#she gives them shelter and serves as a guiding light of sorts

[titaniumions]

that's RIGHT!!!

Normal Found Family Trope: 10/10 Sweet and amazing

Found Family Trope but it's one kid who keeps collecting parental figure like they're Pokémon cards: ♾️/10 Literal perfection in every way imaginable

[froggysoup]

wowee

Alrighty I’m just gonna ramble on about my thoughts on the new quest (and things in general because I talk too much) and pray that at least some of it ends up coherent. Spoilers, by the way.

I’ve had this first theory since the last archon quest but got nervous and didn’t share, so here it is now. Maybe it’s an obvious thing that I’m just in the dark about, but I’m fairly sure that Dainsleif’s “Boughkeeper” title has a large part in explaining why he knows so much about things he really shouldn’t. From the newest quest, we learn that he is actually cursed with immortality, which could explain some it, but the guy still knows too much for it to simply be chalked up to his age. He’s literally the designated narrator for half of the official videos and knows a lot about what and who he talks about.

I suspect that the ley lines serve as an information network of some sort, and that Dainsleif’s position as Boughkeeper allows him access to it in one way or another. The only other places we really see the whole tree/branch thing is with the ley line branches, Irminsul trees, the Frostbearing Tree, and the tree who once had roots that spanned the whole continent (which we know the ley line branches were once directly a part of), all of which are connected in a way that I haven’t quite figured out yet. 

Now, from those screens that come up while the game is loading, we know that supposedly, the intertwined roots of the Irminsul trees far beneath the earth determine the pattern of the ley lines above, and we also know that ley lines are a “mysterious network that links the whole world together” and that they are said to remember everything that happens in the world. From this, I don’t think it’d be that much of a reach to say that Dainsleif can access that somehow.

Next. I do think there’s a pretty good chance that the Archons were involved in the destruction of Khaenri’ah. The Viridescent Venerer set actually tells us how the former Dendro Archon died during the cataclysm while in Khaenri’ah, which. Uh. That’s kind of really incriminating. 

However! Obviously, we’ve only heard this from Dainsleif’s point of view and he’s pretty biased considering his whole thing. We don’t know how much control Celestia has over the Archons’ actions, either, and I’m about 98% sure that some of them weren’t into it, and likely didn't even have a choice. Like, look at the Tsaritsa. Her whole thing is that sometime during the cataclysm, she witnessed something so view-shattering and unjust that her whole thing now is to “burn away the old world” and overthrow Celestia. 

I also can’t see Venti and Zhongli going along with the destruction of an entire nation with no hesitation. Like, obviously, again, Dainsleif is going to be biased, but from what we’ve been told Khaenri’ah didn’t even do anything divine-retribution-worthy. Celestia just seems be into dropping skyscraper-sized pillars and other things onto nations who get too good at being independent, for whatever reason. The new quest is definitely supposed to make us question the current systems of this world but I don’t think we’re meant to hate Venti or Zhongli, at least yet. I think they’re even kind of meant to be seen as the “best” out of the Archons, so to speak. (Not that I think they’re perfect, by any means.)

Like, just look at the way they’ve been presented to us, versus how some of the other Archons have been introduced (Storyline Trailer, my beloved). 

Raiden Shogun is made out to be some self-absorbed divine ass-kisser who doesn’t have humanity’s best interests at heart (which we know is supposed to be a thing you do as an Archon). She’s doing her whole confiscating visions and oppressive rule thing in an effort to be seen as more divine, but, as Dainsleif puts it, “what do mortals see of the eternity chased after by their god?”

The Dendro Archon/God of Wisdom is implied to not actually be as smart as somebody with that title is supposed to be, one way or another, and either has turned a blind eye to or blatantly encourages the “push for folly” in Sumeru. Can’t tell exactly what that would mean or entail (thanks, Dainsleif), but obviously. Doesn’t sound good.

Dainsleif says of the Hydro Archon that she “lives for the spectacle of the courtroom, seeking to judge all other gods. But even she knows not to make an enemy of the divine.” While the not making an enemy of the divine thing I get (I guess, coward), the whole “seeking to judge all other gods” bit seems very “remove the log from your own eye”-y. Like, you’re an Archon, too, what are you trying to prove here?

The Tsaritsa is- well, the Tsaritsa, as we know. While I do think we are meant to sympathize and agree with at least part of her core ideals and motives, she still is the one behind the Fatui and is, by extension, a war criminal. She also apparently has “no love left for her people”. It’s a bit of a complicated relationship that we have with her.

The only ones who Dainsleif does not directly slander in the trailer are Venti, Zhongli, and Murata. While I don’t think we have enough on her to come to any conclusions about her character yet, Venti does say of her that she is a “wayward, war-mongering wretch”. Now, he does also jab at Rex Lapis during this voiceline, but unlike with Murata we know that those two are buddy-buddy and it was very likely that it was “buffoon (affectionate)”.

Venti and Zhongli are also the first two Archons we encounter, which is important for multiple reasons.

Gonna derail for a bit because I don’t know where to start. But. The game very likely will (or at least should) end with no Archons.

Obviously, especially in light of the new quest (although this stuff has been floating around since the Dragonspine update and even before that), Celestia Bad. Like, cataclysmically bad (lmao). In fact, I’m highly certain that you could trace basically every problem in this game back to them, some way or another.

Even our main “villain” groups all seem to be gunning for Celestia. The Fatui obviously work for the Tsaritsa, who’s made it very clear that she plans to rebel against the divine. The Abyss Order, too, has their Deeply Upsetting plan of creating a mechanized god with the power to “topple the divine thrones of Celestia”.

Evidence points to an overthrow of Celestia at some point in the game, and considering how being an Archon or even a god is directly tied to Celestia, yeah. No more Celestia means no more Archons.

But even besides that, there’s a lot there to suggest that that’s where things are going.

I find it interesting how Mondstadt’s our prologue chapter, or that there’s even a prologue chapter of the game at all. Prologues are meant to set up ideas that will be present throughout the rest of the story, and Mondstadt does exactly that. Venti’s let the people of Mondstadt govern themselves and has almost completely been out of the equation for millennia, even if that means he is significantly weaker than his godly peers. When asked why he chose to do that instead of remain in charge and just give them freedom, Venti responds that “freedom, if demanded of you by an archon, is really no freedom at all.” This sentiment is also brought up in the Mondstadt portion of the storyline trailer, and the traveler even has a whole voiceline debating what Venti really meant when he said that.

This idea of freedom and that humanity is capable on its own is further reinforced in Chapter 1, in which Liyue learns to move on from the death of its Archon. Zhongli set up his plan with the intention of testing if his people could stand on their own legs without him there to guide them, and they do. He even expresses how pleasantly surprised he is that the Qixing were able to take advantage of the situation and seize control like they did. Keqing gives us this whole speech when we first meet her about how the adepti and gods underestimate humanity’s capability and how Liyue’s future is meant to be a godless one. This, in a way, extends to the rest of the continent as well.

In the storyline trailer (which I quote too often, I’m sorry. My favorite and only party trick is that I got bored one day and memorized the whole thing), Dainsleif spends the entire Khaenri’ah section musing about something similar. 

“In the perpetual meantime of a sheltered eternity, most are content to live and not to dream. But in the hidden corner where the gods’ gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming,” is obviously about the people of Teyvat vs. those in Khaenri’ah. While a future under the care of the Archons is a safe and reliable one, is it one that allows humanity to chase its potential to the fullest? Khaenri’ah was destroyed for flourishing like it did without gods, both as a punishment and a warning to everybody else.

“Some say a few are chosen and the rest are dregs, but I say we humans have our humanity.” This is in reference to visions. Throughout the game, this idea that, at least in the eyes of the gods, vision holders are more important than those without them, is constantly brought up.

In the commission “Leaves on the Wind”, Dr. Edith expresses how it often seems as if vision holders are the main characters of this world. From the notebooks we receive during the “Time and Wind” world quest, we learn that the Sumeru Academia actually discourages non-vision holders from conducting outdoor surveys, and how “these days... trying to be an academic when you don't have a Vision, it's really restricting...” Dainsleif even just straight up asks us what we think the gods think of vision holders and people in general during question time in that one quest.

In Lisa’s stories, we learn that the reason for her laziness is that a part of her is afraid of learning or doing too much, after witnessing what “uninhibited erudition” can do to people during her time in Sumeru. She also senses that something beneath the surface is happening regarding the distribution of visions. “For whatever reasons, the gods gave humans the key to changing everything, but they did not explain the cost involved. Lisa grew fearful of the truth.”

I forgot exactly where I was going with that last paragraph, but yeah. There’s definitely sketchy shit going on behind the scenes in regards to visions, possibly to keep people either quiet or complacent. I suspect it may even be to restrict access to certain knowledges or even the elements themselves. Anyways.

I lose track of my thoughts too often. Fuck. Right. Mondstadt and Liyue served as good examples of society under the rule of the Archons, and in Chapter 2 we will encounter our first bad example, showing us the pros and cons of the current situation. However, despite Zhongli and Venti seeming to genuinely care for their people, humanity’s wellbeing shouldn’t be reliant on how their god is feeling that day, and they shouldn’t have to look to the gods for a chance to become something greater than themselves, either.

Um. All that’s to say I’m just very excited to see where the story will go, and if Zhongli’s contract with the Tsaritsa is any indication then it’s gonna go somewhere good. Celestia bad, Archons bad but also not bad but also bad, I don’t know if what I just wrote actually even counts as understandable, thank you and good night.

[snidgetwidgeon]

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

[the-ethereal-serpent]

Litha : Ways To Celebrate

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Host A Bonfire

Litha is all about the fiery aspect of the sun, so why not celebrate the fertility of the gods with a blazing, roaring fire in your back yard? It's the longest day of the year, so stay up late and host a bonfire for your friends and family. 

Get sparklers too, and light them after dark. Make an offering to the gods of your tradition. Be sure to follow basic Bonfire Safety Rules, so no one gets hurt at your celebration. You can even incorporate your bonfire into a Litha rite, with the Midsummer Night Fire Ritual.

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Leave An Offering Of Honey Cakes Outside

Preferably somewhere away from your house, as they will attract insects and even wildlife. Litha is said to be one of the two times of year when the “Veil Between Worlds” is the thinnest (the other being Samhain.) According to legend, the fairies and forest spirits are especially active on the night of the summer solstice, and honey is favorite treat.

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Get Back To Nature

Go for a hike in the woods with your family. Enjoy the sounds and sights of nature. Take lots of pictures, or plan a scavenger hunt—have each of the kids bring a "nature bag" to fill up. Remember, don't pick any live plants, unless you're deliberately wildcrafting.

Before you head out, grab a field guide to local plants, and turn it into a teaching exercise, learn to identify what you see out there in the woods. If you take your hike in a public park, bring along a plastic sack to help pick up garbage on your way. If you get the chance to do this alone, try a Nature Meditation in a quiet spot somewhere on your journey.

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Go Camping

If you’re feeling adventurous, but don’t want to leave luxury behind, try glamping and spend a night under the stars in style.

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Get Your Body Moving

Litha is a magical, mystical time of year. Why not host a drum circle or spiral dance? You'll need a large group for this, but it's a lot of fun once you get everyone moving. In addition to being entertaining (and a great stress reliever), a drum circle or a ritualized dance serves another purpose—that of raising energy.

The more you build, the more people will feed off of it. Invite a group of friends over, let them know there will be music and dance, and see what happens. Be sure to provide refreshments for afterwards—drumming and dancing can be draining for some people.

