#just wondering if sometimes the old emperor in himself would come back from time to time

[k-tarotz]

i’m wondering how ni-ki views iroha from illit? thanks!🤍

this one actually feels refreshing

two of wands, ace of swords reversed, the emperor, ten of wands reversed, eight of swords reversed

okay so please know I am being as nice about this as I can be. I do not have ill intentions, and Ni-Ki’s energy is quite laid back as well, not serious or mean, I am just a straightforward person that says it as it is. so please do not misunderstand me. 🫡

so, I genuinely do not keep up with illit so I do not know how old this lady is, but he seems to view her as a child. someone childish, in need of some growth. not that he looks down on her at all, but it’s that he recognises some patterns in her behaviour that teenagers usually do? though, he might view her behaviour as younger than her age. - I would tell you, but like.. I don’t know her age. Like 2-3 years younger? -

but like, there isn’t anything malicious in his energy. it’s just like when you grow up and realise how oblivious you were to the adults around you when you were a kid, you know?

although I do think he views her in a mostly positive light, I will tell the more negative aspect of his view because I like giving honest readings even if some people might not like the reading itself!

he wants to like her, he can’t. - in a platonic manner. his higherself is just highlighting this. -

although he views her as a bright, sweet and cute kid, he also views her as two faced. not based off of nothing though!

he knows her idol personality vs her idol personality, and he seems to view it as polar opposites. so if her fans like her, they are kind of deceived without knowing much of who she actually is behind cam.

ni-ki seems like the kind of person who has strong boundaries, but is always himself, even when it comes to showing who he is at cam. even when it comes to his idol image. in his eyes, if people misunderstand the kind of person he is it’s on them, it just means they are very different from him.

he is an observant person, so he noticed how was her behaviour can change at times. it’s not that he is hung up on this or that he is being ill towards her in this, it’s just that he could have a personal bias towards people like this because of his own experience! it’s the feeling of ‘oh, that reminds me of ____’, so there is a negative feeling based on association, but he doesn’t hate or dislike her, he knows it would be ridiculous to behave like that lol. his energy seems more to be cautious. he seems like a guy who tends to overthink things and be in his head a lot, won’t lie. - ironically this is bc of engenes. -

on another note, I do believe he has over seen her pretend to be sad or ‘a victim’ towards her members just to get attention even though she was completely fine. - his words not mine, don’t shoot the messenger!!! - I think he views this behaviour as childish, immature and overall disrespectful to the other person’s time.

his mentality seems like ‘I wouldn’t do that, so if someone does that there has got to be something bad about them.’ this boy overall seems to have a lot of trust issues that sometimes hold him back from accepting people for who they are. it’s like he constantly subconsciously looks for the bad in people in order to see if it’s worth his time? weighting pros and cons, regardless if he plans to befriend them or not. this could come from his own mental health issues to be honest, so if he sees anyone posses qualities he once had that he hates there is an immediate discomfort and dislike created in him. if someone tries too hard for attention he doesn’t like it because he simply thinks its dishonest. as a kid he might have been dishonest but he reflected and grew out of that.. so when he oversees her pretending to be sad just to occupy some of her members time and attention he could just view her as kind of putting on an act? I am trying to be respectful about this but to be honest he views it as incredibly fake.

regardless, the pros out weight the cons! because even if he sees the negative in people he sees the positive as well, his view isn’t black and white. he looks at her as a sweet, bright, pretty, hardworking and kind person.

perhaps he seems to like how nice she is to her fans? there is this desire to be as considerate or thoughtful as her, to connect with fans as easily as she does. he doesn’t seem envious at all, rather motivated to take steps forward to becoming kinder or more interactive with his own fans as well!

It’s just that he wishes to see more of those positive traits if that makes sense!

this view seems to be made all based on sudden encounters in the work place, not direct interactions! They don’t seem to be close at all to be honest with you here.

that’s all! and with this being said I don’t hate this girl at all, I don’t know her. her energy seems really kind, gentle and youthful! I also do not hate ni-ki either, I have seen this boy grow up and I would never suddenly send any hate to him looking at how much people love to do that. I just gave a honest reading is all.

sometimes people are not compatible at all personality wise even if they do respect each other sincerely. and that’s okay! my words could have just made this seems heavier than it is, his view doesn’t seem to be deep rooted 🫶🏻

– Candy

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 🥀 Exes Fic Rec

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

🥀 Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo {E, 114k}

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

🥀 And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 109k}

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

🥀 somewhere in between lightning  by jassy117, @nauticalleeds, shiningdistractionwrites / @shiningdistraction {E, 99k}

As Louis took another bite, he thought back to how he had once believed that the hardest thing about being on Love Island would be Liam handling his social media.  He had been wrong. It was Harry Styles, peeking over at Louis as he forked a pancake into his mouth, and gauging his reaction. It was having to quench the swelling of his heart, which felt simultaneously like hope and the breaking of a thousand pieces.

A summer gone wrong (or very right) when, under Liam’s persuasion, Louis finds himself drunkenly applying for Love Island, and getting accepted. Oh, well. A summer spent on an island paradise couldn’t be all that bad, right?

Imagine his surprise when Louis arrives in sunny Majorca to find that his first love and ex-boyfriend, Harry, is another contestant, about to capture the hearts of everyone in the villa. Most normal people don’t have to face their ex on an otherwise straight TV show. Most normal people don’t fall for their ex again in front of the whole nation, either. Too bad this whole situation isn’t normal.

🥀 Emperor’s New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships {E, 92k}

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

🥀 Consequences by @allwaswell16 {E, 78k}

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

🥀 your memory over me by @shimmeringevil {E, 64k}

Three years have passed since Louis last saw him, but all it took was a few minutes in Harry’s presence for him to be relegated to the desperate twenty-one year old that was practically begging his boyfriend for an ounce of reassurance that he still cared about him.

Harry shouldn’t be here. He’s brought too many unresolved feelings with him, that Louis thought he’d never have to face.

It’s Harry’s apparent apathy that’s the most difficult to come to terms with. Anger, he could handle. Regret, he would welcome. But Harry’s amiability, and carefree demeanor can only be born from indifference.

He’s moved on. He doesn’t care. And that is something Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be strong enough to face.

OR - The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

🥀 Feels Like Coming Home by @phdmama {E, 60k}

The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

🥀 The Second Hand Unwinds by @kingsofeverything {E, 51k}

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

🥀 The End Should Be A Good One by bananasandboots / @anylessreal {M, 43k}

It doesn't feel like falling in love, the way it had felt the first time around, easy, simple, almost like floating, wrapped up in a whirlwind of touches and kisses, late nights spent laughing breathlessly into each other's skin. This feels broken, complicated, like every move carries the weight of their past. Like the floorboards beneath them could collapse at any moment. This doesn't feel good.

Or, the one where Harry loses the love of his life on New Years Eve and finds him again, six months later, ready to open some poorly-stitched wounds.

🥀 Sometimes You Just Know by @2tiedships2 {M, 33k}

“Dear diary. Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why...”

“What are you doing?” Louis mumbled as he bit into a piece of toast.

“It’s been almost two years and today Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson reunite. Louis is very excited about…”

Louis’ chair screeched along the kitchen floor as he flew up out of his seat, quickly grabbing the paper from Niall’s grasp. As he scanned the page he found it amounted to lines of nothing.

“What is this?” Louis asked again. “We’ve discussed how Harry Styles will never be spoken of in this flat. I don’t care how long it’s been.”

Niall snatched the paper from Louis and proceeded to draw a line across the page before writing.

“Today is the day that he-who-shall-not-be-named is coming to dinner.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis don’t believe in soulmates… until they do.

🥀 like a timebomb ticking by @infinitelymint {M, 31k}

Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

🥀 Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 29k}

Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rouge ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

🥀 Get Out Of My Head (and I'll get out of yours) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter {E, 29k}

“You really that desperate, are you?” Despite it being a shitty thing to say, Harry didn’t mind too much, as the bitterness in Louis’ tone sounded like music to Harry’s ears. Harry was winning tonight. “Can’t find anyone new to be interested in you, so you try to hit on Zayn.”

“I can’t find someone interested in me?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re having a laugh, mate.”

“Yeah, well, where are they, then? Because from what I’ve heard, you’re here alone.”

“As if I’d bring anyone to somewhere I knew you’d be. I wouldn’t wish your presence on my worst enemy.”

“Aw,” Louis cooed in a way that made Harry want to slap him. “You’re saying I’m not your worst enemy?”

“For someone to be an enemy, you have to give a shit about them. So, no. You’re not even on the list.”

“Oh–kay. Well, it’s been lovely as always, gents,” Zayn said before knocking back the rest of his drink.

Or the one for the Bottom Harry Fic Fest where Harry bottoming is more of a side plot, because angst got in the way--but it doesn't really matter because the fest stopped existing when I was halfthrough.

🥀 some things fade (some never do) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed {T, 25k}

Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

Three years after their break up, Harry calls.

🥀 Might've Took The Long Way by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove {M, 21k}

It's been two years since Harry and Louis broke up. They were that couple in high school -- you know the one; been together forever, hopelessly in love, all over each other, the whole nine yards. Even when Louis went off to university, they found a way to make the distance work.

Until they broke up.

Now Harry is back in town, and no matter how many times Louis tells himself they can't be together, they keep falling right back into each other.

“They got a name?” Bebe asks.

“What?”

“Your ghosts,” she says, her voice suddenly soft. “If you want to tell me, I mean. I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but. Sometimes it can help to exorcise them.” She pauses, and chuckles. “Other times, vodka works better than sage.”

Louis holds his breath for a moment, building the courage, before he finally murmurs, “Harry.”

“Sorry?”

“Harry,” Louis says again. The name feels like a time bomb in his mouth, but it hasn’t blown up yet. “His name was -- is -- Harry.”

🥀 lost in my head by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf {E, 12k}

Louis had been, until about a year prior, the love of Harry’s life.

🥀 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry {T, 11k}

Harry met Louis in college and fell in love with him in record time. Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

What happens when they run into each other at a bar three years after breaking up?

🥀 give me things to stay awake by embodied {E, 10k}

It’s shitty and it’s counterproductive and it’s self-indulgent, but he lets it become a thing. On Saturday nights Harry goes out and gets so pissed he can’t stand, and when the bartender cuts him off he rings Louis and is in his car within an hour. It’s not a cycle he’s proud of, but it’s also something he can’t resist, and he keeps doing it as long as Louis keeps showing up.   AU. It's been a year since Louis broke up with Harry.

🥀 Now That It's Over by @lululawrence {NR, 8k}

“What are the odds we would both be at Mariano’s on a Thursday night?”

Louis’ shoulders tensed. What the hell was he doing here?

“Harry? Hi? The odds are pretty crazy, yeah.”

Harry smiled down at Louis the way he used to, but there was also a glint in his eye that Louis absolutely did not like. Harry was also dressed in his favorite black and white striped women’s jeans and a printed shirt only he would ever be able to pull off. It was quite rude of him to come and interrupt Louis, particularly while looking so good. Louis hadn’t seen him since he’d finished moving his shit out of what was once their shared flat, so this being the first time seeing him wasn’t exactly providence in Louis’ mind.

Or the one where Harry and Louis broke up two months ago, and Harry just might be sabotaging Louis' dates.

🥀 Unspoken by Speechless / @smokingluckiesalltheway {E, 5k}

Harry and Louis broke up when they were nineteen. They see each other after six years.

"I'm not going to be the guy you fuck on the side while you settle down with your blonde wife." Maybe it's the way he phrased it, something about what Louis has just said tears a small laugh out of him. "I don't want that." Harry says, serious again. There is no reason for him to keep on holding onto Louis' scarf like this, but he does. "The last time I saw you I thought we would fix it." Louis' the one laughing this time, his vision blurry. "The last time you saw me was right before you got on a train and fucked off." "And I thought we would fix it." Harry repeats, his voice shot. "I thought you'd come."

🥀 Not yet a breach, but an expansion by theweightofmywords / @lil0 {NR, 2k}

“I don’t understand why we keep running into each other,” he says as his hands grip his hair in frustration.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he scoffs. “You know why, Harry."

