#Live Laugh Love Caravan palace

[porcelaincell]

Hello interesting people of Tumblr! School is murdering my very essence, so I have not been on the art grind lately, so take these two sketches! The colored one is my most recent piece, but I'm unsure if I'll ever finish it, and then the horse is something I did about a month ago. I'm currently suffering from a language class, so I am unsure when I'll be drawing again, yay!

I also want to make it a habit to share music I listen to when drawing because music is amazing, and I love sharing and listening to all genres of music 🎶

1st sketch I listened to Plenka - Nostalgia, Plenka - Cascade

2nd sketch I was listening to Caravan Palace - Rock it for me

[kuroneko1815]

The Handkerchief

Okay, am I the only one who thought Penelope might have been slightly jealous when Callisto brought up the fact that the handkerchief was from another woman? It seemed to me like Callisto might have been angling for one from her. (And I’m disregarding the translation that says it was given before the hunt. Because what I remembered reading originally was before the war).

There’s a symbolism of accepting and keeping a woman’s hanky which means that you accept and reciprocate her feelings.

Callisto: I’ll give it to the Princess and maybe she’ll give me one as an indirect love confession.

Penelope, a bit jealous: Here, wash it up and give it back to her if you don’t want it.

Callisto: The Princess is cold but I love it.

(Callisto likes the chase)

It could be that the handkerchief was really Callisto’s and he was giving it to her, just hoping for an exchange as well because then she’d be obligated to keep it to wash it and she could conveniently forget it and give him a new one.

Meaning that they reciprocate each other’s feelings and want a relationship. But he also wasn’t sure how it’d be taken so he tells her it’s from another woman to gauge her reaction.

Because Callisto at 12 or 13 receiving a hanky and holding on to it without it getting soiled or stained, or just plain ruined while he was at war for almost ten years is nearly impossible unless he left it at his palace. In that case, how’d he even remember something like that? Like this man, I think also has a case of subjective memory… He purposefully forgot that he nearly killed her at the maze.

-

-

If you’ve read this far… welcome to the hidden side plot from the past.

Penelope at the age of seven was an independent child who had grown up practical and pragmatic but loved deeply by her family. Penelope was there with her mother and the caravan and runs into an older child who was about eleven or twelve. He was a pretty boy with hair like gold and eyes like the rubies the wealthier merchants traded.

She was unknowing of his real identity, of the Crown Prince that now holds her hands and takes in the streets of the capital, the narrow corridors of the slums that she’s taken to showing him around. He’s a wealthy child, she can tell immediately from the make of his clothes. The merchant in her can easily see that. The poor commoner child that she was felt some slight envy at the obvious luxuries he had. But more than that… he looked the very definition of rich and she loved looking at rich people. Especially when they were like this boy who was like a living jewelry. Gold and rubies.

She shows him the life of a commoner, of the children she’s learned to play with. And teaches him what it’s like, let’s him experience what her life is like. She calls him Cal and he calls her Penny.

Mother calls for her and she pulls him along, laughing happily. (She doesn’t know that the boy looks enraptured at the child with dark pink hair who laughs so freely). Mother pats her head and bends down to kiss her and give her a hug, inquiring over her health before turning to Cal who she introduces immediately.

Mother smiles at him and pats him as well. Gives him a small kiss on the forehead and a hug. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine as well.”

The caravan, her family, all laughingly echo that. And they give him a place at their table. Invite some of the others as well and share a simple meal. Cal watches all this with a wistful longing smile, listening to their tales and happy teasing. (He nods to himself, resolute. He marches off to war soon and he knows what he needs to fight for now. It’s this tangible thing, this one happy family. This warm girl who smiles and laughs freely.)

When the sun dips low, Cal says goodbye. Penelope is used to this. Never has friends that she gets to keep, is used to hellos and goodbyes and reunions and distances but somehow she thinks it’s different with Cal, as if he’s found the answer to some question that’s been in his mind for so long. She wonders what it was but knows better to ask so she wishes him well.

She has nothing to give but a simple handkerchief. It’s not to the quality that he’s no doubt used to but it’s the best thing she has, it’s clean and new. Grandma had made it for her. Had woven it herself and created the patterns on it. She presses it to his hands.

“For you.” She says. “To remember today.”

He’s silent, looking at it with a frown but he nods.

“Have a good life, Cal. And be safe.”

The golden boy walks away into the distance and she returns to her family.

-

-

Callisto walks no more than twenty steps into the alley he’d turned into when he stops. Porter appears silent like a shadow along with three other men, his guards who’d been shadowing him from a distance. He knows they’d been following him since he snuck out but he just… he needed this moment.

Needed to understand the heart of the Empire, of this place that he was being sacrificed for. Needed to see why he was being sent off to fight in a war. Why he needed to bloody his hands, his mind, his heart; why he needed to taint his very soul.

But he’s found that answer. He wants to do it for her. This innocent little girl who welcomed him without another thought.

“Are you done, Your Highness?” Porter asked. Not commenting on the handkerchief he holds in his hands. Staring at the delicate fabric.

“Yes, let’s return to the palace now.”

If the Empire had more children, more families like that one… he wanted to protect them. He remembered the spike of jealousy at the way her family had so easily shown affection. At the open love her mother showered her with. His forehead feels warm from where the woman had given him a motherly kiss.

His heart has been closed for awhile now, after his mother’s death. After, the remarriage. After the assassination. But for a moment… even if he felt like an outsider as he ate that simple fare, he felt that he wanted to belong. Felt as though the food was the most delicious he’d ever eaten.

-

-

Callisto marches off to war not too long after that. He brings the handkerchief with him, cherishes it and keeps it practically pristine. Holds on to it only when his hands are clean. Washes it gently by hand when it gets even a single speck of dirt. Uses it to remind him of that one day when he got to act as a normal child with her; uses it to remind him of the innocence he wants to protect.

-

-

Time has dulled their memories of one another. Callisto no longer remembers her name or what she looks like. All he has is the simple handkerchief made of common cotton to remember her by. And the ghost of her laughter ringing in his ears, the feeling he felt when he held her hand and the warmth that spread through him when she looked him in the eyes bravely and gave him that sunshine smile.

-

-

Penelope’s memories are warped through all that she’s suffered from. The abuse has her lock those happy days away, knows that she’d shatter if she remembered them. The regressions don’t help. Now all she remembers is pain, humiliation, and death. Her soul cracks and shatters, forming anew in another world before she’s returned to this world.

-

-

Even after the war, even after the jaded, brutal thing that he becomes. He still keeps the handkerchief with him. He never offers it to anyone.

At least he didn’t. And then Penelope Eckhart came into the picture and he finds himself offering the handkerchief to her. Feels right to do it, even when she dirties it with soot and gives it back to him with an annoyed face.

He tucks it back into his pocket determined to wash it when he got back to the palace.

-

-

After all is said and done, Penelope finds the handkerchief again among his possessions. He doesn’t try to justify it. But she merely raises a brow. Penelope now remembers the child she’d been.

Touches the handkerchief and feels the fabric. There’s one feature to it that she knows deeply. A minuscule P is embroider there.

“I didn’t know you’d kept it all these years. I’m glad you remembered that day even after all these years, Cal.” She said.

His eyes snap up to her and he laughs, feels as though fate had been telling him where his heart and future lay all along with that handkerchief. “I’m glad I got to meet you again, my beloved Penny.” He pulls her in for a kiss.

[dimpledlianfang]

Rusong is in town again!

Zixuan and Yao: *hugging each other*

Zixuan: *sniffles* Yaoyao.

Yao: Don't worry Zishie.

Xue yang: oh no, what's wrong with the divas again.

Mo xuanyu: they're not divas.

Ok ok, kind of.

Su she: Huangdi

Yao: he saw a lizard and got scared.

Zixuan: it was on my soap.

Mo xuanyu: ohh noo!

Su she: xuan Huangdi, Yao Huangdi's palace is always tidy.

Zixuan: I know.

Xue yang: ohh you found Xiao ai?! Ahahahaha.

Zixuan: xiao ai?

First cockroaches, then lizards! Xue yang, why?

Xue yang: because I love mischief.

Su she: behave!

Xue yang: I can't!

Yao: Chengmei, you naughty little muffin.

Don't scare Zixuan.

Xue yang: then who should we prank.

Mo xuanyu: Lan lips!

Xue yang: good idea!

Su she: of course we would.

Xue yang: but rest assured, Xuan Huangdi. We like you.

Su she: team dimple approved!

Zixuan: as you must, darlings.

We're very glamorous.

Yao: yes.

Yes indeed.

Mo xuanyu: of course you both are!

Xue yang: Jiggy is hot.

Rusong: *entering* A-Die, uncle Zish! Team D!

Yao: A-Song! *hugs*

Rusong: A-Die, I'm going to the city again.

Yao: aw really?

Have fun ok, Song'er.

Zixuan: are you going with your bodyguards and they?

Rusong: nah, only Rong xiong.

I go undercover.

Zixuan: I see! Our A-Song goes incognito. Do you have a pseudonym?

Rusong: yep! Sung Gongzi.

Xue yang: who once punched a guy!

Mo xuanyu: and ran from fame.

Su she: don't forget the dimples.

Zixuan: speaking of dimples, how did you manage to disguise your beautiful face?

Rusong: thanks to uncle Su's talismans.

Zixuan: oh  amazing then!

Rusong: it's really fun to experience the city from a normal person's point of view.

Zixuan: aww.

Yao: Zish, we should do the same some time. It will be fun!

Zixuan: amazing idea, Yaoyao. I would love to!!