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Go Wildflower Picking

Identify and harvest some wildflowers to use in your summer spell work. Press them in your Book of Shadows if you have one.

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Do Something For Others

Do something for charity. Organize a yard sale and donate the proceeds to a local homeless shelter. Collect gently used summer clothing and give to a local children's hospital. Host a dog-wash for your favorite shelter, and ask customers to either donate cash or pet food. Plan a neighborhood cleanup, and trim and weed common areas in your community. If you don't have time to coordinate a big project—and not everyone does—do things on a smaller scale.

Visit an elderly neighbour and help with her housekeeping. Offer to do grocery shopping for an ill relative. If you know a mom with a brand-new baby, help out with childcare so she can get a few hours of rest. There are any number of things you can do to help others, and with the days being longer, there's plenty of time to get things done!

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Read A Good Book

Summer can be a hectic and chaotic time of year. Maybe you're someone who needs to slow down and take a break. Litha is a good time to rejuvenate, so why not sit out in the sunshine and immerse yourself in a good book. Keep reading material handy all the time, so when you need a little down time, you can work through few pages. If your local library has a summer reading program, sign up.

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Attend A Summer Festival

Litha is the week for pagan festivals. Find one. Attend it. You’ll have a blast, I promise.

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Celebrate Family

Turn off the phone, step away from the computer and television, and spend time just having fun with the people who love you most. Take the day off work if possible and spend it any way you like—go to the zoo, a museum, a ball game, etc. Make this a day that you can do anything you want, and put the schedules away just for one day.

If you're worried that money might hold you back, there's plenty of stuff you can do for free: check your local metro parks for activity schedules, go fishing at a nearby lake or river, and watch the local newspaper for free admission deals at nearby attractions. If getting away for a day isn't possible for you, spend the afternoon at home—play board games, do jigsaw puzzles, and cook a meal together.

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Make A Batch Of Sun Cakes

If you’re a kitchen witch, celebrate this Sabbat by baking! Sun cakes are perfect for the “cakes and ale” portion of a Litha ritual if you celebrate with a coven, or you can use them for offering.

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Clean Things Up

Clean your house. Take advantage of the warm weather to have a garage sale and get rid of all those things you don't want. You can also organize a swap with your friends, or donate all your stuff to charities like Goodwill or Salvation Army. You've got plenty of daylight at Litha, so you can accomplish a lot in just a short period of time.

If your house is a bit daunting, select one room to work on at a time—preferably the one that needs the most help! Wash windows, wipe down baseboards, get rid of stuff you know you'll never use. Organize as you clean, putting donatable items into one pile, and trash in another, so you don't have to sort it later. Turn the project into a ritual with a House Cleaning Rite.

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Make Herbal Candle Rings With Herbs

For the green witch : with your herb garden in full swing, it’s time to make some creative use of it.

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Host A Barbeque For Friends And Family

Have a barbecue, and invite all your family and friends over. Decorate with colors of the sun—yellows, reds, and oranges. Feast on lots of summery food, like watermelons, strawberries, and fresh green salads. Add outdoor games like horseshoes, ladder golf, and backyard volleyball.

While you're at it, set up some kind of water activities—water balloons, super soakers, a pool to splash in. All of these are great outside activities in the heat of summer, and help celebrate the balance between fire and water, as well as welcoming friends and family to celebrate the season.

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Try Cloud Scrying

Find a warm, grassy spot and look up to see what messages the sky might have for you.

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Learn & Grow

Spend some time on spiritual growth. Use this time of year to learn something new about your tradition, develop a new skill, or take a class in Tarot, Reiki, yoga, or whatever appeals to you. Create a daily plan of study to help you focus on what it is you want to do next. You've got plenty of extra hours of daylight this time of year, so there are no excuses.

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Visit A Honey Farm

If you’re not allergic to bees (or deathly afraid of them!) this is a nice activity. Be sure to stock up while you’re there.

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Honor The Season

Many ancient cultures marked the summer solstice with rites and rituals honoring the sun. Celebrate the significance of Midsummer with ritual and prayers that recognize the sun and its magnificent power. Set up your Litha altar with symbols of the season—solar symbols, candles, midsummer fruits and vegetables, and more.

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Article Sources :

https://moodymoons.com/2016/06/15/10-ways-to-celebrate-litha-2/ https://www.learnreligions.com/great-ways-to-celebrate-litha-2562249

[hekateanwitchcraft]

Hekatean Home Protection

The Goddess Hekate’s most popular ancient role was likely that of a protector. She was called on as Hekate Apotropaia (or Apotropaios), an averter of evil, and Hekate Propylaia, Hekate before the gate, as a protector of thresholds. This post is a list of things a Hekate devotee or Hellenic polytheist can do to ask Hekate to protect their home.

The first is the most traditional method, which would be to set up a Hekataion, or a threshold shrine to Hekate. These were present throughout Ancient Greece and were thought to win the goddess’ favor and help protect the home. Constructing one of these can be simple or elaborate depending on preference and means. They can range from an image of Hekate placed outside the door or just inside the home by the door, or a full shrine to Hekate. It can be whatever suits your worship, but what’s important is to leave offerings to Her and give Her prayers there asking Her to protect the home. One thing to do is to always have a candle lit on the shrine (safely, of course) so a torch of sorts always defends your threshold.

Another thing one can do is craft a charm or talisman by asking Hekate to imbue an object with the power of protection. To do this, find a piece of jewelry, a key, or even an animal talisman made of bones of Her sacred animals, and anoint it with a Hekate oil. Leave an offering of incense for Hekate and then say:

“Goddess Hekate, She who guards the doorway, I call upon your aid. Averter of evil, bless this talisman so that it defends my threshold and shields me and mine from all harm. She who stands before, in between, and within, lend to this charm your powers of protection.”

A third method to call on Hekate to protect the home is to make a powder to sprinkle across thresholds. I mix poppy to confuse enemies, garlic for protection, and common sage (not the white kind) for health and good fortune. To this you could also add crossroad dirt or brick dust. Burn some of the powder as an offering to Hekate on a charcoal disk and ask Her to bless it:

“Goddess Hekate, I call upon you as I burn this offering for you. I ask you to bless these herbs from your sacred garden and lend to them your powers of protection. As I burn a portion of this powder for you, please grant to me your favor and imbue this it with the strength to shield my home.”

Lighting a candle dressed in an aromatic or Hekate oil before the threshold can also serve as a means to protect the home. Sprinkling some of Hekate’s sacred herbs onto the candle can add some extra power to it. Light the candle and say:

“Goddess Hekate, Bright One, I light this flame in your honor. Just as this candle burns bright, so may your torches never be extinguished and guide us eternally. Please look upon the home of your devoted follower with favor and protect it from all harm and misfortune”

Once the candle burns completely, save any wax remnants and place them in a small charm bag. This can either be buried on your property (preferably by its entrance) or hung above or by the door.

The final, simplest thing to do is to give Hekate offerings in coincidence with this prayer:

“Hekate Propylaia, She who stands before the threshold, I place these offerings before you and ask for your blessing. Please guard my home and all that reside in it. May all things dangerous and harmful be denied entry, and may your blessings take their place. May these doors be always protected by you, and may they never cease to shield us from all that is evil in the world. Great Hekate, averter of misfortune, look upon your devoted follower with favor and grant me safe shelter.”

Using one or all of these as a way to protect your home should put up a significant barrier between you and anything that might do you or your home any damage. These can be repeated as regularly as desired, and it’s probably wise to fortify them and redo them at least once a year, if not more often.

(Image source: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Relief_triplicate_Hekate_marble,_Hadrian_clasicism,_Prague_Kinsky,_NM-H10_4742,_140995.jpg#)

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

I'll Hold You Just The Same

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: vampire

Everyone knows about Geralt's affliction and has for years - at least the people closest to him do - and it's not a problem anymore. During the warmer months, feeding isn't difficult; there's no shortage of bandits and criminals coming after him and if they happen to wind up with holes in their neck, well, Geralt knows well enough how to dispose of a body. It's become a necessity, one he hated at first but had grown to put up with in the past few years. The only time he has to worry is during the winter, but if things go south, his brothers are always more than willing to let him feed when he needs it. Geralt never takes more than he needs and the other Witchers never offer more than they're willing to give. They know each other well and it works. So taking Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with him hardly seems like it's going to be a problem.

Their first sign that something was bound to go wrong should have been obvious. Things happen in threes, or so they say, and the first of three happens as soon as they hit the last town heading north.

It's a little place, more of a trading post than a town, really, but they have a small bunkhouse for travellers and a shop for supplies. Geralt always stays on his way up the mountain - one last night of rest before trekking up the pass. This year, there are no free rooms.

A hunting expedition gone badly, the man serving as innkeeper says, two injured and one killed, everyone remaining is being sheltered until a sled can be brought up to take the injured into town. And that's... fine. They've slept in worse places and the innkeeper offers whatever he can for supper and comfort.

Geralt leaves Jaskier in town while he heads off to find them somewhere to sleep for the night. He's hoping for a cave or an overhang of rock, something to help keep the heat for Jaskier. He especially needs a good nights' sleep before they head out. But as he's searching, Geralt encounters the second sign.

There's been a light dusting of snow on the ground for days now. This far north, it isn't uncommon, especially so late in the year, but tonight it starts snowing heavily. Geralt finds what he's looking for, sort of. It's a small shelf of rock, enough to shelter them from the oncoming snow, but it won't do much in terms of holding heat. That, he can cope with, so long as they're out of the snow.

He goes back to collect Jaskier once he's lit a fire and cleared a space for them. They sleep under the shelf that night, and it's not as bad as some nights on the road, but Geralt still feels bad. It's the first time he's brought Jaskier home with him and he wasn't expecting to have problems immediately.

In the morning, he's feeling somewhat better. He's no less hesitant about the mountain pass than he has been since asking Jaskier to come, but they've made it through the worst of it and soon enough they'll be up in the keep with his brothers, with Vesemir.

They set out early, just after dawn, and the snow hasn't stopped yet but Geralt tries not to let that bother him. He's made worse treks, including the one year he had to leave Roach at the foot of the mountain and walk up alone. Since that year, he's been much more careful.

The snow doesn't stop, though and while Jaskier is steadfast and determined, Geralt starts to worry about him. It's not until they're halfway through the day, that Geralt realizes he hasn't fed in a couple of days. At the time, he thinks it's the third in a line of problems, and that things should be easier from then on, but he has no idea what's coming.

By early evening, the snow is falling in heavy flakes and the wind has picked up. They push through, but even Geralt is finding it hard to continue with the snow piling up toward their knees. When Jaskier stumbles, Geralt barely catches him in time to keep him out of the snow and he knows they have to stop early for the night.

"If we press on a little longer, there's a cave," Geralt says, "are you okay to keep going?"

Jaskier nods. He's gritting his teeth against the cold, Geralt knows and he hates it. Unclasping his cloak, he winds it around Jaskier's shoulders, tucking it under his chin.

"Not much longer," he promises.

And it's not. Barely ten minutes later, Jaskier is ducking into the mouth of the cave and Geralt is trying to encourage Roach in after them. The roof of the cave is tall enough, but she's hesitant nonetheless and it takes Jaskier bribing her with an apple to get her out of the snow. After that, she's quite calm and happy so lay near the fire once Geralt gets it lit.

But the morning only brings more snow, rising at least six inches up from the ground and Geralt's optimism is wearing thin. He's certain now, that this must be the third in their bad luck streak, that nothing could possibly be worse than this, but he holds out. Hopefully, the snow will stop, maybe some of it will melt and they'll be able to make it up on time.