Fate, it seems, still holds their lives in her ceaseless orbit.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Little Prince

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: Little Prince

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Steve may have joined the Emperor's Coven as a loyal scout, but as far as he's concerned, today, his most important role is acting as big brother to a sad little boy far too young for his station. The Golden Guard has the best day ever with Big Brother Steve — he tries ice scream for the first time, takes home a life-long friend in the form of a little pink frog, and falls a little bit in love with a cute plant witch he meets at the park.

"I can't do magic," Hunter admits in a small, sheepish voice. "I'm just…half a witch." He stares a hard line into the sandy soil, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing, the scoff of disgust, the pitying frown — all the things his uncle warned him would happen if he ever told anyone his terrible secret. But there's something about Willow that makes him want to trust her, want to tell her everything. "That's okay," Willow says brightly, and Hunter's head snaps up to see her staring at him with a kind, patient smile. "You don't have to jump if you don't want to…but if you do, I'll protect you." So he jumps, and he trusts, and when he flies through the air, he lands— not on the hard, unforgiving ground, but on a soft, springy flower the color of the setting sun. When he looks up, Willow is smiling at him, bright green eyes the color of mint sprigs and wild frogs he's seen jumping around the castle grounds on the rare occasions he'd snuck out to play, freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose like brown sugar cinnamon, a little patch of dirt on her cheek, and Hunter falls a little bit in love.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Steve joins the Emperor's Coven fresh out of Hexside. It's an honor and a privilege — or at least, it's supposed to be. Just like how everyone who joins is supposed to be at least graduating age. But Hunter, little Golden Guard in training, is only six years old. 

Little Prince, they call him — usually in snide, sneering tones, jealous that a mere child outranks them. Supposedly the Emperor's nephew, just like the last one, and the one before that. (Exactly how many nephews can one person have? And whatever happened to the last Golden Guard? Steve is new, so he doesn't know, and he learns very quickly not to ask questions about it.)

He's standing guard outside the entrance to the castle one day, when this little boy comes limping and wincing up to the gates, covered in cuts and bruises from a long day of basic training. Steve remembers his trials well — the duels, the mazes with the traps, that time he and a bunch of other recruits got left alone on top of a mountain to test their survival skills and see who made it back to the bottom alive — shuddering at the not-so-distant memory. But Steve is an adult. Did the Emperor really expect a child to be able to handle all of that?

Steve can tell he's trying to put on a brave face, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes like he's trying not to cry. In that moment, Hunter reminds him so much of his little brother Matty, and Steve's heart aches with how much he misses his family. He knew being part of the Emperor's Coven would take up a decent portion of his time, but he assumed he'd at least have weekends off to go visit them — instead he's stuck swapping favors and taking on extra guard duty just to ensure his one day off coincides with Matty's birthday. He knows this is a great opportunity, but sometimes Steve wonders whether he should've joined the Tiny Cat Coven with Severine when he'd had the chance. 

It's just…harder than he thought it would be. Lonelier. Steve can't even imagine how lonely Hunter must feel, locked away in the tower of that drafty old castle, no one to talk to, no kids his own age to play with, day after day spent training and studying and adhering to a rigid routine. That's no kind of life for a kid to lead. Especially when he shows up after a long day of training looking like this.

This little boy, so very like his baby brother, approaches Steve with his tiny little coven scout mask clutched in the palms of his grass-stained hands, crosshatched cuts across his elbows and muddy knees, and asks if Steve could take him to the head of the healing coven, but please don't tell his uncle, because Belos will get mad if he finds out he's taking the easy way out. He calls Steve sir, and Steve's heart breaks. (And of course, because life is just a little extra cruel to this poor little boy, today just so happens to be the healing coven head's one day off.)

Steve glances around to make sure no one will see him leave his post, and then tells Hunter to come with him — he'll patch him up, he knows some good healing spells. Hunter sniffles and says, thank you Mr. Steve, tentatively taking the hand Steve offers him. When they enter his room, Steve sits him down on the edge of his bed and takes out his first aid kit, kneeling on the floor in front of him and asking Hunter to point to each spot that hurts. Turns out, there's a lot of them.

"The mountain?" Steve hazards a guess as he picks pine needles out of Hunter's hair, hoping like hell he's wrong. Because surely, no one in their right mind would send a child to the top of a mountain and expect them to fend for themselves. The Emperor is a good and kind man, not some heartless monster…right?

Hunter nods solemnly. "The mountain," he says in a small, scared voice.

"Of course," Steve heaves a weary sigh, lip curling in bitter resentment. "Classic."

He doesn't trust himself to comment any further on the subject, worried he might speak out of turn and get himself into trouble, so he sets about tending to Hunter's injuries, offering him words of comfort and commendation in between humming a soothing, tuneless melody.

Hunter is very brave while Steve cleans and covers his cuts, fixes his broken nose and bruised ribs with a spell he's performed countless times — Matty always was a bit of a troublemaker — and patches up the tears and scorch marks in his uniform. Steve tells him as much, and Hunter puffs out his chest and insists that he has to be, because Belos needs him to be a good fighter, a good protector. It's the only way to earn the coveted title of The Golden Guard.

"Did I—" Hunter falters, lower lip quivering as he glances up at Steve with a solace-seeking expression in his wide, hopeful eyes. "Did I do okay today? D'you…do you think Belos will be proud?"

Tears sting the corners of Steve's eyes as he looks up from where he's kneeling, surrounded by half-emptied bottles of healing potions and bloodied gauze, plastering on more bandages than years this kid has been alive, and reassures him, with all the warmth and pride he can muster, "You did amazing, little buddy."

A tentative smile breaks out across Hunter's face, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly, so eager to be told he's doing a good job.

Nothing about this sits well with Steve, but he's new, a bottom-of-the-barrel coven scout — what could he possibly do? Aside from sit there, tending to this little boy's injuries, keeping him distracted with funny stories about all the mayhem Matty used to get up to back when Steve still lived at home. 

He tells Hunter about the time Matty picked a fight with the neighbor's kneazle and nearly lost an eye, the time he thought he could fly if he just flapped his arms hard enough and jumped from a high enough branch, the time he threw a pebble at a fire-bee hive and ended up with second-degree burns for weeks — how, after so many mishaps, Steve began to suspect that he did it on purpose, because he knew that Steve would take him out for ice scream every time.

"I've never had ice scream," Hunter admits in a small, awed voice. And that, somehow, is the final straw. 

"Well, that changes today," Steve decides, making up his mind right then and there to smuggle Hunter out of the castle so that he can at least pretend to be a normal kid for a few hours, consequences be damned. 

• • •

Hunter's eyes are the size of the moon as he presses his face up against the glass and peers in at all the flavors, letting out an audible gasp when the shop owner gives him a little sampler spoon with a generous serving of today's special, and informs him that he's welcome to try as many flavors as he'd like until he finds his favorite. In the end, he chooses the strangest combination of flavors — two scoops bubblegum, one scoop chocolate peanut butter, topped with rainbow sprinkles sitting mile-high on a wobbling waffle cone — but Hunter seems to love it, so that's all that matters.

They take the scenic route, strolling through a nearby park as Hunter happily devours his ice scream, thanking Steve for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, when he stops short, staring at a group of kids, laughing and chasing each other around the playground in a game of tag.

"Hey," Steve says, gently nudging Hunter's shoulder. "Why don't you go over and introduce yourself?"

"Oh, I— I shouldn't," Hunter stammers, tearing his eyes away from the group of giggling kids. "Belos doesn't want me talking to anyone outside of the castle."

"I'm sure he just doesn't want you talking to strangers," Steve reasons, shaking off the gnawing concern in the pit of his stomach. "But I think it's about time you made some friends your own age." He settles down on a park bench across from the sand pit, and gives Hunter an encouraging smile. "I'll be right here keeping a close watch the whole time."

Hunter returns his smile with a tentative one of his own, and then spins on his heel, taking off in the direction of the swing set, inexplicably drawn to the person sitting astride them — a little girl maybe a year or so his junior, wild dark hair set into two short braids on either side of her shoulders, bright green eyes framed by a pair of big, round-rimmed glasses. Hunter walks up to her, adopting an air of confidence that most certainly doesn't match how he feels on the inside, and asks if he can join her.

"Sure!" she says, digging her heels into the soil to allow him to pass in front of her and take a seat on the swing next to her. Introduces herself, sending shock waves up the length of his arm as she enthusiastically shakes his hand. 

Willow.

"Hunter," he replies softly, heart skipping a beat when she smiles at him.

"I like your hair," she tells him, gaze following the flick and curl of that one stubborn lock that always seems to fall in front of his eyes. "It looks really soft."

Without thinking, Hunter leans his head forward in invitation, and Willow runs her hands through his hair, giggling and cooing, "Oooh, so soft."

Hunter likes the feeling of Willow's hands carding through his hair. It feels nice. She's so gentle, and her hands are so soft and warm. Willow also doesn't think that the space between his front teeth looks silly or stupid. She thinks it's cool that he can whistle through them.

Willow can swing higher than Hunter can, and when she jumps off at the highest point, Hunter is afraid that she'll get hurt — but Willow simply twirls her finger in mid-air, producing a soft, plushy bed of flowers to cushion her landing. Hunter stares at her in awe, swing coming to a jarring halt.

"Okay, now it's your turn!" she says, spinning around to face him with a cheery smile on her sun-kissed cheeks. "Let's see how far you can jump."

"I—" Hunter falters, kicking at the ground with the tips of his boots. 

"I can't do magic," he admits in a small, sheepish voice. "I'm just…half a witch."

He stares a hard line into the sandy soil, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing, the scoff of disgust, the pitying frown — all the things his uncle warned him would happen if he ever told anyone his terrible secret. But there's something about Willow that makes him want to trust her, want to tell her everything.

"That's okay," she says brightly, and Hunter's head snaps up to see her staring at him with a kind, patient smile. "You don't have to jump if you don't want to…but if you do, I'll protect you."

So he jumps, and he trusts, and when he flies through the air, he lands— not on the hard, unforgiving ground, but on a soft, springy flower the color of the setting sun. When he looks up, Willow is smiling at him, bright green eyes the color of mint sprigs and wild frogs he's seen jumping around the castle grounds on the rare occasions he'd snuck out to play, freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose like brown sugar cinnamon, a little patch of dirt on her cheek, and Hunter falls a little bit in love.

He tells Steve all about her on their walk back to the castle, trying to find a more eloquent way to describe the color of her eyes, beaming up at Steve when he suggests emeralds as an apt comparison. They make their way through the bustling streets of Bonesborough, passing by an array of little shops selling trinkets and toys, and Hunter pauses mid-sentence to stop and stare at one in particular — a little pink frog dressed in a dark green hat and aviator goggles.

It's an odd sort of creature, but Hunter seems very taken by it, so Steve buys it for him, smiling as Hunter stammers his thanks, big misty eyes staring up at him in awe as he clutches the little frog to his chest. In the years that come to pass, Hunter keeps it safely tucked away underneath his pillow — a reminder that there are still soft things and kind people in the world. Hunter is glad he has big brother Steve looking out for him. Now he doesn't feel quite so alone in that big, cold castle.

Elements of this story were inspired by art by soldrawss

[apothecaryau]

Apothecary Dust Design

Here's Dust's design for the Apothecary Nightmare AU. There is one thing about his design that I might change and will talk more about it in a second. So enjoy his design so far. I was looking for the creator of Dusttale to give credit to them and I've found a few different names. IDK which one to use so I'll just put the three that came up in my search. Evan Strewblow, Osteophile, and Ask-DustTale.

Dust is the shortest concubine in the group, standing at 5' 2" and is 22 years of age. He was one of the princes to the Soul Flurry Empire. A empire located close to the snowy mountains that also had a strong belief of communicating with the spirits in the afterlife. This empire always had a bunch of snow and some years they would also have very little food. Everyone there was happy with what they had. Dust continues to wear his crown from his empire to remember what remained of his home and family.

The makeup I gave Dust I'm thinking of changing it. From either changing the design or the colors. I don't fully know at the moment and I'm gonna play around with the colors more later.

