#I hope they never loose their whimsy

[wyrm-mlm]

.

[wibben]

Pocky Day

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“Nanami! Check it out!”

The seasons had shifted almost without notice, and here you were, wrapped in the early chill of November, wrestling with your plastic convenience store bags and the loose sleeves of a coat that was not your own. The holidays were near; work was easing up, and curses seemed to fade with the colder air, which meant more free time. And you had resolved to spend it cracking the nut that was Nanami Kento.

Could you call him a friend now? Probably, you thought, if friendship included routine cups of coffee that tasted exactly as you liked, courtesy of him memorizing your order, and favorite sandwiches he only accepted from you because “the shop near your apartment makes them best.” The small gestures stacked up, predictable and warm.

As the two of you strolled down the Tokyo streets you stopped, shuffling crinkling bags with blunt mittened hands, delving into the pockets where you stashed your prize – aha!

You held up the carton between you, grinning through a nose gone red from the chill. “Did you know it’s Pocky Day?”

Cute, Kento thought, immediately charmed by the small, proud smile you wore. He shifted his glasses up his nose, a well-practiced excuse for a moment’s reprieve, hoping the sudden warmth in his face would pass.

“Is that a holiday?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady as he looked down at the snack pack offered in your hand.

“Sort of,” you replied, your smile widening. “It’s today – eleven-eleven, you know? Looks like the sticks.”

He reached for the box, if only to indulge in the blanketing contentment of his fingertips brushing over the wool of your mittens. The softness of it, the small closeness, was something he never quite allowed himself to savor – yet there you were, none the wiser to his plight.

“Hm. I see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like another capitalist holiday to me.”

“No no, this ones different! They’re cheap today and it’s fun—”

“Yes, cheap. To make you buy it. Like every other capitalist holiday.”

You shot him a look, glaring padded daggers into the back of his blonde head and hurried to catch up as he started walking again, huffing dramatically. “You’re no fun sometimes. Where’s your whimsy?”

Kento’s smile softened as he turned away, letting himself indulge for a second in the fondness that always crept up around you. Very cute, he thought again, and not for the first time. He tore open the cardboard carton with a deft press of his thumb against the perforation and peeled open the foil pack inside, passing it sidelong back to you to accept into your uselessly mitted palms.

You shuffled the box, jostling a single stick upward to pluck out with your teeth, then held the box out to him with a silent offer and a toothy smile. Kento accepted one with a quiet nod.

He twizzled the chocolate-free end between his thumb and forefinger, taking small contemplative bites as you both walked.

“There’s supposed to be a thing you do with it, too,” you said after a pause, feeling stinging warmth creep up to your cheeks. “Like… you know. With a pocky stick. People eat it from both ends.”

You kept your tone light, as casual as you could, but your heart was louder in your ears than you’d like, beating with all the wild things you wanted but couldn’t bring yourself to ask for as you tested the waters. God you wish he would bite. How might his breath feel, warm and humid, on your chilly and frost-nipped face? Watching those eyes that always looked so sharp get closer and closer to your own, watching them soften, feeling the snap of the pocky stick as it broke bit by bit into his mouth until his lips met yours—

Kento’s eyebrow quirked just so, his gaze flicking from the pocky in his hand to you. You can’t just say things like that, he bemoaned, feeling your words strike sharp and deep. Because if he had it his way, he’d stop you, right here on the sidewalk, reel you in close until he could feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his. He’d cradle your chilled face between his palms, brush away that tempting smear of chocolate on the corner of your mouth with his thumb – and then, finally, he’d kiss you, no hesitation, no half-measures, just the taste of you against his lips, snack be damned as he’d been tempted to do for months.

And for a moment he considered it. He considered it, because when the silence stretched and he looked at you just a little too long you turned to look at him too. 

Too obvious, you internally wailed.

She didn’t mean it like that, he doused himself.

And so Kento shrugged, keeping his response as carefully noncommittal as he always did. “What an inefficient way to share.” 

He wanted to smack himself.

Your heart dipped a little at the careful, too-neutral tone in his voice. “Right. Silly,” you said, laughing it off, but your voice was a shade softer than it had been.

And as if some twist of fate wanted to rub salt in the wound, a couple ambled past, laughing as they attempted that very thing. They were awkward, leaning in close in the fogging vapor of their cloudy breath, their laughter bubbling and sweet as the shared pocky stick disappeared between their lips. 

Your own heart stuttered. You watched them until it felt too voyeuristic to continue, feeling the cold air bite a little harder as you snuck a glance at Kento. His face was unreadable, focused on the path ahead.

The rest of the walk, neither of you brought it up again, and the box was shared between you until it was empty.

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Another year came and went, swallowed in the rush of work and curses and routines until you’d all but forgotten about Pocky Day – what was the use, anyway? It was a capitalist holiday, as Kento would say. Something trivial and best left unthought of until it came around again. 

So you were taken by surprise to find Kento standing beside your desk that morning, silhouetted in soft strokes of pale yellows and baby blue. He was neat as ever, his coat perfectly buttoned, and as ever, the sight of him sparked something traitorous in the dying twitch in your chest.

You considered your shot to have been well and truly fired – and that was okay. Friendship was fine; you could live with it. You told yourself this every time you had to tame the excited pitter patter of your heart whenever you saw him.

“You’re early today,” you said, surprised but smiling. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s Pocky Day,” he said simply, holding up a red box as if it was simply a matter of fact, just like picking up coffee… which also sat steaming on the edge of your desk.

“Oh.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden rush of butterflies that exploded in your belly. It doesn’t mean anything, you tempered yourself. “Right! I ah – I forgot! So, I guess… we’re doing this again?”

Kento rumbled and stepped across the room to you when you failed to move closer, offering the box to you as you had once offered it to him. “I thought it might be a nice tradition.”

You took the box from him, fingers brushing without the barrier of gloves, and you felt your soul tremble like the fragile leaves that still stubbornly clung to the trees just outside the large office window. 

You struggled to open the box, sucking in a breath from between your teeth to steady the unfortunate shaking of your fingers. There was an odd intensity to his silence, the way he stared at the box in your hands waiting for you to open it. You felt oddly pressured, and the enormity of the relief you felt from such a diminutive victory when you finally peeled it open was almost enough to shake you to your knees.

Your pulse ratcheted an uneven staccato as you drew out a single stick, offering it to him. “Kento.”

Instead of taking it, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on yours with a weight that made your chest feel heavy. And then, he bowed forward, his eyes never leaving yours, lips parting around the end of the pocky stick in a single, deliberate motion and reeled back with it pinched between his teeth. There was a quiet challenge in the lift of his brow, something vulnerable and daring woven together; an invitation and a question laid bare in his expression, highlighted and punctuated by the slow bleed of red blooming over high cheekbones.

Your pulse roared in your ears, catching you frozen. All you could do was stare, and in that pause, his confidence flickered, just for a second, his steady breaths growing slightly shallower as his eyes flicked between yours. That flutter of panic at his own boldness, like he might’ve misjudged this completely, tightened something inside you, and you couldn’t have that.

Slowly, you leaned in, feeling his breath feather warmly against your cheek. You bit the stick delicately, feeling the faint returning snap of it from the other end. Kento moved closer in response, eyes locked on yours, his gaze unreadable but unmistakably intent, filling you with a fire that licked at your spine. His lips were so close – close enough that you felt every small shift, every inch he dared forward, the space between you shrinking in this mutual game of chicken that neither of you intended to bow from.

You bit again, your noses brushing, hearts racing in the quiet with a fluttering synchronicity that left you dizzy. And then, in the last breath of chocolate between you, his lips met yours, as soft and hesitant as the very first touch of spring. 

For a stunned second, it was pure disbelief: you were kissing Kento. He kissed you. Every ounce of longing and every secret glance you’d ever thieved was suddenly, incredibly, impossibly real, and that realization burst inside you with a giddiness that made your atoms buzz.

The taste of chocolate and mint mingled with something undeniably him, a warmth so complete you felt it seep into your bones. The world outside of your bubble paused, cradling the two of you in a moment that felt so obviously inevitable yet so fragile, like any sudden movement might shatter it. 

You were caught in this vacuum of your own creation. Your eyes fluttered open, unsure whether to savor the kiss fully or to steal glances at him, afraid to miss a single, precious detail. You felt the faintest brush of his eyelashes against your cheek, his breathing soft against your skin. The closeness was overwhelming, yet you hesitated to give in entirely, your lashes fluttered with uncertainty against his cheekbone. You would pull away when he did, because oh, what if somehow you were misreading this? What if you embarrass yourself by lingering too long, what if it’s a misunderstanding, what if, what if, what if—

But Kento felt it too. Not letting you drift into uncertainty, his hand came up, fingers warm as they cradled the back of your head, steadying you as he tilted you just a little closer. The moment didn’t end with the last snap of the pocky, nor with the chocolate gone from both of your lips. His kiss deepened – until it broke. And his eyes opened enough to meet yours as he dipped down for a second time, this time without pretense or excuse – he kissed you because he wanted to and he always did.

Each press of his lips was steady, adoring. He kissed you with the tenderness of someone who wanted to remember every part of this and wanted you to remember it just the same; who wanted to remember the exact shade of your blush, the soft, delighted sigh he felt more than he heard, the way your fingers curled reflexively at his shirt collar as you allowed him to melt every last inch of you.

When he finally pulled away, it was slow, his forehead resting gently against yours as his thumb traced small, bashful circles at the base of your neck. A soothing gesture, whether meant for you or for him it hardly mattered, because you’re both left equally dazed. And the look in his eyes, warm and unguarded, told you he was no more ready to pull away than you were.

After a long moment Kento let out a soft, almost reluctant chuckle, his lips twitching upward in a devastatingly cute way with how the expression shook. He glanced down at the box of pocky hanging limp in his free hand, having been completely forgotten. “There’s… still more in the box,” he said, hushed, like he’s hesitant to push his luck any further than he felt he already had.

Your chest gave a hopeless little squeeze, a nervous giggle of your own bubbling from your throat. “Oh, really?” you teased, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Should we finish it?”

He gave you that look again, the one that always made you swoon – something warm and appreciative, and now you can see it much more clearly: bursting with promise. He raised the box again and offered it to you quietly, “It would be a shame to waste it, I think.”

[galadrieljones]

Possession (Rook x Emmrich)

❤️ Dragon Age | Emmrook | Solavellan | one-shot | Mature ❤️

word count: 7,460 Summary: In the Lighthouse, Rook and Emmrich hunt through some of Solas's old records from his time with the Inquisition. What they find brings them closer together, as they embark on a romantic scavenger hunt through memories of the past.

Read here, or at AO3 💫

Possession

JOLENE MERCAR, also known as Rook, was stalemated outside the door of a certain generous and compassionate necromancer. It was late at night. Though time seemed to pass strangely here in the Fade, whenever she was inside the Lighthouse, she could always sort of tell what part of the day it was. Like an enchantment, or an illusion. She knocked on the door.

Emmrich answered. He was very tall, and when he saw her in all of her tiny elven glory, he smiled. He was genuinely surprised to see her, but seemingly very pleased. "Rook," he said. "What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Emmrich," she said, feeling a little stupid. She had her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. "I was just...popping by. I discovered something, here in the Lighthouse, a hidden room. It belonged to Solas. It's filled with a bunch of notebooks. Diaries and things. Records, lots of them dated back to when he was in the Inquisition. I was going to go through them on my own, see if we could learn anything, but I suddenly felt the urge for company. I thought you might find it all interesting, as an expert on the Fade. You know, like he is."

Emmrich considered. Rook had long, dark hair, which she sometimes wore in a loose braid over her shoulder, but that night, it just fell to the small of her back, like a curtain. Her eyes were light as candles, and he liked her. Something about her forward nature truly intrigued him, and though he did not entirely understand what she might see in him, she came by often, looking for wisdom. She was young, and he could tell that she felt...out of place in all this. In any case, she had never come to him so late at night before. This was new. The promise of what lie ahead, it was very tempting, despite his prevailing sense of discipline and stoicism. He said to her, "I believe I would find that interesting. Thank you, Rook, for thinking of me. Please, come in. Just let me grab some things, and let's be on our way."

