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starswornoaths · 8 months ago

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A Fulcrum Dark and Radiant - Commission!

Commission for @sarenhale, who is a delight as always to work with and has been so patient and gracious with me! Featuring oc Arihel and Urianger!

Set during the events of 5.0, Urianger does everything he can to ease the suffering of Arihel as he absorbs more and more Light. When things finally boil over and the night sky is once again gone, it's all they can do to turn toward one another.

word count: 7,945

Commissions: Open!

To be an Astrologian was to study not only the stars, but also to find the gravid pull of one’s focus. The center of one’s universe was, as far as the greatest scholars of Sharlayan could deduce, the core of one’s power.

The more clinically minded attributed the core of their power to the heaven’s gates and the unlocking thereof. Those with a more romantic flair would often profess that the object of their desires was the source of their strength.

From what Urianger had been able to glean from his colleagues in school, teachers would insist that, from a purely academic perspective, only the former was absolutely required for the study of stars. The latter, if true at all, was a more volatile source of power and focus: namely, in that it can wither, change, or be lost.

Having the blessing and burden of both facets of study, Urianger understood that it was only a practice of both in equal harmony that would truly open one to the potential to tame the stars themselves. Would that he had understood such an important lesson sooner in life.

Alas, what study he had undergone was of a more practical sort, versus academic. By the time he was able to grasp starlight in the palm of his hand it had come from another sky entirely, on a world far from home.

For a blessing, Urianger had refused to let his focus be idle as they awaited their champion’s arrival to the First shard; a mastery of the stars meant that he could instead turn his focus to the study of aether itself, the properties by which it operated, and how those properties might be altered. That the man he had come to so dearly cherish was so far away from him had made of him another star to draw strength from when Urianger felt himself waning.

But the work was never finished. In its own way, that was a good thing: it helped keep his mind off the Crystal Exarch’s schemes—and his complicity to them. Working out charts of aetheric flow and how best to alter their currents felt at least like some sort of penance for a sin that he continued to choose to commit. It was the less amoral of the manipulations he was a part of now.

Nothing had brought that into focus more clearly than Arihel’s arrival in Norvrandt.

Pretending that they were overly familiar before that point would be insult to both of them; Urianger had always held a deep and abiding respect and admiration for Arihel. For how he continued to try, even in the face of almost certain failure. For who he was inherently as a person, enough that there was always a sort of warmth in his chest when they were near one another.

But that did not mean they were close. Their interactions had been naught but amiable, even friendly. To Urianger’s mind, Arihel had carried himself beyond reproach, but neither of them had approached one another for more than a few brief moments—and almost always for work related dealings.

So it was something of a surprise when Arihel approached him, of all the Scions, for help.

All the more that he came to Urianger’s room in the Crystarium, not long after night had returned to Il Mheg. Arihel came alone, and deep enough into night that Urianger had only barely settled in from their hasty retreat from the land of the fae.

Conversation between them had not started smoothly even after Urianger had ushered him in for tea but eventually, Arihel had broached the true reason for his unexpected arrival.

“Not going to pretend you didn’t see how I brought night back to Il Mheg,” said the Warrior of Light and Darkness both. “Wasn’t the first time I did it—you probably know that, too.”

For several long moments, Urianger dared not breathe. “Wherefore wouldst thou make such a claim?” he had found himself asking.

“‘Cause I feel like you know everything.” Arihel had answered as though it was obvious.

Ignorant of how the air left Urianger’s lungs at the statement, ignorant of how close to right he was for all the wrong reasons, he sheepishly added, ““and you talked a lot about the different aspects of aether before. Back in Il Mheg.”

There was little and less sense in pretending that he did not immediately see and feel the changes that had taken place in the time since they had last seen one another on the Source. It was one of the few things left that he did not have to lie about.

For he would know more than most what was happening—he was complicit in the scheme from the moment the Exarch had brought him into the fold. More than anyone, he understood the immense but exact cost of each patch of night sky…and who was meant to pay it.

“I do confess to no small amount of concern for thee—moreso than what hath become customary for thy heroic exploits, that is.” Urianger recalled measuring each word like a tentative step on ice. “Ere you had set foot on the First…much and more had already changed within thee, though I do not understand the depth of such changes. But the changes hath only become more striking since thy arrival here.”

“I…there’s so much goin’ on, so much at stake—Urianger, I can’t come to anyone else with this.” Arihel had said, words almost tripping on his Lominsan accent and mounting anxiety.

Despite being nearly half a head taller he seemed determined to make himself small in that moment, and it was well that he was pointedly looking at the kettle on the stove lest he might see the way Urianger flinched. The Warrior of Light was now the second person to tell him that, and of direct consequence to his first confidant in this world.

“Thou hast no need to fear reproach from me, Arihel.” he said softly, hands occupied with cups and the filling thereof. “Aught I might do to lessen the burden on thy shoulders, thou needs but ask it of me, and I shall do all in my power to make it so.”

As if to seal the promise in the ways of the fae folk—a habit hard formed over the last three years—he pressed a steaming cup of tea into Arihel’s hands.

“...I believe you.” he whispered half into his tea. “I have to—wouldn’t be here in the first place if I didn’t, right?”

It was Urianger’s turn to lower his gaze. Given all that he withheld from all those he had held so very dear, he felt unworthy. In equal turns, he felt a churning sense of desperation to be worthy of it twist with the guilt, the uoroboros tangled itself around the corrupted fulcrum of his very being. His secrets had brought about this fear within his friend. His secrets would bear salvation to him. Both were sins born of virtue. He could not falter now when it would doom all he loved and cherished—Arihel included.

Choosing damnation over oblivion, as he always would, Urianger opted for silence to coax Arihel to speak.

Words strung together, halting for the rattling breath and pulls of drink told a tale of corrupted closure. A battle unfolding on the Azim Steppe between a father figure and the man who saw the monster within him.

Nergaal might have succumbed to his adopted son’s blows after a long and arduous battle, but Arihel was never the same again.

Both combatants had been granted the Echo—but Nergaal had something more wicked still to darken his shadow: voidsent. Devoured for their essence and grafted onto his soul in grim patchwork, the creatures had both strengthened and consumed the man from the inside out, his body sustained only by his Blessing outrunning the rot.

When Nergaal could no longer outpace Arihel, the voidsent he had devoured had congealed into a concentrated corruption. Fearful of what would happen should such malfeasance be left to do as it wanted, Arihel had taken it unto himself.

“In the middle of it all,” he whispered after the silence stretched at length. “I’ll never forget those eyes…looking at me. Always, always looking at me.”

Before that point, Urianger had known Arihel’s eyes to be a bright, almost luminescent colour. He had never managed to hold the man’s gaze long enough to tell whether the color of that radiance was a seafoam green or a cloudy sky blue, but only the faintest limbal ring of that hue remained in eyes that now glared a fierce garnet red color. Where Arihel’s eyes once resembled dappled sunlight streaming through the window, Urianger could only now equate their glow to smouldering coals in a dark furnace.

How much longer could Arihel continue to burn before he guttered out to the last embers, Urianger wondered grimly.

As if to shield his heart from the memory, Arihel gave a shudder so violent his torso folded in on itself.

“Everything already felt off after I took the voidsent into me.” he said in a tone that made it clear admitting it hurt almost as much as the corruption itself. “I thought—I dunno, I thought if I absorbed the Light here, it would balance it out somehow? I thought it might after hearing you talk about aether, at least—”

“Were it a simple matter of pure aether absorption, there might be some merit to the theory,” Urianger said slowly, searching for words to soften the blow, “but as thou hast doubtless discovered, the imbalance of such confluence, and the darkness within thee a direct result of not mere aether but voidsent, only further complicates thy perilous predicament.”

Even so much time later, after so many moments that reflected this first true meeting betwixt them, Urianger recalled the way Arihel had all but whispered, “Help me, Urianger. Is there anything that can help?”

Down to his marrow was Arihel a Warrior of Warriors, and rarely did he speak of his pain. He was not one to openly disclose his suffering, and tried to do aught in his power to hide what afflictions he was battling.

But Sharlayan Astrology had a peculiar way of drawing the focus to that which is in need of realignment. In finding the fulcrum of one’s desire to heal in the molten core of the patient’s agony, the weak points began to show like stars in the night sky.

“Aught in my power to try, I shall.” Urianger had promised him. “Thou needs but come to me, and I shall render mine all.”

Every time Arihel took back a part of the night sky, he and Urianger would secret themselves away in a private moment all their own, and the Warrior would give his battered aether over to the Wizard’s inspection.

Grimly, the march toward the Exarch’s gambit proceeded apace: a fulcrum dark and radiant all at once, neither cancelling out one another but burning differently at the same flesh. The more of the night sky returned, the more those voidsent were but flecks on a pearlescent core like the shadow of vultures against a blazing sun.

The first time Urianger had deeply examined Arihel’s aether, he had done so without touching him. It had been a request of Arihel’s—fear of what had happened with Nergaal had made him averse to physical contact even before they had been pulled to Norvrandt, and the absorption of Light during his time here had only rubbed that nerve raw.

Patience and pure necessity had won out in the end, and the night after freeing Amh Areng from perpetual day found Arihel in the worst pain he had ever been in.

“Harder to hold in now.” he had admitted, words forced through grit teeth stained iridescent from the aetherically charged bile he had begun to cough up. “Feels worse than before.”

That time, Urianger had all but begged to be permitted close enough to touch—out of a tangled growth of affection and fear that had rooted itself in his heart. With baited breath, he admitted that the need to try and protect him outweighed any concern there might have ever for his own safety.

“I could hurt you,” Arihel warned when a hand was held out in offering to him again.

At that, Urianger smiled and reminded him, “As thou ever could.”

For all the fear Arihel had over anyone touching him, Urianger’s first brush with skin and scale was alarming for how soft they were against his hand. At first contact with the apple of his cheek Arihel’s skin flared in heat, a deep flush creeping over warm skin.

Both of them had held their breaths for long enough that the room had vaguely spun as their aether connected. In stark contrast to the almost tender caress of Arihel subtly leaning into Urianger’s palm, the first tendrils of Arihel’s aether tangling with Uriangers felt almost violent, as if to claw the relief out of him.

Almost immediately the sensation softened, and Urianger did not miss the way Arihel had frowned deeply as if in concentration.

“Thy control is highly commendable,” Urianger praised softly, trying in vain to balance his friend’s aether. “But I assure thee, thou art safe with me. ‘Tis alright to let go of thy facade. ‘Tis alright to bear thy pain unto me. I shall take as much from thee as I can. Thou art safe in my care.”

Before their arrival on the First, Urianger had known Arihel’s aether to be more fire aspected than anything, warm as a hearth and radiant as the sun. Astral, which might well suit to point to a perfect counterbalance to the Light whorling within him.