He continues to keep up hope until the third day when he realizes how long it's been since he's fed, and then the hope he offers Jaskier is no more than platitudes. He sleeps too much and Jaskier notices, fretting over him more than usual. He's always got an eye on him, always checking in, and what can Geralt do but lie. There's nothing here for him and he knows it, his only option is to sit and wait and hope his brothers come looking for him. They know he's coming this year, they know he's bringing Jaskier.

When he falls asleep that night, it's with Jaskier pressed against his chest, facing out into the cave. He's soft and warm, but he smells fucking incredible and Geralt can't help but press his nose into the back of his neck. He wants to push further, to nip at his skin, to sink his teeth in. And fuck, Jaskier would taste so fucking good. Already his scent is practically unbearable when Geralt gets to this stage. But he can't. He won't. He'd never do anything to hurt Jaskier or to harm their friendship in any way. Jaskier has been so understanding since the beginning, Geralt can't do anything to betray his trust.

He wakes, shaking, in the middle of the night and when he opens his eyes, Jaskier is kneeling over him. Geralt thinks it's a dream at first, but Jaskier's palm cups his face and he's so warm. Geralt leans into it and Jaskier sighs.

"Geralt?" he asks, "when was the last time you fed?"

"Mmm," Geralt mumbles, "before we stopped."

"Geralt, that was a week ago. Maybe longer. You need to feed."

Geralt grits his teeth. He knows what he needs, but he also knows there's no way to do it. He won't hurt Jaskier so he has to wait. He says nothing. Jaskier, of course, has a different opinion.

"You know I'd be more than happy to offer."

"Absolutely not."

"Geralt-"

"Jaskier, no. I won't risk it."

Three days pass before Geralt gives in. Three days pass and Jaskier offers every day his pleas becoming more desperate as Geralt finds himself weaker and weaker. On the fourth day, they're sitting by the fire and Geralt sways. It takes too much effort to keep upright properly any longer and the only reason he tries is so Jaskier won't worry about him. But before he knows what's happening, Jaskier is on him, climbing into his lap with his hands on Geralt's face.

"Please," he says again and he's already tugging away to unbutton his shirt. Geralt watches, exhausted, as Jaskier pulls his shirt and doublet off, dropping them into the dirt behind him.

Geralt knows exactly what he's doing, knows he probably should let Jaskier give him this, but the thought of what he might do to him. The fear wars with a budding arousal, sparked by the way Jaskier shifts in his lap, shirtless and willing.

Jaskier leans in close enough that his thighs press in against Geralt's hips and he can practically taste the woodsmoke on Jaskier's skin. He braces his hands on Jaskier's waist and Jaskier leans in closer, tipping his head to bare his neck to Geralt. One soft hand slips up the back of his head, guiding him closer and Geralt groans softly. He wants this, he does, but this is Jaskier and he shouldn't.

"Go on, love," Jaskier whispers, "you need this. I want to give it to you."

Geralt's nose bumps under Jaskier's jaw and he's not sure which one of them is moving, but then his lips are on his skin. He presses a soft kiss to the skin, then another, and he can feel each shudder that runs through Jaskier's body. When he parts his lips, Jaskier shifts in his lap, turning slightly so the angle is better.

Geralt parts his lips, lets his teeth graze Jaskier's skin before pressing forward and biting down. As he breaks the skin, Jaskier lets out a soft sound, more needy than pained and Geralt lets the sound of it echo in his ears as he drinks from him.

He loses himself in the rush of it, only vaguely aware of Jaskier moving in his lap until Geralt draws away. There's a trickle of blood down his neck and Geralt leans in, licking it away without thinking.

His strength returned, to some extent, he turns Jaskier to face him. He didn't smell it before but the air is thick with it now, arousal and anticipation. Jaskier slips back and Geralt can feel the way his cock strains against the being of his trousers. Geralt can't exactly say he's unaffected, either.

For two days they don't talk about it.

Geralt is feeling back to normal again and Jaskier had rations for at least a couple more days, so neither of them needs to think about food. Time has become irrelevant, known only by the light coming on from the mouth of the cave. It's dark though when Jaskier approaches him again.

"I can't see you like that again," he pleads and Geralt is helpless to fight.

This time when Jaskier crawls into his lap, Geralt tugs him forward so they're pressed together, so this time, if Jaskier is aroused, he'll be able to feel it. He wants to, wants to know Jaskier is turned on by this, that's is mutually beneficial.

He presses his lips to Jaskier's neck, placing soft kisses over the mark from the previous bite, then slowly moving toward his collarbone. Jaskier is shirtless again to prevent the staining of his fine clothes and Geralt takes advantage of that, running his hands over all that bare skin.

When he pulls away, Jaskier lets out a little whine, but Geralt lifts his hand, nosing at the veins in Jaskier's wrist. He can hear his pulse, feel the beat of it under his fingers and he longs to feel that skin under his teeth. Less because he's hungry than for the way Jaskier will react to it.

Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt licks the skin before pressing down with his fangs. There's a groan of pleasure and it takes Geralt a moment to realize it's coming from him. Jaskier is stone-still, watching with wide eyes, pupils blown so only a sliver of blue is visible around them. Arousal wafts off of him and Geralt can practically feel how badly he wants this. Which is... something.

If Jaskier wants this, if he feels like this about it, who is Geralt to argue. He bites down, breaking the skin and Jaskier's arm jerks involuntarily, but as the shock passes, he relaxes, a soft moan slipping from his lips. Jaskier brings his free hand up, slipping his fingers through Geralt's hair and it feels good. Geralt presses into the touch with a hum just as Jaskier slips forward and there it is. Jaskier is hard, his cock pressed firmly between them and when Geralt draws back, Jaskier meets his eyes and rocks his hips forward.

When Geralt draws back, Jaskier surges forward and Geralt has to stop him. His lips are stained red, the tang of blood lingering, and he doubts Jaskier wants to taste it.

"But I want to kiss you," Jaskier whines and Geralt huffs a soft laugh as he lets the hand pressed to Jaskier's chest drift downward. When his fingers wrap around the jut of his cock, the kiss is forgotten.

Jaskier's hips jerk forward and Geralt fumbles between them, opening Jaskier's trousers and tugging his cock free. He strokes him slowly, paying special attention to the head, squeezing tight around it then brushing his fingertips along the underside.

Geralt spares only a moment to unbuttoning his own trousers and shifting so his cock fits against Jaskier's, sliding against him with the slightest movement. He gets one hand around them both, stroking slowly as they rock against each other, his hand source of friction more than anything else.

He wants to kiss him, wants to bite his lips and make him whine and if he didn't have Jaskier's blood in his mouth, he would. Instead, he buries his face in his neck, licks and sucks at the skin there as they grind against each other. It’s rough and dirty and uncoordinated and Jaskier would probably be horrified should anyone find out this is how he treats a lover, but Geralt couldn't ask for anything more.

Jaskier wants him at his worst - literally with a mouthful of blood - and Geralt loves him more for that than the rest of his lovers, past or present, combined. He holds Jaskier against him with his free arm, cinched around his waist and Jaskier's fingers dig into his scalp.

"Bite me," Jaskier says, breathless. It's not a question.

Geralt doesn't hesitate, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Jaskier's throat and the moan he gets in response is low and heady. Jaskier's hips jerk hard, nearly dislodging them both and then he's coming, spilling hot and wet between them and Geralt can't keep his eyes off him.

Jaskier's cock twitches with one final spurt and Geralt drops his own cock, wrapping around him to pull every last drop of pleasure from him. Jaskier's shaking before he's done, mumbling breathlessly into Geralt's skin and then he's pulling away, spreading out on his stomach between Geralt's legs.

He takes his cock without hesitation, wrapping his lips around him and swallowing him down as far as he can manage. The position is awkward, but Jaskier is talented and Geralt finds himself drawing close to the edge almost immediately. He rocks his hips lightly, thrusting shallowly between Jaskier's lips and he pushes a hand into his hair, guiding Jaskier's head as he takes control again.

When Geralt comes, he doubles over, nose nearly pressed into Jaskier's hair, and it feels so fucking good. He doesn't care that he's a mess, doesn't care that Jaskier is. That they're both covered in blood and come and whoever finds them will know exactly what happened. It doesn't matter because when Jaskier pulls off, letting Geralt's softening cock drop between his legs, he kisses him.

It's just a soft peck on the lips and Geralt couldn't fault him for it; he knows what he is and he knows how people usually react to blood. But it's a kiss, nonetheless. And he resolves to spend the entire winter at Kaer Morhen returning that kiss, again and again and again.

[wildlyglittering]

The Ones Before

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you again to those liking, re-blogging and commenting on my fic’s, I really do appreciate it. 

I’m loving all the ACOSF inspired fic’s and fanarts that are being produced - and definitely all the critique!!

I hope you enjoy!

***

A hand pressed against his bicep as a low, husky voice murmured in his ear.

“General.”

The owner of that voice, an attractive red-haired female, placed a glass of dark liquid in front of him and squeezed her fingers around his arm.

Cassian’s muscles automatically flexed and the voice turned into a breathless giggle. “On the house,” she whispered, her mouth moving closer to his ear. Perhaps it was his imagination but it seemed that she had pushed her breasts against him so he would feel their firm swell against his shoulder.

He turned to her with a smile so charming that her face lit up like solstice lights. “Thank you,” he said, “but I can’t accept.”

Those ruby red lips of hers turned from a grin into a pout and once upon a time Cassian would have eased her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before asking if there was anything he could do to put a smile back on her face.

Once upon a time. Not now.

Despite his rejection, she was undeterred.

“It’s our finest liquor, General. It’s incredibly silky as it goes down.” It was definitely not in his imagination that he saw the twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure it is,” he said with a wink, “but let me rephrase myself – I won’t accept.”

The twinkle, much like the smile, disappeared. She frowned before snatching the glass and storming off, Cassian catching her stamp her foot as she left as though she were a petulant child and not a fae of likely over a century old.

Cassian chuckled and turned back to the table, picking up the drink he had. The beverage was sickly sweet and made from fruits that were imported into Night from Spring. It was Elain’s favourite and not at all Cassian’s. There were times when he missed the sharpness of wine or the spice of whisky but he reminded himself of what he gained by no longer drinking.

Early winter had come to Velaris and the city was bustling, its occupants rushing around hard at work or preparing for the solstice. Cassian was doing neither; a rare idle day off had lain ahead of him when he’d woken that morning.

The skies had been a bright, albeit pale, blue to start but had grown steadily gloomier before turning into an ashen grey with fat clouds that poured the rains down. The rain wasn’t the soft kind but the sort that smashed against the stones with such force that drops rebounded from the ground and back into the air.

A misty haze drifted around the footsteps of all the rushing fae, their shrieks filling the street as those without coverings ran for shelter from one building to another.

Cassian had been caught out when it started. The first rumble of thunder occurred when he was crossing the bridge and he looked down to see small droplets on the back of his hand. He stood, watching as the rain lashed into the river, mesmerised by the circles the drops created. His hair was drenched and he shook the strands around his head, laughing.

Storms never bothered him, the only reason he moved indoors was because he took up too much space outside for those who didn’t find getting soaked as delightful as he did. That, and his pending companion wouldn’t be too impressed to be made to hang around in the rain.

The café he settled in gave him a decent view of the streets and a prime view of the bridge ahead. Rainwater dripped from his hair when he tied it into a bun and he’d ordered himself his drink, delivered by an older female who wasn’t remotely interested in Cassian.

