#linen pronunciation

[livelinestore]

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[devnmon]

muse with a violet hue

summary: you aren't sure when Gale became the only thing filling the pages of your sketchbook, and you're not sure how much more longing your heart can take. leave it to another companion to point it out for you to make a move.

warnings: none except for mystra being mentioned like twice but that's it. when i catch you mystra. also astarion is in this for two seconds lol

wc: 3.1k

Your hand ached. Bad.

Almost four hours you've been gripping the wrapped graphite piece in your palm, sketching away in the leather bound pages. Your muse tending to daily activities, his learned tongue practicing pronunciation of words he's long mastered of the Weave.

Only until the cramping got too horrible to bear did the graphite leave your pages, detailing and shading the very peculiars of Gale's face. You regret adding the earring he always adorns with the goddess's symbol- even her name brought you distaste.

There was no other feeling towards her other than hatred. Anger. Furious at the knowledge of his warm soul being shattered to a million pieces when she cast him away. What kind of god was she? Selfish, egotistical, while he remain soft and gentle throughout it all.

Your heart ached to comfort him. For even a moment, to be the object of his attention, his happiness. To prove his doubts, his fears wrong by displaying everything your heart desired to give him.

May you feel every word I cast like a migraine, Mystra.

A deep breath in to shake your hand out, pain diminishing in a moment before fastening your grip back on the page's edge. No doubt they've been stained by the graphite, fingerprints doused in the powder from constant shading and detailing.

Each loose strand of his hair, lucky enough to be a part of that glorious mop of brown perfectly growing from his head. Even his grays flowed naturally. Faint trails of the weave trail from his eye, down his neck... his beautiful neck... till they hid being those violet robes.

You hadn't seen the Weave's mark on him in its entirety, but gods would you take the chance if given. Run your fingers over his skin, wondering if touching the mark would harm him in any way. Though all you wanted in truth was to touch him in a way a goddess could not.

Never did you think you could be so immersed in magic until Gale. With the way he spoke about it, he lived and breathed by it. Any chance to be seen by him- to be loved... there was a better chance of the world ending before you even got close.

First in Gale's life in place of the Weave? Of Mystra? It was laughable.

After everything that’s transpired, she’s still his goddess. The whole reason he is so learned and practiced with his incantations was because of her. Even so, you wished he saw her the same way you did. His life would be forever changed.

So your sketching continued, perched on a cliff outside of camp for complete privacy. Running the risk of holding your feelings inside was hard enough when you were on the road together. Who knows what would happen if someone caught you whispering spells of protection into your pages.

An illusion of him as your reference, purple robes suited fittingly on his shoulders. As if his eyes distracted you under a sky full of stars, outshining them by miles.

Detailing those facial features of the dear wizard took up the rest of your daylight. Dusk darkened over the Sword Coast and forced you back into camp, sheepishly shoving your journal under one arm.

Gale's tent was empty as you passed by it to your own, knowing he'd taken over cooking for everyone most nights. All your friends had separated into smaller groups, wine and mead getting passed around before the meal.

Awaiting you always was the terrible bedroll you rested on every night, and for the moment, you wished it a big mattress with silk sheets and sweet smelling linens instead. One you could possibly share with a familiar wizard.

Upon arriving to your tent, your stomach burned with hunger while aches ran through your joints and muscles. Content with satisfying your bodily needs and getting some rest for the night, your eyes drifted back to the leather journal.

Maybe just a few touch ups... you pondered, spotting Karlach nagging the wizard about when the meal would be ready.

There was enough light from your lantern for you to work, shading in a few more shadows and highlights to bring the ever dashing face of the man into better clarity. His smile lines, brow bone, and sweet brown eyes of the talkative man filled your page wonderfully. The drawing was about done when you felt a presence behind you.

"What a lovely drawing. Is this how you're going to confess to our beloved wizard?" A voice over your shoulder aired your focus from the front of your mind, startled at the presence of your rogue friend.

"Astarion!" you whispered, clutching the book tightly to your chest before glancing down at the page and back at him.

"Don't think I haven't seen you staring, darling." His arms cross over his chest, smirk on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." you replied, now completely hiding the journal behind your back. Because if what you assumed is true, he's seen the whole page, and might have even overheard what you'd been thinking whilst busy. Damn the tadpole.

You didn't see anything, you didn't see anything...

But it was a lie you told yourself. Astarion was more perceptive than half your party; of course he'd snuck up on you out of curiosity when he saw your nose shoved between the sketchbook's pages.

Damned vampire needs to learn to mind his own.

His eyes roll, unconvinced by your body language- which was indeed in the direction of Gale from where you sat.

"Don't play coy, it's unbecoming. Besides, I can always tell when you're lying." Astarion was not fibbing for one, he was always able to snuff out even the whitest of lies from anyone.

You huffed a breath, "What do you care, Astarion?"

"Well, from what I saw a glimpse of, you happen to be quite the talented artist. Very good at catching one's wizardly features. Anyone else you decided to draw? Or just him, hm?" He's leaning towards you now, same snark in his tone.

Perceptive you are, fangs.

Pulsing heat stirs in your stomach, it raises your heart rate and makes your palms sweat.

"No..."

"Interesting," he straightens his back, "Anyways, I've come on behalf of the others to say supper's ready. That's all." His lips turn upwards into an even deeper smirk, before he begins walking away.

"Wait!" you call out, half regretting your choice to call him back; though he turns towards you again, "Why is that interesting?"

"Oh, no particular reason. I see many things around here people don't think others can see. Such to say... like one's initials at the bottom page of a protection spell, one I've definitely heard him repeat just before turning in for the nights."

"What... are you saying?" you swallow the painful lump in your throat. It thrums with each pump of your heart.

"I'm saying the man is pining something awful. I don't know if I should stage an intervention or what. But if you lovestruck fools are too cowardly to make the first move, I guess I must do something rather than let you go insane. So, there. Do with that information what you will. I'm off to bed."

Astarion was as quickly gone as he'd arrived, making sure he was fully out of sight before opening your page up again to stare at the portrait. Handsome as he was, Gale deserved to know just how much time you put into studying the details of his face.

You weren't sure a tenday had passed without thinking of his perfect features, wanting to trail your fingers down the drawn cheek. Wishing it was his soft skin against yours instead.

Maybe Astarion was right. You were going in circles thinking of him day and night, unable to focus on anything else. Any possibility of voicing your vulnerability with those words towards him churned your stomach.

A quick motion, and your slight of hand tore the page out of its place in your book. Glancing down at your masterpiece of his face one more time, you began to walk towards his still empty tent, placing it on top of one of the many Gale had lying around.

Before you could second guess your decision, you walked towards the blazing campfire to eat dinner and spend time with your companions.

As you approached greeting those who were still standing around, eventually you were standing right in front of him.

As if Gale felt your presence, he turned towards you the moment you neared his proximity.

"Hungry?"

If only the words in your head weren't so jumbled around such a man who had skills like these, you might've been able to strike up more of a conversation.

In response, you nodded and leaned over the pot to smell what he'd cooked.

"It's nothing special, just a little recipe I've known for years." His brown eyes seemed to linger on you a moment longer than expected, before he was leaning over to plate some of the meal for you. Catching glimmers of campfire light in his dark brown eyes as you waited patiently.

"Thank gods at least one of us can cook," you muttered, looking down as to not start blushing over a bowl of stew. Though you were surprised when Gale chuckled, confirming he heard what you said.

Handing the quite full bowl to you with both hands, you reached out for it in the same way. Though just for a split moment when your hands cupped the warm bowl, you brushed against the top of his with your own. A jolt in the way your heart pounded in your chest, you retracted your arms quickly without spelling and thanked him.

"Hope you enjoy it." Gale responded with a small smile, turning back to make himself a bowl as you walked off. It seemed he was always feeding everyone else before himself, leaving whatever was left for himself. If there ever was anything left. Your group had grown so much since you first woke up on that beach, that there wasn't always enough for everyone.

I hope you’ve never gone hungry, Gale.

There was no doubting the rush you felt whenever in his presence. His scent of amber and lilies, like a thing you could breathe in forever.

Before you knew it, your feet had brought you back to the lonely corner of camp, gulping down the meal with haste while looking over the other pages you'd drawn of Gale.

One of him conjuring the weave under the stars, another of him holding a book and reading at his tent. More were just scribbles and half drawings, maybe the way his strands framed his face that day or when he cast a spell during battle.

How envious you'd been of the soft clothing that's lucky enough to caress every inch of his body all day long. Was purple his favorite color, or was it because the Weave consumed everything in his life?

How many kisses long was his neck? What do his lips taste like? What's his favorite drink?

So many peculiar things you desired to learn about him, yet you could barely strike up a conversation.

Drawing was an outlet for many things; among them were other pages with plans for the coming days and other places to visit. There were always doodles around the entries where you'd interacted with Gale in any way. You found it worked only so much, still aching on the inside from a distance.

Another hour passed before camp finally quieted, and the fire’s flames dwindled to embers. It seemed everyone had turned in for the night, and you decided on getting some shuteye as well after freshening up. A good night's rest and sweet dreams were calling to you once you'd changed into something more comfortable.

If anything, let me dream about him tonight.

Though you sensed footsteps approaching the minute you sat down. You were praying it wasn't Astarion there to ask you for a late night snack, or another unwanted visitor you'd have to fight off. At this hour, you weren't sure you could handle it.

But as you turned to face whoever it was, you were pleasantly surprised to find it was Gale, holding a piece of paper in his hand. You aren't sure whether to be glad, or nervous. Him finding the paper must've meant he noticed it immediately; Gale was one of the most organized people you knew. Which says a lot, since he's spoken about the chaos of his tower in Waterdeep for ages.

Slowly, you stood up to converse with him, fidgeting with your fingers until he began to speak.

"Did you... draw this? My face?" He points to himself, in awe of the fact that you've captured him so perfectly. Gale was holding the page so delicately, careful not to rip it or smudge any of your shading.

"I uh... what?" you ask, blinking a couple times to make sure this was reality.

"Because it's very good. I've never known someone who could draw like this before."

His compliment caught you off guard- a recognition of your skill, one you shied away from for so long. Coming from him... well, that was the game changer.

"I was a bit confused as to who could've drawn it at first. But then I remembered how you've got a bunch of skills, and I thought, what's one more added to the list? That, and the fact that there was some sort of gray powder on my hand after you came and got dinner." He smirked throughout the last sentence, giving you a knowing look.

How eye opening, to realize you'd spent so long in thought of detailing Gale's face just right... that you'd forgotten how much of it transferred onto your skin. A foolish mistake. But one that couldn't be taken back now.

"But still one question, why me?"

Your simple answer could've been told by the fact that he's more handsome than anyone you'd ever met before. His long locks and pretty features were entertaining to draw, and it brought you so much more than joy to be able to capture him in such a way.

What you felt inside was... well, stronger. It wasn't just that you could copy his face onto a page like a photograph. It was all consuming, the urge to sketch him as your muse, for reminders of him while he's not at your side. A piece of him to hold close.

"You're the only one I've wanted to draw... for a long time. Nothing else's consumed me like... you do. Gale, you're everything to me."

He was silent for a moment, then he stepped nearer to you and your heart skipped a beat once again. A deep breath of him into your lungs did nothing to combat the unease stirring in your chest, waiting for him to say something back.

You're so much more than what Mystra's tasked of you, you whisper, looking down for a moment. Before you could go on further, his hand cupped your chin and brought your eyes back up to meet his.

"Flattered, I am. Truly. I care for you deeply, I think since I've seen you save so many on our journey together. Your constant hand of kindness wherever you go. I admire you, not just for that-- but... I'd be here all night detailing everything I could." He trails off, chuckling, but there was sincerity in every word. You could see how bright his eyes were when talking.

"So... you're saying..."

"I'm saying I'm in love with you." His hand strokes your cheek with the lightest touch, feeling the warmth in your soft skin beneath his palm.

"I'm in love with you too." you admit in one breath, turning your eyes upwards to his. Your hairs are standing on edge, and there's such a strong tension in the room that you continue to stand still.

"May I kiss you? Don't think I can bare a moment longer without it." His cheeks were pinking with a blush when you smiled at his words. You nodded in response, reaching up to stroke his face lovingly.

The moment your hand makes contact with his skin, he feels the rush of a million hairs standing on edge. Being a reclusive wizard in a tower for a large portion of his life didn't help his urge to be touched by you. Many a night he sat awake, wondering how you'd tough him, where you'd touch him, and how you'd say 'I love you'. Nothing prepared him for the reality of this moment.

Gale's movements toward you were nothing close to rushed; in fact, he took his time dragging his eyes over the relieved look on your face. A look that showed him how much he'd been a fool to think you thought of him any differently than he thought about you. He kissed you with all the devotion that had been piling up inside him... it was heaven.

One kiss just wasn't enough for him though, the minute he pulled away from the first exchange of your lips, he wanted another. He never wanted the bliss that was your lips to escape him, especially if he could help it.

Though you ended up wanting to gasp for air whilst attempting to make those moments pressed to his lips last.

"As much as I... would like to kiss you for eternity... I think I need to catch my breath first." Your palm pressed to his chest, noting his quickened heartbeat. Gale chuckled, his lips and yours swollen from how they had pined for so long to be one with yours in a private moment like this.

"Won't you draw me... more often?" he asked, breathless from the surge of sheer feeling that was reaching out from within him.

"Oh, Gale. Very bold of you to assume my pages aren't already filled with you. But... I could never deny sketching you for as long as I could help it." Your hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, while playing with his brown locks. Your assumption that his hair was as soft as it looked had been correct.

"Gods, I... I love every part of you. I am yours, my love." Gale's forehead pressed against yours, his fingers looping through the free hand combing through his hair.

"If I could stay like this with you all night long, I would in a heartbeat. But... perhaps we should get some rest first?"

"Well, of course. Would you do me the honor of joining me in my bedroll for the night?" Gale pressed one of your hands against his lips, a gesture of true chivalry and heart of gold.

"I absolutely accept."

With that, you end your day sleeping pressed up against Gale in the confines of his tent, too exhausted to do anything else but share one of many future kisses before falling to sleep. 

[thou-babbling-brook]

Sanctuary

AO3

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationship(s): Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Maria Thorpe

Word Count: 6344

Tags: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Maria Thorpe, Al Mualim, Original Characters, Assassin's Creed I, Masyaf, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Crusades, Implied Happy Ending

Summary: After stumbling upon a small caravanserai during a narrow escape, Maria has questions about Altaïr's past - particularly, his defining scar.

This fic is based on some of @nebulacrum's thoughts and headcanons about Altaïr's relationship with Al Mualim, along with his lip scar.

You can click here to see @ramshackledtrickster's accompanying pieces!

I hope you guys enjoy!!!

“Baba, we have customers!”

Fahmi glanced up from his ledger, brow furrowed and eyes squinted as the setting sun squeezed through the cracks in the sandstone walls. His son bounced before him while gesturing wildly to the door. His words blended together with the constant ringing present in Fahmi’s ears. Setting his hands against the desk, he rose, groaning as the aches in his joints cried in protest.

“Ameen,” he murmured, hunched as he shuffled to the gnarled wooden door, sand seeping onto the floorboards as the evening gusts of wind swept the hot sand inside. Maryam wiped her hands on her tattered apron before laying them on Ameen’s shoulders. 

“Come, it is late, and your father is tired,” she whispered, kissing her son’s head while guiding him away from the door. Fahmi nodded his thanks, shuffling to the window and shielding his eyes from the golden glare of the sun as it sank into the horizon. 

“But Mama!” Ameen protested. Maryam shushed him, her words inaudible as she and her son walked through the narrow doorway. Fahmi groaned as he reached down to the floor. Grabbing a few wooden panels, he straightened his back and placed them against the open window. His wrinkled hands trembled with each movement. Each knuckle ached as he flexed his hands and flattened his palms against the wood.