Dust has a lot of magic while his body is very weak. This results in him getting sick alot more often. Growing up he was always bedridden. With his brother to help care for him on the worst days of the year. One day when Dust was 15 years of age a neighboring empire attacked and destroyed his empire. Only him and a few citizens remaining as they had managed to hide away and they left him alone thinking he'd pass away from his sickness. also not knowing that he was royalty. Once he was better he took the see through fabric scarf his brother use to wear, his crown, and small makeup stash. Took the ones that remained of his empire and left. Eventually making it to the X-Empire and begging and even offering himself up to become a concubine to have his remining people saved. Cross took his offer and started to show him around. Introducing him to Horror and working on getting to know the other. He also causes the least worry for his ladies in waiting... when he isn't sick.

Despite Dust being fairly quiet he can have a bit of a temper on him. From frustrations of how he couldn't save his home and family in the past. To frustrations over his own weak body. With all the magic he has he is able to summon many different types of weapons at the same time in battle. Earning him the title of Weapon Master concubine.

At night he follows his empire's teachings and tries his best to communicate with the afterlife like others in his empire before bed. Because of how sickly he can sometimes become from Cross and Horror would check up on him some mornings if he isn't up to help care for him.

Eventually Killer joins the empire and he finds the other annoying but also finds enjoyment in Killer's antics. With all the energy he has, and how he rarely ever holds his tongue from making rude, suggestive, or other types of comments in front of others. Unless it's the emperor, Killer at least knows to hold himself back and bite his tongue when it comes to Gash (The nickname I'm giving XGaster). Sometimes even joining in to get a good laugh every now and then. He loves both Mo and Arch. Wishing to also have a child of his own. Eventually.

Then Nightmare comes along. After saving Mo and Arch he helps Cross in learning more about the new skeleton, along with subtly preparing him for the position as the next concubine one day. He's especially trying to figure out who put the heavy restrains on his body. As he can tell that they are also restraining his magic back. He wonders which empire was cruel enough to put that on him. Especially as he doesn't know how many empires have those. It frustrates him even more after learning how old Nightmare was when the restrains were put on him.

... I'm going to possibly be making a mini comic showing Dust's frustration and anger at learning how old Nightmare was when the heavy restrains were put on him.

[ominouslywritinginmyhead]

@anonimusunnoaniswriting pls enjoy :)

Part 2 of whatever this is

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader; fluff, hurt/comfort, feudal au

wc: 1.4k

The night sky is clear, and the moon is full and bright.

You run a finger over the folding fan in your hands, recalling the place that inspired the scenes depicted on the delicate paper. A brilliant spring morning, the soft pink cherry blossom petals falling like rain, creating a beaded carpet over the path that leads to the inner palace. At the heart of the court, the Emperor himself, still a little boy. Surrounding him, the great men of the court. Behind them, his father. Your kinsman.

The misty mountains and hills you remember so vividly almost seep out of the paper and form real structures before your eyes. It’s almost as though you’re back at court, your whole life ahead of you after nearly ten years away.

Tracing the inky hills, you sigh and return the fan to the box you took it from, along with a dozen other odds and ends from your old life.

Does the fan recognise your touch? Or does it wonder whose rough hands are carrying it instead of the soft ones that held it so often until this spring?

Sometimes, when you look at your hands, you yourself have trouble recognising what’s right in front of your eyes. There are calluses on your fingers and you sleep dreamlessly every night. Instead of pen and paper, you hold pots and tools. You walk through the vegetable garden every day and work with Hana to bargain at the market. You carry water from the well and cook your own meals. You wake up to faded shoji screens instead of rich tapestries and wall hangings.

And you regret none of it.

The stars above you twinkle in agreement, and the moon casts its silvery glow over your small estate, protecting it from the darkness the court thought they cast you into.

What they didn’t know was that they granted you true freedom.

Your husband stands in the garden, cheeks still flushed from his hot bath. He gazes at the brilliant night sky, his face brooding. As it almost always is.

“Danna-sama,” you call out, rubbing your arms as the wind seeps into your chambers, “it’s getting cold. You should come back inside.”

He turns, and for a moment you swear you can see tears in the corners of his eyes. “Yes,” he sighs. “I suppose you’re right.” He returns indoors, sliding the screen door closed behind him, shutting out the beauty and chill of the outside world.

“You look tired,” you remark as he heads to the futon. “Were the bears difficult to manage?”

“Difficult enough.” Your husband was never a man of many words. That has always been your prerogative. “Lord Oikawa likes an entertaining hunt.”

“He does,” you giggle. Your favourite cousin has been this way for as long as you’ve known him. You’re fortunate to have him living close by. Or rather, you’re fortunate he agreed to take you and your husband under his wing.

Exile is hard enough without every lord shunning you from their lands. You and your husband would have travelled to the far north had Lord Oikawa’s messenger not caught up with you in time. This province is far better than whatever was waiting for you out there.

You join your husband at the futons. His shoulders are stiffer than rocks. “Is everything all right?” You ask him.

“What? Oh yes, everything’s fine.” He gives you a small grin, but you lived at court long enough to recognise a false smile when you see it. There’s little that escapes your notice these days.

You know that it takes your husband much longer to fall asleep than is normal. You know that he avoids your eyes more often than not on hard days. You know that his face burned with shame the first time you sold your belongings for money.

“Danna-sama,” you begin softly, “you’d tell me if something was the matter, wouldn’t you?”

He looks away, and you realise that you weren’t just imagining those tears.

And you know why they came.

This is the life you’ve chosen. This is the life that makes you happy. How can you convince your husband that everything the two of you have sacrificed is worth it so long as you have each other? You don’t care about the riches of the court. You don’t care about poetry gatherings and meeting courtiers. You can live without all that.

But you can’t live without Iwaizumi Hajime, the brave and kind soldier you fell in love with in the darkest days of winter.

And you need him to remember that.

You take his hands in yours. Not too long ago, you marvelled at how different his felt compared to yours. Now, your palms are just as rough as his.

Hajime eases into your touch as he always has, his shoulders sagging and his eyes closing in pleasure. You lace your fingers through his - he squeezes your hand and leans in to rest his head on your shoulder, your name a longing sigh passing his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I never wanted it to come to this.”

“Come to what?” You ask.

“I thought I could give you the life you deserved,” he admits, his voice hoarse. “This…this house, this province…it’s all my fault. I should never have pursued you. I should have left it where it was. Left us where we were back then.”

“No,” you say firmly, leaning back and cupping his face in your hands. You won’t stand for it. “Danna—Hajime-sama, I chose to marry you. If you’re at fault, so am I.

“I followed you to the cherry blossom trees in the spring. I asked you to come to my chambers. I found people willing to help us. I knew what I was getting into when I married you, and I don’t regret any of it.”

“You weren’t meant to do all this,” he says desperately. “You were born a princess, raised as the saiō, and now you’re…you’re…”

“A peasant?” You say, giving words to what he must be thinking. “And what of it, my love? I feel like myself for the first time in years. I’m tired every night and I sleep deeper than I ever have in my entire life. I meet so many interesting people at the market every week, and I can see the fruits of my labour in the vegetable garden and the stores. Is anything wrong with that?”

“…no,” he admits.

You kiss him. His hands come to cover yours and he kisses you back, his lower lip trembling. You close your eyes and kiss him even harder, reminding him how much he means to you, and you to him. Your lips part as Hajime practically devours you, one hand going down to the small of your back and pulling you closer to his firm body.

You no longer have to watch out for courtiers or servants turning the corner. You no longer need to limit the time you spend with your own husband. You no longer need to hide your love.

This…this is freedom. This is what you were always meant to have.

“I love you,” you murmur against Hajime’s lips. “And if I had to choose between this life and the court, I would choose this one every time. No matter what.”

“Do…do you mean it?” He rasps. His other hand slides up your arm, gripping your shoulder tightly and pressing himself against you.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Never.”

“Then believe me when I say this life with you is all I want,” you urge, lips still brushing against his.

Hajime sighs in between kisses. He knows you won’t give in until he agrees. “I believe you,” he says eventually, and you smile.

When you finally let him go, he smiles back - a real one this time. “This is not an easy life,” he tells you, unusually talkative tonight. “But I trust you. I trust that you are strong and brave and kind, and that you will survive here.”

He’s right. You will survive. Together, you and Hajime will survive and build a better life than anyone could have ever dreamed of in the closed confines of the royal court.

The fragile little fan in your new home may no longer recognise who you are, but there are other things that do. The farming tools. The pots. The crates in which you store things you don’t need. The rough cloth sack you and Hana carry to the market.

Perhaps in time, the fan will come to see your true self as well.

[writingpaperghost]

That Boy

In some of Ken's hazy memories, there's another boy, with a Digimon of his own. If only Ken could remember him.

Offhand mention of The Beginning, but it's pretty vague.

This is pretty much just me trying to sort of... reconcile the kind of weird integration of the video game tie in stuff in 02. And mostly the fact that neither Ken nor Wormmon comment about the fact that there was someone else there in some of those memories. I tried to keep in roughly compliant with what we're shown in the anime and what happens in the games, but I'm not super familiar with the games, so it might be a bit off. Mostly I keep it vague, though.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65784211

Even after the defeat of MaloMyotismon, Ken's memories of his time as the Digimon Emperor, and even of the Digital World before that, remained hazy, if there at all. He thinks he met Wormmon in a forest, that would make sense, given Wormmon's insect appearance. Wormmon wasn't Wormmon at the time, of course, instead being Minomon. He remembered a vast and amazing world, even though he couldn't remember any specifics, that sense remained with him even now. It was all new, all so wonderful.

He wasn't there alone, there was someone else, another boy. He can't see his face or recall his name, but Ken thinks he might have known him before coming to the Digital World. He was a Digi Destined too, had been before Ken had become one. And things happened, he doesn't remember any of that, either. But he knew for sure... somehow, it was all connected to the day he was embedded with the Dark Spore, that the other boy was the one he was trying to protect that day.

That was... before Sam died, though. Was that all his one trip into the Digital World, when the Digivice had first appeared to Sam and him? It had to be before Sam died, because the next time that Ken had entered the Digital World, he'd found himself in the Dark Ocean and his Digivice had become a D3. Though Ken can't remember for sure, he knows somewhere deep inside of him that the Digivice he had at the time wasn't a D3. Had that whole adventure, with the boy he can't really recall, been that fateful day?

Then again, the older Digi Destined said that time in the Digital World was once much faster than in the real one. So maybe that whole adventure had happened in the short amount of time that had passed over here. Enough that no one would have known... if Ken hadn't so earnestly told Sam. He didn't regret telling Sam, the older he was, and as he talked with some who had younger siblings themselves, the more he at least understood where Sam had been coming from.

At the end of the day, they'd both been only children, and Ken was far past blaming himself for the accident. His wish had nothing to do with Sam's death, it couldn't have. Because it was nothing more than a wish.

The gaps in his memory had been troubling, at first. Especially when those circumstances and his past had been so important to trying to understand the plan of Oikawa - or rather Myotismon. As time passed, though, it bothered him less. The boy was still a haze, no name or face to him, just a presence, but the rest of that trip into the Digital World, and then his later sins as the Digimon Emperor, had come back to him. He tried not to let the latter get to him, even if there were moments when his remorse felt almost too strong to bare.

Sometimes, he'd ask Wormmon about his missing memories, and Wormmon would do his best to answer. Though Ken had yet to ask him directly, he seemed to dance around the other boy, trying to avoid even bringing him up. Ken should probably just ask him straight up, specify that he wanted to know more about his friend. Maybe it was guilt that stopped him. Another person who he might have hurt or disappointed, someone who he hadn't seen in years and could be upset by that.

It was only after meeting Lui Ohwada that Ken began to find the courage. As much as it had been necessary, Lui had reached out to an old friend, one who'd hurt him and he'd hurt, and they... talked it out. A happy ending, really. Maybe Ken wouldn't so lucky with that boy, if he could ever even see him again, but waiting around wouldn't help him. If anything, it would just make it more likely they'd never be able to reunite.

Leaning back, stretching as he took a break from his studies, he glanced over to Wormmon, curled happily on Ken's bed. The only person who knew what happened during that adventure, who knew anything about that boy... was Wormmon. Pushing his chair away from his desk, he stood up, walking over the bed.

"Wormmon?" he called, hoping that it was early enough in the evening Wormmon had yet to fall asleep.

He sees Wormmon lift his head up, "Yes, Ken?"

Ken brings himself to sit beside Wormmon, "There's... something I've been meaning to ask you. About the first time I went to the Digital World."

