#gale is better with literally anyone other than star.

[forcedhesitation]

completely rhetorical question, I know exactly why they do, but also why do people succumb to pairing star/gale? or rather, how do they? is it not boring, do you not get bored? I cannot imagine being continuously entertained by such a bland pair. wyll is right there, man.

[lanaevyssmoved]

OC questions tag meme!

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME @hibernationsuit mwah mwah

i'm doing it for afhiri, candor and cirok!! it's undercut because its long ^_^

Name:

afhiri, but if performing will tell people their name is gift ^_^ afhiri does have a surname i just haven't decided what it is yet because it's almost better to me if no one ever finds out. even me candor's actual name is raguel, but chose the virtue name candor for itself! this was with intent for when it introduced itself to afhiri, but it completely failed when he realised afhiri doesn't know what candour means :D cirok is a name that they picked themselves after his failed transformation into a kaorti and became a rivener! it's actual name is long lost, and no one will ever learn it

Nickname(s):

afhiri has the nicknames hiri and iri, and various pet names from their various partners. "sweet clown" and "my favourite bard" are used often by gale! a fun fact is gale will give afhiri moon and star related names, and candor will give afhiri sun related names! candor is called candy by afhiri, and they'll tease it with lots of "you're so sweet! like candy!" hehehe... the torment melts the heart of even the most honourable of angels cirok is called cir by afhiri but other than that their name doesn't actually get used often, since it only really interacts with afhiri and gale. gale calls cirok "it" a lot, and "phantom", using cirok mostly when afhiri pouts at him. it sounds mean but cirok doesn't mind and sometimes prefers the depersonalisation of it

Gender:

afhiri is intersex and was raised to be a boy from birth, however they developed to look more like a girl, causing a lot of inner turmoil and conflict. afhiri is transfem and nonbinary. they also take testosterone to feel closer to their masculinity. she/they pronouns! candor is quite literally a sexless solar angel, but is maculine in appearence and presentation. calling candor a man in any form would be incorrect. he/it/they pronouns! cirok is nonbinary. don't ask whats under its clothes... vaguely gestures to the fact it's a failed kaorti transformation. it/they with heavy preference for it/its.

Star sign:

this is a little difficult because realms lore has changed on this a lot, if i'm correct in my information. from people being blessed by stars or entire consellations to each month actually having a sign in more recent lore. here is a link anyone doing this for realms ocs (like bg3 ocs) can use to figure this out! the lore on stars and consellations in the realms is spotty at best, but this could be helpful if you wanna go that route!

afhiri was born in the month of kythorn, at the height of summer. her sign is the moth! uh.. candor wasn't born like that and cirok experienced literal rebirth so like. i can only answer this for afhiri LSKDJFDSF

Height:

i added gale because gale kisses afhiri and cirok hehehe

Orientation:

afhiri is polyam and bisexual ^_^ candor is yknow an angel so doesn't really subscribe to this but would be polyam and pansexual if. it did subscribe to labels at all cirok is [waves hands about] queer

Nationality/Ethnicity:

afhiri is baldurian and from the lower city in a poor district. baby is a tiefling! candor is a solar from the upper planes! candor originally called the chronias layer of mount celestia its home but upon agreeing to serve lathander moved to the realm morninglory in elysium. candor spends a few decades on toril, but eventually returns to morninglory where they stay for eternity cirok is a rivener, and what it was before this is lost to time, and you're not going to get an answer out of them. but if you were able to get a good look, you'd assume cirok is maybe a human or a half elf. cirok stays in waterdeep with afhiri and gale post-game but where cirok was before is anyones guess!

Favourite fruit:

afhiri likes sweet fruits best of all, like berries, melons and mangoes! candor doesn't eat.......... cirok doesn't eat either...............

Favourite season:

afhiri likes it warm and loves nature, flowers, greenery, so late spring and summer are the best! candor likes the summer because of the long days and warm sun ^_^ cirok uh. is not gonna answer this question if you ask and it doesn't have one.......

Favourite flower:

afhiri loves all flowers but most especially simple flowers like daisies! if afhiri sees a field of daisies you have LOST her candor likes sunflowers and roses.. obviously cirok doesn't like flowers dlfkgfdglkdfgdfg

Favourite scent:

afhiri likes natural smells over perfumey ones that usually make them sneeze dfklgjdfgd so you're gonna see afhiri sniffing flowers and the fresh air and avoiding people wearing scents candor probably got some. angel advanced sniffer shit going on. so i assume candor can smell the universe and stuff. so lets just say whatever the sun smells like and leave it there so i don't have to unpack this cirok doesn't have a favourite scent are you seeing a pattern here :)

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate:

HOT CHOCOLATE FOR AFHIRI PLEASE. sometimes gale makes them mochas. ^_^ candor doesn't drink! :) but would like tea fdl;kgdf cirok doesn't drink either..!! ahh!!! but would drink coffee. gods

Average hours of sleep:

afhiri doesn't actually sleep for very long, always jolting themselves awake in the early hours, likely due to having to always be up early before leaving their family home. candor doesn't sleep!!! cirok doesn't sleep!!!!!!!!

Dog or cat person:

afhiri is a both person and has the matched energies of a hyper dog and a zoomies cat candor loves all things on toril equally :) except the evil things :) cirok actually likes tara!!! cat person!!!!

Dream trip:

you're not gonna get a proper answer out of afhiri here it would just be "ANYWHERE! EVERYWHERE! LETS GO!" afhiri just wants to adventure and explore and see shit man. easy to please ultimately candor....... god ok i have to be honest candors dream trip would be leading afhiri to morninglory to spend the rest of eternity there with it. which means afhiri is dead cirok doesnt have one....... for gods sake cirok

Favourite fictional character:

afhiri has never read a book. we don't have television here. afhiri doesn't KNOW any fictional characters. but afhiri also has issues with knowing what is and isn't real and would answer this question in a completely incorrect way. afhiri would say the emperor is their favourite fictional character :) because the emperor lives in the prism :) for fuck sake afhiri candor.. doesn't have one..... candor is not one for whimsy like this... DO I HAVE TO SAY IT

Number of blankets they sleep with:

afhiri has one blanket and it's whoever is sleeping in bed with them..... other than that afhiri is going to kick that shit off in their sleep because they fidget like hell unless there's the weight of someone else holding them down. weight blanket person candor DOESN'T SLEEEPPP CIROK DOESN'T SL PEPEEPEP

Random fact:

afhiri has 6 fingers on each hand :)

candor spent so long flying around and simply floating that when entering self imposed exile and disguising itself as a tiefling it had to figure out how to walk :D

cirok has to spend many hours a day caring for its resin. its a super delicate task that cannot be interrupted. without this resin cirok will die in torils atmosphere :).........

TAGS!!!!!!!!!!

@ancientsigil @gwynbleidd @grymforge @euryalex @courierseis @kelemvorr @dandeyrain @dekarios @enverflymm @lord-woolsley @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster @captaintiny @dameaylin @masckarlach @haarlep @sovereign-spaw @johnnystorm @maxthetruman @princeofhags and anyone else who wants to do it consider urself tagged by me ^_^!!

[swifty-fox]

Still mota hockey au

Do you know who esle is on the team? You were sepaking of Curt (and Crosby?) But is there any other 100th with them

Croz is second string left ( bit of a grocery stick til he gets bumped from third to second with Douglass, then becomes a real Grinder)

Rosie's on first string with Buck (plays hard, passes well just an all around good guy)

Curt, final member of the first string trio (certified goon despite his height, sick dangle, nasty slapshot and his uppercut has claimed many a mans teeth)

^ original post of the AU but since this is no longer just a throwaway post lets talk about what these guys DO and also who else we got.

*cracks knuckles* its education time

So hockey is a pretty wild sport. it's fast paced as hell, few real breaks or stoppages. You can be playing for 17 minutes straight sometimes and this is active play. you are RUNNING (well, skating)

Basic setup of a team:

You've got your starting Goaltender. usually the older more experienced of the two and then a backup. Usually the starting goalie plays the whole game sometimes they switch off halfway through. backup tendy is there in case and injury happens or the starting tendy is playing a shit game. Usually they'll have extra reserves they can call up (One year Penguins had to pull their 4th level backup dude was literally away at college and had to be flown in. he was good but mad inconsistent)

Bucky is starting goaltender, his backup is Jack Kidd.

Then you have your defensemen. All hockey players are big bois usually. these guys are the big boys of the big boys. total number of D-men per play is 2 and usually a team will run the same combos of two because some guys have better chemistry than others. Usually theres 3-4 sets (or strings) of defensemen. They're categorized by skill level. So first string are the best, fourth would be worst/the new guys. Sometimes they'll switch it up and throw a new guy with first or second string so he can get some schooling

I think for Dmen first string we've got Alex and Demarco They're a solid set-up and Demarco plays REALLY well off Bucky they know where each other is instinctually.

Forwards First string are USUALLy the star players of any team. they're generally the faces of the franchise though sometimes the goaltenders fill that role too. Forwards also are a set of 3 instead of 2. Like I said above that trip is Buck, Rosie and Curt. Buck and Rosie are pretty standard forwards but Curt is a little unusual as he's also kind of the team goon (brawler)

generally D-men are the fighters. they don't tend to be high-scorers and yes Curt isn't as high scoring as Rosie or Buck but he's got a high assist score and is in a very respectable spot

(moment of appreciation for my fave Goon Reavo)

youve got two types of fights in a hockey game usually. one is very hot headed spur of the moment brawl. usually this is after a dirty hit and the refs try to break it up. What Reavo is doing here is more of a gentleman's fight. it's something both parties agree too and as you can see the refs still call and end to it but more when sensing when the guys are done. It's conducted in a certain way (holding the other guys shoulder) and hits are really only to the face. Fights are used to motivate the team and the crowd, to settle some tension or to warn a guy off of targeting a teammate.

I like Reaves cause he's a beast but he does it the right way, hes not trying to truly hurt anyone like some guys do.

Thats Curts job on top of scoring. he defends Gale a LOT

So Crosby is also a forward. His narrative is similar where he struggles a lot to find his groove and so he's third string with Bubbles and Murph at first. But part of hocky is knowing how to slot guys together so it's Gales idea to bump Crosby up to second string (so second in skill only to first string rosie curt and buck) and he does better there. He's with Douglas and Blakely

third string is Bubbles, Murph and Brady.

I think Babyface and Quinn are the two rookie defensemen

[fkitwebhaal]

Fic: Extracted Notes from the Journal of One of the Saviors of Baulder's Gate.

IN CASE OF COMPLETE MEMORY LOSS

SECTION: PEOPLE YOU NEED TO KNOW

LAST UPDATED: 1494 DR

Shadowheart: half-elf, black hair usually kept in a braid 

Cleric: don’t know what God, doesn’t want to talk about it. You’re 75% sure you know who it is, but writing it down might get her in trouble, so you’re gonna have to start from scratch. Sorry. 

I’d give you a hint and say it’s a God you don’t like, but you don’t like any Gods. 

Saved her from a pod in Natoiloid. She’s grateful about it.

It wasn’t hard to do, don’t think too much of yourself for it. 

Likes Night Orchids and can’t swim.

You don’t know if you can swim and you’re not sure how to find out. Ask Wyll?  

Lae’zel: Githyanki, usually found attending to her weapons at camp 

Fighter: You also met her on the nautiloid

Note: she’s Githyanki. They’re  from the Astral plane, have a lot of experience with Mind Flayers. She’ll tell you more about them if you ask but she might be mad you forgot so specify you forgot due to your brain, not because you didn’t listen. 

Honest. 

Probably as confused as you are but hides it better.

You have an unofficial system that if you don’t know something everyone else knows, she’ll nod if she knows, and she’ll tell you about it later and vice versa. You have never discussed this agreement, it’s just a thing.  

Once confused one of your headaches for turning into a Mind Flayer. If it happens again, remind her of the scar on your head. Unless you’re actually turning into a mindflayer in which case, let her kill you; she’ll be quick about it. 

Don’t leave her and Shadowheart alone together, they’ll either kill each other or fuck and you’re not sure the odds of each. 

There was a thing on the nautiloid. It’s really not important. 

Best to ask questions you need short answer to. 

Gale: Human, has a beard, often reading. 

From Waterdeep. Former Chosen of Mystra.

You don’t like Mystra and not just because she’s a God. Ask literally anyone other than Gale why. 

Wizard: found him stuck in a portal after the crash. 

Has a tressym named Tara. You don’t know what a tressym is, and it feels too late to ask. 

Lae’zel doesn’t know either. 

Special diet: ask him for more info. He’ll tell you. On your camp supplies page, you’ve starred things that you can give him.

Do not tell Astarion about the items you have starred. He does not need to know about them and he will be upset at you for “wasting” them. 

Best to ask questions you need a detailed answer to.

Astarion: elf, pale, curly white hair.

From the Gate. Escaped a bad living situation (not writing down more for privacy).  

Rogue: met him when the Natoiloid crashed. He tried to rob you at knifepoint, you headbutted him in the face. It’s fine now.   

