#enna flash

[astragifs]

[leanderfields]

SYNOPSIS: No song lasts forever. Not even a sparrow’s.

C/W: Ais x gn!reader, reader is MC with the curse and all, angst/tragedy- it’s fluffy until it’s not, a few innuendos if you squint, Leander makes an appearance, so does Princess and Vere, spoilers for the red choice in Ais’s demo route, mentions of blood, mild depictions of violence (more like the aftermath; I personally think it’s minor but just in case), written before the full game has been released so some creative liberties were taken when writing about Hightown and the Amaryllis District, more or less my rendition of an early bad ending for Ais, largely inspired by Enna Alouette's Wish of this Songbird

A/N: When you blog is Leander themed, but your first official post is about Ais and it's angst... haha whoops ─=≡Σᕕ(σ‿‿σ)ᕗ

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip. 

Ais took yet another drag on his cigarette, exhaling with an indolent puff of smoke. This one looks like Princess, he thought. The Soulless let out a reverberating purr on his lap.  

“You think so too, huh?” he grinned, scratching the top of her head. The other hand crushed the butt of the cigarette beneath his heel. That was enough of playing with smoke for now. Any more then he would have to make a trip to Lowtown before the sun sets. Bars weren’t fun during the day, but the streets were livelier according to a certain mage. The idea of running into familiar faces while taking a leisurely stroll didn’t seem that bad either. 

Ais drove the cigarette butt deeper into his heel. Well, it’s not like he could leave right now. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Pant. Pant.

Princess sprung off his lap, wooden panels creaking as she bounced towards the Seaspring’s entrance. Her tail swayed back and forth and her tendrils followed in suit. Ais reached for an extra floor pillow. Must be someone she liked. 

“Ais! Are you home?” a cheery voice chirped between Princess’s purrs. 

The demon smirked, hoisting himself up the rafters. He shifted into a comfortable position and propped his head onto the back of his hand. The beams rasped under his weight. His crimson eyes flickered to his Soulless pet who was quick to follow his trail, leading a cloaked figure to a tea set in between two hastily arranged floor pillows. 

“Ais! I know you’re home!” 

Princess gave him an eager stare. He put a finger to his lips and tossed the Soulless a treat from up above, one she happily scarfed down.

“Ai–”

“You should try looking up more, sparrow.”

“Well, hosts usually don’t greet guests from up above,” you said, pulling your hood down to meet his gaze, revealing bright eyes full of wonder and hope. Eyes that bored into his blood-red, piercing orbs. Ais saw them one too many times before they were engulfed by the same crimson that colored these eerily still waters. 

“Who said you’re my guest?”

“If I recall, your exact words were ‘you know where to find me.’” You crossed your arms. 

Ais sighed and jumped off the rickety rafter. The wood creaked beneath his feet and the waters rippled across the spring as he towered over you. His lips were on the verge of smiling. 

“Still not my guest though.”

“Even if I made a decision?”

“Even if you made a decision,” he flashed his fangs at you with a grin. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on one of the floor pillows. Princess trotted over to your side. Her tail continued to wag while you hummed a sweet song, pouring tea into two cups. Someone’s in a good mood. You were fairly relaxed despite dubbing the Seaspring as “the creepiest place in the world”. 

“So what’s your verdict?” he asked. 

“The tea is oversteeped,” you quipped, handing him a cup.

“That’s no way to treat a host,” Ais said, taking a generous sip of the moderately oversteeped tea.

“I thought I wasn’t a guest?”

Ais glanced at his cup, the floor pillows and the Soulless who seemed to enjoy your company more than his. He crouched down, meeting you at eye level. You flinched the moment his fingers made contact with your forehead. “You also thought I was a host.”

“Resorting to violence, already?” you giggled, rubbing your forehead. It differed from the crude laugh you let out when he told you about Ocudeus. This laugh was an endearing sing-songed melody that filled the empty spring with the same wonder and hope in your eyes. Ais’s own eyes lingered on the distinctly pink area of your skin. 

“Answer the question, sparrow.”

Your laughter halted. The mirth fell from your face as quickly as it came. You coughed and cleared your throat, “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”

“Said a lot of things last night,” Ais said dryly. He made three bad impressions during your first encounter. Many things had gone awry last night at the Wet Wick. Would that be the fourth or fifth bad impression he’s made since meeting you? It was an average bar brawl for him, but not for a newcomer as soft as you were. He flexed his bandaged hand. Well, maybe you weren’t that soft. 

“The thing you said about my curse… ‘Is the thought of living with it so unbearable?’”

“What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about the things you said after that,” you paused to glance at him, but your eyes were quick to retreat back to your twiddled thumbs, “I’ve survived this far with it… but I don’t want others to suffer because of my curse.”

Ais’s lips morph into a visible frown, “So you want to take a drink.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Implied it.”

“I… want to find alternatives. Vere agreed to introduce me to some people from the Senobium.”

His frown deepened. You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for all the wrong reasons. Though he can’t say that he isn’t fond of your chirpier side. The people of Eridia were typically solemn, apprehensive or the occasional thorn in the flesh.  

“The Senobium’s bad news,” he muttered. Ais’s crimson orbs glowered at the mention of the academy. You shrunk at the face of his deadly glare. “Seriously, sparrow.”

“It’s a little better than losing a bit of this,” you tapped the side of your temple, a gibe at the same gesture he used to explain the price of drinking from the spring.

“You’d be losing far more.”

“At least I won’t lose my shitty attitude.”. 

You were always the one to roll your eyes— always annoyed, and short-tempered, but it was Ais’s turn to roll his eyes now. “You want to keep that of all things?”

“Yes, some people happen to like it,” you beamed, jabbing a finger at his side. Your touch was as light as a feather.  

“I’m the only person who said that.”

“Verbally, yes, but I think others might like me too.”

“Oh? Like who?”

“Leander.”

A deep chuckle escaped Ais’s lips. He threw his head back with a rumble, his horns scraping against one of the wooden beams. The spring water swelled beneath him and his tea had run cold. Princess snorted as well. 

“What’s so funny?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“He’s friendly with everyone. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“It’s not getting to my head.” 

Ais hummed nonchalantly, pouring himself a bit more tea. The contents of the teapot had also run cold, but the demon continued to drain every last drop of the murky liquid into his cup. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He raised his cup, “Sorry. Did you want some?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I should be going now.”

“So soon?”

Words ran out of his mouth before he could catch them, but you put your hand up, a futile attempt to stop them dead in their tracks. “I just wanted to let you know about my decision. I’d rather not keep you.”

And yet they kept running. 

“Not like I got many things to do here,” Ais shrugged. 

“I’ve got many things to do in Lowtown.” 

Ais grunted and pushed himself off the ground. He smoothed his hands over his trousers, brushing off invisible crumbs. Then, he offered you a hand. 

“We’ll walk you back.” 

You checked your bandages before taking his hand. He squeezed your hand before pulling you up to your feet. You return the gesture, squeezing his own bandaged hand. The demon firmly squeezed your hand once again, as if he wanted the last laugh. Ais then turned his attention to Princess and whistled. At the signal, the Soulless rose to all fours. Her tendrils unfurled and coiled around his forearm as she trotted over to his side.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he cooed.

While Princess purred and her tail wagged rapidly, bewilderment washed over your face. You never heard Ais engage in baby talk. Few people have, but their expressions were always the same. A big, bad monster coddling another big, bad monster? How strange. How absurd!

“Oh, yes you do! Yes, you do!” 

You burst into a fit of laughter again. Princess cocked her head, looking up at her owner for an answer. Ais shook his head and scratched her chin. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped between your giggles, “It’s just– ha– so silly!”

“Take your time, sparrow.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m done now.” you said, wiping a single tear from the corner of your eye. Ais smirked. Sparrow sure was a fitting name for you– who always twittered in short, abrupt bursts. 

“After you.”

He pulled you towards him with a languid tug of his arm. His large hands stiffly held yours as he guided you towards the Seaspring’s entrance. The warmth of his hands seeped through your bandages. Princess trailed behind you, prancing along the wooden panels. You stared into the crimson water, the rafters, the talismans on the wooden frames– things that haven’t changed since your last visit to the spring or perhaps for a long, long time. The water formed small waves unnaturally and other Soulless creatures held your stare with a watchful, famished gazes. Shuddering, you turned your attention back to Ais.

Sunlight traced the edges of the entrance and as you neared the opening, the soft yellow rays kissed Ais’s sharp features, highlighting his jaw, nose and horns. He squinted in the harsh lighting, bringing his other hand to shield his eyes. You drew the hood of your cloak up. Princess dashed past your reluctant figures and leaped straight into the sun’s embrace. She let out a bark that sounded like a meow and, much to Ais’s dismay, stomped her legs in the bog’s muddy waters, urging the both of you to continue walking. 

“You heard the boss,” he pointed. 

You nodded and followed Princess. She was several meters ahead. Still in sight, but far enough to not eavesdrop. Not that Soulless creatures could listen in on conversations. Even if they could, there would be nothing to note. No words were exchanged between you and Ais. Your hands were still intertwined. Ais stole glances at you while you were engrossed in the horizon where Eridia stood proud and tall. At this angle, it looked like the sun was balancing on top of the city’s highest point– the Senobium’s spire. His eyes narrowed. He could hardly understand why anyone wanted to go to such a gloomy place. 

“Will you be at the Wet Wick tonight?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ais clicked his tongue and averted his eyes to the side, “Depends.”

“Depends?”

“Might be there. Might not.”

“I see,” you smiled. Your eyes fixed themselves on the horizon and you both trudged across the mucky terrain in a stalemate of sounds. If the Soulless couldn’t find anything to note, perhaps crickets would. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Ais pressed his lips together as the bartender poured his umpteenth glass of whiskey. He sighed. Ais had only known you for two days, but there was something about your response earlier that lacked the usual bite and spite you had. The hell did you mean by “I see”? Were you finally at ease with his presence? Were you simply relieved that he wasn’t going to be there tonight? Another bad impression? He shook his head. It didn’t matter what you thought of him. At the very least, you weren’t pissing yourself at the sight of him. 

“Something on your mind?” Leander’s peart voice chimed in. He patted Ais on the back with a firm smack before he slung an arm around his broad shoulders. The demon glanced at him, raising a brow. He had one of those chewy shots in his hands again. Ais licked his fangs. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Leander put his hands up defensively, “I’m not trying to pry! You just… seem a bit glum over here… in the corner.” His voice trailed off at the latter half. 

“No one to pick a fight with.”

“Well, there’s always some friendly arm wrestling matches here. Or maybe some tabletop card games?” 

“You just don’t want to pay for everyone’s drinks again.”

“I could pay for your next one,” he offered. 

Leander caught the glass in his hand when the bartender slid it over. He nodded at her and she seemed to have gotten the memo. Shouts erupted from the Bloodhounds by the door. Someone had scored in whatever game they were playing. The mage’s emerald eyes darted to his companions then back to Ais. 

“Duty calls.”

After another pat on Ais’s back, Leander was gone as quickly as he came. He jumped onto a table in the center, chanted something, raising his chewy shot glass and the crowd joined him. Claps, stomps, and hollers. Looks like he’s paying for everyone’s drinks again after all. Ais raised his glass a beat later than the Bloodhounds. He didn’t clap, stomp or holler, but the occasion was something worth celebrating. Free whiskey was better than cheap booze. 

Ice clinked as he set his glass down and wood creaked. Weird. He was familiar with the sound of wood crepitating, but that sound was reserved for the rafters in the Seaspring. The Wet Wick was home to the sound of wood breaking. If wood were to creak here, the only source would be that dilapidated door. Not from the roof. 