Yao: good then!

~~~~

(Rusong goes in the city again. But A-Yao goes to visit his people)

.....

In JingJing📍

Rusong: ah, the city is once again lively!

Rong: yes. Thanks to Huangdi.

Rusong: mhm, *grabs hand* let's get some mantous.

Rong: only that, Dianxia?

Rusong: yup! *giggle*

Rong: *glaring* Sung Gongzi.

Rsuong: ok fine! I want to cause a little mischief too!!  

Are you in?!

Rong: obviously I am.

Rusong: let's go pester the storyteller.

I wonder what new trash they're talking pertaining to team D..

Then we'll have some food.

Rong: but Dianxia, why do they keep talking about team dimple?

Rusong: because they dare not make fun of Huangdi, heehee.

Anyways A-Die is really elegant and respectable.

Rong: right.

Some hours later.......

Rusong and Rong: *looking at some pendants.

Meanwhile on the other side: *immediate uproar*

Make way for Huangdi!

Huangdi is here!!

Greetings Huangdi!

Su she: *helping Yao out of the caravan*

Huangdi! Here are some flowers.

Yao: lovely!

Rusong: *hiding* Oh no, A-Die, what are you doing here? Right when I'm disguising myself.

Rong: maybe Huangdi wished to meet his people today.

Rusong: should I go mess with him?

Rong: no no, you'll be imprisoned by your fox spirits. And your identity will be blown.

Rusong: then A-Die will save me!

Let's go see what he'll say when he sees me.

Rong: sure Dianxia.

I mean A-Song.

~~

Huangdi you look stunning today.

Yao: thank you so much.

X: we have opened up another shop, Huangdi.

Yao: how great.

X: will you come back to buy stuff?

Yao: definitely. You have some beautiful handicrafts here.

X: thank you huangdi.

Yao: why don't your commission for Dongying

X: what a good idea.

X: Huangdi, would you love to have some tea at my inn?

Yao: of course! Maybe later.

X: yes Huangdi.

Yao: you know I should try some refreshments from the outside once in a while. Team dimple and my attendants have me locked in a room

Su she: *laughing to himself*

X: ahahahaha, Huangdi you're so funny!

So tea with Huangdi and official Su?

Yao: absolutely.

Su she: is it 5 star? He deserves the best.

Yao: Minshan. Don't worry.

X: rest assured! Our food and drinks are the best.

Yao: excellent.

X: Huangdi, do you feel bored?

Yao: how can I ever feel bored when I have team dimple and my magnificent empire.

X: aw Huangdi!

X: what about your shelters for the homeless project?

Yao: coming along great. 

X: this new Jingjing gremlin keeps coming and asking for steamed buns.

Yao: ohh. Then how is he a gremlin?

X: he would use his powers to prank me.

Yao: *trying to contain his laughter* oh really?! 

X: what an troublesome guy. Hmpf!!

Yao: he's young. It's his nature to be mischievous. 

X: look there he is over there!! I think he has too much free time! He needs to get married.

Yao: *glances* ( Oh my, it's A-Song in disguise. My darling.

I'll act like I don't know him, so that his cover won't be blown)

Let him live his life.

X: *sighs* yes yes, Huangdi.

Rusong: *bows* greetings Huangdi.

Greetings official Su.

*looks to his right* hey you're that ugly bun vendor! Your steamed buns were stale.

Yao and Su she: *trying to contain their laughter*

X: child, have some decorum. We're in Huangdi's presence.

Yao: it's fine.

So you're the little troublemaker.

Rusong: yes Huangdi. I heard that team Dimple are troublemakers too. May I replace them?

Yao: *laughing* unfortunately you can't. And sometimes they get jealous.

Rusong: but I'm not Lan lips.

X: *grinding teeth* honorable Zewu Jun to you.

Rusong:  no. Lan lips sound better!

Huangdi, I would love to be trained under team dimple.

Yao: I see. Now what are your qualifications?

Rusong: I can fight, I like Huangdi, and I'm jealous of Lan lips.

Yao: *laughing*

X: Huangdi, this boy is mischievous.

Su she: is that the only qualifications of team dimple, lol.

X: child, team dimple is Huangdi's imperial guard and personal council.

Rusong: yea, that's why I said I can fight.

X: *rolls eyes*

Yao: I like him! Come let's have tea together.

Rusong: my pleasure, Huangdi.

Huangdi, is being jealous of Lan lips a qualification?

Yao: *jokingly* of course it is.

Su she: *acting* Huangdi, do you really want to have tea with this rogue?

Yao: mhm. And I love young vibrant people.

Rusong: do you think if he wanted the opposite, he would have gone to hang out with Lan Qiren.

Su she: oh my. *laughing*

Yao: let's go have some tea.

*walking away*

Yao: *whispers* mischievous Song'er.

Rusong: at least it was fun, Huangdi. *wink*

@verycatbluebird

[lunarblazes]

i made a desertduo playlist and then decided to be a nerd and write explanations for all the songs! like a nerd!

playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ZGylutQpyTbgX7MY7Lrzz?si=t8_kBwBHSYG5kxTvZoIrTQ&dl_branch=1

QUICK DISCLAIMER: i am aware that a lot of these songs may have or imply romantic connotation! i would really really like it if these were not read as though those romantic connotations carry over to scar and grian. even if we’re just talking about the third life characters, i would prefer not to ship them or imply romance between them on this post. thank you so much and keep reading if you’d like to see the playlist analysis!

and now that that’s out of the way, PLAYLIST TIME!

•

passerine- the oh hellos

“you were the song that i’d always sing/you were the light that the fire would bring/but i can’t shake this feeling that i/was only pushing the spear into your side again”

this song really just... firstly, it’s one of my favorite songs, and the line i chose there pushes home the sort of terrified devotion i think the desert has. plus there’s a fun line about the cold wind blowing in from the north in the ending bits that i think very much fits their conflict with the red army, and a lot of legally obligated flight imagery that i need to have in every possible song because i’m a fuckin nerd.

•

no children- the mountain goats

“i hope that our few remaining friends/give up on trying to save us/i hope we come up with a failsafe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us”

i will admit that no children isn’t a perfect fit, but the general vibe of sort of defiant pessimism and betrayal fits very well with them! it’s very triumphant in its death, and i think that is very desertcore, because what’s more triumphantly dead than being the last duo left alive?

•

skulls- bastille

“when all of our friends are dead and just a memory/it’s always been just you and me/for all to see”

okay like this entire song is SO MUCH DESERT VIBES? LIKE SO MUCH. if i were to ever make an animatic for them i’d do it with this song. “a match is our only light, it’s day of the dead i’m indiana jones, yeah,” “i hope you can make me laugh six feet under when we’re bored of each other,” “i don’t want to rest in peace, i’d rather be the ghost that annoys you,” IT JUST KEEPS GOING. i think this song would work well with any third life duo, honestly, but these two in PARTICULAR just because of how it ended with them literally ‘buried’ next to each other, and again, the chaotic death vibes.

•

freaking out- mystery skulls

“i just keep out of my tongue/til all you want is done/and you just wanna leave me, oh yeah”

this song is a very third life grian song to me in particular! it could be my bias because of my little headcanon of grian burning on his red life, but seriously, this song is very reminiscent of the back and forth of loyalty that grian has with scar. the above line is sort of representative of the betrayal on red, and of course grian’s life debt.

•

night running- shin sakiura

(this song is in japanese! these lyrics are the rough english translation i found on google.) “someday we will stand at this place once again/for sure we will stand up again and again/we will watch it will the end/i want you to live freely”

this song is actually the ending theme for the anime bna, which i adore, and i just added it on a whim before looking at the translated lyrics. but um. holy hell the lyrics hurt me because they’re about running in search of someone, running for no reason, looking for something, and it just really hit, because the desert never really had a goal! they didn’t expect to survive, they were trying to survive, but what was their longterm goals? nothing. so that sort of endless search felt fitting for this. plus the song is a parallel for the two estranged best friends of the show so! perfect.

•

summer nights- siames

“it’s summertime/singing al green in your car/heading to a party/and the night air feels alive”

okay again, i will admit this song is mainly on here because i absolutely love it, but i also do think it fits well. it’s also about healing/estranged friendships, with a very distinct feeling of nostalgia for a happier time. maybe for a time when this was all a game, when there was no blood or betrayals on their hands. little canon divergent, but it’s fun for me, so into the playlist it goes!

allies or enemies- the crane wives

“are we allies or enemies/this will be the death of me, this will be the death of me/all’s fair in love and war but i can’t fight with you anymore”

. i just. points to that lyric. it literally led to both of their deaths. are they allies or enemies? it also fits with scar still wanting grian to be his friend even after he’s no longer indebted with the line “what happens now? do we have another go, do we bow out?” another very good animatic song that i’ve considered heavily. i listen to this playlist a lot

•

burn him down- kitsch club

“you must destroy, oh you must destroy, beyond all recognition/you gotta burn him down, you gotta burn him down, beyond all recognition”

this song just has a lot of fire and arson and high energy vibes. my little war criminals look at them go

•

rose- the oh hellos

“what's true is like a sickle/it'll cut you to the middle/your rose is without a thorn/but no, my mouth don't taste of metal/from the pot here to the kettle/i think we got a lot we gotta learn”

this one is like the exact opposite vibe of burn him down. the oh hellos are so poetic and this song just... feels like the healing potions after a battle. many of the metaphors here fit, i think

•

lone digger- caravan palace

“hey, brother, what you thinking/that good ol' sound is ringing/they don't know what they're missing/(they call it lonely diggin')”

okay this song is straight up just a dance song. i added it because i like it and also for some reason it feels ominous to me? i’ve got no idea why, it’s seriously just a club song, but it’s a banger and it’s in this playlist because i said so

•

feed the machine- poor man’s poison (suggested by my friend argonaughtkeene!)

“somethin’s goin” on, just look around/fear is on the rise, and there’s blood all over the ground/let’s all just blindfold the poor, we all know what’s in store/ we got ‘em now, just break ‘em down a little bit more”

this song is a VIBE for both desertduo members. there’s parts for both of them. it’s ruthless, gritty, very maniacal, perfect. listen to it and you’ll immediately understand why i added it.

•

sweet tooth- scott helman

“i hold hands with cosmic entities/i’ll take this two-ride if i please/i got this sweet tooth baby, yeah i got this sweet tooth baby/i exploit my opportunities/some broken hearts, some cavities”

sweet tooth is super upbeat and bright with these strangely dark lyrics? like i’m pretty sure it’s about addiction. in any case, i thought the “i hold hands with cosmic entities” very funnily fitting for both of the desert boys. it’s a banger!

•

necromancin’ dancin’- bear ghost

“when i’m necromancin’, everyone’s dancin’/nobody can stop me, i dare you to try/the dead are infused with insatiable groove and they’re coming for you, there’s nowhere to hide”

necromancin’ dancin’ just. bastard vibes. there’s not much more to say it’s just huge villain song vibes. i adore it.

•

crazy = genius- panic! at the disco

“if crazy equals genius/then i’m a fucking arsonist/i’m a rocket scientist/if crazy equals genius/you can set yourself on fire/but you’re never gonna burn, burn, burn”

i. yeah. y. yeah. more bastard vibes. also shoutout to an artist i saw (i think it was strifesolution?) who made a desertduo piece to this song because i have not stopped thinking about it ever

•

sweet bod- lemon demon

“i’m diggin’ up your coffin/and pouring out the contents/your sexy, sweet solution/is ripe for distribution”

you know how i said freaking out was a grian song? this one is a scar song. it’s my favorite lemon demon song and also it has the total macabre capitalism vibe that third life scar NAILED. more bastard vibes good for him <3

•

drunk- the living tombstone

“feel so much better than usual/i feel indisputable, oh/but now i’m feeling so beautiful/don’t wake me up from this spell i’m under, if i’m still breathing/i know that i will be ugly when i feel like myself again, oh/but right now i’m feelin’ so beautiful”

the descent of this song, starting off with a polite gathering and ending with a gasping drunk in the parking lot gazing at the stars that he can barely see? yes. yeah. mhm. i used a line from this song for a fic, actually, it fit so well.

•

oh no!- marina

“one track mind, one track heart/if i fail, i’ll fall apart/maybe it is all a test/cos i feel like i’m the worst so i always act like i’m the best”

bubbly pop track about false confidence, the ruthlessness of the pop industry, and the influence of the media? you know why this is here. it vibes. it rocks.

•

do it all the time- i don’t know how but they found me

“we’re taking over the world/a little victimless crime/and when i’m taking your innocence/i’ll be corrupting your mind/no need to cry i’m only doing everything i want to do because i do it all the time”

EVEN MORE BASTARD VIBES! SOMEHOW THERE IS MORE! this playlist is half villain songs and half heart-wrenching ballads and that’s the real desert experience i think.

•

the phoenix- fall out boy

“i’m gonna change you/like a remix/then i’ll raise you/like the phoenix”

BATTLE SONG BATTLE SONG! i’ll be honest i partially chose this song because i am a huge sucker for phoenix grian imagery in particular, but it’s also just a very good war song for them. villain song no 18372948 except this one originally had a hero vibe and now it’s changed specifically for them?? wild. their power

•

the other side- the greatest showman

“right here, right now/i’ll put the offer out/i don’t wanna chase you down, i know you see it/you run with me/and i can cut you free/out of the treachery/and all you keep in”

scar and grian’s desert monopoly conversation went exactly like this canonically because i said so fuck you <3

•

icicles- the scary jokes (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“icicles don’t soften when they die/so why should i, why should i?/oh, icicles don’t soften when they die/they sharpen into sabers and they stab you in the eye”

this song actually has specific parts for both grian and scar! my cool epic friend mx demizorua pointed both of them out to me and i adored it so much. it’s a very spiteful song, just like the desert boys. also it feels vaguely murderous. perfect

•

problems- mother mother (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“i’m a loser, a disgrace/you’re a beauty, a luminary, in my face”

literally this entire song fits them. particularly their relationship with the flower husbands, to me, honestly— the whole “when we meet at the pearly gates/you’ll get the green light/and i’ll get the boot in the face” reminds me a lot of them hdksjdks

•

tongues and teeth- the crane wives

“i know that you mean so well/but i am not a vessel for your good intent/i will only break your pretty things/i will only wring you dry of everything”

h. yeah. this song is literally gaslight gatekeep girlboss and i attribute it to the desert for that reason alone. songs to commit murder to!

•

you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead- saint motel

“you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead/and the list, it grows, and grows, and grows/it grows, and grows, and grows/and grows, and grows, and grows/until it’s everyone you’ve ever known”

this one is very self-explanatory. enemies pogchamp

•

curses- the crane wives

“there’s a fire in my brain and i’m burning, love/oh my, oh my/keep running to the sink, but the well is dry/oh my, oh my/every word i say is kindling/but the smoke clears when you’re around”

okay again! this one has two very specific parts for both of them. grian’s the first verse, which is above, and scar’s the second verse!! i really do like my fire imagery for these two don’t i? well, i blame them for having a fuck ton of tnt on them at all times and literally burning their enemy’s banners as a final act of defiance.

[harrenhalyuri]

for us, the wounds kissed long before the lips

23rd of Sun's Dawn, 1E 461, Alessian Empire.

During the coronation of Emperor Gorieus, the Hortator and the head of House Dagoth steal a moment for themselves.

tags: drinking & talking; angst; one-sided relationship; attempt at worldbuilding

ao3 version here

They stumbled forward laughing and shushing one another as the heavy oak doors closed behind them - the warmth and merry of the coronation feast left behind as the two stepped out into the garden.

Nerevar recalled walking the streets of Nirnbuldihr - the cyan glow of the giant mushrooms reflecting on the windows of several shops. One in particular caught his eye, and he crossed the cobblestone sidewalk to inspect it more closely. Blown glass sculptures, colorful and intricate in the way the dwemer favored.

His favorite had been a piece hidden in the back of the window, as if outshined by more complex, elaborate pieces upfront. It had been a white glass diorama, depicting a cottage surrounded by trees swaying in the breeze - the sort of simplicity the dwemer had no interest in.

The garden reminded him of that diorama - covered in a blanket of snow, completely undisturbed by the world around it.

Voryn pulled him under the arches that covered the path to the guest wing, but the Hortator held him back.

“No, let us stay for a bit.” He answered, arm still draped around the back of his friend’s neck as he stepped on the soft snow. Voryn sighed, yet allowed Nerevar to lead him.

“Frolicking amidst the cold? Do you plan on inviting the Nords to join us?” The head of House Dagoth said snidely as he crossed his arms to warm himself.

Nerevar laughed and shoved him away.

“The snow never belonged to those s’wits, you’re simply thin-blooded from living under the shadow of a volcano.”

“Perhaps, and rightly so.”

The snow softly crunched under their boots as they wandered near a tree - now completely stripped of leaves, its gnarled branches seemed to reach towards the sky.

“It always snows in Akamora.” Nerevar inhaled deeply, enjoying how his lungs burned as he took in the crisp, cool air. “In the mountains, at least. The paths are sharp and winding, and it freezes over during winter. No caravans may come or go, not until Sun’s Dawn.”  

The Hortator grabbed a handful of snow, the ice leeching the warmth of his skin through the kagouti leather gloves. Absent-mindedly he shaped it until a white sphere rested on his palm. Secunda and Masser bore down on them - the moon glow glinting on the high windows of Skingrad’s castle.

Nerevar recalled the moon glow glinting on the tip of ice spikes, sharp enough to be spears, at the highest peak of Akamora.

Azura had come to him then, for the first time, to bestow Moon-and-Star upon the captain - his fingers had been so stiff from the cold that he could barely feel them anymore, the goddess’s touch as foreign as the ring she had slipped on his finger.

When he came down from the mountain, the first ashlanders had hailed him Hortator, and it had felt just as foreign as the ring on his finger.  

“It must be rather grim.” Voryn commented, the cyrodilic brandy swirling inside the bottle as he brought it to his lips. The distaste in his face was plain to see - it couldn’t hold a candle to the Dagoth brandy.  

Nerevar smiled, his short-lived melancholia forgotten.

“How can you say that? Short-tempered caravan masters, cheap mazte and all the comforts of a straw bed...” The captain delighted at Voryn’s growing distaste as he spoke. The head of House Dagoth was a creature of comfort and status, something that had made the duo different as the sun and the moon.    

"Lovely, I'm sure." Voryn replied with a sour expression. Nerevar laughed.

"For a researcher, you spent far too much time cocooned up in Kogoruhn." The Hortator recalled several jars containing fungi species and creatures preserved in a strong alcoholic solution, one more outlandish than the other. In his curiosity, the captain had pestered Voryn with questions until he nearly dropped one of the jars. The head of House Dagoth had snapped at him to stop before he accidentally unleashed a deadly plague and got them both killed.

That had been many years ago, before the war, when Nerevar was still seeking support from the great houses. The somber, willowy lord that had greeted him in Kogoruhn had been the first to join him - his support had been won easily, but his friendship had not.  

"And due to that, couriers are eternally indebted to House Dagoth. Why would I waste my precious time wandering through mud in a thrice-damned swamp?” The councilor huffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Nerevar laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“And what if your Hortator commanded you to?”

The previous distaste vanished in a second as the sharp, haughty aristocratic features softened; the ruby-colored gaze meeting his, warm as the liquor sloshing inside the bottle.

“I’d wander until time itself ceased to be if Muthsera willed so.” Despite the devotion, the lord councilor had steel in his voice; unwavering as the very core of Nirn.

Nerevar let the snow sphere fall to the ground, the reverence in those words overwhelming as he broke his gaze away, before joining the councilor on the stone bench. The orange glow of a candle reflected on the windows above; a small flickering flame moving as a servant crossed the corridor. The former captain followed it until the speckle of light vanished behind stone walls.

“I miss it.” He blurted out, seized by a deep longing as the world seemed to be reduced into that snow-covered, unperturbed garden; as if its two occupants were the only souls in Nirn.