"Oh, we've talked about that a lot already... is there still something we haven't? I guess you wouldn't exactly know if I was forgetting something..." For a moment, Wormmon sounds troubled, before adding, "Or did you remember something?"

"It's more... there's something you never bring up, when you're telling me about that time, or helping me remember. Someone, who's never brought up." Ken tries to think of him. Anything hint of an identifiable trait... but still, he's met with nothing.

Wormmon tilted his head, "Someone?"

Looking down at Wormmon, Ken replied, "Yes, there was another boy with me, I remember him. Not much, but... who was he?"

He's met with silence, Wormmon staring at him curiously. He seemed in thought, too, like he was also trying to remember something. Finally, after several moments had passed, Wormmon said, "I thought I'd gotten confused."

"Confused?"

"About him being there. I... also don't remember who he was, or why he was there. I don't even know if I'd recognize him... but he had a Digimon, too." That matched what Ken recalled, not that he could quite remember what Digimon. But Wormmon couldn't remember the boy well either? He'd always assumed that there was something to do with the Dark Spore that was keeping him from remembering, but Wormmon wasn't effected by the Dark Spore.

"So... you don't remember him either?" When Wormmon nodded in agreement, Ken frowned. "So it's not because of the Dark Spore... I remember I'd been trying to protect him from the Dark Spore, but then... that day was the last time I'd saw him. Or at least, I never saw him after I left the Digital World, that I can recall."

Wormmon let out a nervous, troubled hum, "Oh... I wouldn't know if you saw him after you left, since I hadn't gone with you... but he'd helped me, I think, when you were recovering from being infected with the spore. For a while at least." Again, that troubled hum.

"Maybe he lives far away," Ken pondered, though it was really just an effort to distract himself from the more worrying details. If this boy was his friend, then why couldn't Ken remember seeing him in the real world? Or maybe... he had and Ken had driven him away, after Sam's death? If only he could remember a name, then he could ask his parents...

"Maybe," Wormmon agreed, still sounding nervous. "I wish I could remember more, but I guess my memories are messed up to, at least about him. I'm sorry, Ken."

A small smile came to Ken's face as he gently patted Wormmon's head, "It's alright, it's not your fault."

That seemed to alleviate some of Wormmon's tension, as he lets out a pleased sigh, "I hope that you remember the boy, one day. I think you could be friends again."

"I hope so too, Wormmon, I hope so too."

---

I wanted to put here some thoughts I have about why Ryo's presence in the flashbacks is never mentioned. While I don't really state it directly in the story, my thought is that the whole dimension traveling ends up... not necessarily erasing Ryo, but it makes it so no one, at least involved in the Digital World stuff, can really remember him. So Ken and Wormmon know he was there, knows he did things and that they knew him and Ken was his friend, but they can't remember what he looked like, really acted like, or what his name was.

[lucygriefer]

Apothecary Dust Design

Here's Dust's design for the Apothecary Nightmare AU. There is one thing about his design that I might change and will talk more about it in a second. So enjoy his design so far. I was looking for the creator of Dusttale to give credit to them and I've found a few different names. IDK which one to use so I'll just put the three that came up in my search. Evan Strewblow, Osteophile, and Ask-DustTale.

Dust is the shortest concubine in the group, standing at 5' 2" and is 22 years of age. He was one of the princes to the Soul Flurry Empire. A empire located close to the snowy mountains that also had a strong belief of communicating with the spirits in the afterlife. This empire always had a bunch of snow and some years they would also have very little food. Everyone there was happy with what they had. Dust continues to wear his crown from his empire to remember what remained of his home and family.

The makeup I gave Dust I'm thinking of changing it. From either changing the design or the colors. I don't fully know at the moment and I'm gonna play around with the colors more later.

Dust has a lot of magic while his body is very weak. This results in him getting sick alot more often. Growing up he was always bedridden. With his brother to help care for him on the worst days of the year. One day when Dust was 15 years of age a neighboring empire attacked and destroyed his empire. Only him and a few citizens remaining as they had managed to hide away and they left him alone thinking he'd pass away from his sickness. also not knowing that he was royalty. Once he was better he took the see through fabric scarf his brother use to wear, his crown, and small makeup stash. Took the ones that remained of his empire and left. Eventually making it to the X-Empire and begging and even offering himself up to become a concubine to have his remining people saved. Cross took his offer and started to show him around. Introducing him to Horror and working on getting to know the other. He also causes the least worry for his ladies in waiting... when he isn't sick.

Despite Dust being fairly quiet he can have a bit of a temper on him. From frustrations of how he couldn't save his home and family in the past. To frustrations over his own weak body. With all the magic he has he is able to summon many different types of weapons at the same time in battle. Earning him the title of Weapon Master concubine.

At night he follows his empire's teachings and tries his best to communicate with the afterlife like others in his empire before bed. Because of how sickly he can sometimes become from Cross and Horror would check up on him some mornings if he isn't up to help care for him.

Eventually Killer joins the empire and he finds the other annoying but also finds enjoyment in Killer's antics. With all the energy he has, and how he rarely ever holds his tongue from making rude, suggestive, or other types of comments in front of others. Unless it's the emperor, Killer at least knows to hold himself back and bite his tongue when it comes to Gash (The nickname I'm giving XGaster). Sometimes even joining in to get a good laugh every now and then. He loves both Mo and Arch. Wishing to also have a child of his own. Eventually.

Then Nightmare comes along. After saving Mo and Arch he helps Cross in learning more about the new skeleton, along with subtly preparing him for the position as the next concubine one day. He's especially trying to figure out who put the heavy restrains on his body. As he can tell that they are also restraining his magic back. He wonders which empire was cruel enough to put that on him. Especially as he doesn't know how many empires have those. It frustrates him even more after learning how old Nightmare was when the restrains were put on him.

... I'm going to possibly be making a mini comic showing Dust's frustration and anger at learning how old Nightmare was when the heavy restrains were put on him.

[brackenfrond]

So. Wondering about how Carver, in my BG3 playthrough, would feel about the companions and some NPCs and I took psychic damage. Naturally I have to share this.

Warning: spoilers for both DA2 and BG3

Because Lae'zel is forthright and an excellent fighter and he trusts that she'll watch his back and suddenly he remembers Aveline, always there to plant herself like a tree, to yell and snarl. Who he met single handedly fending off a swarm of darkspawn to protect the person she loved wholeheartedly.

Because Shadowheart is so devout, so fairhful in her goddess until she is asked to do the unthinkable and she can't. And he is so proud and for a second he sees Merril, of all people, clinging to her Dalish heritage, her religion. He heard about the elven gods being fake, and could see Merril's anguish in Shadowheart's stunned silence in the aftermath.

Because sometimes when he's half asleep he sees a flash of white hair and nearly hisses out an annoyed 'Fenris', until he remembers. Astarion is dissimilar to him in personality (Isabela, his mind screams. His personality is all Isabela) but everything else is too similar. Not just the white hair - the breaking of chains, the anger at his former captor, and the feeling of sudden emptiness when the job is done.

Because Gale grates on him purely because he is so much like Anders. Clever and quick, casting spells with efficiency and rambles about his interests in a way that reminds Carver of rants about mage equality. Sometimes he closes his eyes and sees a brught explosion and is too scared to examine that closely, wondering if he'll see the Chantry or his new mage friend at the epicentre.

Because Wyll is harder to place, but his prince charming demeanour brings to mind Sebastian, for as short a time as Carver really knew him. Because even with horns curling from his skull, from whatever hellish curse Mixora put on him, Wyll is good. And kind. And full of a desire to help people. And Carver can't examine that too hard, because it makes him think of Bethy, and someone else has already stolen her face.

Because Karlach is the hardest. She's boisterous and loud, bright smiles that can turn into pure, unbridled rage at injustice. Who when she can touch again asks him for a hug, and pats his shoulder and calls him 'soldier' and she is his sister. And Hawke is dead. Hawke walked into the Fade at Adamant and never came out and Karlach does not deserve to be compared to the woman who Carver still sort of hates while grieving her. Because Hawke was his sister and he loved her, but even after she was gone he was just 'her brother'.

Because the guardian, because The Emperor, had the gall to steal his twins face and he hates hates hates it for it. But he still cries when he thinks about the early dreams, of how he had called her name. Voice trembling, shaky, feeling like a five year old again. And she didn't know the name. Or it didn't know the name. It hurts Carver to think about it, and more than just in how to refer to the early dream visitor.

Because he sees the Tiefling refugees and is immediately transported back to Kirkwall, to being rejected over and over for being a refugee, and launches himself into helping them. He sees Isabela in Mol's cunning, argues with Rolan and finds himself warming to him as time goes by, his devotion to his younger siblings admirable. He snatches Arabella away from Kagha and had to be physically held back from attacking her because she's a child. The refugees echo him, in a way, and he mourns when her reaches Last Light and find out that soem are dead, others maybe good as.

Aylin and Isobel hurt. Because Aylin and Isobel make him think of brave, strong, powerful Hawke and small but no less terrifying Isabela, and that fucking hurts.

He punches Lorroakan in the face when he meets him. He feels vicious vindication when Aylin breaks his spine.

He hugs Shadowheart when all she has been put through comes to light, digs his hands into moonlight silver hair and prentends he doesn't feel her tremble.

He gives a soldier's salute to Lae'zel when she leaves to free her people, pride bubbling in his chest when she grins viciously in response, returning the salute.

He's proud of Gale for turning away from absolute power, from godhood, to make a name for himself away from gods who have only ever hurt him.

He stands at Astarion's side when he faces Cazador, snarling and ready to assist. He leads him away by the hand after everything, after he turns away ascendancy, and promises to find a way to let him walk in the sun after the tadpole is dealt with.

He hugs Wyll before he leaves for the hells, manages not to cry when he hugs him back.

He only avoids hugging Karlach because she is burning hot, hut vows to give her the biggest hug ever when he sees her again, because she deserves it.

He is welcomed at Sorcerous Sundries by the new master of Ramazoth's Tower and his two younger siblings, and nearly collapses into Rolan's arms. But he's smiling.

These are his people now. He'll see Mol grow to become a terrifying crime boss, and he'll hear Alfira sing her songs, hear her talk about Lakrissa, and he'll eventually meet Morena Dekarios and the famous Tara. He'll always mourn what he's lost.

But here. Far away from lands he knows, he finds a new family, a new home, and Carver Hawke gets a happy ending.

After all, he has always deserved that.

[ripeteeth]

fragments: 01 (wangxian)

[I'm clearing out my incomplete wips and posting fragments that might stand alone as a bit of an amnesty of old projects. This is the first of that series.]

“He was important to you,” his brother says, and Lan Wangji considers the trouble of language. Is, he thinks, not was. There is no end limit to love. Wei Wuxian may not exist in the world, but Lan Wangji still loves him, and someday, when he himself is gone, his love will still be true. It is a fundamental rule of the world, just as gravity keeps his feet on the ground.

There are moments when he forgets: when a dark figure passes through a crowd, at the first notes of a flute, at the flash of laughter bright as a forest fire. Each time, his breath stops, and his knuckles whiten as he forms a fist, digging the half-moons of his nails into his palms, reminding himself of this break between desire and truth: Wei Wuxian had died in the Burial Mounds and is no longer here. 

Some griefs are deeper than others. This one cuts like a fresh lash each time. 

He wakes each morning at five, his breath shallow. Sometimes he dreams of Wei Wuxian, sometimes he does not. When he sleeps deeply, he wakes briefly uncertain which reality is the truth. Did he wake from a dream of this loss? Each morning, he presses his palm against his own chest, feeling the ridges of the Wen brand, and knows that no, the proof is borne on his skin. In no world with Wei Wuxian did they share this. He likes the feeling of it now, the way the scar tissue on his chest and back bears proof of his devotion.

(He remembers a boy, age seventeen, caught in a cave and laughing at his own fresh branding. A man should get scars for love, Wei Wuxian had said, dark eyes glinting. Now she’ll never forget me. He wonders if, wherever Wei Wuxian is now, if he has forgotten him.) 

Habits prop up the days. When he passes a shop selling jars of Emperor’s Smile, he cannot resist buying one. Each time, for a few moments, he might pretend that he is buying it for Wei Wuxian. When he pries up the floorboard, concealing the jars within, he might imagine that someday the other man might be here, filling the room with hot laughter. You thought of me? Wei Wuxian would say, and Lan Wangji would feel warm. 