Was once a magistrate. He does know legal theory, but you don’t know how correct it is. 

You two share murder mystery novels. Ask him where you two left off, though you’ll probably have to start the novel over.

Yes, the books are bad. Yes, that is on purpose. It will make sense later. 

Special diet: ask him for more info. He won’t want to tell you, but he’ll do it anyway. Remind him you have an agreement. 

A liar, but don’t hold it against him. So are you. 

Wyll: human but with horns, one missing eye

From the Gate, current “Blade of the Frontiers”

He named himself that. You didn’t know that was a thing you could do until you met him.

Warlock. Patron is a bitch. Met him protecting the Grove and teamed up if you agreed to hunt down Karlach. 

Don’t worry Karlach and him are fine now. 

The horns are a sore spot. Don’t bring them up unless it’s a compliment. He earned them for a good reason. 

His father is a Duke who threw him out. Wyll doesn't like to say anything bad about him.

Everyone else does when he’s not listening. 

You wish you were more like him. 

Karlach: tiefling, red, big, sometimes on fire

From the Gate, served time in Hell

Barbarian: met her over misunderstanding with Wyll. It’s fine now. 

Don’t touch: she burns. 

You’re trying to fix that. 

If you’re badly wounded, she will pick you up afterwards and carry you to a healer. Try not to shocking grasp her as a reflex to the burns: if she’s touching you, it’s because you really need the help. 

You might not notice the burns due to your pain tolerance. Try to pretend you do. It upsets everyone else when you don’t. 

She likes teddy bears. Astarion can help stitch them up if you find any. 

He’ll threaten to make you pay, but he never follows through. 

Do make sure to keep giving him extra sewing supplies you find. 

Halsin: elf, long hair, sturdy 

From: Emerald Grove though you don’t know if he was raised there or not 

Druid: met him breaking him out of prison. 

He can turn into a bear sometimes. It’s neat. 

He can turn into other things besides a bear but the bear is the most notable. 

Makes the strongest tea in the entire camp. When you can’t sleep, ask him to brew some. 

Ignore the double vision, it wears off after fifteen minutes. 

You: if you want to know what you look like, find a reflective surface. If not, ask Astarion, he has a mirror.

From: no idea.

Sorcerer. You don’t know how your magic works but you’re figuring it out. . 

Gale is trying to help but he’s as confused as you are.

You think you’re at least thirty. Best guess is 32 at youngest, 37 at oldest. Don’t ask anyone for their opinion on this except Gale and Wyll. Karlach too, maybe. 

Actually, ask Astarion if you want to try not to laugh and need practice. 

Heads up, you have nasty scars. Prepare yourself before you look. It’s a lot.

The others have seen them given the bathing situation on the road. It was awkward. 

You also get headaches. There’s a scar that runs behind your right ear that doesn’t feel survivable. It’s probably the reason why. Only take healing if you can’t move: otherwise, darkness helps. 

Never let anyone cast aid on you. 

You killed a bard once. She did nothing to you and you woke up covered in her blood with her in pieces. Her name was Alfira and she’s dead because of you. 

You’re not allowed to forget that. 

You have her lute. You’re trying to learn the song she composed for her teacher: someone should remember it. See the dog eared page for notes on it. 

You’re not a good person.

You want to be though.

[lutethebodies]

LTB Tav Tuesdays: Qiranna Jasti, the Raven's Right Hand

My sixth Tav is another work in progress, literally and figuratively, because she's only ever existed in homebrew 5e. Qiranna's first incarnation was one of my DM-run NPCs, a young Seldarine-like twilight cleric who took my players on a hallucinogenic ceremonial trip into their individual mental Feywilds. She was also on tap as a backup character in my brother's second homebrew campaign, in case my first-choice character died—which never happened, so Qiranna never saw play.

Twilight clerics are powerful, but her warlock build felt more compelling. At the time (2021) I was interested in the non-PHB backgrounds, so in my brother's campaign Qiranna is an Archaeologist—a young and ambitious drow who accidentally dug up artifacts containing the spirit of a powerful shadow sorceress. Since I'd once played a Ravenwitch-like sorceress in that same campaign (albeit in a one-shot set 10,000 years in the past), this set up a cool situation where my character's warlock patron was the ghost of another older character!

Qiranna also comes from a time in my 5e history where I'd churned out umpteen dozen Charisma-based characters, and hers was the only Warlock build I liked. I don't usually play mages, so that's why I went with Hexblade—because I thought it might not be as squishy. Her motivation is for the kind of power granted by knowledge, but she's more seeker than scholar, so the cheat-code method of "magic via otherworldly patron" feels correct—a particular flavor of impatience fueled by ambition.

That also fit well with the archaeologist background, because one of my inspirations for her was Vash, the roguish artifact hunter (and Picard's frenemy-with-benefits) from Star Trek Next Generation. However, that archetype got a bit too close to another of my previous beloved characters, so I shelved it. Qiranna was set up to be a fun and interesting character, but I never actually got to play her much in tabletop, and I never really cracked the nature of how Warlocks and their pact magic worked—at least until BG3.

In BG3 Qiranna is a noble archfey-warlock with Pact of the Blade, which is about as close as I can get thematically to a shadow-sorceress-possessed hexblade. She's also notable as my first Tav whose appearance changes as the game progresses. At first that was just superficial stuff like hairstyle and subtle face ink, but now that I know how the game's gear works, it'll also work for RP. She could lean into the surface-mage role, getting further and further away from her Underdark roots.

Qiranna is currently camped in Rivington at the start of Act 3—the stereotypical unfinished BG3 playthrough. I'll probably go back to an old save to re-start her, and not just because I know more about the game than I did when first playing her. Qiranna's first run fell into the easy cliché of "let's romance Minthara because drow lesbians I guess", which now strikes me as needlessly tropey and utterly boring. So Qiranna may go a romance route I haven't explored yet, like Gale or Wyll, though neither seem to fit her character.

I might even wait to replay her until I know her better, because she feels like a mishmash of several of my other characters (with a bit of Minthara veneer), and that's not fair to her or them or anyone. But I will replay her at some point, because I want to master all the Charisma-based classes and I remain fascinated by the new flavors of drow we've been given by 5e and BG3. Also my 5e portrait of her (seen in this montage) looks like Vanessa Kirby as a drow and honestly, who wouldn't find that person compelling?

[bleedingheart-s]

🎫 gush pass because I'm curious about your BG3 ocs 🔍👀

BWEHDHFLAKFHFJDU HIIIII KUROH 🩵 THANK YOU FOR THE ASK AND THE EXCUSE TO GUSH ABOUT MY BABIES I WAS LITERALLY ROTATING TJEM EARLIER

some of them are with characters other than gale who i don't self ship with (yet- i'm tempted to self ship with pretty much every other companion too bless my polyamorous heart)

this ended up being so long i'm putting it under a read more

nox- fighter. dumbass (affectionate). Tries their best. Very reluctant leader. Absolutely no sense of direction (Astarion regularly asks why they all let Nox hold the map... it's currently upside down in their hands). Tiefs don't usually come in a green flavor so Nox is sort of shunned even within tief circles. They're also big so they inevitably attract attention- that's why they hate leading. Their biological parents abandoned them, and they were raised by humans (who loved them dearly). Misses the farm they grew up on. Just wants a quiet life and a couple of kids. Favorite color: blue, specifically the sort of soft light glowing blue of the Weave because its usually coming from Gale. They're SOOO protective. Them and Karlach are besties. Has more tattoos than shown.

ledi- paladin. She's smaller than your average aasimar and she has a bit of a complex over it. She WILL puff up her wings to appear bigger (it barely works.) She's sort of cold at the beginning, but she opens up as the story goes on. Her eyes are haloed by wings because she was rendered permanently blind in a fight (kind of like Kanan in Star Wars Rebels) (details pending). This changed her, she ended up switching her paladin oath from Devotion to Vengeance. She has a bit of a rage streak at the start of the game. Looks up to Aylin like a big sister. Hates Shadowheart. (I haven't gotten to act 2 with her yet but I think Ledi would want to kill her for what happens at the end.) Falls in love with Wyll and learns a lot from him. Won't touch alcohol. Likes having her hair played with. Preens when she's bored. Has a very... interesting dynamic with Raphael.

freya- ranger. Left her family behind as a teenager. Used to spending a lot of time alone in nature. mean lesbian. Hits it off with Lae'zel almost immediately, and they admire each other greatly (and in a very gay way). Takes no shit. If looks could kill, she'd have murdered a continent. Just wants to go back to her neck of forest and 'live in fucking peace'. Has a 'oh no he's hot' moment when she first meets Halsin after rescuing him. Completely self sufficient, she doesn't like relying on others (trust issues much? /j). Ends up making good friends with Jaheira and Minsc. Can drink half of Faerûn under a table. If you can make her do it, she snorts when she laughs. Only Karlach has so far. Minsc has gotten close.

livia- my s/i. Lore bard. Uhhh idk what to say about her 😭

i also have two new ocs i haven't managed to talk about yet!

sethe- resisting durge. tiefling, wildshaping druid. Has difficulty controlling their wildshape, so they're liable to turn into a pure white direwolf with eyes so blue they glow at any given point. Honestly prefers being in wildshape. She bonds with Halsin over this. They struggle greatly with allowing anyone to get close to them due to their urge, so Halsin is the only person in their memory to do so. Won't admit it, but she likes being scratched behind the ears while in wildshape. Better at showing positive emotions in wildshape as well (tail wagging, playful behavior.) doesn't like being hot (ironic for a tiefling)- and she will pant even in her bipedal form if she is. Admires Karlach and wishes they could be more like her. Likes rain.

anne- regular tav. sort of an s/i but not quite. human, storm sorcerer. Naive, a bleeding heart, refuses to think the worst in any situation- which causes contention with Lae'zel, Astarion and Shadowheart in the beginning. Fiercely loyal and will back up her friends to the bitter end. She was raised a noble, so she's poised and very charismatic. Knew Wyll before he took his contract with Mizora and honestly missed him after he disappeared. Her positive and supportive attitude wears on Astarion, and eventually he falls for her. Becomes great friends with Gale. She's braver than she looks but she'll be crying about it. Very homesick. Worries about her family constantly. Has a little brother. Likes spicy food. Smells vaguely of ozone due to her proficiency with lightning magic. Kinda looks like Anne Hathaway, hence the name.

[thera-daydreams]

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! 💕

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[dontwakeme-causeimdreaming]

Just finished my The Hunger Games trilogy reread, now I’m thinking about which Hogwarts Houses the characters would be in (this May be controversial idk)

Katniss: Hufflepuff

-She didn’t set out to start a revolution because of her love of justice, her most prominent instincts are for survival and protecting her family. Even after her stint in the Games, she wasn’t planning on igniting a revolution and wanted nothing more than to run away and save herself, or stifle the sparks... this leads me to cross Gryffindor off my list for her

-Her loyalty to her family is one of her biggest attributes, and her compassion is often a motivator as well (Take her distributing her food to her district when Thread cracked down, the mines were closed, and the Parcel Day packages were no longer arriving)

-Gale even says (when she kisses him in Mockingjay and he says that he knew she would) that preventing others from being in pain is a motivator for her, which again emphasizes her compassion

-Unlike Gale, Katniss doesn’t see things as black and white, which is a more Gryffindor trait. She accepts her prep team and doesn’t view them as the enemy, and also disagrees with Gale’s all-or-nothing attitude regarding the war. Her ability to see the grey area and her acceptance again make me think she’s a Hufflepuff

-I know most people think she’s a Gryffindor, and I can see the argument for it, but I personally feel as though she’s more of a Hufflepuff with Gryffindor as a second

Peeta: Slytherin

-again this will be controversial, but here it is

-Katniss is constantly calling him charming, which is a key Slytherin trait. He knows how to work a crowd and prey off their emotions (think of his star-crossed lovers announcement and his baby announcement. While he may truly have been in love with Katniss, he used it as a tactic to manipulate the Capitol)

-Being goal-oriented and really ambitious/determined is another Slytherin trait, and I would argue that his desire to save Katniss applies. It is ambitious to try to save her in a second Games, especially against seasoned killers but he remained determined to achieve this goal. Even once Katniss was rescued from the arena, he still tried to protect her by painting her as an innocent girl who knew nothing about the rebels, and by protecting her against the bombing

-He’s assertive in the way that he sticks up for himself when Katniss and Haymitch make plans for the victory tour and in the arena without him

-He’s cunning, like how he pretended to ally with the Careers in the first games in order to prevent them from killing Katniss

-Slytherins are known for caring about the impression they make, and right from his arrival in the Capitol before the first games, Peeta was waving to the crowd in order to make a good impression and manipulate the crowd

-Let’s ignore the stereotype that all Slytherins are evil because it’s not true

Gale: Gryffindor

-does it even need an explanation?

Finnick: Gryffindor

-He is willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the revolution time and time again. He believes in the revolution because he wants justice and fairness rather than his own survival

-He has the classic Gryffindor arrogance

-He also has the Gryffindor playfulness, like when he teases Katniss before the chariot ride before the Quell

-He owns his mistakes, like how he misjudged Katniss’s affection for Peeta

Effie: Slytherin

-Slytherins are known for their desire to preserve tradition, and Effie isn’t one to question the Capitol’s traditions.