“By the Three, how I miss it! To Oblivion with those titles and thrones and crowns; I miss the road, I miss the ache after a long day’s march and falling on the straw at night too tired to think.” Nerevar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. Azura had blessed him with the strength to carry the title of Hortator, yet he craved the simplicity of being nothing more than a captain, with no past nor future beyond the next town.

The Hortator missed walking through the crowded streets of the bazaars; the cramped food stalls with ill-tempered merchants that served meals with enough spices to burn his tongue; the shady cornerclubs where you had to watch both your tongue and your coin purse.  

Now he signed papers, spoke with lords, and followed the proper etiquette befitting his rank; he watched the streets through the high windows of his palace, as if his brethren were tiny ants. The former captain pulled his hands away and felt a tear roll down the bridge of his nose; the liquor was truly getting to his head. He placed a hand on his councilor’s knee; the several layers of red wool soft under his glove.

“Let’s leave - just the two of us and the road ahead, like it was before the war. We’ll name ourselves whatever we wish, we’ll sleep under the stars and chew on marshmerrow pieces as we travel.”

“Where shall we go, sweet Nerevar?” The young lord played along; his voice soft as a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness around them.

“Wherever you desire - do you still wonder about Hammerfell? I’ll take you to see the dunes that stretch as far as the sun, you’ll study their beetles and giant scorpions for as long as you wish, then we can drink qishr and break bread with the nomads.” Nerevar found himself smiling as he recalled the heat of the desert and the loose, colorful fabrics the natives wore.

He turned around and reached for the bottle, fingers brushing against his confidant’s. Only then, Nerevar realized his councilor had forgotten his gloves inside the hall; the golden skin contrasting against the snow, the long, elegant fingers trembling with the cold.

“Oh, Voryn.” The former captain frowned, quickly pulling his own gloves off and taking hold of the other’s wrist; the scarlet nails vanishing into the supple leather as he adjusted the glove.

“Remember when you fell sick, five days after we departed Kogoruhn? We had to-” The sentence fell on deaf ears, vanishing under the branches heavy with snow as lips met his, swallowing his words with hunger. A hand connected with his chest, closing into a fist as Voryn pulled him closer; as if it weren’t enough.

Distant and haughty Voryn, who ate sparingly and never smudged the red paint he wore on his lips, bit the Hortator’s lower lip before pulling back; eyes half-lidded as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nerevar’s in a silent plea.

The ink-colored hair contrasted against the pale golden skin; the black fur collar brushing against the captain’s chin; a pale pink blooming on his cheeks, either from cold, the brandy, or something else-

Heart hammering against his ribcage, blood drumming on his ears; it was the slightest tilt of his face that thrice-damned him as Voryn’s lips smashed against his; a devotion he was unworthy of every time their tongues met; muffled prayers in form of sighs and whimpers.  

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy. A voice whispered in his mind, taunting him; in his mind’s eye he saw peach-colored lips curled in derision, teeth bared like a wolf’s. Almalexia’s snarl.

Somewhere, a door groaned open and the sounds of the feast reached the garden, shattering their sanctuary; the weight of being Hortator came crashing down on his shoulders. Nerevar pulled back as if he had been burned, his palm on the young lord’s shoulder firmly holding the other back. He looked down, unable to face the confusion, the longing. Too much, it was too much. His hair was disheveled, pale strands falling against his face and he felt grateful for the cover.

“Nerevar-” The head of House Dagoth began, voice hoarse and breathless.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’ve wanted-”

“It was a mistake.”

“Oh.” Voryn inhaled sharply as if his lungs had suddenly been emptied.

“I’ve...I drank more than I should have. We both have.” His words feel hollow, and he can no longer tell if the bitter taste on his tongue belonged to the brandy, or the shame. The silence stretched; neither dared to move.

“I see.” His voice is flat, devoid of emotion; the usual aloofness reserved for others. Out of the corner of his eye, Nerevar watched him straighten his posture; the dark hair falling like a curtain, obscuring half of his face.  

Other guests left the feast; their chatter and laughter permeated the garden as they walked down the path to the other wing of the castle. Nerevar felt the red gaze pinned to his back, yet no words left his lips. He watched the snow under his boots; watery and muddy as it mixed with the dirt below.

At last, he heard the rustling of fabric as Voryn rose to his feet; impeccable posture as he towered over the Hortator.

“May this servant be excused, Muthsera?” The words rolled easily off his tongue; the sharp formality of it made Nerevar wince.

The Hortator forced himself to lift his head and face his long-time friend; clad in red wool and black fur, the snowflakes melting on the long, inky hair; the blank expression betraying nothing, except for his lips; the red paint had been smudged, contorting their shape.

“Yes.”

From the cradle, the heir of House Dagoth had been taught the games of persuasion and deceit; a master in concealing his thoughts behind a mask.

Nerevar took a hollow, cowardly comfort in it.

Voryn Dagoth bowed before him, as etiquette mandated, before vanishing into the corridor; the sound of his footsteps hammering inside the Hortator’s head until they vanished, leaving him with nothing but a headache and the cold.

After finishing the bottle by himself, the former captain laid in bed, watching the moons slowly crossing the sky through the windows; his dreams haunted by both his closest friend and his wife; one seeming to shift into the other as they pinned him against the sheets; ever-hungry as they sought out his lips.

It was late morning when he rose; mouth dry and head throbbing like it had been split open with an axe. The hearth had been tended to recently, the fire crackling as it consumed the logs. He turned in bed, still wrapped around the sheets.

Voryn will understand, he understands the importance of duty better than anyone. He reasoned with himself.

A single kagouti glove on the floor, as if someone had pushed it under the door.

Across the hallway, a lord painted his lips red; immaculately framing the natural shape of his lips. His unbalanced emotions shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces when his fingers trembled for a second and a smudge appeared.

Duty, he’s devoted to duty, the lord repeated mentally, as he collected the shards.

[mystical-flute]

We Were Both Young When I First Saw You (SF Week Day 1)

Partners In Crime or Enchanted Forest AU

AO3 || FFN

“Papa, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Baelfire. We’ve only got a bit further to go.”

Baelfire couldn’t help but frown at the castle looming in the distance. He wasn’t entirely sure what his Papa’s version of “bit” was, but he knew they wouldn’t even reach the castle by sundown if they tried.

They had been journeying for weeks now, having only barely scraped enough money together for food or the occasional night at the inns on the route from Senaela. There was to be a spinning contest in Misthaven, hosted by the Queen and Prince Regent. The prize money would be everything to them - and Baelfire knew his Papa was the best spinner in all the realms.

But that didn’t mean Baelfire wasn’t tired of traveling.

Still, he pushed on. For his Papa. For a better life.

Despite the burning in his lungs and his legs, he pushed on, the cart moving slowly through the forest.

They stumbled upon a small village, and were settling down to eat the rations they’d found when the sound of horses cut through the serenity.

The lead horse had a banner with a crest of the royal family on it, and Baelfire sighed in relief. It wasn’t their Duke’s men who came to take him away to fight against the ogres. They had escaped. They were safe.

“Clear the area! Make way for Princess Emma and Prince Neal!” the man on the lead horse called.

The residents buzzed with excitement as they cleared the main street of the town, gathered on either side. Children stood on tiptoes, peeking out from behind their mother’s skirts or seated upon their father’s shoulders.

Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin stood off to the side in surprise.

“Princess Emma and Prince Neal seem quite popular…” he said softly.

“Oh, they are!” the woman standing next to him remarked. “The whole royal family is, actually. They say the prince was a poor farm boy before Queen Snow married him. They always hear out the woes of the farmers that live on the edge of the kingdom.”

More horses galloped through, carrying banners of the royal family.

“Emma and Neal seem to be following in Queen Snow and Prince David’s footsteps too. They’re always out talking to the people. It really makes me feel like I’m being heard, y’know? My mother used to tell me we’d be lucky to see King Leopold once a year.”

“We don’t even know what our king looks like,” Papa said. “Only the duke of our area.”

The woman smiled kindly. “Have you considered staying here after the tournament?”

“Well… the people here have been quite friendly,” Papa hummed in consideration.

They couldn’t very well return to their village they’d come from, given they had managed to escape from the Duke and his awful reign of terror. The truth was, Baelfire wasn’t sure if Papa had thought it all the way through after their escape.

Finally, three horses arrived. One white, carrying a girl with blonde hair, one chestnut brown, carrying a younger boy, and the third was a majestic black stallion, carrying a woman with dark hair and sharp features.

The horses came to a halt, and the riders dismounted, leading their horses to the troughs of water available.

Baelfire felt his heart stop as the girl met his gaze, fingers moving of their own accord in a shy wave.

“Princess Emma!” the woman next to them called. “It’s so lovely to see you and Neal out and about.”

Emma laughed a little, hopping over a small mud puddle to meet them. “It’s nice to see you too, Miss Diana. Neal and I figured we’d get a bit of freedom before the contest starts and Mama and Daddy have us stuck being stuffy royals all day.” Her face, which had screwed up into a scowl, softened as she looked at Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin. “I don’t think I’ve seen the two of you before.”

Papa bowed immediately, holding on to his walking stick carefully. “No - no your highness. We’re new here… we’ve come from Senaela for the contest, you see.”

“It’s okay - you don’t have to bow. I’m surprised that news of the contest reached there after mother and father had a falling out with King Thomas and Princess Ella…” Emma trailed off, then shrugged. “Welcome to Misthaven regardless. It’s nice to see some new faces here.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“Emma,” she said. “I’m Emma.”

Baelfire still felt awestruck, reaching to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Baelfire. This is my Papa, Rumplestiltskin.”

Emma curtseyed just a little. “It’s so nice to meet you both. What’s - ”

“Emma! We need to get back to the palace!” the older woman called.

A scowl appeared on Emma’s face as she turned away from them briefly. “Coming, Regina!” She turned back, smiling at Diana. “You’ll help them get to the palace grounds tomorrow, won’t you, Diana?”

“Of course, Princess Emma.”

Emma gave them a small wave before retreating back to her horse, and within moments, the royal caravan had gone, and Baelfire’s heart was still stuttering.

The next morning, Baelfire was in awe as he took in the castle grounds. It looked more like a festival than a normal contest. Tents of food and other vendors lined the edges of the main path, and games were scattered along the immaculate lawn.

Papa was up on the stage, spinning up a storm with the other contestants, but he could see the piles of wool next to Papa growing larger than the others.

Baelfire sat on an empty patch of grass, listening to a small group of musicians playing. This place was a dream. No evil duke, no ogres… were they finally safe here?

“Hello Baelfire.”

He jumped to his feet and twisted around, bowing. “Hello Princess Emma.”

“How are you enjoying the festivities?”

Baelfire smiled. “It’s very fun. Why did you guys throw a festival like this? I thought it was just a contest for spinners.”

An early spring breeze brushed against them, and Emma pulled her cape tighter around her. “It’s a spring celebration. We’ll hand out the yarn to those that need it, so people can make blankets and warm clothing for next winter,” she explained.

“Wow… that’s so kind. I didn’t think royalty could be like that.”

Emma giggled, holding out her arm to guide him through the festivities. “Well, Daddy knows how hard it is to survive winters. He didn’t want to see the people suffer when he married mother.”

Baelfire smiled. He couldn’t imagine being worthy of living in a place like this. But then, anything would be better than the village they’d come from, with the ogres and the dukes drunk on power.

“What are you and your Papa going to do after the contest is over? Will you return home?”

Baelfire bit his lip. “We don’t really have a home anymore. We fled from the Ogre Wars. The duke wanted to take me away to be a soldier on the front lines.”

“You can’t be much older than I.”

“Fifteen.”

“We’re the same age, then. And they expect you to fight in a war?”

“It used to be thirteen.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible! I mean, Mama taught me how to fight, but she would never tell people our age to go fight in a war! You must stay in Misthaven. You’ll be safe here.”

“Thank you, Princess Emma.”

“Emma! There you are!” an older woman called.

Baelfire glanced over his shoulder, then stiffened when he realized the queen and prince regent were coming toward them. His manners kicked in when he saw the sword on the prince’s hip, dropping into a low bow.

“Mama, Daddy, I was just showing Baelfire around,” Emma explained. “His Papa’s in the contest today. Rumplestiltskin.”

“Ah, the favorite to win,” David said. “Your father is quite the talent.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” he managed to squeak out. “We’re very honored to be here.”

Snow glanced up at the sky, gauging the direction of the sun. “We should be announcing the winner in about an hour, if you would like to wait with your father, Baelfire.”

He nodded slowly as Snow and David walked off. He and Emma wandered around the square for a bit longer before he stood on the stage alongside his father, who was a bundle of nervous energy, his good leg bouncing.

“And the winner of this year’s contest is… Rumplestiltskin!” Queen Snow announced.

Despite the thunderous applause and cheers from the people fathered, all Baelfire could focus on was the wide smile on Emma’s face, and the light dusting of pink in her cheeks.

Perhaps they would stay in Misthaven after all.

[equalseleventhirds]

i am thinking about, right, like a fairy tale land, where things operate on fairy tale rules. you know the ones. everyone in this fairy tale land knows them too, and Expects Things.

and there’s a young man--youngest of seven brothers, actually, who were themselves the offspring of a seventh son. we all know what that means. he knows what that means. his parents, when a seventh son was born in their humble farmhouse, sure did know what that meant (and perhaps, shortly after he was born, neighbors and townsfolk and gentry and wizards and perhaps-royalty-in-disguise visited, and gave them gifts, until their farmhouse was not so humble, because it’s always good to get on the good side of someone you know is going far).

so the boy was special, and everyone knew he was special. and his brothers were not wicked, of course, but they knew he was different, knew he would be great. knew what that meant for them.

the oldest knew that the prosperity of their farm was because of his youngest brother, and he was grateful, but, well, just a bit resentful. his youngest brother would be great, would be the greatest among them, but what did that leave for the oldest? waiting until his brother completed whatever task he had, then living on his good will? no, that would not do, for he was independent and proud--he had been, until quite recently, an Oldest Brother. when there were only three our four or five or six brothers, that meant quite a bit, responsibility and experience and so on. he was not yet ready to let that go.

so! he decided, the youngest would be greatest, but that did not mean the oldest could not still be great! and off he went, seeking his fortune, knowing he could not aim too high or he would fail, but perhaps something smaller. perhaps just, apprenticing at a well-to-do smithy in town, and learning a new trade, and learning it well, and eventually marrying his teacher’s daughter, who was just as able a smith as he, and partnering with her, and taking over the smithy, and expanding the business.

the oldest brother was not too ambitious, and so, as fairy tales allow, he was successful enough.

well! the second oldest, of course, could not simply stay at home after that. there are rules to these things, after all--the seventh will be greatest, but the oldest cannot be the next greatest. there is a pattern to be kept. so although the second oldest son rather enjoyed the work on their no-longer-quite-so-humble farm--although he enjoyed rising at dawn each day to milk the cows, although he enjoyed working the fields in the sunshine--he knew he had to go and be just a little greater than his older brother. if not, things might just come around and ruin someone’s life, and he didn’t want it to be him, and he didn’t want it to be his older brother.

so! he decided, if he loved the farm so much, perhaps he could be a great farmer? so he went around to other farms, signing on as a farmhand for a while, making contacts, learning other methods besides what his family had always used. and one day he went to a very large farm, owned by a wealthy landowner, who owned several such farms. and he met the landowner’s son, who was impressed by his knowledge and his skill and his strong, sturdy arms, and soon enough they were wed as well, and the second son found his place of small greatness.

the second son was not ambitious at all, but carefully curated his aspirations to be just slightly more than his brother’s, and so, as fairy tales allow, he was successful as well.

and so it continued--the third son found his place as a scholar and taught at university with his spouse; the fourth son joined a trade caravan and soon enough wed the caravan leader; the fifth son became a mayor with his wise wife beside him; the sixth son found himself surprisingly adept at magic, and wed a noble sorcerer, advisor to a king. each was just a bit greater than the last, but careful never to try to be too great, of course.

at last the seventh son was the only one who had not yet found his fortune, and, being now an adult, set out to seek it.

‘oh, my son,’ said his mother, preparing him for his journey, ‘all six of your brothers have been so successful, each one more than the last. surely you, seventh son of a seventh son, will achieve the greatest destiny of all of them. why, i would not be terribly surprised if you were to save a princess, or a prince, and gain their hand in marriage and half a kingdom.’ (these things are, as we know, quite standard destinies for the seventh son of a seventh son.)

‘yes, mother’, said the young man, who was not in fact entirely certain he wanted to save and marry any sort of royalty. not that he would leave a prince or princess in distress to their terrible fate, of course, for he was a kind-hearted young man, but he was not sure about this ‘marrying someone because you saved them’ business. and ruling over half a kingdom sounded like an awful lot of responsibility; he couldn’t even tell their hen what to do when she was in a cross mood, which was often.

still, he knew the rules of the world just as well as any. if his brothers had all done so well in their lives, he would find even more success, whether he wanted to or not.

so! he packed his bags, and kissed his mother on the cheek, and went, uncertain, to seek his fortune.

he had not been traveling for very long (although, of course, long enough to meet several creatures in need, who he helped and who promised to help him in his time of need, as is the way of these things) when he found a palace, where weeping and wailing filled the air.

he made his way to the palace courtyard, where a crowd of nobles and royalty stood, crying and commiserating. upon asking a servant (for even a seventh son of a seventh son, unproved as he was, could not directly ask the king and queen), he was told that the princess of the land had been stolen away by bandits, and none of the knights or lords or heroes sent after her had been able to save her, but had returned in disgrace, too ashamed to even tell of their attempts. the king and queen had even offered half their kingdom and the princess’ hand in marriage to anyone who would bring her safely home, but none had succeeded.

well! the young man knew destiny when it shook his hand, even if he rather wished he’d had more time to explore the world before meeting Expectations. still, he was not about to leave a princess and her kingdom suffering. so he politely asked where the bandits might be found and, shouldering his pack, set off once more to meet his destiny.

the bandit camp was outside the city, past the forest, in the hills on the edge of a desert. the young man met several obstacles on his way, but with his own wit, and kindness, and strength, and the help of some of the creatures he had saved, he made it there safely. right outside the cave the bandits camped in, a young woman with flame-red hair sat in a rickety chair, sharpening a wicked-looking sword.

‘who are you?’ she called out sharply.

‘i’m here to rescue the princess,’ he told her, polite as ever. ‘it would be best for you to surrender her, for i am the seventh son of a seventh son, and you know how these things always go. people like me are quite good at saving princesses, i’m afraid.’