Ais leaned back against the bar counter and turned his head upward, to the sound of creaking wood. And there you were– standing on the stair landing, leaning against the railing. He tipped his head further back. You craned your neck, bringing your face closer to his, albeit at an awkward perpendicular angle. You smiled like you had struck gold. Your hair tickled his cheeks. He never paid any mind to the Wet Wick’s second floor, but he made a note to remember it now. The stairwell was also dilapidated. 

“Evening, sparrow.”

“I take it you were in the mood to come?” 

“Drinks were on Leander.”

“I see.”

There it was again. That damned “I see”. What the hell did you see? His eyes flickered over to your figure which was no longer cloaked. Your hair was disheveled, hands still covered like a maiden, and a yawn gracing your features as you approached the bar stool beside him. He saw something, alright. 

“Sleep well?” 

“Like a corpse.”

“That tired, huh?”

“I had a lot of errands to run today.”

You lunged forward and reached for a beer stein, a pitcher of water and a bottle of fruit wine behind the counter and poured yourself a helping amount of each into the mug. The barmaid paid no mind to you or your bizarre concoction. She continued polishing glasses as if you were a trick of the light. She must’ve seen combinations far more peculiar than diluted wine in a mug. 

Ais swirled his whiskey, “Got a side hustle, already?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been taking some odd jobs. Information is worth its weight in gold here and I need information more than anything. Of course… you’d already know that,” you said, placing your hand onto your cheek. 

“Hard not to know when you keep pestering me for some.” 

“Not anymore! You can keep your spring secrets.”

“There were no secrets. Told you everything you needed to know.”

“Yeah, in the vaguest way possible,” you deadpanned.

“Did you not learn anything at all here?”

“Excuse me?”

There was the bite and spite you had. He was starting to miss it. He worried you’d pick up some of the insipid Hightown mannerisms, but it was for naught. You were still the spitfire. Ais smirked, “You just said information was worth its weight in gold. I know none of your secrets yet you keep asking for mine.”

You frowned at a loss for words. He was right. Though, you didn’t have anything to share that was worth even a sliver of copper. Nothing interesting. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing that would turn a few heads. Save for your curse, but Ais figured that your curse laid in your molten hands from just a glimpse so that was off the table.

“What would you like to know?” you asked, silently resigned. 

“Nothing.” 

“Then why did you make a big fuss about secrets?” 

Ais’s smile reached his ears. Your voice was nearing a shout. A rosy tint crept up your cheeks. The bar was dull in terms of entertainment on the weekdays– no roughnecks or angry sleazers–  but seeing you worked up was a sight for sore eyes.  

“You called the kettle black. Kettle’s gotta retaliate.” 

“What if I want to know more about the kettle?”

“Thought you were done with the spring.”

“I am, but I want to know more about you.”

Your smile matched his, reaching ear to ear or higher if Ais’s eyes didn’t deceive him. The demon hummed, fiddling with his silver pendant that dangled by his sternum. He was feigning deliberation, but you leaned in on his sea-glass colored bicep, humming along. A sweet harmony to contrast his timbre, ushering him to a conclusion.

“Shoot,” Ais grinned. 

“Why don’t you live in the city?” You pushed yourself off his arm. Your curious eyes leveled with his. 

“Don’t think people here like my pets much.”

The Bloodhounds seemingly roared in affirmation. Another point scored in their vapid game. Timing was great. Ais swirled his whiskey again. Its amber color mellowed out to a muted brownish-yellow. The ice had melted.

“You live out there for your pets? Isn’t it lonely?”

“My pets are good company and… I go out at night.”

“If you feel like it.”

“Especially if I feel like it.”

“So it’s not that lonely out there?”

“Being alone and being lonely are two different things, sparrow.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Is that what you think?.”

“So yes?” you tried again.

He shook his head. You opened your mouth and formed a slight “O” shape before closing it. Ais propped his head onto his knuckles and continued, “Can’t be alone or lonely with my pets and my friend.” He tapped his temple. You rolled your eyes. 

“Your friend talks?”

“‘Course they do.”

He let your snickers slip past his sharp ears. You still thought he had a screw loose up there despite him being dead serious. You, on the other hand, were dying from disbelief and laughter, but it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. If he showed you, you’d be as aimless as the Soulless or worse– pronounced as dead. Fortunately for you, he reserved Ocudeus for special once-in-a blue-moon occasions and tonight was a new moon… so he’ll play along with you. Yeah, he’s got an imaginary friend. They hit up the bar every other night and have a grand old time. The sea-glass ink that snaked around his arm was a matching tattoo with a drinking buddy whose name had long been forgotten. 

“What about you? Curse aside, why are you in Eridia?” Ais asked once your hysterics simmered down.

“I’m only here because of my curse,” you replied coolly. 

“Going home after you’re cured?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Ais’s eyes never left you– like a vulture waiting on your last breath. Looks like he hit the nail on the head. Not that it was hard to miss. You were easy to read. If his heart was on his sleeve, yours was on a platter. 

“I guess not.” 

“No family?”

“Something like that.”

“So you’re a runaway,” he reckoned. 

Your eyes fell to the table and then to Ais’s metal-clad fingers which were drumming on the wooden surface.

“Got it wrong?” 

“No, I mean, you were spot on. Intuition’s good.”

“Thanks. Got it from my friend.”

“Pft– does your friend know anything else about me?”

“You’re good company,” Ais said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Bites and barks the same amount. Terrible taste in drinks, but you hold a decent conversation so… that makes up for it.”

“I’ll have you know that my tas– hic!”

Your hands were quick to clamp over your mouth. Muffled “hics” periodically bypassed your bandaged fingers despite your vain efforts. Beside you, Ais was doing his darndest to maintain a neutral expression. His lips were pressed together tightly as if all of his teeth would fall out if he were to open his mouth. 

Hic. Hic. Hic.

Ais had failed. A snort filled your ears. You shot him the deadliest glare you could muster, but it had no effect on him. His smirk was as smug as always. He locked eyes with you, taking your cup and filling it with water from a nearby pitcher. Maybe with a little too much water. The contents sloshed around the rim and splashed onto the table once he set it down. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He gestured at the mug, “Need to be fed too?”

Your lips curved upward beneath your hands, shaking your head “no”. Ais motioned at the cup once again. This time, you obliged. You lowered your bandaged fingers and wrapped them around the mug. Excess water leaked into the gauze as you gulped down half the pint in hopes of quelling your antsy diaphragm. 

“You a lightweight?”

“Didn’t drink much back home.” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. The hiccups seemed to have subsided. You exhaled in relief and hoped that your embarrassment hadn’t traveled too far up your cheeks. 

“No one to drink with?”

“More like… I didn’t go out much.”

“Good thing you’re free as a bird now.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I can go anywhere I want.”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Ais pinched the bridge of his nose as the gutter above his head pelted him with cold droplets of water. Stormy clouds invited themselves to Eridia over the course of the night, but they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to rain or not. They sprinkled a bit of rain here and some there, but showers never lasted more than five minutes. Even a man past his prime could last longer than these “storms”. The demon sidestepped the gutter and set his foot straight into a puddle. He scowled. 

A little water didn’t hurt Ais. In fact, he liked the rain… just not when he was cradling a flimsy paper bag filled with gourmet dog biscuits. He would rather have shrimp cocktails for breakfast, lunch, and dinner than to make another trip to Hightown and talk to that snobby baker again. 

…Maybe that was a stretch. His Soulless pets deserved the best and Ais would rather bite his own tongue than let seafood get anywhere near his mouth. One shrimp cocktail was enough for a lifetime. Dealings with an elitist dragged on for only a few minutes. Seconds if Ais skipped their hoity-toity pleasantries and opted to use his fists instead– a thought he entertained from time to time after one too many “please” and “thank you's”. It was more or less an intrusive thought, a controlled impulse. Ais was more than happy to wipe the disdain off that baker’s face with a solid punch, but then Princess wouldn’t have any fancy treats for when she was on her best behavior. He clicked his tongue. For her, he would be on his best behavior too.

The sun peaked out from the ashen clouds, shining a bit of light onto Ais’s path as if the sky was seeking penance for ruining his early morning shopping trip. He turned his head. He stared too long again. Even if shrouded by clouds, the sun was always there. Nothing special. His hurried steps padded the cobblestone road with a steady rhythm. His back faced the pearly bridge that connected Hightown to Lowtown. Ais adjusted the bag in his arms as he made his way through the maze of flood-eroded buildings.  

Highborn nobles would be appalled at the sight of Lowtown, but this was Ais’s turf. No pleasantries. People here were blunt enough to let the money talk. Business was business. No “please” or “thank you’s”. You only needed to pay. If you didn’t want to pay, you exchanged information or goods. A brawl also doubled as a negotiation. A shame folks here were scared shitless of the Soulless. 

Hu. Tu. Du, du, du, du. 

Ais stopped. His crimson eyes casted their gaze to an alleyway that bisected the deserted Lowtown street that led to the spring and the lively Amaryllis District. He spun his heel and looked up at the gilded buildings of Hightown then back to the alleyway. A detour wouldn’t hurt. The Amaryllis District was closer to the bog than that bakery was. Besides, he hadn’t been there in a while. A change of pace was much needed.The walk home would be less lonely too. The district never slept. 

La, du, du, du, du. 

This tune… 

The Seaspring was home to a few, repetitive sounds: The blood-red waters dripping and rippling from seepage, the purrs and growls of the Soulless and hushed whispers. When one ventured out to the Wet Wick, they, too, heard a few, repetitive sounds: alcohol being poured and measuredly sipped, the shouts and hollers of those who had one too many drinks, and faint murmurs. 

There was not much of a difference in terms of sound between the spring and the city (save for Hightown’s polite contempt for commotion and the entertainment district’s hustle and bustle) but Ais knew a sparrow’s song when he heard one. He was sure of it– not that he was a musical prodigy or any sort. The song was unfamiliar, but he knew the sound of your voice. He never took you for a singer, but he also didn’t take you for a lightweight. He bet you never took him for the type to spoil his pets rotten either. 

He smirked as he squeezed himself through the narrow passage. 

A  flurry of colors greeted him at the end of the tunnel like a gust of wind. Cerulean and coral lanterns strung themselves from building to building. Booths lined the street with an array of pastel tents. The avenue was nothing short of paintings, artisan goods, hand-crafted trinkets and gadgets. Street food vendors were also up and running, undeterred by the untimely hour. The elephant in the room was a large shell-pink tent sat in the middle of the plaza. People flocked and filed themselves around a ticket booth. The sign by the entrance read something along the lines of “troupe”. The fuss rushed past Ais, failing to rope him in. 

His main attraction was a lone stall several paces to his right. The stand was further from its competitors, but it was as busy as any other booth in the district. Tables and benches lined its perimeter. Most of them were occupied. Some had wax candles and pressed flowers while others had glass and frayed paint brushes. Ais scanned the area and smiled, eyes landing on a bench in the corner. It was you, alright. The tune you were humming increased in volume as he tip-toed towards your table. Your back was facing him, immersed in your art project. Your hood was drawn up as well, but he caught sight of your bandages. You were trying to be discreet, but you stood out like a sore thumb to him. The Amaryllis District was vivacious and colorful. Even the air smelled colorful. You, on the other hand, were as ominous as a disciple of death– black cloak, half of your features shrouded by a cowl, and hands wrapped in gauze. And you had the gall to call the Seaspring creepy? The superstitious folks would’ve believed you if you came knocking on their door one day and told them their time was up. 

But as luck would have it, Ais never bought into that sort of bullshit. And you were scary as a rabbit. Mischief spread across his face. 

He pulled your hood down, earning a squeaky yelp from you. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, but nevertheless, a couple of heads turned– including yours. 