-She is very much a perfectionist, with her need to stick to her schedules and with how hard she made Katniss work to perfect her walking in heels before Katniss’s first interview

-She’s very ambitious that she wants to work for a better district than 12 and works hard to get promoted

Haymitch: Slytherin

-He used cunning to win in his games by luring the girl from District 1 to the force field after he’d lost his weapon

-He is big on determining the cost-benefit analysis for all of his moves. It may not have been moral to lie to Katniss about his desire to save Peeta rather than her from the Quell, but it prevented Katniss from learning about the revolution so it was worth it.

-Idk I don’t feel too strongly about this one I could also see him as a Ravenclaw

Prim: Hufflepuff

-I was originally going to say Ravenclaw because she’s very smart, both socially and academically. She can always read Katniss and situations, no matter how much Katniss tries to shield her from negativities. Katniss even says (in Mockingjay when Prim is talking about why Snow will not kill Peeta) that Prim is wise beyond her years

-But I think that’s the only way she fits Ravenclaw

-I think she’s a Hufflepuff like Katniss because of her kindness, compassion and loyalty

-Prim literally dies in an attempt to help others. Her motives are to always help and heal

-She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She cares for Buttercup, even though he’s not cute and not very friendly to anyone besides her. She’s very loyal to him. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting Lady, as injured as she was, die, so she nursed the goat back to health. And she couldn’t even hunt because hurting the animals made her too sad.

-While Katniss is a Hufflepuff for her unwavering loyalty, Prim is more of a Hufflepuff due to her kindness

Rue: Ravenclaw

-She was smart enough to point out the tracker jacker nest to Katniss, and knew how to heal Katniss once she was stung. She was also very knowledgeable about which plants are safe to eat.

-Together she and Katniss determined their best bet of winning would be to destroy the Career’s food source, and came up with a smart plan to destroy it

-She built her own slingshot in the Games (she’s very creative)

-She was smart enough to survive until the final 8 in the Games at only 12 years old

Joanna: Gryffindor

-She is very bold, like when she yells in the Quell to Snow about uprisings

-She never cracked under torture in the Capitol and is very brave

-Was in on the plan to save Katniss from the Quell for the sake of the Rebellion (although I wouldn’t say her motive was justice truly, but more so revenge which I’m not sure is a Gryffindor trait)

[yukayjei]

Linked Universe FanFic: No Courage Without Fear

Hi! I’ve been a fan of @jojo56830’s @linkeduniverse for a while, and I’ve been dying to contribute my own fan work to this incredible series! I’ve worked on this fic since July (2019), and it’s finally finished (May 2020), so I really hope you enjoy it! I’ll upload it in separate chapters.

While in hot pursuit of an infected monster, two Heroes face fears they battled long ago.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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

It was just before midnight, and a luminous full moon shone silver rays through the trees. The Heroes were all sound asleep under a large rocky overhang, save for two who sat keeping watch from a large, flat boulder sticking out of the ground a short distance away.

Today’s weather had been cursed with a brutal downpour. It was just their luck that all the rain drained into the valley they were traveling through, so the group had spent the day trudging against a frigid, unforgiving gale and slogging through knee-deep mud. Understandably, their relief was euphoric when they happened upon their natural shelter perched on a higher ridge, and they built a roaring fire at once.

Once the Heroes were sufficiently dried out and warmed up, the sun had already set, so they settled in. Miraculously, the clouds cleared up, and since Hyrule felt the least tired, he offered to take first watch. After a silent-yet-furious argument exchanged through indignant glares and avoiding eye contact, Sky volunteered to join him, despite being a hair’s breadth away from snoozing off.

Still, the two Heroes managed to keep each other awake through a constant stream of chatter, jokes, and (quiet) songs. Hyrule played a rather soulful tune on his flute; the notes produced were slow, yet smooth. They flowed through the air without haste, almost like a lullaby. Yet when Sky closed his eyes, instead of falling asleep, he felt his heart soar like it had grown wings, and an almost weightless sensation stole into his body.

It reminded him of a time he and Zelda snuck out of Knight Academy in the middle of the night and gone for a flight. The atmosphere was perfect. The quiet stillness in the air, the twinkling of a million stars. No clouds, just a light mist. The moon had been full, just like this night, and cast a beautiful silver glow over them and their Loftwings. He could still picture Zelda, lovelier than all of these elements combined, illuminated in the heavenly light. She looked like the goddess Hylia herself, which he’d later learned she was. The memory ebbed all the day’s stress and soreness from his body, but left a little ache inside his heart.

“That was incredible,” he sighed happily when Hyrule finished. “Where did you learn that song?”

Bashful at the praise, the brown-haired boy looked away. “I’m not sure, actually. It’s an old tune. Some say it’s been around since the dawn of Hyrule.”

“Really?” Sky leaned forward. “I never heard it until just now.”

Hyrule flashed him a quizzical look. “Well, maybe my flute doesn’t convey it as well. Sometimes, I think it sounds better on my recorder.”

Sky cocked his head to one side. “Then why not play the recorder?”

“Because I don’t want to summon a whirlwind in the first six notes!”

Sky blinked, not fully grasping what he just heard. “You don’t want to what?”

“You heard me! It would carry me off to who-knows-where!” Hyrule stood up, gesturing dramatically to the wilderness. Though his tone was serious, it also carried a hint of exaggeration.

“Seeing as you’re prone to getting lost, I’d say it suits you,” Sky joked.

Hyrule faced him now, a jolly glint in his eye. “Oh, but you don’t know half of it! It can also warp me right back where I started! In fact,” The glint turned mischievous, and he began slowly advancing toward Sky. “I could be gone for hours…”

Sky chuckled as he edged away. Exhaustion, combined with the late-night hours, must have caught up with Hyrule; delirium had taken hold, the kind that makes anything and everything downright hilarious, and Sky grinned as he felt it creeping up on himself, too.

“…And then, pop up right when you least expect it! Raaah!” With a yell, Hyrule lunged and shoved Sky off the boulder, only to slip and fall flat on his stomach where the latter just sat. A most undignified “Oooooof!” spluttered from his mouth, like air escaping a balloon. The Heroes erupted into hysterical laughter, Hyrule’s mixed with groans of pain, and Sky, sprawled on the ground with his legs propped against the boulder, clutching his stomach as he cackled like a Cucco.

“Shhh! We’re gonna wake the others!” Sky tried to sound serious and his voice cracked from the effort.

“You shhh!” came Hyrule’s witty retort before he dissolved into another laughing fit.

They laughed until they were literally gasping for breath, and even then, managed to laugh some more. Loud enough to drown out a third voice, cackling softly in the distance.

“Oh geez,” Hyrule finally wheezed out. “I feel like I cracked a rib.”

Sky rolled over onto his side, gulping in air. “You deserve it,” he croaked. A silly giggle hiccupped out. “I hit my shoulder hard when you pushed me! If it swells up, you owe me fifty Rupees.”

The brown-haired boy snorted. “Don’t exaggerate. Besides, I don’t even have fifty Rupees!”

“Then I’ll give you a matching bruise for payment.”

An empty threat, but Hyrule still offered, “How about some ice instead?”

“Deal!”

Hoisting himself up on his arms, he looked down at Sky. The Chosen Hero had already removed his green tunic and pulled down his undershirt’s left shoulder to examine the damage.

“How bad is it?” Hyrule asked, voice devoid of concern.

“The size of Four’s Octorok.”

“So, puny.”

“Feels worse than it looks,” Sky admitted, poking tentatively at the blackening bruise the size of a grape.

“You still want ice?” Even as he posed the question, Hyrule started to get up, only to lean back down. “Hey, that’s a neat scar!”

“Huh?” Sky flinched like he’d been slapped, hastily covering his shoulder with his hand. “I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyrule rolled his eyes at the atrocious lie. “I already saw it. Looks like you fought a hard battle!” As he spoke, he eagerly leaned in closer.

Sky yanked his sleeve back up. “N-no, no I didn’t,” he stuttered, ears bright red. Deliberately turning his left side away from Hyrule, he added, “It’s none of your business.”

Normally, Hyrule might have let him be, but curiosity overtook him (it wasn’t like he had anything else to do). “What happened?” he pressed. “From what I saw, only a sword could have left that mark.”

“It’s nothing!” Sky growled, glaring daggers at his friend.

“Then why are you getting so defensive?” Hyrule straightened up, taken aback by his friend’s uncharacteristic surge of anger.

“Because you won’t leave me alone!”

“Was it an accident?”

“No.”

“Do you simply hate having your skin permanently disfigured?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is!” Hyrule threw his arms up in exasperation. “Scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“This one is!” Sky snapped. The redness in his ears spread like fire to his face as he realized he’d said more than he wanted.

For a minute, he remained completely silent, refusing to meet Hyrule’s gaze. Then he exhaled heavily. “Look, unlike the rest of you guys’ crazy stories, it’s… it’s not my– my proudest moment, okay? I don’t– I don’t want to– to talk about it.”

A muffled giggle. Sky shot Hyrule a bewildered stare, more surprised than offended. Though not above poking fun at his friends, the Hero of Hyrule was the last to laugh at someone if they were genuinely upset.

“What?” Hyrule stared back, eyes wide.

“Why’d you laugh?”

“I didn’t. I thought it was you.”

He was dead serious. The two Heroes continued to stare at each other, silently posing the next question: Then who did?

A high, cold cackle answered. Further away this time, but loud enough for the Heroes to know they weren’t imagining it. Jumping to their feet, they unsheathed their swords. Instinctively, they put their backs together as they fervently scanned their surroundings for the source.

“Do me a favor,” Hyrule muttered. “Wake the old man. It’s his shift now.”

Rushing back to the camp, Sky shook Time as hard as he could, though this would prove in vain. If the old man did not want to be woken, he would not. He’d sooner sleep for seven years if you let him.

“Hey…! Hey! Wake up!” No response. His leader simply grunted and rolled over.

Sky tried the next-closest person. “Twilight? Can you hear me?”

No response. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Wild?” he tried again, voice rising in desperation. Surely the lightest sleeper would rouse. But there was no answer. “Anyone?” Sky couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Wake up!”

But no one answered, let alone stirred. He may as well have whispered.

“What’s wrong with them?” Hyrule demanded, hurrying to Sky’s side.

“They’re…they’re not waking up. It’s like they’re—”

“—Under a spell,” Hyrule finished in a hushed voice, as though his worst fears had been confirmed. “Of course… this must be the work of a Wizzrobe.”

“Wizzrobe?”

Another shrill cackle, like lightning splitting a tree. Immediately, the Heroes snapped back on guard; it sounded close. Too close.

“Robed monsters possessing incredibly powerful sorcery,” Hyrule continued, eyes narrowed as he peered into the shadows, trying to spot their unseen foe. “They typically rely on elemental magic, but stronger ones are known to wield dark magic. But to incapacitate seven people at once…there could be more than one, but it’s more likely one alone that’s beyond exceptional.”

Sky gulped. “You mean, infected?”

Face pinched, Hyrule nodded. “Exactly. We need to locate it as quickly as possible.”

“Would up there be a good place to start?” Unblinking, Sky raised a stiff hand and pointed above Hyrule’s head.

The Hero of Hyrule whirled around and gasped, for there atop the highest hill, the very creature he had described gazed down upon them.

Little more than a silhouette outlined by the moon’s full shine, the only features that could be made out were a tall figure draped in a heavy cloak, and two large bloodred eyes. Before either Hero could react, the Wizzrobe raised its hands and fired a tidal wave of black magic.

“Get back!” Hyrule jumped in front of Sky and raised his shield. The wave struck the shield directly, exploding in a blinding flash. But the shield remained unscathed, and the Heroes unharmed.

Undeterred, the Wizzrobe fired again. A blast twice as large as the last screamed towards them at breakneck speed. Yet the Hero of Hyrule remained poised, and quickly chanted something under his breath.

Bright radiance enveloped his shield a split second before impact, yet the dark magic was not blocked. It was reflected straight back at its source.

The wave’s full might slammed into the Wizzrobe. The monster collapsed, doubled over in shock and pain. For a few glorious seconds, the Hero of Hyrule thought he’d won, but the Wizzrobe rose up. He couldn’t read its expression, but those bloodred eyes looked murderous.

It let out a bone-chilling screech so loud it the Heroes’ ears threatened to bleed. The moon swelled to twice its size and took on a sinister crimson tint. Wind whipped around them like a tornado. Just seconds ago, the sky was clear, yet it now filled with ominous red clouds. Lightning flashed. Thunder reverberated high in the heavens and deep under the earth.

A bolt struck the ground right in front of the Heroes. With a yell, they threw their hands up over their faces, struggling not to fall down. Then the wind died down, leaving eerie silence ringing in their ears. Raising their heads, the boys saw that the sky had miraculously cleared. The moon shone stark white again. All seemed well, but the Wizzrobe had vanished.