A resounding thud against the door disturbed the sand and dirt gathered by the entrance. Squinting, Fahmi poked an eye through the minuscule cracks in the wood panels. Two camels knelt before the water trough. Their backs were still covered with blankets and saddles. Yet, aside from the rushing winds of sand, the quiet hissing of nearby snakes, and the low chuffs of the camels, Fahmi found no sign of visitors.

Ameen rushed to his side, much to the protest of his mother as he tugged at his father’s robes. “I told you!”

Fahmi quieted the child, hobbling to the door as he pressed his ear against the wood. Another resounding set of knocks, this one more desperate than the first, echoed in the sandstone room. Broken Arabic shattered the silence. A woman, her voice high and exhausted, shouted through the door. Her accent was foreign, reminding them of the soldiers that had marched through the desert not long ago. Maryam tightened her hold on Ameen, pressing him against her front with wide eyes.

Maryam turned to her husband. “We were not expecting any caravans for another week.”

“I know,”  he replied, voice barely above a whisper. Ameen curled against his mother as the pounding continued.

The voice begged and pleaded behind the door. Her pronunciations were muddled and awkward, but the desperation caused Fahmi to move his knobby hand. Slowly, he unlatched the door, prying it open enough to peer an eye through the crack. Immediately, he gasped, hobbling back and slamming open the door. The voice (a Frankish woman, it seemed. Though, it was nearly impossible to differentiate between their accents) was not alone. The pale woman stumbled forward, thanking Fahmi in her jumbled Arabic while Maryam covered her mouth.

“Help,” the woman pleaded, her eyes wide as she looked at her companion. Arm slung over her shoulder, a hooded man collapsed against the woman’s frame. An arrow stuck from his side, covered in gore. His linen robes were coated in dark liquids, sand, and dirt, a few notable slashes still seeping blood into the cloth. Maryam rushed to his side, shouting over her shoulder for Ameen to grab freshly drawn bandages, wine, and washcloths. The boy scrambled backward before turning and sprinting through the doorway. Fahmi knelt before the strangers, eyes darting to his wife as they shared a fleeting, anxious look.

“What has happened?!” Fahmi demanded, still breathless as Ameen returned, arms full of supplies as he tripped and stumbled into Maryam. The foreign woman could only stare with furrowed brows in return, her eyes jerking over Fahmi’s face.

“Mercenaries,” the wounded companion spat. It was clear that he was from the region. If not, a traveler passing through to his home. His face remained hidden beneath his cowl, eyes toward the ground while Maryam gestured for the woman to help her. The two laid the man on his back, flat against the cool floorboard. With the glaring sun hidden behind vast mounds of sand, Fahmi reached for two candles, placing them by his wife’s feet once they were lit. “We barely escaped.”

“God has willed it,” Maryam praised. Ameen sat awkwardly by his father’s side, face growing pale as Maryam and the strange woman attempted to treat the man’s wounds. Fahmi laid his hand on Ameen’s back, rubbing it soothingly. 

“Ready a room for them,” Fahmi instructed his son. “They will need somewhere to rest if he survives, God willing.” Ameen nodded and rushed off down the side corridor. In the meanwhile, Fahmi came to his wife’s side, his hands laying on the strange man’s stomach while Maryam surveyed the entrance wound. 

“It is shallow, praise be,” Maryam explained. The man grimaced, clenching his jaw and nodding. He turned his face to the woman, trading Arabic for a language Fahmi could not quite identify. French? German? It had been so long since he had served in the sultan’s army. He could not recall the languages of their adversaries. The woman shouted frantically back, to which the man turned to Fahmi and Maryam.

“Can you pull it out?” the man asked through gritted teeth. Maryam and Fahmi exchanged glances. 

“It would be unwise.”

“I did not ask if it would be wise. I asked if you could.”

The foreign woman seemed to understand enough of their conversation to slap his shoulder, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. She shouted again, her voice choking while her eyes glistened. The man squeezed her forearm, groaning and murmuring something that managed to calm her enough for him to return his attention back to Fahmi.

“You were a soldier. Have you dealt with this before?” the man asked.

“How can you tell?” Fahmi redirected. 

“You avoid resting on your knees.”

“You are right, but I have not seen this in decades.”

The man hissed as Maryam accidentally brushed her hand against the arrow. “Please, sir. My… my wife can help, but I will not be able to translate while you pull it out. I need someone with experience to help your wife.”

Fahmi, for the sake of the man, ignored his own, visceral reaction to such information that the strangers were married. Instead, he nodded, motioning for the woman to join him and Maryam by the arrow. Maryam handed the woman a cloth damp with wine, offering a weak smile as Fahmi placed his hand on the man’s stomach and the end of the arrow.

There was a silence before the man’s screams echoed off the sandstone walls, Fahmi quickly ripping the arrow out of the man’s body. The foreign woman slammed her hands down against his side, the damp cloth preventing blood from pouring out. While the woman kept pressure on the wound, Fahmi helped Maryam wrap the bandages around the arrow wound. They bound the cloth snugly around the man’s muscular torso, then turned their attention to the other slashes on his body. To the mysterious man’s credit, his screams only lasted as long as it took for the arrow to come out. Instead, he huffed through his nose, turning on his side and retching as nausea struck him all at once. His wife stroked his hair beneath his cowl, shushing him in their shared language until he fainted from the pain.  

“We need to examine his body for more wounds,” Maryam explained. She turned to the man’s wife, hesitating before gesturing to her own eyes, then the rest of the man’s body. It was enough for the foreign woman to understand as she crawled to the other side of the man, raising his robes high enough on his chest to view his other wounds. The trio worked diligently, trading supplies as they wrapped the wounded man’s body. 

“How is his face?” Fahmi wondered. He pointed to his own face, and the foreign woman nodded in understanding. However, she paused at the cowl still covering her husband’s head, as though debating whether to look. Her brows knit while her lips formed a pout. Maryam scooted closer, offering to help. The woman hesitated, but finally gestured for Maryam to continue. Fahmi thought nothing of it until Maryam gasped. 

“My God! What happened to him?!” she demanded. Fahmi hurried to her side while the woman tilted her head, squinting her eyes. His eyes widened at the scar adorning the man’s chapped lips. A man younger than what his eldest son would be now, God rest his soul. He laid his fingers against the scarred tissue, twisted and stretched from his chin to his cheekbone. A scar several years old, yet poked and prodded at judging by the abnormal healing.

“God help him,” Fahmi murmured, bowing his head and murmuring a prayer. “This is no sword slash.”

“And these are no normal wounds. Who is this man?” Maryam replied quietly. She raised the cowl once more. The man’s wife glanced between the two with a puzzled expression. Ameen returned with the commotion now ended, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot by the corridor.

“The room is made, Baba,” he spoke. Fahmi nodded, groaning as his knees protested as he stood. The foreign woman stood alongside him, glancing between him and Ameen.

“Room,” Fahmi spoke to the woman, gesturing to his son. “He will take you to your room.” He spoke slowly, overly annunciating his words. The woman nodded along, reaching inside her pockets. She handed him a heavy bag of coins. When Fahmi poked inside, his eyes widened. It was nearly a month’s revenue inside the bag. He protested, shaking his head and shoving the bag back into her hands.

“Too much,” he protested. The woman chuckled tiredly, laying it on the desk regardless of his protests. She knelt down to her husband, slinging his arm around her shoulder and heaving him onto her back. Her muscles strained beneath her tunic and trousers. Fahmi had to admit his astonishment at the woman’s strength, knowing he would be of little help. Regardless, he did loop the man’s other arm around his own shoulder, helping the woman carry her husband to their room. Together, they laid the man down on the bed. Maryam laid a fresh set of bandages, linen cloths, and a bottle of wine by the bed.

“For the wounds,” she explained. The woman nodded, eyes downcast to her husband.

Ameen scampered forward, offering a small bucket. “He might be sick,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed with color. The foreign woman managed a smile, mustering her best Arabic as she murmured her thanks. Fahmi and Maryam bowed their heads in respect, ushering Ameen out of the room and closing the door behind them. The couple shared fearful looks.

Just what kind of man had arrived at their doorstep? Worse – who had this man angered that dared mutilate his face before God?

.~.~.

“I have questions.”

Altaïr retched into the bucket, coughing and sputtering while nausea overcame him. He gagged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to Maria. “Right now?”

“Yes, but I will give you the courtesy of finishing,” Maria decided, scooting closer to the Assassin. Her palm rubbed his back as he heaved. 

“How kind,” Altaïr muttered.

“I rather thought so.”

Altaïr heaved into the bucket again. This time, Maria slid her hands to Altaïr’s chest, holding him up while he kept the bucket close to his frame. Freshly changed bandages demonstrated that Altaïr’s wounds were healing appropriately, but they did little to dissuade the nausea. She laid her cheek against his toned back. 

“You called me your wife.”

Altaïr panted, setting the bucket down by the bed. “What?”

“Your wife. You called me your wife when you spoke to the couple,” Maria murmured. 

Altaïr said nothing. He laid back against the pillows, eyes closed as he steadied his breathing. Maria propped her elbow on the pillow next to him, cheek resting on her palm.

“You were a fool for taking that arrow to your side,” she chastised. 

“You would have done the same for me,” Altaïr replied. His eyes remained shut, brows furrowed as beads of sweat cascaded down his face and chest, his robes long abandoned as they sat folded neatly in a nearby chair. The sweating was good, Maria reminded herself, though it was harder and harder to do so with how pale her companion was becoming.

“It does not make you any less a fool,” Maria murmured. She laid her hand on his chest, fingers splayed over his torso. Altaïr laid his hand over hers, his heart thumping against her palm. 

“I thought you had questions,” Altaïr whispered. He opened an eye, peering down at Maria. She hummed.

“I do. You ignored my first one,” Maria replied.

“It was not a question.”

Maria huffed, pushing on Altaïr’s chest. “Fine. Why did you call me your wife?”

“To avoid suspicion.”

“You could have called me your sister.”

Altaïr paused. “Would you have preferred as such?”

Maria pursed her lips. After a moment, she answered. “No.”

“Then I see no reason for concern,” Altaïr responded tersely. He grimaced as he shifted on the bed, holding his side. Maria sat up, easing Altaïr into a more comfortable position.

“I did not mind it,” Maria clarified. “You know I did not. I… I was just curious.”

Altaïr nodded, though Maria could not tell if he agreed. She fidgeted next to her friend, eyes falling to his lips. His familiar, plump lips, marked by his most defining feature. She leaned forward, reaching up to his lips and pressing her fingertips against his scar. Altaïr stilled. She could feel his body tense under her simple touch.

“They seemed horrified when they saw this,” Maria explained. “I did not understand why. They spoke too fast.” She repeated the few Arabic words she remembered, but they felt clunky and heavy on her tongue. Altaïr’s lips parted slightly, dry and chapped from their journey through the arid dunes. He avoided her eyes, tilting his face to the side as he reached for the goblet of water.

“Your Arabic is improving,” Altaïr complimented. 

Maria frowned. “You are avoiding the question.”

“You did not ask a question.”

“You know damn well what I meant.”

Altaïr shot her a look. Maria gulped. Yet, she held her chin high, too proud to back down from her words now. “I thought your scar was a battle wound, like mine. The man seemed to think otherwise.”

“It is, in its own way,” Altaïr muttered.

Maria laid her hand on Altaïr’s cheek, turning his face toward hers. She studied his scar, eyes narrowed as her fingers returned to trace the sensitive flesh. His upper lip split into his scar, providing a small slit into his mouth and exposing a sliver of his teeth and gums. It was barely noticeable from afar, and rarely had any man reached Altaïr’s face long enough to observe how his scar melded into his face. But for Maria, it had been the first feature she noticed, the cool metal of his hidden blade nicking her throat while she sneered. Admittedly, it had terrified her upon their first meeting. No man’s lips should form such a gruesome tear, after all. She was surprised it took the older couple so long to notice it. 

Maria was no doctor, but she had experienced more agonizing pains and wounds than the average man could dream of. The scar marked just above her left eyebrow proved it, nicked by a Saracen sword in a battle alongside Richard I. For years, Maria wore such a wound with honor. It was her first permanent scar since she had traded a wedding ring for a sword. A sign that no man, nor woman, could confine her. An affront to the English nobility that once trapped her. Such scars were not becoming of a woman, so Maria puffed her chest and bore hers with pride. Her scar was not a trap, but an escape from desirability as she wandered to the ends of the Earth. Her scars were gnarled and twisted and deep, but they had healed.

Altaïr’s most prominent scar differed in this regard. It was gnarled and twisted and deep like her own, but the flesh had not healed as hers had. Her eyebrow scar healed over a decade ago. Altaïr’s lip scar looked nearly as old, but the flesh had not healed. Not until recently, at least. The outer edges of his scar were light, contrasting against his deep tan and dark hair. The edges were fully healed. His lower lip and chin had been spared as well, the scar a faint pale against his skin. But whereas these areas were faint and light, the rest of the scar remained an irritated red. Not infected, but irritated, as though prodded at constantly. The dark shade of his upper lip failed to conceal the redness of his scar. Only in the last month or so had it begun to heal, slowly fading into a pinkish red.

Even as Maria trailed her fingers along his scar, Altaïr sat eerily still. Too still, as though he was bracing for impact. His jaw was clenched. His biceps tensed as Maria moved closer, her face lingering by his. She guided her fingertips to his jaw, brushing her thumb against his jawline. 

“You should shave,” Maria hummed, eyes glancing up. “Your face is growing scraggly.”

Altaïr cocked a brow. “Is that a question?”

Maria shook her head and pursed her lips, brows raised. “No. A suggestion.”

Altaïr stared at her. Those piercing, golden eyes that made even Maria shift under his gaze. She remained so close, barely a breath away from his lips. The puff of air from his nose as he exhaled tickled her own. 

“I can do it for you,” Maria suggested.

Altaïr almost smiled. “This feels like a demand rather than a suggestion.”

Maria rolled her eyes, huffing as she stood and walked to their things. Searching his bag, Maria located a small razor amongst his barren things. Throughout their time together, he always packed lightly. Truth be told, she was surprised he even possessed a razor. She returned to the bed, guiding Altaïr to sit up further with a candle in hand. She set the candle down on the bedside table, then unsheathed his razor. Carefully, Maria raised the blade to the Assassin’s jaw and scraped away a few wrily strands of curly, dark hair. 

“No water?” Altaïr asked.

“You will be fine,” Maria remarked, eyes focused on her work as she brought the blade closer to her thumb. “Besides, it is a trim. I rather like your facial hair. You should let it grow out.”

It did not escape Maria’s notice how Altaïr tensed at her words. For his sake, Maria paid it no mind and continued her work, trimming his coarse hair. A moment of comfortable silence passed, interrupted only by the scraping of the razor against Altaïr’s sharp jaw and the snoring of their camels just outside the minuscule caravanserai. Much to Maria’s surprise, it was Altaïr who broke the silence. 

“You said they were shocked to see my face?” Altaïr spoke. His words were uncharacteristically soft.

Maria frowned. “Not your face, your scar.”

“Is it not one and the same?”

Maria stopped in her tracks. She leaned back, narrowing her eyes as she tracked Altaïr’s movements. His golden gaze avoided hers, cast down upon the scratchy sheets. His lips were parted ever so slightly, Maria watching as he quickly swiped his tongue over them. Her eyes flicked to his hands, which lay awkwardly in his lap. Once again, his body was tense, muscles straining and breath shallow.

“What makes you say that?” Maria questioned, tone harsher than intended.

Altaïr’s throat bobbed as he shifted his gaze back to hers. “What makes you ask?”

“No, no,” Maria argued, setting the razor down against the bed. “We are not starting this. Altaïr, what makes you say that?”