Fresh warm bread scented the place as the waitresses carried large slices, liberally buttered and served with thick broths in deep bowls, to surrounding tables. Despite the smell, he was content to drink his cordial and observe the world beyond the windows.

The clinking of plates from the table next to him drew his attention and he looked over to see the red-haired fae clearing crockery for the next customers. Although she was working, she was clearly keeping an eye on Cassian, probably waiting to see if he’d change her mind at her offer.

With her coquettish glances and the angle in which she now exposed her cleavage, it wasn’t only a drink she was offering.

A time existed once, when he would have charmed her and they would have removed themselves into the backroom of the café or even a room in the apartments above. Because he was the General, they would never have been reprimanded even if it left the café one employee down.

Admittedly something about the serving fae had captured his attention. Yes, flirtations from an attractive female were always flattering but he had entertained her smiles a bit more than he should have done in the circumstances.

The thrashing of the rain grew louder when the door to the café opened and a fae couple walked in laughing about their soaking clothes. The red-head walked past Cassian to greet them and as she did, her dress deliberately slipped, leaving a pale freckled shoulder to his view.

A memory flashed through Cassian’s mind and in an instant, he could place why she captured his attention so. It was a memory so dusty on the shelves of his brain that he was surprised it was even in the archives.

He was centuries old and he’d spent that time in a variety of ways. Chasing after attainable and unattainable females and fucking a fair few was very much on the list.

But everyone, even he, the fierce Lord of Bloodshed and General of the Night Court’s armies had to begin somewhere.

He’d lost his virginity not to a fellow Illyrian but a fae. She hadn’t been a female of strength or status and considering as Cassian was a bastard runt at the time, he couldn’t have even fathomed those females would ever be an option.

There had been a war. There was always a war.

The troop of Illyrians were on the outskirts of the Night Court and were setting camp around one of the smaller towns. A tavern with warm lights and a warmer hearth was tucked into one of the streets and he was sick of sleeping in the filth. The mud oozed its way into his fingernails and onto his hair and worryingly close to the fresh, open wounds he’d sustained while fighting.

Cassian had fought an Illyrian, broader and older than him and one that would have been stronger too if Cassian hadn’t been desperate. Cassian had pounded him into the ground, knuckles connecting harshly with bone, until the male had acquiesced, giving up the three gold coins Cassian wanted.

He’d sloped off to the tavern after his win, to bathe his body and tend his wounds in one of their boarding rooms. He wanted a decent night’s sleep someplace clean and comfortable and, if he’d had any coin left over, a hot meal.

The Illyrian’s in the tavern were either already in their own boarding rooms for the night, passed out in front of the drinking room fire or still drinking in darkened corners. If they saw Cassian, they paid him no mind, he was a tall thing with growing muscles but still on the wrong side of scrawny.

The only fae that looked at him was the female behind the bar.

She looked to be his age but where his skin was dark, hers was fair and where his was a mottled collection of yellow and black bruises hers was as smooth as cream. She had a mass of red hair which tumbled past her shoulders.

“What will this get me?” he asked and placed the coins on the counter.

She’d told him about a small room at the back he could take and the rest would pay for some slices of mutton. And that was all, she stressed, nothing else.

Cassian merely grunted at her, too tired and hungry to care about anything else that she may have implied.

They must have been used to Illyrian guests as their smallest lodging was still room enough for him and his wings. The bed took up most of the space and a narrow window gave him a view of the courtyard he didn’t care to see. When the food was ready the same red-haired fae brought it up to him and told him she would collect the plate in an hour.

Cassian tore into the meat and bread like a starved animal and when she came back to collect the plate as promised he nodded his thanks and carried on with his task. She’d paused by the door, hesitating.

His leathers and shirt were off and he sat, bare chested on the bed wrapping gauze around his middle with inexperienced hands, cursing when it slipped away.

“Here,” she said, “let me help.”

Her fingers were soft. It had been so long since he’d been touched by a female in any kind of manner. When he was a boy he longed for the touch of a mother but he was no longer a boy and a mother’s touch wasn’t on his mind anymore.

Her fingertips dipped and tucked around his skin, wrapping and folding the gauze so it held firm. All throughout she kept glancing from her task to see him watching her.

“You’re handsome,” she told him, “it’s in a rough way but you have a gentleness in your eyes.”

Cassian closed his eyes as her fingertips traced down his belly and lower and he shuddered when they dipped inside his leathers. Her lips placed a gentle kiss to the bruise on his cheekbone and then used her free hand to turn his face to hers.

Their kisses were slow, unpractised and wet. Their tongues sliding over each other until somehow, she was on her back on his small bed and he was nestled on top of her. When she guided his hand up her skirts and in between her thighs he discovered something else wet and his body hummed.

He didn’t make love to her but it wasn’t fucking either.

He was unskilled but made up for it with enthusiasm and he watched as the moonlit danced across her bare skin, highlighting the splattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest.

Cassian slept like the dead that night never knowing whether he’d passed out before she left or if she’d crept away in the night. Either way, in the morning she was gone and he was alone.

Despite the fact that he’d taken his pleasure but hadn’t managed to give her hers, she’d placed extra gauze on the wooden table by the bed along with a parcel of food, carefully wrapped up for him to take away.

She’d never asked for his name and hadn’t given hers either.

The continued laughing of the couple brought Cassian back to the café. That red-haired fae from the tavern would now be centuries old, like him, if she were still alive. The town that she lived in had grown to the size of a small city.

Whether the tavern still existed, Cassian didn’t know. Whether she was alive, Cassian wouldn’t know.

He was a nobody back then but it was no surprise that the red-haired fae in this café knew who he was.

Most, if not all, of the city knew who he was. Predominantly he was the esteemed General who had protected and fought for Velaris for centuries and a member of the Inner Circle, one of their High Lord’s most trusted confidantes.

The other facet of his reputation, and likely what the serving fae was interested in, wasn’t so much his prowess in battle as it was in bed. Cassian, and every female since the first, had one Illyrian female to thank for that.

Elvira.

By the time he’d met her he’d grown into a warrior of some esteem. Still a foot soldier and placed in the lowest ranks where Rhys’ father wanted him but the previous High Lord of Night couldn’t crush Cassian’s desire to succeed nor his natural talent at doing so.

He was broader by this point, the burgeoning muscles now in full growth and he ambled into camp with his war wounds now badges of pride.

Cassian was a long way off his nickname of Lord of Bloodshed but whispers spread amongst the camps of an Illyrian warrior, not even a century old, who was feared and revered in equal measure.

His success fed him even if Rhys’ father, nervous at the suggestion that Cassian was the reincarnation of the Illyrian’s first warrior, tried to starve him from his accomplishments.

Elvira had been in that camp, wings clipped and eyes hard. An immediate attraction existed between them and Cassian wanted her.

Luckily, she also wanted him.

After their first time, laying on the camp bed in his tent, he was cocky. You’re blessed, he told her, you’re in the bed of the best Illyrian. Her scoff followed by the comment about him not being the best Illyrian in bed wounded his pride.

He didn’t lick his wounds for long. Elvira was keen to teach and Cassian keen to learn and he liked to prove a quick study.

Cassian learnt the only way he could learn; through trial and error but with not much room for error. Soon he had it so Elvira panted desperately for her release, her fingers slipping on his skin for grip. Then, when they lay on the camp bed, their bodies coated in their mingled sweat, Elvira had no breath for comments.

Elvira didn’t do gentle and she never considered their acts as making love. Neither did Cassian. They were lessons in the art of fucking.

But some lessons were the hardest to learn.

Much like him, she was filled with rage and it exploded in a temper that was as hot as it was quick. Often their arguments were deliberate just so Cassian could fuck her anger out of her but when together they were flame and neither carried enough sweetness for the other to make their time anything close to joyful.

In the end they both fucked others and neither cared. As quickly as they came together, they fell apart and she drifted away to another camp.

Elvira was dead now. A name on a long list of Illyrians who perished in war. There had been so many that Cassian couldn’t remember which one it was.

Cassian let out a quiet sigh. His drink was now cloying, tasting too sweet against the bitter memories and he fought the temptation to have something stronger.

He had numerous encounters over the centuries and not all as sad as Elvira. In the sands of time, he’d had lovers who’d lasted hours and lovers who’d lasted months. There were those he left and those where they left each other.

Sometimes he wasn’t willing to let go first, they were rare, but they happened.

Mor came to mind. The difference was that he’d pocketed her away in a corner of his heart, one that held Az, Rhys and Feyre and even Amren - when he was feeling gracious.

Mor was the only lover who became a friend.

The night they spent together she was at her most beautiful. The bravado she would later have and that he would love was still developing. She lay back on his bed, the flames crackling outside his tent and her golden hair fanned across his pillow, a pale blush bloomed on her creamy skin.

Cassian was a means to an end that night but in truth, so was Mor. They became a tool for each other’s temporary destruction but then they became a tool for each other’s re-birth. He would always love Mor and she him.

There was only one other female from his past that he could say he adored for a time.

High fae were visiting Velaris from Dawn and she was one of the nobles, invited to the House of Wind as a special courtesy. She dressed in soft sunrise pinks and oranges, her hair a soft golden-brown caramel and she had sharp grey eyes.

Her appearance was gentle but she had her own mind and would speak it, although her opinions, even the forthright ones, were always tempered with kindness.

Cassian was older, sharper, more rough-hewn than before. He felt battle scarred and weary on a daily basis but at that moment he was amongst friends, drinking wine that tinted their lips ruby red and throwing back their heads in boisterous laughter.

The reason behind the Dawn Court’s political visit was long forgotten but Cassian would always remember her.

She strode over to him, her beautiful face with cheekbones sharper than any blade but holding a tender smile.

“My name,” she told him, “is Lyla. Yours?”

He’d introduced himself and, like the gentleman he wasn’t, kissed her palm.

“I’d like a drink Cassian and a tour of the balcony if you would.”

His grin was borderline feral.

Lyla smelt like jasmine and roses and every chance Cassian had he pressed his nose into her skin, inhaling as deep as he could to capture it into his lungs forever. That night he showed her the Night Court stars and the next, his scars.

Every night after was spent in his bed.

When the Dawn Court left to continue their tour, Lyla stayed behind for almost a year.

Mor teased Cassian relentlessly. “Is she yours?” she jested. “Is this it for our beloved Cassian? Lost forever in the endless drudgery of matehood?”

He’d laughed it off but secretly hoped it was.

He’d sometimes dream of a figure and the image that passed through his mind was always one with golden-brown hair and grey eyes. In his dreams he always tried to reach her, this female who was permanently one step away. Every time he got close, she seemed to slip down a corridor of a labyrinth she’d built up around her.

At times he would get close enough to touch the strands of her hair and as she turned a corner, he would glimpse a striking cheekbone and chilling glare.

On waking he would reach for Lyla, warm and supple in the bed next to him. “You were running from me again,” he murmured and placed hot kisses down her throat.

“I would never,” she gasped as he drew closer, unlacing the front of her nightgown and bearing her breasts.

“Hmm, but you did,” and a nipple would disappear into his wet mouth as he slid warm fingers up her thigh. She squirmed delightfully and the sun would break over Night, filling the room.

“And you glared at me,” he would continue as his mouth travelled down her body as he lifted the nightgown up. Cassian would nuzzle his face at the juncture between her legs, and languidly lick her as though he were eating cream from a spoon.

“Oh, I would never.”

Cassian waited for the mate bond to snap but it never did. After another half year had passed, he realised that he didn’t want it to.

Lyla was too good for him.