the young woman scoffed and tossed her head, her hair shining in the setting sun. ‘i rather think not! for you would not be rescuing a princess, but kidnapping her, and removing her to a cruel and unjust fate. i am that princess; i ran away to join these bandits, for i can better serve my people here than in that palace of wealth, glutted on the work of the poor.’

the young man thought about this, and remembered the hollow faces and hungry stares of the peasants he had passed in this kingdom, so different from the people near his own no-longer-humble farm at home. still, he was clever, and thought it best to check. ‘and how do i know you are the princess, as you say?’

‘simple! my face is upon half the coins you see in this land--coins i have here, which we recently stole from a wicked, wealthy nobleman.’

and indeed, after some examination, and a few more questions, the young man conceded she was indeed the princess, and here by her own choice, in fact, he was quite relieved at this, and said so.

‘i am quite relieved,’ he told her earnestly, ‘since this means you do not need rescuing, and so i will not have to marry you. no offense meant to you, but we have only just met.’

at this, the bandit princess laughed, loud and sudden. ‘none taken! and i will not beat you as i did the last few heroes to come here.’

‘and i’m very grateful for it!’

‘but it’s getting very late,’ she continued, ‘and as you are peaceful towards us, i suppose you might stay the night. it is nearly supper time.’

now, the young man knew how these things tend to work, and knew there was a chance of the princess falling in love with him now. but he was also very tired, and very hungry, and knew better than to turn down a kindness, and so he accepted.

luckily, it quickly became clear that the bandit princess was much more concerned with her second-in-command--a peasant woman turned bandit, with lovely dark eyes that followed her princess’s every move in turn--than with the seventh son. reassured, he went to help the bandits’ cook, as he had been a help in the kitchen at home when he was young.

the cook was round and strong and amiable, and soon enough the young man had shared the story of his journey, and all the interesting things that had happened so far: the people he’d met, the sights he’d seen, the mysterious creatures he had helped and been helped by in return.

‘and then i heard about the princess, and i came here,’ he concluded, ‘using up several of my favors on the way. i will have to collect more, i suppose, to be used when i find a royal heir who does need rescuing, although i hope that is a long way off.’

‘why do you hope that?’ the cook asked, handing him a basket of flat bread. ‘do you not enjoy helping people?’

‘oh i do!’ the young man said. ‘i truly do! and these adventures are so interesting, too! which is why i hope i don’t rescue any princes or princesses for a while, for then my journey will have to end, as i will have a royal spouse to wed and half a kingdom to rule.’

‘can’t you just save them and leave without marrying them?’

‘oh, no! i have to marry them and rule half the kingdom. that is my glorious destiny, as the seventh son of a seventh son.’

‘for someone with such a glorious destiny, you don’t seem too excited by it.’

the young man sighed, despondent. ‘no, i suppose not. but what can i do? each of my six brothers has had such great success, and married such a wonderful spouse, that surely my destiny must be even greater success, and a great spouse, whatever else i may want. that is the way the world works, you know.’

the cook turned sharp, clever eyes on him, lifting a spoonful of stew for him to taste. ‘is it? how interesting. and the world has always worked this way?’

‘oh yes! i’m afraid so.’

‘and no one has been great enough to change it?’

‘oh no, i’m afraid not.’

‘well! then it rather sounds like the world has been rather trapped in this way for too long. i wonder if someone with a glorious destiny might rescue it, and change things a bit.’

[sapphic-dragon-fox]

Rules: Answer 20 questions + tag 20 blogs you’d love to get to know better

Tagged by the lovely @peace-and-plants

Name: Molly

Pronouns: She/They

Zodiac: Virgo ♍

Height: 5'9 ish 😂

Time: 10:54pm

Birthday: 😅 oh boy.... Sept 11th....

Nationality: 🇺🇲🔥 / 🇵🇷🤘❤️ / 🇮🇪💚

Favorite band/group: all time probably Fleetwood Mac, Journey and Hootie & the Blowfish - Current MUNA, PVRIS, Caravan Palace, Oh Wonder

Favorite solo artist: Clairo, girl in red, Camilla Cabello, Mo, Dodie

When you created your blog: about a year or more ago

Last thing you googled: driving schools 😂

Other blog: a nsfw one 😅

Why I chose my url: I'm gay, I like poetry and history and I like dragons and foxies 🦊

How many people you're following: 261

How many followers you have: 101 dalmatians 🐾

Average hours of sleep: 🤣🤣🤣

Instruments: (snorting laugh and sex joke) unfortunately I don't 🤷‍♀️

Lucky number: Not sure, I see alot of 0s, 11s or 1s and 7s specifically 47 🙃 heck if I know if any of them are lucky

Currently wearing: black chucks, red shorts, and a sleeveless flannel hoodie

Dream trip: A trip all around the world, being able to stop everywhere and see everything. Probably start in Puerto Rico

Favorite food: Steak or like probably rice 🤷‍♀️

Favorite song: Let her cry by Hootie & the Blowfish and we fell in love in october by girl in red

Top three fictional universes to live in: Legend of Zelda hands down, just a beautiful world like 80% of the time, still hella beautiful the other 20% as long as you ignore the moon 🌚

Something action like, mass effect probably, cool world, robot bits, future magic, aliens but like after all the war so it's all cool 🤘

Sonic the hedgehog 🤣 let's not dive into that one atm

Tagging (no pressure) @decaffeinatedgirlswim @sarancholy @loveaffxir @kissmeharder99 @ronaxenamu @shegaybruh @yeapdangerouspizzatimetraveler @bi-goodvibe-girl @lionfloss

[whirlybirdwhat]

in the kingdom of desert flowers

a birthday fic for @onepiecehcs based off of their nami/vivi knight au!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! <33333!

Read On Ao3 For better formatting!

Nami meets her queen on a hot summer day in a kingdom not her own. The queen is in disguise of course, and Nami is dressed not as the knight she is but a commoner, but she still thinks Vivi is the most beautiful woman she’s ever met.

Because, who else could this woman be but Nefertari Vivi, Queen of the flowered desert of Alabasta?

Vivi smiles at her, hidden under a brown cloak that just barely shades her hair into something black instead of blue, and thanks her for paying for her drink. Nami smiles, says it’s no trouble at all even as her fellow knights in disguise gape at her (for she’s spending extra money) and introduces herself.

Nami, she says, truthful.

Wednesday, Vivi says, untruthful, but it’s fine.

Nami thinks she’s in love with the way she tilts her head anyway.

-

A conversation at the bar and Vivi is traveling with them. She’s Wednesday to them, Miss Wednesday to Sanji, and a love held deep in the heart for Nami. Vivi is still hiding, of course, and doesn’t tell them why she’s traveling with them beyond to get to the next town safely, but Nami knows the truth.

(There’s sand in her bag, spilling out and gleaming gold – living sand, sand from the Crocodile Man.)

She’s on the run, but not away from something – towards something, some chance at hope. Vivi loves her kingdom, or so Nami’s heard from the rumor mill spilling from Alabasta’s borders, so Nami knows she’s looking for something – some chance at victory.

Nami wants to be that chance – that guarantee. She wants her family, her little of band of knights to be it – to save a kingdom again, but not just any kingdom this time.

Vivi’s kingdom.

Selfishly, she admits, she really just wants to see Vivi smile so gracefully at her again.

(She’s not a pirate in this life, selfishness isn’t a code she gleefully lives by any more. But her King, Luffy, Emperor of the Rising Sun, has always had a thing about freedom, so Nami’s free to love as fully and as little as she wants.

And oh, does she love Vivi fully.)

-

There is a bounty hunter, three towns over, one that gets past Zoro’s swords and Usopp’s eyes and Franky’s shiny battle hull. He attacks Vivi with something explosive and Luffy’s knocked out to the left and Nami’s too late to lunge forward but—

But.

Vivi’s cowl whips off her head, showing a gleaming blue to the world, as she dashes forward underneath the hunter’s arm, her arm lashing out with precision. From her fingers peacock wings stretch out in deadly blades, cutting around the man’s stomach.

He’s down by the time Vivi spins him around, uncurling her whip from his waist.

Oh, Nami thinks.

The Queen of Alabasta has never surrendered, or so the rumors say.

Vivi smiles at her, and places a hand on the circlet over her head, a remnant of a rule she supposedly doesn’t have. “Oops.”

The squares empty, cleared out when the first bomb flung forward, so no one’s here to see Vivi in all her glory, save for the Straw Hat band of wandering knights (and one King.)

She’s beautiful like this, bold and brave and daring, so Nami just laughs so happily at her sudden bashfulness.

“That’s okay, my Queen,” She says, tempted to wink but it’s too soon. “We all knew anyway.”

The smile Vivi gives her back, trusting and bright, is more than Nami will ever need to be happy.

-

Vivi, identity out in the open, smiles more freely now, more happily. She laughs at the antics of Nami’s crewmates, and leans into Nami’s armored shoulder in the night. Vivi’s dressed in the drabbest clothing she can find, save for the circlet around her head, but she wears everything like it’s the finest silk.

She’s beautiful, when she’s free and not worried about her sand-swallowed country when she’s dancing around a campfire.

Nami wishes it could be like this forever.

But the Straw Hats do not hesitate or falter in their steps. They agreed to save Alabasta, and so to Alabasta they travel.

They have been to the West before. Nami hopes they like it.

-

She explains to Vivi who the Straw Hats are, past rumors and legends of tyrant defeating myths. She explains how Luffy is the King of the Kingdom of the East Sea, how he’s going to be the King of the Entire Sea (The Pirate King) one day, simply so he can travel anywhere he wants, so he can be free in the freest sense. She explains how she and the others are his loyal knights, his advisors, his treasure, and how she would give her life to him if he asked it.

(She does not mention how Vivi has that same power over her.)

She tells Vivi of how they found the stairway to the sky, how they have friends in the Darkest Depths of the ocean; how Nami knows three other princesses but none as beautiful as Vivi and how their home when they are not on the road, on an adventure, is a floating palace of the sea.

(The Thousand Sunny, home to souls as bright as the sun, the zenith of the East Sea.)

Vivi laughs when tells her how they convinced Franky to don his shining metal armor, how Zoro, the first knight of Luffy’s kingdom, is lost anywhere, how they once met a man who could make centaurs out of ordinary folk.  Vivi opens her mouth in awe when Nami tells her how they took Robin back from the very kingdom they are seeking to take, declared war with only a crew of six; how they have taken back kingdoms and defeated warlords and tyrants and emperors, all for a friend.

Vivi cries when Nami tells her they will do the same for her.

(She cries when Nami tells her they will take her with them if she wants.)

(Vivi’s selfless but Nami’s selfish, and maybe that’s why she doesn’t beg her to stay anyway.)

-

A week before Alabasta, Nami takes Vivi to the secret cove where she has been once before. It’s a five-minute walk from where their party rests on the beach, but enough to give them some semblance of privacy.

Nami kisses her, there, head tilted gently to the side. It is not chaste but nor it is desperate – if Nami was the romantic sort (which she is, despite her protests) she would called it devoted.

Funny, how much she loves this girl.

Her eyes are closed when they kiss but when she opens them, Vivi is looking at her with love.

They kiss again and Nami doesn’t tell her how much she loves her, but she thinks Vivi knows it anyway.

(They hold hands on the way back to the group in the morning, and Nami thinks by the smile on her crew’s faces they know it too.)

-

The edge of Alabasta is sparse desert mixed with small plants. An hour in, it will be desert entirely, so they stop for the day, to start traveling at night, when it is a cool paradise amidst the desert heat. Vivi knows the land like she knows her people, and will guide them through safely.

They send letters out at the outpost, to Luffy’s brother who is running the kingdom in his absence and to the other which they may meet in Alabasta. They send letters to Cocoyashi, with pictures of a beautiful blue haired princess, and to the traveling places of the Baratie and Water 7.

The Straw Hats travel without thought of the past but they are figureheads of the kingdom. They do not forget those left behind.

(Nami shows Vivi the letters she writes Nojiko, hoping she’ll know that the letters she will send her love will be twice as long.)

-

Alabasta is hot and beautiful and dangerous all at once. The Kingdom of the Desert Flowers, Kingdom of the Swallowing Dunes, Kingdom of Blooming Sands – no epithet could describe Alabasta in its entirety, how one could take a step forward and be drowned in sand without ever knowing, or be bit by a red snake hiding in the desert blossoms.

The heat burns her armor during the day and the coolness sinks through it at night. They stop in a town and Vivi shows her the armors of her own country, light weight and breathable and not meant for avoiding sturdy attacks or blocking blades like Nami’s armor is.

She likes it, likes the blue clothes that come with it, and vows to become faster, faster than she has ever been before, to use this armor to its fullest so she won’t drown in desert heat. For now, she and her crew dress in Alabastian fabrics, and hope it will be enough. Their armor is attached to the caravan they bring along, ready to face battle once they reach the palace.

Vivi laughs as Nami twirls in the silks and offers her hand in dance.  She sings along to market songs, Vivi stumbling in her words after her, but it doesn’t matter. Its happy, this desert song, more so when Nami overhears that this particular dance is for newlyweds.

They travel onward, keeping to Alabasta’s sole river, and celebrate in the night.

-

In the middle of the desert is a city which rain has not blessed for three years.  In that city lies a warlord, a man made of drifting sand, who has stolen the life from Alabasta, forcing its flowers to shrivel and die.  In the city are a thousand people and a bomb, a secret rune that no one else will ever see.

In this city is a war for the people, and now, its victors in gleaming familiar armor.

Aluburna is Vivi’s home and now, her battleground.

Nami does not see her king disappear to take down a man without solid form, or the rest of her crew disappearing to fight their own battles.

Her eyes are on Vivi and the way she screams for her people to stop, for just one moment, for forever, and Nami’s heart hurts.

It is then, dressed in fabric and gleaming gold, that Nami thunders.

She has torn down gods and tyrants before. She will harness that power and burn the universe for this woman.

Nami wields lightning and devotion like a sword and cuts the spirit of war in half.

The soldiers and rebels grow quiet, the leaders of the enemy forces gaping in awe at this tempest knight, and rain – glorious rain- falls down on desert flowers for the first time in years.

Vivi’s face as cool water splashes against it is beautiful. Nami can’t tell if its only rain, or tears as well, but Vivi is happy for the storm Nami wrought upon her kingdom, and –

Well.

Nami loves her.

(A kingdom is saved that day, and a tyrant bleeds into sand as the sun sinks below the horizon. There are sacrifices, losses, but Nami holds Vivi in her arms as they stare out over a sea of sand and kisses her so softly that only the song of victoryrings into the night.

Alabasta blooms once more.

And like Nami’s love, it’s as gorgeous as the sun.)

-

Vivi waves them off with an X carved into her wrist in black, a promise and a declaration that she is treasured by this King’s Crew, and they wave back, ink on their own wrists.

There are tears in everyone’s eyes, and Zoro suggests they kidnap Vivi.

Everybody wants to – they know Vivi wants to as well.

They all know why they can’t.

(Vivi’s heart belongs to three things, and three things alone. Her country, her family, and her love.

Nami knows Vivi will always be hers no matter where they are, but the desert of Alabasta and its people knows no such mercy.

Vivi must stay. But -)

“Hey Captain?” Nami asks, rubbing a hand on her wrist and her promise. “What do you say to a visit?”

By the answering grin on Luffy’s face, Nami knows she will hold her love again soon.

-

The Straw Hats sneak into the city at the dead of night, for no other reason than it is fun too, but Nami is the only one to reach the castle.

She’s silent in the night despite her armor. People do not call her Thief for no reason after all. And now she has a heart to steal.

Dressed in Alabastian armor again, she won’t fail.

She climbs the tower, creeping over vines and flowers that crawl up sandy walls. Alabasta is a miracle in earthen tones, and if Nami did not like the way the wind blew so much, she thinks she would stay.

Soon, she reaches the top, where Vivi lies.

Nami taps on the window.

(A surprise, she hopes.)

It only takes one tap before Vivi is looking at her, smiling, leaning out to place a kiss on her cheek.

She’s speechless as Vivi laughs so prettily.

“I saw you coming, love. I know your habits.”

And, well, who is Nami to argue that?

Vivi jumps out the window next to her, already clad in traveling clothes still fit for a princess, and laughs again at Nami’s face. Another kiss graces her, before Vivi begins to steal away from her own kingdom.

“Let’s go!”

And really – what can Nami do but agree with her?

-

They end up in a valley of flowers between desert cliffs, blooming in colors of red and orange and white, pink dotting the hillsides, as pretty as a sunset over the sea. They walk besides each other, Vivi on her horse, Carue, and Nami, armored, walking through delicate thorns.

Every step is a little more peaceful. Every step Nami reveres this queen. Ever step Vivi looks at this knight, her knight, and feels something warm and bright fill her heart.

Wednesday, Vivi had introduced herself to Nami, and Nami had fallen in love.

Vivi! Nami had cried as she brought the storm to Vivi’s desert, and Vivi had known, then more than ever, that she loved her.

There are stolen moments like this, when they walk amongst the flowers, and Nami is so very good at stealing things despite her title of honorable knight.

Nami steals this time with Vivi so often it feels like they never part.

(A permanent place on her wrist and in her heart, a love no god could ever break apart.)

The sunlight, warm and gentle, graces Vivi’s cheeks as Nami helps her from Carue, calloused hands fitting in place with calloused hands.

Flowers spread by Vivi’s feet, so beautiful, but there’s time to look at them later. For now, the freckles on Nami’s cheek brighten with her smile, the flow of her hair cascading down her back, and –

Vivi has seen portraits and queens and princesses across the world.

None compare to Nami’s glow.

A hand, ungloved and unarmored, caresses Vivi’s cheek then, as a pink, thornless rose is place behind her ear.

“I love you,” Nami says, and kisses her with her hands cupped around Vivi’s face.

I love you, says the feel of her lips, I love you, says the x on her rest, I love you, says the way Nami’s head rests on Vivi’s circlet when they pause for breath, I love you, Nami says with her entire being.

“I love you,” Vivi says back, not like a queen but like the woman Nami fell in love with, and hopes the burning passion in her heart gets across.

By the way they both fall into the flowers, petals exploding around them as Nami’s armor carefully avoids bruising her, Vivi thinks it does.

(I love you, a queen says to the knight of a foreign country, and it would be a tragedy if it was any one but them.)

[mynachopaper]

Heyo...I’d like you to answer all of the weird questions that say a lot please...😇🖤

That’s very naughty of you. I expect payment when I’m done...

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Wine glasses. I love their shape

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubble gum, I like the oral fixation

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Wierd, creepy, creative. “He needs to find an outlet or have a beating”- My arabic teacher

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Glass bottles

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Tomboy

7. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones

8. movies or tv shows?

Both

9. favorite smell in the summer?

river in the cedar forest

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Fencing

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Nothing (sometimes fruit if I need to)

12. name of your favorite playlist?

SHmood

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Turkish delights

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Simon versus the Homosapien agenda

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Legs to my chest on a chair

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My trainers

18. ideal weather?

Thunder and rain

19. sleeping position?

Curled up on my side

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Notebook but laptops are great for convenience

21. obsession from childhood?

Horror stories and or occult (Yes I cringe too)

22. role model?

Don’t have one

23. strange habits?

I like to practice voices and movements (mostly for DnD) anywhere. Shopping, cooking, with the cat. normally I’m on my own but I’ve been caught a few times.

24. favorite crystal?

Obsidian

25. first song you remember hearing?

Wide, wide as the ocean- My dad sang it to me as a kid

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Swimming

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Bonfire jumping (used to do it with the scout kids)

28. five songs to describe you?

Fall into me- Alev Lenz

Rush- I am waiting for you last summer

Smile- Nat King Cole

Limb to limb- Fatal

Kiss breakdown- Micheal Brook (Perks of being a wallflower soundtrack) 

