#Hare And Hounds

[famousornotbuthot]

x

[tagidearte]

Teaching how to seek.

This will perpetually remain a sketch, so let me share it. It would get lonely otherwise.

[brighteuphony]

Why is anbu Sakura's hair black? Is it dyed for better disguising herself with the environment, or does she have a different family in that au?

So in the ANBU!au, ANBU masks all come with a specific array of seals that can be customized at user request. In Sakura's case, its impossible to maintain anonymity with pink hair, so a Henge Seal helps deal with that.

Not all ANBU masks have a Henge- because not everyone has extremely unique features that need to be hidden.

Her ANBU mask seals also feature:

Chakra Key and Disguise : This keys the mask to her specific chakra signature (so it can't be stolen) and helps disguise it. Mandatory to all ANBU.

Poison Filters/Detection Seals: These seals help recognize and filter common airborne poisons. They don't help against ingestion or infection, and don't detect more exotic toxins. Mandatory to all ANBU.

Meshed Eyes/Enhanced Vision Seals: Helps the wearer see more clearly at night, though the mesh is optional- as some users might need clear vision to use dojutsu.

Scent Blocking Seals: These help nullify specific scent markers, as agents are often sweating due to physical exertion. The seal isn't mandatory, but scent blocks of some sort are. It's also highly encouraged to use neutral bodywash and shampoo before missions.

Vocal Distortion Seals: These seals help modulate the user's voice without putting a strain on their vocal cords, as the distortion is handled by the mask. Not mandatory, but Sakura really doesn't want to be recognized.

All seals need to be occasionally recharged/rewritten at ANBU HQ- as they will eventually wear off.

Additionally, these seals are usually invisible to the naked eye, though a skilled fuinjutsu specialist can usually make them visible. The masks are also very damage-resistant and can handle quite a bit of abuse before they start chipping. Since the seals are separate, it's possible to lose only a portion of the mask's seals and keep the others active as long as most of the seal is there.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[perrine-enthusiast]

Outfit swap doodle? Idk if anyone’s done this before (this took me way too long in comparison to the finished product)

Lmk if I should do this again w/ the rest of The Lark

(Oh boy I sure do hope tumblr doesn’t significantly decrease the image quality as it’s done so many time before!)

[blunderingidiot]

∘₊ ✧ 𝟖 / 𝟓 / 𝟐𝟒 ✧ ₊∘

“You’re not getting Cole’s Response, you’re getting

Baby by Justin Bieber!”

(Credit to @/thel4rk on TikTok!)

~ 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐄.

[haverkampink]

Four familiars - acrylic on board, 3x9". A bit of an experiment, I'm not usually an acrylics user, so I wanted to see how it behaved. I don't love how translucent a lot of the colors are (I really had to pile the paint up on these), but maybe that's just the quality of the paints I got!

[lambdesune1xx1]

I made a Harker fan character i guess(?)

Inspired by Yaelokre's characters 🕯🐇

Still working on the design and lore 🫠

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

it's important to hold/be held by your local Daycare Attendant at least 1-3 times a day (romantic/platonic as preferred)

close-ups below

[lostmermaidshell]

COLE♡♡♡

i found @yaelokre and became absolutely OBSESSED. i can't wait for thr new songs omg! and their art is wonderful!!!!

🦌🐇🐐🌿

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

fic recs of the month

This is just a collection of my fic recs for the month of march, have fun <3

The Lab

by @de-sire-blog (de_sire) on Ao3

“I don’t get it,” Sirius says truthfully. “Remus is such a nice person, why does everyone pretend like he’s some kind of wicked stepmother?”

James laughs joyfully and winks at Sirius. “Are we even talking about the same person?” He holds out his hand above his head. “Big guy, about this tall, curly hair? Temper like a sleeping dragon? Smart, but a bit full of himself? Can kill you with his eyes?”

Sirius raises his eyebrows and laughs as well. “No, I don’t think we are talking about the same person at all.”  

A love story about healing, new beginnings and growing up. Academia! Romance! Shared cigarettes, cute cats, lots of coffee and the most amorous business trip you have ever seen.

the hare and the hound

by @steelycunt (aeridi0nis) on Ao3

‘He’ll never have to do it again, Remus realises. He can just keep being good, if he just behaves, he’ll never have to do it again, never with the dark and the bleeding and the crying. He just can’t give them reason to be angry at him, and he won’t, he hasn’t. And his mum is right – the drink does make him feel a little better.’

or:

Remus is a terribly behaved five-year-old. He doesn’t really think so himself, but his parents lock him in the cellar every month, so he must be doing something to deserve it. Well, not anymore. He’s got a plan, see, sort of. He’ll never go downstairs again.

Dusk

by @theresthesnitch on Ao3

“That’s not fair.” Sirius was crying now, and Remus swiped his tears away with his thumb. “This isn’t fair. We haven’t had enough time. It’s not fair.” 

“I know, love.” Remus leaned in for a kiss, and wondered if it would be the last. “I have loved you for sixty-two years, and it’s nowhere near enough.” 

Or

Sirius loses his memories.