He licked honey from her body and couldn’t distinguish whether the sweetness was that or her skin. Her hands, smooth as butter, caressed his, snagging on the coarseness of his palms. She would talk about her friends and family, eyes drifting to the windows in longing while patiently spending all her time with his.

Cassian watched as Lyla pined for home.

“Perhaps,” she’d asked him, “Dawn would be a home for you too?”

It would never be and they both knew it. Cassian also understood that while it wasn’t love for him, it was for her. Maybe it could have grown in time but he wondered if it was fair for to Lyla to wait while Cassian forced it to root.

It could be years, Cassian told himself. Or decades. Centuries even. Time is nothing when you are immortal.

Eventually the sweetness would have turned to sorrow while Lyla waited for something that may never happen and that’s why Cassian told her to go. No, it wasn’t love but it still hurt.  

Years later, possibly a hundred of them, he was on a visit to Dawn and enquired about her. Thesan had surprised him by making arrangements and there she was, visiting his guest suite one afternoon as beautiful as ever.

She had mated to a Peregryn. She’d smiled at Cassian, her familiar happy smile and said, “I’ve always liked winged males.”

Cassian’s hug lifted her from the ground and no more was to be said.  

Cassian’s reverie was broken by the chime of the door as more and more fae rushed in. The sky outside had now darkened to charcoal and the rain was showing no sign of slowing. Inside the café, the fae lights lit up and flickered around the trailing ivy draped across the walls.

Another couple had entered and chose to sit in the alcove to Cassian’s left, pressed as close as could be decent in public. Cassian observed them for a second and felt his lips twitch into a smile. The years had turned him into a sap.

There had been too many females to count; multiple hair colours, eye colours and skin tones. A variety of accents and scents.

Then her but before her, during the time in which they sized each other up like dogs of war, there was another.

Cassian rubbed his hand over his face. That year held a long, cold winter and an unrelenting hot summer. Both were filled with anger and vile words. It was no wonder Cassian sought comfort in the arms of someone who wanted to comfort him.

He’d been simultaneously dealing with the discontent within the camps that grew from rebellion into civil war and a personal, much smaller scale rebellion at the request of his High Lord and Lady. Nursing a wounded ego, wounded wrist and what appeared to be a wounded heart he fled back to Velaris to find solace in the drinks at Rita’s.

A beautiful blonde had approached him. She recognised him, had knowledge of his reputation and knew what she wanted. It suited him just fine.

He’d fucked her against his bedroom wall in the House of Wind. He’d fucked her on his bed, against the silk sheets that were luxury in comparison to the rough blankets in his Illyrian cabin. He fucked her from behind and she rode him until her knees gave out. Cassian made sure it lasted the entire night and the next morning her voice was hoarse.

It made him feel better. For a moment.

Cassian hadn’t bothered washing the fae’s scent from him when he flew back to the cabin. It was a vindicative move but felt like a victory when he saw the reaction it had.

Was it worth it? It didn’t matter now. It had been so long ago, half a century - perhaps more.  

That blonde, the one whose name he couldn’t remember because ultimately it was never of significance, was the last female who would grace his bed before the one who mattered did.

That female, he’d said once, was the last female I fucked before the last female I would ever fuck. Cassian grinned at that memory and the subsequent reaction from the other fae in the conversation.

You coarse bastard – you refer to what we do in our bedroom as fucking? I’m your mate. Give it a more respectful name. Her eyes had narrowed and her glare was ice, her posture rigid.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Cassian nodded “whatever you say.” He decided to not mention how, on the morning of that conversation, when they were performing the very act that apparently required some reverential anointment, she had begged him to ‘fuck her harder.’

The current colour of the sky reminded him of her, mainly of the dresses she wore; deep grey embroidered with silver thread, but also of her eyes. Those blue-grey eyes would change shade dependent on her mood. Blue when contented and grey went irritated.

Whether it was magic or a trick of the light Cassian didn’t know but they were often bluer than grey most days.

A crack of lighting and rumble of thunder turned into shrieks as fae ran from the bridge to get out of the storm. All the while Cassian sat at his table in front of the window watching,

He once lied that he wasn’t concerned about who she lost her virginity too, he’d taken the virginity of many but there had been a time when he thought he would be involved in hers too. There was a sadness in that train of thought, that he hadn’t been the one to give her an experience worthy of who she was.

Their first time together was filled with resentment and anger so it was the other times that held more meaning. He remembered when they were on the mountain and the rain drops shone in her hair like jewels. He was overwhelmingly consumed with love for her.

There was time after time where they fell into each other, desperate for the feel of each other’s skin that they shredded through clothes. There had been the soft times where he pressed his mouth against hers, looking into her eyes while their bodies joined.

There had been that very morning and the night before. And the night before that one. She was hungry for everything these days and he grinned at the thought.

On the bridge a group of fae scattered, not to escape the weather but to make way for someone approaching. It wasn’t that they moved out of fear although she did still carry a certain reputation, but an element of her presence commanded respect.

Cassian’s grin turned into a chuckle as she moved nearer. She was using her magic as a barrier against the rain and instead of it hitting her, it lashed out at anyone too near. Despite this, the bottom of her dress was soaked and she wore a scowl on her face only Cassian found charming.

He waved the red-haired fae over and her face lit up until she realised who was heading their way.

“A bowl of your best stew please,” he gestured towards the window, “she hungry.” He paused, “And grumpy.”

Colour leeched from the fae’s face and she rushed off quicker than he’d ever seen anyone move. The door chimed again to announce its newest arrival.

Nesta. His Nesta. The only female he would ever lay beside again, the only female he would want to lay beside again.  

He stood to greet her and she glided over to him, an act which was getting more difficult for her each day. “This weather,” she bit out, “ridiculous. It makes everyone ridiculous.”

He cupped her cold face in his palms and leant forward, kissing her forehead. When he pulled away, she gave a little sigh.

His ever so slightly mellowing Nesta.

He got her settled and the serving fae placed a bowl in front of her before making a hasty retreat. “Thank goodness,” Nesta said, “I’m starving.”

Cassian was content to watch as she picked up her spoon and tucked in. Loose strands of hair framed her face and there was the hint of some freckles on her nose, remnants from the summer when she went to visit Elain.

He would be content to watch her forever.

Reaching out with a hand, he pressed his open palm against her growing stomach. Nesta didn’t break stride, one hand spooning stew into her mouth while the other came to rest on his, their fingers curling together.

Cassian knew when they’d conceived.

It had been one of their visits to Illyria, Cassian for routine training and inspection and Nesta to get some space.

It had happened on the third day.

Nothing unusual had occurred, just simple domesticity in the cabin they shared. Nesta looked so lovely by the fire, her hair loose around her shoulders while she read. A thick blanket was tucked around her and her entire pose indicated nothing but pure relaxation aside from when she occasionally quirked an eyebrow.

That, and the dusky blush on her cheeks, was how Cassian recognised she was reading on of her erotic stories.

He’d placed an open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder. Nesta smelt like the smoke from the fire but tasted as fresh as mint. The little gasps she made as he continued down her body gave him all the encouragement he needed and she buried her fingers in his hair, the book falling with a thud.

Whatever the characters in her story were doing, Cassian could do better.

Soon it was nothing but their naked bodies pressed against each other, sweat coated skin slipping against skin. The firelight danced around them, shadows highlighting the curves of Nesta’s body as she writhed beneath him.

He was on her, in her, around her. His winged body taking up space on the rug. Nesta, his proper Nesta, who stood spine straight and unsmiling in public had sucked his thumb into her mouth, tongue flickering against his flesh, her pupils so large her eyes were black.

Cassian fucked her so hard that when her release came, she arched her back wide off the ground. He’d grabbed her thighs and hoisted her upwards, opening her up further so he could drive in deeper.

Afterwards they lay in front of the glowing embers, sweat cooling and he kissed her breathless because he never wanted to not be kissing her.

The rest of their time in Illyria was filled with duties that took Cassian away and it was a few days after their return to Velaris that he noticed a change in them both. A slight alteration of her scent and a distinct primal urge within him to tear apart any male who looked at her.

Cassian felt their baby shift underneath his palm, moving around for space, maybe even stretching its developing wings.

Nesta made a contented noise, food devoured. She rested her other hand against her stomach and leant back in her chair, looking out the window. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to sit further into the café, the alcove looks cosy.”

“I like watching the city.”

Nesta squeezed his fingers as the baby shifted particularly firmly. She sighed and Cassian saw her look out towards the bridge. “There’s not much to see in this spot.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian said. “All this time, I was waiting for you.”

[amarimaryllis]

The Sun’s Incarnation (Ushijima x Reader)

Pairing: Ushijima/Reader

Prompt/Summary: The love between the two of you was not meant for this lifetime. Alternatively, Ushijima is a demon slayer, and you’re the unlucky demon that fell in love with him.

Tags: Angst, Demon Slayer AU, Reincarnation AU

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, Mild Violence

The shop was always empty in the dead hours of the night. You couldn’t blame the people for being absent during those hours. The cold air bites at the skin of those who dare walk out, and the moon barely gives any guiding light for those who dare stumble out in the dark. It was better for you that way. Having no customers to serve meant that you could just sit in one spot, and you’d still get paid. It also meant the hunger that swirled in your stomach would not tempt you to sink your teeth into the flesh of the unlucky soul that dared to cross the path of a starving demon.

It gets monotonous with the lack of life in the restaurant, but monotony is a grim reality that came with being immortal. You’ve grown accustomed to the emptiness that settles itself in the confines of your chest, and you’ve tried all that you can to fill that void, but nothing ever really worked. Maybe this was the price of power, but even then, no power on earth could rival the dreadful feeling of loneliness.

You’re disturbed from your thoughts when the door slides open, a tall figure appearing from the freezing darkness that hugged around the restaurant’s warm light. A gust of cold wind comes from the open door, and if you were human, you might’ve shivered from the autumn wind.

“Welcome to Sakanoshita.” You greet with a smile as you try to hide your annoyance. You guess that there were still humans out there who did not value their life, and this man was solid evidence of that. What kind of idiot would walk around in the cold in a town rumored to be infested with evil spirits?

Your question is answered when the door closes and the man turns to look at you,

“I seek shelter from the cold,” He states with an air of confidence that didn’t match his fatigued figure,” And a warm bowl of noodles, if it’s not too much to ask.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes and told him that restaurants usually were meant to serve food so asking for a bowl of noodles is not too much to ask as long as you pay, but the fear that clawed at your mind stopped you from doing so. His clothes were a dead giveaway of what he was. His maroon haori, his dark uniform, and the blade perched at his hip were enough to make you feel threatened. Only a demon slayer could awaken the instinctive fear that lies within you.“Would any noodle do?”

“As long as it’s warm.” The tall man replies as he sits on one of the tables, the one closest to your booth.

“It’ll probably take some time.” You warn even if you know that you could easily whip up some noodles in a short time. You were doing all that you can to rid yourself of the demon slayer’s presence.

“Take as much time as you need.” The man waves off your fraudulent worries before he relaxes into the chair that seems to be too small for his large frame. “I am in no rush.”

“I’ll go ahead then.” You smile tightly before going to the back to prepare some noodles.

You could feel your fear grow with each step you took away from the man’s presence. You had no qualms about having to defend yourself from him, should he attack, but there’s always that part of you that worries. It was also unnerving how he barely gave you a glance. The tired man seemed to be too absorbed in his fatigue to second-guess your true nature. Perhaps he knew what you were, and he was just toying with you, lulling you into a false state of comfort before he slashes his blade through your neck in one clean swipe.