29. best way to bond with you?

Discuss your passions and your fears. Other than that, play silly games with me.

30. places that you find sacred?

Anywhere that is deemed so. 

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

My pajamas (honestly no idea)

32. top five favorite vines?

Don’t have favourites.

33. most used phrase in your phone?

I love you to the moon and back.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

I have adblock so I don’t hear enough for them to get stuck. Maybe the old spice commercial.

35. average time you fall asleep?

12-1am

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

The orly owl

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Duffel bag

38. lemonade or tea?

lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon meringue pie (obviously)

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Nothing too weird. We did have a slew of dead birds that were killed and placed in weird positions. They were claimed to be omens.

The culprit was never caught. But I did have an old journal where I kept notes on them. I lost it in the move though..

41. last person you texted?

My online friend in the uk

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie, I need the soft

44. favorite scent for soap?

sandalwood

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy, DnD for life

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Shirt and underwear

47. favorite type of cheese?

Brie

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Orange

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

Already answered

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

When my friend and I got stuck in traffic so we listened to the John Mulaney story about the salt and pepper diner. Afterward we actually made the playlist and listened to it. We died, the song got to us and we lost our minds.

51. current stresses?

My Father being ok back home. Me not finishing uni. Breaking my promise to my friends back home of making something of myself.

52. favorite font?

Bree Serif

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Their ok, quite dexterous. My nails have grown out too

54. what did you learn from your first job?

People take production for granted. The public opinion of a show means little. The entertainment industry is weaker than everyone treats it.

55. favorite fairy tale?

The Bloody Chamber

Book by Angela Carter

56. favorite tradition?

Our family does breakfast in bed for the birthday person

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Self harm, the invasion of my country, getting out of my old life.

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I improvise well, I remain calm in an emergency, and am often the first to act. I have good emotional skills. I will always find a way, though it often comes at great cost.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

After someone tells me I can’t do something “HAVE YOU MET ME?!”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Probably Shonen. Love me some JoJoBA

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Yeah, I stayed. I stayed, because every time you threw a brick at my head, or said I smelled, it *hurt*; but it could never hurt more than every day of my life just being *me*! I *stayed* because I thought, if anyone can change me, can make me... *not* me, it was you! - Kung Fu Panda

62. seven characters you relate to?

Tarzan-Stich-Quisimodo-Ginger (From Chicken run)- Po (Kung fu Panda)- Mulan (Yes really)- Charlie (Perks of being a wallflower)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Shut up and dance with me- Walk the moon

Suzy- Caravan Palace

Rocket Fuel feat. De La Soul - DJ Shadow

Come with me now - KONGOS

Dance with me tonight - Olly Murs

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Miniclip

65. any permanent scars?

Some on my arms and a large one on my forearm 

66. favorite flower(s)?

I’m a cliche, I love roses

67. good luck charms?

My Celtic ring and my pride pin

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

It was chocolate shrimp in Sanfrancisco. Fad food with an abhorrent mixture.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Spiders don’t kill every prey that falls into their web. Sometimes they just wrap them up and let them squirm helpessly.

70. left or right handed?

Right, unless eating

71. least favorite pattern?

Uh... not sure

72. worst subject?

Maths

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Fries and Icecream

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

8

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I was 5

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Baked potatoes, especially with Sour cream and garlic 

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

A succulent?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Sushi from grocery

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

School Id (not by much though)

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies

82. pc or console?

PC

83. writing or drawing?

Writing, though I wish I could draw

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Neither

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies

87. your greatest fear?

That I had no impact on anything

88. your greatest wish?

To gain the power to change the world

89. who would you put before everyone else?

The one I love. A partner (If we had a child then it falls to them)

90. luckiest mistake?

When I had an accident at work over my selfharm wounds. Some metal staging scraped against my arm.

91. boxes or bags?

Bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Fairylights

93. nicknames?

Teddy, Monster, Quis

94. favorite season?

Winter

95. favorite app on your phone?

Reddit is fun

96. desktop background?

My current Pfp

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

2 My parents

98. favorite historical era?

Don’t really have a favourite

[trvelyans-archive]

distance

another commission for the lovely @scoundrel of her inquisitor herah and cole !!! thank you again for commissioning me, i love working with these two <3 i hope you enjoy !!!

-

The morning she’s set to depart from Skyhold, the Inquisitor can’t help but linger.

Though she’s not even the Inquisitor anymore, she reminds herself. With the Inquisition disbanded, the title has no meaning. Well, it has meaning – to her and everyone else to served under the Inquisition’s flag – but it serves no purpose. She isn’t a leader if she has nothing left to lead, especially when her base of operations is being abandoned.

It’s been difficult watching the soldiers tear down all traces of the Inquisition from the ancient fortress. The banners have been removed from the walls; the statues and torches and workbenches have been removed from the buildings and set out on the lawn to be moved into caravans and carted to… well, she doesn’t know, really. She heard rumors that some of it is going to be taken to the Royal Palace in Denerim and the Viscount’s Keep in Kirkwall while some of it’s being kept at Skyhold, but honestly, she hasn’t been keeping track of everything very well, though mostly at Josephine’s insistence.

While everything that happened at the Exalted Council left them all stumbling, Herah was most affected by it. She’s the one who lost her arm, after all, and she’s the one who had to make the decision to disband the Inquisition. Though their work is going to continue – they have Solas to deal with now, of course – they can’t risk their forces being infiltrated by his people. Disbanding the Inquisition was the best and safest option.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

The sky is clear and the air is crisp. The slight wind bites at her exposed skin, but thankfully she’s covered up for the most part. She’s dressed in a relatively plain outfit – a coat with a heavy fur lining and dark brown boots with thick stockings to match – but everyone still recognizes her as they pass by, most of them stopping to nod their head or bow respectively or shake her hand and give her a smile. Only their most valuable soldiers and scouts will continue to work with them, but Herah considers them all valuable in their own way.

The Valo-Kas caravans, parked near the front gates in preparation to leave at noon, are filled to the brim with bags and packs and a few pieces of furniture that Herah asked Josephine to let her keep, but she and Cole still have to pack their bags inside to take back to her hometown. It’ll be strange to return home after everything that’s happened since she’s left, and it’ll be especially strange to see her parents again, but she’s ready. Like Josephine said, she needs a break.

And a hug. And to catch up on a couple of months’ worth of sleep.

She’s trying to pack her bag inside the caravan when Cole appears beside her. She manages a small smile as he looks up at her, but she knows he can see right through it.

“I’m going to miss having a room all to ourselves,” she says, laughing nervously. “And such a big bed…”

Cole just smiles in response, and it does offer her some comfort.

“Home and heart are wherever you are,” he responds. “I’m happy with you.”

She tilts her head, eyes roaming over his face. “I’m happy with you, too,” she says. He looks tired – she only hopes they can rest for a little while after they leave Skyhold. Neither of them got very much sleep last night, as they were up until dawn walking through the hallways and touching every single stone one last time, but perhaps they’ll be able to let someone else take their horses and hitch a ride in the back of the caravans so they can sleep for a few hours.

Despite the bags under his eyes, Cole smiles wider, enough to light up his whole face. He has a small bag of his own belongings – not that she suspected anything large, all things considered – and she takes it from him with gentle hands.

“I’m going to miss Skyhold,” she says, looking around the courtyard after she finishes stowing it away with all the other packs. A few stray crows fly along the battlements as soldiers on break toss crumbs to them for them to catch. “It’s the first place I’ve put roots down since I left home. I didn’t think we would be leaving so soon…”

And then she clears her throat, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m trying not to overwhelm you with all of my feelings…”

“I don’t mind,” Cole tells her, placing his hand on her bicep and squeezing it gently. The best part about it is that she knows he really doesn’t – he’s promised to be nothing but honest with her.

“Thank you,” she replies. She flattens her hand on top of his and bends down to lean her forehead against him. “I’m never going to stop wondering what I did to deserve you.”

“You are you,” Cole says. “That’s all.”

Before Herah can say anything else, however, someone clears their throat behind them, and she springs apart from Cole only to find Shokrakar watching them with a small, focused frown on her face. “We should get going soon,” she tells Herah. “Are you… uh, you two ready to go?”

Herah’s definitely not ready to go – if she had her choice, she’d live in Skyhold forever, or at least keep it so that she knows she can always return there whenever she wants to – but there’s no turning back now, especially not since her parents are waiting for her back home and every moment they stay is another moment she’s away from them.

“Yes, we’re ready,” Herah answers. Shokrakar nods.

“Good,” she says. “I’ll go round up the others. Don’t go running off – we’re running late already.”

With that she leaves the two of them by themselves. Herah reaches down and adjusts the clasps of Cole’s cloak while he watches Shokrakar hurry after one of the other Valo-Kas.

“I’m excited,” he says, turning to Herah again and beaming. “To find more people who are hurting that I can help.”

“Well, there’s plenty of that where I come from,” she responds, smoothing her hands over his shoulders. “Are you sure you want to come back to the village?”

“Yes.” Cole reaches up and gently wraps his fingers around her wrists, holding her in place as he looks up at her once more. A wave of relief washes over her.  “Very sure.”

Herah smiles. “Then let’s go.”

-

Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. The journey home is long.

Too long. Enough that Herah wonders if this is the right choice, especially when Cole gets very seasick on the boat to Kirkwall and spends most of the trip hanging over the railing of the ship and occasionally retching into the ocean. Thankfully Varric offers them room and board for the night to recuperate before the next leg of their journey, and Cole is fine the next morning, but…

Well, it was certainly harrowing. She’s just glad they don’t have to cross the ocean again.

They travel day and night, on horseback or on foot and through rain or sun or wind. They stop in cities and towns and villages and most of the time are shooed away or shunned for being Qunari, but it doesn’t bother Herah very much. Well, it does, of course – she wouldn’t be herself if things like that didn’t bother her – but she doesn’t pay it too much attention after the fact. She’s too nervous and excited about returning home to think about anything else besides that and spending time with her friends, which is something she never thought she’d get to do again - something she will certainly never take for granted anymore, not after what happened through the Eluvians with Solas.

A month or so later, they’re nearing closer and closer to the village with every step they take, and the day they’re due to arrive, it takes all Herah’s focus not to burst with excitement. (And nervousness. And about a hundred other different emotions.)

She was so young when she left home. Well, perhaps not too young, but certainly younger than she is. She hasn’t been here in so long. The memories she has of her childhood have started fading over time, and by now – after everything with the Inquisition – she’s forgotten so many voices and faces and places that she used to know, but she’s excited to get to learn them all over again. She wonders what’s changed about the village, and if her old friends will still be around or if they left like she did, searching for their purpose or some semblance of meaning in a world that only grows in chaos with each passing day.

The village walls come into view as they crest over a hill. Under the sun and amidst the rolling fields of light green grass, it shines at the bottom of the valley. Herah bites the inside of her cheek so that her eyes don’t fill with tears.

Home. There were so many times she never thought she’d see it again, and yet, here she is.

“That it, Herah?” Shokrakar asks, pulling up her horse beside the carriage that Herah and Cole are riding in.

“Yes,” she answers, her smile so wide that she knows her cheeks will be sore in the morning. “That’s it.”

“Let’s ride, then.”

There’s a guard in a guard tower that Hera notices as they get closer, and she squints to see him. Though normally they wouldn’t be so open to outsiders – you never know who’s going to turn around you and stab you in the back – Herah was smart enough to send word to her parents a few nights ago that she and her friends were close and would be arriving soon, so the man waves down at her through the window and yells down at someone in the village to open the front gates.

As they swing open and the caravan rides through, Herah looks around in awe, absentmindedly raising her hand to where her other arm used to be. Cole places his hand over top of her’s and squeezes as the cart rolls to a stop in the middle of town.

The villagers have emerged from their houses, most of them dressed plainly and some of them carrying laundry or brooms but staring at the group with bright, curious eyes. Herah smiles at them as the Valo-Kas climb down from the horses and out of the caravans, and she keeps her eyes open for any sign of her parents as she takes Cole’s hand and helps him out of the ground.

The second they’re on the ground, however, the villagers swarm her.

They’re cheering, for the most part, or shouting questions out to her or welcoming her back home – though she’s forgotten some of the people that greet her, they don’t seem to have forgotten her, if their smiles are any indication. Though they descend on the group with excitement and approval, the Valo-Kas guard Herah and Cole anyway, even when Herah insists that they don’t need it; that the villagers would never hurt her. Despite that, though, Shokrakar still asks that a few of them step back to give the group some breathing room, and once they do, everyone calms down – after checking in with Herah, Shokrakar instructs the Valo-Kas to head for the carts and unload, and the Tal Vashoth, with a little more order, come close once more to greet the Inquisitor.

(Though she’s not Inquisitor anymore, she tells them.)

After shaking about two dozen hands and dodging half a dozen questions about her arm, the crowd finally disperses with a few fond backwards glances, save for a crowd of very small children with very short horns who watch the powerful mercenaries with admiration as they empty supplies on to the ground. Shokrakar moves between the caravans giving orders, occasionally getting into an argument with another member of the group, but Herah and Cole don’t help – instead, they sit down on a barrel and wait for Herah’s parents. (Some of the buildings have been rebuilt since she was last here, and she doesn’t want to go knocking on a stranger’s door.)

“I’m nervous,” she confesses to Cole, turning to face him as she fiddles with her fingers.

“Don’t be,” he says. His voice is quiet, and she knows that means he’s probably overwhelmed. Though she expected – or perhaps just hoped – for a warm welcome, she didn’t know it would be this hectic. Still, he offers her a reassuring smile, a sight she has practically memorized by now but fills her with new confidence every time she sees it again. “There is nothing to be nervous about.”

“Herah?” calls a woman’s voice from somewhere in the village.

“Mother?” Herah calls back, standing up and nearly falling over because of the shakiness of her legs, glancing around as the voice comes closer.

“Herah!” A familiar face comes into view – the face of her mother, Ata’Thlok, who is rushing towards Herah with open arms and Herah’s father, Baqoun, at her heels.

Though they’re a little older than they used to be, they look the same as they do in her memories – the memories she’s managed to hold onto, anyway. Seeing them fills her with a surge of emotions, and for the first time, she realizes that she’s really home.

And she’s couldn’t be happier to be here.

As Herah’s mother gets closer, her eyes fall on Herah’s arm. “Herah,” she says, gasping as she comes closer and cups her daughter’s arm in her hand. “My love… what happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Herah replies, her eyes flickering back and forth between her mother’s face and her father’s face. “But… I’m just so happy to see you.”

Ata’Thlok gathers Herah up in her arms as she begins sobbing. She hasn’t sobbed like this in a long time.

“We’re happy to see you too,” she whispers.

It’s a long, long while before Herah pulls away. The stress of the last few years of her life finally catch up to her, and she presses herself as close to her mother as she can, savoring the feeling as well as the knowledge that she is secure and safe in Ata’Thlok’s arms, where nothing from the outside world – not Solas, not the Inquisition, none of the Venatori and none of the Red Templars – can touch her. When she finally parts herself from her mother, with much reluctance on her behalf, Herah sniffles as her mother brushes her thumbs over her cheeks and, after a long pause, glances at Cole over Herah’s shoulder. He’s been standing wordlessly behind them for their reunion, and now steps closer.

He opens his mouth to say something, but not before the crowd of villagers that had dispersed previously gathers around them again.

The commotion must have drawn them back to the middle of the town, and Herah moves protectively in front of Cole. Her mother is still staring past her at the spirit, however, her eyes narrowing, and Herah’s father stands back, his hand on the dagger sheathed at his waist.

“Herah,” she says, all of her gentleness replaced with a hardened edge that Herah has only seen a few times before. “Who is this?”

“Scared, scarred,” Cole whispers behind Herah, who turns to him with wide eyes. “You are not a saarebas anymore, but I am still a spirit. I’m still from the Fade.”

She turns back to her Mother, trying to head her off before she has a chance to respond. “He won’t hurt you, Mother,” Herah promises.

“He’s a spirit,” Ata’Thlok says. “He just said so himself. Do you know how easily corrupted he can be? How easily a demon could destroy the town? How –“

“Mother!” Herah responds. She knows her mother is going to listen to reason, but it may take some pushing, first – she’s always been like that, something that is coming back to Herah very quickly. Especially considering her past as a saarebas in the Qunari, she understandably has fears about magic, but Herah doesn’t want that to get between her relationship with Cole when all she wants is for her mother to accept them. “Don’t do this, Mother, okay? I trust him, and…”

She grabs Cole’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “And there’s no me without him,” she finishes, feeling less confident about it than she’d like.

The crowd starts to respond, but Ata’Thlok raises up a hand to cut them off. “Fine,” she says, and her voice is softening once more as she meets Herah’s eyes. “Fine, fine.” She turns to the villagers. “This can wait until the festivities.”

“Festivities?” Herah asks, watching as her mother waves at the crowd to get them to scatter once more. “What festivities?”

Though her mother looks at Cole with a wary eye, she still beckons for him and Herah to follow her and Herah’s father through the buildings. “Herah, my darling,” she says with a low chuckle as they walk, “do you think we wouldn’t celebrate all through the night when my child finally returned to her home?”

-

While the Valo-Kas hand out the supplies they brought to the townspeople – an agreement Herah made happily with her mother when she asked to come home all those months ago – she and her parents tuck in for lunch in her childhood home. (Cole disappears, but no one complains about it particularly. Herah’s disappointed, of course, but certainly not surprised.)