Thus was Urianger’s theory set in motion, attempting to channel enough water aether into Arihel that his aether could be tilted closer to its natural center. Waves woven with the care of a tailor crafting a gorgeous gown, Urianger wove a luminescent night sky of umbral water over Arihel’s heart in an effort to blanket him in calmer tides.

With each attempt, it became easier. With every touch, every whispered secret between them, Uriagner attuned himself to the ever-shifting sands of Arihel’s aether. Almost without effort, Arihel had become the radiant sun of Urianger’s universe: the fulcrum of his focus and the gravitational pull of his heart. The shores upon which his waters would return in rhythmic ebb and flow of need and understanding, given and taken in kind.

Of course Urianger was going to give his all to try and bring Arihel back from the brink. What else could he do? Whose shores could he find safe haven within save for Arihel’s? Who else could he love but him? What else could he do but continue to try?

If he reminded Arihel, in word and in soul, of the man he had once been before he had shouldered the burden of monsters— first, that of another man and then of another world wholly, if he could ensure that there would be enough of his friend left to save, then it would all be worth it. Urianger could sit with the guilt of betraying his trust, of hiding the truth of the Exarch’s plan, if it meant that Arihel and the rest of his Scion compatriots would be alive.

Such was the Exarch’s gamble. The die was cast. They had failed long before they had reached the heights of Mt. Gulg in an effort to chase away the last of the Light, but it wasn’t until they had reached its summit that they realized how far gone everything had been.

To the last, Urianger had hoped that G’raha Tia’s plan would come to fruition. To the last, selfishly, Urianger had hoped the Crystal Exarch would be the one to die. This process had been agony enough to Arihel but even if he never spoke to Urianger again, he would at least have lived.

Emet-Selch had done exactly as he had promised, and foiled their plans at the last. It was all that Ryne could do to keep Arihel from turning into the last of the Lightwardens that instant. The Oracle had given every onze of her aether just to stabilize him—and half of Urianger’s, when he offered more as they had ferried him back to the Crystarium.

No one looked at the sky outside the airship. No one dared breathe a word of the returned poisoning of Light in the sky. No one needed to.

It was only after Ryne had done all she could that Urianger left Arihel’s side, aiding her in finding her own rest once the mendicants had taken over his care. Absence from him itched at some newly deepened protectiveness in Urianger’s heart, dark and radiant and undefinable.

That yawning chasm that Arihel had occupied left room for Urianger to reflect, however, on how utterly out of balance his heart and mind were, where his dearest friend was concerned. Little wonder he had rarely known how to handle when they were together; he was in a constant state of dizziness, tumbling from the height of his love for Arihel and crashing into the lows of his knowledge of the man.

Urianger was the one Scion out of all of them that Arihel had chosen to go to when in need of succor. Even if other Scions might have known more of the man, they knew little and less of his aether and soul.

Not he. Not Urianger, who could sculpt a topographical map of Arihel’s pain and how it had changed with their travels across Norvrandt. Urianger, who was so privileged to know what it looked like when the most immediate of the pain was soothed away, how the sharp ridges and grooves between his brows softened into a tentative smile. Urianger, who could track the worsening of the Light’s poison in how long it took for his hands to stop trembling after a dose of healing magic—

Urianger, who only knew his tragedies. Who only knew of the horrors visited to him at the Steppe. Who only knew Arihel loved vegetable soup because the Scions were beginning to sound like the healers working the Inn at Journey’s End.

Mere hours had passed until Arihel awoke but they passed like days. Urianger scarce kept himself sufficiently distracted with fretting over his compatriots. For a blessing, everyone else seemed otherwise no worse for wear, if keeping their head down in various aspects.

Bereft of purpose otherwise, Urianger returned to Arihel’s room, wherein he found the suites empty of occupants. Thus, he found his purpose, and began to search for where his guiding star had drifted off to.

There was little and less surprise when he was found wandering with Feo Ul about the Crystarium—but that his stride became purposeful as he caught sight of Urianger most certainly was.

“I was looking for you.” Arihel admitted.

Urianger’s initial reaction was to panic—habit dictated that he was sought out for comfort when the pain became too much.

“Hath thy pain begun to flare anew? Shall I send for young Ryne to attend you, or Y’Shtola—”

“No!” Arihel cut him off, voice just a touch rougher and louder than intended.

Wincing, he softened and tried again, the mumbled words smudged warmly in his accent. “No. Just—wanted to see you. Talk to you, but—”

Used to Arihel searching for words, Urianger fell into step beside him and waited.

“This is his garden. The Exarch’s.” Arihel finally said, and lowered his gaze to lock with Urianger’s as he said, “I want to walk in yours.”

And thus they found themselves in Il Mheg, approaching the Bookman’s Shelves. Their journey had been a quiet but companionable one, the silence not unlike that which encompassed the bulk of their encounters on the Source.

It wasn’t until they were making their way uphill from the Bookman’s Shelves that the silence was broken—and even then, in a voice interrupting the quiet as gently as a skipping stone on the surface of a lake.

“I wish we had talked more. Before, I mean.” Arihel spoke up suddenly.

“Before—?” Urianger prompted.

“Before—before everyone started going to sleep.”

There was an almost boyish charm to describing the theft of their souls in such a way. Like a fairytale. Like Urianger was just waiting to wake up and discover this was all a horrible, wonderful dream.

That, not for the first time, he would wake before he gave in to folly and bore his heart to his Warrior.

Whilst in the grips of this dream-turned-nightmare, Urianger sought to soothe the wincing frown that marred Arihel’s face, countering, “amateur though I mayst be in casual conversation, I floundered all the more ere we began to dream on the Source. Doubt not that though the want was there, the courage had not found me. Blame thyself not, I prithee.”

“I could have tried talking to you.” argued Arihel. “Or at least…tried harder. But you’re so smart, and it’s hard to keep up with you sometimes. Figured you wouldn’t want much to do with me.”

“Thy humility prevents thee from admitting to thy own wit.” countered the Bookman as he ushered Arihel unto his Shelves and latched the door behind them. “That thy light shines differently than mine own dims not its brilliance.”

Words chosen poorly, he realized a second too late when Arihel flinched as he brushed past him.

Another wound he had inflicted. Another sin to be forgiven lest it be devoured.

“Mine metaphor got away from me, I beg thy forgiveness—” he stammered, hands glittering with starlight reaching to soothe out of habit.

“S’alright. I get what you mean.” Arihel answered, waving a hand dismissively without looking back as he continued to move further into the room.

It was Urianger’s turn to flinch.

Such was the same reaction Arihel had given to the knowledge that not only did the Exarch—G’raha Tia—withold critical information about their mission, but had also brought in Urianger as his conspirator. This had always been Arihel’s way, though he now understood the differences—before, such had been in his carefree nature, always banking fires before they outgrew containment. Always letting everyone around him be warm without burning.

These days, he let them go for fear of becoming the fire. With how reserved he had become, the few waspish barks of frustration and anger had seemed as warning sparks in search of kindling. He had never said as much in so many words, but all that Urianger had been privy to—in both memory and deed—spoke for the Warrior of Light in much the same way it always had.

A string of sneezes from Arihel snapped Urianger out of his thoughts, watching with mild amusement as the man sneezed with such intensity that the leg not supporting his weight lifted and bent at the knee, his tail flailing on its own from pure reflex and knocking over several precariously stacked tomes.

After saying a string of words in Limsan that Urianger presumed to be curses, Arihel knelt down in front of the books splayed out on the floor.

“I’m so sorry! Wasn’t paying any bloody attention—” he said over his shoulder, scrabbling to try and gather them all in a hurry.

Crossing the room to where he knelt in a few long strides, Urianger knelt before Arihel to assist in the gathering of papers and books.

“Thou hast no need for apologies, my dear friend. ‘Twas the natural consequence of mine own indolence, leaving these tomes strewn about—”

As they both reached for the same book, their hands brushed. Arihel nearly reeled onto his backside for how he flinched and recoiled but Urianger caught his hand before thinking better of it.

Accidental contact was one thing. It was an easy enough thing to dismiss and pretend at coincidence. Urianger would not have his intentions mistaken: he gave Arihel’s hand a squeeze.

“Just as thou hast naught to apologize for, so too, do you have naught to fear in this place. With me.”

Silence hung heavy in the space between them, even as Arihel had yet to take his hand back. Instead, he stared at Urianger at length, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

Time caught up with them when Arihel caught up with himself, realizing their hands were still entwined. Eyes widening even further—this time out of fear, Urianger realized—he snatched his hand back with such speed that his scales scraped Urianger’s palm.

Before he could hold it back Urianger yelped, more from surprise than any sense of pain. All the same, it was enough for Arihel to bodily flinch and attempt to tuck the offending hand into his own chest, as if to hide as much of himself away as he could.

“I’m sorry—fuck, I’m so sorry!” he wheezed, eyes wide as saucers. “Don’t know what I was thinking, I could have hurt you—”

“As thou hast always been capable of.” Urianger reminded him gently, and showed his unharmed palm for inspection. “And yet, thou has never. Not once.”

“But the Light could have—” Arihel tried to argue.

Urianger cut him off with a shake of his head. “Thou has never.” he repeated in a voice that was all at once quiet but firm. “Regrettably, I cannot claim a similar truth. To mine immense shame, I hath inflicted more pain unto thee than thou hast to me. By an immeasurable magnitude.”

“What?” Arihel balked, his brow furrowing deeply. “But you haven’t—”

Urianger shook his head again and argued, “‘Tis writ plain on thy features, Arihel: I see it in the streaks of starlight in thy hair, in the shift of thy aether. I see it in the way thou hast carried thyself through our most recent trials. Pain is all I have given thee—”

“Okay, that’s not true.” Arihel cut him off firmly, his frown deepening. “Wouldn’t have come to you so many times for help if it hurt.”

Looking down to the hand he had curled into his chest he seemed to wrestle with himself for a long moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, his hand shot out to grab Urianger’s again, as if to do it before he could talk himself out of it.

Urianger was startled less by the suddenness of the action and more that it had happened at all but he managed to repress a flinch of surprise, fearful that it would be misconstrued. All the same, he couldn’t help but gawk at their joined hands, suddenly timid with the shift in conversation and the warmth of the contact.

“I…I went to you first because you try to make things better.” Arihel said, words slow and deliberate. “And…and all of this—”

When Urianger looked up at the motion of Arihel’s hand waving at his own face, he was surprised to see how deeply flushed the man had become.

“All of this,” he tried again, “isn’t your fault either. Not even all of this is the Light.”

“How canst thou be so certain—”

“Nergaal had white hair and red eyes.” Arihel cut him off sharply. “This was starting before I came here, and you know it.”

He seemed to realize that he was starting to get upset, and took a deep breath before speaking again, “Quit trying to find things to beat yourself up with, y’hear? I don’t blame you for it. So don’t blame yourself for me.”