As she stood there, demurely, taking stock of Emmrich's vast and detailed inventory, the books and the skulls and the bizarre crystals, she felt excited, happy for the first time since all this began. It was a pretty picture, this place, so strange and haunted, and yet the whimsy, it was like wrapping herself in a warm scarf. Rook was not a mage, and she had not grown up with such displays of magical possibility. Magic was utilitarian where she was from, or else it was devious. But Emmrich, in all of his sparkling oddity, could make even the littlest, most mundane things feel new and awake. Rook often tried to remind herself that, no matter how bad things get, it's the little things in life that truly set you free.

In the music room, Emmrich was delighted by the presence of a piano in the Lighthouse. He honed through a couple of chords, but it sounded like the gloomier depths of the Necropolis. "It's woefully out of tune," he said. "I can come back in the morning, perhaps, make it sing once more."

"You play the piano?" said Rook, feeling wistful. She had picked the lid up off a wooden box, which she had stacked earlier near the high window. Light seemed to flood in, even though it was after ten.

"My skills are a bit lapsed," said Emmrich. "But I trained for many years in my youth. Music is a language all its own. I've found that certain spirits communicate more readily through the wonders of melody."

"Perhaps that's why Solas plays?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

Rook sat down on a dusty old hope chest. It seemed made of both wood and gold at the same time, and this weirdness with textiles was something that Solas seemed drawn to. Metals that looked like wood, woods that looked like metal. She watched the little particles floating around in the bars of light from the window as she gathered a stack of leather bound notebooks. There were many books and records and things that looked sort of official, like things you might need at some sort of tribunal, but these ones were filled, front to back with what seemed like poetry, math, journal entries, all in Solas's handwriting. It was elegant but rushed. "Some of these notebooks are just filled with what look like complicated arithmetic."

"May I?" said Emmrich. He pulled up the bench from the piano, sat beside Rook at the window. Rook handed him a notebook. He studied the markings, which were strange, but some oddly familiar. "As the maker of the Veil, it would make sense for Solas to be adept at theoretical and applied physics. Some of these formulas are familiar to me and my studies. Others are...well. They are like nothing I've ever seen before."

"He doodles a lot. See?" She showed him the pages of another notebook. This one was more of a sketchbook, she gathered. There were a great many drawings. Mostly faces and animals, sketched out in pencil, loose with an absentminded touch. "This one is cute. Look. A nug."

"That is very amusing."

"If we don't find anything good here, we can always go back to the office," she said. "It's through the door, but it's sort of gloomy. I just brought some of the boxes out here so that we could sit in the light."

"Yes, the light," said Emmrich, studying the windows. "I wonder if the enchantment lives inside, outside, or in the glass itself?"

"In any case, it's pretty," said Rook.

"I agree."

She showed him another sketch, this one more detailed than the others. "Look at this one. Do you recognize this place?" 

It was a castle, or a fortress, misty, and planted deep in a glorious mountain scape. Emmrich studied it closely. He did recognize it, but he was having a difficult time placing it in his memory. "It says right here, Terasylan'Telas. Do you speak elven, Rook?"

"Nope," she said. "My knowledge ends at Andaran Atishan. Mostly."

"Hmm. You know, now that I think of it, I believe this might be Skyhold," he said. 

"Skyhold?"

"The legendary fortress of the Inquisition. It's located somewhere in the Frostback Mountain range, which forms the natural border between the southern Kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais."

"Ferelden and Orlais," said Rook. "Geez. That's far. Have you ever been?"

"Never," he said. "Until I met you, I never once left Nevarra. Now, here I am, living in an ancient elven sanctuary in the Fade. Such intrigue you bring to my life, Rook."

She blushed a little, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "He seems attached to this place," said Rook, turning the pages of the notebook, slowly. There were several more sketches of the castle, from multiple angles, the insides and outsides. "He seems to know it well." 

"Who is this?" said Emmrich. He pointed to a figure, sketched out in the doorway to what appeared to be some sort of rotunda. The form was female, somewhat tall, created with great care, but it was unfinished.

"Who knows," said Rook. "A mystery woman? After this, it's just tons and tons of butterfly sketches. All kinds of them. Guess he's a fan of bugs."

"Let's delegate a little," he said. "Hand me one of those notebooks, if you please."

She obliged. He straightened up and opened the notebook in his lap. "You continue with the sketchbook, and I will investigate this here."

"What is that one?"

"It looks to be some sort of diary," said Emmrich. "Entries, with dates from twelve years back. I'll let you know if I find anything of interest."

"Same here."

They sat for a while, reading. At some point, Rook got antsy and scooched off the hope chest to sit on the floor. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taken with the minute and lovely details of Solas's drawings. After the butterflies, the pages began to fill with the shapes of people, actual people with detailed, unique faces and expressions, which led Rook to believe that they were real. His friends, perhaps? There was a study of a young man with an enormous hat, a tall elven woman with short hair eating a cookie, a human shield maiden reading a book beneath a tree, and a great, Qunari warrior playing chess. At some point, she came across somebody familiar, but the hair had changed. She recognized him from Minrathous. It was Dorian Pavus, holding a skull near a candle. This awakened something strange inside her, like an eclipse. Late in the book, there was a sketch of Varric, situated from the side. He was holding a flagon, sitting in a tavern somewhere, and he looked pensive. Rook almost said something to Emmrich about it, but she kept it inside. She wasn't sure why. It just felt like opening a can of big, fat worms, which she wasn't ready to open yet.

But then. "Very interesting," said Emmrich. "Very interesting indeed."

"Did you find something?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Emmrich. "There's a fair bit of elven in here, which I do not understand. But not all of it. This, here, it is written mostly in the common language. It appears to be a prose poem? A ballad of some sort."

"What's it about?"

"Well, as it is a ballad, which means it is about love."

"A love poem? By the Dread Wolf?"

"Come here, Rook. Have a look at this."

She got up from the hardwood floor and went and sat down next to Emmrich on the piano bench. He was big beside her, and she was temporarily taken by his scent. Like rosemary, subtle. His clothing was simple tonight, she thought, unadorned. Just a cream collared shirt, seemed made of cotton, very soft, well-tailored, and expensive. He opened the notebook between them, so that she could follow along. "Listen," he said. He pointed to the page in question and read aloud, solemnly and with great care. As he spoke, with such a soft gravitas, the world around her seemed to change:

Light gathers on the sea, where we sit on the pier. It approaches and folds beside you like an envelope. I do not know how it folds, but it seems to anyway.  It disregards me entirely. On this day in Val Royeaux, as we watch the seamen mooring their ships,  you whisper, "What is that, vhenan?" You speak of a white bird, which has landed on a barrel. "Some sort of egret," I say. I can tell that you already knew that. You just like to ask questions, and you think it's funny. The word "egret," you say, sounds funny in my mouth.  The light finds you here. It finds your eyes here. It disregards me entirely, The light. I could not have made it any more beautiful myself.  It has a mind of its own as it touches you. And you find me, ara avise'ain.

The room was silent, but for the tense ticking of a clock somewhere.

"What a wonderful, if not monumental relic," said Emmrich, his heart stayed. "I am taken aback by this. I should like to read it again and again. What do you think, Rook?"

Rook shook herself out of a deep but ethereal trance then. It felt like something was wrong with her. She realized right then that she had leaned in a little close, the whole time he'd been reading. Her cheek, it brushed against the soft fabric at his shoulder. He did not seem bothered. He seemed very comfortable there beside her.

"I think..." she said, trailing off. "I think...it's just...so erotic."

This seemed to intrigue him greatly. "Erotic?" he said. "Quite the interpretation, Rook. You speak of his use of light, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said. "How it's always folding and...touching the water, touching her. The mention, too, of the word egret, and how it sounds in his mouth. It just calls to mind their...intimacy. Something was going on here."

"Very good," said Emmrich. "I do agree. It seems that perhaps the Dread Wolf may have taken a secret lover during his time with Inquisition."

"Perhaps the woman that he drew? The one in the doorway of the rotunda?"

"Perhaps."

"Ara avise'ain," she said. "Are there any other uses of this word?"

"Hmm," said Emmrich. He flipped forward a few pages. There was a great deal of elven here. It was sort of like fishing for diamonds through a deft and elegant swamp. But he caught on something, quickly, then studied. He gave her the notebook. "Here. Read this, Rook."

She stared at the poem. She tried to concentrate, but then, she felt him nudge her gently in the shoulder with his own.

She sort of jumped. "What's wrong?" 

"Read it aloud, if you please," he said, softly. "I'd like to hear it in your voice. It is so much more meaningful that way."

"Oh," she said. "Sure. Here goes." She cleared her throat.

I knocked, wondering if you had forgotten. You had not. You were braiding your hair. You said, "I was worried." Vhenan, who worries. Sometimes I feel like a star, which has already died. You say to me, "Sleep here." You invite me inside.  Where it is safe. A nest. Maybe here? You bring me in with both hands. I take off your dress. Why can't I go home, avise'ain? Where the candles flicker to death, withholding, and there are only teeth. 

"Shit," said Rook.

"I echo the sentiment," said Emmrich.

"This is really...wow. I wasn't expecting this," she said. "Only teeth? Fuck."

"I am concerned about the metaphor," said Emmrich. "It does not bode well for the Dread Wolf."

"I wish I knew what that word meant," she said. " Avise'ain. I know what vhenan means. It's like, an elven term of endearment. It means my heart. Or something."

"I wonder if, perhaps, Bellara, or Davrin could help us with the elven."

"That's a good idea," she said. "But Bellara's asleep. She was up late last night, tweaking the eluvian. Told me she wanted to turn in early."

"Then Davrin it is," said Emmrich. They set off.

When they found Davrin, he was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling while Assan, confused, licked his palm.

"Davrin?" 

"Hello, Rook."

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

He turned his head to see them. They stood just inside the entryway. There were stacks of old books on the table, the wooden carvings lined up. Davrin kept a very nice space. He was neat and discerning, but he was not a minimalist.

"Emmrich?" he said. It was like a light turning on. "Wait. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine," reassured Emmrich. "But, we are wondering the same of you. Are you often taken with lying on the floor, Davrin?"

"Not at all," said Davrin. He got to his feet, slowly, like he was drunk. He wasn't drunk. He was just...exhausted? "Assan won't sleep. I thought, maybe if I lie here on the floor, he'd doze off next to me. But. No dice."

"Aw, poor Assan," said Rook, patting the sweet creature on his feathered head.

"Poor Assan?" said Davrin. "How about poor me?"

"Poor you," said Rook. 

He smiled. Assan squawked. "What are you guys doing here? Isn't it kind of late?"

"A little," said Rook.

"We require your assistance with the elven language. How are you with translation, Davrin?"

"Pretty good," he said. "What's going on?"

"We found some of Solas's old records, in a secret room, next to the library," Emmrich continued. "They are from his time with the Inquisition. It's quite interesting. A good deal of it is written in elven, however, and neither Rook nor I speak the language."

"Solas is an ancient elf," said Davrin. "I never really learned that dialect. I know a little, but it's rare."

"Can you try?" said Rook.

Davrin sighed. He scratched at the back of his head and then plopped down into the armchair by the fire. "Have a seat," he said. "Let me see."

Emmrich handed Davrin the open notebook, the one with the poetry, and then he and Rook sat down on the floor, like children. Assan watched the whole interaction, rapt and wide awake as Davrin took to studying the elven.

"These poems here are written in the common tongue," said Emmrich. "But there is an elven word used multiple times. Avise'ain. It perplexes us."

"Can you tell us what it means?" said Rook.

"Holy shit," said Davrin, reading the poem about the pier, and the egret. He read it multiple times. Then he looked at Rook, his face screwed up like he'd seen a ghost. "Do you know who he wrote this for?"