She passes a small piece of bread back and forth in her hands while her mother and father discuss what she’s told them about what happened with the Inquisition. It’s a story she’s used to telling by now – she’s practically has it memorized simply because she’s had to recount it so many times to so many different people – and it still leaves her feeling as scared and as guilty as it always does, because every time she thinks about what happened she worries about what she could’ve done differently.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have the chance to dwell on it too long.

“This Solas person sounds dangerous,” Ata’Thlok says to Baqoun, then turns to Herah. “But I’m just as concerned about the Qunari preparing another invasion. We handled it well the last time they attacked the village, but…” She runs the pads of her fingers over the scars around her mouth in worried contemplation. “I don’t know if we can do that again.”

“We’ll be fine,” Baqoun says, placing a hand on his wife’s arm. “The young ones are doing well in their training – I’ve made sure of that.”

“And I have resources,” Herah cuts in, albeit somewhat self-consciously. “I can… I can help, as well.”

Her parents glance over at her, and Ata’Thlok gives her a sad smile, leaning forward to grab her hand. “I am so proud of you, Herah,” she says. “I am so proud of the woman that you’ve become.”

“We both are,” her father agrees.

Her mother nods. “And…” She clears her throat. “I am sorry, too,” she says.

“What for?” Herah asks.

Ata’Thlok doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to, though.

Cole appears on the staircase, sitting with his knees against his chest and his arm wrapped around them. A defensive position, to be sure, which makes Herah’s heart hurt. The windows of the hut have been closed and the only thing that lights the room are lanterns, and the glow barely reaches Cole’s face, shrouding him in shadow.

“The guilt is growing, gnawing,” he says, frowning, his eyebrows gathering together. “Needing to be told.”

“What?” Herah asks.

“They feel guilty,” Cole repeats. “For letting you leave. For letting you go off on your own. You were so young.”

“And you’re my daughter,” Ata’Thlok says. Despite the whispered confession, she levels an unsettled stare in Cole’s direction, perturbed by his interruption of their private discussion. “And now…”

She gestures towards Herah’s arm, and she covers the end of her amputation with her hand. “I’m happy,” Herah responds. Her parents lean across the table towards her in surprise. “I mean… Yes, I-I’ve seen some terrible things. I won’t deny that. But I’ve seen so many beautiful places, too, and I’ve met so many wonderful people and made so many wonderful friends.” She reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever pain I’ve been through… it’s been worth it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Ata’Thlok pushes her chair back and stands. Her movements are graceful, measured, and she’s clearly moved past their previous conversation to something new as she approaches Herah and holds out her own hand. “I have something to show you,” she says as Herah slips her fingers into her mother’s palm, letting her pull her up. “Something you can use.”

“Use?” Herah repeats.

Her mother leads her to an empty part of the room and stands Herah in front of her. “Your arm,” she says. “Whatever pain you feel there, whatever energy, lean into it.”

Herah stares at her mother in disbelief. She doesn’t like to think about her arm very often, let alone dwell on it – some days it aches enough that she needs to lie down. “What do you mean?”

Ata’Thlok wraps her fingers around the end of Herah’s arm. “Lean into it,” she says. “The pain. The aching. Focus your magic there.”

Though she’s still confused, Herah listens – she closes her eyes and presses her lips together. Dorian said that she would feel the phantom pain of her arm for a long time, long after it had been amputated at the Winter Palace, and that certainly holds true. She suspects it’ll feel like this forever. With a sigh, she focuses all her energy in the direction of her arm and listens as the floorboards creak as her father presumably moves closer.

Suddenly, a bright light seeps through her eyelids, one that’s near blinding. She opens them to find her arm by her side once more, only translucent and giving off light.

“There,” her mother says.

It’s similar to the swords that Knight-Enchanters conjure – she’s seen Vivienne in battle enough to know that. Herah blinks, glancing up at her mother.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she says, excitement filling her chest to bursting.

Unfortunately, the second she stops focusing on it, her arm disappears, but she’s only a little disappointed. She’s never done anything like that before – she didn’t think she had the power. “That’s a good start,” her mother says. “With more training, we can make it stronger.”

“Training?” Herah asks. “Are you okay with training me?”

“I would do anything for you,” Ata’Thlok says. “That includes accepting this spirit.” She nods across the room towards Cole. “He’s had plenty of opportunity to harm us if we wanted,” she continues. “And he hasn’t. I don’t like it, but I trust him.”

“Mother…”

Herah pushes herself up on her tip-toes and throws her arms around her mother in relief, pulling her close. “Thank you,” she says. When she draws away, she smiles. “And you’ll get use to him, I promise. I know he can be a little…”

“Strange?” her father offers, joining Herah and her mother and wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “That’s not as much of a surprise as you think it is, love – you’ve always been strange, as well.”

Herah wrinkles her nose at that, but can’t find it in herself to protest.

“Anyway,” Ata’Thlok says, “that aside, there are still celebrations tonight, and you still have to get ready.” She grabs Herah’s hand and drags her to the door, then, once they’re there, turns around and motions at Cole – who is still sitting patiently on the stairs – to join them. “You two look too much like outsiders to join in on the festivities, and you know how we feel about outsiders.”

She can’t imagine the outfits that her mother has planned, but Herah smiles anyway. “Alright,” she says, opening the door and looking in the direction of the house that her mother points at. “Then we’re off, I suppose?”

“See you soon,” her mother replies, smiling in return as Herah and Cole head outside into the sunny evening with one last look back at the hut before the door closes.

-

Herah can’t remember the last time she’d seen Cole dressed like this.

On second thought, maybe she never has.

His hair is shoulder-length, now, a little longer than it used to be, and still the villagers have managed to wrangle it into as many bows and ribbons as Herah’s, which is significantly longer. She can tell he’s a little uncomfortable in the clothes – they’re a bit more revealing than anything he’s worn before – but his face lights up a little when he realizes that they’re somewhat matching, adorned in the same colors and the same metal of decorative ornaments.

They’re painting Herah’s face when she overhears the villagers working on Cole talking about him.

“He’s a skinny one…”

“I’m glad it fits. I didn’t think it would.”

“It’s still hanging off of him.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t come off entirely… Do you think we should add more straps?”

“I-I’m fine,” Cole manages, glancing over at Herah who gives him a bright smile. “I’m fine the way I am.”

The two women glance at each other and shrug.

Once they’re all dressed up, Herah grabs Cole’s hand and pulls him to a rusty, faded mirror, wrapping her arms around his middle and hugging him tight. “Thank you for being so gracious with them,” she says. “I know they can be…”

“It’s alright,” Cole replies, smiling at their reflection.

“Okay.” Herah lets him go. “Good.”

After bidding their dressers good-bye, they head outside into the village once more. The sun set while they were inside, and now a dark blue sky hangs over them, spotted with a handful of silver stars to light up the land beneath.

Not that they need it, since the fire roaring in the middle of the town is brighter than any lantern Herah’s ever seen.

People stand around it, talking and laughing, and eventually she and Cole meet up with the Valo-Kas near a table of food, who have changed out of their travelling clothes and are now wearing more appropriate attire. Shokrakar pulls on one of Herah’s braids and laughs.

“You fit in well here,” she comments. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“Me neither,” Herah replies. “But I’m glad I do.”

At one point, a few of the villagers grab their instruments and start up some rowdy tavern music, and the Valo-Kas pull Herah and Cole into the fray of dancers. It’s not a very sophisticated affair – not like dancing at the Winter Palace, something that Herah misses dearly – but it’s a good substitution, to be with her friends and family in a place she knows she is safe in.

She hasn’t had the luxury of knowing that in a very long time. Yes, she misses Skyhold and all of her friends there dearly, but here, with Cole, with the Valo-kas and with her parents… It’s different. It’s where she’s meant to be – for now, at least, before she heads off into the unknown again.

But not now. Not tonight.

The sun is nearly rising again when Herah grabs Cole’s hand and tugs on it to pull him away from the group. They stumble together into the darkness of the rest of the town, where the fire casts long shadows behind the buildings, and, once they’ve collected themselves, they start off on an aimless walk around the base of the village’s wall, away from prying eyes and all the people who keep trying to ask Herah questions about the Inquisition.

“I saw a few people in the crowd sizing you up,” she says, turning to Cole with a smile. “If they ask to duel you, you can say no.”

“They wouldn’t get me,” Cole says. “They’ve never fought a spirit before.”

“Certainly not one as skilled as you.” She squeezes his hand, turning her head towards the path before them again. “Those people aside… I’m so glad you’re here with me, Cole. With me and my parents, I…” She swallows hard. “I’m glad you’re here,” she finishes, struggling to put her feelings to any other words. “We deserve something like this. A break.”

Cole says nothing. She frowns, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and sees him fiddling with their clasped fingers as he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, seemingly undecided on what he’s going to say next.

“I have to leave,” Cole says finally.

Herah stops walking and pulls her hand out of his. “What?” she asks, unable to deny her shock.

“I can help Solas,” he whispers, turning to her. “I can help his hurt.”

“No, you can’t,” Herah says tearfully. The very notion makes her heart ache – after everything they’ve been through together, she doesn’t know how much time they have left because of the very person he’s saying he wants to help. “Cole, you weren’t there when –“

“I can feel him,” Cole responds. “He is trying to keep me away, but I can feel him, and if I return to the Fade…”

“Cole, please –“

“I know you want to follow,” he says. “You can’t. You will be safe here, secure here, with your family, with your friends –“

“You’re my family,” she interrupts, cupping his face and raising it so she can meet his eyes.

“You need to stay here,” Cole insists. As adamant as he is, he wraps his fingers around her wrists anyway and doesn’t flinch at her unwavering stare. “You need to heal. And he won’t hurt me.” He pulls one of his hands away, tapping the pendant around his neck. “Solas wouldn’t hurt me. But he might hurt everyone if I don’t help.”

“What if you don’t return?”

“I will return,” Cole says. Despite her fears and hesitation – despite the equal fear in Cole’s voice – that sounds like a promise he’s going to keep. “I will always return to you.”

She stares at him long and hard before nodding. It’s not her choice to make, and it seems like he’s already made up his mind. “Okay,” she says. “But you have to come back.” She can’t have gone through all of that to meet him and only lose him a few years later.

“I will,” he says again, smiling.

“Okay,” she repeats, bending forward and kissing his forehead. “I trust you.”

The night is almost over, and the day has yet to begin – there’s no reason he should go right now, Herah tells him, and he agrees to stay for a few days to prepare for the journey and to relish in the time they still have together. They continue walking around town together as the sky grows lighter and the sun rises higher, with Herah occasionally telling him funny stories of her childhood as they come back to her, and only once everyone else takes down the campfire and the food and the drink and head for bed themselves do they return to her parent’s hut.

Herah stands at the mirror in their bedroom, unbraiding her hair with one hand while staring at the place where her other hand used to be. She lingers at the mirror once she’s done, the pale light of dawn streaming into the room behind her, and thinks about how thankful she is that she’s here, that she’s home, that she’s alive, and that, for the first time since she was a child standing in this very room, she can really, really rest.

And then she goes to bed.

[wallypollyanna]

I am so sorry this is late, but here is my g/t gift for @xxpeach-bobaxx ! Based around "Fred Astaire" by jukebox tje ghost, with royalty, and tiny! Roman! @secret-sanders-sized

-

"It seems like I can do no wrong

Through your eyes

Sing the wrong lines to my own song

You don't mind

Make it up as we go

All the words we don't know"

"It's pretty ironic" Patton started to think, as he waited backstage. Tonight was the night, his first big performance as a dancer.

That wasnt what was ironic, though.

What was ironic, is the fact that it is him, the clumsy one, the one who had two left feet, was gonna go up and dance. The fact that it was him,instead of his talented, confident boyfriend, who could easily command the crowd and entertain all.

The biggest difference between them, however, wasn't Patton's clumsyness and Romans deliberate steps.

No, it was that Patton stands at a normal 5'7, while Roman stands at a whooping 4 inches.

-

"Even When I'm a drunken mess

You don't care

Still like me better than the rest

I swear

I don't understand it

How you like me when I'm dancing"

-

Patton never intended to ever let Roman see him dance. It was something he had taken a lot of interest into when he was a kid, but could never get the hang of. He knew he looked like a fool when he did, and didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his preformer boyfriend.

That all changed one night, when he and Roman hosted their friend group over.

Patton was sitting on the couch with Roman on his shoulder, and Virgil and Logan next to them. Remus and Dee, who were both about the same size as Roman, we're on the couch cusion beside them.

It was a casual enough gathering with everyone talking about their weeks and making jokes. Later in the night, drinks were brought out.

Which was Patton's first mistake.

He knew he was a light weight, and it would take very little to get him drunk, so he was originally opposed to the idea. All it took, though, was some goodeing from Remus to get him to drink some.

Which would have been fine, if it weren't for the fact that Patton lost all sense when drunk.

Music was put on, and Virgil, who had known Patton since childhood, couldn't help but groan when he saw the look in Patton's eyes.

"Pat, please don't. Please sit down, your gonna regret it if you don't." He said, trying to pursae him into sitting back down.

Roman, who had no idea what Patton was up to, was curious. "No no, Mr doom and gloom, let him do whatever he's wanting to"

Patton the stuck his tongue out, and did something a sober Patton would never.

Began to dance.

If you asked a sober Patton, he would even be hesitant to call it dancing. It was more him swinging himself around, and jumping from foot to foot.

But to the others, it was hilarious.

"Woah, get it Pat!", Remus yelled, clapping along to the music's beat. Virgil groaned amd covered his eyes, while Dee and Logan chuckled at him. Roman could help but giggle at his boyfriend, realizing that this was both the first time he had seen him dance, and b that he wasn't even that bad, despite being completely drunk. He then decided to make it his goal, to get Patton to dance.

-

"Those eyes, damn, those eyes

They get me every time

Those eyes, in those eyes

I can do no crime

When dance like I don't care

You call me Fred Astaire"

-

After that night, Roman was determined to get Patton to dance again.

"Ro, it's really not that big a deal. I used to be into when I was younger, that's why I know a little bit. I never got very good, so I don't really see why you want to see me dance, I'm not nearly as light on my feet as you."

"Patton, that's nonsense! You were having so much fun dancing, and I'd love to teach you! Just imagine. You, the cheering crowd, me, getting to watch my beautiful boyfriend up there, wooing all of us! Wouldn't that just be the most amazing thing, love?" While saying this, he ran danced around on their table, emnphosizimg the parts he found important.

"Well, mean that does sound like it would be fun" he said, putting his head and arms on the table, resting on said arms.

Roman walked over to him, and hugged his head as much as he could. "That's because it would!"

"Ok, ok. You got me, I'll do it" Patton said, loosly wrapping his finger around Roman for a hug. Roman sqeuled out happily, and hugged him tighter.

-

"All my idiosyncrasies

You like 'em

Annoyed at all the little things

I know I can be frustrating

But you still like me when I'm dancing"

-

It didn't go nearly as easy as Roman had hoped. Sure, he himself was an incredible dancer, but Patton could only see so much of what he did.

"You see, you put your right foot in front and your left, lift up like so, and move forward!" Roman said, demonstrating what he wanted Patton to do.

"Roman, love, i can barely see you legs from up here." He joked.

Well,sort of. He really couldn't see Roman all the well from where he was standing, and Roman was moving so that also wasn't helping.

"How about instead" Ran said, inching his way to the remote "I play some music, and you dance to it, then I tell you what was good and what was bad."

Patton thought about the proposal.

" Promise not to laugh?" Roman nodded, and put on some music.

When it started, and Patton didn't do anything, Roman knew it was time to bring in the big guns.

"Do you want me to turn around until your comfortable?" He asked.

nodnodnod

He turned around, amd listened closely to the sound of Patton's dance.

He was taking a lot of steps, from what Roman could hear. He could as hear the sound of Patton's charms clinkng as he moved, so he took that as a good sign.

"Can i look now?" He asked, turning around with his eyes covered.

"Yeah, go ahead." Patton said.

When Roman opened his eyes, he saw Patton dancing much like he had when he was drink,but much more controlled. Once again, Roman was surprised by the mostly deliberate way of his movements.

"See!" He said "Your doing fine! All I'm really gonna do is help you adjust more into your own style, and learn some new moves!"

-

"Those eyes, damn, those eyes

They get me every time

Those eyes, in those eyes

I can do no crime

When dance like I don't care

You call me Fred Astaire"

-

"What?? Why can't you join? Patton questioned, confused by Romans words.

"They said that apparently I'm "too small to be seen", and that "If we wanted to see a child dance we would bring in a toddler" So basically, they said they only accept "normal sized" performers." Roman said outraged.

"What? That's" He struggled to find the word. "That's just stupid! If your not doing it, then neither am I!"

"No, your not quitting on me now!"Roman said.

"But-"

"No buts!" Roman said, climbing up to be eye level with Patton. "Your going to go and compete, and show how good a so called "child-who-isnt-importent-enough-to-get-help-to-preform", can teach a so called "Normal sized person."

"But I'm-" "No buts!"

"Roman! I'm not gonna be enough to do good in this competition. You've been a wonderful teacher, but I just can't keep up. I'm better off just dancing by myself alone, with our friends, or with you."

"Patton, thats ridiculous! You just as good as anything person who's going to enter the contest, and your gonna do amazing! Honestly, you sound so much like Virgil. How much time have you been spending with him? Your reeking of the kind of negitivity only he seems to constantly have."

"I don't know" Patton said. "I guess I just kinda had the dream crushed when I was a kid, so I'm not very eager to see it be crushed again."

"They won't be crushed, i promise!" Roman insisted.

"Well." Patton began. "If you really think so".

-

"When I lose myself

There's no one else

Who else is?

Quite like you"

-

So here he is, backstage and nervous.

"Is a Mr. Patton Hart back here" called a voice.

"Yes! Oh, i mean, yeah that's me" he finished sheepishly.

The person nodded. "Your on next. Be onstage to ready to start in 3 minutes."

He gulped.

The 3 minutes passed by much much faster then he really wanted them too, and he quickly found himself onstage, waiting for the curtains to raise and the music to start.

"You can do this." He thought to himself. "Roman believes in you! You have to do this for him"

The curtains raised, and Patton had a momentary thought of thankfulness that both Roman amd Remus were small, because if they weren't,the would both absolutely be yelling positive if not strange things (Remus) at him

Then he heard his boyfriend yell.

"PATTON!" He looked into the audience to see Dee, Remus and Roman all sharing a seat.

With a megaphone.

Virgil and Logan sat next to them, clearly pleased (Presumably because they megaphone idea was theirs.)

"YOUR GONNA DO AMAZING, LOVE. SHOW THEM WHAT YOU LEARNED FROM A SHORTER THEN AVERAGE SIZED PERSON!"

"YEAH, KICK THEYRE ASS'ES" Remus yelled. "KNOCK THEM STRAIGHT OFF"

They're yelling to some may have been embarrassing, but to him, it was the inspiration he needed. He remembered that everyone would be proud of what he did, no matter what.

So when the music began (Supersonic by Caravan Palace, something both he and Roman agreed on, seeing as it matched the dancing Patton was attempting to master.) He was ready.

He started the dance Roman had taught him for the first half, which was (for anything to do with Roman) relitivly easy.