Urianger hid his flinch by tipping his head to look again at their joined hands. Shame had flooded his veins long before Arihel had come to the First, and it now resisted being flushed from him at the reassurance. Unworthy was a chant in his head as steady as his heartbeat, and it would not be silenced by simple words.

“Oi!” Arihel huffed when he attempted to take his hand back in turn.

Lunging forward to take Urianger’s hand back, Arihel insisted, “If I don’t get to pull away, then you don’t either!”

Which left them knelt among a splayed out pile of books, holding hands and gaping at one another’s flushed faces. For several long moments, neither of them moved for fear of breaking themselves out of this trance.

Belatedly, Urianger realized that this was the longest they had gone with physical contact that served no purpose: for the first time, their touch was intentional without any further goal than to be held by one another.

Was this not a sort of healing in its own right?

Heart in his throat and blood roaring in his ears, Urianger swallowed and croaked, “Thou hast me at a disadvantage, as thou always has.”

With an intensity normally reserved for the battlefield, Arihel leveled a glare at Urianger as he insisted, “If you’re not running, I’m not running. If you’re running, I’m running with you.”

Meeting Arihel’s gaze as evenly as he could, he promised, “As thou sayest.”

Almost immediately, he had to lower his gaze from those piercing eyes, burning like coals in a fire. He felt the heat of that stare as it remained on him, even as Arihel let go of his hand and picked up the stack of books they had collected.

“We should actually put these on shelves, y’know.” he said.

When Urianger grabbed the other stack of tomes they had rearranged, Arihel stood and offered him an outstretched hand. In accepting the offer and letting himself be helped up, Urianger felt the deliberate nature of both the offer and the way their hands stayed linked for several seconds after he was upright.

“Verily, thou hast the right of it.” he said when their hands at last disentangled. “‘Tis only right to put away that which I stacked unto the floor in mine academic fervor.”

Arihel’s bark of laughter startled Urianger, who jumped just a little at the burst of noise before they both looked at one another for a moment and dissolved into fits of giggles. With the stuffy, warm stillness of this sanctuary, it felt like they were two young academics trying not to get caught by the Librarian being loud between bookshelves.

Like they could have always been friends.

Like Urianger was always going to love Arihel.

It was less that the tension had left them entirely and more that it waited politely at the door while the two of them put away stacks and stacks of books. They could have stopped at just the two stacks that had been knocked over but time passed more pleasantly when they passed it together, and the decision to keep tidying up had been silently agreed upon between the two of them.

Everlasting Light burned outside but through the wide, dusty windows of the Bookman’s Shelves it almost passed for beams of afternoon sun, honeyed through the faint tint of the thick glass windows. Time mattered both less and more when the night was not coming.

Long had it been that Urianger was helpless to the gravitational pull of Arihel. Voidsent and Light and a doomed future could not change the way he was drawn closer.

Filing books on the shelves was just as good an excuse as any to be near—never mind that Urianger was putting them in the wrong places and that future Urianger will have to redo this entire section of the wall to his typical exacting standard, it was worth being able to be close enough that he felt Arihel’s warmth radiating against his side.

Arihel was not a star that he needed to wield nor master, to claim nor even to touch. That Urianger was warmed by him, in his orbit, was more than enough.

And as they worked, conversation inevitably began to bubble up. Slowly at first, with a few murmured questions about placement and equally soft replies. But with time, Arihel began to ask about some of the titles—what is this one about? Can you tell me about it?

Ever weak to the opportunity to teach, Urianger gladly answered any questions until eventually it turned retelling Arihel stories he had collected over the years. Some of them weren’t even among the books that he had here but were on shelves a world away, doubtless collecting dust without his custodianship. Stories that had helped him learn how to socialize with others— “Always was I a timid and meek child, terrified of the prospect of conversation,” he explained with a chortle to himself. “I didst rely heavily upon fairytales and ancient myths to shape my words when I had none myself. Thus did I speak this way.”

“So it’s like a cover?” Arihel asked without judgement. “Like pretending you’re a character in a book makes it easier for you to talk?”

Urianger nodded. “Donning the mask of a character in a hero’s tale permitted I couldst speak at all. Were it not for Moenbryda’s outgoing radiance, I fear I may not have made a single friend during my younger years. My peers thought me ‘weird,’ though I suppose they were not incorrect in the assumption.”

“I would have been your friend.” Arihel replied with immediate surety. “We would’ve been weird together.”

A smile bloomed unbidden on Urianger’s face at that. “Of that, I do not doubt. Not for a singular beat of my heart.”

When the last books were shelved, their hands brushed. A glancing sunbeam of warmth in this stillness. The two of them froze again, hands hovering in the space between them and only just connecting.

Arihel’s expression suddenly crumpled. “We’ve wasted so much time.” he rasped. “Why did we wait so long to just sit and talk?”

Because I knew I wouldst love thee from the first moment we met, should I seek to befriend thee. Because I was right. Because I am a coward.

“For mine own part, ‘twas a fear that I wouldst have naught to say of interest to thee—nor aught of enough to interrupt thy work.”

When Urianger made to take his hand back, Arihel caught it with his own and tangled their fingers together.

“I wanted to talk, you know.” he huffed. “I even tried to, a few times! But it was like my tongue went stupid when I was around you and I couldn’t say much.”

Urianger squeezed to keep his grip as he lowered their twinned hands. He studied the tangle of their fingers in favor of yet more reflection on all they could have been before.

“Though the prospect of lamenting what we did not speak of in the past be a tempting chalice to drink from, we shall not find satisfaction in the act, I think.” he pondered aloud.

Daring to be bolder yet, knowing what they were about to face, he held Arihel’s gaze steady with his own, unguarded and afraid, as he murmured, “I would instead consider sharing what we wish to, in this moment, in this place. I would propose that we choose to make of the present what we will.”

Arihel nods slowly, eyes drifting away in thought. It was enchanting, watching the way he bit the inside of his cheek when mulling something over.

When he looked back to Urianger, he seemed just a bit less guarded than before. “I don’t…think I’m ready to walk away from this yet.” he admitted quietly, lashes fluttering as he visibly fought with the urge to look away. “This feels nice, being here. With you.”

Heat bloomed on both of their faces, and though they trembled with the want to distance themselves, they both remained right where they were. Together—for no other reason than they wanted to be.

“Come, then. Let us wander our own path a while longer.” Urianger offered with a gentle voice and an extension of his hand. “Together this time, if thou wouldst have me.”

There was no hesitation in the way that Arihel took his offered hand. Even when Urianger led him out the door and into the everlasting glow of the Light, Arihel did not so much as flinch when emerging from their sanctuary. As if he trusted that Urianger would never lead him astray. Trusted even now, even after everything that had happened.

Unworthy and deeply aware of it, his heart fluttered all the same.

As they approached the nearby bank of Longmirror Lake, he could feel Arihel’s curiosity rolling off him in waves, steps beginning to turn syrupy and slow but never truly stopping. Ponderous, but not doubting. Never doubting.

“All will be well.” Urianger promised him. “Thou needs but have faith.”

“I have faith in you.” Arihel affirmed as their boots began to sink, gently, into to sodden earth of the lakeshore.

Urianger did not break his stride, his grip on Arihel’s hand sure and firm as steel as he murmured an incantation and held his focus on the water that rose to meet their footfalls.

Not once did Arihel hesitate. Not once did he stop walking beside him, nor let go of his hand. At first, Urianger had put it down to blind faith, until Arihel looked down a few steps in and realized what was happening.

“Don’t look away.” Urianger rasped, still keeping his focus on the spell.

Stunned by the lack of formality, Arihel remained transfixed on him as they continued to walk across the surface of the lake. It afforded Urianger the space to weave his spell protectively around them. The lake only just rippled with the brush of Urianger’s robes, the light splash of their feet tapping against it in the most shallow of invasions, steps wrapped in starlight, the surface of the lake stretching and warping to keep them aloft.

It is enough for them to make it to the roof of a submerged house that stood above the surface of the lake, the two of them sitting on it with all the fanfare of resting on a log at the side of the road.

“I like your light more.” Arihel said softly.

A canopy of deep, shifting umber whorled sluggishly over them, dense enough to devour the ever-burning Light, softening it into something like moonbeams and accented with the glittering of the stars themselves. It remained even after they had no need for the water walking spell, Urianger’s focus pulled to Arihel so naturally as to forget to release it.

A blessing, so it seemed. The effort made it harder for him to be anything but his truest, most honest self.

“My light?” he asked softly, almost fearing the answer.

Arihel nodded, reaching out after a moment of debate with himself to tuck a stray hair behind Urianger’s pointed ear. “This—it’s like starlight. Like you know just enough to show me who you are without blinding me.”

His hand lingered on the apple of Urianger’s cheek as he whispered, “So I can see you.”

“I will admit, I maintained it to keep thee shielded from the Light.” Urianger confessed, almost timid but grateful for his little piece of the night sky, grateful that he could stand in a softer light. “But the night sky has always held a greater comfort to me than that of the day. Little wonder that I took to Astrology so readily, when in need of healing magic.”

“I like seeing you like that, when you’re enjoying the stars.” Arihel said as though agreeing with him. “S’part of why I wanted to bring back the night sky so badly. Because you love it so much.”

It was a rare thing for Urianger to be well and truly stunned to silence. When fumbling for something to say, many a poetic turn of phrase from the books he so dearly cherished was enough to fill the silence until someone else deigned to fill the void. Moenbryda often made a game of trying to fluster him into being nonverbal.

Little could have robbed him of words more thoroughly than the focus of his affection, the center of his gravity, telling him with all the weight of discussing a favorite book that Arihel brought the night sky back for no other reason than because Urianger loved it.

“I heard you describe it to Y’Shtola, and it felt. I dunno. I could tell how much you missed it. So I wanted you to have it back, even if it’s different from home.”

“Betimes, I would struggle to remember what the night sky looked like—or the day’s sky, for that matter. Everything was bathed in shimmering gold and opalescence from the moment of mine arrival.” Urianger admitted. “In a way, I believe I studied Astrology due in no small part to mine own homesickness. It all felt less out of my grasp, when I wrapped the stars ‘round my fingers.”

“I’d think about what you were doing here all the time, before I came.” Arihel nodded. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until that first time I absorbed the Light—oh!”

He startled at that, as though something had only just occurred to him. “You weren’t there for that yet—that was in Lakeland, before we went to Il Mheg.”

A peculiar but darling flush spread across Arihel’s face, a deep red that almost turned scarlet nearly matching the red on his scales and in his pupils. As if caught, he admitted, “I lose track of when you were here, I think about you often enough that I sometimes picture you in places I know you weren’t at. Like you were in the corner of my eye in all of them.”

For several long moments, Urianger did not move. Even his breathing was shallow in that moment, as if scared to disturb the steadily shrinking space between them.

“Thou thinkest of me that often?” he asked in a rasp, the air leaving his lungs on the question. “Truly?”