"No, we don't," said Rook.

He made a low whistle. "This shit is deep."

"What does it mean?" said Rook, urging him back to the task at hand. " Avise'ain?"

"Right," said Davrin. "Well, this word isn't something I've seen before. But it's not ancient elven. It's contemporary. See this? The suffix, -ain , is a diminutive. It means little, or petite. Avise is a form of the word ise, which means fire. Avise means flame. Avise'ain means—"

"Little flame," said Rook. "Like, a pet name maybe?"

"That's exactly what it is," said Davrin. "And see this here? Here, he uses the possessive, ara, which means my. My little flame. Whoever this was, they were definitely...well, I think you know."

"I believe the correct term is intimate, Davrin. No need to be coy."

Davrin almost started laughing. "Touche. Does seem a little strange though, speculating about the sex life of an ancient elven god."

"Solas didn't present himself as a god to the Inquisition," said Rook. "He didn't even tell them he was an ancient elf. According to Varric, he just presented as an apostate. He said he was a fade mage, same as you, Emmrich."

"That inspires my curiosity, to be sure," he said.

Davrin flipped through the book some more, studying the handwriting. "All this other stuff is ancient," said Davrin. "Except for this one word, avise'ain, which is in common elven. Why?"

"Perhaps the woman to whom he assigned his pet name is not an ancient elf," said Emmrich. "If she doesn't speak the dialect, it would make little sense for him to use it."

"So she's a regular elf? Or...a new elf? Like me and Davrin?" said Rook.

"Yes, and it's also likely that she speaks the common dialect."

"So, she's Dalish," said Davrin. 

"Are you sure you can't read any of this other stuff?" said Rook. "These poems and entries. You can't read the ancient elven? Even a little?"

Davrin squinted at the pages in deep concentration, which seemed to lure Assan closer to his side. He sidled up to Davrin's chair and placed his head in his lap. Davrin stroked the beast's neck absentmindedly, a darling display. "Hmm," he said.

"Hmm?" said Rook.

"I can't translate this word for word," he said. "That's for sure. I just don't know the vocabulary. But elven, it's more than just a language. It's like a feeling. If you're an elf, that is. Especially this old stuff. Shit, it's a little like music. Rook, even though you don't know how to speak it, I bet if you read this, and you focused really hard, like really hard, you would understand what I'm talking about."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You can sense the story," he said. "Solas, in his words, is telling a story. I can see it in my mind's eye, like...ancestral memory."

"I don't know how I feel about sharing ancestral memories with Solas," said Rook.

"Well, I think we do. Whether we like it or not." He handed her the book. "Here. Just take a look."

She looked at Davrin, a little apprehensive. She had never been very elfy. Sort of like self-preservation in Tevinter. In fact, in her quotidian life, before all this, it was typical for her to simply forget what she was half the time. When it struck her, and she remembered, it was always in these horrible moments of existential unease. On the street corners. On the docks. She had considered leaving Minrathous thousands of times before her twenty-fifth birthday, for thousands of reasons. But she never had anywhere to go. Until now, of course.

Suddenly she felt Emmrich's hand, big and soft on her shoulder. He squeezed once, then lowered his mouth, close to her ear. He said, "You can do it, Rook. I believe in you. Just give it a whirl."

She felt very hot all of a sudden, in her cheeks, and it zinged straight back to her eartips. But still, it was comforting. He was such a comforting presence, calming all her stupid bullshit with one single, casual touch. She said, "Okay. I'll try."

She picked up the book. The words made little sense. As Davrin had said, even for elven, it was out of whack, bizarrely tuned, as if invented on the spot. But then, after a moment, she felt a kind of warm, snowy sensation in the back of her brain. It was like fuzz, and then it spread, and it came into focus. Like a crystal. It spun there, at the center of her brain. She looked up at Emmrich, and she said, "I felt something."

"Wonderful," said Emmrich. "What did you feel?"

"This is a story," she said, tapping her finger to the words. "It's about rooftops, am I right?" She looked to Davrin.

"Yes," he said. "Rooftops, mountains. Her hair, like, it's everywhere, right? Did you get that?"

"I did. Maybe that means it's windy?" 

"Good call. Also, there's a tear in the sky. He compares it to an eye, watching them. Like they're never alone. But he wants her. Bad. He wants to be free, to be with her."

"Emmrich," said Rook, serious now.

"Yes? I must say. This is quite entertaining, you two."

"You've read the Inquisition folklore. Are you sure you never saw any references to a romance?"

"I have only read the canonical texts," he said, "which, beyond names and basic formalities, in no way addresses any interpersonal aspect of the people involved. So, no."

"You should go talk to Harding," said Davrin. "She was in the Inquisition. She might know."

"Oh my gosh," said Rook. "You're right."

"You're also in luck," said Emmrich, voice low, his hands clasped in front of him, very debonair. He nodded toward Assan, who had fallen asleep, his head heavy in Davrin's lap, very still, eyes closed, breathing even. "It seems our discussion of ancient elven poetry lulled your young griffon here right to sleep."

Davrin surveyed the situation, dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "Guess I should get comfortable."

"We'll see you in the morning," said Rook, very eager. Emmrich had got to his feet first, extended a hand to her. She took it, stood tall, and dusted herself off. "Thank you for your help, Davrin. That was...interesting."

"Any time," he said.

As they crossed the great courtyard in the middle of the night, they both looked up to the deep, dark Fade sky at the same exact time. There was a shooting star, or, that's what it looked like. It was big and molten, like a long column of light which then simply disappeared from existence. This dazzled Rook, but it also unnerved her. She had never really been outside before when the Lighthouse went dark. She'd had no idea that there were stars here.

"This place shall never cease to amaze me," said Emmrich, in wonderment. "Stars and night. The chattering sounds of inexplicable nature. We are floating on a cloud, it seems, and yet, there are butterflies and opossums. I can sense them in the underbrush. Solas made this place comfortable many years ago. He wanted his people to feel at home here."

"When we first arrived," said Rook, "the place was falling apart. I think Solas was living here, before the ritual, but it feels like there are parts of the castle he never went to, like he lived in two, maybe three of the rooms tops. Everywhere else, he just left it sealed away. Like a tomb."

"The bachelor pad of a god is sad indeed," said Emmrich. "Particularly if he is on the wrong side of love. Let us continue our scavenger hunt, Rook. I am enjoying this evening immensely. Thank you for asking me to accompany you on your search tonight."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling like an idiot. He held out his arm to her then, an unexpected gesture, but she took it anyway. Even though she was not afraid of the dark, she was hesitant, walking through the Fade like this. She was not used to such big, cold, and cosmic magic. 

Emmrich sensed this, as he so often did. "Do not fear this place, dear Rook," he said. "Allow it to become familiar, and it will embrace you, as a home."

They started toward Harding's. They could see the light from her lantern, a long, golden bar at the bottom of the door. "Is that what you do?" said Rook.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Like a scent on the breeze. I will not forget it for all my years."

When they got to Harding's door, it was like she had seen them coming. She stayed up late.

"Rook?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It is," she said. "It's me, and Emmrich. Are you decent?"

"Sure am," said Lace. She opened the door, seeming delighted. She was wearing red pajamas with her hair in a braid and holding a cup of tea. "What brings you two around so late at night?"

Emmrich smiled, his face going a little crinkly. "We won't take up much of your time, Lace. We just have a few questions for you, concerning your time in the Inquisition. May we come in?"

"Definitely," she said, holding the door wide open and standing back to give them room. As she shut the door behind them, Rook noticed the remnants of some sort of art project. There were what appeared to be curtains, draped over a table, and several spools of colorful thread. Harding seemed to be practicing her embroidery.

"I love the curtains," said Rook.

"Oh, thank you. I'm just trying to make this place feel a little more like home. You know?" 

Emmrich glanced at Rook, very knowing.

"So," said Lace. "You guys wanna talk about the Inquisition? What did you wanna know?"

"We have been scouring some of Solas's old records," said Emmrich. "Rook found a secret room inside, near the library. It's full of old notebooks and things. Much of it dated back to Solas's time with the Inquisition."

"Interesting," said Harding. "Find anything good?"

"Yes," said Rook, a little anxious. "We found love poems."

"Love poems?" said Harding, sort of giggling. "Really? Wow. I mean, I knew Solas was an artist, but a writer, too? Wow."

"Wow, indeed," said Emmrich. "We came here tonight to ask whether you know anything about a woman that Solas might have been seeing at the time. Someone in the Inquisition, perhaps? She was likely a Dalish elf."

There was a long pause then, in which Lace stared at them both as if she thought they might be on drugs. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, we aren't," said Rook. "The stuff he wrote. It was really...passionate. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yeah. I do," said Lace.

"Really?" said Emmrich. "Who was it? The woman, we mean?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

It was like a boulder, falling off a cliff.

"The Inquisitor?" said Rook. 

"Oh, my dear," said Emmrich. "This is a surprise."

Lace shrugged, like it was just any other factoid. "I'm surprised you guys don't know. I guess I just assumed that everybody did. It was all over the tabloids, at least down south. People can't get enough of that shit. Sene's love life has been under scrutiny for years. It really pisses her off, but I mean, what can you do? Idle minds, am I right?"

Rook opened the notebook, which she'd had tucked under her arm. She showed Lace the poems. She said, "He loved her. A lot. We're pretty sure that everything in here, at least in this notebook, is all about her. It's full of poems and stories. What happened between them?"

"Solas and Sene were crazy in love," said Lace, sipping her tea, reminiscing. "Like I said, it was no secret. They were great together. Inseparable. They used to have picnics on the battlements at Skyhold, talk for hours on the rooftops at Haven. He would braid her hair before they went out into the field. It was just...romantic. I used to talk to them all the time, when we would deploy to different regions, trying to bring people and their factions into the Inquisition. She would sit and watch him paint his frescoes, and he made her these butterflies out of his magic, like little presents. Hundreds of them, green and glowy, all the time. Everywhere. They would just fly around the rotunda, and the garden, like part of the decor. It was so dreamy and romantic."

"Green, glowy butterflies?" said Rook. "There's a bunch of them here, flitting about in the bushes. I've seen tons of them, flying around the Crossroads, too."

"Yup," said Lace. "Those are them. I'm not surprised that she's left her mark here. The way Solas looked at her, it was so...intense. I thought he was gonna ask her to marry him. It was really serious. And, like I said, everybody knew. They were just...Sene and Solas. Solas and Sene. The tabloids used to refer to Sene as the Tall Red Elf and Solas as the Tall Elven Warrior at her Side. Anyway, be careful, Rook. This is...kind of a long story, and Sene is a close friend of mine. She practically lived at my house for like a year once, down in the Hinterlands. I'll tell you stuff, but like, keep it clean. I'm not getting into the weeds here, okay?"

Rook fell silent. She did not really know much about Inquisitor Lavellan, or the Inquisition at all. It was not a common topic of discussion in Tevinter. And yet, even still, she was a bit of a celebrity, mainly with the Chantry, as the Herald of Andraste. They talked about her all the time in the holy newsletters and things like that. Debates over whether her claims to prophesy were legitimate, or whether she even believed them herself, seeing as she was an elf. Rook knew that she was Dalish, but she hadn't really put it together, until now.

"We promise to be civilized in our questioning," said Emmrich, taking over. "We will of course respect your loyalties to Inquisitor Lavellan. But please forgive me, as I must ask. You make it sound like he was over the moon for her, and yet, you said he left? Why?"

"At the time," she said, "Sene didn't know. None of us did. Nobody knew that he was the Dread Wolf. We just thought he was some really powerful apostate. After we killed Corypheus, he just...left. She was devastated, but at some point, she moved on. Or, she tried to. She was in another pretty serious relationship when Solas finally showed himself again two years later, during the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. He explained everything, that he was the Dread Wolf, that he wanted to bring down the Veil, that he still loved her, but that he had to go, and he would not take her with him. That was important. Anyway, based on what Sene told me, I think he originally intended to just use the Inquisition, like a pawn, to help him further his plans. But it didn't go so hot. He accidentally fell in love. He made friends, too. Kind of a huge, fantastic failure...I guess."