There was a long pause. In the past, Maria would have dropped the subject entirely, writing it off as some sort of Assassin trick to dig into the deepest pits of her heart and mind. Now, however, Maria held her chin high as she forced Altaïr to keep her gaze, her heart thumping against her chest.

“How did the scar upon your brow form?” Altaïr asked. 

Maria closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. “Altaïr, I am not going to–”

“Do you want to know or not?” He snapped. Maria’s brow furrowed, and Altaïr quickly cleared his throat. He repeated his question, his voice much softer and weaker than before.

Maria stared incredulously, but ultimately decided to play along. “My first battle. One of Salāh ad-Dīn’s men slashed my brow.”

Altaïr nodded. “Were you shamed for it?”

Maria shrugged. “A few soldiers from my infantry joked here and there, but no.” She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brow. “What are you getting at?”

“In Islam,” Altaïr explained, “it is believed God places all of our senses and beauty into our faces. It is why Muslims avoid striking the face.”

Maria scoffed. “My scar begs to differ.” 

Altaïr did not laugh, though she did see the corners of his lips tug up in a phantom smile. “It is taboo to do so. It can leave the face… disfigured,” he explained. “It is not so easy to conceal as a scar on one’s arm or leg.”

Maria’s expression fell. She hesitated before she finally asked her burning question. “Where did you get your scar?”

“Who do you think?” Altaïr all but answered.

Maria should not have been surprised. She only knew of Altaïr’s master through his stories and his codex (Maria could not help it – his journal had been left wide open). Despite Altaïr’s almost nostalgic tone toward a man who had betrayed him time and time again, each story left a sour taste upon her tongue. Now, her tongue tasted bile and copper in disgust. 

“How old were you?” she demanded, her words eerily still. Her blood boiled. 

“Old enough to know better,” Altaïr replied, quiet. 

“Horseshit. How old were you?” 

“Thirteen winters.”

Maria stood from the bed, pacing back and forth by the side. “You were a boy. A boy!” She rustled her dark locks from their meticulously braided bun as she grasped and tugged at her hair.

“I knew better than to speak out of turn,” Altaïr replied, his voice raised almost defensively. “I owed everything to him. My progress, my training, my life. He cared for me, in some twisted way, after my father’s death.”

Maria flocked to his side, kneeling before him on the bed as she cupped his cheek. Her thumb grazed over his scar. She tried not to gag imagining a small boy, voice yet to crack, begging the one guardian in his life for mercy. Apologizing desperately for words that should not have offended an allegedly wise leader so greatly. 

“That is one thing,” she managed once her voice was composed enough. “But it should be healed. It should be healed by now. For God’s sake, Altaïr, you are twenty-seven! Why is it only now healing?!”

Altaïr caught his lip between his teeth. “I have never been good at staying my tongue. I needed reminders.” His jaw clenched as his throat bobbed. Maria nearly choked as he spoke. “If I would not close my mouth, he would pry it closed for me.”

Maria stared. What else were she to do? She stood, pinching the bridge of her nose while Altaïr silently stared – no, glared – down at his own hands. 

“Your master would mutilate you before God,” Maria murmured, her head spinning, “and you would defend him?”

“He was an ordinary man,” Altaïr replied softly, “in control of illusions.”

“This is no illusion, Altaïr.”

“I know.”

Maria tossed her hands in the air before setting them on her head, pacing once more. She inhaled, standing and placing her hands on her hips. She gestured to Altaïr, speechless as she attempted to form words on her heavy tongue. “For thirteen years, Al Mualim slit and prodded your mouth to silence you, on top of his manipulation. As a boy, I understand your hesitance, but you never once fought back?”

Altaïr stood, hand clasping his side while he straightened his back. Maria took a step back, eyes wide but jaw tensed. “How do you fight a man who thinks himself God?” he questioned with narrowed eyes. “What would I have gained? Where would I have gone?” Altaïr winced and sat back down, eyes cast down shamefully. Maria sighed, sitting next to him on the sheets.

“Assassins are not always required to hide their faces,” Altaïr confessed quietly. He tenderly rubbed his stub of a ring finger, thumb brushing over the seared and scarred skin. “Most lower their hoods in Masyaf if they are not patrolling. There is no reason to hide amongst brothers.”

“And you?” Maria dared ask.

Altaïr shook his head, running a hand through his coarse curls. “I was no brother. I was his personal weapon.” His throat bobbed, and Maria tore her face away when she noticed his golden eyes begin to glisten in the flickering candlelight. “He created me. He could mold me into whatever he pleased. He could slice and strike my face. He could shave my beard and treat me not just as a boy, but a dog. He could isolate me. He could tear my name from me and make me the son of no one, loved by nobody. He could do whatever he pleased.” He turned to Maria, voice wavering as he spoke. “Where would I have run to? Who would I have hidden behind that would not whisper my arrogance to Al Mualim?”

There was silence as both Altaïr and Maria turned to stare at the cracked sandstone before them. “My face was unsightly, he told me,” Altaïr whispered. “Disrespectful, even.” He bent forward, elbows digging into his knees while he craned his head and rubbed his eyes. “Better kept hidden beneath a cowl, even in the arms of my brothers.” Altaïr swallowed. “He was correct.”

“No,” Maria opposed. “Your scar is not unsightly. It is not disgusting, or disrespectful, or anything that blabbering fool would have you believe. Your face is not unsightly. You are not unsightly.”

Altaïr chuckled, though it nearly sounded like a sob. “You do not have to lie, Maria.”

“I am not!” Maria all but shouted, coming in front of Altaïr and bending her knees slightly, stopping when she was level with him.

“I am nothing.”

“You are everything,” she pleaded. Maria cupped each of his cheeks, thumbs brushing the heavy, dark bags beneath his kohl-covered eyes. “You are kind and good and curious and wise and beautiful.”

It was Altaïr’s turn to scoff. “Beautiful? I hoped in our time together, you would have some respect for me, even if minute.”

Maria bit back an argument. Instead, she reached for his hands, squatting on the ground while she squeezed them. “You are not some ‘ugly, old Assassin’ beneath your hood,” she murmured, briefly lowering her voice and swapping her accent to mimic his words from Cyprus. Once she had seen his face in Cyprus for the first time, she had thought he was joking during their initial meeting with his Cypriot allies. Now, staring into his piercing eyes, Maria’s heart shattered knowing he had truly not lied. At least, he did not believe so.

She held his hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle. “You are so beautiful. Strikingly so. In fact, it is embarrassing to admit,” she managed a soft laugh. “You are not some broken, shattered weapon. You are the Mentor of the Assassins. You are a scholar. You are a man. You are Altaïr. And Altaïr is more than enough.” 

Altaïr was quiet. Maria did not press for an answer. His tear-stained cheeks, illuminated by the candlelight, were enough to signal the power of her words. Her heart pounded as she imagined the utter agony one man could carry. Maria had little autonomy under Robert’s control amongst the Templars, but Altaïr had possessed none under Al Mualim since the age of eleven. His name was stripped from him. His masculinity was torn away in favor of a boy to manipulate. His face was mutilated simply because Al Mualim could. To be at the mercy of a man with none, who believed himself worthy of the powers of God… Maria choked back her tears, instead burying her face in his hands and kissing each palm. 

“Altaïr,” she murmured, gazing up into his tearful eyes, “you are everything to me.” She cupped his cheek, ignoring her own hot tears as she smiled solemnly. “You have given me a fresh start. You have given me compassion, wisdom, love.” She swallowed a sob, standing before repositioning herself on the bed. Altaïr still said nothing, his eyes simply following Maria with every movement.

“Please,” Maria begged softly. She cupped her hands around Altaïr’s. “We are more than the instruments people would craft us to be.” Shuffling forward, Maria laid his hands over her heart, her own hands keeping them flat against her chest. “You are Altaïr. I am Maria. That is all we need be.”

Maria could not recall what resulted in Altaïr’s lips melding perfectly against her own. Perhaps it was the thump of her heartbeat. Perhaps it was their matching tears and snotty noses. Perhaps it was Altaïr’s released anguish. Or perhaps, it was merely Altaïr distracting himself from his nausea. Whatever the case, Maria gladly opened her mouth, finding Altaïr’s mouth absolutely delectable as her fingers combed through his curly locks. It was not the first time their lips had met so fervently. It was not even the first time their lips had met with so much love. But it was the first time their lips had met so unencumbered. There was no hesitance as Altaïr deepened their kiss, no weariness behind his lips. Nothing but relief and love and catharsis.

Eyes fluttering, Maria dug her fingers into Altaïr’s coarse hair. The warmth of their breaths mingled with each kiss. She sank her teeth into Altaïr’s lower lip, tugging it and slipping her tongue into his mouth. All the while, Altaïr pressed fervently in return, deepening their kiss as he tugged her forward. Maria’s head spun as her lips lingered by Altaïr’s long after they parted for air. His breath was hot and ragged on her cool skin. She tilted her head up, squinting her eyes as she analyzed his face. Tears stained his sharp cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy. Even with his mouth shut, Maria could see his teeth and gums through the exposed sliver of his scar.

Maria cupped both of his cheeks, her thumbs swiping the stray tears from his skin. She watched as his eyes crinkled and his lips tugged into an awkward hint of a smile. His curved nose, slightly crooked from Maria’s boot to his face only a few months prior, bounced the candlelight off his face. The flickering light highlighted his strong, sharp cheekbones. His eyes, a piercing swirl of gold and amber, were only emphasized by the kohl beneath them. Every inch and crevice of his face captivated her. The longer she stared, the more he strained against her palms as if tugging away from the attention. Tears welled in his eyes as her hold left him utterly exposed. But she could not let him tear away. His dark curls and his striking gaze and his full lips and his winding scar and his scruffy beard and his tan skin enchanted her very being. 

She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. 

“Say something,” Altaïr croaked.

Maria did not. Instead, she leaned forward, peppering gentle kisses to his scar. Maria was careful not to irritate the slit in his upper lip any more than it already was. Rather, she gingerly trailed her velvet lips up along his scar, leaving small caresses along the trail. His facial hair – not quite a beard, but not quite stubble – tickled her cheeks. She smiled. 

“My first demand as your wife,” Maria murmured between kisses to his scar, “is that you must grow your beard out. I am fond of it.”

The world spun still with her words. Beneath her gentle touch, Maria could feel Altaïr’s body stiffen. “What?”

“Oh honestly, Altaïr, you cannot just stop listening to me immediately!” Maria huffed. “You have to wait at least a year.”

“I do not understand.” His voice shook – perhaps from nausea, perhaps from nerves, or perhaps from both.  Maria laid a hand on his bandaged chest. His heart threatened to thump out onto the floor. She grinned.

“We have been like this for many months,” she explained. “Stumbling around our feelings like some prepubescent children. One might think us virgins the way we stammer about.”

“Aside from insulting our maturity,” Altaïr spoke, his face contorted in confusion, “I am assuming you have a point to this.”

Maria waved her hand in dismissal. “Hush, let me get there.” The Englishwoman grasped Altaïr’s hands in her own, her thumbs stroking his calloused palms. “But tonight… something… it is difficult to explain.” She inhaled and squeezed his hands. Her pale, cerulean eyes met his amber stare. “I love you. I think you and I know that intimately by now. But it was not until tonight, with the mercenaries, the arrow, your scar… that I understood the extent of my love.”

Altaïr furrowed his brow. “I still do not understand. Why now?”

“Because for the first time,” Maria breathed, “I thought I would lose you.”

“This is not my first arrow. This is not even our first battle.”

“No, but I have never seen you so injured or ill. I have never seen you, the great Altaïr, retching over a bucket with bandages covering your entire torso.”

“If you do not make a point soon, I fear you may again.”

Cautiously, Maria handed Altaïr the water-filled chalice, waiting until he had drunk his fill to continue. Her throat swelled with tears as she gulped down her pride. “You have been so truly and utterly vulnerable tonight. You have shared with me the deepest parts of your pain. You have let me care for you and stay by your side.” She smiled through her tears, rolling her eyes as she wiped a few away and scoffed at herself. “Oh good God, this is humiliating.”

Altaïr managed a smile. A true smile. Not the phantom of a smile, or a mildly amused look. A small, bright smile that tugged his lips into his cheeks and formed a pair of dimples. Good God, Maria had never even noticed that before, and the revelation was not aiding her poor attempt at an explanation. “No, it is not,” he assured quietly. It was his turn to cup her pale cheeks. He swiped a tear from her eye, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Maria inhaled sharply, praying that God would not see her break into some weeping wildflower.

Mustering the courage and dignity that remained, Maria tightened her jaw and stared up at Altaïr. “I would walk with you to the ends of time, Altaïr. To our glory, to our doom, I do not care. As long as I walk beside you and chastise you for your foolish decisions to put yourself in front of arrows for the rest of my life, I will be content.”

Altaïr hesitated. “How can you make such a decision so hastily?”

Maria laughed. “My life is nothing but hasty decisions, Assassin.” She crawled beside him from the edge of the bed, wiggling by his side to find a more comfortable position. “But this is not one of them.”

Altaïr laid his head against the creaking headboard, closing his eyes. “So, you have decided that you are my wife now? I have no say in the matter?”

“Is that a question?”

“Maria.”

“No,” Maria answered plainly. “Not yet. But I will be.”

“What makes you so sure?” Altaïr taunted.

“I am a stubborn woman. You are a hot-tempered man. One will wear the other down eventually,” she teased.

“What if I said no?”

“You would not have called me your wife, then.”

Altaïr grinned. “That is true.” He opened his eyes and turned toward Maria, who quickly shot out her hand to ease the pain in his side. “Then you will need to learn more Arabic. It was horrendous before.”

Maria feigned a gasp. “You said I was improving!”

“Both can be true,” Altaïr countered.

“Fine. Next time, I will leave you to die amongst the vipers and vultures in the dunes.”

“You would not.”

“I will stab the arrow back into your side, Altaïr.”

“Now that, you would do.”

The two glared at one another, squinting their eyes and puffing their chests, until finally, Altaïr began to gag. Maria swooped for the bucket, lifting it to her lover’s face before he heaved into it. He murmured apologies, but Maria merely shushed him, her fingers stroking his curly hair. 

“You are still a fool for taking that arrow,” she reminded.

“You still would do the same,” Altaïr grumbled, panting into the bucket before wiping his mouth and gulping down what water remained inside the goblet. Maria kissed the top of his head, grabbing the nearest rag and wiping the beads of sweat from his face.

“You are not a weapon, Altaïr,” she reminded, careful as she dabbed around his scar. “You are a man. You do not need to earn my love or any other through reckless acts. You are a man, and that is enough.” 

Altaïr nodded, and Maria prayed he believed her.

[sillyruinsfox]

Birthday Blues

PAIRINGS: Avengers X reader,

Steve Rogers X reader

WARNINGS : Explicit use of swear words, mentions of period blood.

SYNOPSIS : Y/N is sick and the Avengers have forgotten her birthday. Hence she is also mad and her uterus decided to spontaneously explode.

AUTHORS NOTE : Hey people! This is my first Avengers fanfic, so I would really appreciate the feedback. Also hope you enjoy it! The second part I have yet to write but I will post it soon. Toodles!

It had been a gruelling day. For starters, you had woke up with blood pooled on your white linen sheets- it was obvious. Even your uterus was conspiring against you. Second, your hair had gone on strike and refused to sit in a pony tail. The lonliness had gotten to it too, it spontaneously reshaped itself to look like a bird's nest, hoping for some fly company.

To top all this off, you had caught a cold. To illustrate how it looked, bigfoot was know for his big feet (obviously) and you shall be known for your nose. Red and irritated. Just like you felt at this very moment.

You weren't usually such an incorrigible grump, but it was your birthday tomorrow and your team mates showed no sign of remembering, despites the bomb-like obvious hints you had constantly dropped for the past week. There is nothing as irritating in the world as an itch you can't reach and your stupid ass friends not remembering your birthday. The unfortunate part is that you knew the lot were stupid before you became friends with them.