“I feel safer with you around. Even in my own head.” Arihel answered immediately. “‘Specially in my own head.”

And through it all, Arihel did not look away from Urianger once. Not even when his archaic speech patterns fell away from his focus, when he chose to choose to be just that little bit more vulnerable, just that little bit that was more than he had been with anyone since his days in Sharlayan. Like he didn’t have to draw on a hero he looked up to as a child just to have the bravery to speak. Like he was free.

He must have been quiet for just long enough to worry Arihel, who frowned up at the suspended cloud of illusory night sky.

“Is it hard to keep up, though? You shouldn’t tax yourself—”

“The concentration of this spell would be far more daunting, were it not for thee.” Urianger said before he could stop himself. “Astrology, and the practice thereof, requireth a foci—an anchor to which all the magic of its wielder centers its casting. It is the gravity of that magic user’s very star.”

Arihel gawked at him, lips parted as though to say something. A moment passed, and he closed his mouth with a heavy swallow.

Despite this, his voice sounded dry when he asked, “Do you mean—?”

“Thou art the sun of mine own sky. The center of mine universe. The focus of my devotion, my study, and my cause.” Urianger confessed, words soft and touch softer, as he reached up to press Arihel’s hovering hand flush to his own face. “I wouldst wrap the stars around your center of gravity. Thou needs but ask it of me.”

“I…I want…” Arihel breathed. “...I want so many things, in this moment.”

“Tell me,” his astrologian begged.

“I want…I want to be better. I want it to be night, so you don’t have to do that. I want to be your focus.” Arihel began with tentative words, but the longer he looked at Urianger, silently urging him on, the more the words tumbled out of him with reckless abandon, “I want to know you better. I want you to know the happier parts of me—the better parts of me than what I ask to heal. I want—”

At that, his flush returned tenfold. Were it physiologically possible, Arihel might be glowing, Urianger thought. He might be glowing regardless—he was beginning to resemble an aetherically charged rolanberry.

“You want…?”

“I want to kiss you very badly.” Arihel admitted in the quietest voice Urianger had ever heard. “I have for a while now.”

If he did not fear Arihel taking it the wrong way, Urianger might have laughed at how utterly darling that he was being in that moment, how utterly dear he was to him always. He wanted to laugh in joy, to weep in sorrow at what had been done to his beloved. To howl in indignation at the situation that had put them here to begin with, that this was what it had taken for them to bear their hearts to one another.

In lieu of all that, Urianger prayed, “Please—”

Was there a pull from the hand on his face, or did he fall into Arihel with no prompting at all? Had they both come together in the middle, stars colliding in the scant space between them? The hum that reverberated from Arihel in to Urianger at the first tender caress of their lips certainly made that seem likely.

“I want all of that and more with thee.” Urianger murmured as he rubbed their noses together.

Foreheads pressed together to catch their breaths, Arihel’s eyes slipped shut as a pleased, rumbling click rose in his throat. The subtle tip of his head into Urianger’s palms when they cupped his face told him that he still had his Warrior’s attention.

Knowing this, he persisted, “I want us to win the day in that way that those heroes in tales so oft do. I want to win back all our tomorrows. I want to know thee in the shade of the moon, in the light of the sun. In light and darkness, I wouldst know every piece of thee, and bear mine all to thee in turn.”

Clinging to boldness, he kissed Arihel again and whispered against his mouth, “I love thee. I want thee to live.”

At that, Arihel opened his eyes and looked at Urianger—really looked. His hand had remained on his face, thumb softly stroking the apple of his cheek. He grew just still enough to worry Urianger but moved to kiss him more deeply before he could open his mouth to voice it.

“Let’s be alive here for a little longer.” he all but begged when he took his lips back momentarily before diving back to plunger Urianger’s mouth for his every coherent thought. “Just a little longer. Let me love you here for a few seconds more. Then, I give you back the night sky wrapped up in a pretty sash, we save G’raha Tia, and get to the business of living. Sound good?”

They would make their way back to Lakeland in a few more minutes—by way of teleport, at the insistence of Urianger to conserve Arihel’s strength. They would return to their fellow Scions, solidify a plan to save the day, and then…and then…

And then…tomorrow would come. A tomorrow that would let them all live to see it, to know themselves and one another.

But that was tomorrow. In this moment, on this sunken in roof on a fully sunken house, peeking just over a lake on a star far away from home, Urianger held a piece of the night sky overhead just for them, just for Arihel to kiss him under. A taste of the life they would fight for in the next few hours, sampled now, to remind them of just what they were fighting for.

#ffxiv #sarenhale #urianger augurelt #ffxiv urianger #wol x urianger #other people's oc #writing commissions #thank you again for the comm Sarenhale!#always a pleasure to work with you and your blorbos :D

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enlightenedrobot · 1 year ago

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Concerning the Mouse

Disclaimer. This is a blog post. It's not an essay or legal advice or any of that. It's mostly a collection of thoughts. If you want something a little more well researched, might I suggest this post here. Anyways, let's talk about this lovable rat right here.

As of January 1st, 2024, Mickey Mouse, as depicted in Steamboat Willie, The Galloping Goncho, and Plane Crazy is in the public domain. Personally, I've been looking forward to this, and I've kinda taken it as a personal challenge to figure out how exactly I can reinterpret the mouse for my own projects. And I actually think I got it. But before that... let's talk about this.

I don't think the image above is safe.

It's true, Steamboat Willie is in the public domain, but Mickey Mouse is still protected by trademark law, and those frames and that get up specifically are still very much protected.

I can't be too sure about this, because both Infestation 88 (The Videogame) and Mickey's Mouse Trap (The Horror Movie) seem to use variations of this specific design, but like... those ears are probably still protected, as are those pants. This version of Mickey also lacks his iconic white gloves, but contrary to what other people might say, I don't think "old cartoon wearing white gloves" is something uniquely trademarkable to the Disney corporation.

So if you wanna play it safe, it might be a good idea to use other elements provided by these cartoons as the base for your own interpretation of the character.

This is the version of Mickey Mouse as depicted in the title card of Steamboat Willie, and like, there's a bit more to work with here. His pants have stripes not seen in other incarnations of the character, and he also has a pretty distinct hat and cane.

More notably, his eyes are actually very different from Modern Mickey. They're huge, and the pie eyes that everybody associates with this era of animation are actually pupils. Not the eyes by themself.

What's funny is that there's a definite resemblances between these eyes and those of Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic was apparently based on Mickey Mouse, so I'm not super surprised.

Those eyes in the title screen actually seem to be a holdover from Plane Crazy, where Mickey Mouse continues to have huge eyes. From that same cartoon, We also have Mickey Mouse deliberately messing up his hair to resemble the pilot Charles Lindbergh.

And like... it's cute. It's a look.

One thing I also keep seeing on social media is that Mickey Mouse has to be Black and White and he's not allowed to speak, because both Mickey's voice and his iconic red pants wouldn't be used until much later.

But like... you're allowed to build on these designs. Just because you can't color his shorts red doesn't mean you can't use color period. And using a different voice for the mouse is a very good way to differentiate your incarnation of the character from Disney's. This isn't legal advice, but I do believe you could get away with giving him a different colored outfit and, say, a deep souther accent ala Foghorn Leghorn.

Anyways, with all this in mind, allow me to introduce my own take on the character, Micheal Elias Mouse Jr. (Mike E. Mouse for short)

He's a former childstar, the son of the original Mickey Mouse, and an intellectual property lawyer with a dubious degree.

I intentionally made him rattier to make him more distinct, but don't let the smell of beef and cheese scare you off. This mouse might of been hit by hard times, but he still has a big heart, and deep down he's still the mouse we all know and love.

From a design standpoint, I tried my best to make the character recognizably mickey life while also changing up the original silhouette. Neither of the ears are perfect circles and one of them has a pretty significant bite taken out of it. The ratty hair and hat also help.

His gloves are yellow, inspired by various promotional materials for the original Steamboat Willie where Mickey dawns yellow gloves instead of the usual white. Further, I changed up the design of his shorts just because pushing the design that much further would help make this version of the character distinct from the Disney version.

If I'm not already protected by the public domain, I'm also protected by the fact that this character is obviously a parody. Middle aged dilf Mickey is not something Disney would never make, and the story I have in mind for him is more or less critical of the Disney corporation while still celebrating the artistry of the original cartoons and animation on the whole.

Anyways, Mickey Mouse entering the public domain is a big win for creatives everywhere, especially for fans of the original character. My interpretation isn't the only valid take on the character out there and I'm excited to see where everyone else goes now that the rat is free use.

#Mickey Mouse #Steamboat Willie #Public Domain #Plane Crazy #Mickey's Mouse Trap #Infestation 88 #Art #Fair Use #Creativity #Mickey #Cartoons #Animation

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acknowledgetheabsurd · 9 months ago

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Overcast weather. A fine rain covers the whole landscape. Yesterday afternoon, work and mail. In the evening we went to dinner in Cannes (nothing to eat here). After dinner, Michel [Gallimard] wanted to go and lose a little money at the roulette wheel. I stayed in the big dance hall to watch humanity. Not beautiful humanity. Except for two American women with whom I had my touch. It is true that I looked fatal and vigorous. But I didn't push my advantages.

This morning, work in my bed. Some brilliant ideas and then the calm flat. Finally your letter of Friday and Saturday. Iberia, samba and whiskey! Poor me! me! But in truth this is not what struck me most. I read carefully your letter of Friday. Yes, it is a proof of love to tell me that. And I think I understand, although on another day you might shout at me the opposite.

You are changeable, my love. But I would like to know what is constant and true underneath these changes (I do not mean love, I live only of the certainty of your love). One day you will think coldly and without thinking, to spare nothing or reconcile anything, tell me what is your real and lucid desire. Tell me also, if you can, what are those even deeper gaps that could arise in a common life together. Do you want to talk about this discovery of loneliness that one makes in the heart of the most intertwined lives? Or do you imagine something else! Speak to me as you did, with this clear love of the whole being.

You know and you must know now that I will always understand you, that nothing can change my love anymore. This is what I have discovered here. You would do the worst things, and against our very love, in spite of a suffering that I am physically afraid of because I know it, I would still love you and stay with you. These are reckless words (in every respect) and before I said them I thought about them a lot. But I must say them to you because I know now that they are true. The love I have for you, which is nevertheless terribly attached to your person cannot be reached now by you, even if you wanted to. Of course this excludes neither pain, nor humiliation, nor madness, nor revolt... But what, I love you from now on without reserve: I am happy. But let us leave that.

It remains indeed that spring is here - this night again I almost wrote you a letter of desire. And then I nestled you in the hollow of my body and I fell asleep curled up with you: this morning I woke up full of strength and appetite. Alas! At least I got your letter. There are things in it that pierced my heart with a staggering happiness: "If a few months or a few years ago, I had been asked to make a wish that, if fulfilled, would justify in my eyes, my life, I would have simply wished to be one day near you what I am today". Ah! my love, my great, my divine! Other things made me vaguely sad but I understood them and I admired you and loved you for telling me. Yes, I love and cherish you. I have for you the infinite patience of love, the furious impatience of desire. But I have also, and from now on, a certainty that is out of time and in which I meet you, in the depths of my being. I kiss you, endlessly.