“Where did it go?” was the first thing out of Sky’s mouth as he checked all around. Had it snuck up behind them in the confusion? Alas, there was no sign of the sorcerer. Their friends still slept peacefully, much to his relief.

“Was that…an illusion?” Hyrule stared blankly up at the hill, trying to comprehend all he’d just seen. “I sensed its magic was beyond ordinary, but I never imagined…”

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t have your shield,” Sky murmured. “Sorry, but how’d you repel it like that? I didn’t see you move an inch!”

“A spell I picked up in my travels,” Hyrule explained shortly. Sweeping his gaze over the camp, he muttered, “No one’s stirring.”

“They aren’t awake?” Sky shot him a worried glance.

“The Wizzrobe only retreated. Temporarily, I’m sure.”

Sky sheathed his sword. “What should we do, then? Prepare for its return?”

“No,” came the Hero of Hyrule’s decisive response. “We’ll pursue it.”

“Hold on a second!” Sky held up his hands. “I’m not against hunting it down, but what about the others?” He gestured to their friends, who still showed no signs of waking up. “We can’t just leave them here, defenseless! Suppose the Wizzrobe doubles back?”

“It won’t,” Hyrule responded forcefully. When Sky stared blankly, he elaborated, “I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling it won’t continue its plan— whatever it is— unless it traps all of us where and how it wants.”

Sky bit his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I–I trust you. I just don’t trust the Wizzrobe. Maybe one– maybe one of us could find it—”

“No! It’s too dangerous to go alone. We need to confront it together, especially if it’s like all other monsters we’ve fought!”

“But—”

The Hero of the Winds cried out in his sleep. Hyrule and Sky whirled around to see the youngest Hero tossing and turning, his face twisted in pain. His hand stretched out, like he was reaching for something.

Hyrule and Sky rushed to his side, falling to their knees. A desperate, fragile hope clung to them. “Wind? Wind, can you hear me?” Sky called, his voice hoarse.

Wind’s reaching hand seized Sky’s arm. In his feverish state, the young Hero mumbled, “Got you… just… hold on… don’t let go!”

With his free hand, Sky grasped Wind’s. “Everything’s going to be okay, Wind. It’s just a bad dream! Wake up!”

But the youngest Hero only tightened his grip. “Please…hang on…” he whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The sight was too much to bear. Hyrule felt a huge lump forming in his throat. A choked gasp escaped from his lips and he fought to stifle it. He turned away, but he could not escape the horror that enveloped the rest of the sleeping Heroes. There lay Wild, twitching and shaking like a frightened rabbit. Warriors, curled up into the fetal position and muttering nonstop. Legend, shouting incoherently into the night, each tormented cry more agonizing than the last. Twilight, hands balled into fists and growling “no” through clenched teeth over and over. Time, whose whole body shuddered every few seconds. Four, who lay so still they couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

The Hero of Hyrule was at a loss for what to do. What to say. Their friends’ condition had evolved into something far worse than imagined. Could he and Sky, who were just two people, even consider confronting the Wizzrobe, which he was starting to see more as a demon? Despair welled up inside his heart, weighing down his entire body like heavy iron chains.

As quickly as it had set in, he shook off the invisible shackles. How dare he think like that? Their friends were depending on them! A spark of determination flickered in his heart, spurring him to action.

Standing tall again, Hyrule approached Sky, who still knelt beside Wind, cradling him and clutching the smaller boy’s hand. Hyrule rested his own hand on Sky’s shoulder. “Listen,” he murmured softly, “I don’t want to leave them, either. But even if we wait for it to return, we’re at the bottom of a valley. With the range Wizzrobes have, we’d be at a tremendous disadvantage.”

Sky didn’t meet his gaze, but after a few moments’ silence, he sighed. “You’re right. The only way we can help is if we find and put an end to what’s threatening them.”

As gently as possible, he lay the Hero of Winds down and tucked his blanket over his shoulders. Letting go of his hand earned Sky a heart wrenching sob from the boy, but he managed to push past it and stand up. The same spark glinted in his eyes, too. “Let’s go.”

[projectsoleil]

NOW STREAMING... MOON ROVER ADVENTURES S5EP18: THE SUNRISE FINALE | GABRIELLE MORNINGSTAR | CHAPTER 3 EXECUTION

Gabi finds himself in the arms of a couple people as the votes finish being counted, as his fate is decided. The hugs are returned as tightly as possible, clutching with every ounce of strength left in him, until the other person is shaking with him. When they pull away, he whispers thanks. 

(Being held is only reminding him of the arms of the few he wants nothing more than to be in right now—face buried in Abe's shoulder, hidden against his chest with his lips pressed to the crown of his head; the soothing touch of Pheo's damaged hands through his curls, soft whispers of assurance; the swirling heat of a hearth and the unwavering, unshaking, protective embrace of Gale. Gabi rubs the heel of his hand over the tears burning down his cheeks instead, head down, and casts his gaze to—)

(—Hawk?)

Hawk crashes to the floor in an awful thump, convulsing on the ground while Tyr’s expression remains one that wasn’t joy at the situation, rather, dread at what was coming next. From Hawk, their attention went to Gabi, who's pupils were shrunk, trembling.

[Mr. Morningstar...it’s time...]

Tyr approaches Gabi slowly and offers their nub to him, though instead of taking it, the young man scoops Tyr up into his arms, holding him like one would a toddler or cat. For another hug, or in hopes to keep him from shooting at anyone else? From AI-T's podium, Rover suddenly goes rigid, and looking more robot-like than he ever has, turns and starts walking stiffly towards them. The redheaded bot stops once they get to the usual spot by the wall, and Gabi turns to look at him momentarily. A hand is lifted, and albeit shaky, presses against the center of the star on Rover's chest. The door in the wall pulls open, and as they turn back to give the room one last look, Fenrir, who has been silently waiting, shoves his phone against Maxwell's chest, then along with Galehaut, jumps to attention—bolting towards them.

"Fuck all that! Fuck all this!" Galehaut shouts. "When I said on our own terms, I meant it! Moon, I'm not gonna let them—!"

As they quickly approach, Tyr offers a small apology to the one that held them in his arms...

[I am sorry, Mr. Morningstar.]

They raise their nub, and like with Hawk, out launches a small pod shaped object that latches onto both of them and sends a powerful shock through their bodies. 

Ah—Gabi grips Tyr tightly to his chest and makes a terrible, strangled sound as the two join Hawk on the floor. His gaze rips from them to stare wide-eyed and glossy at the rest of the room. He shakes his head a few times, backing up, backing up. Lips parted, like he's trying to say something, but his voice never reaches them—Rover steps between Gabi and the rest of you, obscuring the smaller body from view. The bot looks over his shoulder and gives the room an empty, dark, protective look, before the door slams shut, taking them away. 

A minute passes...two...three...until finally the screen lights up with the single message:

PLEASE ENJOY THE PRESENTATION WE HAVE PREPARED

before fading back to black.

[TW: DESCRIPTIONS OF BEING BEATEN, GORE] 

…

The lights dim, casting your cohort into a spill of long stretching shadows. There's a brief silence that follows, until a familiar, cheery theme song begins to chime through the room, growing in volume as the television screen flickers to life.

♫♪ i can reach all the stars in the sky with you by my side! ♪♫

The obnoxious tune of children singing is accompanied with a cartoon music video of what looks like a television show—shooting stars fall across the screen in a sparkly transition effect, opening up to the robot you’ve all grown familiar with over the course of the last month, cartoonified and walking around the moon to the beat of the song. 

♫♪ and if we don't make it today, we'll try, try, try again another day! ♪♫

He's decked out in his hero suit, grinning ear to ear at the audience, and begins leaping from the moon to another planet. It plays in this sort of loop, with Moon Rover marching on rotating planets, waving at passing cartoon versions of.. well, you! He passes by Fenrir and gives him two high-fives, Snapshot he hip-checks, waving at Zero Sum and Oleander on a water-themed planet, Angel they clang a wine glass with...

♫♪ so let's shoot for the stars, and hang out on the moon, and together we'll be anything, anything, anything we've ever wanted to be! ♪♫

It ends with Moon Rover landing on the Earth, joining the rest of the show's cast. Heroes and villains in dramatic poses, making up your full group, including Collin and Ivo hovering by the sides of the screen. 

Well... it includes everyone but one.

We zoom in on the cartoon Rover, who winks at the audience and gestures to follow him, before turning around into a transition. When the scene returns, we're joined with the real Rover, standing in what looks like the middle of the foyer of a massive house. He grins bright, wide, and opens his arms up to the viewers. 

“HEYY, STAR TROOP! ‘m so glad y’were able to tune in today!" 

He places his hands on his hips, leaning forward into the camera. 

“Y’ready for today’s mission? T’day we got somethin’ a little different — we’re takin’ a trip back t’my childhood home! Keheh—betcha thought I lived in a rocket, yeah? Nope! I came from a house, just like yours!” 

The hero beams at the audience and takes a step back, allowing the camera to sweep over the area better: yeah, he is in a foyer—the main entrance of a mansion—except, it’s as if someone has destroyed the place. Pictures are ripped from the wall, furniture toppled over--there’s areas that are just straight up blown up, holes broken through walls, the chandelier hanging slanted, too covered in char to glisten anymore, parts of the staircases caved in. Tire marks are burnt into the floor, the walls, the ceiling.   

There’s a 360 degree pan of the entrance, before it stops on Rover, where he’s gesturing to follow him again. He walks over broken wood and ash, until he gets to a form laying on the floor behind a fallen loveseat: bound at the wrists and ankles, Moon is trying to wiggle himself free.  

“Today we’ve got a suuuuper special guest!” He squats down next to Moon, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and pulling his head up off the floor. The boy winces, pieces of glass and dirt stuck into his cheeks. “The villain who hurt poor, poor Venus! An' subsequently hurt loads more through his choices! I already went ahead an' caught him, so, of course, all what's left is teachin' this no-good hooligan a lesson! Will you help me, Star Troop??"

There’s a blur of movement, and the binds on Moon’s hands and feet are cut—he immediately goes to scramble away, but with a simple step on the corner of his hoodie, he slams back to the ground. Nonchalantly, without hesitation or warning, Rover kicks Moon in the stomach—knocking him backwards in a cry.

Despite being kicked aside like a limp doll, Moon pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing, and begins crawling. Rover strolls slowly after him, easy and with a bounce to his step. When he reaches him, he bends down to grab the collar of his shirt, pick him up, and punch him directly in the jaw. It isn't pretty, the next seconds—if this were cinematic in any definition of the word, the moment would be done through silhouettes, the shadow of Rover pulling his arm back and bringing it down mercilessly into the smaller man's form, the ugly sounds of flesh being beaten being the only sense of how awful it is.

You don't get that pleasure. You see it all: no pretty cuts or dramatic angles to censor the boy's face splitting open, blood spilling up from fractured ribs into wet coughs, red splattering across Rover's hero costume. If anyone else was in his place, literally anyone else in the courtroom, this would be solved in an instant — a magma punch, a swipe of a sword, the crack of lightning, and this wouldn’t even be a fight. But Moon isn’t a hero. Not in the super-deep, metaphoric sort of way, but just that: Moon was a civilian. 

He’s dropped to the ground in a gross crack, whining, but moving regardless. He scrambles to his feet this time, using the help of a chair thrown on its side. He runs. He isn’t fast, especially now with his hand clutched to his chest, wheezing, but he runs… not to the front door like you’d expect, but deeper into the mansion. Rover walks behind him, chatting to the audience, you suppose, but now you’re following Moon. 

A door is flug open, and he staggers into a huge workshop. For someone who is frequently found scrawling on his arms to organize roaring thoughts and ideas, the place is surprisingly spotless, orgazined: filled with tools and kilns and forges and anvils. Computer software you know costs millions just by the sight. The young man’s eyes dart desperately around the room, and he makes a bee-line for the back wall full of displayed gear. A weapon? Is he looking for something to use? He grabs a pair of gauntlets first, something similar to Galehaut’s color scheme, before throwing them on the ground. A pair of yellow lense goggles—no. A botched looking race car—no. A pair of motorized wheelies—no. Equipment, equipment, equipment! He didn’t make weapons! He didn’t— 

“Found ya!” 

—whack!— 

Something whizzes past Moon’s head, smacking his hand away from the wall in the process. He turns around, and a small, helicopter-like birdbot is hovering in the air in front of him. Moon blinks, and then the bird shoots forward, whacking him a few more times in the head. It looks less like it hurts, and more like it’s just a distraction. The boy stumbles to the side, tripping over a small dogbot waddling by his feet. He crashes into the wall, and an array of different gear topples over.

It’s more pathetic than tragic, watching his own work fall on his head. He collapses under the weight, but ever-stubborn, ever-determined, ever-unbreakable, Moon whines and pushes his way out, tries to get to his feet once, fails, twice, fails again, and on the third—

—on the third, a red hand snaps forward and grips his throat, pulls him free, and dangles him up into the air, grinning widely. 

“Didn’t think y’could run, didja? Y’know, people want y’blood! They voted for it! Y’think I could let down the Star Troop now?? After how badly ya did?? They need someone they can trust, afterall!”