“Easy. It’s just me.”

You nodded and pulled your hood back up with a huff. He removed his hand from your mouth, barely dodging the daggers you glared at him. He grinned. 

“Top o’ the morning to you too, sparrow.”

You cocked your head. Ais put a hand behind his neck and cleared his throat. His gaze averted yours. 

“Learned something last week. Means good morning.”

“Couldn’t you just say ‘good morning’?” you muttered. 

“Gets boring.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to the glass bottle in your hand. It was short and stout, snuggly fit into your palm. He peered over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of a trio of birds flying over an ocean that was a work in progress. He frowned, realizing your little work song had ceased. He set his dog biscuits by your paint palette. You raised an eyebrow at the paper bag. 

“For Princess,” he explained.

“Has she been well?”

“The good-est girl.”

“And you?”

“The good-est boy.”

“The best,” you joked.

Ais rested his head on the base of his palm and watched you add strokes of blue to your ocean. It was a shade darker than the other blues. It reminded him of Mhin’s cape. He grimaced. It reminded him of one of those rare nights in Eridia where the skies were clear enough to see the stars. His eyes trailed up to the stormy clouds. He won’t be seeing any stars anytime soon. When Ais turned his attention back to you, you had moved onto a lighter blue. 

“You an artist?” 

“Dabbled in it.”

“How ‘bout a singer?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Could’ve sworn you just were.”

“You misheard,” you said with finality.

“Did not.” He paused, then added, “Got sharp ears.” Ais pointed to his ears. They were indeed sharp– as most of his features were. Perhaps the only thing that wasn’t sharp about him was the ink on his arms. 

He was met with silence and took it as an invitation to continue prodding at you. 

“Okay then do you hum?”

Your lips were taut. Your brows knitted together in contemplation. Then, they relaxed. Ais smiled as you reluctantly nodded. The movement was incredibly subtle. If he blinked, he would’ve missed his prize..  

“It sounded nice.” 

“You think?” Your back straightened. 

“Yeah, could’ve taken you for a performer here.” 

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Honest, sparrow.”

“I thought about it before… back home… being a performer– even an artist,” you gestured at your glass with your paintbrush, "But I had… another role to play.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear and swapped the blue paint out for an off-white color, sketching sea foam onto your ocean waves. A secret was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Not anymore though, right?”

You nodded. Free as a bird, you thought. You angled the glass to finish up some details. You were by no means talented. It was nothing worth auctioning or featuring in a gallery, but it was something you enjoyed, something you hoped to improve at. You found yourself coming to this booth more often than you’d like to admit. The owner knew your face and you had a collection of painted glass bottles tucked away in your room at the Wet Wick. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Only to see a friend.”

You turned your head to the building with pink curtains. His eyes narrowed. 

“Not like that, sparrow.” 

“You were misleading,” you shrugged.

“This district’s alright. Too perfumy though,” Ais elaborated. A philanderer was not going on his mental tally of bad impressions on you. He’d like to keep the numbers at a humble three or four. He had causal relationships in the past, but not to that extent. It’s been a while too so it didn't count. That title was more suitable for other people. He could name a few off the top of his head, but he’ll do you a solid favor and keep those names to himself. 

“You don’t come here often because of the smell–”

“Too strong on the nose.” He tapped his nose for good measure.

“When you live by a swamp?” You finished.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The water smells… strange there. It’s not like the river here.”

He knew what you meant. He knew the smell. He was certain you did too. You knew that smell all too well, considering you were welcomed by it on your first day in this city. It followed you as much as it followed him. Neither of you said a thing. Not a word or a whisper. A topic like that matched the somber skies, but clashed with the vitality of the arts and entertainment district. 

“Smells fine to me.”

“That’s because you live by it!”

Ais smirked. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip.  

Those pesky gray clouds have finally decided to cry their eyes out after two days of dilly dallying in the sky, submerging Lowtown with their tears. The ramshackle districts of Eridia were no stranger to floods. It was something the people had grown used to, looked forward to even. Floods may destroy a few buildings or dent a couple of roofs, but they also wash away the pungent smell of blood and death. The downpour was so strong that the Soulless avoided the city. The people were free to wander about at night, albeit with a few limitations. There was not a single booth set up in the Amaryllis District. It was the only time the plaza got a wink of sleep. Well, most of the district. A handful of lights were still on and all pink curtains were drawn, a sign they could go all night long if they wanted to– rain or shine. That wasn’t the case for most stores in Lowtown. Most closed when the downpour began, but bars were open and that was all that mattered to Ais. 

It was when Eridia rained that he simultaneously felt the most alone and the most at home. The flooded streets were akin to the Seaspring’s waters, but there was not a single soul in sight. He waded through the murky waters with unease. The rain turned the city into his domain. He was fond of it for many reasons, but it did not do what many Eridians loved about it the most: wash away unbearable stenches. Petrichor masked the smell of death, but it was prevalent nonetheless. Something lurked in these waters, waiting to be reaped. Or perhaps Ais’s intuition was off? His senses had been haywire for the past few days. He found himself looking over his shoulder to see if someone was behind him. Heat rushed to his usually cold cheeks. His heart raced even though he barely moved an inch. The rain started not too long ago so was it a long shot to say that not everything was washed out yet?

Splash!

Ais whipped his neck around, observing the Wet Wick’s alleyway. Blood spewed from the narrow pathway and coiled around his boots. It swirled and dissolved into the flood water congregating by the Wet Wick’s entrance. He cracked his knuckles and made his way to the alleyway. Even the rain couldn’t stop a good bar brawl. The victor of that fight was a worthy adversary if they could draw blood. Even if they weren’t, he was getting restless anyhow. Throwing a punch or two and knocking someone would be an easy fix for that. Talk about exciting. 

Thud! 

His grin faded as he stepped into the alleyway. His eyes dilated at the sight of Vere pining a cloaked figure to the wall with his bare hands. Blood spilled on the wall, dripping down into the flood water. Ais knew that cloak a little too well. It was black and embroidered with little bits of gold at the hem. He saw it a few times. At the Seaspring. At the Wet Wick. At the Amaryllis District. 

He could count the number of times he saw that cloak on his hands, but the amount of times it plagued his thoughts every now and then exceeded the number stars in the sky– When will you visit Princess again? What kind of weird drink will you have next time? Would he be able to hear that song again?

The same cloak that festered in his mind was now saturated with blood. Despite the ebony fabric, there was enough blood in certain areas to dye it red. Your torso. Your legs. Your head. Though shrouded by a hood as always, your cowl was the deepest of crimsons. It was tantamount to the thick red waters of the spring. 

Vere was the first– and perhaps the only one–  to notice Ais. He furrowed his auburn brows and dropped your body onto the ground. An audible thump echoed through the alley yet you remained still, blood pooling and pooling.  

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Ais responded with silence. His eyes lingered on you. He hoped for you to chirp and twitter about something. Curse or bite someone if you must. 

“Senobium’s orders,” Vere said, tossing his hair over his shoulder, “They were snooping around too much and… you know how that goes.”

"...I see." Two meaningless words that added nothing to the conversation, something he picked up from you. He never truly grasped the meaning of the phrase– he always thought of it as a sarcastic response– but "I see" seemed suitable to use for this specific situation. The scene before Ais was truly something and damn right he saw. He saw enough to know everything.

Vere's dusty pink eyes fell to his feet where blood accumulated. His ears drooped as he stepped away from your body. If he had put his tail between his legs, he could’ve fooled anyone.  His shoulder brushed Ais’s on his way out of the alley. “We should head inside. My fur’s getting soaked.”

The demon balled his fists, words flying over his head. He sauntered deeper into the pathway and knelt down by your side. The bar’s dilapidated door creaked open and then shut, briefly shining on your marred face. There was not a single fleck of wonder or hope in your eyes. They were dull and gray like the stormy sky above you. 

“I told you the Senobium was bad news, sparrow,” Ais smiled bitterly. 

Rain trickled down his face, hot and briny. He smelt the stench of death before. He had seen disfigured bodies in the bog and drew blood during fights. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but somehow he could not bear to look at you or your mangled neck for any longer. He was getting tired of the rain already. He was tired of kneeling by your side. With a dejected sigh, Ais stood up. 

Clink!

He clicked his tongue and lifted his boot up, revealing a shard of glass. Curious, he knelt down again, examining the shattered glass around your body. Must’ve been that bottle you painted the other day. Ais could barely make out the pieces, but he saw the various shades of blue you used. His eyes shifted to a rather large fragment by his boot. Unlike the other bits of glass, this one was yellow-orange with a small black line, the silhouette of a bird flying into the sun. Ais stomped on the fragment, crushing the painted sun beneath his feet as one would with a cigarette butt. He rose from the ground and turned his back to you, but instead of entering the bar, he ventured out into the storm. 

Then maybe, just maybe, he, too, could be swept away by the rain. 

[nidhi-writes]

Vēṭkai (Part -2)

Third Person POV

'Children, please stop running' a soft voice said to the hyperactive kids making their parents reach old age very quickly.

'Arun! Kundavai! listen to your mother!' a strong voice shouted at his beloved kids who froze in their spot and giggled at their father's antics to make them obey. But it worked, as they ran towards their heavily pregnant mother and hugged her belly.

'You should be resting' said the man and smiled softly at his wife with so much love.

'Well, of course, I should be as you are the one who made me heavily pregnant for the third time' She said with a smirk. and the kids again started to play with each other.

'Well you were not complaining when I made you pregnant' He whispered to her which resulted in him being whacked at his chest for being profound in front of their children.

They both laughed and she laid her head against his chest. As she traced patterns at the top of his shirt she stared at the place where there is a huge scar that sits on top of his left chest area, which is visible and can be peeked through the shirt.

Memories rushed towards her and she still remembered the day it happen just like yesterday.

Nandhini POV

A huge gasp left my mouth and my eyes opened up only to be blinded by lights. All the events that had happened flashed through my mind and I abruptly get up to see where I am.

'Shh! Take it easy. Don't get up too fast' A voice said while holding me. I am not sure what they are saying but my trembling self said to be calm. But my mind went into a frenzy again thinking of ilavarasar Karikalan, and he is nowhere to be seen.

'கரிகாலரே! எங்கே இருக்குறீர்கள்?'(Karikalar! Where are you)My voice started to get louder as I whipped my head right and left, the more I search the more scarier I got. This place is weird and filled with things I can't understand.

'Karikalan? Is the one who was with you?' An elderly woman in front of me asked, she looks divine and had this sense of calmness towards her. But I still can't understand what is she saying. Am I a different kingdom? That couldn't be possible cause the last thing I remember being fallen off the cliff and holding on to my love. How am I even alive? But I can here her saying Karikalan's name so she might have known him so I nodded my head hoping I got what she asked me right.

'You can understand me, right? ok let me try in Tamizh, Unga per enna?' Her words made me tilt my head, I can partially understand the last bit she spoke. Was it Tamizh? but not exactly the same. But I can get from that that she is asking my name.

I pointed at me and said 'எந்தன் பெயர் நந்தினி ஆகும் ' (My name is Nandhin)I said hoping she got it and she did. So I wanted to ask her about Karikalar.

'கரிகாலர் எங்கே? அவரை நான் காண���ேண்டும்'(Where is Karikalar? I want to see him) At this moment I am desperate to know whether he is safe or not. But the look on the face of the woman before me changed. As she tried to comprehend what I told her.

'shhh, shh, ok ok,' She said and tried to action me to calm down, and I suddenly felt a stinging pain in my stomach only to check that the wound is stitched up, it was killing me. Before I ask again I saw an elderly man walking inside, who looks muscular and tall. He doesn't look like a person from Chola Desam, definitely, we are in some other kingdom. But it's a good thing if so, as here we at least have some time before anyone knows who we are.