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, February 13, 1950 [#189]

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ebaeschnbliah · 2 years ago

Photo

`And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?'

`None, Lady,' answered Gimli. `It is enough for me to have seen the Lady of the Galadhrim, and to have heard her gentle words.'

`Hear all ye Elves! ' she cried to those about her. `Let none say again that Dwarves are grasping and ungracious! Yet surely, Gimli son of Glóin, you desire something that I could give? Name it, I bid you! You shall not be the only guest without a gift.'

`There is nothing, Lady Galadriel,' said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. `Nothing, unless it might be - unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire.'

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, but the Lady smiled. 'It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues ' she said; `yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous. And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift? '

`Treasure it, Lady,' he answered, `in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days.'

Then the Lady unbraided one of her long tresses, and cut off three golden hairs, and laid them in Gimli's hand. `These words shall go with the gift,' she said. `I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, and on the other only hope. But if hope should not fail, then I say to you, Gimli son of Glóin, that your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.’

The travellers now turned their faces to the journey; the sun was before them, and their eyes were dazzled, for all were filled with tears. Gimli wept openly.

`I have looked the last upon that which was fairest,' he said to Legolas his companion. `Henceforward I will call nothing fair, unless it be her gift.' He put his hand to his breast.

`Tell me, Legolas, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the chief peril lay! Truly Elrond spoke, saying that we could not foresee what we might meet upon our road. Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy. Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. Alas for Gimli son of Glóin! '

`Nay! ' said Legolas. `Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. But I count you blessed, Gimli son of Glóin: for your loss you suffer of your own free will, and you might have chosen otherwise. But you have not forsaken your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is that the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart, and shall neither fade nor grow stale.'

`Maybe,' said Gimli; `and I thank you for your words. True words doubtless; yet all such comfort is cold. Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zâram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf. Elves may see things otherwise. Indeed I have heard that for them memory is more like to the waking world than to a dream. Not so for Dwarves.

'But let us talk no more of it. Look to the boat! She is too low in the water with all this baggage, and the Great River is swift. I do not wish to drown my grief in cold water.' He took up a paddle, and steered towards the western bank, following Aragorn's boat ahead, which had already moved out of the middle stream.

The gifts for:

Boromir, Legolas, Merry, Pippin, Sam: ‘I have brought in my ship gifts’

Aragorn: 'Now it is time to drink the cup of farewell.'

Frodo: ‘In this phial is caught the light of Eärendil's star.’

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, Farewell to Lórien

#the lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #farewell to lórien #jrr tolkien #lothlorien #caras galadhon #farewell #gifts #galadriel #gimli #legolas #movie pics #peter jackson

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restlessmaknae · 2 years ago

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of taekwondo & confessions [k.y.h]

Annoying or not, your mom asks you to take your little sister to her taekwondo classes, but you don't expect to see your once middle school crush being the practice teacher there.

➳ Characters: taekwondo practice teacher!Yohan x female!reader/you

➳ Genre: childhood sweethearts to lovers, fluff, comedy

➳ Words: 3.7k

➳ Warning: -

➳ WEi taglist: @dat-town, @effulgentfireflies, @hyu-won, @littlestartonightsposts, @ishuayou

It wasn't even a bad day. In fact, it was a pretty good day, your boss even praised you for your work that day, so you couldn't say that you had a strike of unlucky things happening to you. However, when you bumped into Kim Yohan out of all people at your little sister's taekwondo academy, you were definitely in for a surprise.

Not that his presence at a taekwondo academy should have surprised you. After all, his father was a taekwondo master and he had been doing taekwondo professionally when you had last seen him. It was the fact that he was the one teaching your little sister as a practice teacher under a senior instructor’s supervision that surprised you. Oh, and of course the fact that you never expected to see your middle school crush again after he had gone to a different school, and your silly little broken heart had convinced you that you would never find true love after the boy you had confessed to had not only said nothing in return, but he had also left your school altogether. Back then, you had no phone, no social media account, so he had gone without a trace.

There was no doubt that it was him though. He had the same boba eyes, the same bunny smile and the same pitch-black hair that you had always imagined ruffling like those main leads in your favourite young adult books that you had loved back then. You had imagined Yohan in the love interest's place so many times, and you remembered that aching feeling of wanting your love life to turn out like the ones in those books all too well.

Alas, you had been young and naive and foolish and...

"Hi!" Yohan greeted you with a wide albeit surprised smile. Well, at least he didn't expect to see you here either.

"Hi!" You responded slowly, still taking in the sight of the boy who had grown into such a handsome young man. Not that you hadn't considered him handsome back then because you had. It's just that his features were even more defined now, his shoulders even broader and he was even taller than he used to be. Though you had last seen him around a decade ago, it shouldn’t have been surprising.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither," you reciprocated his semi-nervous laughter with a smile as you tried to keep it cool. After all, he must have forgotten all about your confession, right? It had been so many years ago, he must not have even taken you seriously if he hadn't replied back then (not that he had a chance because you had practically run away from him after your confession, too embarrassed to bear his gaze).

Just like that, silence enveloped you, and you knew that Yohan had never been good at awkward situations, so you tried to keep it casual.

"I came to pick up my little sister, Yeji. She attends a class here. Your class, it seems," you explained, referring to the fact that you had seen your sister come out of the exact same practice room he had come out of.

Yohan's mouth formed a surprised O in return, but then, he was back to his usual coy self as he mentioned:

"It's not my class as per se. I'm still just a practice teacher."

"Everyone has to start somewhere, right?" You joked, trying to ease the slight awkwardness in the air, but you weren't sure that you saying such a thing was helping at all. God, you two were full-grown adults now, him already practising to be a teacher and you doing an internship, you should have known how to communicate better. Maybe it was just that the surprise hadn't worn off. Yeah, that should be it.

"How about you? Are you at uni or already working?" Yohan inquired after clearing his throat, and it was such a Yohan thing to do. He had always cleared his throat like that before giving presentations or being asked to solve a task by the board. It was such a silly thing to suddenly remember, but what could you do? You had been once head over heels for this boy.

"Oh, I finished uni during spring. I'm now doing an internship. I'm a sales intern for a fashion company."

"Sounds exciting."

"Yeah, it is," you responded with a smile, then to fill the silence, you told him about what tasks you had and what products were sold at the company and how you were working part-time, so you could pick up your little sister from now on because your mother now had a schedule change due to a colleague going on maternity leave. Not that he asked about half of it, but you knew that your little sister needed an awful lot of time to get ready, so even though kids were leaving the changing rooms one by one, you weren't surprised that you didn't see your sister coming out anytime soon.

In return, you asked about Yohan, and how he had ended up here and how long he would stay here and such, and he responded casually. These weren't such difficult questions though, but you were glad that the initial awkwardness wasn't lingering anymore.

Finally, your little sister showed up, her face still quite red, but her smile was as wide as it could be. Especially when she saw that you were talking to her teacher.

"Did you ask him how I was doing?" Yeji chirped, reaching out to hold your hand - something she always did when you were around others. She was extra clingy around strangers.

"No. We were catching up."

"Catching up?" She looked at you with wide eyes, then at Yohan. To that, you explained that you had been middle school classmates, and since she went to the same middle school as you did, she found it extremely fascinating that her taekwondo teacher went to the same school as she did.

"Anyways, let's not keep up your teacher any longer," you announced firmly when silence settled over the three of you. As expected, Yeji complained a bit, but eventually, she let her teacher go his way and you two also went your way which meant home in your case.

It didn't take long for your little sister to gossip about the fascinating revelation that her new practice teacher was your middle school classmate. To make matters worse, your mother knew exactly who Kim Yohan was, and she couldn't keep it quiet either.

"Wasn't he the boy you liked so much back then?" She exclaimed beamingly as if she had received great news, and you felt like falling head first into your bowl of pasta.

"You liked my teacher?" Yeji immediately shrieked excitedly, and it took some serious minutes to explain to her that it was a long time ago, you didn't like him anymore, and that he wasn't her teacher back then, so it didn't sound that weird.

Ever since then, you tried your very best not to run into Yohan when you went to pick her up or when you did, Yeji couldn't be around or ask anything regarding your middle school crush. Miraculously, it worked for some time, but once you had an urgent matter at work, so you couldn't leave on time, and you were almost half an hour late than you usually arrived. You basically ran from the underground station to the academy because Yeji didn't have a phone, so you couldn't tell her that you were on your way, and you were afraid that she would be panicking when she didn't see you after coming out of the changing rooms.

The sight that welcomed you was totally different though. Yeji and Yohan were sitting on the chairs opposite the reception desk, and they were playing cham cham cham. You let out a long, relieved sigh upon hearing your little sister's laughter, and your heart did a silly little somersault when Yohan's bunny smile was on full display while playing with her.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry that I was late. Something came up at the company, and I had to stay a bit longer," you explained in one-go when you walked up to them, but instead of being angry, your little sister seemed more understanding.

"It's okay. Mom didn't always arrive on time either," she just shrugged, and god, you thanked the gods for having a sister like her in that moment. This gratefulness didn't stay with you for long though. "We were playing some games with your crush while waiting."

Oh. My. God. How did she... Why... How could... No. This wasn't happening. Nope.

"I've told you not to call him that," you muttered through gritted teeth, trying to act natural with a smile in Yohan's direction, but he definitely did hear you two talking, and if it was possible, he was even more flabbergasted than you were.

"Why not? You've said you told him-"

"Come on, that was a long time ago. Right, Yohan?" You glanced in the boy's direction quite frantically. You felt like it would have been better if the ground had opened up beneath you. You really just wanted to evaporate.

"Right, it was. You didn't even let me respond," he brought it up, almost sulkily, but you swore that you were on the verge of making an even bigger fool out of yourself and tell him that he was still handsome, and you found it cute that he was teaching kids, and he was seemingly good with your little sister too and that was adorable...

And so on and so forth, so you needed to leave.

"Anyways, we have to go now. I promised mom I would get groceries before going home, so we need to do that too," you clapped your hands to announce it and grabbed your sister's gym bag from the floor, throwing it over your shoulder.

Thankfully, your sister perked up at the mention of grocery shopping - which meant free food sometimes due to the promotional samples -, so she gave in easily. This way, you could bid your goodbye to Yohan as soon as possible, and you could leave before wanting to admit something that you just couldn't.