But he wanted to do more.

So he switched from a chorographed dance, made to look good and be easy, to free style.

And boy did he have fun with it.

His movements became more lively snd wild, flinging his arms and legs around, doing poses, am just genuinely radiating joy.

-

"Those eyes, damn, those eyes

They get me every time

Those eyes, in those eyes

I can do no crime

When dance like I don't care

You call me Fred Astaire"

-

After his performance, he went straight off stage and go his friends.

Roman and Remus both complimented him and congratulated him loudly, while Logan, Virgil, and Dee did so in a quieter tone.

The took they're seats again, watching the last couple of performers, before the results were announced.

"And in third place, we have Miss Katherine Westerburg with her wonderful Flute playing!"

"Second place, we have Miss Kimberly Thompson, with her presentation of her animation of "Mr Blue Sky" by elo!"

"And Now" the announcer took a minute to pause, to add onto the dramatic effect, "First place. Our first place winner is..., Mr Patton Hart, with his dance to "Supersonic" by Caravan Palace!"

His friends cheered louder then they had before during the night.

"See, I told you you could do it" Roman said, teasing him. " Mister Fred Astaire."

[mostlydeadlanguages]

“This Is Jezebel” (a story)

And now for something different.

This is not a translation.  You can call it midrash or fan fiction.  I’ve been writing a chapter about Queen Jezebel and her death for my dissertation, and this was my way of dignifying her death without rewriting it, while giving a voice to some of the only canonically queer characters in the Bible.

I hope you enjoy it.

When Jehu came to Jezreel, Jezebel heard of it; she painted her eyes, and adorned her head, and looked out of the window.

As Jehu entered the gate, she said, “Is it peace, Zimri, murderer of your master?”  He looked up to the window and said, “Who is on my side? Who?” Two or three eunuchs looked out at him.  He said, “Throw her down.” So they threw her down; some of her blood spattered on the wall and on the horses, which trampled on her.  Then he went in and ate and drank; he said, “See to that cursed woman and bury her; for she is a king’s daughter.”  But when they went to bury her, they found no more of her than the skull and the feet and the palms of her hands.  When they came back and told him, he said, “This is the word of the LORD, which he spoke by his servant Elijah the Tishbite, ‘In the territory of Jezreel the dogs shall eat the flesh of Jezebel; the corpse of Jezebel shall be like dung on the field in the territory of Jezreel, so that no one can say, This is Jezebel.’” — 2 Kings 9:30-37, NRSV

"There are three ways that this can go,” she says, “and all of them end with my death."

I shake my head, fingers clenching around the pot of kohl.  "You don't know that.  Perhaps he will—"  My voice fails.

"There are three ways that this can go," the queen repeats.  "And give me that brush.  Today, I want to do my makeup myself."

I hand her the small brush mutely, glancing at the others to see if they have a better response to her words.  They avoid my gaze.

With hands that do not tremble, despite her age, the queen dips the brush into the pot and begins to apply it around her eyes, peering at herself in a gleaming bronze mirror.  "In the first path," she continues, "I give him what he wants.  I invite him in and serve him platters of fatted lambs, spiced pheasants, and soft bread baked from fine-sieved flour.  I tell him that I will not stand in his way, that I wish only to live out my life in obscurity.  And then I die, by poison or dagger, because he will not permit a reminder of Omri's legacy to live.  Don't lie to me; I know you've heard the rallying cries.  'Remember Naboth!'  As if any of them had cared about the farmer when he lived."

As her voice rises, a small twitch mars the smooth curves of kohl that line her eyes.  Carefully, she dabs it away and takes a deep breath.  "I refuse.  I will not share bread with the man who slaughtered my son.  So then there is the second option — we fight.  My soldiers are loyal to me, and I know that even you can wield a dagger.  We cannot win against Jehu's army, but we could make them pay for their victory.”  A deep breath.  “But what then?  I die, and you die as well, all for the pride of an old woman who refused to bow to her destiny."  She shakes her head.  "My friends, I love you — all of you — too dearly to let you die as Joram did."

"We would, though," I say bravely.

To be fair, I am not sure whether I believe myself; Jezebel is a generous mistress, but I am rather attached to my own continued life.  Still, my statement pleases her, and she smiles wryly, handing back the kohl brush.  "You humor an old woman."  Before I can protest that she is not old yet, she continues, "Now give me my comb.  My hair must be flawless."

I do so, then bring over the tub of thick, dark hair oil.  The actions are so familiar that I can almost forget the pall that lies over the palace, the way that all of us stiffen every time we hear hoofbeats in the distance.  Jehu is coming, we all know — but he is not here yet.

Jezebel combs the oil into her hair, molding it into a shimmering black coiffure.  Normally, we would help her braid and pin the strands into place, but she waves away our hands.  "Now then.  The third path.  If my death is swift and unequivocal — if you help Jehu overthrow me — then you will have proved your value to him, and he may let you live for it.  You are not Ahab's kin; you are not among the prophets of Baal or Asherah.  He will suspect you of divided loyalty, of course, but that is why you must act against me where everyone can see."

"You're asking us to —"  The words die in my throat.

"To kill me.  Yes.  Only that will prove your loyalty beyond doubt."

I shudder.  I remember little before I joined the lavish court of Ahab and Jezebel — first as a young serving boy, then as a eunuch in her service — and I cannot recall ever killing anything larger than an insect.  I imagine running a dagger across her neck, and bile rises in my throat.

Everyone else in the room has abandoned even the pretext of not listening to our conversation.  Their eyes are as wide as mine, their cheeks as pale with fear.

"I command you this, as your queen," Jezebel says firmly.  "If I cannot avoid my own death — and who can, in the end? — then I will choose its nature.  You are my dearest friends, my truest allies.  Let your hands be my final touch."  She nods at the large window across the room, where a wooden lattice provides privacy while letting through the afternoon breeze.  "Move the lattice.  I will greet Jehu from here, and he will see you behind me, around me, and think me vulnerable.  He will tell you what to do."

At first, no one moves.  "Must I order you a second time?" she snaps, and two of the other eunuchs hurry to lift the lattice away.  Jezebel nods, satisfied.  "One thing more."

"Anything, my queen," I hasten to reply.

Her voice, now, is quieter.  In another woman, I might even call it vulnerable.  "Tell my story.  I will have no stele to preserve my name for the generations; I will have no songs to retell my deeds.  But tell others that I painted my own eyes and faced my own end, fierce as Anat and beautiful as Asherah.  Tell them that I refused to bow."

"We will," I say.  My eyes are damp; were I a man, I would be ashamed.  But I am no man, and I let the tears blur my vision and fall down my cheek.

"Enough of that," she says briskly.  "Now, I am ready to face my end, and Jehu still tarries on his path.  So seat yourself and tell me a story.  Perhaps of the young guard you mentioned?"

I smile, only slightly forced, and take my seat beside her.  The queen has sharp eyes, and she noticed weeks ago that I had a fondness for one of the newer guards at court, a young man from Dothan with the most beautiful smile.  So I launch into a story — only slightly embellished — of a night walk in the gardens.  I tell of plying the lad with increasingly overt invitations, all while dodging other denizens of the garden, only to have the innocent village boy misunderstand my intent entirely.

The ribald humor hits its target, and soon Jezebel is laughing at each implausible twist.  I have nearly run out of anecdotes when I hear the rumble of incoming horse hooves — not just one messenger, or one caravan, but a full army of riders.  My words trail off, but the light in Jezebel's eyes is resolute.  "Remember," she says, "I wish to feel your hands, not his.  Never his."

Then she rises from her chair and walks over to the window, robed in purple and gold, ageless and fearless.  When the riders halt at the base of the palace, one of their company pulls forward, and I recognize Jehu, despite the layered dust and blood that cakes on him.

"Be strong," Jezebel murmurs, then raises her voice to project into the courtyard.  "Do you come in peace?" she calls out, lips curled with irony.

I step forward to stand at her side, and I gird myself for what I must do.

[theskyrimlibrary]

2920, Last Seed, v8

Last Seed Book Eight of 2920 The Last Year of the First Era by Carlovac Townway

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1 Last Seed, 2920 Mournhold, Morrowind They were gathered in the Duke’s courtyard at twilight, enjoying the smell and warmth of a fire of dry branches and bittergreen leaves. Tiny embers flew into the sky, hanging for a few moments before vanishing.

“I was rash,” agreed the Duke, soberly. “But Lorkhan had his laugh, and all is well. The Morag Tong will not assassinate the Emperor now that my payment to them is at the bottom of the Inner Sea. I thought you had made some sort of a truce with the Daedra princess.”

“What your sailors called a daedra may not have been one,” said Sotha Sil. “Perhaps it was a rogue battlemage or even a lightning bolt that destroyed your ship.”

“The Prince and the Emperor are en route to take possession of Ald Lambasi as our truce agreed. It is certainly typical of the Cyrodiil to assume that their concessions are negotiable, while ours are not,” Vivec pulled out a map. “We can meet them here, in this village to the north-west of Ald Lambasi, Fervinthil.”

“But will we meet them to talk,” ask Almalexia. “Or to make war?”

No one had an answer to that.

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15 Last Seed, 2920 Fervinthil, Morrowind

A late summer squall blew through the small village, darkening the sky except for flashing of lightning which leapt from cloud to cloud like acrobats. Water rushed down the narrow streets ankle-deep, and the Prince had to shout to be heard by his captains but a few feet away from him.

“There’s an inn up ahead! We’ll wait there for the storm to pass before pressing on to Ald Lambasi!”

The inn was warm and dry, and bustling with business. Barmaids were rushing back and forth, bringing greef and wine to a back room, evidently excited about a famous visitor. Someone who was attracting more attention than the mere heir to the Empire of Tamriel.

Amused, Juilek watched them run until he overheard the name of “Vivec.”

“My lord Vivec,” he said, bursting into the back room. “You must believe me, I knew nothing about the attack on Black Gate until after it happened. We will, of course, be returning it to your care forthwith. I wrote you a letter to that effect at your palace in Balmora, but obviously you’re not there,” he paused, taking in the many new faces in the room. “I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Juilek Cyrodiil.”

“My name is Almalexia,” said the most beautiful woman the Prince had ever seen. “Won’t you join us?”

“Sotha Sil,” said a serious-looking Dunmer in a white cloak, shaking the Prince’s hand and showing him to a seat.

“Indoril Brindisi Dorom, Duke-Prince of Mournhold,” said the massively-built man next to him as he sat down.

“I recognize that the events of the last month suggest, at best, that the Imperial Army is not under my control,” said the Prince after ordering some wine. “This is true. The army is my father’s.”

“I understood that the Emperor was going to be coming to Ald Lambasi as well,” said Almalexia.

“Officially, he is,” said the Prince cautiously. “Unofficially, he’s still back in the Imperial City. He’s met with an unfortunate accident.”

Vivec glanced the Duke quickly before looking at the Prince: “An accident?”

“He’s fine,” said the Prince quickly. “He’ll live, but it looks like he’ll lose an eye. It was an altercation that has nothing to do with the war. The only good news is that while he recovers, I have the use of his seal. Any agreement we make here and now will be binding to the Empire, both in my father’s reign and mine.”

“Then let’s start agreeing,” smiled Almalexia.

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16 Last Seed, 2920 Wroth Naga, Cyrodiil

The tiny hamlet of Wroth Naga greeted Cassyr with its colorful houses perched on a promontory overlooking the stretch of the Wrothgarian mountain plain and High Rock beyond. Had he been in a better mood, the sight would have been breathtaking. As it was, he could only think that in practical terms, a small village like this would have meager provisions for himself and his horse.

He rode down into the main square, where an inn called the Eagle’s Cry stood. Directing the stable boy to house and feed his horse, Cassyr walked into the inn and was surprised by its ambience. A minstrel he had heard play once in Gilderdale was performing a jaunty old tune to the clapping of the mountain men. Such forced merriment was not what Cassyr wanted at that moment. A glum Dunmer woman was seated at the only table far from the noise, so he took his drink there and sat down without invitation. It was only when he did so that he noticed that she was holding a newborn baby.

“I’ve just come from Morrowind,” he said rather awkwardly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fighting for Vivec and the Duke of Mournhold against the Imperial army. A traitor to my people, I guess you’d call me.”

“I am also a traitor to my people,” said the woman, holding up her hand which was scarred with a branded symbol. “It means that I can never go back to my homeland.”

“Well, you’re not thinking of staying here, are you?” laughed Cassyr. “It’s certainly quaint, but some wintertide, there’s going to be snow up to your eyelashes. It’s no place for a new baby. What is her name?”

“Bosriel. It means ‘Beauty of the Forest.’ Where are you going?”

“Dwynnen, on the bay in High Rock. You’re welcome to join me, I could use the company.” He held out his hand. “Cassyr Whitley.”

“Turala,” said the woman after a pause. She was going to use her family’s name first, as is tradition, but she realized that it was no longer her name. “I would love to accompany you, thank you.”

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19 Last Seed, 2920 Ald Lambassi, Morrowind

Five men and two women stood in the silence of the Great Room of the castle, the only sound the scrawl of quill on parchment and the gentle tapping of rain on the large picture window. As the Prince set the seal of Cyrodiil on the document, the peace was made official. The Duke of Mournhold broke out in a roar of delight, ordering wine brought in to commemorate the end of eighty years of war.

Only Sotha Sil stood apart from the group. His face betrayed no emotion. Those who knew him best knew he did not believe in endings or beginnings, but in the continuous cycle of which this was but a small part.

“My Prince,” said the castle steward, unhappy at breaking the celebration. “There is a messenger here from your mother, the Empress. He asked to see your father, but as he did not arrive - - “

Juilek excused himself and went to speak with the messenger.

“The Empress does not live in the Imperial City?” asked Vivec.

“No,” said Almalexia, shaking her head sadly. “Her husband has imprisoned her in Black Marsh, fearing that she was plotting a revolution against him. She is extremely wealthy and has powerful allies in the western Colovian estates so he could not marry another or have her executed. They’ve been at an impasse for the last seventeen years since Juilek was a child.”

The Prince returned a few minutes later. His face betrayed his anxiety, though he took troubles to hide it.

“My mother needs me,” he said simply. “I’m afraid I must leave at once. If I may have a copy of the treaty, I will bring it with me to show the Empress the good we have done today, and then I will carry it on to the Imperial City so it may be made official.”

Prince Juilek left with the fond farewells of the Three of Morrowind. As they watched him ride out into the rainswept night south towards Black Marsh, Vivec said, “Tamriel will be much healed when he has the throne.”

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31 Last Seed, 2920 Dorsza Pass, Black Marsh

The moon was rising over the desolate quarry, steaming with swamp gas from a particularly hot summer as the Prince and his two guard escort rode out of the forest. The massive piles of earth and dung had been piled high in antiquity by some primitive, long-dead tribe of Black Marsh, hoping to keep out some evil from the north. Evidently, the evil had broken through at Dorsza Pass, the large crack in the sad, lonely rampart that stretched for miles.

The black twisted trees that grew on the barrier cast strange shadows down, like a net tangling. The Prince’s mind was on his mother’s cryptic letter, hinting at the threat of an invasion. He could not, of course, tell the Dunmer about it, at the very least until he knew more and had notified his father. After all, the letter was meant for him. It was its urgent tone that made him decide to go directly to Gideon.

The Empress had also warned him about a band of former slaves who attacked caravans going into Dorsza Pass. She advised him to be certain to make his Imperial shield visible, so they would know he was not one of the hated Dunmer slavers. Upon riding into the tall weeds that flooded through the pass like a noxious river, the Prince ordered that his shield be displayed.

“I can see why the slaves use this,” said the Prince’s captain. “It’s an excellent location for an ambush.”

Juilek nodded his head, but his thoughts were elsewhere. What threat of invasion could the Empress have discovered? Were the Akaviri on the seas again? If so, how could his mother from her cell in Castle Giovese know of it? A rustle in the weeds and a single sharp human cry behind him interrupted his ponderings.

Turning around, the Prince discovered that he was alone. His escort had vanished.

The Prince peered over the stretch of the moonlit sea of grass which waved in almost hypnotic patterns to the ebb and flow of the night wind billowing through the pass. It was impossible to tell if a struggling soldier was beneath this system of vibrations, a dying horse behind another. A high, whistling wind drowned out any sound the victims of the ambush might be making.

Juilek drew his sword, and thought about what to do, his mind willing his heart not to panic. He was closer to the exit of the pass than the entrance. Whatever had slain his escort must have been behind him. If he rode fast enough, perhaps he could outrun it. Spurring his horse to gallop, he charged for the hills ahead, framed by the might black piles of dirt.

When he was thrown, it happened so suddenly, he was hurdling forward before he was truly conscious of the fact. He landed several yards beyond where his horse had fallen, breaking his shoulder and his back on impact. A numbness washed over him as he stared at his poor, dying steed, its belly sliced open by one of several spears jutting up just below the surface of the grass.

Prince Juilek was not able to turn and face the figure that emerged from the grass, nor able to move to defend himself. His throat was cut without ceremony.

Miramor cursed when he saw the face of his victim more clearly in the moonlight. He had seen the Emperor at the Battle of Bodrum when he had fought in His Imperial Majesty’s command, and this was clearly not the Emperor. Searching the body, he found the letter and a treaty signed by Vivec, Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and the Duke of Mournhold representing Morrowind and the Prince Juilek Cyrodiil, representing the Cyrodiil Empire.

“Curse my luck,” muttered Miramor to himself and the whispering grass. “I’ve only killed a Prince. Where’s the reward in that?”

Miramor destroyed the letter, as Zuuk had instructed him to do, and pocketed the treaty. At the very least, such a curiosity would have some market value. He disassembled the traps as he pondered his next step. Return to Gideon and ask his employer for a lesser reward for killing the heir? Move on to other lands? At the very least, he considered, he had picked up two useful skills from the Battle of Bodrum. From the Dunmer, he had learned the excellent spear trap. And abandoning the Imperial army, he had learned how to skulk in the grass.

The Year is Continued in Hearth Fire.

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[kimchi-noodles]

[Interview] Meychan on his second solo album, “daimeywaku”

”A ‘Total Nuisance’ apearing once in a lifetime, Meychan

Original article from natalie.mu Translation by noodle

Meychan released his newest album entitled “daimeywaku (‘Total Nuisance’ in English),” composed of all original songs.

Meychan, who has performed in large scale events such as “XYZ TOUR,” “Hikikomori-tachi Demo Fes ga Shitai!,” and more, and is also a member of the Youtuber unit “Niku Chomoranma,” has already gained fame with this wide range of activities. This second solo album from him contains songs that showcases his hobbies and preferences, including songs written by Meychan himself, a collaboration song with BRADIO entitled “Horebo Revolution” that materialized from an offer, as well as original songs from vocalo-P’s that Meychan himself had handpicked. In this exclusive, we look into the new generation utaite Meychan’s charm, unravelling how he became a vocalist, his thoughts on his songs, and his stance about his content.

(Full interview under the cut!)

Started singing after failing entrance exams

──How did Meychan decide to start a career in music?

I started singing under the name “Meychan” as a hobby when I was a 3rd year in middle school, but I didn’t start because I was aiming for something big. I had failed my high school entrance exams then, and when I went home I recorded a cover for no reason. After that, my mother entered my room screaming. That was really intense (laughs). She was like, “My son is singing with a loud voice after failing his entrance exams!” (laughs).