"So it was after the Exalted Council," said Rook. "That's when they last saw each other?

"In person, yeah," said Lace.

"What do you mean in person?" said Emmrich.

"Solas is a dreamer," said Lace, taken with the thought. "Rook knows. He can walk in peoples' dreams. As far as I know, he's visited her, quite a lot, over the past ten years. Where they stood at any given time, it was sort of on and off, but it was consistent, to some degree."

"Does he still love her?" said Emmrich, seeming desperately curious. Too tall, he was nearly hunched in half, trying to lean into their conversation. 

"Probably," said Lace, her voice soft all of a sudden. She became wistful. She looked away, toward the window. "They were special. They meant everything to one another. It was the kind of love that you aspire to, you know? And I mean, she still loves him. That, I know for sure. Sene went through a couple different men, trying to move on. But despite both of them being great guys, neither of them stuck, not like he did."

"Which men?"

Lace sighed, setting down her mug on the table next to the curtains. "This is where I call it a night. I'm not getting into all that. You're gonna have to read about it in the tabloids like everyone else."

Emmrich seemed to be thinking about this in a practical manner. "We can probably find them in the Magisterial Library of Minrathous. I'm sure they keep records of every tabloid and newspaper in Thedas, going back at least 100 years."

"Or, you know," said Lace. "I guess you could just ask Inquisitor Lavellan, herself. I'm sure you'll meet her. Soon."

"I will?" said Rook.

Lace shrugged again. She was doing that a lot. Like it was all just old hat to her. "Sene is close to Morrigan," she said. "And she also has Lady Nightingale, the best Spymaster in all of Thedas. I guarantee that she knows all about this by now, everything that's happened. And she'll also know, too, that you're the one leading the charge here, Rook. She'll know that Solas is trapped in the Fade, and that you're the only one who can talk to him. So, of course, she's gonna wanna meet you. Probably soon. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when you go to meet Morrigan at the Cobbled Swan in a couple days, she'll be there, too. Then again, who knows? She's got her hands full. Given everything my ma said in her last letter, the south is...under siege. There's a bad fight there, and lots of Blight. All hands on deck." Harding looked down into her tea, pensive, and then she looked at the floor. "I'm okay," she said, to no one. 

"Is your mother safe?" said Emmrich, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, like she was terribly relieved that he asked.

"I think so," she said. "She went to Skyhold, with a lot of other people. I'm pretty sure that's where Sene is. Or, she goes back and forth a lot, with her Commander. Cullen. It's become like, a sanctuary. Like what this place used to be."

"Harding," said Rook. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I should have asked you about this earlier."

"It's okay, Rook," she said, smiling once more. "I get it. We have our hands full up here, too."

Emmrich straightened up then, and something about his massive height seemed to change the atmosphere. He seemed to know it, too. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, we should take our leave. Thank you, Lace. This has been most educational."

"Now that you know," she said to Rook, "what will you do? Are you gonna mention it, next time you see Solas?"

Rook thought about it. She could not picture it. Whenever she thought about him, about Solas, her mind twisted into a riddle, and she could no longer tell what was real. She had only ever seen him from far away, up on a huge pedestal, or in the Fade, where everything was grim, and he was removed from her grasp, as cold and hard as steel. He was a total stranger, and yet, she relied on him. In this moment, she felt hugely young, raw, spilled open, her guts all over the floor. She did not want to hurt the Dread Wolf. He was like a music box, rusted shut, and there was just something so strange about it. So pretty, this idea that he held inside of him this intense history. Love, sex, all the things that made him a man and not a god. "I don't know," she said to Harding. "I need to think on it."

"Well, goodnight," said Lace. "See you in the morning. Lucanis is making breakfast so, don't miss it."

Outside, Rook and Emmrich stood at the center of the midnight courtyard and stared up at the enormous idol of Fen'Harel. Oddly now, standing here in front of this enormous statue, her thoughts turned away from Solas and instead settled with the man by her side. It was so strange, she thought. From the very first day she met him, he disarmed her. He took her guard completely down, and he told her to light brassieres and they fought demons, and they were talking to spirits. She said hello to a little wisp, and it had made her heart beat strangely. He told her he had never been out of Nevarra, and he seemed starved for adventure, and yet, it had been him who'd swept her off her feet, took her on a grand field trip through the Necropolis, this well of magic, everywhere, all the time, living and breathing with a mind of its own. He had opened her eyes that day.

He was older, but she didn't much care. He did not treat her like a child. Sometimes, he did treat her like a student. But he did that to everyone, and in any case, it was never condescending. It's just who he was. The professor. He was not steel, nor was he even terribly guarded. He did not give in to her easily though, that was for sure. He moved slowly, deliberately, all those times she would go to talk to him, ask him questions about what he thought about all of this, about the Veil. He kept his distance until it really mattered, as if every choice he made would determine who they were, together, and in this, she knew that she could trust him. 

"What do you think of all this, Rook?" he said then, smiling at her. "Have your opinions of Solas changed in any way?"

"A little," she said. "I need to sleep on it. I just...I realize that I don't know him at all. He barely even seems like a person sometimes, let alone a man who could...well, you know."

Emmrich held out his hand then, and from his palm, he snapped a little wisp, white and pure. It buzzed around her nose and landed in her hair like a bug, and she laughed. "Do you like it?" he said, very debonair.

"Yes," she said.

"You know, Inquisitor Lavellan is not a mage either," he said, growing pensive, his brow furrowed. "She was at the Conclave, sent as a representative for her clan, which, as I recall, is fairly important in the Free Marches. They own a great deal of land there. Even still, she was one lowly elf among an entire Chantry. She was certainly judged, and certainly alone. There are records, which state that, after the explosion at the temple, which resulted in the death of Divine Justinia, the Seekers of Truth wanted to arrest her for apostasy, for treason, for murder. You name it. She was ostracized far before she was ever beloved. And she was young when the Inquisition began, only twenty, if I recall from the literature, and the Chantry experts distrusted her immensely, even after she was named Inquisitor. Many were especially critical of her as the prophetic Herald of Andraste . But others believed, and among them, I imagine, Solas. He followed her. He loved her. Just like with this place, he desired to warm her heart, to make her feel comfortable, at home in an icy, mean, judgmental landscape. Perhaps because he understood what that meant? To be so ostracized, so fantastically alone. Part of that was the butterflies, I imagine, and that is why they linger still. That little wisp I just conjured up, you said you like it. Does it bring you warmth, Rook? Joy?"

Rook held it in her hand now, like a little poof of cool, calm energy. It seemed to vibrate with admiration, glowing up at her, like it was alive. "It does," she said. She set it free then, and it disappeared. "Thank you, Emmrich."

"Whatever the Dread Wolf is or isn't," he went on, "I think it is clear by now that he is, ultimately, just a man. He has desires, needs, and she fulfilled them, as he fulfilled hers. These were needs that had either not been fulfilled before, or not in some time. She thawed his heart, and he kept her safe, and they found a home in one another. Even if it was short-lived, it is more than most will possess in their lifetimes."

Rook felt impulsive then. She could hear the words that he was saying, and she knew that he was right, but she was lost in the feeling and the sound. She wanted to express herself. She wasn't shiny or particularly eloquent like he was. Definitely not a poet. She didn't have beautiful things to say or magical creatures she could conjure into the air. But she did have action. She had always been good at just...doing things. No fear. She slid her hand into his then. He looked down right away, at their fingers mingled together, like he was startled, and then he looked at her, laid bare. 

She said, "Is it okay? I don't know what to say. I just...I want to show you how I feel."

He was very soft then, his eyes dark and filled with a hidden sadness, which tempted her. What was it? Where did it live? What did it see? He picked up her hand, and he closed his eyes and brought her knuckles to his lips. It disarmed her and made her weak, and she sort of shivered. Their eyes met. He said, quietly, "Language can be superfluous in times like these, dear Rook. But, please, know that I feel it, too."

So, she kissed him, in front of the Dread Wolf statue at midnight, in the Fade. She had to stand on her tallest tiptoes to do it. At first, just like with the handhold, he was taken aback, but he quickly molded to her, his other hand on her jaw, as he touched her ear with tenderness. It was not devouring. It was pure. Tallest mage, so full of compassion. He seemed to unlock for her that night, a click and release.

Rook did not have much to hide. She didn't understand people who did. But she could try. That night, Emmrich walked her back to her room, and they shared one more kiss before parting until morning. She sat down on the couch in the blue, aqueous light of her quarters, vibrating and giddy, and watched the fish do their little immortal dancing. She thought about Inquisitor Lavellan, twenty years old, a Dalish elf in the Chantry, and how lonely that must have felt for her. How scary, how out of place she was and the deep, impending desire to return to the home that she knew, somehow, she would never really see again. Not as it once was, as a child. But then, there was a man who came along and made it feel okay to just be alive, no matter how you did it, or how new you were to the world. A man who seemed to know everything, who could stand so tall, and yet, who nursed inside of him a heart so true that it could not be contained. And so they were consumed by possession, discovery, desire. 

*This story, though it stands alone, is also a part of my Solavellan fic Riptide.

[growingfunwithaimain]

Alice had been dreaming of her childhood adventure in Wonderland for years. It had been a magical time, full of whimsy and adventure, but there was one thing that had always lingered in her mind: her transformation into a giant. As a child, she had grown so large that she could see the world from a whole new perspective, one that made her feel powerful and free.

One night, she found herself back in Wonderland, but this time, she was an adult. She had always wondered what it would be like to experience the transformation again, but as an adult. She knew it would be different, and she was eager to see how her body would react to the same magical potion that had turned her into a giant before.

The potion had a strange effect on her body. Her breasts began to swell, growing larger and larger until they were as big as her head. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and disbelief. Her clothes stretched and clung to her body, but they refused to give up.

Alice's breasts continued to grow, each swell making her feel more and more alive. Her nipples hardened, and her areolas expanded, stretching her bra until it was tighter than a drum. The fabric clung to her skin, the seam following the curve of her cleavage like a river tracing a valley.

As her body grew, she felt her bones creaking, her skin stretching, and her muscles bulging. It was as if her body was being remade, layer by layer, to accommodate her newfound size. Her waist expanded, her hips widened, and her thighs thickened until she felt like she could crush the world beneath her feet.

Her clothes, once snug, now hung loose, but they still clung to her curves, revealing the fullness of her new form. She could feel the cool air on her skin, teasing her nipples, and the warmth of her own body as it expanded.

Standing taller than any building in Wonderland, Alice looked down at the city below. Her breasts were so large that they blocked out the sun, casting the city in shadow. The people below looked like ants, scurrying around her feet. She felt invincible, like she could conquer anything.

As she surveyed the city, she realized that her transformation had not only changed her physically but also her perspective. She could see the world in a way she never had before, and she knew that this was just the beginning of her new adventure.

The story ends with Alice, now a giant, looking down at the city of Wonderland, feeling empowered and ready for whatever new adventures await her. Her clothes are stretched to their limits, but they cling to her, showing off her new curves and size. The people below look up in awe, wondering what this new giantess will do next.

This amazing request was for @realmofgoddesses and I hope they enjoy it! It was a fun one to create!

[starryevermore]

head full of petals: autumnal arrival interlude ✧ eris vanserra

head full of petals ✧ an eris vanserra anthology | ao3

pairing: eris vanserra x tamlin’s sister!fem!reader

series summary: it is not easy to be a female in prythian. it is even more difficult when you’re the daughter of a high lord. the expectations are great, and the punishments for failure are even greater. all you have known for your entire life is falling in line. yet, when you are expected to marry another, you choose to do something for yourself: run into the arms of your mate. or, a series of interconnected oneshots surrounding the life and times of eris vanserra and his blossom. 

chapter summary: in which you learn that autumn is not so different from spring.

word count: 1,378

chapter warnings?: a little fluff, references to beron’s cruelty, pet name (blossom), not proofread

You held on tightly to Eris as he readied to winnow you away from your childhood home. When Beron wasn’t looking, he sent you a reassuring smile. You steadied your breathing and leaned into your mate. Tamlin was making you promise to write—he was your only brother to see you off. Just him and your mother, Merry. You tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. But even if your face did not show it, the mating bond betrayed you. Eris sent reassurance down the bond, and something that might have felt like the beginnings of love. 