This was good enough reason to put anyone in a bad mood right? Oh but there's worse! Your one and only boyfriend, Shmaptan Schemerica (blame the stupid pronunciation on your blocked nose) a.k.a Steve Rogers had been way to busy running some shit or the other with Fury to even have a proper conversation with you this past week.

You decided enough was enough. If these asshats didn't remember your birthday, you were going to celebrate it on your own. And you promised yourself not to melt when Natasha or Pietro apologized later on. Those two were manipulative as fuck.

At midnight you woke up with your nose blocked three ways to hell and decided that the only way to celebrate was with medicine and a cup of hot chocolate. The sugar would kill you throat- sure, but what is a little death for a professional assasin?

You made your way down the stairs wrapped up in a thick blanket, looking like the aftermath of a war. Your footsteps heavy and echoing in the large stairwell. As you made your way into the common room, you found it unusually dark, the rest of New York looked like a festival in comparison. You opened the kitchen door and immidiately heard the flip of the lightswitch and turned 180°, on high alert. It proved to be a good choice as a large cylindrical object, burst in your face, throwing conffeti all over it. You heard a loud 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' in the background.

The conffeti had triggered another sneeze fest. After the 5th sneeze, you looked up to see the Avengers dressed for a casual party, looking at you awkwardly.

Steve was the first one to speak up,'Jeez, Y/N. We didn't realize you were so sick!'

You shot him a dry glare, trying to control your volcanic anger,'Jeez Steve! I'm so sorry you didn't! If only I saw you lately, I would have told you sweetie!', you cast a look around the room. Most of them stood awkwardly, Tony was the only one with the gall to look mildly amused.

You stormed into the kitchen making yourself a cup of hot chocolate. Vision came in, ' Are you okay Ms. Y/N?'

You had a soft spot for the transparent AI. He was sweet and understanding and a great listner. It always felt safe being vulnerable with him, you said,' No Viz. I'm tired and I can't breathe or talk properly. I have been extremely sad and angry that none of you remembered my birthday for the past few days and nothing is going my way!', as you said this, Viz looked at your hair.

'That obvious huh?', you asked him, a small laugh bubbling out of you.

He tactfully ignored that and moved on, 'we didn't mean to hurt you, we just wanted it to be a suprise.'

'Oh I know Viz. It's just..... I don't know. I am confused and sad. Knowing that cake awaits me on the other side of this wall makes me a little happier. Can we go to the cake?'

Vision smiled and swept his hand as if to tell you to go first. As you entered the common room again, Steve came rushing.

He placed a hand on you cheek and said in an extremely apologetic manner,' I'm so sorry babaycakes. I should have come up to check on you.'

You almost melted, but your ego decided to wage forntal attack, ' You've had a piece of my cake honeybuns and you know that it's not baby sized and I hope the actual cake you got me right now isn't either!'

[nightsidewrestling]

D.U.D.E Bios: Napier Rhydderch

The Cyhyraeth Duke Napier Rhydderch (2020)

Patrick's son and Naoise's grandson, Napier. AN Irish-Catholic living in Wales and a motivated and tender-hearted young man. He's one of Kirby's first cousins once removed.

"Look like a badass, feel like a badass."

Name

Full Legal Name: Napier Ross Finbar Ophiuchus Rhydderch

First Name: Napier

Meaning: From an English and Scots surname meaning 'Linen keeper' in Middle English, from Old French 'Nappe' 'Table cloth'.

Pronunciation: NAY-pee-uh

Origin: English

Middle Name(s): Ross, Finbar, Ophiuchus

Meaning(s): Ross: From a Scottish and English surname that originally indicated a person from a place called 'Ross', derived from Gaelic 'Ros' meaning 'Promontory, Headland'. Finbar: Anglicized form of 'Fionnbharr', Old Irish 'Finnbarr', derived from 'Finn' 'White, Blessed' and 'Barr' 'Top, Head'. Ophiuchus: Latinized form of Greek 'Ophiouchos' Meaning 'Serpent bearer'.

Pronunciation(s): RAWS. FIN-bahr. o-fee-YOO-kas / ahf-ee-YOO-kas

Origin(s): Scottish, English. Irish. Astronomy.

Surname: Rhydderch

Meaning: From the given name 'Rhydderch' from the Old Welsh name 'Riderch', derived from 'Ri' 'King' and 'Derch' 'Exalted'.

Pronunciation: HRUDH-ehrkh

Origin: Welsh

Alias: Cyhyraeth Duke, Napier Rhydderch

Reason: This is Napier's ring name

Nicknames: Barry

Titles: Mr

Characteristics

Age: 18

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: Welsh

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: October 1st 2002

Symbols: Banshees, Cyhyraeths, Ghosts, Crowns

Sexuality: Pansexual

Religion: Irish-Catholic

Native Language: Welsh

Spoken Languages: Welsh, Irish, Scottish (Scots Gaelic), English, Swedish

Relationship Status: Dating

Astrological Sign: Libra

Theme Song: 'Unconditional Love' - Cyndi Lauper (2020-)

Voice Actor: Dan Mitchell

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Current Location: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Hometown: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Appearance

Height: 5'11" / 180 cm

Weight: 157 lbs / 71 kg

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Sparse

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 2020) 0

Piercings: Ear Lobe (Triple, Both), Snake Eyes

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Smoker, Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Allies: (As of Jan 2020) The Rhydderch Clan

Enemies: (As of Jan 2020) None

Friends: Isidore Herbert, Odin Rhydderch, Gabriel O'Hannigan, Zayden O'Hannegan, Pacey Rhydderch, Zechariah Rhydderch, Eadberht Rhydderch

Colleagues: The C.R.C Locker Rooms / Too Many To List

Rivals: None

Closest Confidant: Zuleika Björklund

Mentor: Patrick Rhydderch

Significant Other: Zuleika Björklund (19, Girlfriend)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Patrick Rhydderch (41, Father), Moira Rhydderch (42, Mother, Née Callaghan)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Macaulay Rhydderch (21, Brother), Oighrig Rhydderch (15, Sister), Paige Rhydderch (12, Sister), Quintus Rhydderch (9, Brother), Radcliff Rhydderch (6, Brother), Sable Rhydderch (3, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Anwen Rhydderch (22, Macaulay's Wife, Née MacIntyre)

Nieces & Nephews: Alpin Rhydderch (1, Nephew)

Children: None

Children-In-Law: None

Grandkids: None

Great Grandkids: None

Wrestling

Billed From: Anglesey, Wales

Trainer: The C.R.C Wrestling School, Naoise Rhydderch, Patrick Rhydderch

Managers: Zuleika Björklund

Wrestlers Managed: Zuleika Björklund

Debut: 2020

Debut Match: Napier Rhydderch VS Patrick Rhydderch. Double Count Out

Retired: N/A

Retirement Match: N/A

Wrestling Style: Brawler / Hardcore

Stables: The Rhydderch Clan (2020-)

Teams: No Team Names

Regular Moves: Belly To Back Suplex, Bulldog, Figure-Four Leglock, Inverted Atomic Drop, Low Blow, Multiple Jabs, Poking / Raking Opponent’s Eyes, Running High Knee Strike, Big Boot, Atomic Drop, Backbreaker Rack, Diving Overhead Chop, High Knee, One-Armed Body Slam, Piledriver, Running Big Boot, Running Leg Drop, Vertical Suplex Powerslam

Finishers: Sleeper Hold, Jumping Knee Drop, Top Rope Jumping Knee Drop

Refers To Fans As: The Fans, The Family

Extras

Backstory: Napier Rhydderch of the C.R.C (Welsh Wrestling League / Cynghrair Reslo Cymru) owning Rhydderch family. When Patrick dies Napier will have a 1/392th ownership of the promotion. Napier is a 'Cyhyraeth Style’ (Brawler / Hardcore) trainer. He’s mostly Irish.

Trivia: Nothing of Note

[treesofgreen]

Ooh ooh time for one of my favorite poems:

THE CHAOS

GEORGE NOLST TRENITÉ (1870–1946)

Dearest creature in creation

Studying English pronunciation,

I will teach you in my verse

Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy,

Make your head with heat grow dizzy;

Tear in eye, your dress you’ll tear;

Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet,

Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!

Just compare heart, hear and heard,

Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain

(Mind the latter how it’s written).

Made has not the sound of bade,

Say—said, pay—paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you

With such words as vague and ague,

But be careful how you speak,

Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via,

Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;

Woven, oven, how and low,

Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery:

Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,

Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,

Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing,

Same, examining, but mining,

Scholar, vicar, and cigar,

Solar, mica, war and far.

From ‘desire’: desirable—admirable from ‘admire’,

Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,

Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,

Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral,

Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.

Gertrude, German, wind and wind,

Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,

Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.

This phonetic labyrinth

Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured

To pronounce revered and severed,

Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,

Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet;

Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.

Blood and flood are not like food,

Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet,

Which exactly rhymes with khaki.

Discount, viscount, load and broad,

Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?

Right! Your pronunciation’s OK.

Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,

Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your R correct in higher?

Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.

Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,

Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision,

Now: position and transition;

Would it tally with my rhyme

If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,

But cease, crease, grease and greasy?

Cornice, nice, valise, revise,

Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous,

Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,

You’ll envelop lists, I hope,

In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You’ll have it!

Affidavit, David, davit.

To abjure, to perjure. Sheik

Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,

Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.

We say hallowed, but allowed,

People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover,

Between mover, plover, Dover.

Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,

Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable,

Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, penal, and canal,

Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit

Rhyme with ‘shirk it’ and ‘beyond it’,

But it is not hard to tell

Why it’s pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,

Timber, climber, bullion, lion,

Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,

Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour

Has the A of drachm and hammer.

Pussy, hussy and possess,

Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants

Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.

Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,

Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

‘Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker’,

Quoth he, ‘than liqueur or liquor’,

Making, it is sad but true,

In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger,

Neither does devour with clangour.

Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,

Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, speci���c, scenic,

Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.

Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,

Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,

Make the latter rhyme with eagle.

Mind! Meandering but mean,

Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny,

You say mani-(fold) like many,

Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,

Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring

Rhyme with herring or with stirring?

Prison, bison, treasure trove,

Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald

Rhymes (but piebald doesn’t) with nibbled.

Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,

Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don’t be down, my own, but rough it,

And distinguish buffet, buffet;

Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,

Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling

Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.

Evil, devil, mezzotint,

Mind the Z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention

To such sounds as I don’t mention,

Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,

Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included,

Though I often heard, as you did,

Funny rhymes to unicorn,

Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely,

I don’t want to speak of Cholmondeley.

No. Yet Froude compared with proud

Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial,

Tripod, menial, denial,

Troll and trolley, realm and ream,

Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely

May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,

But you’re not supposed to say

Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid

Worthless documents? How pallid,

How uncouth he, couchant, looked,

When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,

Paramour, enamoured, flighty,

Episodes, antipodes,

Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don’t monkey with the geyser,

Don’t peel ’taters with my razor,

Rather say in accents pure:

Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,

Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,

Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,

Wan, sedan and artisan.

The TH will surely trouble you

More than R, CH or W.

Say then these phonetic gems:

Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,

There are more but I forget ’em—

Wait! I’ve got it: Anthony,

Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit

Does not rhyme with eight—you see it;

With and forthwith, one has voice,

One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does. Now first say: finger;

Then say: singer, ginger, linger.

Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,

Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very,

Parry, tarry, fury, bury,

Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,

Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,

Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners

Holm you know, but noes, canoes,

Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little,

We say actual, but victual,

Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,

Put, nut, granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rhyme with deafer,

Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.

Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,

Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,

Science, conscience, scientific;

Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,

Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit,

Next omit, which differs from it

Bona fide, alibi

Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area,

Psalm, Maria, but malaria.

Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,

Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,

Dandelion with battalion,

Rally with ally; yea, ye,

Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever,

Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.

Never guess—it is not safe,

We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary,

Crevice, but device, and eyrie,

Face, but preface, then grimace,

Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,

Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;

Ear, but earn; and ere and tear

Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the O of off and often

Which may be pronounced as orphan,

With the sound of saw and sauce;

Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?

Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.

Respite, spite, consent, resent.

Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even,

Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,

Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,

Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour,

S of news (compare newspaper),

G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,

I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers,

Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.

Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,

Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation—think of Psyche!—

Is a paling, stout and spiky.

Won’t it make you lose your wits

Writing groats and saying ‘grits’?

It’s a dark abyss or tunnel

Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,

Islington, and Isle of Wight,

Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don’t you think so, reader, rather,

Saying lather, bather, father?

Finally, which rhymes with enough,

Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough?

Hiccough has the sound of sup.

My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

[legitbabynames]

Llian

Photo by Teona Swift on Pexels.com Origin: Welsh Meaning: “flax; linen.” Gender: feminine Pronunciation: (SHEE-on) The name can either be a contracted form of the female Welsh name Gwenllian (white linen; white flax) or derive from the Welsh word lliain (flax,…

[harutostablet]

Three men and a baby or Haru gets an imp

Haruto knew this would happen. With the official announcement of Ayame-kun's marriage (pregnancy) and that Mako-chan, the bass guitarist, was the groom (father). The idol would be busier than he had ever been and not because of music. As the face of the band Haru would be sent around doing PR events sometimes with another band member, but mostly by himself. The baby was a surprise to his band mates as well and the guys were working it out. No one was talking let alone rehearsing music. Since Haruto didn't live with the guys on the mainland full time it was easy for Haruto to miss the longing glances and secret codes the two had during this relationship. Daisuke and ChanMatsu, Haruto didn't know how they missed it? They were still in a relationship right? Not that Haruto talked to the guys about their love life. They didn't ask about why Tsukiya left. It was a mixed blessing. Though that wasn't much of a mystery. He was sure the tengu was taken for dealing with a human. For fooling with him.

It was an unspoken rule to leave that kind of stuff outside of the band. But, that same rule was what was potentially about to break up the band.

The Dandies were the good guys. The kind of guys you take home to your parents, not the extra bad boy types like his father or Manami. Those guys could afford an unapproved relationship. For the success of the band Haru would be a fun distraction. Posting videos with his brother. Live events with Haruto being "getting inspired and taking viewer requests on Instagram" at just the time people would have their phones before bed, etc. If they could hold it together long enough the Dandies were set to perform at the 30th Anniversary of the founding of the talent agency Uncle Kenji and his dad founded. And if there was one thing that one did not do was mess with Uncle Kenji's detailed plans.

When his uncle suggested they go to Kyoto for tea he was surprised it was a true ochaya. He'd been once before with his dad but that was years ago. Uncle Kenji and his agent were having a good time agreeing with each other about something with the agency while Haru sipped sake and looked at his phone. Ayame-kun set his calendar on his phone before she went on leave. One of many things she did for him before stepping down from her position. They had a small party for her at the office on her last day. There was so much he didn't know about his former assistant. She used to be apart of a girl group that didn't really take off but when you work for his uncle you always had a home. So she stepped out of the lime light, went to college and that was how Sayaka-san became Ayame-kun and then Haruto's assistant. IN the back of his mind he wondered why she never shared that part of her life with him? Would it have mattered? Would it have brought them closer?

Seeing his life in black and white made him feel old. As if the days were longer simply because he could see what little free time he had anymore. Especially if you factored in 'free time' was filled with his school duties and studying. Time was a blur anymore. He rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand. There was a light tap on the door and one of the maiko went to open it slowly. In the doorway stood a new guest.

"Ah, you've finally arrived," said Uncle Kenji.

Alcides allowed for the maiko to escort him before stepping into the room with a deep bow. His body shimmered and over his right hand balanced a strange ball of smoke. The smoke had a scent but it was very faint and soft, like warm unscented linen. Hearing the uncle, the imp almost seemed taken back by 'finally.' He was perfectly on time when he was asked to arrive. He did not argue though. Bowing once more he says politely. "Thank you for having me." His accent is deep in his pronunciations of Japanese words. If one could guess, it was Irish. Turning to the table. "Pardon my interruption, I am Alcides, of Tohoku district, Ecclesia keep." Haru might recognize Ecclesia as being the exchange house for imps in Japan. Alcides offers a pleasant smile as he stands formally. "I hope I can be of good service to you."