He did not.

Once the man got his noodles that took you almost an eternity to prepare, he ate it up like it was his first meal in a long time before he stood up, paid for more than what the noodles cost, and disappeared into the shadows of the unforgiving night.

You pray it was the last time you encounter the mysterious slayer. Funny how faithless creatures call on the power of the very gods that have forsaken them when placed in danger’s way. You would think the power that coursed through your veins would set you in a high free of worries, unyielding and arrogant in facing any creature that dared breathe in your direction. However, you should’ve known that anyone who dares defy the power of the heavens will soon meet their match.

The gods reject your prayer, or maybe it never even reached them. The prayers of sinners remain flightless and bound to earth, whispered into the sky only for darkness and oblivion to consume it. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter because a week passed, and the mysterious slayer reappears.

You set a bowl of soup in front of the man and he thanks you. You acknowledge him with a nod before you walk back to your booth. This was the part you hated most: sitting on a chair and wondering if the man was going to figure out what you were. He seemed pretty dense for a man meant to kill such elusive creatures.

“Why do you only work at night?” The mysterious man asks before he takes a sip of water.

You could feel the fear in you growing stronger. Had he figured it out? “How are you so sure I only work at night?”

“I drop by here in the mornings.” The man looks at you, his gaze not giving away any of his thoughts. “I never see you.”

“Why? Are you looking for me?” You attempt to fluster the man, maybe that would shut him up and veer his thoughts away from suspecting you. “After all, you won’t really notice my absence if you don’t seek out my presence.”

“I am.” The man admits, and your attempts on flustering him seem to backfire because now you’re the one who’s flustered, but at the same time afraid, as strange as it sounds. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

You give him the same answer you give to those who get the opportunity to ask. “Working at night pays more, and I have to do less because of the lack of customers.”

You motion to the empty seats surrounding the two of you. “You’re the only one who dares to walk through the dark streets of a town rumored to be infested with evil spirits.”

“I am armed.” The man pats the sword on his hip. “And I’m sure it’s not the spirits that will harm people like you and me.”

“Oh?” At this point, you were playing with fire. However, the monotony of immortality is slowly eating away at the rational part of your brain. The desire to feel something more than just emptiness was leading you to dangerous roads that most likely ended in blood and death. “Then what exactly will harm people like you and me?”

“Demons.” The man replies without a pause, his once dull eyes seeming to glow with a raging inferno of hatred and bloodlust. “Foul creatures that prey on vulnerable humans like you.”

“You speak as if you are not human.” You reply with a stable voice, but it’s taking all of your efforts not to run away.

“I am human, but I am not as weak as one.” The man’s unwavering confidence seeps into his words, and you’re almost tempted to rip him into shreds just to extinguish that flame in his eyes. However, you could tell that he meant every word, and he could easily prove himself if you attack. “However, you are. You shouldn’t be working this late at night. It’s dangerous for a woman, especially one unarmed.”

“So what if I am a woman?” You scoff. “I can still put up a fight.”

“I am not questioning your abilities.” The man replies. “I’m sure you can put up a fight, but you shouldn’t have to if you just put yourself out of danger.”

“Why are you so concerned?” You can’t help but scoff at the man. You just wanted to get this shift over with.

“There are demons lurking in this town.” The man replies, stoic and unyielding. “And I’d like to keep the deaths as low as possible.”

“How brave of you.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Demons are but a tale to keep children in line.”

“I beg to differ.” The man replies. “Should a demon come your way, you’ll know just how horrible they are.”

You can feel your anger grow at his words.

“However, I’ll make sure I kill that demon before it lays a hand on any of the people in this town.”

“Do what you please.” You shrug. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“Why do you need my name?” The man questions, a brow raised questioningly.

“I’m going to gossip with a few ladies here and there about a man who goes to restaurants at the dead of the night and believes in demons.” You reply, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi.” For the first time, you see the man smile.

Over the course of a few days, Ushijima’s late night visits become more frequent which led to you becoming more and more comfortable in his presence. His presence had breathed a fire into the cold emptiness that lay within your body, and you found yourself seeking his presence out more and more with each day that passes. Your relationship with the slayer was a friendship of sorts, a few conversations tossed around here and there before Ushijima departed into the night. However, that relationship took a turn during your weakest night.

The emptiness in your chest was not part of the promises that the demon offered you in your wintry deathbed. You should’ve known from the start that the price of rising from the ashes meant that nothing in this world could make you feel that burn again. The demon’s promises were as cold as the snow stained with your blood, if not colder, but you had deluded yourself into thinking that the promise of being reborn would breathe a new fire into you. Being placed at the brink of death had a funny way of clouding a person’s judgement.

It was at the moment, in the outskirts of the dark forest near the town, that Ushijima found you, mourning the death of your humanity and reminiscing the moments that led to it. The feelings had been bottled up for too long, and now the fragile glass that held you together was shattering violently. You were a shaking mess, tears staining your cheeks, blood coating your knuckles as you punched at the ground to feel something other than the void that was once your soul. Even then, the pain that throbbed through your knuckles wasn’t enough.

Ushijima pries you away from the ground and he pulls you to his chest. He doesn’t ask you to speak. He doesn’t ask you to do anything. He just lets you sob into his chest, cradling you in his arms as he runs his fingers through your hair in an attempt to comfort you. He wishes he could calm the storm within you, swipe a hand to alleviate the raging winds of sadness that stirs within you, raise a finger to silence the deafening thunder of regret that crashes within your soul, but could not. The gods despised creatures like you, and Ushijima realizes this as he watches the wounds on your knuckles heal at a speed foreign to the body of a mortal. Ushijima pretends to not see it as he removes his haori and drapes it across your trembling figure.

Ushijima brings you home, your meek voice guiding him as he carries you through the town. You did not have it within you to fight. You did not have it in you to think twice about the offer of being brought back home to the comfort of your bed that you did not even need. When you get there, Ushijima sets you down gently on your futon before sitting across from you, an arm’s distance away.

“I’m sorry for the trouble.” You whisper as you lean against the wall and hug your legs to your chest in an attempt to feel safer. You grip at Ushijima’s haori, pulling it tighter around you. A small voice in your head tells you to wonder about how many of your kind have stained the fabric with their blood, but you push it away because in this moment, nothing made you feel safer than the very thing that was meant to be a danger to your existence.

“Don’t apologize.” Ushijima is as straightforward as ever, and you’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are altering your vision, but you swear there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes the unbeating muscle in your chest flutter. “Do you… Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. You knew that if you spoke now, you’d let it all out. Something about Ushijima made you want to tell the truth, whether it was trust or foolishness, you did not want to find out. It almost makes you feel bad as you’re reminded of what Ushijima does as you look at the sheathed blade by his side, but you knew that you would feel worse if you had to die at his hands. You didn’t want to see the disgust that would take over his face if he found out that you were one of the very creatures that he swore to destroy. “Can you… stay?”

“If it’s alright with you.” Ushijima replies coolly, but the light blush dusting his cheeks gave away his feelings towards your proposition.

Silence hangs between the two of you like the wisteria that grows on the mountain. Its presence was overwhelming, and it displeased you greatly. You glance at Ushijima for a brief second before you just give it all up. Courtesy be damned, you were lonely and fate was dangling an opportunity not to be right in front of you.

“Ushi—“ Your attempt to call out for Ushijima dies in your throat halfway through. It was pathetic. You thought you were done mourning what has been long dead, but for some reason, without a trigger, without a warning, you’re back suffering through the same feelings again. It wasn’t fair.

Ushijima immediately scoots over to you before he guides you to lie down on the futon. He holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Sleep, it’ll help.”

You didn’t know which deity had gazed upon you and thought you deserved a semblance of mercy, but that night, sleep washes over your body as you surrender yourself completely in the demon slayer’s arms.

Ushijima awakens before you do. The sun was still out of sight, and you were still fast asleep. As much as he wanted to stay with you, he had a mission to fulfill in the other town. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shuts your curtains tight to make sure that neither sunlight nor moonlight will filter through your windows. He knew it was wrong, whatever it was he felt about you. Fondness? Sympathy? Affection? Love? Whatever it was, he knew that he couldn’t feel that way towards you. He had sworn to kill your kind after all. However, for some reason, he can’t seem to do it with you. His hand remains far away from his blade, and the usual urge that Ushijima had to swipe a demon’s head clean off their neck was absent.

What the hell made you any different?

Ushijima shakes his head, hoping that the thoughts in his head would loosen its grip on his consciousness and fall out into the air and fade into the dark. It doesn’t work, but it doesn’t stop Ushijima from trying as he walks out of your house and into the blanket of the cold morning.

The next time you see Ushijima, he is draped in casual fabrics. His demon slayer uniform is out of sight and the sword perched at his hip is nowhere to be seen. In his hands, however, was a bouquet of gardenias.

“There’s a festival later.” Ushijima says with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and you’re almost tempted to tease him for the blush dusting his skin and for the lack of his usual air of unwavering confidence. “I would like to go there with you.”

It’s your turn to be flustered, an unfamiliar heat creeping through your cheeks as Ushijima stretches out the bouquet of flowers to you.

“Gardenias?” You gently grab the flowers from Ushijima’s grip before you give him a teasing smile. “Not my favorite, but they’re pretty.”

Ushijima smiles at your teasing. He has been around you enough to know your little quirks. “The woman at the shop told me they were fitting.”

You don’t understand what Ushijima means, but you don’t bother questioning it. “So, shall we?”

Ushijima smiles as he holds out an arm for you to take.

The music from the band rings all the way to the quiet part of town. Each note thrums in the air and you can almost feel your heart beating in time with the faint boom of the drums. The night is filled with life, and for the first time in your immortal lifetime, you are reminded of the long-forgotten beauty of the things that live under the sun. Ushijima, whether he knew or not, had given you a piece of the life that you have long turned your back on, and in that moment, as you sit beside Ushijima in the grassy landscape, you almost wish you could stay until the sun rises on you again.

“What are we, Ushijima-san?” You whisper out, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the night. You fear that if you spoke louder than a whisper, the shadows would awaken and devour the life that floated through the midnight sky.

“I seek out your company even when I am with others.” Ushijima replies as you both continue to observe the town from a distance, the slowly dwindling orange lights made it look like the embers of a dying fire. “And I can only hope you feel the same.”

Monotony can make even the most simple things feel like a momentous event. Simple words spoken by a simple man, nonetheless, they succeed in making your insides flutter with a felicity unknown to your immortal personage. “And if I do?”

“Then perhaps I would ask if I could kiss you.” Ushijima turns to look at you with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes, swirling like liquid pools of gold under the glimmer of the moonlight.

You attempt to swallow your nerves as you turn to gaze at Ushijima who sits beside you. Your voice still comes out soft and unstable, however, there’s an undeniable certainty in the words that leave your lips. “And if I allow you to?”

Ushijima brings his face closer to yours until your noses are a hair’s breadth away, his warm breath dancing on your lips as he moves to engulf your cheeks in his large calloused hands. “Then I would be the happiest man alive.”

His lips, his hands, his body, everything about Ushijima Wakatoshi is warm. The way his mouth moves against yours feels like the fire you have long forgotten when you decided to rise like a phoenix from the ashes. It dances through your interlocked lips, like a mortal breathing in the sun as he offers a graceful dance to the god of fire. It burns you, his touch, but it makes you feel alive. As Ushijima wraps his arms around your waist, and as he pulls you into his sturdy chest, you forget.

You forget that the fire he breathes into the empty shell of your body is the very same fire that is meant to snuff out whatever light is left within you.