'Oh, you are awake! How are you feeling' Again with the language I can't understand, what is it!! My confusion made him quickly ask the same thing in somewhat Thamizh which I understand partially.

'Neenga 2 varama ah coma la irukeenga, you should take rest' His words are jumbled for me. 2 varam?

As if they can understand my feelings they nodded their heads. They asked to sit me on a chair with wheels, woah and it can move. It's so strange but I am glad that I don't have to walk as the pain when I felt while standing up was so intense. As they went from one room to another and end up in a room that was similar to mine. There he was in the middle of the bed sleeping. With their broken Tamizh they explained to me that he was also in a coma for the past two weeks and hope will be waking up soon.

I just sat next to him and held his hand close to my chest and prayed to Krishna just asking him to help him. Help my Prince.

Three weeks later

It's been three weeks since I woke up in this strange place, over this period I learned that the elderly couple whose names are (Bala and Shubha) saw us injured at the bottom of what they called Kolli malai, As they are both local physicians and help poor people around the native are they made sure to take us to their home. Through them, I learned that currently, it's the year 2013 and that news made my head spin. As I see them as my parents cause of the way they treated me I entrusted them with my identity. But it was very difficult cause they don't understand my pure Tamil but we came up with a pattern and I am learning their language as well. And also it made them stop informing the Police cause they think that would be best for us until we come up with a plan.

As they don't have any children they are glad that they have someone in the house as the age as their children if they had one.

For the past these weeks I sat next to him, my love hoping that he wake up soon, but each day passed with no improvement. But Appa Bala says to not lose hope.

'Aazhi Mazhai Kannaa

Ondru Nee Kai Karavel

Aazhiyul Puku

Muganthu Kodaarththeri

Oozhi Mudhalvan Uruvampol

Meikaruthu

Paaliyanth Tholudaip

Padpanaban Kaiyyil

Aazhipol Minni

Aazhipol Minni

Valampuripol Nindrathirnthu

Thaazhaathey Saarngam

Uthaitha Saramazhaipol

Tears slipped from my eyes and my lips tremble, I just don't know what else I should do. I closed my eyes and sang those again and again. Suddenly I left someone touching my cheeks. My eyes flew open to see Karikalan now wiping my tears off and smiling at me. I couldn't stop my tears I just never thought I would see this day, hoping we would be together.

Vaazha Ulaginil

Peithidaai Naangalum

Maargazhi Neeraada

Magizhnthelo Rembaavaai'

'ஒருவழியாக நீ எனக்காக ஒரு பாடல் பாடிவிட்டாய்'(After all this time, you have finally sang for me) His words made me laugh.

A few months later

Karikalan had a very hard time for the first few weeks to live this new life in this new era. He couldn't believe that there is no Chola desam and that they were defeated long back. His anger and cries worried Bala and Shuba but they tried their best to make us comfortable. We are not sure how we can repay them.

Currently, we are in Thanjai as now it comes under Tamilnadu and the country they call is India.

'இச்சிறப்பான கோயிலை எழுப்பியது எம் தமையனா?'(Is it really my younger brother was the one who made this beautiful temple?)Tears fell from his eyes as he traced Arunmozhi's name which was mentioned as Raja Raja Cholan. He doesn't want to leave cause this is the place that was made by his brother.

A year later

Right now we are getting comfortable in this place, we tried to visit Kadambur but nothing helped us to go back, so we rested the case and accepted that here we live, We have also been customed to technology and we are so fascinated.

After nearly a year later discovering us in a tragic state, Bala and Shuba made sure to get us IDs which they use here to identify themselves.

It was hard but they had some influence. We also learned modern Tamil along with English to communicate. We both were healed and in good health now. Karikalan started working in a nearby school as a martial teacher and I conduct a singing class. Mostly they are thanking my Krishna who guided us to this life.

Sometimes I get fright that all these are just a mere dream and I will be waking up to reality. But if it was a dream then I don't want to wake up at all.

Three years later (2017 - almost 2018)

It was that windy night Karikalan asked me to marry him. At first, I don't know whether I should say yes or no. As I am already a married woman and it was considered a shame back from where we came from. But in reality, we are thousands of years into the future and it doesn't matter now.

With a peak in a cheek and caress to his chin I sealed my lips to his, answering his question without a word. That night turned into one of the most beautiful nights when we have become one together. We do not know whether it is the wind or the smell of the sand or the calmness inside the house where Shuba and Bala went for a vacation leaving us alone or just the desperation of wanting to feel the feeling of being touched by love.

His strong arms caged me and lifted my hips and meet me at the right spot each time. Moans erupted throughout the room making it sound like a melody of love. Throughout our love making we didn't look away from each other, nor we can.

At the final snap of the hips, my vision got white and his lips sealed mine drinking away my muffled moans. We both are full of each other.

And it continues way more than once. As we got married a few months after, Karikalan made sure we mate like bunnies in a mating season and made sure I got pregnant and I did.

10 Months later

With heavy breaths leaving my mouth and sweat building up, it was then our first baby, our beautiful baby boy came to this world. As others laid him on top of my breast tears of joy fell down. All the pain I felt doesn't matter now and I will go for thousand times again and again if needed.

We know what we are going to name him and KArikalan asked me about the name I would definitely want him to have the name of the most generous, powerful warrior/King who ever lived, Arunmozhi.

'வாழ்க பல்லாணடு எம் இளவரசே அருண்மொழி'(Long live the prince, Arunmozhi) Karikalan sang and I smiled at the scene to capture it on my memory forever.

A year later

It was the end of 2019 and we welcomed our second child, our baby girl who we named Kundavai. Yes even though I had some spats with real Kundavai I always admired her and what else I can ask in a girl who can be filled with knowledge, administrative thinking, and beauty as this world has never seen.

And yes, Karikalan couldn't help wanting to mate again and again. God, I am not sure how this man ever lived without having it for most of his life back then.

Present day - 2023

Third Person POV

Nandhini let out a giggle after thinking about how their life turned into heaven and how their family is shaping up.

She lightly kisses up the scars that sit on top of Karikalan's chest as he kissed her head.

'So what we are going to name the one which looks like will be popped out any day' He asked and gently massaged her hips. A silent moan left Nandini's lips as the sensation felt wonderful.

She smiled and thought, She really wanted to carry the name of her mother, the name Vallavarayan Vanthiyathevan mentioned. And she has a feeling that this one also be a girl.

'How about Mandakini' She answered to which Karikalan smiled and nodded.

'But we still have to have one more so we can name him Vanthiyadevan' He said and wiggled his eyebrow.

Arunmozhi who is currently five years turned around as he heard the name he always loved. His father always mentioned his friend Vallavarayan Vanthiyadevan.

'Are we going to have Vanthiyadevan also? Yes!!' The child laughed and hugged his sister who currently didn't understand what it is at the tender age of 3 1/2 but laughed along with her brother.

@vibishalakshman  @thatacademic @thelekhikawrites 

They have it all and they also have parent figures who made sure to help them on every step. As the family enjoyed it appears to be the start of the Chola bloodline that again will raise to his power one day. One can hope, can't we?

The END BEGINNING

@curiousgalacticsoul @babayagahunt @hollogramhallucination 

@whippersnappersbookworm  @willkatfanfromasia @chiyaanvikram​

[m-entities]

@finch-farran

Oxford had never been so glad to see the sun. The third day passed without much interest - perhaps there were other fights or actions happening across the Arena. Oxford had done his best to stay hidden, feeling more confident now that his shield from Enna provided him with a bit of a buffer between whatever might come at him. He tried not to think of the previous night, but it was no use: all throughout the day, he could see the face of 2 and Al as they fell to his machete.

He walked gingerly forward, the bruises from his fight with 2 growing deeper by the minute. There was no rhyme or reason to his exploration; he simply wanted to find someplace new that would allow him to hide out from the sun for a while. He found it in the way of an abandoned popcorn stand - the food was inedible, but at least the roof kept the sun off of his back.

Evening fell faster than he would have guessed, and Ox felt the need to hide from the guards. But after the faces flashed across the sky (including Al from Seven, and apparently Quarry Pitts from Two, but notably excluding Farina), the announcement about security that had rang out the past two nights didn't repeat. Instead there was a dull, electronic hiss, and many of the residual lights went out. Darkness - again.

Oxford fell into a fitful sleep. He was cramped in the small stall, and it seemed like movements were everywhere outside. But he couldn't fight his own exhaustion, and he eventually did pass out. The morning sun woke him all too soon, though, and he knew he had to strike out again.

The dull morning sun lit his way forward as he crept from shadow to shadow as best he could. That's when he saw it: the water park. With a short bark of relief, he rushed forward towards the tidal pool.

His approach was halted, though, by the overwhelming chemical smell of the water. It was clearly unfit to drink. That was a disappointment, to be sure, but that wasn't all water was good for. He approached cautiously and dipped a toe in. The water was lukewarm, and he didn't immediately feel any pain. He sunk his whole foot in, and was relieved to find it overwhelmingly welcoming. With a choked sob of gratitude, he dropped his gear, including his shield and bag, at the shallow end of the pool, and waded in up to his knees. He dunked his machete into the water, and watched in fascinated horror as days of blood washed away into the pool. Satisfied that it was clean, he gently tossed the blade back to rest with the rest of his stuff.

He waded out a bit deeper into the water and gently peeled his shirt off over his head. Dried blood cracked and popped as it failed to glue the fabric to his skin, and his bruises screamed at him with the effort, but he was glad to find very little of the blood was his. His arm was still scraped from his fight with Mack, and he could feel his face also bearing the battle wounds, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape.

He dunked the shirt under the water and it, too, created trails of red in the artificial blue. He gently dabbed at his body, cleaning viscera from his arms, his face, his torso. It was such a relief. He took a moment and sat on the bottom of the pool, allowing the water to reach about up to his shoulders, and briefly submerged his head, taking a moment to scrub the past few days out of his hair. The chemicals gently bit into Mack's scratches, but it was almost nice. It felt like healing, in a way.

It was odd, he realized, that the water was so stagnant. He could see from the blue tiling that the pool was meant to have much more water than it currently did. He scanned out over the pool and saw the culprit. A miniscule whirlpool could be seen, slowly turning a massive amount of refuse and greenery. There was a drain there, nearly fully clogged by debris. The pool must have been draining all night, but with the blockage could only drain so much. Oxford wasn't complaining, though. As long as there was water here, he would relish in it.

Ox knew it was stupid, perhaps, to spend the full day so exposed. Water was needed soon - he could feel the parching of the back of his throat. Hunger, too, was starting to gnaw at his belly. But there was something peaceful about this morning - at least as peaceful as the Games could ever get. So if he could grab a few hours, or even just a few minutes of reprieve, he was going to take it.

He spread his shirt out to dry in the sun, and then laid down next to his gear, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his feet dabble in the shallow water. The cool tiles were a balm on his back, and the sun wasn't yet blazing enough to be uncomfortable. Instead, it felt like a warm blanket against his bare chest.

Ox's eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps if they hadn't, he would have seen the only sign of danger: a small ripple on the surface of the water. But even if he had seen it, would he have known? Or would it have just been seen as his own doing? Either way, Oxford was fully unprepared for the attack.

He felt the fangs sink deep into his calf before any other sense had a chance to register. His sight was next: he looked down to see the snarling, smiling face of a giant snake emerging from the water. Even before the pain set in, the massive anaconda had begun wrapping itself around his leg.