Moon grips Rover’s forearm with both his hands, clawing weakly at his gloves. The tips of his toes can just barely reach the pile of gear beneath him, so he’s at the very least got a bit of footing. Not that it matters—it’s no use, of course it’s no use—Moon reaches out to push at his bot’s face, push him away, do anything, anything— ah, wait? No.. he’s.. 

With a trembling hand, Moon sinks three of his fingers into the back of Rover’s head, prompting a hatch to pull away and open up in his chest, exposing a variety of wires and a pinpad. Rover doesn’t seem concerned, just keeps on holding Moon by the neck, even as the blonde starts fumbling a code in the pad.

He's dying. A small red button opens up between all the switches and buttons in Rover’s chest, and Moon's frantic, desperate reaching for the button slows down considerably. Really, it's kind of anti-climatic for a death, nevermind a supposed fantastical execution. Maybe that was what Moon deserved, though — something quiet, uneventful, alone. 

Click! 

...Just kidding! He presses the button. Rover’s grip falls away immediately, dropping Moon in a heap on the floor and leaving him doubled over, gasping and coughing, gulping down air like he'd been drowning. In front of him, Rover’s expression seems frozen, and his body begins… going limp? No, no.. it almost looks like he’s.. shutting down? A second later, Rover has joined Moon on his knees in front of him, his smile frozen, his shoulders slumping, his right eye flashing red. His right eye flashing red.. slowly. 

“...keh..” 

There is hardly any distance between the two, but when Moon pushes himself up and wraps his arms around his robot, hooking his chin on his shoulder, the effort looks akin to dragging your hands down a wall of glass shards. 

“...’bout.. time we wrapped this up, huh?” His voice would’ve been impossible to hear had this not been meant for entertainment — hoarse, whisper-quiet.

The sentence seems to, somehow, despite the red light increasing in speed, prompt a corrupt, laggy voice to start speaking: “..S-S-SHOOT FOR THE STARS—!” 

“—even.. if y’miss..” 

Moon grabs fistfulls of the back of Rover’s suit, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“..you’ll land on the—!”

…

…

[♫♪♫♪♫♪] 

The screen blacks out, rattling — the sound from the speakers blowing out from sheer force of the explosion. You… you feel like you should feel it in the courtroom—the floor shaking and rumbling beneath you, but you don’t. Somehow, it makes it feel more empty. More far away. 

As the scene settles, the dust and smoke beginning to clear, you notice blood splattered on the lense of the camera—blurred and out of focus, but unmistakably blood. Debris and metal parts are scattered everywhere, wires twisted and still burning like lit fuses. Something drips from the ceiling, and you're unsure if it's blood or a combination of that and flesh. But more importantly, you see the remains of a human body — the parts you'd never want to see; splintered bone, limbs still stuck in clothes, a head in the corner of the scene, blonde hair smoking, lulling on the slanted floor, and what you catch sight of his face is burnt through to the inside of his mouth, burnt through to his skull.

He looks like he was screaming, and though you know he wasn't in his last moments, this image will likely be the thing you remember when you think of him.

...

Life is continuous. 

Tonight, the sky will finish clearing the storm and the moon will glow across the horizon like it has every other night, and how it will continue to shine for every other night after this. For nothing has really changed—and that's the bonus of playing a stage hero robot that could be replicated, right? Built on? Upgraded? For years and years and years to come, beyond your short life, he can still do something amazing without you. 

Yeah, the world will keep going on without you. 

You wanted that.

(Didn't you?) 

[Gabrielle & Rover Morningstar have been executed.] 

(thank you han for the art!)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

time to play your dead man’s hand (Day 1)

Life is Strange AU!!!! I don’t even have the first chapter done. It’s too long for Tumblr all together.

Also part one is kinda a test. I don’t know if I’ll continue this, but it people like it I will. But if this only gets, like, 10 notes then I’m not gonna slave myself over the LiS script to write this correctly.

Also also: I literally had no idea who should be Anne’s stepdad, so “Edmund” is just a filler name. If anyone knows someone who would make a good step father for her, please let me know!

One more thing- The Anne in this is Bowman!Anne! Because I like her more than Millie even though her character is supposed to be punkish

TW: Gun violence, death

——————

Part One- Chrysalis

The first flash of lightning wakes her. She cannot really recall falling asleep, but she is certainly awake now. The sky turns white again and then the rain, hard and relentless, begins. Another flash of lightning and, this time, thunder accompanies it. The massive boom shakes her to her toes and makes her feel small in comparison.

Her senses are a mess. She can hardly smell through the rain, and all she can see is the dark until the lightning intermittently burns the sky.

She’s lying face-down in the mud. The brown sludge slides down her face, slippery and grimy. It coats her clothes, but the rain is quick to wash it away and replace the drench with some of its own. She nearly slips as she’s pushing herself up to her feet, suddenly shivering.

The thunder cracks again, but this time she hears something inside of it. A shout. Several shouts, like the wail of anguished souls. She sees lightning, and then in the fading light, she sees shadows leftover.

She’s on a sloped path that has turned into a river from the rushing water. Her shoes and socks are soaked in an instant, already rubbing her feet raw and chafing blisters against her ankles. She tries to speak, but her throat is closed up in horror.

Where am I? What's happening? She thought, looking around. A storm? Why am I in a storm?

A burst of lightning torches the sky, splitting it in two in a magnificent silver slash. It illuminates the towering shape of the lighthouse just up the hill.

Wait... There's the lighthouse... I'll be safe if I can make it there... I hope...

Wind whips at her at dizzying speeds and the rain drives hard enough to push her to her knees. It is only through force of will and sheer luck that she manages not to be thrown clear as she began to stagger up the slippery path and to the cliff where the lighthouse is situated. She could scream, but the storm screams louder and its cries are deafening.

Time ceases to mean much as the storm pummels her and the world around her. She cannot see more than a hand's span in front of your face- she’s having to shield her head and squint so those subzero jerks couldn’t stab her blind. She’s exhausted by the short trek and is nearly prepared to give in to the whims of the storm and let it blow her where it will when she pulls herself up to the top of the incline.

Before her is the ocean, as dark as wine, and atop is a massive tornado. It was much too large to be real, but there it was, caged in flashing bolts of lightning and thick gales.

And it was heading right for Whitby.

Holy shit...

Suddenly, the storm whips up a large boat that had been thrashing in the waves near the beach. It was sent flying, crashing into the lighthouse and causing the top half to come crumbling down, down, down-

————

Maggie awoke with a start. Cold sweat is beaded on her brow and runs like slick snail trails down the back of her neck. She doesn’t scream, thank god, because she realizes that she’s in her art class at school. Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm in sight.

Woah, She thought. That was so weird.

A line of sweat starts to make its way down her pale face and she quickly swipes it away. Her heart is still racing, pounding painful inside of her chest. She tries to steady it and just focus on the calming voice of Mr. Tudor, the art teacher.

Okay... I'm in class...

At the table in front of her, Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

Everything's cool... I'm okay...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

“Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition?” Mr. Tudor is saying.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates.

I didn't fall asleep, and...that sure didn't feel like a dream... Weird.

“Diane Arbus.” Jane answers. Her voice is like honeyed venom- sweet but stinging. Maggie knew the potency of the poison in her words all too well.

“There you go, Jane!” Mr. Tudor praised, “Why Arbus?”

As Jane was explaining, Maggie looked down at her table. Her basic school needs-pens, pencils, journal- were scattered out on the blacktop, along with her camera and a photograph. When she picks it up, she looks upon the horrid image of her standing in front of dozens of other pictures tacked on her dorm wall.

Look at this crap! How can I show this to Mr. Tudor? I can hear the class laughing at me now.

She sighed and set it back down. Her eyes cast over to the analog camera and she carefully picked it up as if it were a baby bird. She was always so cautious with the old thing.

Her thumb grazed over the washes out yellow top portion before gently pressed a button. The camera flashes in her face, taking her by surprise.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor piped up. “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for ‘selfie-expression.’ Sorry. I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Maggie, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie grits her teeth and tried not to sink into the bottom of her chair and evaporate into the abyss. Eyes were boring in on her from all sides. Tiny flames light up in her ears.

“I-I did know!” She stammered. “But I kinda forgot...”

Mr. Tudor narrows his eyes. He usually looks so lax and kind, so seeing him bring out the Disappointed Look cut deep.

“You either know this or not, Maggie.” He said, frustrated, “Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?”

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created ‘daguerreotypes’ a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane said, as boot-licking as always. She swivels her head around to Maggie, her eyes gleaming like a hungry tiger that just found its next meal. “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

Maggie’s spine chafed painfully against the back of her chair as she hunches her shoulders in to seem smaller. Her ears were fully on fire, now- she hopes her hair is hiding them.

Just as Mr. Tudor is finishing his lecture on Jane’s answer, the bell rings. Students are instantly leaping up and scampering out of the classrooms.

“And guys,” Mr. Tudor says, “don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the "Everyday Heroes" contest. I'll fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography. So, Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine, don't hide. I'm still waiting for your entry, too. And yes, Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie stands up slowly, unfurling her shoulders from their hunched position. As she’s waiting for the muscles to stop aching from the sudden uncoil, she sees Jane beeline to Mr. Tudor’s desk. Maggie rolls her eyes.

Jane doesn't waste a second kissing ass...

She gathers her things and heads for the door. Before she could make her escape, however, Mr. Tudor’s smooth voice rang out.

“I see you, Maggie Wyatt. Don't even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”

Maggie tenses and then gives in. She turns around and approaches the front desk. She does her best to avoid Jane’s drilling gaze.

“I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.” Mr. Tudor said.

“Do I have to? I just don't think it's that big a deal.” Maggie said.

Jane snickers. Mr. Tudor has an almost-sympathetic look.

“Maggie, you're a better photographer than a liar...” He said. “Now I know it's a drag to hear some old dude lecture you... but life won't wait for you to play catch-up. You're young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That's what separates the artist, from the amateur.”

Maggie can only bob her head shyly and mumbled a soft, “Yes sir.” Mr. Tudor takes it and lets her leave.

Stepping out into the hallway from the art class was like stepping into a hurricane. While the art class was serene and peaceful and illuminated by the sunshine’s warm glow, the hallway was a tiled jungle with fluorescent suns. Student were weaving every which way like colorful, talkative birds of paradise and the teachers peering out from their classrooms were the watchful jaguars. Dozens of conversations were going at once, laughing came from every direction, and the clatters of lockers were white noise for the cacophony. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, boldly showing off their tail feathers and wings without a care in the world. Everyone except Maggie, that is. She sighed and shoved in her earbuds before she could hear Aragon from across the hall finish her statement about someone being “so fucking shy.”

Her destination was the bathroom, where she needed a serious timeout to unwind from her classroom embarrassment. She made herself as small as possible, narrowly avoiding the rushing figures of other students. Her awkward swivels and side-steps definitely earned her a few odd glances, but she tried to ignore them until she finally got into the safety of the bathroom.

Empty. Good. Nobody can see my meltdown. Except for me.

Maggie washes her face using one of the sinks, letting the chill of the tap water sink into her cheeks. She keeps her hands there for a moment before sighing and dropping them. She takes out her polaroid photo after turning the sink off.

Just relax. Stop torturing yourself. You have “a gift”.

She stared and stared and stared at the photo, but it just seemed to appear worse and worse the longer she looked.

Fuck it.

She tears apart her photo and drops it on the floor. The way the pieces fall to the ground are as delicate as the flutter of the butterfly’s wings that just flew in from an open window. Maggie blinks and follows it. It lands on a bucket behind a stall and spreads its emerald green wings into the light bleeding over it.

Holy shit. Maggie thought. Well...when a door closes, a window opens...or, something like that. She takes out her camera. Okay girl, you don't get a photo op like this everyday...

Maggie slowly approaches the butterfly and takes a photo of it. At the flash, the butterfly takes off, flapping in a blur of brilliant green that almost seems to glow in the air. As it dashed for a safe landing, the bathroom door opens and closes and a guy walks in. Maggie recognizes him as Thomas Cromwell, the richest, most pompous kid on the campus, from his slick hair and letterman jacket. He does a quick scan of the bathroom, not noticing Maggie hiding, and then began pacing. His pale, bat-like face is twisted with enraged horror. He looks like he was about to shatter at any second

“It’s cool, Thomas... Don't stress... You're okay, bro. Just count to three...” He was muttering to himself. “Don't be scared... You own this school... If I wanted, I could blow it up!” He laughed. Craziness oozed from the fractures in his voice- or maybe directly from his fragmented brain. “You're the boss.”

A moment later, the door swings open and a girl strides in. She’s a little heavier set, but carries herself with great pride and power. Her dark eyes are impish and on fire. Green is spilled out over the top of her hair, long, dyed tendrils of emerald coiling with brown locks. When she speaks, her voice comes out in a (familiar) confident growl.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say.” She said while checking the stalls. Maggie has to back up in her hiding spot- it’s a wonder neither of them have caught her, especially with how she’s peeking out to watch. “Now, let's talk bidness—”

“I got nothing for you.” Thomas said. He’s trying to keep his composure, Maggie can tell just by listening to him, but it’s about as cracked as his sanity.