Yohan was kind enough not to bring up your awkward middle school confession, so your conversations could actually be about things that didn't cause awkwardness. He was still very much the introverted boy you had known him to be, but he could get really chatty when it was about a topic he was interested in or stories with his friends that he was trying to tell with big hand gestures and voice intonations. It didn't help your silly little heart though, in fact, you felt like you just fell deeper and deeper with no way out. Once your sister took an extra long time changing after practice, you could also see Yohan in a non-uniform outfit because he had already changed into his usual clothes before your sister came out, and oh boy, he did grow broader and stronger. He also knew how to dress himself, so the tight black jeans, simple white tee, leather jacket combo didn't help your heart at all.

Though you didn't meet outside of the taekwondo academy because why would you? You also had around 15-30 minutes twice a week to talk, so it's not like you talked a lot, though with him, you felt like you could listen to him all the time, so it wouldn't be enough anyway. He might have given you his number (in case you were late to pick up your sister, so at least he would know about it even if your sister didn't have a phone), but you didn't start messaging each other too intensively.

The first time you met each other outside of the taekwondo academy was at a taekwondo competition. It was your sister's first competition, so she was super nervous, but she got encouragement from both of her teachers and you as well. Her fellow taekwondo team members supported her as well, but she eventually lost before the semi-finals, and instead of staying out on the field, she didn't come up to you to the stand during break, so you got worried.

You walked down the corridors, and walked into the changing room where you had previously put down her stuff. However, she wasn't there. You were almost about to call Yohan, hoping that he looked at his phone during the breaks, when you caught sight of the said boy crouched down to be at eye-level with your sister and hugging her while she was crying.

"It's okay. I've lost in competitions too, it's inevitable. Next time you'll be even better. Almost making it into the semi-finals is already a great achievement," you heard Yohan say to her, patting her back reassuringly while Yeji was still constantly sobbing. Hearing her cry broke your heart a little, but the boy's reassurance warmed it a bit, too.

"Yohan is right," you said as you halted beside their duo, and gently patted your sister's shoulder to gain her attention. You reached a pack of tissues out to her, and she took it, immediately using up two to blow her nose and wipe away her tears. "It was your first competition. You did so well. Now you know what you can expect, and you'll smash it next time."

"And maybe even become a teacher like me one day," Yohan added with a light-hearted smile as he stood up straight.

"Really? Can I do that after losing here?" Yeji stopped crying to ask that question and blinked up at her giant of a teacher with bright, shining eyes. He nodded and told her just how many times he had lost in the past until she felt better and eventually went to the bathroom to wash her face.

"Thanks for being beside here. I thought she disappeared, but I'm glad that wasn't the case," you turned to Yohan after your sister got out of hearing range, and displayed a grateful smile.

"Don't mention it,” the boy shrugged casually, but you were truly grateful for his assistance, so you kept thanking him until he was called by the taekwondo master to get ready for the end of the break. He directed an apologetic smile at you, but you told him that he should go, you would fetch up your little sister afterwards.

Once Yeji was done in the bathroom and felt better, you two went back to the stand to watch the rest of the competition. Even though your little sister was a bit under the weather when her opponent made it to the final, she seemed supportive of her team members nevertheless, and she almost went back to her usual, bubbly self by the end of the event. You waited for her to change and get her stuff, and as usual, she was almost the last one to leave. That just meant that you managed to bump into Yohan on the way out.

You and Yeji were about to have some lunch, and your little sister was so pumped up about telling her teacher that she would have her favourite kimchi stew that she somehow ended up inviting Yohan as well. As expected, the boy tried to turn down the offer, but the grumbling of his stomach and Yeji’s puppy eyes convinced him to join you. Your sister couldn’t have been happier.

You couldn’t deny that you were happy as well. It was fun talking to the boy like this, and you had a fun time watching the boy’s facial expressions change when your little sister asked him very random questions such as his favourite childhood snacks, if he had ever seen Santa or if he had ever farted during a competition. That last one, though, was embarrassing even for you, so you tried to avert the topic to something more pleasant.

You three had different meals, and Yeji always tried others’ food if it didn’t involve something she absolutely despised, so she had some from your lunch and from Yohan’s lunch as well. Then, insisting that his meat was really good, Yohan even wrapped a piece of meat, rice and garlic in a perilla leaf and reached it out to you. You looked at him for a few seconds, confused, but ended up reaching for it while thanking him for the gesture. He gave you a gentle, almost proud smile in return, and there it was again: that warmth that ran through your body seeing his smile, feeling like you had just ran a marathon, but it wasn’t enough to tire you out, you were just so pumped up.

“Why didn’t you put it into her mouth? They always do that in dramas,” Yeji chirped in obliviously, and you almost choked imagining the scene of Yohan putting the perilla wrap into your mouth like couples would do. Yohan had the same reaction, but he tried to mask it with a few well-timed coughs.

“It’s because we are not a couple. It’s a thing that couples do, so it would be weird if we did so,” you explained to your little sister who seemed to be pondering for a few seconds before asking the very simple yet very complicated ‘why’. You blanched at the boldness of hers, your eyes growing twice their size, and your throat going dry. You reached for your glass of water and took a few sips of it, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t hurt Yohan's feelings either, but it wouldn’t give away your feelings either.

However, taking your silence as if you couldn’t understand her question, Yeji continued with her honest, child-like curiosity.

“Do you really not like each other anymore?”

“It’s not that. It’s compli-”

“Then, do you still like him, no?”

“I mean…” You protested fervently, your embarrassment growing by the second. Sure, kids were honest, and they didn’t hold themselves back, but they also didn’t know the complexity of human emotions and how people didn’t always like each other back. You were sure that the movies and dramas she watched weren’t about unrequited love either.

You were about to go into a long-ass monologue about how reality could be different from what she saw in the media, but Yohan spoke up after clearing his throat.

“I like her. I always did,” he admitted coolly, but the way he was picking on his food with his chopsticks without looking into your eyes gave away his nervousness.

You practically froze in place, unable to move or speak because you just couldn’t believe that he had confessed that he liked you, and he had always done so. It was what you had been imagining all those years ago while rolling on your bed and listening to heartwarming pop songs about first loves, it was what you had been imagining when you had picked up the courage to confess to him on the last day of grade 7, and it was what you had been imagining ever since, and now that it was out, you were unable to form coherent words.

“But… like… why didn’t you tell me before?” You mumbled, still puzzled, when you managed to pull yourself together enough to speak up. Yohan’s eyes darted between different parts of the restaurant before landing on yours, and his gaze made it impossible to look away. There was just so much in his eyes, a whole galaxy if you wanted to be corny, that you felt like you would never be able to have enough of looking into his orbs.

“It’s not like you let me tell you back then. You practically ran away!”

“Because you were frozen, and didn’t say a thing. So I figured you don’t like me and ran away to save both of us from further embarrassment.”

“I was frozen like you now. I couldn’t believe that someone like you would like me back,” Yohan insisted, and this almost sulky side of him was so adorable, so similar to his younger days that you almost felt like hugging him to your chest when he was already way taller than you. Gosh, you really did think that he said nothing because he didn’t like you whereas he was just surprised. You had to process that information and his pouty lips and his twinkling eyes and…

“Are you going to kiss now?” Yeji blurted out, too excited for her own good, but both you and Yohan answered with a vehement no before locking gazes again and bursting into laughter. You almost forgot about your little sister being there beside you because you were so into your own little world, but how could you forget about her presence and enthusiasm towards you and your crush on Yohan?

“We can try later though,” the boy mentioned with a teasing tone, and you held up your chopsticks warningly, but the boy’s giggles made you let go of any (theatrical) annoyance you held towards him.

Now that was out of the way, the rest of the lunch was fun and almost peaceful, but you would have never thought that his confession would happen at a restaurant on the way home from your sister’s first taekwondo competition, over perilla leaf wraps and bowls of steaming noodles. You wouldn’t have had it any other way though. It was so like you and Yohan, and it was just perfect.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading the story! It means a lot to me.❤️

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for WEi or for other bands, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Have a lovely day/night!

#wei #yohan #kim yohan #wei scenarios #wei imagines #wei x reader #wei x you #wei fluff #yohan scenarios #yohan imagines #yohan x reader #yohan x you #yohan fluff

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ssjumi · 4 months ago

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It's been literally 20 years since I wrote the YGO fic that to some regard still defines how I view my favorite OC babygirl Aileen to this day 💕✨

So this is a gift for teenage me, who would've probably pretended to be too cool to care, but would have absolutely lost her shit seeing our girl in the style of the show (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For those curious, here's a little (updated) character profile of Aileen:

Aileen Noda

18yo (half a year older than Seto, so a class ahead of him)

🇯🇵 (dad), 🇮🇹 (mom)

her dad got sole custody after her parents (never married) split; she's not close to her mom but they're on friendly speaking terms

—

heiress to a multimillion dollar software company that was in business negotiations with the Kaiba Corporation at some point when it was still headed by Gozaburo

moved around a lot as a kid before spending her tweens and most of her teenage years in South England, when business took them there

fluent in English and Japanese (although a bit rusty when it comes to not sounding too direct/impolite with latter) - had one year of German and almost three years of Mandarin before moving schools - knows just enough Italian to survive as a casual tourist

not rly interested in daddy's business at the time/shortly before our story, but figures she still has many years to live her own life and find her passions before she has to step up anyway

(spoiler alert: nope, she does not)

—

has a driver's license and drives just well enough to not get it revoked but not so well that it's a joy to sit next to her

pretty pragmatic with a dry humor

comes off as very confident and independent

loses her dad tho shortly after they've moved to Domino and went into new negotiations with the KC, which rly fucks her up since she hasn't made any friends there yet and her dad was basically her entire support system, which she never realized until he was gone

develops a socially encouraged kind of unhealthy relationship to food and working out, which is not helped by the smaller sizes considered standard in Japan

—

for some reason falls for Seto Kaiba of all people and even ends up with him unaware that she could do a lot better but alas, who am i to tell my daughter No

A while ago I gave rewriting the earlier mentioned fanfic a try, but since YGO isn't my active main fandom anymore, I'll probably never finish it and if I do, it will have a very different format than the original story.

But since we're already in Long As Fuck Read More territory, I've included the prologue and another tiny snippet here, for those who are curious:

Surprising as it may seem, given how his face is plastered all over the city they live in, Yugi and his friends don't really think much about Seto Kaiba in their everyday lives.

They're doing their thing and he does his. … Whatever his thing is.

Building theme parks probably? Yugi remembers him mentioning something like this the last time they spoke but he's not sure anymore. The fact that Kaiba's been gracing class with his presence for the past few days probably means that things are going well enough for him to have the spare time. Although he's spending most of that time on his laptop anyway, not participating in class at all and left alone by the teachers as well.

No, really. Neither Yugi nor his friends know what Kaiba's thing actually is.

So they're a little surprised when after class, during cleaning duty, a girl in another school's uniform slips through the door and makes a beeline for the desk in the far corner of the room where Kaiba, true to his famous team spirit, is still fully focused on his personal work instead of helping his classmates.