Then the pain hit. It was worse than anything the had felt in the past days, and in fact, his life. An acidic gouge, deep into his leg. He tried to yank his leg away, but this snake was way too strong and way too heavy. It lashed out with its body, jerking Oxford to the side. He kicked at it's face, but its eyes retracted into its skull, and his attacks went useless.

His machete. Where was his machete? He grappled for his shield, his blade, anything. But the snake had pulled him towards the water, the tiles slick against his skin. He yelled in frustration and did the only thing his body could think to do: he grabbed the snake by the head. He dug his fingers under its mouth, hoping to pry it from his leg.

The snake lunged again, hissing. Ox wasn't fast enough, and it managed to reposition itself higher on his leg, wrapping more of its serpentine form around him. It pulled back, and Ox was yanked up to his waist in the water.

"NO!" he roared, trying to reach for his blade again - but it was no use. It was out of reach, and this snake was only getting stronger the deeper into the water it got. He hammered his fist on the snake's head, nose, eyes. No - this would not be how he went out.

[vishnavishivaa]

And I am back with another new story. But this is the anticipated one, now titled Komala: Fortitude, Intelligence and Acceptance.

*****

Vanathi was distraught.

She had broken into millions of pieces, and she did not know if she could ever be stitched back together, back into a person.

News from Arulmozhi was that he had met a boat girl who was intriguing to him, and though this bothered the elders, Kundavai Akka had also indicated that her elder brother had seen no qualms with it, instead stating that it doesn’t matter, but that the Prince got to marry who he wanted, whether a boat girl or Princess.

She had gotten a frown after she had said that, and Vanathi knew that there was more contention with regards to the matter of Izhaya Pazhuvoor Rani Nandini.

What was she to do?

She knew Arulmozhi hadn’t been interested in her,whatever the glances they shared, but all the elders kept encouraging her affections, and now, when they would never go away, this news had broken.

The tone of Vanthiyadevan had added to the hurt and made it a flaming fire of pain. He seemed fully in support of Poonkuzhali, the boat girl, which had clearly angered her Kundavai Akka, and she knew they too had a battle before reaching a state of union.

But luckily, the Vana warrior had also realized it.

But what was she to do now?

What would become of her?

She couldn’t bear to hurt her heart’s heart, her life itself, even if he had hurt her beyond with his clear words to Kundavai, which she knew was meant for her as well.

If she would try to drown in the Kaveri; someone would find her and save her, she knew.

She was being constantly watched by everyone in the family, especially Kundavai Akka. This was one of the rare times Vanathi herself was alone.

But she knew she couldn’t do that to her Akka. Her Yaanai Paagan…. no no, The Prince would not care, but her Kundavai Akka would.

And thus, there was nothing she could do.

A sudden commotion near the entrance of her chambers caused her to jerk back to reality from the depressing thoughts that whirled in her head.

“Enna nadakkiradhu ange? (What is happening there?),” she called out, swiping away at the tears still on her cheeks.

“Ilavarasi, Pazhuvur Ilaya Rani has come to see you.”

“To see me?” Vanathi blinked. She and the Ilaya Rani crossed paths only when the latter and Kundavai were sparring through words. She had seen the Ilaya Rani look at her with an indescribable emotion in her eyes, but for Nandini to seek her out…

“Vanangugiren, Pazhuvur Ilaya Rani, (Welcome, Nandini)” she said, once she reached the entrance, just as Nandini reached there as well. “Please come in.”

****

Elsewhere…

Arulmozhi stared at the sudden frenzy of the mute Queen, as she searched for a stick to draw something. He quickly grabbed the closest stick he could find, giving it to the Queen, waiting for her to draw something.

She quickly signed to Poonkuzhali, before turning to draw, the latter turning to him to translate.

“Athai says that things have the highest potential of changing, Ponniyin Selvare. She says that she is drawing the face of the person who will cause a powerful change.”

Arulmozhi watched reverently, though his expression quickly turned into one of surprise. He knew those features well, those doe eyes and the gentle upturn of the lips, accompanied by a gentle jaw.

“Vanathi,” he whispered, staring at the drawing of the Mute Queen, not noticing the surprise on his friend’s face, nor the flash of jealousy that passed through Poonkuzhali’s face. He was stunned to see her drawing etched on the ground, especially given the topic of discussion they were having.

The future welfare of the Chola empire.

Seemed like he had to get home to Thanjai earlier than he had planned.

——————-

This is a complete AU.

But the wars still happen, and the politics will still be there.

@vibishalakshman has been waiting for this one!

@rang-lo @dumdaradumdaradum @thelekhikawrites @ragalata @chiyaanvikram @hollogramhallucination @kovaipaavai

[catmillers]

The world was inky, dark, and black, tunnel vision made it so she could only focus on him. Eugene. It was a halo-like glow around him, sainlike, as he always was. Words were passing his lips and Cat couldn't make them out, it was as if her ears were full of water or they were plugged.

"Can't hear you," Cat croaked, not quite able to even really hear her own voice.

Eugene spoke louder, words almost cutting through the barrier, "Run."

"What?"

Eugene moved to speak again but was halted – a shot finally cut the silence and all sound rushed back to Cat's ears. Eugene's mouth moved like a record caught in a skip the beginnings of the word 'run' on his lips. It was gurgled though, incoherent, then she noticed it – the blood, out his nose, free from his forehead – a perfectly round hole in the center the culprit.

In a flash, the nothingness around them began to flood with swaths of crimson blood, a wave of it moved to overtake Cat and –

Cat sat up with a start, urgently pushing back the covers and pressing her back up against headboard, cowering away from the death that was sure to overtake her. Hiccuped gasps of breath stuttered out of her mouth. Cat wasn't sure if she'd screamed, but her lips buzzed like she had, throat torn like she had. Cat blinked, rapidly, trying to get the feeling of her heartbeat out of her eyes, to push past the tears that raked down her cheeks, they'd killed him, they'd killed him, they'd killed him. Again, again, again, in front of her and she couldn't save him no matter how many times she tried to.

As she surveyed her surroundings through bleary eyes, she caught sight of her apartment. Her bedroom. A small over-decorated thing – posters lined the wall, drawings from Enna, curiosities from Cress, above her desk lines of code and poorly doodled character models for the game she and Nano worked on. Home. This was her home. She was okay and so was Holland. Holland who was next to her and now awake. Shit.

@holland-westbrook

[mysteriawrites]

Matchup for @sea-side-spectre

Hihi thx for the request. You were a bit harder to match had to think on it for a bit because I had two really good choices, but wasn’t sure which was better until I thought on it for awhile. So your matchup is…DRUMROLL PLEASE!!!

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

REN ZOTTO!!!

(Honestly it was a huge tie between him and Enna Alouette, but I made em wrestlesanji over you and he won (aka i remembered that Enna was afraid if the ocean and realized that it probably wasn’t gonna work lol)

You and Ren kinda just feel right. You both have an appreciation for life and the outdoors, are a little quirky, and overall easy going and goofy. You two would have a lot of fun together.

You guys met at the beach on a clear night. You were a merperson attending Iluna Institute of the Mystics. You couldn’t sleep that night, so you decided to go outside for some air and maybe a swim.

You were enjoying the moon and stars when you noticed a particularly strange looking star. It was shone very brightly, was green, and headed right towards you? In a flash if light the “star” rushed past you over head and crashed on the shore line.

You swam to back to land to investigate and discovered that the star was actually a space ship. You got closer, the eerie silence insisting you turn back, but your curiosity got the best if you. Suddenly the door popped open and a paid of strange blue eyes peered back at you. The figure slinked out from inside and there stood a tall man with horns, fangs, claws, a tail, …and no clothes.

You tried to back away slowly so he could turn and run, but the man pounced on you. He he stared at you for a moment as you trembled in fear too scared to scream. He brought his face real close and…he smiled? He introduced himself as Ren Zotto with such an innocent puppy smile and said how excited he was to meet an earthling in person.

Before you could say anything the staff had arrived and saw you guys’ compromising position. Oh boy did you have some explaining to do, although you weren’t quite sure what the explanation was yourself.

Fast forward after finding out Ren is an alien prince and destroyer of worlds who wanted to see what life on earth was like and enrolling him in a Iluna. Ever since you guys met Ren had clung to you like a lost puppy. He wasn’t very shy, but since you were the first person he met he was very attached to you whether you liked it or not. Always saying hi to you in the halls, sitting next to you in class and at lunch, even following you back to your dorm (you had to explain to him that he couldn’t live in your dorm).

Because of how attached he was to you the school had assigned you to help him get settled and aquatinted. You taught him all the things about earth and it kinda reminded you if yourself when you first came to land. You guys became very close and went to all kinds of places together like the aquarium, the movie theater, the zoo, and the beach. He seemed particularly fond of the ocean like and you so you taught him everything you knew.

Lately though Ren had been acting strange: getting lunch for you, being very snuggly, purring, and singing you songs in his language (animal crossing-). You learned from Kyo Kaneko and Aster Arcadia, Ren’s roommates (cause i said so) that apparently Ren had grown to have affections for you, so he was exhibiting the courting rituals of his people.

You ended up avoiding him for awhile after getting this information in an attempt to process your own feelings. Ren became very sad after that, and it killed you to see him like that, but you wanted to find the best way to respond to his feelings.

Once you came to terms with everything you invited Ren to your room. You told him you’d agree to go out with him, but also explained to him how courting on earth worked differently. So you compromised and decided to combine rituals between merperson, alien, and human.

And from then on you two were dating. It’s a bit of new territory for him cause he’s never had a “mate” before so you do have to take the lead a bit, but overall he’s a very good boyfriend.

Although Ren is pretty playful and easy going he cane keep you grounded when needed. He compliments you in everything you do and he treats your gifts with precious care. He loves it when you show him tons of earth movies on your dates and when you teach him about the ocean.

You encourage him and his love for music and teach him about the ways of earth. You enjoy going on walks outside together and enjoying nature, and he promised to take you to him home planet one day.

Very silly goofy relationship that’s filled with chill vibes and positivity.

This was a really hard one. There were a lot if good contenders, but none that real fit right. Only one that felt right were Ren and Enna. (Ps i finally hear the fuck boy laugh after watching Ren complications for research)

Runners Up: Enna Alouette, Alban Knox, Selen Tatsuki, Vox Akuma

Disclaimer for anyone else reading this: all of my nijien writing and fics are fictional and don’t pertain at all to the streamers behind the model. Please respect them and others in the community thank you.

[cress-meadowforge]

MTO + MOODBOARDS (SLATE & CRESS | AH134)

ft. @slate-skylar

The Capitol places them in an apartment in the city, somewhere where they can be kept close. It's a white box -- devoid of color, of warmth, of life. Cress does her best to turn it into a home. She picks paint swatches and tile backsplash, blankets and rugs. The shelves are filled with books, but no pictures. They don't have any to display. So little survived the fire and the bombings. She buys curtains for the windows. One night, Slate comes home from shooting propos and finds Cress weeping over them. They're not the same, she cries. But nothing is the same. They both know this.

They don't talk about the arena. They don't talk about Calli, or the Vox, or much of anything. Slate's afraid to speak, afraid to misstep -- or, at least, that's what Cress thinks. Maybe she's in denial. Maybe he doesn't trust her anymore. So they cook meals, and they watch TV. Slate puts his head in her lap. He's numbed on morphling, and he falls asleep easily. Cress wants to carry him to bed like a child, like something fragile she must protect.

He's rarely sober, except maybe in the early mornings, which become sacred, though fleeting. She traces his features. His eyes open, bleary, but there: a flash of lucidity. A black cat apparates on his side of the bed. Moros, stirred from his slumber, coaxed to preen in the sun. He's good for Slate. A friend that can't be reaped, something uncomplicated to love. She begs him to stay longer, to not start the day. Another minute, Cress insists. Please, Slate, wait--

Sometimes he looks at her with desperation, eyes saturated with need. Other times it starts with anger, sadness that boils into frustration, into fury. His emotions grow too large to contain. They fuck to sate it. For connection, for release. I love you, Cress promises, but she still feels lonely.