“Wrong.” The girl said. “You got hella cash.”

“That's my family, not me.” Thomas grits. He’s grinding his teeth now.

The girl laughed. “Oh, boohoo, poor little rich kid!” Her tone becomes serious. She marches over to Thomas, who is hunched over the sink, bracing himself. “I know you been pumpin' drugs 'n' shit to kids around here... I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them.” She leans into his ear, “Man, I can see the headlines now—”

“Leave them out of this, bitch.” Thomas snarled.

“I can tell everybody Thomas Cromwell is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself—”

Thomas rounds on the girl. There’s now a gun in his hand, which he must have been hiding in his jacket. The girl backs up into the wall, the fire in her eyes going out in an instant, and Thomas stands in front of her, one arm against the wall beside her head and the other pointing the gun at her stomach.

“You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!” He roared.

“Where’d you get that? What are you doing?” The girl babbled. Her fearless mask has dropped in an instant at the presence of a weapon. “Come on, put that thing down!”

“Don't EVER tell me what to do! I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!” Thomas howled. Whatever was holding the crack in his brain together has broken apart at the seams and every bad thing is pouring out at a horrifying rate.

“You are going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs—” The girl grunts. She can feel the biting metal of the gun’s muzzle press against her stomach. She’s so rigid.

Thomas leans into her ear. His voice is curled with dark ice. “Nobody would ever even miss your ‘punk ass’ would they?”

“Get that gun away from me, psycho!!”

The girl shoved Thomas away from her and makes a break for the door. Her sudden movements jar Thomas and he pulls the trigger. Blood splatters against the wall and from the girl’s mouth as the bullet passes through her stomach.

“NO!!” Maggie screamed.

She’s running out from her hiding spot without realizing it. She stretches out her right hand, as if she thought she could actually do something to help. The gun and the girl are falling to the ground in slow motion. Maggie’s breathing picks up. Everything becomes blurry. Black and white and grey splotches haze her vision. Every nerve is filled with painless liquid fire, buzzing inside of her. Red is the only other color she can see- the dark red of hot blood. Of her blood, maybe. She can’t tell anymore, but, suddenly, awareness returns to her- intense shock fades and leaves behind wet adrenaline in its wake, soaking her to the core. She opens her eyes- when did they ever close?- and finds herself in the art class again.

Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm- of a gun- of a dead body-

Whoa! What the fuck?! Maggie’s body lurches back in her seat. A few kids glance curiously at her before focusing back on Mr. Tudor, who was giving his lecture on Alfred Hitchcock and photography. How- how— I— She looks around again. I was in the bathroom... He shot that poor girl... I held up my hand...and now I’m back here.

Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

I already heard this lecture...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

Now Joan is being hassled again... And if Jane’s phone rings...this is real.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates. Maggie’s heart leapt in her throat and her body flinches as if her fear had taken a physical form and punched her. Her clumsy limbs scramble awkwardly and one arm knocked her camera off the desk. It breaks into pieces upon hitting the ground.

Shit! Oh my god, I cannot believe this... Okay, if I'm crazy, I might as well go all the way... Can I actually reverse time?

Maggie holds up her right hand and, like an instinct knowing when to be triggered, her vision turns grey. She feels like she’s floating, maybe vibrating, and she watches as her broken camera pieces itself together and rises up to sit in its original position. When Maggie releases the force, Mr. Tudor is just getting to his Diane Arbus question. However, Maggie can barely hear him or Jane’s know-it-all answer. She was too busy staring in awe at her hand.

Holy shit. Holy shit! I’m a human time machine! H- how— Okay, okay, don’t freak out, Maggie. Not yet.

She looked at her newly-repaired camera and picked it up. She presses the photograph button and the flash momentarily blinds her. Just like before.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor pipes up, “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation is not the first to use images for selfie-expression. Sorry.”

The teacher’s voice is barely processing in Maggie’s mind. She just couldn’t get herself to care about what he was saying. She was too worried about the girl she had seen die.

If I can go back in time...what if that girl isn't dead yet? Can I save her?

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor is rounding on her, just like he did last time. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie opened and closed her mouth for a moment. The words are thick at the back of her throat.

“I-” It’s hard to enunciate properly. If she wasn’t so worried about that green-haired girl, she might have been more embarrassed over her squabbling. “I'm sorry, Mr. Tudor, I feel sick. May I be excused?”

“Nice try, Maggie, but you're not gonna get away that easy. We can talk more after class.” Mr. Tudor said.

Maggie swallowed hard. As much as she loved Mr. Tudor, she really wanted to slap him right about now. She wasn’t feigning illness- she genuinely felt sick to her stomach with anxiety and fear. She was sure she was ghostly white, too. How could Mr. Tudor not see that?!

“Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?” Mr. Tudor asked.

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created "daguerreotypes" a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane answered like before. And, like before, she looked at Maggie mockingly and said, “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

“Very good, Jane.” Mr. Tudor praised. “The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people's faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800's onward.”

It was Jane’s snide remark that snapped Maggie slightly out of her worried trance. She side-eyed the blonde and clenched her jaw. She decides to test out her new power again and ‘rewind’.

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor said, marking the ability a success once again. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

“The Daguerreian Process.” Maggie said, practically reciting Jane. “Invented by a French painter named...Louis Daguerre. Around 1830.”

Mr. Tudor looks a little surprised, but smiled at the girl. “Somebody has been reading, as well as posing. Nice work, Maggie.”

Jane gives Maggie an annoyed look, which she can’t help but feel empowered about.

“The Daguerreian Process made portraiture hugely popular, mainly because it gave the subjects clear defined features. You can learn more when you actually finish reading the assigned chapters. Maggie is so far, way ahead of everybody.”

The bell rings. Maggie practically flies out of her seat and began collecting everyone as quick as she could.

“And, guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the ‘Everyday Heroes’ Contest!” Mr. Tudor said, “I will fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure and it can kickstart a career in photography. So Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine don't hide, I'm still waiting for your entry too. And yes Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie, you are not crazy. You are not dreaming. It's time to be an everyday hero.

Instead of trying to leave, already knowing she’ll be halted, she hurries over to the front desk. Joan watches her with those lamb eyes of hers from where she’s still seated.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tudor, can I talk to you for a moment?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, excuse you.” Jane said, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“No, Jane, excuse us.” Mr. Tudor said. He turns to Maggie. “I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.”

“I’m not avoiding, just...”

“Biding time, waiting for the elusive ‘right moment’?”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Tudor chuckled lightly and said, “Maggie, my dear, don't wait too long. John Lennon once said that ‘Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.’ Go on now, don't let me stop you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Maggie exits quickly and delves right into the jungle that was the hallway. She pushed through the brambles of students to get to the bathroom, making it there in record time.

Okay, Maggie, retrace every step... I washed my face- She washes her face. I shredded my photo- She shredds her photos. Then the...butterfly flew in- The butterfly flies in. And I took a photo...

The camera flashes. The butterfly leaps up from the bucket and flaps away. The bathroom door swings open. Thomas Cromwell strides in.

Maggie stays hidden behind the stall, listening. She hears Thomas mutter darkly to himself, then that girl enters. She unknowingly taunts Thomas and he soon snaps. By the sudden yell, Maggie knows the gun was out.

She began looking around as the terrified yelling rattles through the bathroom. She dreads the gunshot that was soon to come if she didn’t do something.

She notices the fire alarm on the wall. Grabbing a fallen hammer by the bucket, Maggie smashes the glass encasing the alarm and pulls it. The siren began to wail.

“No way...” She hears Thomas mutter. Then, he grunts in pain as the girl knees him in the groin and shoves him away. Maggie watches in relief.

“Don't EVER touch me again, freak!” The girl yelled before running out.

Thomas totters on his feet for a moment before picking up his fallen gun. He growled softly, noticing the photograph scraps on the floor.

“Another shitty day...” He mutters before walking out.

Maggie emerges from her hiding spot. Cold sweat is prickling on her brow, sliding into her bulging eyes. She doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.

That did not happen! This cannot be real! I just saw a girl get shot and then saved her! What the fuck is going on?

She waits a moment before exiting the bathroom. Outside, the hallway is empty, aside from a few fleeting figures of running students. And the school’s security guard.

Edmund coming at Maggie nearly startled her back into the bathroom. He’s upon her in an instant, his sharp voice tearing strips off of her before she can even think of something to say.

“Hey, do you hear that fire alarm? That means you should be outside.”

“I had to use the bathroom...” Maggie said.

“Girls always use that excuse.” Edmund rolled his eyes.

“Excuse for what?” Maggie said, slightly ruffled.

“For whatever you're up to. Your face is covered in guilt.”

“The alarm tripped me out!”

“Then trip on out of here, missy. Or are you hiding something? Huh?”

Maggie was about to consider crying to get herself out of that situation when Principal Dudley emerged from his office and called out.

“Thank you, Edmund, the situation is under control. There's no emergency here.” He said. “Leave Miss Wyatt alone and please turn off that alarm, since that's your job.”

Edmund didn’t argue, but he did give Maggie a suspicious look before lumbering away. Maggie sighs in relief and starts for the front doors to leave and evade the incessant siren, but Principal Dudley stops her.

“You look a little stressed out, Maggie.” He said. “Are you okay?”

Maggie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I'm...I'm just a little worried about my...future.” The lie was horrid.

“You're sweating pinballs.” Principal Dudley points out. “Is that all you're thinking about? You can always be upfront with me, Maggie. Or have you done something wrong... Is that it?” He’s making Maggie even more anxious with his prodding. “Well, Maggie? Talk to me.”

Maggie clenches her jaw, then let’s the truth spill out. She had to tell- Thomas was a danger to the school!

“I just saw Thomas Cromwell waving a gun around...in the girls' room.”

Principal Dudley’s eyes go wide, but then his brows furrowed when he really processes what had been said to him.

“Thomas Cromwell. You sure?”

Maggie is shocked at his doubt. Sure, it may be normal to ask for complete sincerity, but Principal Dudley doesn’t seem very convinced at all. He must be swayed by all the money the Cromwell family has. Even then, could he not see how Thomas was breaking apart at the seams?!

“Yes!” She said. “He was in the bathroom talking to himself with a gun. I saw everything! He was babbling like crazy—”

“Okay, slow down, slow down.” Principal Dudley said. “So you saw this...without him seeing you?”

“I was hiding behind a stall.” Maggie said. Impatience and desperation are oozing into her voice. “I have the right to be there. It's the girls' room—”

“I know, I know.” Principal Dudley said. “I just want to be completely clear what happened. Mister Cromwell happens to be from the town's most distinguished family. And one of Blackwell's most honored students. So it's hard for me to see him brandishing a weapon in the girls’ bathroom. So what happened next?”

Maggie went to tell him about the girl and their conversation, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make herself a suspect if this all blew up in her face.

“Then...then he left. I ran out here wondering what to do.” She paused. “Are you going to bust him?”

“This is a serious charge.” Principal Dudley mutters. “I'll look into the matter personally. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Maggie nodded. She wished Principal Dudley would do more than that, but she should have known. The Cromwell family practically owns Blackwell Academy. She just hopes she didn’t just throw her entire scholarship down the toilet.

She steps outside and is immediately bathed by the warm rays of the golden-orange sun. Beams of light hit the Blackwell campus in just the right way to show off how grand and pristine it was. It was a private school, after all.

As Maggie is walking down the front steps, she notices some papers scattered out on the ground. She picks one up and reads it.

MISSING- KATHERINE HOWARD

MISSING FROM: Whitby, Yorkshire

DATE MISSING: Monday, April 22, 2020

OTHER:

Age: 15 years old

Height: 5’0 Weight: 110lbs

Hair: Blonde, dyed pink Eyes: Hazel

Katherine Howard... She looks so hopeful and pretty. I wonder what happened to her...

Maggie set the paper back down and started to walk to the dorms. As she does, she gets a text from Cathy Parr, a good friend of hers. The girl was asking if she could have her flash drive back. Maggie texts back saying she will and would meet her in the parking lot. However, getting the flash drive was a lot harder than she expected, starting with the way Jane and her goons, Aragon and Jane Rochford, were lounging on the steps to the girl’s dormitory like watchful hawks. When Maggie approaches, Jane stands up with a wide smirk.

“Oh, look, it's Maggie Wyatt, the selfie ho of Blackwell. What a lame gimmick. Even Henry-” She slips for a moment, but corrects herself quickly. “Mr. Tudor—falls for your waif hipster bullshit. ‘The Daguerreian Process, sir!’ You could barely even say that. I guess you got your meds filled.” Behind her, Aragon and Rochford laugh. “Since you know all the answers, I guess you have to find another way into the dorm. We ain't moving. Oh, wait, hold that pose!” Jane snaps of photo of Maggie and sneers. “So original. Don't worry, Maggie, I'll put a vintage filter on it right before I post it all over social medias. Now, why don't you go fuck your selfie?” She sits back down on her perch.