No one comes. Sometimes he pries up the floorboard and stares at the jars, little pieces of Wei Wuxian that he might have. Like a magpie, he steals pieces. The brand, the wine, robes he orders in black and red. As if Wei Wuxian were a lover away for a week, a month, a year, and just waiting to return home. 

[rated e (explicit) below the cut]

He has never known Wei Wuxian’s touch as a lover. (Once, he had fumbled and pressed his mouth to the other man’s, but that was taken. Wei Wuxian had not reached back, had not kissed back.)

His nightly habits have not changed since he was seventeen. Retiring to his rooms, he slips the robes from his body like a peel from a fruit. Inside, he’s ripe already. He bathes, efficiently and with purpose. It’s only once he is alone, settled into bed, concealed beneath blankets, that he allows one hand to wander south between his thighs. He is thirty now and has long since ceased trying to fight his own mind. What he wants is impossible, except in the corners of his imagination, so he fucks his own fist, teeth clenched, imagining that this skin is Wei Wuxian’s golden own, and that this slick is his beloved’s. Some information is known. Again, nightly, he remembers how Wei Wuxian had looked, blindfolded and leaning against a tree, how the sinew and muscle of his chest had pressed into Lan Wangji’s own. His lips had been wet and soft and when Lan Wangji had bitten in, he had moaned and his hips had stuttered, as if he might have wanted it. 

So he imagines this again. Wei Wuxian, disheveled, pressed sharply into a tree or a wall, rutting against Lan Wangji’s thigh, his hair wild and dark, like treebranches in winter. He would take that cock in hand, redder and fat with blood, (like his own, now. In his mind, his cock is both his own and not his own. In his mind, his hands are both his own and Wei Wuxian’s.) and stroke them together until Wei Wuxian would shudder and break apart, all for him, here in the palm of his hand. 

He comes, spilling across his own sword-rough palm. His eyes squeezed shut, his breathing is his own and not his own. Again, as he has done each and every night, he drags his come-covered hand out from beneath the sheets. Self-abuse is forbidden in Cloud Recesses, and there is nowhere to wipe this, nowhere to wash it off, without potentially being discovered, so he drags his palm across his tongue, swallowing the spill of himself down.

The taste is his own, and not his own.

He sleeps alone. This is not new. It never has been.

[forcenexus]

THE THREAT WAS LIKE ANY OTHER HE HAD SPOKEN, simple and to the point. Back in the heyday of the Republic before it fell, he may have been bold enough to push his cockiness on his enemies. General Grievous had gotten then blunt side of his mouth, much to Obi Wan's dismay. That cockiness always seemed to muster its way up and split out. A Hero without Fear, maybe he was still that. The years had not been kind to him. No, he had found himself drinking into a stupor that had him stumbling around his main quarters shouting why him into the air. Well, until Qui Gon made himself know one night and had him falling straight on his rear end in shock, seeing his old master as plain as day.

Leading the way, Anakin was careful not to venture too close to the wire traps and the camera's that were concealed in the sand. One wrong move, and it could early take a foot or a leg. Dancing around it, he found himself near the entrance and went down the stairs to the lower level where the kitchen was and the dining area. There was no common room. The dining room where the younglings met would do or the kitchen while he brewed some tea leaves the villager gave him recently. Finding himself in the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder.

The kitchen was just as broken down as the rest of the abode he made into his home over the year. It was far from the comparison of the Jedi Temple he called home so many years ago. He missed it sometimes. The rush of battle, to be the famed hero he had once been - only for him to be an exiled hermit. Long time ago was those days. He was no longer the Jedi that he wished to be at times. Jinn had said he was something more now. He was more in tuned with the balance than before.

He could feel his saber in his sleeve, hidden in the fabric where he made a place for it to sit without harming him in any way. Anakin was smart. Sometimes too much. He used all his Jedi training almost every day to survive. It made him miss Obi Wan all the more and it made him angry that he lost everything in a blink of an eye. All because of the Sith Lord who wished to be Emperor. He lost everyone and grieved heavily after seeing on the holo that Senator Amidala passed, his beloved wife.

Damned he took so long to call her his wife. He had post boned the marrying her until after he became a knight and was a bit more mature. She had been happy then. So carefree on the planet of Naboo where they made their hidden vows. He courted her properly in secret. Padme had deserved that much. Now she was apart of the Force. Gone from him forever and the child he had carried. His legacy.

Anakin had heard of Starkiller on the comms. He didn't know what he looked like until much later because he rarely looked at the holo feed unless he needed too. So when he did find out his appearance, he had went into a rage then. One of the younglings he trained had come to an end because of the inquisitors. It just made him hate the Empire all the more. Something that almost pushed him out of his hiding place and to go to the Rebels to help with the effort. His time would come is what Qui Gon told him. It was not time yet then.

Approaching the stove he had made years ago, he went to put some water on. That was until the sound of the man stumbling caused him to look over. He was near the dining table that once had been filled with younglings talking and being carefree. The benches he made where still there. Raising a brow, he wondered what was wrong with the man. That void still circled around him from what he felt. "No need to apologize."

Stopping what he was doing when he saw the other clutch his face, he wondered why he was acting that way. Did he have a tracker on him? If so he should cut him down now. No one could know of this place and if he found it, who else knew. "What?" Skywalker asked confused. His brows creased as he stared helpless. "I.... I'm not doing anything." His hand itched like it did when he needed his saber. In an instance his new weapon was drawn out and he pointed it at him. "What device?" He demanded as he heard the familiar hum of his saber. The blade was a deep purple and the hilt had branch like drawings burnt on the hilt. It was all very symbiotic to him. It mimicked his relationship he had with the Force. The balance itself.

[vvvavaaa]

I wonder if he would adopt his old posture when he is truly mad or something in the mansion.

[freakystrashdump]

🔮The Oracle Bakery🔮

Emperor Belos|Phillip Wittebane/OC

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, Belos is a content warning by himself

Read on AO3

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Chapter 7: Old Friends, New Friends

The journal was an absolute treasure, more precious than any of the human books and thingamabobs she had acquired from the Owl Lady throughout the years. It was an obvious labour of love, the illustrations filled with detail and the text, oh the text! It was written in a way that's both easily digestible and informational, on top of being incredibly flowery and picturesque. 

As soon as Selena was back in the bakery, she excused herself to her little apartment, letting Katya (who had finally came in apparently just a mere 15 minutes after she left) run customer service again while the kitchen took care of everything else, and was inhaling the journal, page by page by page. And by the Titan, she could wax poetic about all the ways she was in love with this book.

And she couldn’t put her finger on why , but something about the illustrations and the text, it felt almost…nostalgic? 

She wondered if the Emperor ever wrote a children's book under a pen name, something she may have come across in the library at a younger age. I mean, he wasn’t always an Emperor, right? Or maybe he just had a classical artstyle, probably one he copied from the same books she may have read as a child.

Selena promised to return the book in a decent enough time-frame, refusing to hog it for too long. Both because it would be considered rude and because she felt uncomfortable keeping something from the Emperor in her home, no matter how amazing the thing may be. So she was thinking of maybe taking the Friday off and putting together a three day weekend, to dedicate it to copying everything she could need from it.

As she read (and re-read) the journal, only coming down to the bakery once around lunch time to find a pastry to be her meal and check in on Katya, the light from outside turned to a more golden hue and the shadows grew longer and darker.

A knock on the hatch door broke her away from the journal “It’s open!”

The hatch lifted to reveal Katya, out of the apron uniform and with a rucksack on her back “Hey, it’s closing time boss, I’m about to head out.”

Selena’s head quickly turned towards the nearest clock, her eyes instantly widening when seeing how late it was “Oh, oh wow. Yeah, it really is closing time. Damn, I lost track of time.” Katya climbed up fully, sitting on the edge of the hatch opening. Her eyes zeroed in on the journal in the witch's hands.

“Yeah, you full on zoned out my dude. What is that book you’re reading, anyway?” As soon as she asked, Selena shut the journal audibly.

“Something to help with the human recipes.” she quipped “It’s an old book of ingredients from the Imperial library I was allowed to borrow. The Emperor insisted I take it so I can make him more diverse snacks.”

Katya’s jaw dropped “Wait, he let you borrow his book? The Emperor?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same witch? Emperor Belos, really tall and really scary?”

Not missing a beat, Selena shrugged nonchalantly “He’s suffering from a massive sweet-tooth, I guess.”

The bard clicked her tongue in annoyance “I don’t like this.”

“No one is happy about this, least of all me.” Selena put the journal away in her nightstand and made sure to lock the drawer. “But that’s life, sometimes it sucks and sometimes it really sucks.” she turned back to Katya “Anyway, thanks for today, you’re free to go. Actually, I’m gonna be taking a three day weekend, so I’ll see you again on Monday!”

“Wait, for real?!” Katya seemed to forget her previous worries, eyes sparkling with excitement “Aw nice , boss! I’ll finally have some time to catch up on my writing~” she winked and started going back down, super excited to start her extended weekend “I cleaned up and everything, so don’t worry about that! See ya boss!”

And just like that, she was gone. Though she didn’t close the hatch door behind her, annoyingly so, making Selena grumble at the realisation she was going to have to get out of her little blanket nest she made in bed to do so. While she hated omitting the truth from Katya in this manner, no matter how much she disliked the Emperor, a secret she promised to keep was not one she intended to blabber. And besides, she wanted to be kept in his good graces. 

Keep your enemies close, as they say.

She continued snuggling in her perfect blanket nest for a bit longer, the cup of tea she made still deliciously warm where she held it on her lap. Even without the journal as an excuse, she grew more content with the idea of a long weekend. Sure, they worked short hours during Saturdays and were closed Sundays, but three full days off? Man, that’s lush. She couldn’t wait to sleep in and just stay in her pyjamas. It’s been a while since she actually took a surprise holiday weekend like this. Despite the warm feeling that thought gave her, a shiver still shook her body, forcing her to remember the open hatch. 

Oh right. She should really close that, the draft coming through was becoming noticeable.

Letting out a loud groan of annoyance, she dragged herself out of bed and the countless pillows surrounding her, the blanket still tightly wrapped over her shoulders to tactically keep as much warmth as possible from escaping. Too lazy to put on slippers, the socks she wore cushioned each step against the hardwood floors. Knees and ankles creaked in protest as she crouched down, leaning over to grab the hatch door…

…Only for her heart to freeze and drop all the way down to her knees when she caught a glimpse of a figure standing near the ladder downstairs, hidden in shadows.

The scream of terror died in her throat, only coming out as a particularly sharp inhale of air, the split-second of fear made her feel like jumping out of her skin, and without even thinking about it she summoned the spirit out of her ring, the violet apparition body-slamming into whoever was standing down there in a blink of an eye and pinning them to the floor.

The person flattened to the floor let out a pained grunt. A very…familiar, pained grunt. It made her pause completely, blinking owlishly as she tried to make out who it was that broke in.

“...Darius?” she gasped out as the fear left her struggling to catch her breath.

Looking up at her from under the spirit who left him unable to move, was Darius Deamonne, managing to look both grumpy and unamused “Good evening, Lena. Quite the welcome, I must say.”

~*~*~*~

Selena invited him up, of course. As soon as she helped him back up from the floor where she had pinned him down to earlier, that is. Both witches grumbling at each other in aggravation: Selena scolding Darius for breaking in after closing hours, and Darius very displeased by the violent way he was greeted. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Has no one ever taught you not to sneak up on people in their home?!” Selena hissed and put a cup of tea in front of him. No matter how mad, hospitality was ingrained deep into her brain. “How did you even get in?!!”

Darius rolled his eyes “I morphed in through the kitchen passage, of course."

“You morphed in through the-” Jaw dropping, Selena squinted her eyes at him “How do you know about the kitchen passage?”

“Oh come now, Lena, Sitrie lived in this apartment during our mentorship years, do you think he wouldn’t have told me about it?”