Her body changes. The world grows cold and dark as the seasons shift. Winter encroaches, killing everything. She's six months pregnant, then seven, then eight. There are more doctor's visits, more ultrasounds, more fittings with Enna for maternity clothing, more poking and prodding and being lauded around. Her life is a prison again. Cress panics, feeling trapped, feeling suffocated. She can't bear to be relegated back to plaything. Maybe we should start working on a nursery, Slate suggests. Cress agrees. But she doesn't believe her daughter will ever sleep there. Not if Cress can save her. Not if she can break free.

[toggle1-mrfipp]

Opera Omnia Burst Themes 2/?

With Opera Omnia shutting down, I decided to make a few posts about one of my favorite parts of the game: The Burst Weapons. Not because they were a powerful, much sought after weapon tier that gave big numbers with massive benefits, but because I have a love for Final Fantasy music, and what BTs I wanted was strongly dependent on what song would play when used.

These posts are meant to be more for the sake of archiving what there had been more than anything else, but at the very least I am going to list a large number of great FF songs.

The first listings will be the songs that we had gotten during the game's lifetime.

Final Fantasy XI Shantotto: Iron Colossus Prishe: A Realm of Emptiness Arciela V Aloulin: Arciela's Theme Iroha: Dance of the Tengu Selh'teus: Dusk and Dawn Kam'lanaut: Tough Battle #2 Eald'narche: Belief

Final Fantasy XII Vaan: Flash of Steel Penelo: Penelo's Theme Balthier: Giving Chase Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca: Boss Battle Reks: Boss Battle (Zodiac Age) Vayne Curudas Solidor: The Battle for Freedom Gabranth: Life and Death

Final Fantasy XIII Lightning: Blinded by Light Hope Estheim: Hope's Theme Snow Villiers: Savior of Souls Cid Raines: Desperate Struggle Jihl Nabaat: Test of L'cie Serah Farron: Paradigm Shift Noel Kriess: The Last Hunter Caius Ballad: The Unseen Abyss

Final Fantasy XIV Y'shtola Rhul: Ominous Prognosticks Yda Hext: Defender of the Realm Papalymo Totolymo: Another Brick

Final Fantasy XV Noctis Lucis Caelum: APOCALYPSIS NOCTIS Ignis Scientia: Omnis Lacrima Gladiolus Amicitia: Clash on the Big Bridge (Episode Gladiolus) Lunafreya Nox Fleuret: Advent of the Apocalypse Cor Leonis: The Trials of the Shield Iris Amicitia: Up for the Challenge Ardyn Izunia: Magna Insomnia Aranea Highwind: Invidia

Tactics Ramza Beoulve: Antipyretic Agrias Oaks: Battle on the Bridge

Type-0 Ace: We Have Arrived Deuce: War: The Quiet Bloodbath Cater: War: Howl of the Dreadnaught Queen: The Heart Boils Rem Tokimiya: Rem Tokimiya Machina Kunagiri: Servant of the Crystal Kurasame Susaya: War: Breaking Through

Crystal Chronicles Ciaran: United, Heaven-sent Sherlotta: The Creation of the Origin Yuri: Final Decisive Battle Layle: This is The End For You! Keiss: Narrow Escape Jegran: This is The End For You!

World of Final Fantasy Lann & Reynn: World of Battle Enna Kros: Mega World of Battle

Stranger of Paradise Jack Garland: Jack's Theme Neon: Battle: The Fiend of Fire-Motif from Mt Gulg Astos: Battle: The Suffering of Fools

Previous Entry Next Entry

[liliana-cannon]

It was far from a satisfying answer. When Enna sat and looked down to focus her attention on the shoe, she let the irritation flash through her expression, just fast enough to let it out before correcting her face. "I represent my family's business interests. We broker... important items to the Capitol. Critical goods, really." Saying deal weapons felt so ugly, tarnished the gleam she was building up for her role here. Besides, it wasn't important someone like Enna know any details.

"Oh, bit of this, bit out that. My very best I've still got at home, that's for cress and kya. Not like the tributes will know the difference if nobody tells them." And nobody would, liliana had promised. She grabbed some heel glue from a cabinet, sitting down to apply it. "So, if you're not a gamemaker, Who are you?"

[astragifs]

[leiawritesstories]

Little Hawk

Rowan Week, Day 2/Day 6: Rowan and the Cadre/Rowan as a child

@rowaelinscourt

Word count: 3,536 oops

Warnings: some language, Maeve, lil bit of angst smol child Rowan hehe, HAPPY FLUFFY SOFT ENDING I PROMISE

Enjoy!

A/N: any excuse for alternate canon is a good excuse ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A winter storm brewed high in the mountains of Mistward on the night Rowan Whitethorn was born.

Enna and Pyotr Whitethorn had been trying to conceive a child for centuries without success. They had all but given up hope and accepted that the rarity of Fae children had left its mark on their family when Enna unexpectedly found out she was pregnant.

Pyotr spent the next nine months in full hovering, territorial, brooding Fae male protective mode, of course. They had been married for centuries; despite the lack of supernatural bond between them, they were still just as attuned to each other as mates or carranam would be. Enna put up with her husband's brooding, tease him though she did about his incessant hovering.

But it was all worth it for their son.

Rowan Whitethorn screamed his way into the world on a dark, snowy winter's night, his infant cry drowning out the whistling winds.

Enna laughed through her tears as she cradled the tiny boy to her chest, gazing down at his bright, pine green eyes as his cries calmed in his mother's arms. "Hello, my little hawk," she whispered, softly caressing the tuft of silvery hair on his little head.

As if her words had imbued him with power, little Rowan shuddered and sneezed.

And two soft, downy, white-tailed hawk's feathers fluttered off of his head.

He did not actually shift into his animal form until he was five hears old, much to his parents' relief.

~

Practically from the day he started to walk, Rowan had a sword in his hand. Pyotr gifted his toddler son a small, harmless wooden toy sword, which little Rowan hauled around with him everywhere, cooing and giggling whenever he smacked a rock or a shrub or a pile of leaves with his toy. Once he was steady enough, his father taught him how to actually swing the toy sword, grinning proudly when he mastered it within hours.

"He's got the makings of a great warrior, my love," Pyotr murmured fondly to his wife as they watched their five-year-old son easily swing his blunted child's sword through the simple series of maneuvers he'd been taught.

"Why does that scare me a little?" Enna asked, leaning into her husband's side, a smile edged with concern sliding onto her face.

Pyotr kissed her silver head, embracing her tighter. "I'll train him, I promise."

"I know you will," she whispered, inhaling sharply when Rowan swung a little too enthusiastically, accidentally flinging the sword down to the stone floor of the courtyard. In the process, of course, the wooden handle hit his foot.

Rowan yelped in shock and pain and childish outrage, hopping on his good foot and clutching his bashed one.

There was a flash of bright green light.

And a young, downy, white-tailed hawk stood in Rowan's place in the courtyard.

The little hawk's bright, alert eyes stared around, taking in the sudden change in location with no small amount of surprise and wordless shock. And then he screeched, flapping his small wings frantically and managing to launch himself a few feet into the air before landing again and half-running, half-fluttering in circles, agitatedly screeching.

Only a few short moments after the unexpected shift, there was another bright flash, and Rowan stood in his Fae form once again, shaking his arms and legs as if to reassure himself he had limbs again, rather than wings and taloned feet.

The first thing he did upon confirming he was himself again was sprint over to Enna and bury his face in her skirts, clutching her legs, his small body shaking.

"Oh, my little hawk," Enna cooed, scooping him into her arms and hugging him tightly, soothing his terror. "It's alright, I'm right here."

"M-m-mum," Rowan whimpered, twining his arms around her neck, grasping her like his lifeline. "What was that?"

"You shifted," she said plainly, stroking her fingers through his pale hair.

"Shifted?" His terror rapidly gave way to curiosity.

"Yes, shifted." Pyotr rubbed his son's back comfortingly. "You, like me, have an animal form as well as a Fae form."

"What's that mean?" Rowan hadn't quite grasped the concept.

"Watch, my son." Pyotr stepped into the middle of the courtyard, rolled his neck, and shifted in a flash of green. Rowan blinked and saw an adult hawk in place of his father, gaping as the hawk launched himself into the air and flew a few loops before landing gracefully and shifting back into Pyotr's familiar form. "That's shifting, my son."

Rowan's jaw hung open. "I wanna do that!" he crowed. "Show me, Da!"

Pyotr chuckled. "We need to start slow, little hawk. But your enthusiasm is a very good thing."

"I wanna fly!" Rowan declared, tugging his father's sleeve. "Please?"

"You will, little hawk." Pyotr swung Rowan up and tossed him into the air, catching him as he laughed with a child's glee. "You will."

~

Rowan was nearly fifteen before he had anything resembling mastery over his shifting, and even then, his gangly teenage limbs often caused him to stumble as he shifted back into Fae form, cursing under his breath at the readjustment to Fae proportions.

"Having trouble, birdbrain?"

"Shut it, pup," Rowan grumbled, flipping a foul gesture at the lanky blonde Fae to his left.

Fenrys Moonbeam snickered. "Hey, I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you."

"Piss off," Rowan snorted, chuckling a little. "Are you ever serious, Moonbeam?"

"Not a strength of mine." Fenrys flashed him a grin. "You still up to be my sparring partner?"

"Hell yes." Rowan threw a vicious smirk over his shoulder. "Someone has to knock you on your ass every once in a while, yeah?"

"Fair enough," Fen laughed. "See you at training!"

Rowan, Fenrys and his twin Connall, and their friend Vaughan had all been training with Gavriel since they were old enough to properly train. The older Fae was about the same age as Rowan's parents, and he was one of the most famous living Fae of the age. Gavriel, the Lion--the whispers rippled around the wide-eyed group of young Fae the first day their instructor appeared.

When they arrived at the training grounds that day, though, a curious silence permeated the mountain air.

Fenrys, of course, broke it. "What's going on?"

"Bit of an excursion," Gavriel replied, the warrior's face tight with something oddly close to concern. "Don't get all excited, Moonbeam, it's nothing terribly momentous."

The solid black carriage that pulled into the courtyard almost the instant the words were out of Gav's mouth begged to differ.

"Holy shit!" Fenrys gasped, goggling at the insignia on the carriage door. "That's--"

"Let's go, boys," Gav interrupted. "Her Majesty doesn't like waiting."

~

The four young Fae were uncharacteristically silent as the carriage pulled up in front of the great stone castle.

Gavriel swung open the door and leapt out, nodding his encouragement to the teenage Fae. "There's no need to worry," he reassured them calmly, extending one hand. "Her Majesty simply wishes to meet the new crop of warriors, as she does each time there is a new group."

Somewhat calmed by that, Rowan took Gavriel's hand and swung himself down. "Shouldn't keep the Queen waiting, then."

"Indeed not," Connall agreed, jumping down gracefully and tugging his twin with him. "C'mon, Fen, think of Her Majesty as just another Fae female. Only this one has a crown."

Fen snorted something under his breath, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his brother. "Ouch! Hell, it wasn't that crude!"

"You keep telling yourself that."

Quietly, escorted by four blank-faced demi-Fae guards, they made their way into the palace, following the guards down the silent marble halls until they reached a set of great mahogany double doors, the wood inlaid with glittering veins of ebony. The throne room. Suddenly conscious of himself, Rowan straightened his posture, trying to present himself as much like the Whitethorn prince he was as possible. And he wasn't the only one--Fen and Con and Vaughan also straightened up, putting their shoulders back and placing carefully blank looks on their faces.