Lupine

by @wolfstarbuxks (BayleyWinchester) on Ao3

Lupine adjective lu·pine | \ ˈlü-ˌpīn \ Definition of lupine : WOLFISH

Teddy is Remus' everything in life. He'd do anything for his son - including going to the same zoo, twice a week for a year so that his son could see the wolves that he had fallen in love with.

And if that meant that Remus got to met a sexy zookeeper, who was he to complain?

CONSTANT VIGILANCE and COMMON SENSE

by darkbluedark on Ao3

In which Alastor not-yet-"Mad-Eye"-but-still-quite-Mad Moody does as Alastor "Just Mad" Moody does, and brings a sneakoscope to an Order meeting.

~The kind of fix-it that makes so much sense that the fact that it isn't canon should be considered a plot hole in itself~

A Brief History of Dragons

by @eyra on Ao3

It's lovely up here; all meadows dotted with wildflowers, wind-beaten tracks criss-crossing this way and that through the fields, weaving inland to the pinewoods. The sun's hot on his back as he passes ramshackle stone walls, long since crumbled to piles of ancient rubble and scree, and then the path winds downwards, still following the line of the coast until Sirius finds himself outside an old white cottage, tucked away behind the hill with a rose garden that faces out to the sea.

Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons.

The Phoenix Agency

by LupinsChocolatePraline on Ao3

Sirius Black is excited to start his first full-time job after Uni, but this life change doesn’t sit well with his boyfriend who is difficult to live with on a good day, abusive on all other days. Sirius is good at pretending that everything is alright, he can even convince himself, but sometimes he wishes things were different. The problem is – Fabian is all Sirius has. Or so they both think.

Remus Lupin is a senior copywriter at an advertising agency, currently single by choice, and very comfortable with his unchanging daily routine, his familiar colleagues and his company-issued ergonomic chair that’s been his for three years now. When his favourite graphic designer is replaced by a twitchy, fresh-out-of-university Sirius Black, his peaceful routine takes an unexpected hit.

[yourfellowhuman07]

For the past week or so I’ve been obsessed with @yaelokre ‘s music and their world, so naturally, I drew their persona The Storyteller. I took some design liberties, but I tried to stay faithful to the original design.

I absolutely love their music (my favorite is Harpy Hare), and they deserve all the views in the world. I’m so excited for what they do next.

(Also, is there a place I can find an essay or something similar explaining their world building or do we just piece everything together with the hints they drop? Either way I would love to know more!)

[kandysongbird]

[DAY 4-6: A BOUNY]

And the Hound hums a lie, a lullaby.

[brighteuphony]

Chapter 2 out for Run with the Hares (Hunt with the Hounds)!

in which kakashi gets some peaches

[frigidpaws]

why meadowlark is literally a masterpiece

tl;dr :: me yapping about how @yaelokre is amazing at music and you should go follow them :3 [not forcing you,, haha]

and to keath, if you didnt want to be tagged that's perfectly okay and i apologize :~) you can skip to the ending section for more info haga

everything under the cut

alright !! thank you for taking the time to read my silly recommendation :D before we begin i'd just like to say i really hope this doesn't come off as weird at all, i just really love meadowlark :3

and some of this might be wrong !! PLEASE correct me if i said anything incorrect !

so, what's meadowlark?

meadowlark is the world in which four children sing tales of fables to all that will hear them. they tell stories of the harkers, who are "concepts" in a way. they are the storyteller, the bell-ringer, the croon and the enkindled. yaelokre is the name of the creator and story as a whole, and the author and singer behind the story is known as Keath, a splendidly talented artist who truly loves their work.

the lark

the lark consists of the aforementioned children:

cole (represents the storyteller)

clémentne/clémentine/clémmie (represents the bell-ringer)

perrine (represents the croon)

kingsley (represents the enkindled)

all of the children are genderless, and do not use gendered terms. they all use they/it pronouns and it is best to respect yaelokre's wishes for their characters. i do believe cole and clémentine are dating (or something romantic), as there is official art of them kissing, though i don't know the details...

the young minstrels are good friends and enjoy preforming their songs together. each one has a distinct voice, design, and personality traits. each one of them is crafted so beautifully, you can see yaelokre put work into them :D

the songs

the tales of meadowlark are told through songs, and goodness, are they amazing. i have never reacted so positively to a song myself, but bird cage blue and yellow makes me so happy :) i do hope yaelokre knows that at least one person enjoys their music as much as i <3

here are the songs !!:

hayfields

harpy hare

hartebeest

and the hound

neath the grove is a heart

songs of origin

my farewell to the fields

bird cage blue and yellow

there is another song, cole's response, but i can't find it anywhere, nor have i heard it. i believe it's being remade, or something along those lines.

closing statements !!

i hope this convinces at least one person to listen to and support yaelokre's works :3

again: i do not wish to cross any boundaries with this post, and i will take it down per the request of keath if they so wish. i am quite anxious of hurting others, so communication is best for me...

i am deeply excited when i like something, music or other, so i just want to share yaelokre with more people :~) so if that makes them uncomfortable, i apologize. i chose to tag them because i feel they may like knowing someone really appreciates their work? i don't know. i don't know them personally so take that with a grain of salt.

thank you, yaelokre, for being cool :D

[perrine-enthusiast]

ANYONE OUT THERE WHO WATCHED THE STREAM LIVE???

Also a little help for people who didn’t know the language like me-