The girl felt like she was taking crazy pills "Darius, you broke into my house! I have no doubts you and Alador used to sneak in to hang out here while my brother used the apartment, but I live here now. Me. Not Sitrie. You can't just waltz in-"

"Please, like I would ever willingly hang out with that hack -"

"Ap-ap-ap!" She tutted loudly, cutting him off "I don't care about your weird rivalry with Alador, we aren't discussing that right now. We are talking about how youbroke into my home and youscared me nearly to death!" She let out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a screech, wishing to take a pillow and scream into it right now, but it would be rude. Instead, she let herself fall into the chair opposite of her uninvited guest, who just stared at her with an unamused look.

Darius watched as she put her head in her hands, messy mop of hair completely obscuring her face "Are you quite finished?"

Selena gave an affirmative grunt, straightening up in her seat and fixing her hair. One deep breath, hold it in - one, two, three - and let it out. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening, Darius?"

He seemed to regard her for a moment or two, gears turning in his head as the younger witch put all her energy not to flinch under his glower. Even back in the day, whilst she was a giggly crushing school girl, Darius intimidated her, more so than Alador. And with time spent apart, his overpowering aura only grew and became more suffocating to deal with. Just by being in the same room, one was forced to acknowledge his presence.

“I think we both know why I’m here.” he drawled, one hand raising up to turn the cup of tea she served earlier so it wasn’t so obscenely askew “How long have you been the Emperor’s private little delivery girl, Selena?”

It’s not that she wasn’t expecting this to come up, not at all, but did he have to phrase it that way?

Somehow looking to distance herself, Selena leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her body language instantly becoming closed off and protected “I wouldn’t call it that…” she muttered, trying not to portray that he was definitely riling her up.

“What would you call it then, if I may ask?” the conjurer raised one eyebrow, lips in a snarl. The condescending tone of his voice did little to quell her temperament.

“I deliver pastries, that’s it!” she finally snapped back “I am not his private little delivery girl , and I’m not his little baker or whatever other demeaning name pompous men will think to use on me next!” she hunched up her shoulders, nails digging into her arms “I am doing my damned job! Hell, I didn’t even want to do this in the first place! The Golden Guard had to snitch on me to Belos, now I’m stuck making deliveries whenever his majesty demands it!” Finishing her tirade, she slumped back into her seat with enough gusto to make the chair scrape loudly against the hardwood floor. And both stayed silent, uncomfortably so. Her own breathing sounded offensive to her with how loud it sounded. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Selena cleared her throat “It’s been…a stressful couple of weeks, now I'm blowing up at you. I’m sorry."

Darius let out a sigh "No, I feel the apology should be coming from me." He sounded sincere, toning down his usual arrogance quite noticeably "Let us try this again, with cooler heads: How did you get roped into this?"

And with cooler heads, and apologies offered, she told him. The entirety, from the beginning; from the Golden Guard who heckled her over wild witches and Midnight, to her trying to win her way over in to his good graces with a bribe of baked goods made according to a human cookbook, to those same baked goods making it into the clutches of the Emperor, who has developed a taste for them and an interest in her. Which is where she was now, the only person allowed to deliver from her bakery, straight into the Emperor’s awaiting arms. And she wasn’t gonna lie, it felt good to let it out, all at once, to someone other than Katya.

She left out anything inconsequential, naturally. Darius didn’t need to know about the Emperor’s trip to the human realm, nor the journal he gave her, he didn’t need to know about Midnight, and he definitely didn’t need to know about the Emperor’s peculiarly weird…fondness of her.

The coven head seemed deep in thought as he tapped his index finger against the rim of the cup of tea, wheels turning in his head.

“That is…” he clicked his tongue, picking out his words carefully “...unfortunate, to say the least.” Selena let out a humm in agreement with his quite perceptive conclusion “And I don’t assume there is any way to bail out of this arrangement, either.” when she shook her head no, he sighed “No, I thought not.” finally picking up the cup of tea Selena made for him earlier he continued “How are your folks handling this?”

“They don’t know.”

He paused just before the cup reached his lips “They don’t know?!” The tone was both surprising and accusatory. 

Darius knew her family, and very well if he might add. Ursula’s children were all incredibly protective over their mother, a fondness that he himself saw how it grew after the untimely death of their father, and for it they made sure to be honest and open with their mother about everything happening to them. If not with their mother - which only would happen if they were scared it might stress her out - then it was shared between the siblings themselves. They were close-knit, to the point even he had been somewhat envious of it.

Sure, he thought, he didn’t keep in close contact with Sitrie as they grew older, and with it meant he hadn’t seen much of his mother or two younger sisters, but this was incredibly out of character. 

“No, are you insane?! If mom knew, she’d absolutely lose it.” Selena ran her hand through her hair “She was okay with handing me the bakery so I’d stay out of trouble, not land myself in…whatever this mess of a situation is!”

Ah, so it was a “don’t stress mom out!” situation. That made more sense. “You realise it’s only a matter of time before Magnus finds out, right?”

“Yeah, but my uncle isn’t a blabbermouth. He kept a lot of stupid things I did while under his mentorship a secret, so I’m hoping when he does find out, he won’t go running to mom instantly.” she crossed her arms, grimacing 

“I think this may be a bit too big for him to stay quiet for long.”

“...I know.”

The conversation died off after, both mulling over their tea in their thoughts.

“He seems…” Darius seemed to hesitate, as if unsure how to put it in a non-offensive way “... fond of you.”

“He is not!”

The speed and intensity at which Selena barked that out actually made Pip wake up from his little nest on the night table near her table. Grumpy from being awoken, he let out a weird guttural caw, as if chastising Selena for being so loud.

“Lena, a blind man could see it, plain and apparent as the light of day.” he continued, the woman instantly letting out an indignant gasp “It’s obvious you have earned yourself a spot in the Emperor’s good graces. Better in his good graces than in his bad ones, that’s certain.” he muttered out the last one as he finally, finally took a sip from his tea “Oh, this is really good, actually. What blend is this?”

“Oh, it’s a black tea blend with calendula and moonflower.” she chirped enthusiastically, only to frown “Hey, don’t change the subject!”

“I don’t need to change the subject, there simply isn’t much to discuss.” Darius concluded, taking another sip “The Emperor finds your presence to be pleasant , which isn’t something many people on the Boiling Isles can say. You can pretend it isn’t so until you turn blue in the face, but there is no escaping the facts.”

Selena tsk’d in annoyance “He’ll grow bored, I’m sure.” the witch scoffed “Of me, that is. Like a shiny trinket that’s turned dull with time, so will the novelty of a baker making human pastries wear off. Not like I’m particularly interesting, apart from that.”

The other witch chuckled deeply, amused by her words “I do admire your self-deprecating optimism, quite a fun oxymoron to behold.” with that, he reached one hand over the table, putting it over her own which she held in a fist on the wooden surface, giving a reassuring squeeze “However, if the Emperor’s… company proves to be overwhelming, know that the palace has friends you can count on.”

It was an earnest gesture, one that made Selena’s heart clench involuntarily. She couldn’t help the smile that took over her face, suddenly feeling incredibly safe. Returning the gesture, she put her free hand over his “Thank you, Darius.” she replied softly, fearing that being louder would ruin the heartfelt moment.

Allies- no, friends , in the palace.

Knowing that, the morning ritual suddenly didn’t feel so daunting anymore.

~*~*~*~

Selena had sent him off not too long after that, letting him finish his tea and packing him some leftover pastries for later. Darius tried declining, but it fell on deaf ears, the woman already pushing the box into his hands and saying she wasn’t having it and to stop complaining. He got intense flashbacks to all the time her mother would do the same when he was younger, it was the same flavour of aggressive kindness. While Darius was fully ready to just use his abominations to transport through the passage, the Fortuna made him wait, saying he could use the trap door like a “normal person” and not “goop around”. So he was forced to wait, visibly annoyed, as Selena cleared out the pots and pans that were in the cupboard where the hidden passage was. He hated walking through the grimmy passageway, it was full of dirt and cobwebs and crawling creatures, all so filthy . But, there was no arguing with Selena, it would seem.

Since when was she so bull-headed? The Selena he used to know couldn’t be assertive to save her life, she was a timid, nervous wreck of a teenager, too worried about doing anything foolish others could tease her about.

Then again, he thought, she was a teen. It’s been a lot of years since then.

“ If you plan on visiting, I’d prefer it if you tried using the front door.” Selena huffed at him, a bit out of breath after finally cleaning everything out and removing the fake bottom. “However, I suppose just starting to randomly visit, especially since I think there still might be scouts around my house, is not optimal, so I’m gonna be keeping the hidden entrance clear from now on.” she stood up and cleaned the dust off of her hands before crossing them, giving him an annoyed frown  “Just try not to sneak in like a mad man like you did today. My heart can't take it.”

“Of course, of course.” he held up his hands defensively “You are really on edge, though, you should try looking into some self care. A spa day would do wonders on your fraying nerves.”

“I thought you were breaking in. No amount of magic mud on my face would help with that stress, Darius.”

Already half-way in, Darius gave her a smart aleck look “Don’t knock it till you try it, kid .” almost on cue, he saw her anger flare up again. She was super easy to rile up, if one knew where to push. The moment didn’t last long, as Darius felt someone grab his legs from below and pull him down the hole, a yelp of surprise escaping him as it did. And once again, he found himself hitting the floor back-first, only this time it was worse somehow, as his fall stirred up a cloud of dirt and dust, leaving his pristine clothes absolutely filthy.

“Huh–huh-huh, oh you’re just a little kid , so funny - I pay taxes, jerkwad.” he heard Selena mock him from above.

The cloud made him hack and cough and he quickly sat up, trying to lift his head above it. He saw Selena’s Spirit retreat back up into her ring as she hung above through the hatch. The blasted thing pulled him down. It had enough decorum to gently put down the box of snacks, tho.

“Truly you are a beacon of hospitality.” he deadpanned. Selena scrunched up her face indignantly before sticking out her tongue “And so mature! Surely, you showed me.”

“Oh! Just-shut up!” she huffed. The hatch shut and Darius was left alone in the passageway. As the darkness enveloped him, so did his face twist into an uneasy frown. 

He didn’t like this. Not at all.

The second he saw her, marching into that throne room like a fury from hell, he recognized Selena. How could he not, sure she was much older, her hair shorter and eyes now sparkling behind a pair of glasses, but you don’t forget the annoying kid sister of a childhood friend that easily, especially one that was persistently trotting behind like a little lost duckling, her long braids bouncing with every exaggerated tiny step she took.

A little duckling who seemed to have grown into a swan…with the temperament of a ferocious goose-beast.

Whose sole presence was enough to stop the Emperor in his tracks and abandon Darius solely for her company.

This…was a development that complicated things in ways he never would have thought possible. Emperor Belos doesn’t grow such fascinations easily. Not since he had known the man. Not since his late mentor had known the man, either.

He remembered his mentor saying “The Emperor is not a kind man, Darius. Not to no one.”

And yet there he was, body language changing, voice softening, a tone he never heard from his lips before, all as soon as the youngest Fortuna had his attention.

Despite life giving way to a growing distance between the two, Darius felt a certain sense of loyalty to his old friend, and not only to him, but his family he knew well. Even to his annoying baby sister. And seeing the claws of Emperor Belos dig into her shoulders as he pulled her close, threatening to almost hide her under his cloak like a trinket he selfishly wanted to keep for himself, to engulf her whole and hide her from sight. Her eyes widening in shock, grip so hard it made her fingers turn white, form so small next to him. 

It made him filled with unease and anger. 

Those wretched claws, that once were digging into his mentor, ones he was certain were responsible for him leaving this world far too soon, were now moving their grip to another person he promised a long time ago to keep safe.

It made him feel sick.

Despite Selena being adamant about not telling her family, Darius was not going to sit idle and wait - he’d make sure Magnus found out. The Fortuna was one of his rare allies at the palace, along with Eber, and so he knew his schedule well. He would make sure he was there at the same time as Selena. That way, he wouldn’t break Selena’s trust, at least, not in a way she’d find out. Eberwolf, as well, he mussed, he’d tell the beastling to keep an eye on her.

The iron claws of the Emperor were already too deep in for him to remove without causing damage.

All he could do now was make sure the talons didn’t rip through the ribcage and tear into the heart.

[mythicandco]

It was not often that Emperor Belos visited Hunter’s room.

Usually he was working on the portal or in his throne room, or occasionally roaming the castle halls after dark. Hunter had once seen him without his mask, staring at a mural of the Savage Ages. He’d somehow looked equally disgusted and wistful. He was saying something under his breath that could’ve been a conversation, had there been anyone around to talk to.