──After that, you continued uploading “utattemita” videos during your high school and college days, right?

That’s right. I was uploading songs during high school, but honestly I still wasn’t serious about it then. I guess I was only doing it for self-satisfaction. I started to change when I was in college, when I gained more people who listen to me. I was able to do more things ever since I became a college student, so I also tried to independently organize my own oneman live show. For the first time, I got the chance to earn money by singing, so I think I started becoming more serious about my own singing at the time.

──This is the second time you released a solo album with “daimeywaku” (‘Total Nuisance’ in English). Your first solo album (“Meychan no Atama no Naka wa Daitai Konna Kanji Desu,” ‘Meychan’s Thoughts Sound Roughly Like This’ in English) would be around 3 years ago, but has Meychan’s surroundings undergone huge changes within those 3 years?

Let’s see... I became a Youtuber, and my solo live shows have become more frequent…… It’s only obvious that so much has changed in 3 years, and the way I think about my activities have also changed. My thoughts on being an utaite have sprouted from something I did as an extension of my hobbies, to something that lets me face music as a job. Three years ago, my first album was still an extension of my hobbies, but a huge part of it was about me enjoying being an utaite, so because I enjoyed being an utaite, I was thankfully offered a chance to make a CD. I’ve never made a CD before that, so I only gathered songs that I liked, and eventually completed the album called “Meychan no Atama no Naka wa Daitai Konna Kanji Desu.” 

──Was there a trigger behind you changing your mind about your activities?

There were a lot of factors leading up to it, but one of the biggest factors was probably getting to join “XYZ TOUR.” I’ve been in a few compilation live shows before then, but the consciousness of the performers in XYZ TOUR are way different. The commitment to the lights and sound is also not a joke. I realized “Ah, so there are people who make up a single event while being fixated on such things,” so I’ve come to make up my mind that I also want to be able to reach that level.

An explosive power behind negative feelings

──The biggest difference between the this and the previous album is that you also recorded songs that you yourself wrote for this album, right? Have you already written your own songs before this?

I was interested in writing songs, and I originally had a guitar. But when I decided to actually write songs, I also started learning the piano to polish my musical sense, and started studying about chord progressions. At the same time I also thought about writing lyrics, so in three years, I scribbled down notes about my thoughts on a notepad. The first song I finished was “Victor.”

(Link: VICTOR)

──You uploaded the song “Victor” in April last year, right? How was the feedback upon uploading your own song?

I felt really uneasy before uploading it, you know. I only ever uploaded covers until then, so I only released songs that listeners already know about. But releasing my own song…… this is something trivial, but that means I’ll have everyone listen to something they haven’t even listened to before, right? I was uncertain whether they’ll be able to accept it properly, so I was really nervous upon its release. But if I was going to choose a profession to sing as an artist, I felt that it’s extremely important for me to have everyone understand what I think using songs. That’s why I didn’t have any reservations at all about releasing my own song.

──Were you already thinking about the album when you produced Victor?

I already decided that I would be making an album, but I haven’t drawn out a concrete plan for the contents of the album yet. I got a suggestion saying “All of the songs would be written by Meychan,” but I responded with “No, that’s definitely impossible.” But when I finished the song “Victor,” I felt like I started seeing that kind of album I wanted to make.

──What kind of vision did you have then?

First, when I tried writing one song, I already knew that making an album only with my own songs would be difficult (laughs). But I still wanted to express myself properly with the album, so I thought I should put in everything that I liked and wanted to work on. In its roots, it doesn’t differ much from my previous album, but the things that I can do and want to do have also changed in three years, so even with the same theme, I’m certain that the contents of this album are still different.

──Reading the lyrics of the songs you wrote, I felt that there was a gap between them and Meychan’s public image. Meychan has a strong image of brightness and cheerfulness, but it was as if there was something dark hiding in your lyrics.

Ah, I see. I guess there were several dark parts in the lyrics (laughs). I think I’m still that cheerful being that everyone thinks I am. Whenever I express myself, it’d be easy to produce an output from happy feelings. Like if when a friend gets drunk and enjoys himself, he’d be able to express himself without hiding his feelings. But negative emotions like hate or hidden ill feelings are things that I feel are still stored inside me. Rather than happy emotions, I think that those negative feelings stored inside have a stronger explosive power. In order to get to know me as a human being, I felt that I needed to express those powerful parts within me.

──That means that a different face from what Meychan uses in live shows or streams is in this song, doesn’t it.

Honestly speaking, showing these hidden emotions is embarrassing. There may be people who’d say that they didn’t understand what I’m saying even if they read the lyrics. But I think it still means something to at least read them to try to understand them, and since I chose to work on expressing myself through songs and words, getting others to know me as a human being is extremely important to me. I can’t just keep on saying that it’s embarrassing, I guess.

A “Total Nuisance” that exceeds all genres

──The 3 songs that Meychan wrote, which are “Victor,” “Unusual,” and “Yomaigoto” are all different, and are rich in variety. When I listened to “Victor,” I thought that maybe Meychan’s musical roots were founded in guitar rock, but I suppose it’s not just that.

While I do like guitar rock, I’m actually the type who listens to anything. For example, the song “10-9,” which was written by K.F.J., was released using Maroon 5 as a reference. Recently I’ve been into Ulfuls, and Caravan Palace if you’ll ask about Western music…… I also love funky music, just like BRADIO-san who has also taken care of me in this album.

I gave them a desperate attack, you know. I didn’t expect them to give me the OK.

──Why did you think of giving BRADIO-san a collaboration offer?

This is only my impression, but I think that songs with vague meanings that let listeners give their own interpretations have been popular lately. But BRADIO-san sings songs that are straightforward. That was something I couldn’t do, since it was so cool. I was very much attracted to it.

──What sort of order did you decide on for the collab?

I love the songs from BRADIO-san that have self-repeating riffs like “Koshi Furu Yoru wa Kimi no Sei” or “Golden Liar.” I put together my favorite songs in that pattern and sent them a message with them saying, “I would like to do a song that will help listeners enjoy themselves.”

──And you were also able to perform with BRADIO-san on stage.

I couldn’t make sense of it anymore. The people I used to listen to using earphones are suddenly standing next to me, and are even singing with me while we look at each other. It was so unreal, that I thought that it was all a dream until now. I really did not expect to be able to perform with them in a live show, and I think I might have been a “total nuisance” to BRADIO-san in a lot of ways (laughs).

Speechless about “Number Nine”

──Aside from your own songs and a collaborative song, the album also includes original songs provided by vocalo-P’s such as Tsumiki-san, buzzG-san, Hachiya Nanashi-san, Hayashikei-san, and more. Was it Meychan who chose all of them?

That’s right. I had the honor to choose my favorite composers, and give them offers.

──I mentioned earlier that the lyrics that Meychan writes are dark, but even if you read the lyrics of the songs written by these composers, there are still little songs that show a brighter side.

Now that you mention it, you may be right. Even if they sound cheerful, you can say that the lyrics also hide shadows behind them…...

──Do you usually interact with these composers?

Actually, not much. Of course, I’m acquainted with some of them, but it’s not as if I have connections with several producers, too. This time, the people I asked were people that I usually listen to because I like their music.

──So that you’re saying that these composers wrote these songs while properly looking at your nature as an artist from your songs.

Professionals really are amazing (laughs). When the names of the composers I asked came out, I already had an image of what all of the songs in the tracklist would be like, so I gave them the order expressing how I imagine the songs to be, but I didn’t say much about the lyrics so it must have been a surprise.

──Which of the songs (from the vocalo-Ps) left an impression on you?

Obviously I like all of them, but the one that I thought was amazing was Tsumiki-san’s “Number Nine.” When I first received the song I didn’t even say anything. I didn’t say something like “Please do something like this”; rather, I immediately told him “This will do, thank you!”

“XYZ” is home

──The DISC 2 of the XYZP Edition of the album includes a collaboration song with XYZ TOUR members. You’ve been performing with them several times in live shows, but this is the first time you’ve recorded a collaboration song with them, right?

That’s right. We’ve sung together lots of times in live shows, but recording a song with them felt pretty refreshing. It’s different from usual and here we get to face the song objectively, so I discovered various things. Things like vocal compatibility, or where to put aside someone’s voice, where to add them. I learned a lot, and I think that this will help out with live shows as well. 

──What do you think about your collaboration partners, which are Gero-san, luz-san, Senra-san, and Araki-san?

They’re all my senpais. Gero-san was someone I really admire. luz-san is a senpai who is also my benefactor, always calling me in for XYZ TOUR, while Senra-san and Araki-san are senpais who I often drink with in private. Rather than calling them senpais, they might be more like my drinking buddies (laughs).

──After joining XYZ TOUR for the first time in 2017, Meychan has been joining the tour every year, but how much has the tour affected your activities?

It’s become something I couldn’t wait for, like a kid who couldn’t wait for Christmas. Whenever an XYZ season approaches, I would get all giddy about it. I’ve been doing various activities, but for me, this is the only other place where I can feel like I’m “home.”

──“Hikikomori-tachi demo Fes ga Shitai! ~World Domination @ MetLife Dome,” which was held in June last year, also had Meychan as a secret guest performer, surprising the audience.

Various senpais got to hook me up for the event, so it was a huge honor. People have started paying attention to internet artists, but not everyone from the newer generation utaites get to be noticed. I hope I can be someone who could serve as a bridge between those two groups, in a good way.

──What do you think was the reason your senpais invited you to perform with your voice at such a large-scale event, out of all the new generation vocalists?

That’s a difficult question. I wouldn’t know the reason why they would take me in unless I ask them myself, but I feel like it’s because I’ve worked hard to continue being an utaite that I’ve also gained listeners. “Utaites” originally used to refer to people who upload “utattemita” videos. But recently, there aren’t a lot of people who upload “utattemita” videos anymore. That’s because of certain circumstances like the increase of people uploading original songs, but still I do what I have to do to keep being an “utaite.”

“Utaite Meychan,” now also “NikuChomo Meychan”

──I would also like to hear about the Youtuber unit you’re in, Niku Chomoranma. Your activities in Niku Chomoranma have also become part of your orbit, but there are also people who discover your music because of your activities as a Youtuber, right?

That’s right. If anything there are now more people who’d call me out on the street with “NikuChomo Meychan” instead of “Utaite Meychan.”

──Excluding your Youtuber activities though, you’ve also revealed your face at an earlier stage of your career.

If I don’t show my face, everyone would try to imagine what I look like. They probably wouldn’t help but imagine “He’s definitely a hottie!” or something. That’s why I thought of lowering that hurdle and revealed my face at a fairly early stage of my career. I think it wasn’t awkward for people to see me become a Youtuber thanks to me showing my face, so I want to praise myself from that time for making that decision (laughs).

Being a nuisance more than he expected

──Since you’re releasing the album “daimeywaku” now that your career is on a roll, what kind of album did this become for Meychan?

I think it’s become an album that “I just did.” I freely wrote down my own thoughts, and asked composers for songs that I wanted them to write. I also had the honor to have people accept my collaboration offer when they probably wouldn’t do it in the past. There were a lot of people who got involved with me and I said a lot of stuff that I might have been a nuisance to them more than I expected (laughs). But of course, I’m happy that everyone worked with me, and I’m grateful.

──What was a moment when Meychan became a total nuisance during the production of the album?

Basically the fact that I woke up late and arrived at the recording pretty late. I deeply apologize for being a total nuisance during that time (bows down in apology to the staff).

[ladyshandioftheendless]

Shandi’s KISSteria drabbles 26!

I think there might be..two to three more parts of this? Not trying to drag it out but I don’t wanna rush it either. THE STRUGGLE!

~Shandi

The final stages of planning are set to continue when the rest of the Allies arrive..but not before Black Dahlia says her piece~

ONE SMALL LIFE Part 12

“You have a problem.” 

Black Dahlia chose to stay behind after the meeting was dismissed. She addressed StarChild in her signature matter-of-fact tone with her arms crossed. StarChild rolled his eyes. “Please, Dahlia I don’t need this now. I have a battle to plan.” She fixed him with her sternest look. “Don’t try to play off your feelings. You know I hate it when you do that. They’re just as important as this. Now tell me what’s going on.” He knew she wouldn’t let this go. Not until he told her something. He ran a hand through his hair and settled himself on his throne. “For starters Nikki Terror and I shared something special together once. It was only briefly but..he was my first. It’s..obvious from what you all saw that he still has some feelings for me.” She snorted softly. “Oh, he made it obvious alright. And I’m guessing Ace wasn’t very happy about that little display.” 

“No..he wasn’t.”

“Did you tell then about each other?” 

“I did.” 

“And?”

“I don’t know..” 

She sighed. “’I don’t know’ isn’t going to solve your problem. You need to confront them both. Make them settle their differences.” 

“That’s crazy!! I can’t–”

“Then I’ll help you. One way or another we’re going to resolve this. It will only prove as a terrible distraction later.” Of course she was right. As always. As he got up from his throne she smiled and patted his back. “You get Ace and I’ll find Terror~” 

Later that evening StarChild dragged his reluctant lover down the hall to the Guest Tower. “C’mon lemme go, Starshine! This is ridiculous!” 

“Hush. This is for your own good. I’m not going to have you two side-eying each other and making snide comments. Especially not before an important battle. We’re putting an end to this right now.” Ace groaned. “I swear I wouldn’t put up with this if I didn’t love you..” StarChild smiled, bringing his lover to where Nikki stood waiting with Black Dahlia on his arm. “We realize how difficult this is for you..” Black Dahlia spoke calmly. “..but we think it would be better for StarChild..and especially for yourselves if you talk to one another. Really talk. Get your feelings out. Your frustrations. Whatever you want. We only ask that you keep it civil.” Ace and Nikki stared at each other for a while before Ace finally broke the silence. 

“Okay fine. Tell me the truth, Terror. Do you love Starshine?” 

Nikki snorted. “I got feelings, sure..but I wouldn’t say they’re love.” 

“What would you say they are?” 

“I don’t see why you need to get all in my face about this. I’m not gonna steal Princess from you. We got close. We had fun. Now it’s over.”

Ace narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I saw a couple days ago.”

“I can’t say hello to someone I haven’t seen in a long time? It’s your own problem if you didn’t like the way I did it.” 

“I’m gonna make this crystal clear..you’re a vulgar little punk and I don’t like you..but we need you for this fight. I don’t really care what you do as long as you don’t have your dirty hands all over my Starshine while I’m around. Are we done here? Cause I’m done.” Ace turned and left before StarChild could stop him. He looked at Black Dahlia who shook her head. “Clearly he has strong feelings about this. I think we should just leave him alone for now. He said what he needed to say.” Nikki shrugged. “Your SpaceMan’s got a lot of insecurities if he feels threatened by somebody like me. I’m not a ‘relationship’ kind of guy. The sooner he gets that through his head, the better.” StarChild gazed at him sadly. “Was I..just a fling to you then..?” 

“Aw, Princess..you could never be just a fling to anybody~ You put me under a spell that night. I wouldn’t have lost track of ya if I coulda helped it. A lot of shit’s happened between then and now. When we’ve got the time I tell ya all about it. I wanna stay around but not if it’s gonna make him an asshole to ya. If you wanna we can try again after this is over. Deal?”  After some consideration StarChild nodded slowly. “Yes..I think I’d like that.” Nikki pulled him close for a kiss. “Get some sleep, Princess. You look exhausted~”  After Nikki went back into his room Black Dahlia placed her hand on StarChild's shoulder. “He’s right. We’ve done all we can here. Come..I can give you something to help you sleep~” 

In another part of the tower Mick was strumming random chords on his guitar when there was a knock at his door. Visitors this late? Couldn’t be those damn kids. They were probably too busy partying. While his weakened body forced him to be stuck in his room. Alone. Sighing, he got up from his bed and answered. “Alright, what do you wa–” He stopped mid sentence when he was faced with Demon, Vinneketh and their little infant daughter. “Oh. Wasn’t expectin’ such lofty company. Come in if you wanna.” Vinneketh accepted the invitation while Demon stayed outside and watched. “Begging your pardon..I hope I am not intruding.” Mick scoffed. “Intruding on what? As you can see nobody’s got time for the dead weight.” There was so much pain in those words. Mental as well as physical, and Vinneketh could feel it all. “I understand..and I think I can help you.” 

“I appreciate the offer but nobody can help me.” 

“How do you know? You have not tried everything.” 

“Heh..I guess you’ve got me there. What can you do?” 

“Will you accept an exchange of favors?” 

“Maybe. What do you want me to do?” 

Vinneketh smiled and placed Ayesha in his arms. “Will you stay in the Star Tower and guard our daughter during the battle?” Mick stared down at the little girl who just giggled and reached for him. Vinneketh laughed softly. “It seems you have her approval. She likes you~” Mick was at a loss for words. He was never around any children in Anarkia so he never considered one would actually like him. He smiled back at her and let her grab one of his fingers. “Okay y’got yourself a deal. I’ll watch the little angel for ya~” 

“Perfect~ We will return with her things~” Demon continued to stare as Vinneketh left the room. “We’re counting on you. If anything happens to her I guarantee you won’t live to regret it.” Mick sat back on his bed with Ayesha while they played a little game of tug-of-war. “Relax, Demon Man she’ll be perfectly safe with me.” Demon let his husband grab his hand and lead him away. “She will be fine, Beloved~ Master will have one of his strongest barriers around the Star Tower remember?” Demon sighed. “Yes, I know..but still..we barely know him.” Vinneketh stroked his husband’s hair. “If Ayesha did not feel safe with him I would not have left her. Give him a chance, Beloved~” 

In the morning numerous sparkling white caravans had arrived at the Palace. With a big smile on his face StarChild went out to greet his newest close friend. “Hello, Freddie~!!” 

“StarChild..hello, darling~!! Apologies for being fashionably late but let’s face it, I wouldn’t be any other kind~” They both laughed as they hugged. “But really it’s good to see you again~ I brought part of my military force here with me just in case extra hands are needed~” StarChild looked at him with wide eyes. “Y-you did? Oh you are truly sent from the Gods, my friend. My people will never forget Rhye’s assistance insuring their safety~ Once you and your Court are settled into your quarters we can all meet in the Main Hall. I can feel them coming closer. We cannot afford to delay this any longer.” Freddie nodded. “Indeed we can’t. We caught a glimpse of that Cult coming from your jungle on our way here. We have what remains of the jungle’s clans with us. One of the Wildcats was insistent upon seeing you but I told him–” 

“And I told you I don’t take orders from anyone!!” 

StarChild turned to see CatMan storming towards him with his eyes blazing green. “Get someone to heal me quickly. You’re not keeping me out of this fight. Those bastards will pay for what they did to my Clan!!” 

To be Continued!!