Maggie steps back, grinding her teeth. She looks around the dorm’s courtyard, trying to find something to help her. Anthony Lee and Peter Meutas were throwing a football ball to each other, but Maggie didn’t dare approach boys in their primal sport. Maud was reading on one of the benches and Joan was sitting all alone near the shrubbery, but she didn’t want to bother them, either.

And then there’s a rattle from above.

The school’s most well-known janitor, Duke, is up on a ladder painting. The bucket of white paint he’s using is supposed to be hooked on the side of the rungs, but Maggie watches as it falls and splatters all over Jane.

“No way! No fucking way!” She screeches.

Aragon and Rochford leap up in an instant. Their eyes are wide- a look of such shock is unusual on them.

“You okay, Jane?” Aragon asked.

Jane glared at her. It’s enough of an answer.

“Hold on, hold on, we'll get some towels!” Rochford said. “We'll be right back!”

“So move your ass, before I dry!” Jane barked.

Aragon and Rochford scramble inside. Maggie waits for a moment before slowly approaching Jane- or, rather, the door, but she got dragged into a conversation anyway.

“Uh...hey, Jane...”

“What do you want, Maggie?” Jane hissed. Her eyes are narrowed in a warning.

“I’m sorry about what happened. That was an awesome coat...”

Jane blinked at the passivity of the younger girl’s comment. She loosened up a little and stopped baring her teeth like an enraged white tiger.

“It was.” She sighed. “But there will be another.”

“Well...” The conversation was actually going smoothly. Might as well keep it up and try to get on Jane’s good side so she’ll lay off. “you always seem to know how to pick the right outfits.”

“I do have some talent. Mr. Tudor told me-” Jane stops herself. Maggie is sure she’s biting her tongue.

“I've seen your pictures.” Maggie said. “You have a great eye, Richard Avedon-esque.”

“He's one of my heroes...” Jane’s eyes, usually so judgmental and cruel, scan Maggie without an ounce of mockery in their gaze. “Thanks, Maggie.” She looks over her shoulder at the doors to the dorm. “I hope those sluts get me a towel before they hang a sign on me.” She turns to Maggie again. “You deserve a better shot. Sorry about blocking you and...and the ‘go fuck your selfie’ thing.”

“That was mean...but pretty funny.” Maggie admitted, laughing slightly.

“Just one of those days, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean, Jane.” Maggie said. “I'll see you later.”

“Au revoir.”

Maggie notices that Jane offered her a small wave. She returns it with a slight smile before stepping into the dormitory.

The dorm building is about as basic as one could get- a long hallway full of doors with one branching path that led to the bathroom. Maggie walks down the corridor, glancing at the slates beside each dorm that could be written on. Hers was blank when she got to her room at the end. She didn’t think much of it and stepped inside.

Home, sweet home. My favorite cocoon...

Her room is a basic setup- bed in the corner near the door with a fuzzy ferret stuffy sitting atop the pillows like a duvet guardian, lanterns strung around the ceiling for lighting, a drawer with a radio at the foot of her bed, a desk, a bookshelf with a few potted plants, a small couch, a guitar, her closet, dozens of photos tacked on her wall. It was cozy, and it was home now.

While she’s searching for the flash drive, Maggie noticed a sticky note on her desk. When she picks it up, it reads, “Hey girl,”-the I has a heart instead of a dot, a little something that made Maggie’s touch-starved heart flutter-“I borrowed your drive so I can watch some flix while I study. If you need it back, just track me down! XoXo, B.”

So it’s in Bessie’s room...

Honestly, Maggie didn’t mind. Bessie Blount was nice to her and super sweet, despite having obvious baggage of her own. She was strong and smart in a way Maggie wished she could be.

As Maggie leaves her room, she sees Maria de Salinas charge out of Bessie’s dorm and lock the door. She leans against it as Bessie knocks loudly.

“You can't get out now, Bessie! So tell me the truth, or rot in there!” Maria growled.

“Let me out, Maria! This is so stupid! You are ridiculous! If you don't let me out, I will scream!”

Maggie blinked. She approaches slowly, but Maria doesn’t glare at her when she gets near.

“Hey, Maria,” Maggie said. “Is everything cool?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, Maggie. I've locked Bessie in the room because we're ‘cool’.”

“What did she do?” Maggie asked.

“What didn't she do?“ Maria’s anger bubbles up again. “Shes been sexting with my boyfriend, that’s what she did.”

“No I didn’t!!” Bessie yelled from inside the room.

Maggie winced. “Ouch. How did you find out?”

“Uh, why do you care?” Maria said. “Why are you even asking me? You never talk, just zone out with your camera.”

“That's why I'm talking to you now.”

Maria crosses her arms. “What's my last name?”

She’s being tested to her an answer. Maggie blinks.

“Maria de Salinas. Duh!”

Maria is surprised. “I'm flattered. I didn't even think you knew my name at all.”

“Of course I do. Just because I don't talk a lot doesn't mean I don't care. So, how did you find out about them?”

“According to Jane, Bessie would do anything to date a football player.” Maria explained. “She saw the sext. And William won't answer his phone. Once Bessie admits it, she can go. Straight to hell.

“Maggie, I swear I didn't do ANYTHING!” Bessie cried from behind the door. “But I bet Jane did! I know the proof is in her room!”

Knowing that she couldn’t go to Cathy without the flash drive; Maggie agrees to do a little trespassing and snuck into Jane’s room, which was about as pristine and neat as she expected.

After printing an email Jane sent to Aragon about the whole ordeal going down, Maggie returned to Maria and showed her the evidence.

“Of course...” Maria muttered. She turned and opened Bessie’s door. “I'm an asshole. I'm sorry, Bess.”

“You are, and I hope so.” Bessie’s eyes softened. “You really think I'd mess around with William?”

“No. But I get stupid jealous. I owe you dinner. Still love me?”

Bessie smiles and chuckled. “And you do my laundry.”

Maria turns back to Maggie with a relieved look. “Thanks, Maggie. You're like the Blackwell Ninja. Now let's see what William has to say about Jane...” She storms out of the dorm.

“You set me free!” Bessie laughed. “Thank you. Cathy’s flash drive is on my desk.”

Maggie retrieves it quickly and heads out to the main campus. However, she stops when she sees Edmund stalking towards a very scared-looking Joan.

“...so don't think I'm blind!” The security guard was saying. “I see everything here at Blackwell! Do you understand what I'm saying?

“No!” Joan cried. Her eyes are glistening with tears. “Leave me alone!”

“You can't fool me. I know everything about this school. I cover the waterfront. So you better figure out what side you're on...”

“Please, leave me alone!” Joan is crying, now.

Edmund is about to say something else when there’s a flash from a few feet away. He notices Maggie holding her camera and grits his teeth before storming off. Maggie instantly went to Joan’s aid, but the blonde didn’t seem to be in the mood for pity.

“Hope you enjoyed the show.” Joan grits, wiping away tears. “Thanks for nothing, Maggie.”

Maggie watches her run to the dorms with a frown.

Poor girl...

[solaceinprose]

Dorothy in the Land of Monsters (Oz Revamped #1): A Review

My name is Dorothy Gale, and I think I might be dead. When my dog Toto and I got swept up in a twister, we landed in hell. A very colorful hell. Like a rainbow dripping in blood. Now it looks as though this dreadful underworld plagued with vampires, zombies, and shifters will be the site of my eternal damnation. They say this terrifying land called Oz isn’t hell or purgatory, that escape is possible, but first I must survive the journey down the blood-soaked yellow brick road to the only place in Oz where vampires dare not tread—The City of Emeralds. With enchanted footwear and the help of my three new friends—a friendly zombie, a massive shifter lion, and a heartless axe murderer of evil night creatures who also happens to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen—Toto and I have a fighting chance to make it to the Vampire Free Zone. When we get there, I must convince the most powerful wizard in this magical land of monsters to send us out of this radiant nightmare and return us to the world of the living. They say he’s just as frightening as this monstrous land, that he detests visitors, and even the most horrifying creatures cower in his presence, but I must seek him out. And when I find him, I’ll do whatever it takes to make him send me home.

First, thank you to NetGalley for the e-ARC of this book for an honest review.

I really wanted to love this book. When I read the description, it immediately caught my attention. A retelling of Dorothy in the land of Oz, but with monsters? Sign me up. I did not love this book. I barely enjoyed it at times. This book took me entirely too long to read only to not finish because I couldn’t be pressed to pick it up. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments that shined in this book. The friendship between Dorothy and the Oz Trio was very well written. The descriptions of Oz were so vivid, I could see it in my mind. The world building, or the revamping of the world of Oz was done very well. That’s about all I can say good about this book. I had three major gripes about this book. First gripe is the use of SAT/ACT words when Dorothy is our narrator. Dorothy is supposed to be 17 from Kansas and hasn’t finished high school yet. Her school is very small, and I’m pretty certain they’re not the best school in the state of Kansas since it’s in the middle of everywhere. If the story was told in 3rd person omniscient, then I could understand the use of such words. But this is from the eyes of a 17-year-old girl, and I’m going to take a bet that she doesn’t really know these words. It sounded like the author had a thesaurus next to her the whole time and just wanted to fancy up the writing. It didn’t need it. The descriptions were good enough on their own, that using big fancy words just bogs the writing down. Also, the overuse of certain words like scintillation was aggravating as hell. The writing bogged this story down, and it appeared to be a clever way to disguise the lack of character development with Dorothy. My second gripe is the forced romance between Nick and Dorothy. Oh my Ozma, did these two annoy the ever living crap out of me. They’ve known each other for maybe a total of a month, if we take into consideration all the time they spent walking to Oz, the time they spent in Oz, and then heading to kill the Vampire Witch of the West, and the time Dorothy was trapped there. They had known each other less than that before Dorothy is all, “Oh I’m so in love with Nick!” Then he’s all, “Oh, I’m so in love with Dorothy!” Before we’re even 70% into the book, they’ve proclaimed their love for each other and how they will never love anyone else in the entire realms. Hold up, girly. You’re 17. You got your whole life ahead of you. Slow down for a second. There’s even a part after they return to the City of Emeralds (because Emerald City was too…plain?) that she refers to him as her husband. NO. NO NO NO NO. That’s not how it works, and they just became insufferable with their misery that he wants her to leave and she wants to stay and fight with him, and they’re just not meant to be together because they are both TOO STUPID TO FUNCTION. This romance wasn’t needed. Or better yet, this romance had time to grow. My third gripe was this book didn’t know if it wanted to be young adult or a new adult novel. There were moments that were not young adult appropriate, and all the talk about sex kind of left a bad taste in my mouth. We had a character flat out call Dorothy a place for Nick to park his cock, and I was so flabbergasted that this made it through an editor’s pen. It felt like the author wanted to make this an adult fiction but was trying to bank on the young adult readers, so she aged down Dorothy and Nick, but left all the inappropriate dialogue and scenes. I’m not a prude by any standards, and I love me some smut, but if this was written towards young adults, mainly teens, then the all the talk about sex, friends with benefits, having flings needs to be cleaned up a bit. That would also take out a lot of unnecessary scenes between Nick and Dorothy. Good Lord was there way too many of the same repetitive nonsense between these two. Okay, I have final gripe. That was Dorothy’s silver boots. These literally created plot armor around Dorothy, and soon because that all threats to her life became predictable, because of these boots. They created this armor that made her this badass of a warrior even though she hadn’t fought in her entire 17 years. Nothing was going to touch her, and the only time she didn’t benefit from the boots, they still protected her. She was never in any actual danger, so all the scenes with monsters and danger fell flat. If our main character isn’t at risk of dying, being hurt, or being turned into a vampire or zombie, then what is the point of having those fight scenes? The boots were too powerful, and it took away from the suspense and danger this book was trying to create in a land full of monsters. This book had a lot of potential, but it needs an editor that is going to be brutal to it and take out half of the unnecessary drama between Nick and Dorothy. Also there were a lot of typos, but nothing that took me out of the book. I didn’t need help with that, I stayed mostly on the outer edges of the book most of the time anyway. I didn’t finish it so I have no idea how it ends. I just couldn’t be bothered with it anymore.

GoodReads Rating: 2 Stars

[leafychan]

My shipping post

That no one asked for...

Hey everyone! I'm a crazy shipper and I've seen these going around forever, so why not do one, right? I know that I don't NEED to justify my ships, I believe in letting people enjoy things, cause shipping doesn't directly harm anyone. But that said, I love sharing and possibly meeting other fans. I'll give a little background for each, since I know not everyone is into everything. So now, in no particular order, my top ships atm!

Nalu (Natsu/Lucy, Fairy Tail)

Natsu and Lucy have this bond that's is stronger than Best Friends. They do everything together, ever since he brought her into Fairy Tail. Natsu, while protective of all his friends, is extra protective of Lucy, and she risked life and literally limb, more than once, to save him. Plus he uprooted an entire rainbow sakura tree to make her happy! These two are my current top OTP.