Hunter had left his uncle alone that night.

But today Hunter was just sitting in his room doodling Red, waiting for new orders to come in. He’d grown weirdly attached to the palisman since they had flown in his window, and they were a wonderful model, sitting perfectly still while he tried to capture every detail and shadow. He wasn’t very good, but he was sure he was improving.

That was when a gentle, yet resounding knock sounded from the other side of his door, and a familiar voice asked, “Hunter, may I come in?”

Hunter’s eyes went wide and his palisman ducked under his pillow in a flash. He stashed his drawings under the bed and said, “Come in!”

Emperor Belos pushed open the door with the care of a potionist concocting a delicate brew. He was wearing his mask, but it looked like he’d thrown it on in a hurry and hadn’t tucked his hair out of the way, instead having it tied loosely up into a ponytail.

Hunter always got deja-vu when he saw his uncle with this hairstyle. The last time he’d had it up like this was when Hunter had accidentally damaged his staff and Belos had gladly agreed to help him fix it. He wasn’t sure why his uncle had been so eager to help him fix his mistake. It seemed like every passing day made Belos’ curse worsen, and his fuse shorten.

But even with his outbursts of violence (which were all perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances of each one), Belos still cared about Hunter. He trusted him with secrets he never told anyone else, and appreciated and cared about him as long as he stayed loyal and useful. Hunter remembered the stories his uncle would tell when he was little, tales of two brothers who went on adventures and quests and sometimes messed up, but ultimately cared about each other above all else.

Belos had never told the character’s names, but Hunter had always kind of imaged them in his head as himself and his uncle. He wasn’t sure why, but it was just what felt right.

Belos’ hand hovered in midair for a moment, before he reached up to take off his mask. The door shut behind him and he sat down next to Hunter, looking at the wall.

“Are you alright, Uncle?”

“Yes,” he smiled a little bit. “Thanks mainly to you. I’m proud of you for getting the Titan’s blood. You did well.”

“I almost didn’t,” Hunter replied, looking away. “I almost failed again.”

“We mustn’t dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Belos waved a hand almost dismissively, as though he was clearing himself of those thoughts as well. “What matters is that the Day of Unity is closer than ever, and it’s because of your hard work.”

Hunter couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Emperor Belos.” He paused, recalling a question he’d never been able to ask. The last time he’d wondered about this aloud, Belos had turned him away and said, “Maybe at a later time.”

But now seemed like as good a time as any - he’d come into Hunter’s room, most likely just to talk to him. The Titan’s plans were going smoothly and everyone had a moment to stop and breathe. But on the other hand, if Hunter asked, his uncle might leave. He might never get a chance to sit side-by-side with him like they were brothers again. But on the other other hand, what use was sitting in silence?

“Uncle, I’ve been… meaning to ask you something,” Hunter admitted finally before he could chicken out. He bit his lip as Belos turned his full attention on him, already regretting his decision. Well, no turning back now. “With the Titan’s blood acquired and the portal almost ready and how everyone’s taking a little break before the Day of Unity arrives, I thought it would be a good time to ask.” He swallowed. Moment of truth. “…Who were my parents? A-and I know they were killed by wild magic,” he added, “but what were they like before?”

Belos’ expression turned from listening intently to horrified to very, very sad in less than a heartbeat.

Hunter’s back straightened. “I-I mean, y-you don’t have to-“

Belos held up a hand, silencing his nephew. “No, it’s alright. You have a right to ask. It’s only fair after the trouble I’ve put you through.” He chuckled, but it was dry in his throat. “I didn’t…” He hesitated.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman. She was always going off to slay beasts or tame small creatures. I know she loved animals and had a fiery spirit. And your father loved her very, very much.” He paused. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. I wish I could’ve told her that I was happy for her.”

“You said not to dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Hunter pointed out. Belos smiled again.

“Yes, well, I suppose deep down we’re all sentimental old historians,” his uncle responded. “Now, I knew your father very well. He and I would always get into all kinds of trouble. It hardly mattered when one of us fell, because the other would help him back to his feet. We almost never saw eye-to-eye, always butting heads, but it was the kind of friendly rivalry good friends are supposed to have. He was like a brother to me.” His expression hardened.

“I’m sorry you don’t have a sibling, Hunter.”

“I-“ the witch paused. This thought had occurred to him only once, back when he was little. It was a silly thought - who needed a sibling when your uncle was the emperor of the Boiling Isles, and your family was his entire Coven? Hunter didn’t need friends to weigh him down, not when he had big things to accomplish. “What do you mean? I have you.”

Belos visibly winced, and Hunter flinched. He’d said something wrong, now he was going to be left alone again, or maybe worse, please don’t-

But the emperor didn’t move beyond that, and instead let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You are the spitting image of him.”

Hunter took a moment to process this. “My father?” he finally asked. Instead of replying, Belos stood up. Hunter’s worry increased. He had said something wrong, he had upset his uncle! “I’m sorry,” he stood up as well. “Whatever I said wrong, I didn’t-“

“It’s not your fault, Hunter. I must get back to work.” Belos put his mask back on, and then he was gone. The door shut behind him with a click.

Hunter buried his head in his pillow with a muffled sob. An indignant chirp startled him from his wallowing in self-pity.

“Huh?” he sat up, ramrod straight. “Red?”

“Chirp, chirp chirp chirp tweet,” the little bird palisman replied, hopping from one foot to the other.

Hunter let out a yelp of surprise. “He is not!”

The little bird cocked their head at him. “Chirp chirp tweet, chirp.”

“Alright, maybe that,” he admitted. “Did you listen to that whole conversation?”

“Tweet tweet tweet,” Red swooped down and scooped up the drawings from under the bed. “Tweet chirp chirp chirp tweet.”

“Haha, fine,” Hunter picked up his pencil. “What was the pose you were doing earlier?”

“Tweet chirp tweet tweet tweet,” Red hopped up onto his shoulder and craned their neck towards an unknown source above and in front of Hunter. Somehow he was able to draw it, and it came much easier to him than the other poses Red had struck so far. He even added himself, with the bird on his shoulder. It looked pretty good. He held up the picture to show the little palisman. “What do you think?”

“Chirp,” the birdlike, wooden creature responded. Hunter laughed.

“Okay, but only a few more.”

[redrosesartcabin]

So yeah, I wrote the thing based on an anon message for @itsme-star

I made it a Barley x (female) reader (based on my self insert character) fanfic ‘cause I had to be a little self indulgent lmao

I hope you enjoy it! It turned out longer than I had planned xD

——————————————————

The double-decker couch

Barley x (female) reader fanfiction

———

Around three months ago:

Y/n’s boyfriend, Barley Lightfoot, had knocked on her window… with small stones… in the middle of the night:

At first her ear just twitched and the noise had mashed with the dream she was having, but the more the noise repeated, the more her consciousness felt pulled into the physical realm again, and with a groan, she had to face the reality that the noise would not stop until she got up (she already had a suspicion as to who was causing the noise).

With a heavy sigh, y/n forced herself from under her comfortable blanket, before ripping the window open.

‘Of course it’s him’, she thought, looking down at Barley as he waved his hands up at her, somehow wide awake.

‘How much energy can a person have?’, she asked herself, before she motioned with her hands, that she’d come outside.

“What in the world are you doing here?”, she asked as she arrived, whisper-yelling at him.

“Well you know how it is my lady: sometimes one just drives around at night after finishing a campaign of quests of yore and sees the poster of a double-decker bus and then one might think: ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if one could have a couch after that structure?’ After having had thought about a new couch for a while and ‘wouldn’t it be cool, if one might be able to build that with their girlfriend?’”

“I can’t say I relate, though I am impressed by one having the idea”, she said, deliberately accentuating the word ‘one’, as she couldn’t now but smile at her beautiful dork, “And I have to say I love the idea, though I still have to decide whether it was worth waking me up at three a.m… but for now I’ll just say yes, because I love you too much to be mad at you for this”

“I know: I’m irresistible”, he winked, pulling her closer to him and engaging her in a sickeningly romantic kiss.

“As nice as this is, I would still like to catch up on some sleep. We’ll write later and you tell when we should start building”

“I actually thought… you know… that maybe now-”

“Don’t push it”

“Right”

Now:

It hadn’t been easy. First they had to scavenge several junkyards for old couches (because let’s be real: They were both poor college students and buying material or new couches just was too expensive), who weren’t completely busted. Then they had to figure out how to build the thing.

After studying art for a while, where y/n had to do a bunch of installation projects, she had gotten significantly better at building things with woods and such, though she still wasn’t an expert. And whilst Barley also got crafty from time to time, he also wasn’t a master.

But somehow, after sweat, and even a couple of tears after y/n once got her hand stuck under one of the couches, they had finished it: The double decker couch.

“This-”, Barley said, pointing his finger at it, “This is beautiful”.

It was a yellow and a green couch, connected through metal poles and stabilized with old wood planks with two ladders placed on top of it and just enough space between the couches, so that one could sit up straight. It sort of looked like a bunk bed, but with couches.

“It is. It really is”, y/n agreed, looking at her bandaged hand, “totally worth busting my hand”

“Totally worth going through every junkyard in the city”, Barley added.

“Totally worth being awake once for 48 hours”, she added as well.

“This should be awarded some kind of price… maybe I’d also just be happy for some money for a wellness weekend ‘cause my back could really need a nice massage”, Barley groaned, touching the small of his back.

“Hard agree”

They stayed standing there for a while, looking at it, before y/n occurred a question that should’ve occurred to her much sooner.

“So-uhm-”, she started, “what do we actually do with it now?”, she asked

“Sit on it of course. You sit below and I above so I can feed you grapes like you’re a roman emperor”, Barley explained matter of factly.

“That sounds lovely darling but that’s not what I mean”

“What seems to be the issue then?”he asked, a little frustrated. What could she possibly have to say now? After so much hard work?

“I mean… where do we put it?”, she asked with a sincere expression which immediately washed away his annoyance, “because it certainly won’t stay in my parents basement”, she stated.

“It’s certainly more worthy than this old, dusty room with your family's junk. And also because this place is crawling with bugs that I will have to remove every time because you’ll just screech and run away until it magically disappears”

“Hey!”, y/n interjected

“It's true!”

“Ok yeah fair enough, though seriously- where? I also can bet’ya we can’t put it anywhere in our homes either. It probably barely fit under the ceiling”

“Yeah no”

A moment of contemplative silence spread across them.

After a while, Barleys thoughts wandered to the night where he had gotten the idea. He thought about his beloved car-

‘OH. MY. GOD. That’s it!’, he thought to himself.

“I got it!”, he then yelled excitedly, his face contorted into one of the most adorable expressions y/n had ever seen anyone wear. No matter what it would be: She couldn’t but say yes to that smile.

Still she asked, “What’ya got?”

“You know how I got my idea from a poster with a double-decker bus?”, he asked her, still smiling like he had won the lottery

“Yes?”

“And you know how I have a van, right?”

“No”, she answered sarcastically, “I know absolutely nothing about your most prized possession of a van that you called Guenivere the second after you sacrificed your first Guenivere when on a quest-”

“Ok I got the gist”, he chuckled, “but ok hear this: Since I have this wonderful van, this wonderful BIG van-”

“Wait a minute: You really want to put the couch in-”, she interrupted as she realized what he was saying, but got immediately interrupted back as he realized she had caught on

“Yes! I absolutely am”

“Dear lord… but ok I have no better idea, let’s do it”

“YES”

“Barley I am telling you, this is NOT working”, y/n huffed as she let her side of the construction gently land on the ground once again.

“Come on, just one more time!”, Barley pleaded.

“You’ve been saying ‘just one more time’ for an hour!”, she argued, “there is no way around: this just doesn’t fit inside the van. You underestimated Guenivere”

“Hey! There is no underestimating Guenivere! It’s not her fault”, he pouted.

“Ok ok ok... Sorry Gueni”, y/n said, giving the car a sincere pat on one of the back doors. She has gotten used to treating the car similar to a pet, “but seriously: We’ve been trying this at every angle, and as cool as Guenivere is, she can’t magically shapeshift”

“Magically shapeshift”, Barely repeated her last words, suddenly deep in thought, before an “ohhhh”, sound escaped him, “wait here my lady, I’ll be back in a sec”

“O...k”, she said, a little confused.