One of her long, black pigtails slips over her shoulder as she snatches a glance at his laptop screen. To which Kaiba just reacts by closing said laptop and shoving it into his schoolbag. Which in turn puts a slightly too sweet, almost teasing smile onto her lips. "Want me to give you a ride home?" He sighs and mumbles something that sounds a lot like "There are worse ways to die, I guess" before getting up and following her outside.

It finally becomes apparent why a few of the guys in the class have spent the past couple minutes at the window - the car Kaiba follows that stranger to is a red Porsche cabriolet that looks like right out of a Hollywood movie.

Jounouchi doesn't know what to be more scandalized about - that Kaiba of all people is getting picked up by a cute girl while he doesn't or that some of his female classmates seem completely unimpressed by all of this because "everyone knows he has a girlfriend, duh". He and his friends exchange confused glances.

Seto Kaiba is weird in occasionally dangerous but usually just a little annoying ways and overall just not that interesting. And, as far as they're aware, he's also completely uninterested in making friends or even just understanding the basic concept of friendship - or interpersonal relationships in general.

And yet.

Seto Kaiba has a girlfriend.

If you're still here: Congrats! You earned yourself the secret knowledge that this fic by the way isn't just Seto/OC but also YamiYugi/Seto, as in: Seto is gonna cheat on her with Atem, as soon as he finds out that he can not just play intense card games with the guy but also have sex with him - which never even occured to him until he already had Ati's hand between his legs.

Aileen will break up with him over it.

In the timeline of the original fic from 20 years ago they did end up back together and even marrying though and it wasn't even too bad for a while but became a very unhappy relationship over time, during which she fell for (and had one passionate night with) Seto's assistant Isono. She got pregnant from him and Seto is kind of aware that it is likely not his child and she knows that he probably knows... while Isono tries very hard to tell himself that this kid surely can't be his, nope, no evidence of this one night means it never happened and he never wavered in his loyalty to his Kaiba-sama, it's fine, he's fine, they're all fine.

(It's still mostly him raising the child since Aileen soon realizes she has no idea where exactly to fit a child into her life and Seto... to his credit did manage to not have Mokuba die on him while responsible for him in his teen years, but if we're all honest here that was not by virtue of him being a responsible and trustworthy parental figure.)

I haven't made up my mind yet if Aileen and Seto would also end up married in/after the rewritten fic tho.

Who knows.

Not me.

... Ah, yeah, and I also ship her with Ryou Bakura's dead sister Amane :D so there's that as well.

Anyway.

YAY @ drawing of her I'm very very very satisfied with （￣︶￣）✨💖

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violadiaries · 2 months ago

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Fluffcember Day 17: Snowed In

@fluff-cember

Fandom: Final Fantasy IV (TAY)

Pairing: Golbez x Kain

Additional: After TAY (post canon); Golbez lives in Baron

crossposted on AO3

Kain sighed as he watched the flames flicker in front of him. Watched the fire, Golbez had been able to lighten up in that cabin they had found. All the while the winds howled outside, having practically stranded them on that deserted, unfamiliar continent.

"Shit…" Kain mumbled.

He looked down on himself. His sight was still swimming, ever so slightly, as he looked at the bandages wrapped around his midsection. Part of him should be glad that Golbez had decided to come with him out here. Part of him knew that it was his fault they had gotten stranded in that cabin.

"I'm sorry…" he added.

If he had been more careful from the beginning on, this wouldn't have happened. Or if he had signed off on the mission in the first place, then at least two airships with full crews would be out here. And not only the two of them.

Alas, now it was too late for Kain to regret anything. Golbez and him had gotten snowed in, and wouldn't be able to go anywhere, any time soon. Though at the same time, he supposed it was better that the snow storm had hit them, while they had been sheltered somewhere, instead of while they had fought those beasts out there. "Rest. That wyvern left you quiet injured, Kain," Golbez said.

He sat with his back to Kain, mulling over how he would be able to get word out there to send for help. Kain let out a sigh and stared back at the fire. Neither of them would have thought that they would encounter a special breed of wyvern up here. But then again, this was an unclaimed region.

A dangerous region, from what Kain had already been able to tell from the intel they had possessed. Which was exactly why he hadn't wanted any of the Red Wings up here. Especially not the younger ones. They would have never been able to keep up with these conditions. Too young and inexperienced.

"Why did you even come with me?" Kain asked.

Golbez was a welcome help. Even if things tended to be rather awkward between them. Because neither of them had expected Golbez to return to Baron, after the things on the True Moon had been wrapped up. And yet he had. Blue Moon with all remaining Lunarians awoken from their slumber in tow.

And now he was in charge of the newly formed magic research unit in Baron together with FuSoYa. And Kain did get along rather well with the older Lunarian. Even with some of the other's he had talked to, he hadn't had any qualms. But whenever Golbez and him were in the same room, things got awkward.

"Why did you want to go alone?" Golbez asked.

He sat down next to Kain, making sure that his cloak was securely wrapped around Kain's shoulders. Before sitting a little bit closer, just to be able to share some body heat. He had gotten out of that fight rather unscathed, after all. And only because Kain had been foolish enough to charge in headfirst.

"Drink," he said.

Golbez handed Kain a small vial, containing a turquoise liquid. Which Kain couldn't really identify. Though he supposed he wasn't really looking to do him much harm. Kain had been impulsive enough to get hurt, and now he would have to go through with the necessary treatment.

With a long sigh, he raised the vial to his lips, swallowing the contents in one go. Grimacing at the stinging, bitter taste of the contents. Definitely and antidote mixed with a potion. Absolutely a vile combination, which he wouldn't even have needed to swallow if he had just retained enough magic to heal himself.

"Ugh… I hate you," he mumbled.

He looked at Golbez from the corner of his eyes, pulling his knees to his chest. Whenever they were together, Kain felt like a boy again. And idiotic, impulsive, teenager, in desperate need to prove how great he was, just so he wouldn't need to face his own insecurities.

Golbez nodded and hummed, holding his hand out to the flame slightly. Letting some more of his, already low running, mana flow into it. To stroke the flames even more. Kain knew that for him, it was even more dangerous to get low on magic. Because then the Lunarian side of his heritage would start to shut down. And yet he had been the one to ultimately fend the wyvern off, with rather advanced magic. From what Kain had been able to tell, at least. And then he had carried Kain, only half conscious at the time, due to the injuries and poison of the wyvern, to this cabin.

"Fine by me. As long as it's not strong enough to want to die, I can live with it," he said.

Kain blinked at him, before he groaned and hid his face in his knees. He pulled Golbez' cloak tighter around himself, just to be able to hide himself a little bit more. He did not have to take that literally. Kain told Cecil and Rosa the same often enough when he was annoyed with them.

"Seriously?" he asked.

His voice muffled by the fabric of his leggings and his knees. Kain didn't need to look at him to know he was nodding. He was humming too, so Kain knew he actually was being serious.

Yet Golbez never had been the one he had been having a grudge on. At first, before he had known everything, maybe. But even then, something had always felt off. Whenever he had wanted to hate Golbez, his gut had told him that it just wasn't right. Not when he had seen him vulnerable within that Tower as well. "You have ample reasons to hate me, Kain," Golbez said.

Kain groaned, though the sound transformed into a wince rather quickly. He had forgotten how much of a pain in the ass, poisons in combination with rather deep wounds and the biting cold could be. Kain had thought he was more mature by now, to not get himself in situations such as those.

Though apparently not when Golbez was involved. He wasn't even quite sure why he lost his reasoning like this whenever Golbez was concerned. They should have easily been able to bond over their shared experiences. Yet both of them seemed to avoid talking about it like it was the plague.

"You're insufferable, Golbez. Seriously," Kain grumbled.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to the side, to be able to look at Golbez properly again. They should have been able to talk everything out. Maybe even become friends over it. Maybe more? Kain grumbled to himself as he pushed that thought away.

"No, I don't actually hate you, alright?" he clarified.

Golbez just was the same kind of obnoxious as Cecil, whenever he got some idea stuck in his head. And Kain hated how he saw that similarity just now. Because where there was one such similarity, there definitely were more.

And somehow the last thing Kain wanted was to see his best friend in Golbez. He was his own person, which showed in his skillets. Cecil undoubtedly would've toppled over the moment he even so much as tried to lift the sword Golbez swung around effortlessly with one hand. Looking rather attractive while doing so.

"I'm just confused, why you volunteered to accompany me into an unknown, snowy, cold as fuck, wasteland," Kain asked.

He scooted closer to Golbez, shifting the cloak in a way, that he could maintain a small amount of contact to his skin. Thinking about it, the Blue Moon, at least how Kain had gotten to know it, was a 'cold as fuck wasteland' as well. And the cold didn't seem to bother Golbez at all.

Then again, Kain knew that Golbez was a good liar. Just like he himself was a good liar. So he could be just putting on an act. Yet, the moment Golbez turned his head to look at Kain, he knew he wasn't putting on an act for Kain. He was being sincere, which was something Kain could appreciate.

"Just as I'm confused why you wanted to come here alone, Kain. This would have been suicide," he said in return.

Kain groaned and rolled his eyes. He hoped that would be the most of a lecture he would be getting from Golbez. He already knew he would be in for one hell of a lecture once they would get picked up by someone. And if not from Cecil for being reckless, then from Rosa.

Golbez' eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He let out a sigh before he looked back at the flames again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Kain kept watching him. He supposed he had somewhat screwed up in that regard. And he was glad he wasn't alone. Dying like this wasn't what he was trying to do.

"You…actually do care, do you?" Kain asked.

He diverted the topic, simply because he knew he would be getting lectured if he revealed his true reason. If he told Golbez that sometimes, he still felt like he didn't belong in Baron. Didn't belong with the Red Wings. And by doing this alone, he wanted to prove himself again.

Something he didn't need to do. Yet something Kain knew Golbez would be able to relate to. He got the feeling that Golbez' reason for volunteering to tag along with him had been of somewhat a similar origin. Maybe not to prove something to Cecil, but to prove something to Kain?

"I do," Golbez said.

He turned his head again, looking at Kain again. While Kain was able to watch his fascinating eyes again. Deeply affected by the powerful magic he commanded. A deep, rich, almost glowing purple. A colour Kain found himself been drawn in by over and over again.

He shook his head and straightened his back, bringing his face closer to Golbez. His head and his body screamed at him for the motion, yet he didn't allow himself to succumb to it. He had a point to bring across after all. Golbez shied away slightly, eyes widening in shock at the sudden motion.

"Good, because I care about you as well, bastard! So no self-sacrificing behaviour any more in the future!" Kain scolded him.

He knew it had been a necessity that Golbez had looked for the Blue Moon by himself. But Kain also knew he had contemplated sacrificing himself multiple times over on the True Moon. Because just like Kain he was still feeling the guilt gnawing at him for what had happened all those years back.