The doors swung open, creaking like the wintry wind that curled around the towers.

Almost in unison, the four boys walked up the interminable length of the throne room, their boots clicking against the polished black marble tiles, following Gavriel up to the dais at the front of the cavernous hall. Rowan caught a brief glimpse of his parents standing to the side among the group of nobility, knowing they were probably there at the queen's command.

"Majesty," Gav bowed, dropping to one knee. The four of them followed suit, kneeling in deference to their queen.

Queen Maeve let them kneel for a moment, then tapped her polished nails on the armrest of her ebony throne. "Rise." Smooth as silk and fluid as water, her voice spilled over each of them.

Rowan contained the slight shudder that ran through him at the feeling of the queen's command, having the oddest prickle of a sense that she could see right through all of them.

"The newest trainees, Your Majesty," Gavriel announced, gesturing to the four teenage Fae standing rigidly upright, eyes cased like he'd trained them. "Prince Rowan Whitethorn, Lords Fenrys and Connall Moonbeam, Lord Vaughan Recorre."

Queen Maeve swept her gaze over each of the young warriors one at a time, her dark eyes calculating, considering. She tilted her head to the side, a tiny hint of a smile curling the corner of her crimson lips. "You've done well, Lion."

"I thank you, Your Majesty."

"They are ready, then?"

"If it were up to my discretion?" Gav shook his head. "They need more training before they ought to enter the legions. But Your Majesty always knows best."

"Well spoken," Maeve purred. She turned her serpentine, otherworldly smile onto Rowan. Onto his friends. "I have an offer for you, my young warriors."

Rowan tried to ignore the icy shiver that snaked down his spine at the queen's words, at the unnerving smile on her porcelain face. Tried, and failed.

"How would you like to join the legion of the bloodsworn?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan saw both of his parents stiffen slightly, that word striking something in them. His brows furrowed in confusion, wondering why his mother and father, two of the strongest Fae he knew, would react like that.

The queen, of course, noticed his confused expression. "Prince Rowan," she hummed, drawing his attention to her. "You have a question?"

Rowan didn't even want to know how she'd formed that conclusion. "I...Your Majesty, I don't understand what being bloodsworn means?"

Maeve's smile expanded, the crimson stain of her lips curving across her pale face. "Would you like to know, little hawk?"

A bolt of ice shot down his spine at the queen's use of his parents' familiar nickname, every nerve in his body freezing. Would you like to know?

He'd been trapped.

She knew--somehow, she knew--that he would ask, and she'd trapped him into either accepting this blood swearing without knowing what it was or risking his own neck by saying no.

Before he could speak, though, Fenrys stepped forward, lowering himself to one knee. "I would accept, my queen."

Maeve's black gaze fixed onto the blonde Fae, taking in the surety in his posture, his voice. "You would swear yourself to your queen by blood, Lord Fenrys Moonbeam?"

"It would be my honor, Majesty." Fenrys never wavered.

The queen nodded. "And so you shall, Lord Moonbeam." Withdrawing a slender steel blade from her sleeve, she sliced her forearm. "Come."

As if pulled by some supernatural force, Fenrys rose and approached the throne, knelt again, and placed his lips to the queen's small wound, taking a taste of her blood. When Fen lifted his face, Rowan could have sworn he saw blackness flicker in Fen's dark eyes, but he quickly brushed it off as a trick of the light.

"My queen," Fenrys repeated, kneeling again.

Maeve graced the young lord with a serpentine smile. "My sworn white wolf."

So that was it, the blood oath. Take the queen's blood and thereby swear to her one's life.

Ever so slightly, Enna Whitethorn inclined her head, something Rowan couldn't--wouldn't--name flickering across her face. Go.

So Rowan stepped forwards, knelt at the foot of the dais, and with a voice that somehow felt detached from him, he swore himself to his queen. "It would be my highest honor, Majesty."

"Come."

Come, whispered a dark, ancient voice within Rowan's mind, reaching oily tendrils around his mind and tugging him forwards to meet the queen, to touch his lips to her pale, cool skin, to taste the thick copper tang of her blood.

"Welcome to my sworn warriors, little hawk," Maeve smiled, her voice oozing through his very blood, slick as oil and deadly as steel at the same time.

Connall and Vaughan knelt too, swore their oaths, and accepted the queen's blood, forever binding their lives to their queen's will.

"My cadre," the queen pronounced them, pride and...and something more sinister ringing in her tone. "I see great things for you, my young warriors." As they knelt, she waved her hand. "Go, keep training. I will call for you when I know you are ready."

Something in those words turned Rowan's very blood to ice.

~

The queen's summons awoke him in the darkest hours of the night.

Come. Wake up, little hawk.

Blinking groggily in the thick velvety darkness, Rowan reached blindly for his weapons, strapping his steel to his body and pulling on his boots and following the queen's nudges until he was out in the forest, calmed by the familiar whispers of the trees and the wildlife.

Shift, little hawk.

In hawk form, Rowan hopped up into a tree, launching himself into the night sky from there. Maeve's voice in his mind, in his blood, directed him out over the forest, no time to appreciate the beauty of the night before he was descending into a clearing and shifting back into his Fae body, hand creeping unconsciously to the knife strapped to his thigh.

For he was not alone in the clearing, as evidenced by the warm, golden, gently flickering firelight.

Tread silent on the carpeting of pine needles, Rowan approached the golden sphere of firelight, the queen's firm hand on his blood guiding him to draw his knife, readying his muscles for the pounce.

Until he stopped short, stunned by the female sitting in the sphere of flame, her golden hair loose, fanning about her, its rich color mingling with the hue of the flames she cast.

Maeve's ever-present voice interrupted his momentary reverie.

Kill her.

Rowan blinked. She is a threat, Majesty?

Do you question my orders, little hawk?

Of course not, my queen. Rowan tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife. I would not have flagged this female as a threat, that is all.

Such a softhearted little hawk, the queen crooned. Kill her.

Knowing better than to say anything else, Rowan crept up behind the female, still silent, still unnoticed until he coated his free hand in ice to ward off the fire and caught the female by the neck, placing the razor-sharp point of his knife to her throat, just pricking the skin, a drop of blood welling up at his knife's point.

It was at that moment that all of his instincts screeched to a halt, overridden by the power of the female's blood.

Mate mate mate mate mate.

Rowan's hand shook, completely rattled by the overpowering realization. The female--his mate--was so still in his grasp, wordless, her flames rippling around her hands as if in defense.

Rowan.

Little hawk. Maeve was impatient now, getting ready to invade his mind and take over his body, something she had only done once during the time in which he had been bloodsworn to her.

Rowan would never forget the chilling wrongness of being shoved to the side in his own body, of helplessly watching as the queen, moving his limbs like a puppeteer, committed a slaughter.

Little hawk. Louder now, more insistent, his arm twitching as he fought between his queen's order and his mate's instincts. Rowan. Kill. Her.

Tears erupted from Rowan's eyes. "I'm sorry," he croaked, his knife rattling, shuddering, settling against flesh and blood and bone as the queen reached through his mind and body and forced him to--

ROWAN.

"Rowan!"

Rowan jerked awake, sweat coating his torso, shuddering and shaking and blinking in the soft, flickering light of his wife's flames. Aelin's hands laid against his chest, pressed to his heartbeat, her eyes wide with fear.

"Rowan," she murmured, sliding one hand up to cup his cheek, "it was just a dream, my love."

He loosed a shuddering sigh, twining his arms around his wife, his mate, his queen, who pulled him close and let him lay his head against her neck, sensing her steady pulse. "It felt so real."

"She's gone, my love." Softly, tenderly, Aelin's fingers stroked through his hair, quieting the thundering of his heartbeat. "She's gone. It was just a dream."

Rowan rested his head in the crook of Aelin's neck, drawing lungfuls of her familiar, grounding scent, her presence calming him slowly. He didn't know or particularly care how much time passed before he lifted himself away from her neck, resettling them both back in bed, still wrapped in her embrace.

Aelin kissed his temple, tracing the flowing ink of his tattoo down the side of his face. "I'm right here, buzzard."

Eternally comforted by her presence, Rowan curled into her warmth, soothed, the nightmare fading in the light of Aelin's flames. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in the scent of his wife, and was finally teetering on the edge of sleep when their bedroom door creaked open and soft scratching footsteps crept into the room.

Instantly, he was on high alert, muscles tensed and ready to spring.

Aelin, more levelheaded than him at the moment, cast a stronger light outward, illuminating the small figure who'd entered the queen and king's bedroom, his big green eyes welling with tears, a soft blanket clutched to his chest.

"M-mama? Dada?"

"Come here, my little love," Aelin murmured, rolling out of bed and striding across the room, scooping her seven-year-old son into her arms.

Brannon Whitethorn Galathynius twined his arms around his mother's neck, burying his face into her shoulder, his small body shaking with sobs and terror. "Mama," he repeated, his small voice cracking.

"I'm right here, Bran," Aelin reassured him, holding him tight, stroking through his messy blonde curls. "Did you have a scary dream?"

As if the words set him off, Bran released a massive sob, clinging tighter to his mother. "Yeah," he cried, his tears soaking through her nightgown.

"Oh, little love," she whispered, settling into bed with her son close to her chest. "It was just a dream, B. It's not real, I promise."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes with a small fist. "Where's Dada?"

"Right here," Rowan murmured, wrapping his arms around Aelin and Bran from behind, rubbing his son's back. "Did you have a bad dream too, little hawk?"

"Mhmm." Bran nodded, still clinging to Aelin even as he peeked over her shoulder, finding his father's steady, even gaze. "Scary dream, Dada."

"Come here, little hawk," Rowan whispered, reassuring Aelin with a gentle caress down the bond as she shifted Bran into his arms, letting their small son cling to his father. "What happened?"

Bran sniffled. "Monster."

"A big one?"

"Yeah." Bran sniffled, reaching up to touch Rowan's tattoos. "Big scary monster chasing me. An' it..." His eyes welled with fresh tears, some spilling down his soft cheeks. "It...said you were all gone, Dada."

"Ah, my son," Rowan murmured, his broad hand spanning his son's back, "stupid monsters can't get me."

Bran managed a half-smile, sniffling. "Had to see Dada."

"Well, here I am, little hawk." Rowan kissed his son's messy head. "If any big scary monsters try to get me, I promise you I'll rip them into shreds."

"So violent," Aelin teased softly, poking his side.

Anything to make my boy know he's safe.

You're an old sap, buzzard. She leaned into his back, pressing a whisper-soft kiss to his shoulder. You've no right to be so endearing at this unholy hour.

His tears drying, Bran snuggled contentedly into his father's arms. "I wanna stay, Dada."

Rowan's lips quirked up, his eyes flicking to Aelin's. "Because your room is scary?"

Bran nodded, blinking sleepily. "No wanna more monsters."

Aelin's soft laughter floated through the room. "Of course you can stay, little love," she whispered, tucking Bran's blanket around him.

Nearly back asleep now, Bran yawned, a big sound for such a small boy. "Night Mama, night Dada."

"Good night, little hawk," Rowan returned softly, settling Bran into the big bed between his parents. "I love you."

Bran mumbled something that sounded vaguely like love you dada, making Rowan's eyes well up with tears of his own.