Five minutes later, she saw Ian storm out of his house, his hands clenched around his magic staff, with Barley closely behind him. “WHAT'S THE EMERGENCY?”Ian yelled as he came to a hold, which caused his brother to almost crash into him.

“I need you to make Guenivere big enough so that our self made double-decker couch fits into her”, Barely explained, breathing as though he had just run from death.

For a moment nobody said anything to that before Ian and y/n both shouted

“WHAT?”,at the same time.

“So much for an emergency”, Ian also mumbled, a little annoyed at his brother's antics.

“I mean: If she’s too small, then we can just make her bigger, right?”

“Technically yes but I think you didn’t consider a very small, tiny detail”, Ian commented.

“And what would that be?”, Barley asked irritated, not understanding what the issue was.

“You are aware as a supposed magic expert, that I can’t only enlarge the trunk, right? I would have to make the entire car big, and that would lead-”

“-to the entire street being filled with the car”, y/n finished the thought, apologetically laying her hand on Barleys shoulder, “I’m sorry my love. It was a nice thought”

“Dang it”, Barley breathed out, “I was looking forward to make my own uber-van-couch-double-decker-business”

“Hm”, y/n simply hummed. She had known from the beginning it would probably go south, but his enthusiasm had given her hope.

“Sorry Barley”, Ian said quietly, now feeling bad for having been so harsh beforehand , before slowly heading inside again.

Y/n and Barely sat down on the edge of Guenivere’s trunk, tired and disappointed that it all hadn’t turned out like they wanted as they looked at their creation.

Y/n leaned against Barley’s shoulder, lovingly rubbing her cheek against him like a cat (she loved doing that).

After a while Barley decided he had enough of sulking, standing up to go to the front to put on some good old metal (which luckily she enjoyed too).

As he however returned to the trunk, he noticed some ropes laying around.

He had used ropes last time to tie up some of the material he had bought for their project, so they wouldn’t move around- what if though…

“Ok I’ve had enough”, Barley decided, “I WILL have my double-decker-couch-van for more people to ride with me and my buddies and if its the last thing I’m gonna do!”

“Barley, what are you-”, y/n wanted to ask, but as she saw him pick up the ropes from the trunk floor, she understood, “- Are you sure this will work out?”

“Nope”, he answered truthfully, “but I will surely try!”

She was still skeptical, but at the same time she would try anything with him, and if it meant helping him tie a double-decker-couch to the roof of his van.

“If you believe it can be done, I will too”, she smiled, giving him a quick peck on his cheek, “let’s do this!”

It was eight p.m. The sun was almost behind the horizon and the streetlamps threw dodgy looking lights in the middle of the street and kept the corners dark.

But the elven couple, who stood in front of a yellow van with a double-decker couch tied to its roof, couldn't help but see what they had accomplished: Which was accomplishing what, at least the female elf, had thought was impossible… yet again.

“I can’t believe that worked”, Y/n mumbled.

“Told ya”, Barley hushed back.

“Should we drive around? See if anyone is crazy enough to go on a drive?”, she asked.

“You bet we are. And tomorrow… and whenever we can. I’ll be the driver and you the tourist guide.. or maybe some kinda sturdess, after all you’re good lookin’”

“Oh hush”, she giggled, visibly blushing

“And-”, he continued, though not without giving her a good wink after his compliment, “then we’re gonna show the dear people of this town another perspective to life”

“That we can promise”, she laughed, “that we sure can”

[count-lero]

May I ask you, dear gentlemen and gentlewomen, what time is it? I humbly believe that it’s a meme time!

Once again trying my best in the field of some incredibly local history-related jokes and puns realised with the help of memes which sometimes seem old as time itself… Fortunately, we constantly speak about time, space and particular historical epoch over here, thus I proclaim the notion “outdated meme” a social construct. 👍

Aaaand proudly present to you this notorious composition called “The Austrian Chancellor who came to save the imperial day from the God-knows-where-in-the-Rhein-region and the 33 Bohemian noblemen (with the intrusion of one Moravian “fonctionnaire”) who accompanied him on his thorny life-path”!

Of course, 33 person in one picture would be a little bit too much. That’s why I took the creative liberty to pick only the most famous and influential ones whom I’m going to name all at once (with the exception of dear Fürst Karl, for sure, cause his emersion will probably start causing headaches for everyone who still checks this God forsaken blog soon…)!

Let’s start with two wonderful people standing proudly behind Schwarzenberg’s back as they were his favourite adjutants during the Napoleonic campaigns of 1812-1814 and owe him a lot with regards to their careers in the Austrian military ranks. The first one is Karl Johann Nepomuk Gabriel Graf Clam-Martinez (count Karl Clam-Martinez, in short), a wonderful soldier and even more brilliant administrator who will actively help Metternich in his rivalry with another exceptional gentlemen featuring in this meme which took place in the late 1830s (like he suddenly died in 1840).

Cool story alert! In April 1814 Clam was a member of the group of allied generals who accompanied Napoleon himself on his journey to Elba and saved the emperor from certain humiliating experience few times. Napoleon was truly grateful to him and treated him well during those memorable times. 🤲

The second one is non other than Alfred Candidus Ferdinand Fürst zu Windisch-Grätz (prince Alfred zu Windish-Grätz, in short), a flamboyant, hot-headed, very straight-forwards military man (future field-marshal) who - according to the contemporaries - managed to steal the hearts of half of the renown European beauties, most notably of Wilhelmina, duchess of Sagan. So, yeah, he actually was Metternich’s adversary №1 for a while, when it came to the sphere of scandalous love affairs, and let me tell you all, it was a sh*t show I still can’t comprehend fully because it was too much. Even for such an eccentric person as Metternich… ☠️

(Actually! Actually, both Clam and Windisch-Grätz were les amants of the two most renown sisters of Sagan - Wilhelmina, being the eldest, and Dorothea, being the youngest, - during the Congress of Vienna. Basically at the same time as those stunning women drove crazy Metternich and Talleyrand respectively. I can see that hilarious picture clearly: two diplomats practically dying of their love towards sisters of Sagan; two sisters of Sagan cheerfully celebrating the New 1815 year together with two young distinguished Austrian officers of Czech origin; meanwhile Schwarzenberg, the president of Hofkriegsrath already, just sits in his Kriegsgebäude, listens to the rumours about his ✨good boiz✨ and sighs resignedly…)

Well, that was fun! Passing on to count Radetzky…

…Comes a sudden revelation that I won’t speak out a lot about Joseph Wenzel Anton Franz Karl Graf Radetzky von Radetz (count Joseph Radetzky, in short) simply because it’s him! He probably is the most well-known herr out of the whole company - Metternich’s close friend, whom Klemens saved from the total oblivion after the war of 1809, the head-of-stuff at Schwarzenberg’s times, future president of Hofkriegsrath as well and the “father of the nation”, of course (does a question “what is the second-to-first «titular» nation in the Habsburg’s monarchy after the Austrians themselves” truly appear after that claim, I wonder)!

*also, like, Windish-Grätz and Radetzky were the 1848s main repressive force in the empire and the only people who truly mourned Metternich’s resignation and exile - what a turn of events, for Alfred especially!*

Now we come to the uncharted territory almost.

This wonderful person is… Karl Friedrich von Kübeck, Freiherr von Kübau. He sounds quite simple, ordinary even, you might say, however his origin story is a miracle. This man was a son of a tailor from Moravia (it’s like Bohemia is the western part of modern-days Czech Republic and Moravia is the eastern part of the country) who rose to the position of hofrat and obtained a barony as a reward for his excellent service. He joined Metternich’s opposition to the last character who will appear in our miraculous story in the late 1830-1840s as he understood everyone’s weaknesses very well and still saw in Metternich, an incredibly experienced official at the time, a lot of potential.

The man of his social background, he understood the needs of the country better than anyone else, yet he was unsuccessful in his efforts of reforming the monarchy slowly but surely without any need for an internal bloodshed. And that was a real tragedy, since even Metternich himself tried to adapt the bullky machinery of the Austrian empire to the certain notions of time still in the 1820s… Even Metternich, one the most famous conservators of the post-Napoleonic Europe.

I guess, that circumstance speaks all for itself. 😔

Thus, we arrive to the glorious conclusion of this extensive memology and it has the magnetic face of Franz Anton Graf von Kolowrat-Liebsteinsky (count Franz Kolowrat-Liebsteinsky). He deserves to crown our noble list of Bohemian aristocrats, since he became the actual governor of the region in the year 1809! He also was elevated to lead the Austrian State Council responsible for the Interior and Finances in 1826. 🇨🇿

The most important period in his life came with the death of the emperor Franz II and the accession to the throne of his poor son Ferdinand who had such bad health issues that he needed a Regency council to aid him in his reign. Who tried to claim all the responsibilities to himself only? Of course, it was our dear Klemens! Metternich actually waged very intense battles against Kolowrat since his appointment as the minister of the interior. And after the creation of the Regency council their rivalry could be described as “two delicate, aristocratic from the top of their silver-haired heads to the tip of their sleek fingers, old queens fighting constantly throughout the whole damned Vormärz”. 🙄

In the end, we can say with confidence, that count Kolowrat emerged victorious from the struggle: the Revolution of 1848 made an exile out of the damned Mephistopheles Metternich, meanwhile Kolowrat became the first Minister-President of the renewing Habsburg’s monarchy.

~~~~~~~

Well. That was an incredible journey half a century long, for sure. 👁👁

Very proud of marrying successively all the puns with the factual information I wanted to share about this incredible company of Austrian men who were connected to each other so gracefully and so closely. 🇦🇹

Hope you’ll like it as well, dear readers! It’s always my pleasure. 💗

Bis zum nächsten Mal~

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

ahoy there 👋 i just remembered a horrible conversation i had recently in which little old me brought up joey batey because i love him and EVERYBODY ELSE immediately proceeded to google him and then bash him for being a basic white man 😭 AND SOMEONE THOUGHT HE WAS DANIEL RADCLIFFE 😭 and they all said they thought i would have better taste because i was TOO WEIRD FOR HIM (weird being a good thing) 😭😭😭 let me tell you, could a BASIC man say cause ive been here so many times before dont you think i look pretty curled up on this bathroom floor where you see weakness i see wit sometimes i fall to pieces just to see what bits of me dont fit and when i stand those folks will run and tell the tales of what ive become theyll speak of me in whispered tongues and say my name like it shakes their bones ???? NO A BASIC MAN COULD NOT!

Bestie this literally broke my dear heart this morning (haha, my puns strike again). I was literally putting my cloak on and brushing my teeth as I was getting ready for the tavern and mountaineering today, and in my free hand I was reading this and I swear to the gods above in the mirror I could see my face twisting in absolute, "What the fuck?? How can people be so mean???" like no wonder the poor blorbo dude swears off social media

Dude's a wise old soul, and I'd 10/10 dedicate a season up in the mountains meditating and learning whatever knowledge he could pass down to me

What they're doing is like referencing a deity character from mythology and calling them "basic" lmao

Joey is not in the same category as those basic bro dudes you meet at a pub who are like, "Oh, yeah, I'm a musician; I play the guitar and stuff *hair flip* — Music just speaks to my ✨soul✨" and then when you follow them back to their apartment they just strum the same three Nirvana chords over and over again and think that counts as serenading or something, like a sad little Emperor Penguin with no song to woo you over with for the upcoming hatchling season

Am I speaking from experience? No. Well. Maybe. Yes. A little. Doesn't matter, POINT IS: Joey saw the bar for men, looked at it, and said, "Is anyone gonna raise that a little higher, for heaven's sake?" and did not wait for an answer, and now that bar is literally so wedged up into the sky high above I just cringe at every Kyle I come across upon my many, many ventures into the world of courting men

Anywho... Dedicated bodyguard rant aside, Daniel Radcliffe himself ain't even a basic dude lmao

They're really gonna watch this video and call the man, the myth, the legend himself basic

I swear to the gods above; boys with dark hair and blue/green eyes are on a different level, ie. Jaskier, Joey, Daniel, Percy Jackson etc

Also bestie I sure hope they weren’t your friends! If so, they suck — join your local DND club and make better friends <3