And then, just like that, you were gone. 

The Forest House was suffocatingly warm when you arrived. You felt faint and leaned more into Eris’s side. His brothers that had joined on this trip to Spring, Graham and Heath, slipped away as Beron turned to focus on you. Your chin lifted, trying not to shy away under his scrutinizing gaze.

“You may have the evening and tomorrow to adjust,” he said. Beron turned to Eris. “After that, you are responsible for ensuring she acclimates.”

“Yes, Father,” Eris said, voice tight. 

It felt odd to not say anything. Though you were certain Beron was the sort of male to think females should be rarely seen and never heard—after all, he was friends with Hamish—you couldn’t help but think that remaining silent would only make things worse. You offered a small smile, and said, “Thank you, High Lord, for the great kindness of allowing me to join my mate in this great Court. I look forward to being a member of such a distinguished family.”

That seemed to satisfy the High Lord. All you had to do was stroke an ego a little bit, and males like Beron were easily pleased. He said to Eris, “Keep her like that and we will have no issues with your mating bond.”

Eris gave a curt nod. It was not until Beron left the room that he finally relaxed. “I am sorry,” he said. 

“I am used to males like him.”

He looked pained as he said, “I hope that is not true.” He loosed a sigh, then continued, “We may go to my chambers for some respite, but we should attend dinner tonight. Beron may have seemed so gracious to give you time to adjust, yet he will expect us there.”

“Of course. Will we…be sharing your chambers?” you asked.

It would not be a surprise if he said yes. But you had never shared a room with anyone before, much less a male. Much less a mate. From your limited conversations with Eris, he did not seem the sort to force you into anything you were not willing to do. That did not make it any less strange. Eris felt your anxiety and squeezed your hand. 

“I do not trust you to be safe anywhere else. Beron and my brothers will not bother you there. Well, I suppose Lucien might turn up every now and again. If you indulge in his whimsy, he will leave eventually. He is not the sort of male to harm a female.”

The underlying message was clear. Lucien would not, but Eris could not make any promises about the other males in his family. “I understand.”

“Then let us go there now. There is more still I would like to tell you, blossom.”

Instead of walking, Eris winnowed you to his chambers. You wondered if it was for the ease, or if it was because Eris worried about you running into someone he’d rather you avoid. Was everything in Forest House a walking danger, or was he paranoid? Was it his mate instincts, or did he care for you more than the flirting earlier that day? 

Eris’s chambers were rather simple. Quaint, perhaps. He didn’t have many decorations, save for some little acorns and leaves and a stack of papers that almost looked like they were covered in children’s scribbles. You wondered how he would feel when your little knick knacks covered every knock and cranny. 

“This is the safest place for you to be in this house. The drawing room is alright, too, but I would prefer if you refrained from being there unless myself, my mother, or Lucien are present. Should you decide to be there alone and anyone comes in, please excuse yourself as quickly as you can.”

You raised a brow. “Is it truly so dangerous here?”

Eris’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “The males in my family like to break pretty things. Lucien, of course, is harmless, save for his relentless teasing. I don’t trust any of my other brothers.” Or Beron. Especially Beron. 

The air was becoming too tense, too serious. So you smiled and batted your eyelashes. “You think I’m pretty?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up before turning serious once more. At least you got Eris to smile for moment, though. “These are our chambers. You can do as you please here. Decorate it however you like. Paint the walls pink if it pleases you. I understand how…limiting your life will be here, but I would like for you to find a safe space within these four walls.” Eris nodded at the bed. “For your comfort, I will take the settee while you take the bed. At least until you are comfortable. While I am your mate, I don’t want you to think of me as the sort of male who will force you.”

You eyed the bed. It was bigger than your one in Spring. Perhaps the benefit of being an heir as opposed to the lowly daughter of a High Lord. “Your bed is large enough that we could lay on either side and never bother the other unless we so chose,” you said. “And I would hate for you to be uncomfortable in your own room. And…I might like to be held.”

Eris smiled appreciatively. “I will not do anything you do not wish me to do,” he said. He paused, searching your face. “But, if we ever do, I will begin taking a tonic. I will do everything I can to keep you safe here, but it is harder to make such guarantees if there are little ones around.”

Was there no end to Beron’s cruelty? You nodded. “Should I not be the one to take the tonic?”

“No.” Eris looked more serious than he ever had before. “If Beron found out, and I pray to the Mother that he never would, I would rather I take the punishment than you.”

He spat punishment like it was poison in his mouth. Mother above, there were a million things you wanted to ask. So many things about the Forest House, about his family, about what he had to endure. But you weren’t sure if you should, or if he could even answer. So, you closed the distance between you two and wrapped your arms around his middle. Your head rested on his chest, listening to the dull thump. thump. thump.

The door opened, and Eris was quick to wrap his arms around you, hold you closer. Tighter. You swiveled your head as best you could. A woman with long auburn hair and kind eyes stepped inside. Eris relaxed.

“I heard you found your mate,” Saffron said. Her eyes landed on you, and she smiled. As you pulled out of Eris’s arms, she said, “Oh, you’ve grown so much since I saw you last!”

When you were younger, Saffron would often come with Beron when he’d meet with your father. In recent decades, however, her presence was less frequent. She had changed, too, since you last saw her. While still kind, her eyes held a sort of pain, and the way she held her hands close to her chest made you wonder if she endured her own brand of Beron’s punishments. 

You smiled at her. “It’s nice to have another friendly face here.”

“You’ll soon be sick of my face. My son will be furious of how much time I spend with you,” Saffron said. “I always hoped one of my sons would be your mate. I’m glad it was Eris.”

You looked up at him, your soft smile becoming a grin. “So am I.”

[sokkadora]

reunion in song — modern!mizu x covey!reader

summary: reunion with your best friend (and crush) after coming home from college

a/n: im still new to this show so if this seems ooc for mizu im sorry 😭 reader is supposed to be loosely based off of lucy gray baird from the hunger games because i have been obsessed with her since i saw the ballad of songbirds and snakes

wc: 2k

warning(s): musical whimsy, mizu being smitten with reader, alcohol, bars, reader had a sleazy ex boyfriend, fighting, typical (but toned down) violence, use of y/n

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

It had been a long time since you’d been home, and for your first return to be at the tavern you’d performed at with your family when you were young had only made it better.

Your hands shakily gripped the fretboard of your guitar as the song your covey played was quickly coming to an end, trying to get a grip on the fact you were performing again after being off at school for so long.

You breathed in deeply, the smell of alcohol and a lively sweat filled your sinuses from the rowdy crowd dancing to the music, and breathed out.

Nothing you couldn’t handle before.

At least your friends would be there. Akemi, Taigen, Ringo, it was lovely to see and catch up with them again after coming home. But one person was missing.

God, you missed her the most.

You had frequently talked over the phone while you were gone, but since you had come back, you hadn’t seen her anywhere. But you had sent her an invite to see your covey here tonight. You always did, even when you weren’t performing with them. She always came and watched from the corner, at least when you were there.

She was your closest friend, and you loved her. Even if it was in a way you weren’t supposed to, but you hoped the feeling was mutual.

You heard your cousin, Maude Ivory, shout your name into the mic and it snapped you out of your thoughts.

You quickly hopped on stage with your instrument, the crowd immediately cheering at the sound of your name. You grinned so wide, you thought that you probably looked like a clown, but you didn’t care. It was good to be back in your element.

Maude Ivory stepped back from the mic, cheering for you with everyone else as you did a small twirl, and practically leaped towards the mic.

“Oh, hey there everyone!” You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, glancing around the crowd before you. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah!”

You chuckled at their single response, “I bet you never expected to lay eyes on me again since I left for school, but I am back.” You grinned, nodding as you noticed your friends near the front, giving them a wave, not noticing the one you most yearned to see in the far back.

You crouched down and quickly took a swig from your water before turning your attention back towards your audience.

“Now, how about a song?” You queried, and the crowd responded by cheering once more. You grinned again and slowly began to strum the notes to a song you used to play often.

“Can’t take my past,

Can’t take my history,

You could take my Pa,

But his names a mystery,”

Mizu watched in awe of your voice in the back, reminded of how much overwhelming joy you filled her with just by laying eyes on you. Let alone hearing your voice; when you sang, she believed it was the most beautiful sound.

“Nothing you can take from me

Was ever worth keeping

No, nothing you can take

Was ever worth keeping,”

The covey soon kicked into gear after you ended the last note, the folky melody flooding the bar and echoing off the walls along with the stomping of boots from the crowd dancing.

Mizu fought back a smile, subtly nodding her head to the song as you performed it. Loving how you easily got back into the groove of performing, her eyes wandering over your form as you bopped along to the song.

“Can’t take my charm,

Can’t take my humor,

Can’t take my wealth,

Cause it’s just a rumor,”

Your eyes fell on your friends, you were happily clapping along to the song — Ringo a bit more than the other two, but it succeeded in drawing a bigger smile out of you before you zoned back in.

“Nothing you can take,

Was ever worth keeping,

No, nothing you can take

Was ever worth keeping,”

Mizu’s eyes followed your gaze to your friends before turning back to you, just when you looked in her directed and spotted her.

“Thinking you’re so fine..—“

Your smile dropped in surprise, eyes widening at the sight of the woman. The corner of Mizu’s lips couldn’t help but tug up, finally being able to meet your eyes for the first time in years that wasn’t through a camera.

You were even more beautiful than she remembered, and she already thought of you being more gorgeous than any flower or girl she’d ever come across.

“Thinking you’re in control,

Thinking you’ll change me,”

Your grin came back quickly, keeping your gaze on Mizu for a moment longer to memorize her rare smile before turning back to your audience.

“Maybe rearrange me,

Think again if that’s your goal,”

You began to hum into the mic before someone started stomping through the crowd, shouting your name. A woman chased after him and called his name as Mizu’s sharp gaze landed on him, narrowing her eyes at him immediately.

Why was he here?

You rolled your eyes, but continued strummming for the sake of your performance. It was your first performance back home, you weren’t about to let your ex boyfriend hinder your happiness.

His current girlfriend fought to get him away from the stage, her hand harshly gripping his arm but he yanked it away. He drunkenly stumbling towards the stage and attempted to hop on right in front of you with his accordion, causing you to cringe away, ceasing the playing of your guitar as the others slowly stopped right after you.

His girlfriend yanked back off stage.

“What are you trying to play with them, Yusei!?” She scolded. He placed his hand on the center of her chest and pushed her back, eliciting a gasp from the crowd that she stumbled into.

Another man pushed him for pushing his girlfriend, since everyone knew who she was.

The mayors daughter.

“Settle down- Settle down!” You announced into the mic, but no one paid you any mind.

A brawl began to break out, and Ringo quickly ushered your friends out while your ex crawled his way back onto the stage and gripped your long skirt tightly.

You attempted to back up and pull away, angling your guitar to your side as you glared down at him harshly.

“I know you miss me, (Y/N)!” He shouted, tugging at your skirt as you attempted to kick him off.

“You get your hands off me right now, I swear to god.”

Mizu began to step forward to yank the man off you, god knows how much she already hated him from past encounters, but a missed punched landed right on her jaw and she stumbled.

“Get your hands off me, Yusei!” You repeated in a shout, starting to panic as your hands gripped your guitar tightly.

The guitar strings began to leave marks on your fingers as Mizu recollected herself and marched over to the man, decking him in the face and effectively knocking him off you. You gasped as she punched him a second and third time before Ringo began dragging him off, and Maude Ivory tugged you off stage and through the back exit of the bar.

