude of life,

Faded from strained engagement, makin the choice to die before you’re ever abused again,

To stand unphased in the face of hate and maintain a level stage of patience, that few appreciatin,

Proof that even in the height of uselessness, truth exist in a dimension fixed from vision,

Rooted fixture of a singularity, opposing ideals varying, extend as phloem,

Still can’t elude the speed of photons in a system of life and physics where the right to choose, itself,

Is the life in what lives stand for,

Beyond the physical, a Worth indivisible, formed from what we did and didn’t do,

Warm with smitten, passive light, passin every night and day,

By the hour, orbit revolutions of quintupled Arcturus regions, knowledge empowered brain,

Observin league’s descent uncharted, breeching in darkest hour,

Gravitate my beliefs to massive reason, dimension of must equalin mass of love

To not corrupt where hearts conduct or infest all I possess with lust,

Hope I can maintain the way I touch hearts and pump in months of hardwork,

I keep learning from how I feel to why I feel that way,

Found difference in being indigent and being ignorant,

Intelligence directly reflectin indignant wisdom, transmittin,

Referrals I purpose of personal Shells in ideals, splurging words earnestly

To enter these journals, but if I’m supposed to, what’s the purpose,

Who am I to deserve such a love to words, just an observer

With judicial poetic touch,

And if it’s certain, to whomever, that fate is written, a moral contingent imminent to emptyin,

then what’s the Purpose to existence other than fulfilling an omni-present minister’s wishes of progression,

So I’m administering this obsession to keep anyone who’s missin those “blessings” to please hold on for new direction because I’m tired of seeing depression used as weapons, ammunition from confusion spreadin, duly attentive to fully removin this sickness in sentenced remedies,

Imprison the Nil of pre-destined influences, bring immunity to kill tetanus infections,

Yet still refusing to refute my messages’ meaning even when people misread or dis-link from me

In fear of appearing foolish when light’s free, wool lids over open eyed fools,

Mule witted minds losin focus,

Allusive motive to controlling themselves,

Soo they leave it to forces brail, leaving me to expose

Where the heart is and what it is I was composed to do, go through,

With an ambition prone to fail, I suppose, According to premeditated rulings,

Meaning everyone can’t avail, so only some progress while others are rejected,

Some succeed, some fail, some live, some dwell, well, all alive, but none feel,

Not one well,

And once accepted they remain as frail as I stay mute, but that’s changin soon,

Realizing the truth to stay ahead, never aim to win, life is better played at whim,

Not a favor to anyone to stay blind because you believe you have no play in it,

And claiming peace, while inside, you fake as s***,

So no more resigned use of…

Of life in muses, only new identities I can side by, fuse with,

Away from what therein lies of pre-inscribed mysterious finds, binding will to higher kinds,

Leaving little clarity between actuality and their desire,

Entirety of irrationality blurring passions with pre-happenings,

So I’m writing packet-deep, massive thesis type lyrics,

Not on what life is, more on what it should look like,

Negate effects of strife in what we go through every day

In dreaming and seeking Faith, ending wake of endless waking, like Kenny’s nature,

Mysterion mind deliberating meaning in decisions that supposedly lead us, survival of the fated,

Achievements naked, blank sheet, feat-less wasteland of failures, aka

Someone else’s graceland’s sake,

Astray a world of involuntary reflexes, committed daily,

So what are we without the choices that we make?

And what are reached achievements if choices obsolete,

Our thoughts subjection leaning toward subjective mercy,

Always worrying things will turn for the worse, or should service us,

Circling merit, false in essence, always expectin credit, all these undeserved expectations,

Just another damn reason to instruct and detain, trained to hush,

Contained in corruption, so I break away and lead myself free of it,

Free of following a truth untold, or rushed through,

I slow it down,

Piercing meaning, rupturing relations between changes in Being

And being thankful for living,

Every reason I find, convenes in front of spleens,

Instead of wasting time slaving to understand something always changing

I can easily provide more beauty with “ordinary” in wording, ordaining my own action,

Than any do with reasons still a mystery because they believe in divinity’s selection,

Well I believe everyone, no matter skin, beliefs, see a peace, regardless of objective,

Peace is the seed that exist in you and me, me in you and you in me, nothing sexual,

Just technical, so here’s to findin triumph in effort hulled, fighting for survival of hope in better situations

Distribute it mainstream, with only precedence toward bestowing bravery,

Traversing in shoals of intricate migrations, from skull to throat,

Talkin over people trollin the same thing, about damnation, nuclear devastation, or no hope in humanity,

Betraying speaking peace in pieces, plain to see,

Disarray in creation of fate-sung predicaments

So I remain an algebraic humanist, Ethos patron instinctively,

Regardless of what will be, only means to believe in,

And I choose to believe then,

From the whole of me, giving heed in forms of rhyming reads,

Waiting for the time to reach and grab my chance before it passes me…

My chance to be, to chance is to breathe in depths of stress, under endless seas of probabilities,