Just like right now Kain noticed something he didn't like in the slightest. Something he would tell Cecil about if Golbez didn't have his back, when he got his lecture later. Because Kain could tell. The way the glow of his eyes dulled ever so slightly, and his skin cooled down.

"Starting now! So preserved your god-damn magic and come here," Kain grumbled.

Golbez' eyes widened even more, surprised that Kain had even noticed him using his reserves to the last drop. Kain looked back at the fire, grumbling to himself about how much of an idiot Golbez was behaving like. The fire would warm them up eventually, and until that time was there, they could still huddle together for warmth. Now that they had established that they cared about each other.

Golbez eventually chuckled at that, before it evolved into a full-blown laugh. All the while, Kain tried to not let his deep voice send the most positive of shivers down his spine. He was just still a little bit cold from the blood loss from his wound.

"Only if you do the same," Golbez said.

He reluctantly placed an arm around Kain's shoulder, so they actually could really huddle together for warmth. And somehow Kain was feeling a little bit warmer already. He just hoped that wasn't his brains final illusions, before he decided to pass out again.

"Now let's wait, I've contacted FuSoYa," Golbez added.

Kain hummed and nodded. He let his eyes close, seeing no reason to force himself to stay awake. It should be safe to fall asleep. He wasn't alone, and his wounds weren't life-threatening. Even if Rosa would absolutely treat them as such.

He allowed himself to relax. To lean more against Golbez. Yes, he really did care about him. Just like he also liked him. Even if things tended to get awkward between them. They would just need to talk about that. Though not now, and rather later.

"I… like you a lot…Golbez," Kain mumbled.

Already half asleep, having falling more against Golbez' larger frame. Body going more and more lax. Golbez looked at him for a moment, furrowing his brows. He brought his hand to hover in front of Kain's mouth just to make sure he was still breathing.

Afterwards a smile formed on his lips. He would not tell Kain that he had been monitoring his thoughts ever since he had brought him into that cabin. Just in case Kain tried to lie about the severity of his wounds, or the amount of pain he was in. Maybe someday later, but not right now.

"Yeah…me too, Kain. Rest, I'll be here," he whispered.

Kain mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, as snuggled closer to Golbez. Causing him to quietly chuckle. Just so he wouldn't wake him again.

Golbez didn't even need to say that he would keep Kain save. That much was a given, after all.

#fluffcember #fluffcember day 17 #violas fluffcember #final fantasy 4 #ffiv #ff4 #golbez x kain #golkai #golbez #kain highwind #fanfic #fanfiction

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cycas · 2 years ago

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Gimli wept openly. 'I have looked the last upon that which was fairest,' he said to Legolas his companion. 'Henceforward I will call nothing fair, unless it be her gift.' He put his hand to his breast. 'Tell me, Legolas, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the chief peril lay! Truly Elrond spoke, saying that we could not foresee what we might meet upon our road. Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy. Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. Alas for Gimli son of Glóin!' 'Nay!' said Legolas. 'Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. But I count you blessed, Gimli son of Glóin: for your loss you suffer of your own free will, and you might have chosen otherwise. But you have not forsaken your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is that the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart, and shall neither fade nor grow stale.' 'Maybe,' said Gimli; 'and I thank you for your words. True words doubtless; yet all such comfort is cold. Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zâram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf. Elves may see things otherwise. Indeed I have heard that for them memory is more like to the waking world than to a dream. Not so for Dwarves.

Aaaaah I love Gimli so much. He's so openly emotional, so utterly in love with the weird land of Elves that he entered in such an unpromising manner, blindfolded and considered a danger entirely because of his species, that he weeps to leave the land and its Lady.

And this contrast of how Legolas sees the loss and how Gimli sees it! Gimli is devastated! He knows Lorien is doomed, whether the quest succeeds or fails, and there is no making up for that. He'll live with the loss, but it hurts him.

And Legolas... I don't think he quite knows how to cope with that grief. He's on the other side of the divide, after all.

But I think this is the very beginning of Gimli's decision not to spend the rest of his life in Middle-earth: to make the impossible, incredible leap and leave all his kin behind to go away to the land of the Elves.

#gimli #legolas #lotr newsletter #lotr newsletter spoilers

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isleofair · 11 months ago

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🍄🪐❄️

😍😍😍 thank you for the ask!!! 💙💙💙

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

🤩 Obviously, since it's me, this has to be about FireSky! 😅 I have two that I'm not, like, overly attached to, but that I find interesting/cute.

One is at least partially supported by a couple of very tiny canon details (there's a post I've been meaning to make for ages), and it's that Nathan and Keith might have actually joined the Hero TV roster at the same time (if so, probably, five years before the start of the show). They would have been the most unlikely pair of rookies ever (with neither of them having true rookie energy, to boot) and I live for the cute shenanigans that probably occurred in this scenario as they got to know each other and everyone else 🤭

The other, quite simply, is that since the cooking class was Keith's idea, he was also the one who signed them up for it... and he inadvertently picked a couples' class for them and just never realized 😂

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

Mh. The people and pets I love are in good enough health, and so am I. I have some really awesome friends who make me feel cared about. And my writing energy and inspiration are coming back and I think I'll be putting words to (digital) paper again very soon.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

I've already answered this (in a most conceited way, admittedly), so I'll go for another dream fic concept that isn't one of those I want to write myself (and which I've only just come up with, but that I already love): Tiger & Bunny, with of course a focus on FireSky, in space. Probably a Star Trek fusion? I can just see Keith being the too-selfless captain of a ship, and Nathan as the officer who worries about him and doesn't quite fit perfectly in the rigid structure of Starfleet, and... and I'm now headcanoning Trek races for half the cast and I think I should stop here, lol.

As for who would write it best... anyone who has the patience to, really. Which is definitely not me, alas 😂

(the ask game)

#ask game #tiger & bunny #nathan seymour #keith goodman #firesky

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wexarethewalkingxdead · 11 months ago

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What Is Your True Role In The Story?

the antihero

ah yes, hello edge lord. it is lovely to see you again. you my dear, are the incarnation of duality, and you might think of claws and venom mixed with grace but alas, nothing near as poetic. you my friend, are mixture of what is seen as right, and what is questioned. you follow the path of your own two feet, you know the twists and turns of life's forests quite well if I do say so myself. and you can meander along them wonderfully. you strive to stay true to a certain sense of principles you might call your code, but whereas in reality, those would be your morals. people tend to see you as strange. sharp edged and glinting you hide behind a cloak of chain mail but really you just prefer to show off your imperfections first. unlike many who scramble to make it as if their flaws never existed, you proudly raise yours up. saying, "this is me, this is the worst of me, now you know what to expect." and might I say, it is quite an intriguing mindset, for truth be told, the ones that love your spikes and craters are the ones who appreciate your softness the most. you wish not to be loved as something lovable, but as a monster. for aren't we all just beasts in human skin? you are brave, but you are lonely. you know quite well how to scare off most, making even the heroes with the boldest bravado creep away with their tails between their legs. you are not a villian, sometimes you play the part a bit too well. but nevertheless you are no hero either. you put yourself first, but if one wins your trust then may the gods have mercy on those who might wrong them. you long to be a poetic mess of sorts, and well, if the ink sets in long enough you might just become that sooner or later. but for one who is so dead set on truth you sure do hide a lot don't you? please, step out of the shadows, there is a difference to not making your flaws visible and to simply acting as if you're the most despicable person in all the realms. it's because you're afraid of attachment is it not? well let me tell you a little secret, everyone is. you say you wish to be left alone for eternity but than why are you craving connection. you wish to be known and understood truly, but you snarl and push the ones that might be trying away. please little wolf, accept you are lovable. you are not some ravenous beast that terrifies the multitudes, sure, you are not for the faint of heart but that does not make you an inkling less perfect as you are. young antihero, step into the sun. you would do better actually reaching for the things you want rather than pining for them in the darkness.

the one at the crossroads.

questioning yourself again? well it's a hard choice is it not. you always decide you've made your mind but you seem to nevertheless return to this state of uncertainty. are you good or evil? dark or light alas? alas, I am not fit for such details in morality. In my slightly skewed sight of it, neither truly exist. they are but a mindset, but mindset or not, they still give you quite the anxieties hm? you are one who has lived in fear, your heart is hidden, and you don't know who to trust. you doubt you can even trust yourself. the caustic words of poisonous people have corroded into your skull. "you are evil. you are a monster. you are bad." well that is indeed a bunch of poppycock, mind my language, for the only one who may decide that is you. my dear, you are torn between never allowing others to hurt the ways you hurt, and from running away from all who might harm you again, with gnashing teeth. you are a cornered animal who has been kicked by the ones it trusted. you do not know whether to trust again, for your mind is screaming, don't. but if I may, you can be both. it is not the question of whether you are good or evil, it is the question, what do I deserve and how might I reach that? you do not deserve pain, correct? so never chase that, instead kindly decline and flee from those like your past assailants, but trust the ones who you know are good. sometimes you will find people to be a messy combination of both pain and love, but so are you and I. my advice is to simply be kind, but be willing to question. always question, always wonder. do not give away your heart on a silver platter my dear, it is worth far more than the sun himself, but don't fail to allow healing. you deserve good things in life. so as you stand between two roads, walk between the third you just now have noticed. life seems to be made of entirely preposterous choices, but if you look close enough, you'll reveal the right ones that are normally hidden from sight. breathe my dear, things will be well. trust yourself, and carve your own path.

the antihero

the supporter

oh gentle comrade, you know what it takes to make others shine. you live your life assisting others to reach their goals, but many say you are lackluster and unnecessary. but alas, do we need the stars any less for their dim light helps the moon glow brighter! you are warm inside and out, perhaps made of sunshine one might ask? but I can see you are as weary and worn as the hero you so desperately cling to. your purpose is to serve? Is it not? it's those moments of undying loyalty that make your bones ring true with honor. "I am right beside you," you whisper, for unlike the ones who lie through their teeth you will be with your ally through joy, through heart ache, through death. it is a difficult thing to gain your trust back if one has shattered it though, you are forgiving yes? you give many chances, but alas, one can only look away from a wrong doing so long. you can't exactly turn your other cheek as once wrings a blade through your middle. you are made of a steadfast heartbeat and a tired, knowing smile. you bring solace to the aching, and comfort to the wronged. but what happens when your protagonist loses? what happens when your valiant heroes fail you? will you pick up a sword and vanquish their enemy or will you wait patiently for yet another savior to appear and save the day? one must live long enough to see their heroes die. but are you brave enough to take their place? the only strings that bind you to your oaths of subservience are your own doubts. "am I good enough?" they whisper in your ears. you answer that yourself love. for the only difference between the paladin and the stable boy are mettle. it is not the question of can you be a hero. it is simply, will you be?

tagged by stolen from: @lunarruled tagging: Everyone!

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#.dash games [muses]#.headcanon [daryl]#.headcanon [rick]#.headcanon [shane]#.headcanon [sophia]

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