After getting outside, Mizu spit the blood out of her mouth after accidentally biting her tongue when getting punched and Ringo laughed.

“I never thought I’d have to save you,”

Mizu huffed a small laugh, before her mind returned to you, “She’s back.” She whispered, and Ringo’s eyes lit up with her.

———

“You think I’m gone cause I left…”

Mizu paused on her search through the woods and meadows surrounding your hometown for you after hearing from Maude Ivory, looking to where the voice was coming from.

“But I’m the trees,

I’m in the breeze,”

Her feet began to move absentmindedly towards the singing, feeling inexplicably drawn to it. There you were. A smile quickly made its way onto her lips as she cleared the clump of trees onto the top of a hill, overlooking a meadow from its edge of flowers and tall grass.

“My footsteps on the ground,

You’ll see my face in every place

but you can’t catch me now,”

Her eyes landed on the back of someone’s head, the beautiful plucking of their guitar strings filling her head with a nostalgic sound she’d only felt when she was with you.

Snap!

Your head whipped around quickly at the sound of a twig snapping, your gaze quickly landing on the blue eyed woman a few feet behind you.

“Maude Ivory said I might find you out here,” Mizu spoke softly as you felt your cheeks heat up, and turned to set your guitar down against the rock you rested on.

“She was right,” You smiled softly, making your way around the rock to stand just a few feet away from Mizu. It was still too far for your liking, your body itched to run to her and feel her arms around you again, but it’d been so long…

“I’m glad you’re back,” Mizu spoke, with a warmth to her tone that was rarely ever there with the average person. But you weren’t a stranger to her. You never would be. She made her way to you, looking down at you as there was finally less than a foot of space between you. “I missed you. More than you’ll ever know.”

You smiled softly up at her, your gaze running over every curve on her face, admiring her. You wished you could’ve been home sooner, maybe if you’d never left…

You teared up, your gaze turning down and staying on her collarbone, you felt ashamed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come home sooner,” You began, and Mizu furrowed her brows in confusion. “I wanted to. I wanted to see you more than anything — I missed you more than anything, but I couldn’t afford the trip and tuition. I’m so sorry.”

Mizu put her hands on either side of your head, her thumbs rubbing the curve of your cheekbones as you looked up at her with so much love.

“It’s alright,” She whispered her reassurance, looking down into your eyes and then your lips before leaning down. She stopped right before kissing you, her forehead gently pressing against yours as she silently asked for permission.

Your stomach flipped as your hands came up to grip her shirt, your eyes fluttering shut before she tilted your head up and pressed her mouth against yours.

It was needy, almost pleading for you to never part and be that far from her again as her chapped lips molded to yours like they were made for resting against your own.

Your hands came up to grip her wrists as you parted, eyes still shut before she pressed her lips against your again, pulling you closer to her desperately. You let out a small whimper before you heard a whistle from behind you, and pulled apart to see one of your cousins waving and bounding towards the two of you.

“Looks like the proper authorities are looking for you,” You said softly, your hand resting on top of the one hand that still rested against your head before walking up towards Maude Ivory. “I’ll handle this; they’ll be here about the fight last night.”

“When will you be free again?” Mizu asks curiously, wanting to be in your presence again as soon as she could.

You smiled, stepping back down to take her hands in your own. “There’s a lake out in the woods if you remember.” You remind her, and her mind wanders to all the trips you’d take there as kids. “If you meet me here tomorrow we can go there. Like old times.”

“Like old times,” Mizu nodded, repeating your words before gently grabbing your face in one hand, planting one more kiss on your lips. “See you then.”

[acotarmemes]

ok not a specific meme BUT tamlin (while a bit social media incompetent) does have a priv account with like a handful of trusted followers were he just shit talks when he needs to. Absolutely vents it out. One day a sc is leaked and all hell breaks loose.

Love ur memes btw :) the acotar fandom needs for silliness and whimsy like this

Tamlin would immediately post with the wrong account on day 1 😂 Lucien would never know peace, BUT they ALL totally have group chats where they talk shit (except I imagine Tamlin barely has his phone on him 😭)

I would love to see the chaos if these were leaked! All of these are from Tamlin's phone POV.

Sorry, Tamlin -- Lucien is legally obligated to slander your ex until you make better romantic choices 🤷 Andras is just dying of laughter.

At this point, all the other HLs just ignore Rhysand and Eris bickering 😂 You guys can imagine who is saying what, but everyone's in this chat except Beron who has been substituted with Eris as the tolerable Autumn rep.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed these! Thank you for the ask!!

I'm also really happy to hear and see that everyone is enjoying these memes. Admittedly, I was a bit intimidated to make these memes that aren't exactly canon and I know there are so many different opinions about everything in ACOTAR, but if I can make someone smile, chuckle or just generally happy with this Twitter AU, then that makes me happy too 🙂

[squash1]

An essay on what makes Gansey, Gansey.

Go.

okay. strap in.

in this essay i will examine how, ultimately, what makes gansey, gansey is his experience with death at an early age and how that is fundamentally about a loss of childhood.

to understand what makes gansey, gansey you have to look at gansey’s two lives. gansey was born into a wealthy family — the kind of family that passes down names father to son and has buildings then built in that name. until gansey was 10, we can assume he fit into this affluent world without issue. little gansey was most likely a spoiled little rich kid — not a bad person but inherently out of touch because of the reality he was born into. when gansey dies the first time, it changes his perception of reality — he has an understanding of time and mortality that most adults don’t have never mind ten year olds. this first death is a representation of an early end to gansey’s childhood. he no longer easily fits into the wealthy, laid back world he was born into. we have to assume that until gansey went to stay with mallory, he was in DC with his parents trying to fit into their world but instead feeling intensely isolated and lonely. because even though gansey changed, his parents didn’t.

mallory is an important figure because of the time he represents in gansey’s life. we know from mallory that at 14 gansey struggled intensely with anxiety, that he hadn’t yet learned to present only his shiny gansey mask to the world. but instead of being dismissive, mallory showed gansey kindness and empathy — he was perhaps gansey’s first friend because sometimes delightfully weird old british men are exactly what a teenager needs. mallory helped gansey in his quest, but he also helped him to discover this new version of himself by making him feel not only safe but like there were other people beyond his parent’s world that would understand this pull and fascination he had.

understanding this backstory is key to understanding what makes gansey, gansey, because an intimate knowledge of death is what has produced this gansey that we meet in the raven boys. the gansey we meet is silly and strange and charming. he uses phrases like “hey, tiger” and drinks organic apple juice from the bottle, he has a favorite yellow sweater and is vocal about his love for it. and that’s just gansey, those are ganseyisms as i like to say. gansey has chosen to live his life with childlike wonder and whimsy because he lost that at an early age but doesn’t want to loose it forever. he has decided to embrace the weird, unknown parts of life. he is essentially reclaiming his time. he’s saying yes i know that there is death and darkness in the world, yes i have seen it first hand, yes i still feel it sometimes but i am going to live my life hopefully. gansey has carved out a life for himself in henrietta — a town that in and of itself makes him feel known, but also contains a piece of his old world in aglionby — and has slowly found people who fit, who feel right, who are 1,000 years old just like him. gansey has been lonely for a lot of his life but he found people who were lonely like he was lonely, that were looking for the something more just like he was looking for the something more. he is a compelling leader not because of money or status, but because his hope and quest and belief are real and made real because of gansey’s relationship to mortality. he has made it his mission to build a life he wants, even if it’s short, even if he’s scared. what makes gansey, gansey is his ability to choose hope anyway, to choose to live anyway.

if you made it this far, i love u

[alphabetatoes]

tennesee whiskey (n. kento x reader)

a.n.: this is basically a drawn out version of the prompt i posted earlier. fic title is in reference to the chris stapleton cover song (felt appropriate for the bar theme) (and and also also lets admire how cute the dividers i made in canva are) does this jump around in characterization? yeah maybe. go ahead, call the whimsy police on me! summary: nanami teaches you how to play pool c.w.: reader referred to using she/her pronouns, alcohol (reader is 21+), suggestive themes, smut if you squint, jealous nanami, and the ever-present risk of writing ooc. barely beta read (though what fic of mine is lmao) w.c.: 1.4k

You and Nanami were sent out to the middle of nowhere to exorcise a curse, in hopes of stopping it before it had the chance to propagate into something worse. Even though it was a Grade 3 curse, the higher ups deemed it safest for the two of you to go as a pair.. It was an in-and-out mission, the two of you making quick work to intervene. Soon enough, you were back in the car and headed back to campus. The simple pitter patter of raindrops hitting the windshield brought a strange sense of comfort. But the calm could only last for so long. A barricade of rain began to drop, bringing a swift end to the peace. He drove until the road was unnavigable, pulling off into an empty parking lot. The two of you were stranded. Your options were to either wait out the storm in the car, or attempt to find solace somewhere nearby. You chose to press your luck with the latter.

“Over there.”, he points out, pulling your attention.

Across the street, there was a dive bar still open despite the storm. The flickering neon lights were your own personal Eden. When you enter the bar, you’re immediately hit with warmth. A concoction of body heat and cigarette smoke fill the room. You can’t seem to mind it though. It draws the attention away from your clothes starting to form a second skin on your body.

“Now don’t you two look wonderful.” The bartender jokes. He bears a giant grin, and you can’t help but to feel unsettled by it. “If you got a change of clothes, restrooms are over that way.” Today was one of the days you were grateful for the spare set of clothes you kept on hand. Missions were unpredictable, and you never knew when you’d be stuck somewhere. You seize the opportunity and head to the restroom, eager to remove the soaked clothes. While you change, Nananmi orders two drinks from the bar.

“For you and your girlfriend?” “Hell, if she’s not spoken for, I’ll have to make her mine!” It’s not like he had a claim over you or anything. But as your partner, and even more so as your friend, he made your protection a top priority. It didn’t matter if they were one off comments. Nanami had lost too many to be careless.

“She’s fine.” Nanami’s tone is dry, unimpressed by the barkeep’s boldness. You return from changing, noticing the blond standing closer to you than before. It’s probably just a safety thing. Better to stay close together than apart, right?

“Drink this.” He hands you the other glass of whiskey. “It’ll help warm you up.” The liquor goes down relatively smooth, and you revel in the warmth of it. “How about a game of pool to pass the time?” You nod over at the table in the corner of the bar. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon, and you figured it was a good way to pass the time. “You’ve played pool?” 

“I’ve dabbled in it… online.” He rolls his eyes and hands you a stick. A hint of a smile crosses his face. That stoic exterior he fronts at all times slowly starting to chip away. “We could make it fun. Loser has to do something for the winner?” An opportunity for the adult of all adults to let loose. You were curious to know what was behind that rigid exterior. “If I win, you buy me a drink.”  

“And what if I win?” A virtual win does not a professional pool player make, but you weren’t completely oblivious to the game. Even if the odds were stacked against you, you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Given the likelihood of that, I’ll do whatever you want.” He breaks, immediately shooting 3 balls into the pockets. Show-off. “Where’d you learn to play like that?” Of course the man of many secrets would turn out to be a semi-professional. Or he just really wanted a free drink. “Shoko and I used to play all the time when we were younger.”

It’s your time to shine. You step up to the table and ready your shot. “You’re doing it wrong.” Nanami smirks at your rigid form.You’re stiff as a board, awkwardly hovering the stick over the table. “Then show me, Mr. Professional.” Nanami moves from his spot across the table and positions himself right behind you. He places one hand on your stomach, arching your back out to him, and lets the other rest on your waist. “Now place your hands here.” He moves your right hand to grasp the pool stick; your left hand rests on the table forming a hand bridge toward the end of the stick. “Line up the shot and pull back when you’re ready.” He guides you to move, yet never adjusts his position from behind you. Hell, if you moved even an inch back, you’d ram right into him. You couldn’t say you minded though. 