The last time you see Ushijima Wakatoshi, it’s in the forest of the other town.

A brother in need had sent a letter to your domicile, seeking your presence in the mountains that he dwelled in. Oikawa Tooru was the one who showed you how to live after you were reborn. Your creator could not, and so the brunette was the one to fill that spot in. You owed Oikawa your life, and although it was life you used to regret living, it was a life that had brought you to Ushijima

Oikawa had been told that a group of demon slayers were sent to his mountain, and he sought your help. Apparently, the Sun Breather was one of the slayers they had sent. It was alarming to any demon, powerful or not, because every single one of you feared the sun, and to face the man who breathes its rays is even more horrifying. No one knew what he looked like. No demon ever crossed his path and lived to tell the tale.

Oikawa was afraid, and he sought your company.

This leads to your current situation, lingering in the trees with Oikawa across from you as you listened to the growing sound of footfalls against the snow. The moon is nowhere to be seen, and you can only hope that the shadows are enough to conceal you.

“Come out demon, you have nowhere to run.” The familiar voice makes you freeze in your position up in the trees. “There’s no use hiding when I’m going to kill you anyway--”

Oikawa dodges in time, and he hops to the next tree. Another slayer had attempted to kill him from the back.

You, however, are not as lucky as Oikawa is.

A slayer comes up from behind you and manages to slash through your arm. You fall onto the ground, bleeding profusely out into the cold snow, and it almost feels like you’re back at your deathbed.

You don’t lift your head, you didn’t want to see the look on Ushijima’s face when he confirms that it is actually you. You’ve tried so hard to conceal who you are in order to lengthen whatever time you had with the man, and you were not ready to lose him just yet.

“So you’re the Sun Breather.” Oikawa stands protectively over you. “I should have known.”

“Oikawa.” Ushijima nods in acknowledgement as the other slayers appear behind him, including the one who had slashed through your arm. “I never thought you would end up becoming one of them. You were a promising slayer after all.”

Oikawa laughs as he nudges at you with his foot, a silent plea for you to start running. “You brought quite a lot of slayers, I’m flattered.”

“And it seems you’ve brought a friend as well.” Ushijima turns to look at you, taking your figure in properly before he freezes. It couldn’t be, right? The owner of Sakanoshita said you were visiting a friend in another town. Ushijima clears his thoughts, and he hopes he is wrong. However, no matter how much he pretends not to see, he can’t deny the familiar figure. He had been around you enough to know you by the lingering traces of your presence.

“I’m giving you the chance to walk away, Sun Breather.” Oikawa hisses as he pulls you to stand up.

You cover your face with your hair, ignoring the world around you as you focused on mending the wound left by the slayer’s blade.

“Unfortunately, I cannot do the same for you.” Ushijima draws out his blade.

And with that, you and Oikawa break out into a run.

The snow is cold against your feet, you don’t feel it, but you remember the feeling very well. If there’s one thing from your past that you remember, it’s the feeling of the unforgiving cold that nips at your skin, eating away at your warmth until there’s nothing left in you but the raging winds of winter.

You can hear the footsteps, the crunch of the snow under the weight of the slayers that are sprinting to catch up with the two of you. There’s an undeniable fear clawing at your chest, devouring all rational thought and cultivating the demonic instincts that you wished you could destroy.

But alas, the consequence of power is beginning to catch up, and the gods have grown tired of your defiance. Death would not let you escape this time around. You have defied the heavens once, and those proud creatures would not let you disobey them again.

Oikawa stumbles as a slayer cuts him down, and he screams. He shouts at you to continue running, to not look back, and to save yourself from the fate that he knew he was about to suffer.

You can hear the sickly sound of the blade meeting skin, and you run. You run as fast as you can, as far as you can from the snowy mountain stained with the blood of the man you once called brother. Fear courses through your veins and you can only hope that none of them catch up to you.

And if ever they do, you pray that it wasn’t Ushijima to do so.

You are brutally reminded that the gods have no need for your prayers. They did not need the worship of a faithless creature. You trip over a branch concealed in the snow, and you’re sent rolling down a steep incline. The rocks dig into your body as you crash down into a snowy part of the mountain that overlooks the town. Crimson bleeds through the fabric that hugs your figure, and your blood stains the pristine snow.

You hear footstep as you lie defeated on the ground, and you shut your eyes as you surrender your fate to whichever slayer has found you. Redemption does not exist for beings like you. Only death can forgive you for defying it. There is no atonement for a sinner who does not accept their fate.

“Why are you giving up?”

You breathe out a chuckle. The gods really were cruel, of all that they could send to kill you, they sent the one that made you feel alive.

It was poetic, in a way. The man who breathed life into you would be the one to take it.

“It is my fate to die either way.” You mumble out as you trace the skies with your eyes, surrendering to its vastness. “Running away will only prolong my agony.”

“If someone else found you,” Ushijima kneels beside you, hand far away from the hilt of his blade. “Would you have given up this quick?”

“If someone else had found me,” You can feel a tear escape your eye. “I would’ve been long dead.”

“So you’re just going to die,” Ushijima lies down beside you, and you wonder if he can feel just how cold it was. You doubted that though, the man was practically an incarnation of the sun. Even the winter in your body died when brought close to his warmth. “Do you not care about what would happen to me?”

“You would not care.” You mumble out, your throat tightening and your head throbbing with the urge to sob. “I would’ve been just another demon dead.”

“But I would.” Ushijima sits up and brings you with him, gripping your arms as he looks into your eyes. This was the first time you’ve looked at him since the start of the chaos in this mountain. “I’ve always known. Ever since that time at the mountain, I knew.”

“Then why did you stay?” You could feel the tears flowing freely. You gripped at his haori, clenching your fingers tightly as your chest did. “Why didn’t you kill me? Why did you have to make me long for a life I cannot have? Why did you give me a taste of the sun when you knew it would kill me?”

Ushijima doesn’t speak as he wraps his arms around your sobbing form.

“Pathetic, don’t you think?” The laugh that escapes you is laced with bitterness. “I’m a fool for falling in love with someone I’m meant to resent.”

A chuckle rumbles through Ushijima’s chest and you wonder if he has gone mad. His grip tightens around you as he presses a kiss at the crown of your head. “Then I guess we are both fools.”

Hours pass and you are both silent, no one speaks, just having the other is enough. You listen to the beating of Ushijima’s heart, the sound lulling you into a state of calm that you haven’t felt in a while. For a moment, you both lose your identity. He is not the man who breathes the sun, and you are not the demon that brings death upon mankind. There was nothing in that moment that grounded you to the harsh reality of the world you lived in.

“Wakatoshi,” His name feels like a prayer as it falls from your lips. “I want to see the sun with you.”

You can feel Ushijima shaking. His breathing speeds up, and his heart starts beating faster. You can hear the sobs forming at his throat. “But… That would mean…”

You pull away from Ushijima’s chest and you move to cup his cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” There are tears flowing down Ushijima’s cheeks as he leans into your touch. His heart mourns a death that hasn’t happened, and for a moment, you’re almost tempted to stay.

“They’ll kill you if you don’t kill me.” The smile on your face has an underlying tragedy underneath it. “And I don’t think you can raise your blade far enough.”

Ushijima’s eyes widen. “I could never raise--”

“I know.” You wipe the tears away with your thumbs. “So let me see the sun, okay? I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”

“Please,” Ushijima grips at your wrists. “Not like this.”

“One day, Wakatoshi.” You smile sadly. “A time will come where we can gaze upon the sun with no worries.”

“Please don’t do this.” Ushijima pleads with you, desperation evident in his words as he seeks to change the inevitable.

“There will be a lifetime for us, my love.” You run your fingers through his hair, you trace the features on his face, and you embed every inch of his face into your memory. “Maybe not today, but someday.”

You ease the wrinkles in between Ushijima’s furrowed brows. “Promise me you’ll find me?”

There is resignation in Ushijima’s eyes as he presses his forehead against yours. It is inevitable. The two of you can only make the most of what you are given, and you were not given much. “I would happily die a hundred deaths to reach the lifetime meant for you and I.”

You smile sadly. “Can I kiss you?”

“What if I say yes?” Ushijima thinks back to the festival as he gazes into your eyes.

You can feel a tear roll down your cheek. “Then I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

And as you kiss Ushijima, the skies begin to shift, the sun slowly rising in the horizon as dawn breaks in the distance. You never see the sun before you fade into the ashes you once escaped, but you didn’t have to. The only sun you needed held you in its arms, whispering confessions of love and promises of devotion.

Ushijima can only look at the rising sun with contempt. He hated how the very thing that gave him strength was what took away yours. He hated how you had to suffer. He hated how he had to fall in love with you in a world that would never accept it, but he relents.

The sun brings with it a hope so strong that it pulls Ushijima from his thoughts.

One day, he thinks to himself, the sun will shine on us again.

The sun is bright.

You were starting to think that hiking up a mountain during the summer was a bad idea. It’s not like you were the one who willingly brought yourself here. Oikawa was back from Argentina, and for some reason, the first thing he wanted to do was hike up a damned mountain. You don’t know where your brown-haired companion was, but you could care less. The view you got from this part of the mountain was a sight to behold.

The mountain overlooked the town. The skyscrapers looked like dots in the distance, and the city’s noise was unable to disturb the peace protected by the towering trees. As you breathe in the air and feel the sun kiss your skin, there’s an overwhelming sense of peace and recollection that floods through you.

Something about standing in that spot felt so familiar.

“Excuse me?”

You nearly trip off the edge at the sound of someone’s voice.

You turn to look at the culprit, ready to chew them out for almost sending you to your death. However, when you turn to look at the stranger, the words die at your throat.

You knew who he was, Ushijima Wakatoshi. One of the players in the Schweiden Adlers team. Someone Oikawa has always talked about with distaste.

However, you feel like you knew him more than just that. For some reason, as you look into his olive eyes, you feel like you’ve known him your entire life. And he probably felt the same because the next thing you know, the same words escape your mouths.

”Do I know you?”

A/N: Bringing back an old piece. I made this to explore a more poetic (?) writing style, and this was one of my practice fics before I wrote “All The World Drops Dead”. It’s also pretty angsty, and there’s barely any closure, but rest assured that I’ll probably be giving out fluffy fics soon cause angst is tiring HAHAGSGRHFHDJHSKS Also, I’ve posted this before (in my old acc) and I’m bringing it back cause this fic is dear to me. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this and thank you for reading 💖

[rinzis]

writing about my new genshin oc??? okay?????okay!!!!!! i’m on mobile so i can’t add the read more option i’m so sorry

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details

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name: kiyoharu misa

birthday: august 3rd

sex/pronouns: female, she/her

region: inazuma

constellation: lunam lilia

vision: electro

weapon: sword

rarity: 5*

title: princess of the kiyoharu household, moonlit swordsmaiden (unofficial)

affiliation: kiyoharu clan, the resistance

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synopsis

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the princess of the fallen household kiyoharu. she carries a patterned umbrella which she is seldom seen without, and within which lies her precious katana. a gentle yet influential soul, she is well known for her impressive swordsmanship throughout the resistance in inazuma.