Haruto choked on his sake, seeing the imp and coughed even more when he explained where he was from. His manager reached over to pat him on the back, but Haru shook him off. He bowed his head as he tried to remember how to breathe. Not taking his eyes off the enchanting imp he whispered to his uncle. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Well, you need an assistant, and I found you one," Uncle Kenji said. He offered his cup to be refilled by a geisha and took a sip. "You can't expect a pregnant Ayame-kun to work you? I didn't think you would complain… considering…." The older man noticed how focused his nephew was with his newest decision. Haruto really was like Akita. Their passion came through their music. Kenji might not have liked dividing the idol's time with the University but it also got him two hit records.

Also like Akita, if their passions were allowed to run wild, they forget that this cut throat industry needed their fill of passion yesterday. That is where Kenji stepped in as manager. Forest fires are tragic but a controlled blaze helped everyone. He doesn't have to set the fire. As long as Kenji laid the kindling the musicians' passion would start the blaze.

Alcides sat rather formally. Almost too much so. Though not incorrectly, the imp was checking himself and stiff, as though rehearsing his movements. Absolutely like a foreigner becoming accustomed to Japan. He looked around the table before his eyes lay on Haru and he bows his head again. Offering a smile once more.

"You must be Ono-san. I sincerely hope you find me useful. I was told your former familiar was a tourmaline house imp. Perhaps mine will be a better fit." He says with positivity in his voice. His tail curled behind him.

Haruto just looked at the imp. "My… other…. Oh Ely!" he covered his mouth then looked at his uncle again and back at the imp seeing how uncomfortable he was. "I think there has been a mistake…" his gaze looked down. "I am. You don't have to do this… like whatever they told you or whatever…." um.. um.. " he didn't know the other's name. "What is your name?"

Alcides looked more and more confused as Haru spoke. He didn't know Ely at all, just that Haru had an imp before and 'it didn't work out.' Even more so, he was baffled by Haru's confusion.

"Uh. Excuse me. I will repeat." Bowing his head. "I am Alcides… but if that name is too difficult, you could call me Ali or another name you find more suitable." He offers.The little smoke ball swaying around slowly as his decorated nails seem to twist and direct it. Even so- he never lost his focus on Haru. Haruto sat up straight in his seat and bowed properly.

"I'm sorry. Alcides…Haru or Haruto is okay…." he said then paused trying to figure out how to get out of this.

Ueno, Haruto's manager, whispered "Maa maaa, what is all of this ?"and poured a cup of sake for Alcides. "This is a time to celebrate, right?" This was why Ueno trusted the boss's plays. Ueno didn't understand at first. Wasn't it an imp that caused this mess in the first place? But, if they find an imp that worked for the company then all of the singer's focus, hormones, drama would be managed in house. No more headaches worrying about how long it will take before someone gets a photo of Haruto blowing some guy, who glows in the dark, at night, in a back alley.

"Welcome to the team Alicides" Uncle Kenji said, raising his cup. "We're happy to have you." Haru's manager bowed and on auto pilot Haru also bowed. Haru caught himself looking at the two men who handled his life. He had to keep forcing himself to look away from the beautiful imp. Fuck.

"Uncle, why couldn't you just ask someone from an agency or something….." he bit his bottom lip. "I'm sorry Alcides, you don't have to do this, I don't know what you were told or whatever but I don't own people, '' Haruto rambled. Turns out that just because you have no time to yourself, if you don't spend a few extra minutes in the shower every morning that you start biting people's heads off. "That's weird."

The other two men watched the melt down like clockwork. It was only recently that Haru started acting like himself again. Kenji was sure it had to do with that well mannered prince disappearing.

"… and like….like… you should be able to choose what you want to do…" Haru tried imploring the imp.

Alcides just found himself still confused. Patiently listening between the three. His eyes on Haru. "Master Haruto. Forgive me for being… blunt, but there seems to be a misunderstanding. When asked if I wanted to serve you, it was because it is something I want to do." He answers honestly. Keeping that soft smile.

"I'm- not sure what your experience is with keeping familiars in the past… but to put your mind at ease, please understand. Just as you are human choosing to be an idol, I am an imp choosing to be a familiar." He seemed keen to the stereotypes and concerns associated with his kind. "If it makes you more comfortable to know, this is still an appraisal period. Should you dislike me, or I find myself incapable to serve you, then our contract need not be established." he looked off a moment. "Though I do hope you will at least consider." He didn't touch the sake in front of him.

Haruto blushed as the other talked, he balled his hands into fists and rubbed the front of his slacks in thought.

"Do you hear that Haruto? You would treat him just as you would treat any assistant," Uncle Kenji explained calmly as if trying to calm the hamster that ran in Haru's brain. His manager filled Haru's cup before setting the bottle down. Both manager and uncle were waiting to see what the idol would say.

"The agreements are already signed. "Kenji let him know that there was no talking around this.

"And this one can't get pregnant." Ueno said before taking a sip of his own cup.

"Why would you say that?" he felt embarrassed and took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves. It seemed he had no choice.

"This is a trial period right? So like if you don't like working for me, or whatever, you'll go where you want to go, right?" Haruto asked mesmerized by how beautiful the imp was, only making him more sure that this was a mistake.

Alcides listened once more and honestly felt a bit awkward by the conversation. This meeting was unlike any he'd had before but he still kept himself formal and polite. Looking back to Haruto he nods.

"If I find that I am unsuitable- uh- that I can not provide for you with all of my will, then I will return to Ecclesia and perhaps another imp will be offered to you." Though he did pause, and look off again, his cheeks seem to blush in a bright green against his otherwise violet skin. "Your uncle is correct. I cannot become pregnant… will this be an issue for you?" He asks Haru. Haruto was red faced.

"Well, I think we should let these two get acquainted. " Uncle Kenji rose to his feet followed by haru's manager Ueno. The geisha and maiko also rose to go with them.

"Be nice," he said softly to Haruto as the two left the room leaving him alone with the imp.

"I'm sorry about all of this…" Haru whispered looking at his lap. "Um, what kind of imp are you or whatever…?"

Alcides bows his head to the ones leaving the room. A combination of over bowing and simply 'understanding' his place would be below everyone else in the room, including the maiko. Looking back to Haru, his nails still twisting the smoke around the strange orb.

"I am smoky chrysocolla quartz coated after azurite imp… or celestial imp for short." He answers fully. Looking over Haruto to see if the man understood any of that. He didn't but nodded along anyway.

"Hm.. put simply as a smoky chrysocolla in quartz- I and my breed are known for record keeping. Being born through azurite is how I appear to have sparkles coming off my body. Thus the celestial imp nickname." He smiles a bit more. "I am told you quite like things that sparkle, though I hope that my appearance isn't too strange." Still keeping a positive tone.

Haruto shook his head. "You look really cool…" he said before thinking. "Um, what did my uncle tell you you were here for, or whatever?" he wanted to ask about the smoke, but baby steps.

Alcides didn't mind the questions at all and honestly welcomed them fully. "I am to provide you with assistance in your everyday life, scheduling, meetings, events, and maintaining time. As well as provide companionship and comfort when necessary." He chuckles softly. "I'm glad you find me- cool. Thank you."

Haruto blushed again and looked off. He picked up his cup and took a sip of the sake then noticed that the other cup was untouched. '`You don't drink?" he asked curiously.

"I don't need companionship or whatever… that is weird and I never asked Ayame-kun that kind of stuff or whatever… and you're my assistant so that would be weird or whatever…." he was rambling again. Haruto shook his head to not get lost in those light markings as they hid under Ali's clothing. Trying to figure out if he was angry or confused that his uncle seemed to know so much about him.

Alcides flinched like he'd been caught and bowed his head deeply. "Forgive me, while I understand it is a cultural norm, I avoid anything that could impair my judgment or focus…" He apologized. "Perhaps- under less formal circumstances in the future, I would be more inclined." Raising his head slowly.

"I have no intention of doing anything you would not like me for, however, please understand that there are skill sets for which I am made, and find the most comfort and personal happiness in doing…" Ali said still messing with the smoke orb. "If- it is not too discourteous to inquire. What were the expectations your former familiar failed to meet? I ask in hopes that I can focus on them."

Haruto set down his cup that was right. This was a business meeting. It felt more like an arranged marriage but, wasn't that also a business meeting? Haru bowed his head in apology. He placed his hands on his thighs again.

"Skill Sets?" Haru's cheeks pinked and he shook his head again. Focus. "You don't have to be formal around me or whatever…" at the mention of his previous imp he looked off. "We… disagreed about what we wanted in life…." that was the easiest, less painful way, to talk about his history with Ely. "And he wasn't MY imp…. we went to school together and dated for a while, and just broke up, or whatever…What is that smoke that you're holding?" trying to change the subject

Alcides listened to Haruto and seemed surprised. "You- were a couple? That is very different than taking claim to them… uh wait- does this mean- you've never possessed an imp before? Uh… sorry to ask so bluntly, but do you- have any experience with familiars outside of- dating one?"

Though he tried to sound formal still, that positive attitude wavered and he sounded nervous. His brows even a bit tense. He looked at the orb when asked about it. "Oh. This is how my kind keeps records. I record my thoughts and notes into this smoke and I am able to interpret it… it's like- typing on a laptop or writing in a notebook for me…" He explained but still seemed a bit thrown now that he realized Haru never actually owned an imp before.

"If, I'm honest, I wanted to free him…. but…. that isn't what he wanted…." Haruto couldn't help himself and refilled his own cup before taking a sip of sake. "I don't consider you a slave or whatever……" another sip

"Ono-san. I don't know your experience with imps but, from my research, I know you're an idol." Alcides brows knit before he sighs. "Such a career choice is very demanding. There are high expectations of you and often, you don't always have a say in every aspect. Your image, your presence, and how you operate are dictated for you. Yes- you could deny these things. You can easily say you don't want to wear nice clothes, or perform any dances. But then- you wouldn't be able to be an idol. And for our purposes- isn't that what you want?"

Haruto set his cup on the table listening, part feeling like he was being scolded. "Yes, I'm sorry…" he felt like he was messing up. He coughed, cleared his throat, and put on his best Idol face. This one is kind, open and sincere. "I apologize. I leave myself in your care." he gripped his dress slacks again and lowered his head.

"I'll try not to bring you too much trouble. " This guy was just an assistant, just an assistant, he would treat this guy… this really hot…imp… GAH. He would treat him like his assistant. Just that.

Alcides shook his head. "Your missing the point, but I guess I appreciate this… however… my service doesn't come free. As you said- I'm not a slave. And I'm not dating you. With collaring there are negotiations."

The little ball twisted around his fingers as he thought. "It's what makes you, having not been a former master, so- concerning… I'm a demon after all, I could take away your soul, your first born, all sorts of things. It's rather- foolish to so easily say your willing to stake my claim before knowing what I am taking from it… your uh- former imp- consumed energy from his master and eventually, it killed her." He explains in such a manner as though he were talking about stocks and exchanges.

Haruto looked up at the imp then flinched thinking not wanting to believe that Ely would kill someone that he cared about. "I'm sorry. What…are you going to take from me? Or is it with you and my uncle?" part of him assumed because he thought that only his uncle brokered this. He thought that either way this was done and his uncle fixed it the way that his uncle fixed everything.

Alcides thinks for a moment. "Well, it was discussed with your uncle but as I'll be serving you, the arrangement must be agreed by you…" Thinking carefully. "As an idol, you're not permitted to date anyone that's not chosen for you. I am well aware of your faux girlfriend. But with me, that will be even more- literal." He sways his hand.

"It's unfortunate that the last demon you were with was someone you have dated. As I have no intention of ever giving any love to you. Put simply… In exchange for my service, you will be feeding me with your body." He answers bluntly and with a manor still formal. Shrugging even. "Over time, you will find it difficult to give your body to anyone else, rest assured, you may still fall in love and date other people but uh… well. Put simply once more. What I am taking is your lust. Your sex drive, your uh- physical needs." He hoped he was clear enough to understand.

"I am told by your uncle that it's often something in need of regulation anyway, so perhaps this will be mutually beneficial."

Haruto nodded along at first listening, flinching at how clinically Alcides said love. His face glowed bright red, and his eyes grew wide. "I… wait…. Hold on…. why would my uncle …… say that…..Well, I don't know how this will work then because I take care of my own needs or whatever and like …. you would just be my assistant. I never slept with Ayame-kun…..so…….ya" he said like he said a thing.

Alcides nodded.

"Well, I am not an assistant like Ayame-san. I'm not paid in money, I don't go home at night and come back in the morning. I'm not employed. As a familiar, I am with you always, doing everything you need of me. I'll be living in your home, caring for your needs, Providing you with schedules and guidance as well as companionship. Hm… more like a live-in caregiver mixed with an assistant. I only ask to be fed my dues and that my bare necessities are met."

Haruto's breath was caught in his throat. His head could explode. "I, you can't live with me… I live.. lived with my band mates… the other guys or whatever… You can't just move in it would be weird. " he drank from his cup again feeling a buzz.

Alcides still hadn't touched his drink at all. "Well. Your uncle has provided us with a private apartment, until the current situation changes. I assume he was going to give me a key after this meeting, I guess the same will be said for you…" He continued to speak formally. "I suppose if you do not wish for me to serve you, then your uncle can request another imp, or perhaps you can stay in the apartment alone until time you are permitted to live with your band mates again."

Haruto coughed. "Wait what?" he had no idea that he was moving. "I'm not living with the guys any more?" he said between coughs. "I don't…..How do you know about it?" he knew that that meant that his uncle already made a decision. "How do you know all of this shit about me and I've never met you before?" he was frustrated and the coughing didn't stop, choking on his spit

Alcides stands when Haru is choking, moving behind him to pat him gently on the back and offer him some sake to help clear his throat. "Drink slower." He tells the idol. "Your entire life is in the papers. And should I become your familiar, then your life is mine as well. I needed to know what my living situation would be, as well as my keeper." He gives Haru a little space as he stands behind him. "I find you interesting, Ono-san. Enough that I'm willing to trade my freedom to serve you. But we have this moment now, and I've made my terms clear… What other shit about me would you like to know?"

Haruto starts getting it together and drinks down sake leaving his cheeks pink. He adjusts his tie to straighten it and his shirt. His gaze was more open as he moved to look at the other. Shit. "Does it hurt ? Or whatever. Like am I going to go in your ball or something if you need to feed or whatever…" he was rambling now. He bit his lip to stop talking before he said something extra horrible.

Alcides looked over Haru before chuckling a bit. "If I am not fed properly, I'll end our contract. In the old days, that meant eating you but now-a-days, I can simply go back to the Cheisa." He answers with a slight chuckle. "But- you shouldn't worry so much. You're new to imps but I am not new to masters. I'll take good care of you." He says in a hopeful manner.

Haruto nodded and reached for the cup again sipping slower, his cheeks pink. This was becoming more and more of a good decision. He coughs again but manages not to choke when the imp said 'he would take care of him'. He brought out his handkerchief trying to clean himself up before turning to bow properly. "You also." he said, bringing his hands up to his lap. "Where do I sign?"

Alcides pauses but laughs. "Your Uncle already filled out the papers and made payment for me as far as the Cheisa is concerned. You only need to collar me to make it official." He says simply enough.

Haruto nodded at the mention of his uncle already taking care of things, like money and his life decisions. His eyes shot wide at the last part. "Collar! But like, we just met or whatever!" he brought up his hands.

Alcides looked baffled. "Oh- I suppose. Do you always wait to collar a dog or cat?" He asks, confused. "We can wait if you are still uncertain, but without a collar, I am not bound to you."