Gajevy/Gale (Gajeel/Levy, Fairy Tail)

I call them the Vegeta/Bulma with more feels ship. It's an enemies turned eventually to lovers pair. The super intelligent bookish script mage and the big scary dragon slayer that formally attacked her team and destroyed her guild. Once he became a member of that same guild, he started to soften to her, and she forgave him and teamed up with him, and started to fall for him. She taught him what it meant to love. His confession was heartbreaking. I just loved their development, it may have been the most of any of the "canon" couples in the series.

Kacchako (Bakugou/Uraraka, My Hero Academia)

I multiship this show like woah right now, and would take a whole post just listing them all. And yes I ship Izu*cha and Kiribaku as well, among many other combinations. I also have no expectations of THIS ship being canon at all. But it's so intriguing to me. This is more a ship of possibilities. Bakugou noticed her and recognized her strength, something he doesn't do with most people. I wanna see him become a better person, and I feel her influence, along with him caring about someone else, could help that along. Likewise I feel he could help push Uraraka to be stronger and more confident in her abilities. Plus their combined quirks would just be pretty awesome!

Adrienette/Ladynoir/Marichat/Ladrien (Adrien/Marinette, Miraculous Ladybug)

Hopeless, oblivious, cinnamon rolls. She has a crush on him in their civilian life, he has a crush on her in their superhero life. They don't know each others identities. Hijinks ensue! I'm weak for it! Of the love square, I think Marichat is my favorite fandomwise, once again, for the possibilities. If she realizes she has feeling for Chat Noir, and he realizes he has feeling for Marinette, then the square is complete, and I feel they will also have fallen for each other's most relaxed, natural personas.

Zelink (Zelda/Link, Legend of Zelda series)

I have shipped most incarnations of them together since Ocarina of Time. Sort of the classic hero/princess tropes, but with the story changing a bit each incarnation. I'm kind of hung up on Breath of the Wild Zelink at the moment. This Zelda is more science/scholarly, and rather tsundere toward Link, eventually falling in love with him.

Gourina (Gourry/Lina, Slayers)

This is my all time OTP. One of the earliest animes I got into, and one of my earliest ships. The crazy, hot headed, distructive sorceress with a good heart, and her not to bright swordsman and self appointed protector. He had vowed to stick with her for the rest of his life, and they are cute in their oblivious yet obvious way.

Sokai (Sora/Kairi, Kingdom Hearts series)

More cinnamon rolls, this time separated by worlds, trying to get back to eachother. These dorks are best friends who seem to be falling for eachother, but get caught up in a grand, multiple world saving adventure. I'll admit I fell out after KH2, not having the game systems to play all the side games. But with KH3 (hopefully) dropping rather soon, I'm falling back into it.

Cullen/Inquisitor (Dragon Age Inquisition)

Ok I have a bunch of Romance Canons in the Dragon Age Universe, and some I haven't gotten to do yet but plan to (like Dorian or Bull). But right now my favorite ship is the Inquisitor and Cullen. Especially a mage Inquisitor. It kinda makes for that whole star crossed love between a mage and a (former) templar thing, which is taboo in that universe. Cullen's been through some shit, and he's trying to better himself, and I just want to hug him. Their romance is rather sweet, in the middle of a war.

I have soooooooo many more ships that I could go on for a while, but I won't do that to your dashboard (especially since I can't put this under a cut on mobile), and you'd probably lose interest, if you had enough to read this! These are just the ships that I've invested time/energy into lately. I know not everyone will agree with all of them, but ship and let ship, its fiction, ya know?

And if you are into any of these ships, feel free to follow, this is mostly the shipping content I'll reblog! I've found some great fandom communities out of some of these! ❤❤❤

[ka-za-ri]

Galene (Prompto x FemOC)

Genre: Slice of Life Rating: SFW Pairing: Prompto x Female OC????  Wordcount: 2,113 Suggested Listening: 月に照らされ、風に揺れる華 -- Hanafugetsu Tags: @roses-and-oceans @r-e-g-a-l-i-a @sweetchocobae @rubyphilomela @thirsty-angst-lord @hypaalicious (???? Is this ok??? IDK if ppl wanted to be tagged bc lmao it’s not Ignis) Notes: Yeah, that’s right. You CAN believe your eyes. It’s not Ignis. My muse is out of control and wanted me to do a character study on Prompto. Because of that one post floating around that said he was neglected as a child. Hooo buddy, I had feels. No beta in sight, more experimental stuff. 

GALE′NE (Galênê), a personification of the calm sea, and perhaps identical with Galateia, one of the Nereides, is called by Hesiod (Theog. 244) a daughter of Nereus and Doris.

--

Prompto Argentum lived on a borrowed name and made up time. What he wished to belong to him was created for a purpose not his own. He hid this fact through a smile that was brighter than the sun and wider than the skies along with a laugh and louder than the storms. Prompto Argentum was made up of fragments and of broken promises.

As beautiful as the city was, the world beyond it seemed so dreamlike to him. What photos he could take of the jagged horizon were always too blurry, imperfect, idyllic, manufactured. He wanted many things in life, trust, friendship, acceptance, but more than anything, he wanted sleep. Tucked into the corner of the city, a commoner dressed as a Crownsguard in training, he wished for space, a place to think to hear what thoughts could be his and his alone.

Loneliness was something he was familiar with. In a gated community filled with older folks who kept more to themselves than their neighbors, he found solace in capturing moments in time through his camera when his heart skipped a beat at the beauty that surrounded him. Through the click of a shutter and a shy glance up to make sure no one was watching, he hoarded images, hoping, praying that they would live for him. Life for him was perfectly serene, and he had warm memories of trying to take pictures of the void of stars at night above the water.

Prompto found himself walking a lot. Most of the time, it was in the dead of the night when it was quietest and his thoughts almost seemed to collect correctly. Strolling the streets, he learned the corners and the quaintness of his neighborhood as the critters of the night scampered off, eventually leading him to the beach. He never needed music to listen to when his feet lead him to the water. The sound of gently lapping waves accompanied the beating of his heart and provided the booming baseline to his footsteps being the only sounds that he needed to think, to breath, to believe that he was real.

He often counted stars during those long walks, thinking them as a reflection of the freckles on his face. Each constellation he matched fell from the heavens to kiss gently at his cheeks and take a little bit of the stress he felt away from him. As the waves caressed at the corners of his consciousness, he could almost believe he was once born, and not made to be human. As the tide fell when the moon retreated, so did the tension of being and all that was left was his ability to believe.

Fondly, most fondly of all, he remembered the first night to the beach. He sat on a rock that was still holding onto the last vestiges of warmth from the sun, staring out into the darkened waters as moonlight rippled and played across the surface. It was the first night he didn't need his camera to capture the magic of the world around him. As tempting as the water seemed to be, the first nip of autumn air prevented him from dipping his toes into its inky depths. As brightly as he shone during the day, he could not let anyone know how weak he was to illness. That night, he recalls most fondly of throwing the windows to his room wide open so that he could continue to listen to the restless ocean just past his reach.

--

Six weeks of regularly walking at the beach and Prompto Argentum began to hallucinate.

There's no way she's real.

Thursday night, just past 3 AM on a routine walk, the peaceful lull of waves was interrupted by the unfamiliar sound of splashing and a voice that shone brighter in the dark night than his smile in the sun. Someone, laughed and sang during his hours of the dead when he was sure no one was awake.

Down by the pier she danced in the dark, glassy waters of the night, laughing and squealing at the fish that darted and danced by her legs. She sang loudly, off key and off tune to songs from at least three decades ago. The way she moved smelled strongly of chrysanthemums and orange blossoms in the summer. Despite the chill of autumn setting in, she flailed and swam in the darkened water as if it was the middle of summer.

Under a waxing moon which nestled between Castor and Pollux, Prompto Argentum met a goddess who was drenched in the light of the stars while moonbeams dripped heavily from her eyelids.

She didn't notice him until he was only about thirty paces from the end of the pier.

"Oh, hello! I didn't think people were up this late! What's up? Couldn't sleep?" Her first interaction reminded him of a wide-eyed curious child, naive to the world.

"I usually take a walk down by here to help me go to sleep" He replied, skeptical, and sure he was still strongly imagining everything.

"No, no. There has got to be a better reason why someone like you would be up this late, walking around here like you've never seen water before." She disappeared underneath the dark surface of the water and Prompto felt himself sigh in relief, realizing the moment was over. When she appeared again, at the edge of the pier, arms crossed on the wooden planks, hair swirling around her face in a tangled mess, he felt his heart stop. "Come on now, there's got to be a story behind all of this."

"There really isn't a story to any of this. It's just... nice and quiet here." He shrugged before coming to his senses that yes, there was someone there and yes, they were speaking to him. He couldn't help but wish that his camera was with him to catch the way the moonlight made her hair looked curled and wild.

"Quiet is the only good thing about this place, really." She scoffed.

"Well, I mean, it's better than during the day when it's all noisy."

"I guess you have a point there." She sighed and shifted her weight a bit, making the planks of wood groan slightly. "There's literally nothing to do here though. All the people are old and no one ever swims in the water during the day. I mean have you seen how much trash there is?"

"Wait, then why are you in the water now?"

"Because I want to be. But that's beside the point. You never really answered my question. Why are you here? There's no way a pretty thing like you grew up here. All the old grannies would be spoiling you rotten to the core. Did you move here recently?"

"I... I grew up here. I just, don't really go out much. But I just started coming to the beach recently. How did you figure?"

Maybe it was just the way the water lapped at her waist as she clung to the edge of the pier that made her seem like a sprite straight out of a fairy tale. Or perhaps it was the moonlight casting a glowing halo around that made her seem absolutely surreal and ethereal to him. Still, a deeply skeptical part of him truly wanted to believe he was imagining this whole scenario.

"Well, first, there are no younger people here. I'm just visiting my folks for a little bit. Been away for a while. I'm an ornithologist y'know. Most of my studies are on chocobos, but I really like to run around finding the big ones, like ruhks! So, my reasearch takes me all over the place." She let out a dreamy sigh and settled her head back down on her arms. "It's nice though, coming back for a bit and taking a dip every now and then. Secondly, if you need to take a walk around here to lull you to sleep from the city sounds, you must be one hell of a light sleeper, kid."

"I'm not a kid! I have a name. It's Prompto. And you'd best remember it. I'm training to be a Crownsguard." Prompto huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, it's just, nice to walk around here at night. It's like you, coming back to your parents' place."

As much as he tried not to show it, he felt a twinge of envy that she even had a place with parents to come back to. What with how often he saw his own folks, it was difficult to swallow the bitter feeling that was rising from the back of his throat. She, as carefree as the world, had the one thing that he wanted.

"No, no." She countered, shaking him out of the foul mood that was sinking through his skin. "You see, those are two different things. I'm coming back here because I have a familial obligation and it's a free room for a few days before I have to head out again. You, on the other hand willingly bring yourself to walk around in the dead of the night so you could experience 'peace and quiet.' Prompto. You may be a Crownsguard in training, but man, you're weird. Have you ever heard of earplugs? They work miracles on loud noises, and you'll get a lot more sleep that way 'cause y'know, you're not up and about in the dead of the night."

Any chance Prompto had to reply was cut short as she floated off to play with more invisible fish in the impossibly dark water. Prompto didn't really have much of an answer to her question. He could have easily found the quiet he wanted in other ways, but he chose to seek the water as if it was the only place that mattered to him. Perhaps it was that magnetic draw to it that eventually brought him to her.

How sorely he wished he had his camera to catch the stars as they flickered in the night sky while she laughed and sang songs he had only briefly heard in snippets while browsing radio stations.

The rest of the night, he sat at the edge of the pier, feet numb and dipped into the water, watching as she swam around, laughing and talking to her fishy friends. The part of him which thought it was all an illusion at first became the part of him that yearned for her to talk to him and not her silent, swimming friends.

By the time the night waned and Prompto got himself to bed, he refused to open his windows. The sound of waves that night were too loud with the sound of free will and singing fish.

~~

In the morning, at his front doorstep. His shoes and a bright pink sticky note with a message scrawled on it:

Goofball, you left your shoes at the end of the pier. At least the grannies here were nice enough to point me in the direction of your place. You're lucky I'm not your shoe size because I would have made these mine if I could.

The place her name should have been was smudged and illegible. His shoes had been spitefully filled with sand and he couldn't help but laugh at her petty nature. Six, I should have asked for her name...

The rest of his day, the whole scenario of their conversation haunted him. The scrap of paper with her written note burned in his pocket and he found himself constantly fidgeting with it. He found himself forgetting most of what he was supposed to be training for and ending up with more bruises that day than he cared to talk about. Not that there were a lot of people he could talk to about them in the first place.

By the end of his scheduled day, out of sheer frustration and impulse, the weightless note became an unbearable burden to him and he threw it in the garbage.

He destroyed the one and only memento he had from a conversation with a water goddess. Though the object itself was temporal, the memory of her moon drenched figure lived forever in Prompto's mind. And he would chase that image forever move with his camera in hand.

Prompto Argentum lived on borrowed time and makeshift memories. However, he'd now count the pictures he's taken and they would more than make up for the lost time that wasn't his.