Chance is the rise to waves accent to cling to being, where wind swiftly leads a symphony

Of dreams and just when air seems di-minished, chance then Links courage to cappin fear,

Ceasing deceasing of a dwindled breeze, bringing back forgotten memories,

Connected to the past, of where one love met another,

Growth in a happiness conceived bliss, paintings above everyone;

A past’s collage of pensive imagery, collision of Imagination and color,

As wind in the sky blows to soothe the dried, pacifyin,

Past trees, to carry seeds to where they land and breed,

Chance is the treaty between faith and reason,

So tired, so much time to chancing, less to myself, more to finding pride,

Wealth applied to build a health in a life worth more than itself, meant to help,

Enrich those left with doubt, pursued in talents used to salvage faith and shelter,

Compelling thoughts of jealousy and hatred, still a becoming, in the making,

No black and white, I’m in the gray, changin, becomin blanker to a race based on skin,

A lot of work in becoming the change I wish to see replacing all the deceit and greed shit,

To give people something to believe and then proceed to give them reason guaranteeing chance,

Fairing change in paths and enhance the passion made elastic by creating a canvas of emotions gathered

When faced with resistance in liberation from fated actions, I supply my own motivation,

I never tire, never slack, forever writing, sometimes gaming,

I design, repay debt and fines,

I find when lost,

I admire the quaint breeze,

I aspire to aspire,

Seeking others to re-fire fired dreams,

Finally seeing the beauty in dying leaves,

I am only but the comprisee, comprised to further ideas beyond that Comprising…

And at every Dawn of Morn’, perfect timing,

Lightly sun brushed adorned emotions course vibrantly,

Alarm chime got me up like Dug and Russell,

Carl Orff auricular consumption as I rise to shining,

Leaving bunks made comfortable, plying a nine to five,

Adrift corrupted, yet functional systems of injustice,

That people blindly trust in, such a numb to love world,

So I’m livin sure of what I want, but never deserving,

More for serving, because I see a turning in returning,

Learning TM 27, to defend without hesitation, those hurting,

Putting plenty work in, stayin sturdy, steady, stern,

So no more sleep, reenergize my mind with ultraviolet multi-focused drive,

Never tried thriving in just one type of art, renaissance rhymes or charcoal lines,

Bars of ideals primed in furnace fire,

Filled from philosophical mines I, from time to time, step inside to dig further,

Almost a decade, now, dedicated toward a storyline that transformed to novels,

From Lanowen to Cenoria,

From one part to over four, comic-concepts

From porch bottom to views with No horizon,

Just me and Hiz,

From RP to a simple Story, to a Foyer of plots,

Elevating floors high, Glory rises to tell of the dormant tales,

Tales of war, Tales of cheer, Tales Galore, Tales of Fears,

A tale of Fictional artists, just tryin to stay in chime tune with reality,

Eyes open, as trays of a balance-beam,

We only dream To chase them, after, running mentally to catch them,

Dippin off through darkened streets, literally,

And when dusk begins reality slumbers in Dippers over me,

Ephemeral solace into the evening, leaving me in

Pleasant never ending brinks, extinct of larks or peeps,

Sole existence of a solo dolo sidewalk dreamer,

A roamin Caesar, Rome enthusiast

To scenic artistry of stars gleaming in navy-bluest skies,

Light mists of moonlight sonata-like cloaks linger through the night,

A bliss as infinite as the stars are distant, holdin my hopes in suspension,

Ensuing thoughts to compose notes in my dome or on moleskine,

Brim-row view in opera lands, Baritone parlando, harking heartfelt cantos,

Stealing back the hope I robbed myself of, so no more dead silence,

No sounds, just NC headphones and instrumentals to get my mind scheming,

Socratic Luther King in Light and in my sleep,

Still a modern Machiavelli, to stand for what’s right,

Keep what’s on back and neck protected, look like an easy

Target, but I promise that that ain’t promised,

Fingers crossin keyboards like twist ties,

Butter bread lines, sun-beams, from always goin ‘gainst the grain,

In an Adidas skully over curls as I stroll the lunar World,

Lennon-shoes, solar-albedo Chuck Soles Chauffer luster, a sulfer glow of soulful surges from Sol-lit sources, shone off earth’s surface, in all directions, time reversin from my inertia, I surf a universe of Umi-verses, rainin fiercely, floodin nyxheim, floodin tumblr, floodin notebooks, on my flood the world s***, only observable once I give life to words shaped in a matrix muse, wor-ship of my curse or gift, I make that discernment, man what the hell, I been murkin, think it’s time for me to call the curtains, I’m outta here, peace and heart, hope you enjoyed the work,

Fin