Haruto felt oddly relieved about that. "I've never had one…well… kinda had one but he didn't wear a collar. Thank you…." he looked up at the baffled look. "I mean, I didn't know what was happening tonight so, I didn't get you one and I don't want to get like some ugly, one, since you're my first imp…" he said, making it up as he went.

Alcides paused but had to chuckle at this. It was- sweet. "Don't overthink it, but I appreciate your thoughts. For now, do you have any more questions for me? Or would you like to move on to our new home?" His tail swayed a bit.

[ediblegardenspointloma]

Strawberry Guava Redux, Part 2

The thumbnail is a chance reflection of the strawberry guava tree in cooling, processed puree.

We are about 40 pounds into strawberry guava season and my scientist husband estimates that is about half the crop. I maintain a list of eager recipients and also travel the immediate neighborhood with a large container doling out whatever friends want. They get the best and largest. The smallest ones are processed for guava puree which is today’s Strawberry Guava Redux, Part 2.

Low garden trays with small openings ring the strawberry guava tree. Most mornings when the tree is in the shade, my husband gives the twelve foot tree a good shake and a shower of guavas lands in the trays. We empty the trays and do an initial sort with discards going to the compost bin and the largest ones pulled for friends. Then the guavas are transferred to containers where they’ll be stored until processed, usually in a few days. Thankfully, in a layer only 3-4 deep they keep well in the fridge.

A further sort occurs as the guavas are washed and placed in 6 and 8 quart saucepots on the stove. Only about half to three-fourths cup of water is needed since the guavas are so juicy.

The fruit is brought to a boil, covered and then simmered for about twenty minutes or until the guavas break down and the liquid is released. I help things along with a potato masher or spoon.

At this point I have readied the chinois and I’m wearing my guava shirt and a dark apron to camouflage splatters. As with berries, it takes boiling water to remove guava stains from clothes and linens.

From Wikipedia: A chinois (English: /ʃiːnˈwɑː/; French pronunciation: [ʃin.wɑ]) is a conical sieve with an extremely fine mesh. It is used to strain custards, purees, soups, and sauces, producing a very smooth texture. It can also be used to dust food with a fine layer of powdered ingredient.

Chinois is a loanword from the French adjective meaning Chinese. French cooks call it this not because this kitchen tool comes from China but because it resembles an Asian conical hat.

While the cooked guavas cool slightly, I use an immersion blender to roughly puree the mixture. This allows the puree to proceed through the chinois strainer easily, leaving the seeds behind. The wood pestle forces the last of the goodness into the bowl below.

Six quarts of strawberry guava puree cool before ladling into containers for the freezer.

Over the years I’ve found other uses for strawberry guavas—in part out of desperation. Most often I stir the puree into plain Greek yogurt or my homemade applesauce. It also brightens the color and flavor of my cooked rhubarb. Frozen cubes of puree go into smoothies. Other favorite uses include strawberry guava sherbet, guava-lime agua fresca, guava paste and guava BBQ sauce.

There’s a strawberry guava tree in our church’s courtyard and yesterday I photo captured two children eagerly eating the fruit. On the right, my husband climbs the nine foot ladder to pick guavas up high.

Check the What I’m Planting Now page as I begin soon to sow seeds for the cool season garden. Then head today to Harvest Monday, hosted by Dave at Happy Acres blog and see what garden bloggers around the world harvested last week.

To leave a comment, click on “Leave a comment/Show comments,” enter the comment, then insert your name. Finally, click on “Comment as Guest” to post comment.

[howyouloveyourdragon]

babe get up, arcielee posted

tldr; besties, read this fic because this is genuinely one of the most well-thought and set up fics i have ever read. sit down, get some hot coco, pomegranates whatever your heart desires and have a good curl up with this

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.” This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

oh god i'm already excited, i was such a mythology nerd when i was younger so these aus are always a favourite

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in.

i can just imagine him trying to be all intimidating and her just tilting her head like "hm, what's that?"

it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around.

oooo i like that it's not just 'oh evil so dark', there's thought into it

For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips.

oh i love that simile so much

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

i'm loving these descriptions

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

HERE WE GO BABYY

“I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

oh?

this is gonna be good

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them;

tension tension tension

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment.

AYY HE CARES

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

why do i feel like he actually just wants to see her again

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

CALLED IT, YES

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm.

oh that's cute it's like he's her ever watching shadow

He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

awwwwww

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

stop because it probably means so much to him that she says his name so freely

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced. "As you wish, Kore.”

He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement.

BAES HE WHISKED

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

the fact that this probably means so much to him because of how long he is alone and how many people fear him UGH i love it

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

this back and forth is so fluid, with every new paragraph i have a new favourite bit i swear

She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples!

who knows the last time he laughed and she is gushing over it i love- okay i'll stop doing that now

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

i love the parts that tell what he's probably noticing about her

the thrum of her ichor

'ichor' BAE KNOWS WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them.

SHE'S ADAPTING HIS DARKNESS TO SUNLIGHT IM GOING TO SCREAM

There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

they are two sides of the same coin

“You smell of death.”

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

oh sweet girl

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again. There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He, of course, obliged her. 

he's so smitten, bless

“I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?” I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

afterthoughts:

WHAT THE HELL PLEASE CONTINUE THIS SERIES I SWEAR IF YOU ARE READING THIS AUTHOR, YOU ARE SO TALENTED

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author’s Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

Keep reading

[nightsidewrestling]

D.U.D.E Bios: Gardenia Rhydderch

The Cyhyraeth Duchess of C.R.C Gardenia Rhydderch (2020)

Jarlath's eldest daughter, and Naoise's granddaughter, Gardenia. An Irish-Catholic woman living in Wales and an orderly and sunny young lady She's one of Kirby's first cousins once removed.

"Call me anytime."

Name

Full Legal Name: Gardenia Niamh Clodagh Gwenllian Rhydderch

First Name: Gardenia

Meaning: From the name of the tropical flower, which was named for the Scottish naturalist Alexander Garden.

Pronunciation: gahr-DEEN-ee-a

Origin: English

Middle Name(s): Niamh, Clodagh, Gwenllian

Meaning(s): Niamh: Means 'Bright' in Irish. Clodagh: From the Clodagh, a small river in County Waterford, Ireland. Gwenllian: Derived from the Welsh elements 'Gwen' meaning 'White, Blessed' and possibly 'Lliain' meaning 'Flaxen, Made of linen' or 'Lliant' meaning 'Flow, Flood'.

Pronunciation(s): NYEEW / NYEEV. KLAW-da. gwen-SHEE-an.

Origin(s): Irish, Irish Mythology. Irish. Welsh

Surname: Rhydderch

Meaning: From the given name 'Rhydderch', from the Old Welsh name 'Riderch', derived from 'Ri' 'King' and 'Derch' 'Exalted'.

Pronunciation: HRUDH-ehrkh

Origin: Welsh

Alias: Cyhyraeth Duchess, Gardenia Rhydderch

Reason: This is Gardenia's ring name

Nicknames: Nia, Gwen

Titles: Miss

Characteristics

Age: 18

Gender: Female. She/Her Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: Welsh

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: June 10th 2002

Symbols: Banshees, Cyhyraeths, Ghosts, Crowns

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Religion: Irish-Catholic

Native Language: Welsh

Spoken Languages: Welsh, Irish, Scottish (Scots Gaelic), English, Swedish

Relationship Status: Dating

Astrological Sign: Scorpio

Theme Song: 'At Last' - Cyndi Lauper (2020-)

Voice Actor: Iona Banks

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Current Location: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Hometown: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Appearance

Height: 5'5" / 165 cm

Weight: 127 lbs / 57 kg

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: N/A

Facial Hair: N/A

Tattoos: (As of Jan 2020) 0

Piercings: Ear Lobe (Triple, Both), Tragus (Both)

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Smoker, Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Allies: (As of Jan 2020) The Rhydderch Clan

Enemies: (As of Jan 2020) None

Friends: Paulette Nye, Zella Lum, Rosaura Marino, Emperatriz Romero-Marino, Venetia Winter, Barbara Di Napoli, Tegwen Pritchard, Wanda Llewellyn, Tabitha Griffiths, Tacey Rhydderch, Calanthe Mulrennan, Velvet Rhydderch, Tallulah Rhydderch, Hadley Rhydderch, Kayla Rhydderch, Lalage Rhydderch

Colleagues: The C.R.C Locker Rooms / Too Many To List

Rivals: None

Closest Confidant: Tor Bergqvist

Mentor: Ursula Rhydderch

Significant Other: Tor Bergqvist (19, Boyfriend)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Jarlath Rhydderch (44, Father), Ursula Rhydderch (45, Mother, Née Cavanaugh)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Eadburg Rhydderch (24, Brother), Fabian Rhydderch (21, Brother), Hadley Rhydderch (15, Sister), Iago Rhydderch (12, Brother), Jacob Rhydderch (9, Brother), Kayla Rhydderch (6, Sister), Lalage Rhydderch (3, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Fiachra Rhydderch (25, Eadburg's Wife, Née McWilliam), Jean Rhydderch (22, Fabian's Wife, Née Patterson)

Nieces & Nephews: Alan Rhydderch (4, Nephew), Anna Rhydderch (1, Niece), Moire Rhydderch (1, Niece)

Children: None

Children-In-Law: None

Grandkids: None

Great Grandkids: None

Wrestling

Billed From: Anglesey, Wales

Trainer: The C.R.C Wrestling School, Talulla Rhydderch, Ursula Rhydderch

Managers: Tor Bergqvist

Wrestlers Managed: Tor Bergqvist

Debut: 2020

Debut Match: Gardenia Rhydderch VS Ursula Rhydderch. Double Count Out

Retired: N/A

Retirement Match: N/A

Wrestling Style: Brawler / Hardcore

Stables: The Rhydderch Clan (2020)

Teams: No Team Names

Regular Moves: Belly To Back Suplex, Bulldog, Figure-Four Leglock, Inverted Atomic Drop, Low Blow, Multiple Jabs, Poking /Raking Opponent’s Eyes, Running High Knee Strike, Big Boot, Atomic Drop, Backbreaker Rack, Diving Overhead Chop, High Knee, One-Armed Body Slam, Piledriver, Running Big Boot, Running Leg Drop, Vertical Suplex Powerslam

Finishers: Sleeper Hold, Jumping Knee Drop, Top Rope Jumping Knee Drop

Refers To Fans As: The Fans, The Family

Extras

Backstory: Gardenia Rhydderch of the C.R.C (Welsh Wrestling League / Cynghrair Reslo Cymru) Owning Rhydderch Family. When Jarlath dies Gardenia will have a 1/448th ownership of the promotion. Gardenia is a 'Cyhyraeth Style’ (Brawler / Hardcore) trainer. She’s a mostly Irish.

Trivia: Nothing of Note

[mimi-cee-hq]

Not So Ridiculous - Sakusa x f!reader

Summary:

When Sakusa comes back to visit his parents for a weekend to surprise his beloved mom for her birthday, he freezes, seeing you in his old room. You were an exchange student. He missed the memo.

A cute and wholesome one-shot about how Sakusa got a crush on you.

Pairing: Sakusa x f!reader

Genre, etc.: fluff, exchange student, sort of domestic fluff lol, soft Sakusa, family

Warning: none

Author's notes: Taking a break from writing A Glimpse of Yellow. When I first thought of this idea, I was going to make it funny and awkward, but I liked this take on it better.

Words: 1.5k

*****

Sakusa unlocked the door to his parents' apartment, exhausted from the crowded commute back to Tokyo. It was quiet.

He slipped off his duffle bags and took off his shoes. After removing his mask, he scrunched his brows. There was a sweet yet unfamiliar smell. Perhaps Mom was given a new perfume. Sakusa looked around the living room and peeked into the kitchen.

Mom must be out.

Her birthday was yesterday but Sakusa wasn't free until the weekend. He had wanted to come visit, especially since his father had been scheduled to do some flights over these few days. Mom was used to it, being married to him all these years.

Sakusa wished someone would be there for her when his dad wasn't around.

With his eyes on his phone, he walked to his bedroom. The last time he was here it was still filled with clothes he didn't wear anymore, stacks of notes from college, and a few things his siblings had left behind.

He held the phone to his ear, hearing it ring, waiting for his mom to pick up. He should tell her he's here.

Sakusa opened the door to his bedroom.

He almost dropped his phone.

You laid on your stomach, sprawled on his bed which was now decorated with bright linens. Wearing headphones, you nodded your head to the music with your laptop out, typing away at whatever it was you were working on.

When you finally looked up and saw him, not hearing him enter, you quickly sat up straight on his bed.

"Hello?" Sakusa's mom answered the line.

After squinting your eyes, studying Sakusa's face, you gasped. You exclaimed with a wide smile, "Oh! You must be Ki–" You covered your mouth. "Should I be calling you Sakusa-san too?" you said. Your pronunciation revealed you recently learned Japanese.

"Mom, who's this girl in my room?" Sakusa asked as he looked down at you, eyebrow twitching.

"You mean Y/n?" she replied from the other end of the phone. "I thought I told you about her."

Sakusa lowered his phone, checking that he did indeed miss a message from Mom weeks ago.

Your college had an exchange program with the University of Tokyo. Unfortunately, the plans for your original host family fell through and his mom had learned about your situation from the gossiping neighbours on their floor. Being the sweet woman she was, she wanted to help you as much as she could. Sakusa's father was hesitant at first, but after she persuaded him, he took the necessary precautions to make sure everything went smoothly.

Everything except their son coming home.

"Mom, where are you?" he said in a low voice.

"I'm at the grocery store," she replied. Sakusa could hear the beeps from the item scanner through the phone. "I'll be there soon."

Sakusa bit the bottom of his lip. He wanted to kick you out.

You didn't let him.

He found himself sitting at the kitchen table, watching you grabbing a bowl and chopsticks, setting them in front of him. You mumbled a few things to yourself, counting with your fingers as you organized your thoughts.

"The oldest liked shrimp tempura I think," you muttered to yourself. "The daughter liked miso soup… Oh!" You grabbed a container from one of the upper kitchen cabinets, opening the lid and placing it in front of him. "You liked umeboshi, right?" you asked with a huge grin on your face.

Sakusa could only nod, caught too off guard to say anything else as you hurried away to wash the dishes.

There was a click from the front door. Mom pulled in a cart of groceries.

"I'm so sorry Kiyoomi!" his mom told him. "I would have prepared if I knew you were coming!"

"It wouldn't be a surprise then Mom," he muttered, hands in pockets and slouched in his seat, before giving her a gentle smile.

Sakusa started to get up from his seat, but you beat him to it.

"Here! I can do it," you told her, your eyes forming into crescents, moving the bags of food onto the kitchen counter. You placed the box of tea bags in the cabinet to the right of the fridge before putting the milk away. After the rest of the food was organized into their place, you even changed their water filter with a new one.

Sakusa couldn't help but stare at how comfortable you felt in his parents' home as if it were your own.

"I'll go clean up my –I mean– Sakusa-san's room and take out all of my stuff," you said, already heading down the hallway. "I can also sleep on the couch tonight."

"Are you sure?" Mom called after you as you entered his room.

"Of course! I wouldn't want your son to feel uncomfortable in his own home," you told her, popping your head back into the hallway. "Besides, I sleep on my friends' couches all the time when I visit them."

Sakusa bit his lip. Surely there was some other solution. But before he could think of anything, you were already making your way back to the living room with a backpack and a couple of duffle bags on hand. Then you rushed back to get your laptop and pack the rest of your clothes into your suitcase.

He resigned into a sigh. You had already made up your mind. He scratched his head, thinking that he should be taking care of his body anyway. Sleeping in his own bed would help. However, when he looked into his room, knowing that a stranger had been using it, he did not want to sleep in there right now.