In three and a half hundred years, he'd never have guessed that he would be so blessed.

~~~

TAGS:

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[catmillers]

"Okay, so I've been workin' on some stuff, takin' old graphics from the tommy," Cat explained in a hushed voice as she hunched over her coffee. The buzz that floated around them in Capitol Coffee assured that they wouldn't be heard but Cat wasn't fully convinced they were in the clear, so still she whispered. "I got 'em on this flash drive," She said, sliding it across the table gingerly to Enna and she continued, "I was thinkin' what we ought t' do is start markin' this damn place up, while eyes're on the Games still – you turn that into some art, it'll be beautiful fuckin' destruction."

@ennalydonsbee

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Frost & Fire Excerpt:

Hey! Realized I hadn't posted one of these in a while and so:

Here is a bit from chapter 14. Actually its all of chapter 14 because its a very short chapter and I really like it.

Word Count: 698

Taglist: @golden-eyed-writer @writing-is-a-martial-art @livvywrites @magic-is-something-we-create @gr3y-heron @ihaveneverhadaclue

---------

By the time the week passed, Enna just wanted to go home. And she did. She got into the teleportation room on the seventh day after arriving in Bryn. By the time the next week had passed, Enna was fed up with Bryn. It wasn't fun. The only bright spots were her friends who had come with her and, surprisingly, Zerve, who she had found a dozen excuses to hang out with them over the six days.

But at the end of the week, Enna stepped into the teleportation circle minutes after she had waved goodbye to Zerve, and kept waving as the magic of Q and Redari whisked her and the others away.

When they got to Halmire it was early morning, time zones being different across the continent. Enna immediately set out with her sister, who was asking, “So, what was it about mom you wanted to show me?”

“Oh, just a portrait of her I found. Apparently she served on the Kings council about two hundred years ago.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later- like 15 but who was counting- they met up with Ana and Dash for a quick talk at Enna’s room in the Halmire Hotel. She had lived there, in that room, for fifty years, since she had struck a deal with the previous baron to let her stay there. Obviously, her father had kept that deal.

Sitting at the desk, in the only chair in the room, Dash and talking animatedly with Ana, who sat on the bed.

Enna settled herself on the opposite side of the bed, it could fit two people on it if they both were small- and they were- and Anne sat on the floor, legs stretched out.

“So. What’re we going to do about Dizerdrat?” Asked Enna, fidgeting with the dagger she carried everywhere and getting up to stow her weapons in the wardrobe where she kept pretty much everything, including a decades old stockpile of healing potions from the last time Halmire had been properly invaded- over fifty years ago, now, during the War of the Rose.

Dash sighed, running a hand down his face and shifting in his seat. “We- I don’t know. I have no clue, really. Beyond that we have to fight. Fight for our lives, and for the lives of everyone who can’t fight anymore.” He said, and the first face that flashed through Enna’s mind at his last words wasn’t Anne, who could fight for herself and was damn good at it, but Luralei and Thea. Maria; the little girl she had had all those decades ago who now had little girls of her own, and their children, the bloodline Enna had privately sworn to protect for the rest of her life.

The children of the children of the children of the War of the Rose, the hidden battle with a necromancer name Eleanor, along with a fight with a man who could summon dragons and a horse whose mane was made of pure flame; a man who was Enna’s uncle.

“I know,” Said Ana, shifting so she was facing everyone. “We fight to our last breath to protect the ones who can’t. We fight until we can’t fight anymore and then we rest and we hope we did some good in the world, something that maybe, just maybe, we’ll be remembered for. And even if we aren’t, something that’ll help defeat the dragon who has killed thousands of innocent people.”

Anne pointed at her with both hands, saying, “Yes! Exactly!”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Said Anne, the last member of the core four, the quadruplet that had fought the world together and came out grinning, half of whom had walked through hell and were still angels and the other half of them who had walked through Shadow and yet were still shining.

But this quadruplet had ties to other places too, to other times and people, to Zibra Kromlin and to Pike Helder, to Nita alendel and Cerea Roven, to Luralai and Thea, to a hundred different people throughout the centuries.

They had loved and lost and lived. They had survived against all odds and would survive again. Hopefully.

[cress-meadowforge]

Cress' expression morphed, shifting briskly through surprise and into embarrassment. How had the landscape shifted so dramatically? Cress, who had once been fought over by designers -- who had stunned the social landscape by selecting Enna, a relative newcomer, for the role -- was now being offered hand-me-downs. She wanted to scoff, to decline wholeheartedly. But her eyes flashed to Kya, whose limbs felt stuffed into her onesies, even though she was -- developmentally -- lagging behind.

So instead, Cress bit back her shame, nodding tersely, gesturing to the table for Merielle to place the items down. "Are you hungry?" Cress gestured to the kitchen, to the empty cupboards. "There's not much, but I can make you something." Money had lost its value, though it was difficult to access anyway, since the Vox had looted or bombed most of the banks in town. It made bartering difficult. And what did Cress have now? The secrets she once exchanged had served their purpose. Snow's death brought it all to a halt, and the well of information ran dry.

When the shit had hit the proverbial fan, everything peripheral fell away, and her brain kicked into overdrive with next steps, and who she needed to find. She knew that her family back in 4 would be fine, mostly, but it was her friends and the other victors that she knew would be under the most scrutiny. Not least of all, Cress.

Sure, they weren't always the closest of friends, but they understood each other. Plus, Cress had Kya now, a whole tiny human that was depending on her. In anywhere closer to normal circumstances, that wouldn't have been an issue. But with the revolution outside, that was a different story. Adults could fend for themselves - could find scraps of food, re-wear the same clothes, get by on less. But babies were constantly growing, or trying to at least, and with scarcity being so prevalent Merielle had contacted her family and they had been more than happy to help. When she did find Cress the last thing she wanted to do was spook her, so with a cardboard box in her arms she cleared her throat and waited.

Her nose wrinkled slightly at the mention of Slate and the magazine, not because she had anything against it, but she was trying to be as minimally involved with the rebellion as possible without being on the side of the old system, but that was slightly awkward to explain so she shook her head, "Yeah, I'm not looking for him." She looked down at the box before looking back at Cress, "I have some stuff for you, well, for Kya really - I figured it's been..." what words could she possibly say that would sum up how difficult caring for a child must be right now? Instead, she shifted the box in her arms before continuing. "Anyway, I have a huge family - a lot of hand-me-downs, I just, y'know, thought they might come in useful. You can say no, obviously."

[hedgiwithapen]

Ok, so, in relation to that post you reblogged about the Avengers not really being friends... like, what are some things that the studio should have done? I'm looking for something a bit more specific than "actually show them being friends" but not as specific as "in <movie>, there should've been a scene <approximate point in event timeline> where <characters> did <thing>". Asking as a writer looking for advice, please help or point to someone who'd be better to ask about this; thank you

so like, this isn't avengers specific because I straight up never watched all of them, and like, the Avengers didn't have to be friends technically but look, superhero teams are more fun when people are friends, and the storybeats that count on characters risking a lot for each other or feeling betrayed fall flat if there isn't /some/ foundation and the avengers SHOULD have been friends-- but! some of my thoughts on writing Characters Being Friends: I don't think the writers (in marvel, but apply all this generally pls) needed to do anything huge--they didn't even have to follow up on the "everyone has a floor in the tower" thing. you don't need to have huge grand " you are my best friend I pledge my life, platonically, to you" for everyone. It can be great to have one or two moments like that, but if you have a huge cast... trim it down, save if for the characters who've had the hardest time with friendship or trust or liking each other, so it'll have the most impact (Ani and Enna in the goose girl have a great moment, not repeated with the other friendships in the book to the same degree because that's not what's needed. ) a lot of small things would have sufficed in marvel, and in other media. it comes down to just... let the characters be friends--that they like each other! more than just tolerate being in the same room!--, and that friendship exists off screen as well, so acknowledge and lean into that. the characters don't only exist in the scenes they're in. think about what they've been doing, and what other characters are doing the same. dos A like work out? might A and B work out at the same Gym? maybe C and D have siblings or kids attending the same school and get dragged to the same silly elementary school talent shows or little league games. maybe E and F are both art thieves--they'd find themselves in the same frame shops or galleries or museum cafes.... use that as a base. if they've only just met because Plot, what things are they gonna use as icebreakers? let them have some conversations that aren't just about the End Of The World/ The Angsty Backstory/plot related things. let them have a fast argument about the best 90s boyband or share agreement on the best Ben and Jerry's flavor. Downtime is great, but harder to get in movies than in books or shows because of time constraints. Not every scene has to be about the big ongoing plot. let the characters get drinks, or ice cream (or, to quote cisco and caitlin in a good downtime scene of s1 of Flash, whichever they find first) and play games or be at a book club or walking out of a movie theater-- let the audience know that these characters don't need the world to be ending in order to spend time in each other's presence. they don't live in the mission control room, waiting on the lead hero's phone call. maybe some characters get the Plot Important News together instead of everyone individually. maybe that info gets phone tree'd, and A says " I'll call B, they're on vacation this week" implying that they know B's plans and the number they'd be reachable under (Leverage does a neat thing with this where all the characters go to find another, and only one of them actually knows where she lives--the two in another car have to hack into the other group's GPS) maybe they eat lunch together every day in the school/ work caf, maybe they carpool. they don't have to be long scenes or big flashy ones, just little nods. references to off screen moments-- a phonecall that opens with "Character? What's up--if you need help with Noodle Incident, I already told you no," before getting to the real reason for the call, comments on " you still owe me 5 bucks from our bet about Characters C and D" have characters remember favorite foods " I brought potstickers!" " my favorite!" "I know, you never shut up about them" or "hey, isn't that my shirt?" " you left it in my car it's mine now." (think GoGo in big hero 6 grabbing for one of Wasabi's tools, she's clearly done this before, and Wasabi's reaction to his nickname--'it was one time people!'--we know

these characters do shit in each other's presence a lot, to the point where jokes get made!) on screen, demonstrations of trust. a character who doesn't show much physical affection leaning against another. During a tense meeting/discussion, a hand of comfort or warning on a shoulder, reaching out to offer a hand. a knowing look and wince of pity from character A when something deeply personal for character B gets brought up, to indicate that A knows this is fucking with B's head and they're not alone. (Beau's habit of putting her hand on Caleb's shoulder in Critical Role) silence, too. moments of characters just existing in each other's space without any plot reason, they're just... together instead of apart. (Tris Reading her book outside the forge while Daja works in Tamora pierce's Circle of magic-- tris didn't have to be there, she could have been in the main building, and daja could still have called to her with magic for help--but they're friends! so Tris is hanging out in proximity!) the Fastball Special is a nice tool here, too-- where two characters have a code for a plan of attack or special move. we learn from that that they practice together, train together, someone came up with this move and they've done it before. throw in some inside jokes between characters! have characters quote each other! (will anything wreck my heart as much as Eliot using Hardison's " age of the geek" in Leverage "the long goodbye job? no.) some things can be even smaller. a blink and miss it shot of a phone indicating that A has a silly emoji next to B's name, a group photo on the wall or desk or computer background. indications of hangouts/ meetings on a calendar. a matching tupperware from A's set in B's kitchen. a third chair already dragged up to the table in a house only two people live, or a mug that refers to a thing C loves that doesn't go with D's style but is on the counter anyways, and C never has to ask where the plates are--unless A has just redecorated and moved them. something to show that C knows this place well. maybe we see a bracelet around E's wrist, and later we see A absently braiding another one in a scene where they have their hands free, and still later, that new bracelet is on B. little things. small details that add up and add up. sure, there are some things (like saving the world or fighting a mountain troll) that make fast forged friends... but most friendships are made in a series of small things. think about the places your friends have intruded--indented--on your life, the way the characters have with each other... and write them in as set dressing. this isn't everything, of course. there's a lot of ways to show characters as friends! but the main thing I suggest is think about the missing moments and what's not "on screen", and use those as a foundation for what you as a writer DO put on the page.