Just as instructed, you line up your shot and pull back. Once you release, the pool stick makes perfect  contact with the cue ball. It spins for a moment, then promptly hits a striped ball into one of the six pockets. “Good shot.” His breath tickles your ear as he speaks. “Now do that about 8 more times and you’ll win.” You line up your second shot and- “Fuck.” The cue ball bounces off the side of the table and right into one of the pockets. “You’re overthinking it. Try not to be so stiff.” His tone is soft, sickly sweet almost.“Relax yourself.” He gives you a simple smirk as you relax, albeit into him. His strong hands hold on to your shoulders, kneading into them gently. Were you not in the middle of a game, you’d melt into his touch. Right here, right now.“

Easy for you to say. You’ve got like 4 balls left!” You whine, and his smirk grows wider. “Anything could happen.” Cocky. Such an easy claim for the blond to make! He was practically prodding a reaction out of you. And you would give it to him. A slap on the arm that he’d hope would linger for a second longer, but you pull away to align your next shot.

It had to be a fluke. The two of you were tied; it could’ve been anyone's game. But Nanami slipped up, knocking the 8 ball right into one of the pockets a turn early. Meaning you had won. Despite his banter with you about playing, he didn’t seem all that upset about the loss. “Alright, winner. Name your prize.”

“Kiss me?” You test the waters, careful not to scare him off. Be it the adrenaline rush from winning or the liquor, something emboldened your choice of prize. Nanami didn’t seem opposed either. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you lean in. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, as you lose yourself in the intoxicating taste and feel of him. Nanami is the one to deepen the kiss, pinning you against the table with his thigh. You let your hands fall to his shirt collar, playing with it and pulling him in closer.

As he cast a pointed look towards the bartender across the room, it became clear that Nanami had no intentions of letting anyone encroach on what was rightfully his. His lips trail down your jawline, leaving a trail of wet kisses in their wake, and finally rests against the sweet spot between your neck and shoulders. Nanami nips at the skin, deep enough to leave a mark. You pull away, trying to catch your breath. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you lost on purpose.” You smile, fixing the creases in his shirt collar. Nanami’s bruised lips pull into a cocky grin as he brushes his thumb over your lips. “Don’t doubt your ability. If anything, call it a newfound talent.”

“And what if I wanted to take this celebration somewhere more private?” You raise your brows, desperate to keep going  but without prying eyes. Nanami picks up on your request immediately, releasing you from the pool table. Possessive, his grasp pulls you close. It’s firm but gentle, a simple comfort as he leads you. You both shuffle into the small bathroom and lock the door. And right now, more than ever, you’re grateful for the deep drumming of the thunder and the loud pour of the rain. 

[aclowntiny]

Hi dear 🥰

I hope your doing well and life is treating you kindly

I would love to ask something for the ( MTL for the 1k ask party )

MTL ateez members to like someone with childlike energy & happy go personality

I hope your health and happy my dear

Thank you so much for everything

Love you

💗

Hi friend! Working on the healthy & happy part as we speak 🫡 we are trying!!! This is such a cute ask & I really believe none of them would dislike having someone with a cute, joyful energy like this 🥰

Most Likely to Go For a Childlike, Happy-Go-Lucky S/O

Most: Yunho, Seonghwa, San

Middle: Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Mingi

Least: Jongho, Yeosang

Yunho has mentioned before that his actual type would be someone who could match his energy, so he would love this about you and be super drawn to it! He loves that you two are always smiling and laughing, it relieves stress and just makes him feel like you guys are meant for each other! Your smile is like the sweetest candy to him and your outlook is refreshing. With someone like you, he can be silly and play around, putting something funny on and seeing you join in the game or just scooping you up into his shoulders! Yunho loves your optimism, too- you never bring him down and you guys rarely stay in fights for long! Seonghwa is one of Ateez’s resident E types and someone with a huge sense of whimsy, so he is also drawn to people like this! A person with a happy-go-lucky person cheers him up when things get tough and is most likely to enjoy getting involved in some of his favorite activities, too! You’d be the cutest lego buddy, play, and nature walk partner because you look at it all with such wonder and pull him to look with excitement, whether it’s at the cutest pieces, the silliest make-believe, or a new place to run and take in the view! Everyone says he’s a first life sort so getting to witness someone else on theirs is warmth to his heart. San has always said how much he appreciates a warm and beautiful heart above outside looks, so when he meets someone with a personality like yours he knows it’s it. You do almost anything with a smile and like him, try your best even if you’re nervous or scared, so San sees you as someone who inspires him and encourages him to be better. I bet you love cute things just like he does, so any plushies and collectibles you guys have bond the two of you for sure! San is very affectionate and energetic, and with you he never has to second-guess himself because you’re always ready to receive and give back that love and join him when he’s bringing the mood up- you’re his type through and through!

Hongjoong also enjoys this quality- it balances him out. He’s more introverted, sometimes forced to be more serious. But as a creative, he absolutely adores the wonder you bring to all aspects of life and he enjoys having a partner he can joke around with. You’re the sweetness he seeks and a person who brings out his caring, protective side. He’ll always look after you and watches your antics with a wide, fond grin. Having someone like you encourages him to let loose, have fun, and mess around and he loves the release! You play well with the members and listen so intently it makes Hongjoong’s heart swell. Wooyoung of course enjoys someone with a fun side. I think there are times where he wouldn’t mind having you take charge, but generally the two of you are the goofy couple who’s all over each other, whether it’s with affection or playful fighting and teasing. You two are laughing all the time! He loves to listen to you go on about the things you enjoy and share facts and observations with you, too. Both of you having childlike personalities at times, sometimes the two of you will get into fights, but you have the sweetest makeups too. You two are that couple who squabble about random silly opinions, but the moment someone else jumps in, you defend each other like nothing else. Mingi thinks that you’re the cutest thing ever from the moment he meets you! He likes being babied too, though, so sometimes he wants to flip the script on you. Surely you’ll be happy to do so, right? Having someone like you around brings out Mingi’s sunshiney side, keeps him smiling and light things on his mind. Sometimes he has worries so someone like you knows how to cheer him up and take him somewhere to refresh himself, and he really appreciates that. He feels like with you, he can always find something to be happy about, and that makes you like an anchor to him.

Jongho is a 50-50 on this personality type, being so reserved himself. This is because he doesn’t actively seek someone like you out, but once he gets to know you it’s the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. You’re there to encourage his bursts of humor and he gets so much softer around you. You’re his biggest cheerleader, clapping for him and expressing how impressive everything he does is, and that gets his heart beating faster. Jongho isn’t usually the most affectionate guy, yet with you he’s giving you heart eyes and trying his best to give you everything you want. It can be trying being the serious one in the relationship, but he knows if you both were reserved and practical, things would be awkward and stiff. The way you’re always seeking beauty in life and encouraging Jongho to loosen up has him feeling changed for the better, even if he didn’t realize he needed it! Yeosang, if anyone asked him, would respond like Jongho and say he wasn’t sure if he could handle that energy. Once he meets you, though, like Mingi all he thinks is how adorable you are. You’re gentler than he expects, someone who doesn’t overwhelm him but can be cared for. He has to learn about you, how you respond to his teasing and that he might need to cut it back, but you embrace the things he loves wholeheartedly and with endearing excitement. One thing you guys love doing together is what you’ve taken to calling ‘tea parties’, throwing yourself into buying or even making sweets to share as Yeosang makes tea and you set the table with a cute new theme every time! That’s yet another he realizes the wonder you have isn’t a sign of immaturity, it’s a different way of viewing the world just like he has.

All in all, they all really enjoy your personality and see you as a wonderful escape and activity buddy, some are just more aware they’re seeking out your natural energy and joy than others! 🥰

[mothsgotghosts]

This is for such a niche audience I'm sure but GUYS. D20 and MK1 Fans. Please. I hope you all find this. NEVER STOP BLOWING UP AU. okay. Okay hear me out. I'm gonna yap about this idea bc I have no friends who like mortal kombat. Probably nobody will find this but OH WELL. Nsbu spoilers for sure btw

Ok so this is like a. No outworld au I guess. Idk how else to describe it tbh. So like, Raiden, Kung Lao, Johnny, Kenshi, Tomas, and Syzoth all work at a video rental store that is going out of business. Its owned by like. Shang Tsung I guess. I haven't fully thought that part through tbh-

Anyway they have their little going out of business party after calling some guy to come like pay his late fees for this video tape. The guy shows up and it's Liu Kang yayyy. Then he like yk. Rewinds the tape and they all get sucked in‼️

Raiden ends up as the Kingskin character

Kung Lao is the Vic Ethenol

Johnny is the Jennifer Drips

Tomas is the Jack Manhattan

Syzoth is the G13

And Kenshi is actually. Not a Greg Stocks character, but instead an FBI agent. Also he's a girl too j cuz

Shang Tsung is unfortunately the president j like Dave

And Lui Kang is like. Kinda similar to Damien Bane but not really

I should warn you all I am. A johnshi shipper and that's gonna be obvious in this so if u don't like them u should go 😔. I also ship railao and symas but as of rn those aren't nearly as prevalent to the plot.

ANYWAY. The storylines of the nsbu chatacters they reflect are different from the actual show bc I'm not copying the characters exactly, but the movie plot is relatively the same

I don't have much in the way of an actual plot but here's some silly little ideas I have yayyy:

Syzoth does get hacked by his character similar to Usha, they DO bring him back thankfully but it's WILD

Syzoth is also the G13 character bc he's the only one of the six who in canon is not from Earthrealm and I thought it'd be funny if this guy is just Bad at technology for literally no reason

I chose the six people that I did bc four of them are the champions of Earthrealm and the other two are just silly billies. That's my main reasoning tbh

Liu Kang is not as. Unhinged? As Barsimion for the record, he's a lot chiller and acts like himself if he was just like. A tiny bit crazy and full of whimsy

Johnny and Kenshi's characters plots are intertwined I think. A spy and an FBI agent constantly at each other throats, it's also Super Gay (just like them 😁)

Raiden is the Kingskin character because I truly feel like someone should tell this man he's allowed to be selfish sometimes. Someone please let him know that occasionally he can be a bit selfish.

Tomas is the Jack Manhattan because I feel like he would act a lot like Paula does at times. Just like freaking out and saying insane shit. That's the main reason. ALSO BC HIM BEING A GRIZZLED LOOSE CANON DETECTIVE WOULD BE FUNNY

Johnny was definitely a little jealous of Tomas bc he got to be the detective guy, he learns to like his character tho I swear

Kung Lao is the Vic Ethenol bc like. Honestly Vibes.

Shang Tsung is literally gonna explode the world and start so many wars just like Dave bro cannot be chill

And that's all I got yayyy. I love you if you read this whole thing and if u have more ideas PLEASE lmk. Okay byeee

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

my very unsolicited and nonetheless important review of kotlc unravelled

ive tagged spoilers yall and im warning you NOW.

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book was SO GOOD. And that is one hell of a compliment from me (hi. Been highly critical of this book for two years. two very long years). Why:

It was fun. I was reading it and thinking "Ah, there's that childhood whimsy that comes with reading an awesome book". It feels so very KotLC, in its style and the fact it's Keefe, and everything they said, the way the characters talk, the things they did, the jokes... very middle-grade. In the best way.

At least for the first bit, we didn't get those long drawn out conversation that KotLC is otherwise riddled with. I am SICK of Forkle telling Sophie she needs patience. And that was the benefit of Keefe being alone for the first bit. No more of those long convos that have me asleep at the end.

Very headcanon-y. It felt light. The book felt like a breath of fresh air. Shannon wasn't too fixated on tying up or unravelling some loose end (for the first bit) so it didn't feel... blotchy.

THE TAYLOR SWIFT REFERENCE. FINALLY. MY "It's me. Hi. I'm the problem it's me." MOMENT. THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. KEEFE AS A MIDNIGHTS TRUTHER?? CANON. Now all we need is to introduce him to folklore and TTPD.

And yes, we are ignoring timelines here. Because vibes.