You grabbed the vacuum and a mask, fixing your hair and headed into his room, ready to clean. Sakusa's lips had a slight uptick in the corners before putting on his own mask and gloves. As he helped you wipe down the furniture while you vacuumed the floors, he snuck a glance at you every so often.

When Mom came into the room, Sakusa stood up a little straighter, shifting his eyes away from you. However, his mom went straight for his bed to pull off the blanket and bed sheets.

"No, let us do it!" you insisted, moving your way to the bed.

"Oh it's alright," she told you, gently using her arm to block you from getting to the sheets. "Let me do this for my son. I don't do as much for him now that he's all grown up."

"But he's here for your birthday."

"Oh that's alright. I am also quite happy to do this for him," she said smiling at you.

Normally Sakusa would allow his mom to have her way with these things. She could be fairly persistent at times.

”How about this?" You rubbed your chin. "You can pick out a drama we can watch together and prepare some snacks for us. How does that sound? Hm?"

Sakusa saw a glint in his mother's eye. She shook her finger at you, knowing you were trying to stop her from doing any more work. "Only one episode," she reasoned. "You still need to study."

You grinned and went back to the bed sheets, helping Sakusa remove them before placing them in a basket. He started to carry the laundry basket out of his room, but he paused after taking a step towards the door. He'd have to use the elevator again. He groaned. The stairs weren't much better.

You tapped Sakusa's shoulder. "Would you like me to bring it down to the laundry room?"

Sakusa blinked a few times, cheeks slightly red, before handing you the laundry basket. You took the access card from the shelf in the hallway and placed it into your pocket. "I'll be right back."

A while later, Sakusa opened the bathroom door with his mouth still tasting like a bit of mint. He saw you huddled beside his mom on the couch, munching on some sliced apples and crackers while watching the TV screen.

While leaning on the door frame of the bathroom, a smile formed on his lips. You glanced at him; his eyes grew then blinked a couple of times. Sakusa cleared his throat when you raised your eyebrow at him before heading back to his room.

Relaxing his shoulders, Sakusa eased onto his bed. His room was set back to how he had left it. The bed sheets were now in his favorite navy plaid, the pillow fitted with a matching colour. He brought that pillow on all of his travels with his rambunctious teammates.

For some odd reason, his mind went back to something Bokuto had said, something he thought was ridiculous.

"When I first met her, I knew I had to marry her!"

Sakusa covered his face with both palms before finally leaning back and falling onto his bed. He let out a prolonged sigh, not knowing where it came from.

Bokuto's words suddenly didn't seem so ridiculous anymore.

I hope you enjoyed it. I don't know if you caught the little headcanons that showed that Sakusa got certain parts of his personality from his parents.

*****

Edit: I wrote a part two.

I kind of used a friend who went on exchange to Singapore as reference. lol. Her host family treated her like family. :)

I had some other ideas for this story but didn't get the inspiration to fully flesh them out and polish them. So this is it for now since I'm currently concentrating on my chaptered fic, A Glimpse of Yellow (Suna x f!reader)

Here's a Google form for my taglist if anyone is interested. You can also send me an ask. :)

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐓𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐠 𝐎𝐢𝐬í𝐧 𝐋𝐲𝐧𝐜𝐡 | hphl character profile

Warnings: Mentions of death, illness, blood, and child abuse & neglect

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Tadhg Oisín Lynch 

Nicknames: None, except mispronunciations of his name

Name Meanings: Tadhg → Irish, “poet” or “storyteller” ; Oisín → Irish, “little deer” ; Lynch → Irish, “mariner.” 

Name Pronunciation: “Tige” ; “T-i-guh” ; 1, 2 

Date of Birth: March 5, 1874 (at 5:57 am)

Gender: Male ; he/him

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Blood Status: Pureblood 

Nationality: Irish 

Residence: Lynch Manor, County Donegal, Ireland (birth to 18) ; London, England (18 to 30) ; Dublin, Ireland (30 to death)

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Faceclaim: Rob Lowe 

Height: 6’0” 

Weight & Physique: 160 lbs. with an athletic physique 

Hair: Brown hair that is short and often messy 

Eye Color: Blue

Scarring:

Childhood & Hogwarts: Tadhg has a few small scars littering his back, mostly from his father. However, his most noticeable scar is a patch of roughened skin on his right hip as the result of falling off a small cliff when he was eleven.

Adulthood: More small scars that litter his body as a result of his work as a cursebreaker.

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) At the age of 23, Tadhg becomes deaf in his right ear. He also starts wearing reading glasses in his 30s.

Other Distinguishing Marks: He has a small dimple in his chin

Clothing Style: Linen shirts ; gray trousers ; denim trousers ; Buffalo check shirts ; sweaters ; Irish fisherman sweaters ; suspenders ; boots ; the occasional waistcoat

Accessories: None 

What’s in His Pockets: His wand ; coins ; a pocket knife 

What’s in His School Bag: Textbooks ; parchment, quills, a well of ink ; old notes from friends that are usually crumpled into balls ; a muggle novel 

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Rob Lowe 

Accent: Irish 

Dialect: Ulster 

Languages Spoken: English, Irish Gaelic 

Languages Understood: English, Irish Gaelic 

Speech Disorder: Tadhg has a very mild stutter. It was much more noticeable when he was a child, and by the time he started Hogwarts, he had mostly outgrown it. 

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: ISTP — the virtuoso

→ ISTPs are attentive to details and responsive to the demands of the world around them. Because of their astute sense of their environment, they are good at moving quickly and responding to emergencies. ISTPs are reserved, but not withdrawn: the ISTP enjoys taking action, and approaches the world with a keen appreciation for the physical and sensory experiences it has to offer.

Enneagram Type: 7w6 — the entertainer

→ The Seven wing Six is a Seven that resembles a Six in some ways. This type is generally more disciplined and skeptical than other Sevens. They are productive, loyal, and tend to be strong leaders during times of crisis.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, energetic, relaxed, logical, hard-worker, self-confident, courageous, flexible

Neutral Traits: Practical, rational, reserved, optimistic, easygoing, loyal, adventurous

Negative Traits: Stubborn; can be insensitive, somewhat reckless and impulsive, oblivious, righteous, troublemaker 

Common Stressors: His brother ; his father ; family events ; exams ; big quidditch games 

Comforting Things: Flying ; being with his buddies ; reading ; sweets 

Interests & Hobbies: Flying ; reading ; hiking ; hanging out with his buddies and messing around with them 

Description: Tadhg is, without a doubt, a black sheep of the Lynch family. He doesn’t comply with the ideology that most of the family subscribe to. He’s also a quiet and reserved man, coming into his own surrounded by his friends rather than his family. He doesn’t always think things through, although he rarely veers into the territory of reckless or impulsive. Tadhg can also be rather oblivious, often not realizing romantic feelings until someone brings it up to him. He’s intelligent and kind as well as courageous and loyal, always sticking by the sides of the few people that he loves most. 

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Tadhg’s wand is made of cypress wood with a dragon heartstring core and is 11 ½ inches with an unyielding flexibility. 

→ Cypress wands were said to be well-matched to wizards who were self-sacrificing and willing to die a heroic death.

Other Magical Abilities: None 

Patronus: Irish Wolfhound 

Patronus Memory: The first all-nighter he spent with his four closest Gryffindor buddies, when everything made them laugh

Boggart:

His father as giant, looming over him and snarling about beating “the blood traitor” out of him (Hogwarts-1912)

Himself, snarling at his son, Oscar in the way that his own father used (starting in late 1912)

Riddikulus:

His father shrinks down to a small, mouse-sized person and has an extremely squeaky voice (Hogwarts-1912)

He starts making his son laugh (1912 onwards)

Amortentia:

Tadhg smells like leather, ink, peppermint, and his soap. 

Tadhg smells chocolate, peat, salty ocean air, lavender, and clean laundry. 

Mirror of Erised: Tadhg sees himself surrounded by those he loves the most, without the lingering shadow that his family casts.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Gryffindor 

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Outstanding  

Charms — Acceptable 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Flying — Outstanding 

Herbology — Exceeds Expectations 

History of Magic — Acceptable 

Potions — Exceeds Expectations 

Transfiguration — Outstanding 

OWL Electives:

Arithmancy — Exceeds Expectations 

Care of Magical Creatures — Acceptable

Study of Ancient Runes — Outstanding 

NEWT Classes:

Charms — Exceeds Expectations 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Potions — Acceptable

Study of Ancient Runes — Outstanding

Transfiguration — Exceeds Expectations 

Extracurriculars: Keeper on his house quidditch team

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; Gringotts 

Professions:

Age 18 to 23 - Apprentice cursebreaker 

Age 24 to 68 - Cursebreaker (Tadhg Lives AU only)

Age 68 to 78 - Head cursebreaker for Gringotts (Tadhg Lives AU only)

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Bain Cillian Lynch [deceased, 1842-1887]

Bain was born on March 15, 1842 as the eldest of ten children, only four of which survived to adulthood. His childhood was quite oppressive and his father had expectations for his eldest son, all of which Bain met and exceeded. Upon starting Hogwarts, he was sorted into Slytherin. Bain thrived at Hogwarts, but it also nurtured his worst qualities.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Bain began to work at the ministry of magic. He was able to foster many connections with other wealthy, pureblood families and displayed a remarkable tolerance for families who were predominantly Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs. He continued to work for the ministry until his death in February of 1887. 

In 1872, Bain married Clodagh MacCarthy, as they had been engaged since they were children. Their marriage was a traditional aristocratic one, where love never entered the equation and its purpose was furthering power and wealth for both the Lynch and MacCarthy families. Two years later, on March 5, 1874, Bain’s only children were born. The firstborn, Cillian Cathal, a healthy, robust thing, while the second born, Tadhg Oisín, was sickly and small. Bain’s wife also passed the day his heirs were born, which left Bain alone to raise their twin sons.

Bain was a horrible father. He was cruel, cold, ambitious, and ruthless. He demanded perfection from his sons and left little room for errors. He also fostered a strong rivalry between his two sons, instilling a lifelong animosity between the brothers. In general, though, Bain was neglectful and ignored his sons most of the time. However, he would also spend a few hours every week teaching his sons the dark arts and wandless magic, especially as he had decided to keep his sons home from Hogwarts. Bain had a short fuse, though, and often became abusive. 

After a trip to the continent in January of 1887, Bain contracted vanishing sickness. Ultimately, the disease would claim Bain’s life on February 8, 1887. 

Tadhg had a horrible relationship with his father. He was never the preferred son and Bain was exceptionally hard on Tadhg. In fact, he even decided to homeschool the twins in an attempt to squash Tadhg’s blood traitor views. Tadhg hates his father. 

Faceclaim: Liam Neeson

Mother: Clodagh Nessa Lynch née MacCarthy [deceased, 1853-1874]

Clodagh was born on January 10, 1853, as the only surviving daughter of five children. Clodagh’s childhood was very proper and cold, and about molding her into the perfect wife. Upon starting Hogwarts, Clodagh was sorted into Slytherin. She enjoyed a simple time at Hogwarts, generally flying under the radar. She was charming, charismatic, manipulative, cunning, ambitious, cold, unfeeling, and proper.

In 1872, Clodagh married Bain Lynch in an arranged marriage. Their marriage was not a love match and it was born of duty. Clodagh also managed to provide Bain with twin heirs, Cillian Cathal and Tadhg Oisín, as her only children were born on March 5, 1874. However, due to the difficulty in birthing her second son, Clodagh began to bleed excessively. The blood loss eventually claimed her life, as the healers arrived too late to save Clodagh but they were able to save her younger son. 

Tadhg has no memories of his mother and nothing to base any ideas of her on. His father never spoke of his mother and all Tadhg could know about her was from her wedding portrait. 

Faceclaim: Lena Headey

Twin Brother: Cillian Cathal Lynch 

Cillian was born at 5:48 am, making him Tadhg’s older brother by nine minutes. He was sorted into Slytherin when the twins started Hogwarts in 1887.

Tadhg never really liked his brother. He thought that Cillian was too similar to their father, who fostered a deep resentment between the two brothers. They had an intense rivalry that often trended into hatred. Tadhg never learns to truly like his brother, but as they grew older, they began to ignore each other more often than they antagonized one another. 

Faceclaim: Hugh Grant

Pets: 

Childhood: An owl 

Adulthood: An owl

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Niamh Brigid Kelly

→ Tadhg first met Niamh Kelly in 1901, when he came into the auror office to meet one of his buddies after being out of the country for a few weeks. Instead, he found Niamh. They quickly became friends. However, due to Tadhg’s general obliviousness to romantic feelings and the ilk, it took him two years to realize that he was having romantic feelings for Niamh. Eventually, though, she came up to him and asked if he was ever going to ask her out. He did that moment. Tadhg married Niamh on December 24, 1904 in a small ceremony in her church in County Mayo, Ireland. Three years later, their first child was born. 

Daughter: Aisling Maeve Lynch

Hufflepuff | Prefect | Headgirl | Heterosexual | b. April 22, 1907

Tadhg has a good relationship with his eldest daughter. In many ways, Aisling takes after Niamh, which can cause a bit of friction between them. However, he’s always been supportive of her dreams and ambitions. With her, and the twins, Tadhg strives to be a breed father than his own ever was and he succeeds. He loves his daughter very much and is quite proud of her.  

Faceclaim: Shay Rudolph (& Hannah Dodd)

Daughter: Saoirse Brigid Lynch

Gryffindor | Keeper | Bisexual | Twin | b. October 10, 1912

Tadhg has a good relationship with Saoirse. Even though everyone says that Saoirse takes after Tadhg, his younger daughter reminds him so much of Niamh. They get along quite well and she does, in fact, take after Tadhg more so than Niamh. He is quite supportive of Saoirse and loves her very much. He’s also very proud of her and all of her achievements, including following her mother’s footsteps and joining the auror office. 

Faceclaim: Raegan Revord 

Son: Oscar Oisín Lynch 

Ravenclaw | Prefect | Seeker | Twin | b. October 10, 1912

Tadhg has a good relationship with his son, although they do butt heads occasionally. There are moments where Tadhg just sees a little too much of himself in Oscar, but Oscar is generally a combination of his parents’ personalities. However, Tadhg loves his son very much and he’s quite proud of Oscar and everything that the boy does. Tadhg aims to support Oscar in everything and he was always a little more nervous when it came to Oscar than he was with Saoirse and Aisling, purely because of his own relationship with his father. 

Faceclaim: Iain Armitage 

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friends: 

Theo Abbott @smarti-at-smogwarts

Teddy Ellison @cursebreakerfarrier

Roel Leeuwenhoek @hufflefluffs

Gabriel Sapieha @slytherindisaster

Adelia Selwyn @thatravenpuffwitch 

Friends:

Unni Arcano @kathrynalicemc

Oliver Gerard ; Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-and-co

Danny Gibson @catohphm

Auggie Grant ; Roxie Haley @mjs-oc-corner

Cyrus Northrup ; Eleanor Parkmoore @ellie-e-marcovitz

Wolfgang Witte @hufflefluffs

Acquaintances:

Ivy Anders ; Eliot Gerard @kc-and-co

Will Berkeley @mjs-oc-corner

Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster

It’s Complicated (aka rivals due to his brother, but Tadhg’s not into it): 

Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co

Frederick Lavigne @slytherindisaster

Hogwarts Dormmates:

Teddy Ellison @cursebreakerfarrier

Roel Leeuwenhoek @hufflefluffs

Gabriel Sapieha @slytherindisaster

Rivals: 

Cillian Lynch 

Enemies: TBD

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: Lynch Manor, County Donegal, Ireland 

Hometown: Lynch Manor, County Donegal, Ireland 

Childhood: 

Tadhg Oisín Lynch was born on March 5, 1874 at 5:57 am to Bain and Clodagh Lynch, joining his twin brother, Cillian Cathal who was born nine minutes earlier. Tadhg was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and barely breathing. He was smaller, weaker, and sicker than his brother, which did nothing to endear him to his father, who demanded perfection. His mother also did not survive the birth process.

Residing in Lynch Manor, in a far corner of the northwest of County Donegal, Ireland, Tadhg and Cillian were sheltered from most of the world. However, their isolation from the world did little to prevent family arguments from seeping in. His father would also rage about this relative or that relative, despite continuing to hold family gatherings that often ended in duels. 

Tadhg’s childhood was, in general, cold and neglectful. His father continued to push a wedge between Tadhg and his brother, which was only worsened by Bain’s decision to homeschool his sons as opposed to sending them to Hogwarts. His rationale was to “quash the blood traitor” out of Tadhg. It never worked.

However, in January of 1887, Bain contracted vanishing sickness and passed away on February 8, 1887. No guardian was appointed for Tadhg and his brother, which left most decisions up to them. However, their extended family decided that the brothers should continue their education at Hogwarts in their third year. Tadhg passed a small entrance exam, which allowed him to start in his third year. 

Hogwarts Years:

Upon starting Hogwarts, Tadhg was sorted into Gryffindor. At Hogwarts, he joined the Gryffindor quidditch team as a keeper. He made lifelong friendships and found a family amongst his closest buddies. He enjoyed his time at Hogwarts, letting more people in than his brother ever did. 

Adulthood:

After graduating from Hogwarts, Tadhg became a cursebreaker. He started his apprenticeship with a small, privately owned firm. He continued to flourish, coming even more into himself.

Everything changed on December 7, 1897, though. In the canon timeline, Tadhg is killed in an extremely chaotic duel between his family. His brother, Cillian, is eventually charged with his murder (which was sort of covered up), although Cillian consistently maintained his innocence.

In the Tadhg Lives AU, Tadhg survived the duel and stumbled back to his brother in every way but blood, Teddy’s flat. He was in rough shape, babbling incoherently about the duel. His skin was extremely pale and had started to purple. A steady trickle of blood was spilling out of his right ear. He was unconscious for three days and woke up in a lot of pain with an intense ringing in his right ear. Tadhg was then bedridden for a month. 

After finishing his apprenticeship, Tadhg is hired by Gringotts Bank. He works there until his retirement, eventually becoming the head cursebreaker.

Tadhg also married Niamh Kelly on December 24, 1904 and they had three children together. Their eldest child, Aisling Maeve Lynch was born on April 22, 1907. Their second and third children, Saoirse Brigid and Oscar Oisín were born on October 10, 1912. 

Old Age:

Tadhg retired at the age of 78 and spent the remainder of his life enjoying time with his great-grandchildren.

Death: 

In the canon timeline, Tadhg died in a brutal duel on December 7, 1897 at the age of 23. 

In the Tadhg Lives AU, Tadhg passed away in 1958 at the age of 84 from natural causes. He lived a fulfilling life and left behind three children, seven grandchildren, and eleven great-grandchildren. However, seven of his great-grandchildren weren’t born by the time of his death. 

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧ 

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Food: Bread and cheese 

Favorite Drink: Chocolate

Favorite Weather: Gray, but dry 

Favorite Season: Autumn 

Favorite Book: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

Dislikes: His twin brother ; blood purity ; bullies ; broccoli ; wet socks and shoes ; his name being purposely mispronounced and misspelled 

Trivia:

Tadhg is the first Gryffindor in the Lynch family in over a century. All other contemporary members were either in Slytherin or the occasional Ravenclaw.

Tadhg has no patience for, or sense of, decorum. He swears, shows off an improper amount of skin, and rarely dresses in a way that reflects his family’s wealth. He also has different views than the majority of his family and a lot of the men of his time. Thus, Tadhg is often accused of impropriety. He doesn’t care… and it actually started as a way to piss off his father.

Tadhg does not like to show weakness or accept help. He often insists that he is fine when he is clearly not. He also does not like being pitied and prefers to keep his childhood trauma to himself. 

Like his brother, Tadhg had a marriage arranged by his father. However, at eighteen, Tadhg and his fiancée (whom he had never met) mutually agreed to dissolve the future marriage. Her family didn’t like Tadhg anyways.

Tadhg was not afraid of becoming a father. He was afraid of being the father of a son and becoming a man like his own father. That fear never came true, partially because Tadhg had become comfortable with fatherhood by the time his son was born and he had better examples of how a father should act. Those examples came from his friends-turned-brothers and his father-in-law, Donal Kelly.

Important Links:

Tadhg’s tag

With Love — a Valentine’s Day story

More information about Tadhg’s children, Aisling, Saoirse and Oscar

[prying-pandora666]

Alright here’s a few more!

Suki - Either from Japanese Suki meaning “beloved” or Tsuki meaning “moon”. Both references to her relationship with Sokka.

Mai - A bit confusing because her pronunciation and spelling don’t match. Either from the Japanese 麻衣 (mai) meaning "linen robe", a reference to how she hides her knives in her sleeves. Or the Chinese 梅 (méi) meaning "plum", possibly a reference to her hair buns or to her apathetic personality since sour plum is a popular flavor in Asia.

Ty Lee - Derived from Chinese 泰 (tài) meaning "big, large" combined with 麗 (lì) meaning "beautiful, lovely". Likely a reference to her larger than life yet cutesy personality.

Yue - From Chinese 月 (yuè) meaning "moon". It could also be referencing 玥 (yuè) meaning "pearl", given her connection to both the moon and ocean.

Appa - From Korean (아빠) meaning “dad”.

Momo - From Japanese 桃 (momo) meaning "peach". May also be a reference to Nepalese dumplings which are also called momos.

Jet - Derived from Devanagari जेट (jet) meaning an intense black color. Likely meant to reference Jet’s black and white thinking.

Iroh - Fictional name so there’s no clear meaning but here is my best guess! From Japanese 彩 (iro) meaning "color" combined with Japanese 葉 (ha) meaning "leaf". Likely a reference both to Iroh drawing wisdom from all the nations/the dragons (hence colors) and to his love of tea leaves. As a whole, the word iroha refers to a Japanese poem.

(Psst want more ATLA? Check this out!)

Avatar Name Meanings!

Just for fun! Let’s take a look at the most cited meanings for ATLA names.

Aang - When his name is shown in written form, it is composed of the Chinese characters 安 (ān) meaning "peace, quiet" and 昂 (áng)meaning "raise, lift". A fitting name for an airbender who will save the world!

Katara - Taken from the Arabic word قطرة (qatra) meaning "raindrop, droplet". A gentle and poetic name for waterbender who is starting out.

Sokka - Derived from the Japanese phrase “sou ka”, meaning "I understand" or "Is that so?". A reference to both his skeptical and analytical nature, as well as his comic relief.

Toph - Toph was written as 北方拓芙, giving her name the meaning "expanding lotus". The name itself is not a genuine Chinese name, and may have been intended as a pun on the English word "tough". When combined with her last name Beifong, you get “lotus flower expanding northward”, a reference to Toph opening up and making friends, but also because she is from the Southern city of Gaoling and literally travels north with the Gaang.

Zuko - Fictional name written with different meanings in the show. His wanted poster uses 祖 (zǔ) from Chinese meaning "ancestor, forefather" combined with 寇 (kòu) meaning "bandit, robber". Likely meant to portray Zuko as a traitor to his family and people. However, it’s also written as 蘇 (sū) meaning "to regain consciousness" combined with 科 (kē) meaning "sort, class", which is probably the true meaning to his name referring to how Zuko will redeem the Fire Nation and royal family by redeeming himself.

Azula - Fictional name derived from Portuguese, Galician, and Spanish azul meaning "blue" (of Persian origin). A reference to her blue flames.

Want me to cover other ATLA names? Just ask!

(Psst want more ATLA? Check this out!)

[usernoneexistent]

𝓖𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓷 𝓞𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭

Glenn is always the serious and intellectual man. While at first, many wondered why he was placed in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, he has hidden fire deep within him that comes out without hesitations. Like his father, he admires and respects the law and firmly believes that if justice is carried out correctly and properly, it will be much more effective. His father wonders why Glenn never wants to marry to continue the family line. Since heirs were the main issue, Glenn simply adopted two magical orphans to solve the problem. While he is loyal to those who gained his trust, he's also an arrogant piece of ass.

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓮

Nicknames: Glenny by his family and only his family. No one else can call him that.

Date of birth: 7th October 1879.

Hometown: Stormview Manor, Edinburgh, Scotland.

Nationality/Ethnicity: British white (1/4 American).

Language(s) spoken: English (British & American), Latin and some ancient Greek.

Accent: Edinburgh with twangs of American and renounced pronunciation.

Blood status: pureblood.

Gender identity: Wizard (he/him).

Sexuality: asexual.

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

Myers-Briggs Type: ENTJ (The commander)

Alignment: lawful neutral.

Strengths: great leadership, self-confidence, strategic, efficient.

Weaknesses: stubborn, impatient, arrogant, cold and ruthless at times.

Interest/hobbies: chess, gobstones, reading political and legislative matters, dueling, studying.

Favourite colour: slab grey.

Favourite food: roast beef.

Favourite drink: coffee.

𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮

Face claim: Luke Evans.

Height: 1.83m/6'0ft as an adult.

Weight: 72kg/160lbs.

Hair: very dark brown, kept tidy and short.

Eyes: blue almost grey.

Skin: light doesn't burn nor tan, just stays the same.

Defects: scar on his torso in his adult life.

Style: he has a very expensive and elegant style. You will never see him without his suit, some even say that he even sleeps in one.

𝓦𝓲𝔃𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓻𝔂

Wand: laurel and dragon heartstring, 13 3/4 and rigid flexibility

(It is said that a laurel wand cannot perform a dishonourable act, although in the quest for glory (a not uncommon goal for those best suited to these wands), I have known laurel wands perform powerful and sometimes lethal magic. Laurel wands are sometimes called fickle, but this is unfair. The laurel wand seems unable to tolerate laziness in a possessor, and it is in such conditions that it is most easily and willingly won away. Otherwise, it will cleave happily to its first match forever, and indeed has the unusual and engaging attribute of issuing a spontaneous lightning strike if another witch or wizard attempts to steal it.)

Animagus form: none.

Patronus: polar bear.

Patronus memory: getting all Os on his tests.

Boggart: failing all his tests.

Riddikulus: getting awarded with 110% on everything.

Amortentia (what does he smell?): could never smell anything even if he tried.

Amortentia (what does he smell like?): spicey, cinnamon, oranges, and fresh linen.

Magical abilities: apparition, non-verbal magic, a little bit of wandless magic, skilled flier.

𝓐𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓰𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

Hogwarts house: Gryffindor.

Best subject(s): arithmancy, DADA, history of magic.

Worst subjects(s): herbology, muggle studies.

Third-year options: ancient runes, arithmancy, muggle studies.

N.E.W.Ts: arithmancy, ancient runes, charms, DADA, history of magic, potions, transfiguration.

Quidditch position: keeper/reserved chaser (year 3 - year 7).

Extracurricular: prefect, head boy, dueling club, book club, chess club.

𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓗𝓸𝓰𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

July 1898 - June 1899: Trainee prosecutor for the Council of Magical Law.

July 1898 - February 1936: Prosecutor for the Council of Magical Law.

March 1917 - September 1948: Head Prosecutor for Council of Magical Law.

October 1907 - September 1948: Member of the Wizengamot

September 1948: Retired due to a case trial that went wrong, really really wrong.

𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹𝓼

Family:

Scott Rosewood (father) - A British/American pureblood and private lawyer. They have a fairly good relationship but Glenn often does the opposite what his father wants from him.

Evelyn Rosewood neé Fawley (mother) - Glenn is a mummy's boy and always can talk to his mother. His mother was very accepting of the fact that Glenn wanted a career over a wife and as long as she had grandchildren, biological or not she was happy.

Winona Rosewood (sister) - Depsite their competitive natures, Glenn does really care for Winona and will do anything to protect her.

Colin Moss (half-brother) - Um...He doesn't know that he has a brother, well at least not for decades but then never gets to know him because Colin dies later that same year when Glenn found out.

Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster (maternal cousin) - Glenn finds Lysander to be an arsehole and too nosy for his own good.

Friends:

Oliver Gerard @kc-and-co - dorm mate and one of the few people who can handle his arrogant ass. But Glenn values how Oliver tells him the reality of life sometimes and that not everyone has such a privileged upbringing like him. They play together in the quidditch team.

Vinny Raymond @hogwartsmysteryho - dorm mate and they kinda just became friends. Though Glenn will get annoyed by Vinny's lack of motivation to study as he finds education important.

Ethel Hexley @the-al-chemist - well they're not exactly friends as Glenn dished out a lot of detention to both her and Selene Fraser @lifeofkaze as their prefect. But they see each other at family gatherings and later when both were part of the Wizengamot.

He's open to more friends if your OCs is happy with an arrogant ass.

Love interest: he's not interested in anyone and never will be to be frank.

Pets: none.

Rivals:

Nolan Miller @hogwartsmysteryho - Both want to prove that they're the superior one and won't hesitate to use their blood status as proof. Also Glenn just really wants to prove that a Gryffindor is just as intellectual as a Ravenclaw.

Winona Rosewood - They like to compete over most things like grades, books, quidditch etc.

I understand if Glenn rubs your OC the wrong way and that started a rivalry.

[aiweirdness]

AI Weirdness in 2020

Now that it looks like 2020 is finally truly over, I thought I’d follow up on a few of my favorite posts, especially the ones that have fun updates. Starting with:

Headlines of 2020

Not only did none of the generated headlines manage to come through in the last weeks of 2020 (I did keep an eye out for the 20-foot giant penguin), but there’s now a quiz to see if you can tell the difference between real and fake headlines.

Sing a song of Rudolph

Goodness, how downy is Rudolph’s hide He has, oh his forehead, so plump and smooth and divine He has a little black snout and tiny little hooves Benevolence makes foolish young children go straight to sleep

I discovered that although I can use AI to generate new carols about Rudolph, they’re all pretty unsettling. After my blog post I tried an experimental model that’s supposed to respond to commands, not examples, and although I’m impressed it could write a completely new carol AND a pronunciation guide in the International Phonetic Alphabet, both its carol and its pronunciation are extremely cursed.

One of my favorite things about running this blog is when talented humans engage earnestly with the weird outputs of neural nets. People made some amazing covers of the neural net carols:

An entire thread of amazing choral arrangements - I recommend starting with this one.

“Rudolph versus Mars”

“O Come Rudolph, Come” (my cat was VERY confused when they got to the “joyful noise” in the chorus)

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with its red belly - despite the title and thumbnail, this video is a really good explainer of how to use OpenAI’s Jukebox to compose new music.

”The Wretched Flesh of Man” - an Extremely Cursed arrangement of this same Rudolph carol.

And The Forever Now’s arrangement is so deceptively, chillingly calm.

Botober

I generated drawing prompts for October for the second time this year, and was once again blown away by the creativity of all the artists (and some microfic and poetry writers). Check out the #botober tag on instagram, tumblr, and twitter! (This is a screenshot of just a few of the drawings on instagram, featuring “coots of magic”, “mole delivering pizza to a tiny pterodactyl”, “queen squid waving as she rules a planet known for its fine linen”, and “an oddly specific book about spiders”):

Mary, don’t eat that

I also went back to my blog’s roots and generated some truly horrible kitchen disasters.

Perhaps you’d like to see what happens when you train a neural net on vintage jello-centric recipes?

Or perhaps you’d like to see how very NOT comforting the Great British Bake-off can get when a GAN tries to generate screenshots?

Or both, encapsulated in Week 11 of this neural net-completed list of GBBO themes:

That’s enough delight, perhaps, for one year. I’m sure 2021 will be far less unsettling.

Become an AI Weirdness supporter and get bonus content in which I revisited the GBBO themes, this time using GPT-3. Are you ready for Doily Week?