In depth Lord Cassius. Like yes. He has had depth before. But Unravelled had really good PARALLELS. And there aren't many things I love more than good parallels.

ALVAR. I have never had any sort of opinion on Alvar EVER. BUT THIS BOOK... has changed me. Yes I'm still weary that he tortured a bunch of kids. And yes I'm going to click my heels and snap my fingers yelling "YASS" when he deserves. I am a person of nuance.

Alvar. Sprawled on a sofa. In silk pjs. Wearing a sheet mask. Telling Keefe to try one. Can we immortalise this?

Also I take this as Raviolli foreshadowing thank you very much.

QUEER PEOPLE!!! I gasped out the fuck loud when I saw this. Again. sets up Raviolli.

(And yes. I'm aware it was two offhand mentions and two side characters. Very Disney. And has faults. BUT I will not deny this is a LEAP for Shannon. Check her Insta comments if you think otherise)

And hey maybe if the heat dies down Raviolli will happen.

THE WRIGHTS?? THE GIRL?? Did not expect it. Fully expected a oneshot book with Keefe trying different foods.

THE RITZ CRACKER JOKES. SHANNON IS ON TUMBLR. HI SHANNON. HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING YOUR STAY.

I wish they visited more places. Like I'm Aussie and all but I need them to visit. More. Places. GO SOMEHWERE IN ASIA. AFRICA. EXPLORE I BEG. But I digress.

Keefe coulda been more gay but I guess thats not happening so I will shut up about it.

LOVED THE BOOK WANT MORE OF IT THATS THE END BYE

[thatuselesshuman]

Writer Questionnaire Tag

Thank you for the tag @wyked-ao3

It's always fun to do one of these lol

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I've had a Tumblr account for about 6 months or so but I've only been a 'writeblr' for a couple months.

What led you to create it?

Idk tbh. I kinda just decided that I wanted to share my writing and it led me here.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

All of the creativity is amazing. I'm a whore for lore and world building, and the worlds that y'all come up with are immaculate. I could only hope to think of a world that vast and interesting.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Please ddon't take me seriously. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but I'm not just a clown, I'm the entire circus. The day you take me too seriously (especially as an author) is the death of my whimsy.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Nothing I can really think of. I'm pretty happy with how it is rn lol

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Bloody Hands are Kind and None of Us Heroes are always floating around. They're never not beating my ass with ideas and scenes.

How long have you been working on them?

I've been working of the series component of Bloody Hands are Kind since February, and None of Us Heroes for about 1 and a half months.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

None of Us Heroes started from the Honkai Star Rail brainworms known as Adventurine and Dr Ratio. Their designs and story inspired the two main characters of None of Us Heroes. The series component of Bloody Hands are Kind was basically me shoving a long-standing OC of mine into the Hunger Games universe and praying it would work.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

At least a few hours a day, usually when I'm laying in bed trying to fall asleep. My array of illnesses make falling asleep hard and I find that thinking about my stories makes it easier to forget that I'm not asleep (and therefore hopefully fall asleep).

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

"Whatever the voices command."

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you do say)?

Meh I say that because I find it funny so idk if I'd change it.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created. Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

OHH LORD THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG LIST. So we got Adrian, Nova, Amarantha, Jack, Cora Beth, Ben Al-Badawi (x3), Jack Collins, William Talt, Blue, Zero, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Azrael (aka Amane), Lucifer, Achlys, Quinn Amsel, Atlas Selic, Michael, Adena, Nakir, Evangeline, Celeste, Saeko, Gabriel, Kaz Anderson, Caspian, Jyn Osaka, Nikolai Sevigny, Cyril, Kylan Whitlock, Kestrel, Leo Valandi, Anaïs, Delph, Laz (short for Lazarus), Neo, Roland, Tobias, Will, Mirwais, Simon Cruz, Conrad, James Blackthorn, Alessandra Snow, Max Foster, Benyamin Safi, Haeyun Sin, and Dante Silvestre. There are more, but I either don't care enough to write them down or I've forgotten their names.

Who’s the most unhinged?

Blue 100%. He's not human and it is not uncommon for his species to be cannibalistic. He's not, but he's still unhinged asf

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Max Foster. He's easy to write because me and him share a lot if similarities.

Do you ever cringe at them?

Oh definitely. A lot of my old characters are cringy.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

Dude idk what to tell you, whenever I try and force my characters to do something I hit the biggest writer's block wall I've ever seen.

On Writeblr Engagement

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

YES YES PLEASE ASK ME!! Anyways, I don't really care how you ask (I just want you to ask lol), but if I had to pick it'd either be asks or comments on Ao3. Though ofc I still love questions in any and all forms, even if it's something like making a separate post and tagging me loll.

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I mostly follow people if I think their cool or if I find myself consistently liking their posts as they come across my dash. I don't follow people often tho lol. I only follow abt 20 people I think.

What makes you decide against following?

If their vibes are too negative, if they're super political, if their content doesn't align with something I care about, or if they're super anti something I am. Any combination of those could be the reason I don't follow.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Yes. I think about other people's WIPs and such all of the time. I love stories, what can I say?

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Of course! As I said, I don't follow many people so I don't have many mutuals. I love interacting with different people though, so I'm happy to strike up conversations with random people I find cool!

@moltenwrites @willtheweaver @the-golden-comet @katenewmanwrites @agirlandherquill +open tag

[dcggersedge]

🎲

kiss roulette | Accepting! 36. A kiss to the shoulder

"Are you gunna get mad if I say I told you so?" Even as she asks, she can't quite keep the smug grin off her face as she snickers to herself. She gives the bandage a tug to make sure it doesn't slip. "Cause I did warn you that something like this would happen."

She can't not take training seriously. Maybe it's a bad, stubborn habit from her old life, but it never sits right with her to go easy on someone as soon as they step onto the training grounds. It's why she won't spar with just anybody; after Merrin, she's accepted that it's not fair to put that pressure on anybody else.

Still, Matthias had insisted he could handle it, and after enough nagging, she'd decided to give him a shot. To his credit, he had done alright...until she'd managed to slip past him too quick for him to block the dagger swinging down into his shoulder.

She ties off the bandage and tucks the ends underneath so they won't come loose. "There ya go. Try not to strain it. Ideally, you should go see a healer soon as ya can, but I can't force ya either." She hope he does though.

She has no magic of her own, and she doesn't believe in silly things like fairy tale magic or stuff like that, but...a fleeting bit of whimsy has her leaning down before he can stand to briefly press her lips on top of the bandage. For luck. Luck was real.

"Aaaand this goes without saying, but you're done." Before he can stop her, she moves around the bench he's on to grab his training lance and bring it back to the racks. "Not fighting you again while you're injured! Better luck next time!"

[roguephenon]

I notice you add certain references to your work like that one separate fic of yours that’s basically a way to recruit dudes into my little pony or that Blair Witch Project reference (speaking of that…did you ever have a set ending to that one? Because I always wondered how they were going to resolve that possessed Rainbow Monkey situation Omg) and I just wanted to know, what other media inspired your writing in general? Reading about the inner child thing in Cold Reception also made me remember about that theme in the book the little prince which was to never lose that child like wonder and I was just curious if you’ve also encountered media woth similar themes? Have a good rest of your day!

I’m happy you noticed! KND was one of the first shows as a kid that helped me understand continuity, even a loose one. So I always like to reference things from other works as bonuses, even if it’s only for me sometimes.

Ah The Rainbow Witch Project!! Back before I learned project management lol. That was a fun one, and yes, I do believe I had an ending in mind. At least the outline of one. I’d have to go look in my old folders to know for certain. The whole gang was involved, but it was supposed to be more Nigel-Abby focused as the narrative went on to explore their relationship more.

As for other media that inspires my writing: Sonic the Hedgehog is probably the biggest one! (Maybe you’ve noticed lol.) Sonic is very important and personal to me. Probably even more than Kids Next Door, believe it or not. There’s a lot of themes I’ve learned from the franchise, freedom, self-determination, and fighting oppression being the big ones.

Sonic is one of the two reasons Cold Reception is even finished.

I’ve extensively read Maya Angelou and similar authors in her sphere of influence. Yaa Gyasi also comes to mind as well. Those are two authors that popped into my mind for the answer for this.

Also I’m sure if I sat down, I can list media I’ve consumed about inner child and not losing that whimsy (The Little Prince is one tho, I love that!) But overall, a lot of my philosophy on one’s inner child comes from what I know about developmental psychology and a concept known as “inner child work” in dealing with and healing from childhood trauma.

I’ll try and make a note to make an actual list of media later, please feel free to ask again if I don’t do it lol. And thank you, I hope the rest of your day goes well too!

[mynameisjessejk]

Ayas' Quest - On the Trail of the Wild Hunt

Ember felt denser between Ayas' knees from atop the saddle. He had never ridden the gelding, except as a hawk on the saddle or a few rare occasions sitting behind Celyn and the saddle. He preferred pacing the gelding's hooves as a hound, if speed greater than his walk were required.

Riding was interesting, he decided, Ember solid beneath him. Celyn's corslet settled loosely on him, but wouldn't hinder him. It was the look he wanted, rather than the need for armor anyway.

The Witch of the West Mere, Eleri of Ravenglass, daughter of Cailleach, had set him the best quest he might have asked for. He would always know where the Wild Hunt rode.

He turned Ember's head to the east and set a steady pace. The Rowan Sheild thumped against his leg with every step the horse took, reminding Ayas, in time with his heart, of the oath he had sword.

I will walk the road as he would walk it.

Ayas knew humans. He knew their vices and their greed and their thirst for power. He knew their strength and their hope and their love. He knew them in peace and extremity.

He had never known a man like Celyn.

But Ayas did know him. Knew him down to his bones, to the inner core of him that Celyn would call his heart, not knowing any better what made Ayas live. Ayas liked the idea of having a heart, though it was but whimsy to consider it; being whimsical, Ayas supposed if he did have a heart, it would be safe in Celyn's keeping, rather than beating in his own chest.

Ember whickered softly.

"I know," Ayas murmured, stroking the gelding's neck. "I'd rather he be up here, too."

Ember whickered again, and then they emerged from the thicket they'd been traversing and out onto the road. The other side of the road was a pasture, and the horses in it called greetings to Ember.

"Hail, Sir Knight!" the woman hanging laundry said, cheerfully.

"Well met," Ayas replied, because it's what Celyn would have said. "Have you a need?"

"Nay," the woman replied. "Gods bless!"

"To you and yours," Ayas answered, having heard Celyn make this exchange many hundreds of times. He nudged Ember on down the road, feeling a little warmer in his chest.

They rode through the next village, still following Ayas' gut, and several townsfolk called greetings to Ayas as he passed them. Ayas replied politely each time, asking if there were need of him, all the while silently hoping the answer was no.

The answer was no, to Ayas' relief, and they rode out of the village again, he rode out of the village again, entirely unused to being alone, and deeply relieved he would not have to figure out how to help someone.

Celyn always seemed to know just what to do, and Ayas was sworn to figure it out.

But for now, he followed the Hunt.

As the sun hit its zenith, Ember grew restless and the hills closed darkly around them. A flock of rooks circled, calling their grim calls.

"I mean no harm," Ayas called. "A traveller, just passing through."

The rooks hissed at him, bridling on their perches.

You are far from home, a Jay said, settling amidst the rooks.

Ayas inclined his head politely. "I am, but not as you think it," he replied. "I left him at the waterside to hunt for him."

The rooks kaahed in approval. They pair-bonded, and stayed in flocks.

You will not find the Hunt here, the Jay warned. Their day-camp is not for you.

Ayas nodded again. "I thank you for the warning," he said, as Celyn would have, instead of the irritated snap on the tip of his tongue. "I will seek them after nightfall."

Ride south, the Jay suggested. You will find what you need there.

Ayas bowed in the saddle and turned Ember's head.

The birds called behind him and Ember blew a soft huff as they left the grim vale behind. Ayas only wondered what the Jay thought he needed.