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character story

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character details

at first glance, people might not think that kiyoharu misa was anything special. seeing a young woman strolling through the land of inazuma carrying an intricate paper umbrella would not faze anyone. but, under this delicate guise, misa conceals both her dear katana and her vision.

the princess of the kiyoharu household is known to be a gentle soul who yearns for freedom from the raiden shogun and the tenryou commission. since her childhood, she has always been fascinated by the moon and its rays, a particular trait of kiyoharu descendants. misa earned herself the title of ‘moonlit swordsmaiden’ after combining her unparalleled swordsmanship with her illuminated vision.

story 1

the kiyoharu clan was once a widely respected and loved clan across inazuma. the household was known for its tendency to produce talented swordsmen who earn themselves visions through selflessness and helping others, and for this reason they were seen as high nobility. however, members of the kiyoharu household were reluctant in hiring many maids or servants - they believe that if one can be capable of harnessing the power gifted by gods through blade alone, one should also be able to cook a simple meal, or wash their own clothing. through this doctrine the kiyoharu descendants earned themselves unwavering respect from all citizens of inazuma, and even the raiden shogun herself - for a while.

story 2

descendants such as misa are taught from a young age to honour their ancestors, but also those who currently serve inazuma as well. misa excelled in swordsmanship, being able to wield a blade so gracefully to the point where it appeared as though she was dancing, using it as simply an accessory. the leader of the clan gifted to her a delicate paper umbrella, and he spoke to her these words: “do not mistake kindness for weakness. from dainty petals drip deadly poisons.”, and with that, misa understood her duty. she would protect the citizens of inazuma with her life, with her dainty umbrella and deadly blade at her side. she is seldom seen without either.

story 3

the kiyoharu clan were known best for the number of descendants who possess visions. thus, when the vision hunt decree was issued, the tenryou commission sought out every member of the household owning a vision. misa’s family would rather have died than hand over their precious visions. despite their unyielding fighting spirit, the kiyoharu household was overcome by the sheer numbers in the tenryo commission. there were supposedly no survivors, but it just so happened that the young kiyoharu misa was dispatched on a mission on behalf of the household the day it fell. the young swordsmaiden returned to her home in ruins, her whole life taken from her. she knew at that moment that as the sole descendant of the kiyoharu household, she would avenge her clan and return lost visions to those who suffer at the hands of the tenryo commission.

story 4

misa met all sorts of people on her journey through inazuma as a vision-bearing fighter, the most notable of all being the ronin kaedehara kazuha. she used to live a life of solitude in a small house near the edge of the islands of inazuma, but this life of solitude was changed upon seeing the rain-soaked samurai appear at her doorstep one evening. seeing each other’s visions, misa realised that kazuha was not a threat at all. the days they spent together inspired misa to venture out, to find the resistance in inazuma alongside the swordsman and reclaim justice for the fallen. and so, she left yet another life behind to travel with kazuha through inazuma in search of everything and nothing at all. nights of listening to the ronin’s musings and conversing under the moonlight unknowingly planted a blossom in misa’s heart, one which would remain there forever.

story 5

misa and kazuha’s travels took them all across inazuma. despite them both being wanted for their visions, the tenryo commission’s lackeys and treasure hoarders were no match for the pair’s skill in bladework. misa secretly yearned day after day for any sign of affection or mutuality from the young samurai, but as the princess of a famed clan she chose to remain composed and calm about the whole ordeal. however, when the ronin told the princess of his plan to leave inazuma with the crux fleet, he explained that he did not want to take this life from her. he confessed that his musings and haikus about the heart and its desires he so often shared with her were about her, and that his own heart would belong eternally to her. thus, he left her with a simple promise. “the wind will bring us together once again, misa. i will return home to you, and then will i forever devote myself to you. this i promise, my princess.”

the kiyoharu sword dance

those who have witnessed kiyoharu misa in battle often note how she appears more to be dancing than harshly fighting. the kiyoharu household drew its strength and style in battle from the moon and its light, and they channeled this into their blades during battle. misa’s god given agility combined with this graceful power leads ultimately to her captivating swordsmanship. with the electro imbued in her blade, misa is all too capable in taking down foes with ease. in the night hours, a stroll down to a clearing or open beach may lead you to find the princess honing her blade under the silver of the moon, with a sword that never sleeps. she is renowned throughout the resistance as one of the most talented swordswomen in inazuma.

the vision

misa was granted her vision during a particularly dangerous incident during her early training years. one fateful evening, she was out with other kiyoharu swordsmen, practicing her skills with her blade in the open country.

“lady misa, please remain here while we briefly survey the area. we have had reports of active treasure hoarders roaming this area, and we would hate for anything to happen to you at this time. we will be back shortly.”

and so, they left her on the path to scout the surrounding land. clutching the hilt of her sword, the very thought of being ambushed by grown men with malicious intentions worried misa, especially since she hadn’t obtained a vision yet. but alas, how wrong her fellow swordsmen were.

“well, what do we have here? the prestigious kiyoharu misa, is it? count ourselves lucky boys, it’s just the one we were after.”, drawled the advancing treasure hoarders.

her hands trembled on her sword. how could she possible deter these twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders alone? glancing down at her sheathed blade, misa wondered if she’d see her family again.

no, why was she thinking like this?

steady yourself, misa. focus on your breathing. the dance will go on. your blade does not rest.

she draws her sword.

to the young swordsmaiden’s surprise, a new energy unlike anything she had witnessed before struck her senses. and so she danced, her blade piercing the air and with it bringing down the treasure hoarders in quick succession. but she could only go on for so long.

panting, misa retreated towards the edge of the river. the men relentlessly kept on coming, and she knew she was almost completely spent. her legs and hands quivered, and her mind raced with prayers to the goddess baal. with a small breath, she spoke these words:

“archons, guide me. i beg, lend me your strength.”

a faint crackling filled the air, before a tremendous burst of silver lightning struck the ground before her. the sword in her hands glowed a pale purple, and it was then that she realised the archons had answered her prayers. wielding this newfound power, she swung her blade with a new fervour.

twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders lay at the princess of the kiyoharu household’s feet. the chime of a small ornament hitting the ground was the only sound after the crackling died down. at long last, kiyoharu misa’s vision had been granted to her by the gods. holding the electro vision in her hands, she whispered these words:

“the dance will go on.”

—

voice lines

—

hello

“i’m kiyoharu misa, nice to meet you! l-lady misa? oh no, please — there’s really no need for the formalities. i’m just as ordinary as you are. say, how about we travel together for a while? i’m sure your stories are bound to keep me entertained on our arduous journeys.”

chat: urgency

“a storm is brewing… let’s keep moving.”

chat: resting

“you’d like to rest? alright, want to share a quick meal?”

chat: sword

“i should really polish my sword soon…”

when it rains

“my my, it seems the heavens really have opened. let’s find shelter quickly, i’d hate to continue travelling in this weather.”

after the rain

“the lingering scent of the rain is one of my most favourite smells… for me, it heralds a fresh start. well, come on then! shall we head off?”

when it snows

“hmm… i really do enjoy the snow. especially when the moonlight casts a glimmering sheen over the world, enveloping inazuma in a soft silver. i hope we can witness it together sometime.”

when the wind is blowing

“i have a friend who adores the wind. he left some time ago, but i know he will return home to me one day. sometimes i wonder if i can hear his voice catching on the breeze, lines of poetry drifting along with it. hey, don’t give me that look! we’re just… uh… friends...”

good morning

“[sigh] i’m really not much of a morning person. i’m certainly not on my best form in the late morning hours… oh, you’re ready to leave already? r-right, i’ll be ready as soon as possible!”

good afternoon

“hmm, i’m feeling a little hungry… would you like to grab a bite to eat? no, it’s alright - there are inns up ahead that know the resistance. we’ll be just fine. and, if not, we have our blades. heh.”

good evening

“the setting sun is particularly pretty this evening. once the storm has fully settled, i hope to see the true beauty of the inazuman skies once again. i will see that vision to the end.”

good night

“you’re heading to sleep? alright, sleep well. me? well… the moon is my friend, i suppose. a little sword dance under its light helps me retain my focus. i won’t be too long, don’t worry.”

about kiyoharu misa

“my umbrella? oh, it was a gift from the leader of the kiyoharu household when i was born. i had it altered to accommodate the length and width of my sword - see? though it appears to be but a dainty paper umbrella, what lies within is a retribution sentence. it is my will given form.”

about us: kiyoharu origin

“my title as princess of the kiyoharu clan is something i will carry with me forever. despite the unjust fall of my household, i will bring back its honour. the raiden shogun’s vision hunt decree stripped my family of their lives, thus i swear i will reclaim justice. for them, and for the future.”

about us: kiyoharu motto

“the motto of the kiyoharu household is: “with grace and with fortitude.”, and i channel this saying into my sword whenever i draw it. it is the foundation for the kiyoharu way of life.”

about us: sword art

“ah, i see you have taken an interest in my fighting style. for me, fighting with a sword should not just be about the battle. it is an art, and i find myself overindulging in the grace and fluidity of swordsmanship all too often.”

about the vision

“my vision? i see it as a way of showing solidarity against the oppressive raiden shogun. i do not wish to hide that which is so dear to me, and that which forges my identity. this vision is my symbol of strength, and the tenryo commission who seeks it will be met with my unyielding blade.”

something to share

“i’m not sure how long you will be in inazuma for, but traveler - one day, i’d like to take you to a festival here. they are truly wonderful, and members of the resistance always find ourselves sneaking in to witness them as well. ever since i was young, i’ve loved them so much, and i’d love to share this memory with you as a reminder of your time in inazuma.”

interesting things

“traveler, is it true that in liyue there are gods that walk amongst the people? huh… adepti you say… so, they just co-exist with mortals peacefully? you’ve met them?! wow… it seems i underestimated your power! just what else have you witnessed since being in teyvat…”

about kazuha: relationships

“kaedehara kazuha? ahem… well… yes, i suppose you could say that we are… lovers, of sorts. on his final night here, he left me with a single promise. i often spend nights staring up at the moon with him in my mind. i will wait for him, for as long as it takes, i know that i will see him again one day. i know that he will return home soon.”

about kazuha: poetry

“kazuha would often recite haikus to me as we’d live together when he was here. i remember him arriving at my doorstep, drenched in rain from head to toe, and i hadn’t the heart to turn him away. he stayed for a while, and after a few days i decided to risk it all for him. the bond we share… is unbreakable. if you see him, let him know that i am waiting for him.”

about kamisato ayaka

“i have a lot of respect for the princess of the kamisato clan. she conducts herself in a light i admire greatly, and she and i are close friends. her swordsmanship is just as impressive, and i would love it if we could spar once more as we used to. perhaps i will visit her soon…”

about yoimiya

“yoimiya? oh, of course - festivals in inazuma aren’t complete without a firework show organised by her. i have also heard her skills with a bow are unique, to say the least. paired with her passion for fireworks, i assume the combination work… interestingly in battle.”

about sayu

“hm? sayu… you mean the ninja who resides in the forests? i can’t say i’ve seen much of her… which is odd, considering she wields that great claymore…”

about gorou

“oh, gorou! i know him very well, actually. he was one of the first people i befriended as part of the resistance. he is a sound fighter, and i believe he can achieve great things. perhaps i can see him again soon.”

about the raiden shogun

“the raiden shogun… her despicable vision hunt decree… the tenryo commission… i detest it all. to see so many people’s dreams stripped, to see the colour fade from so many precious hopes… i will see to it that this is all restored. i cannot sympathise with a god who robs her people of their dreams.”

more about kiyoharu misa i

“you’d like to know more about me? i’m flattered. i know that your journey through inazuma won’t be easy, so please don’t hesitate to drop by every once in a while. my blade never rests, after all.”

more about kiyoharu misa ii

“the carvings on my sword are most intricate. a swordsmaiden’s weapon is her will. i find myself staring at the moon night after night, and the patterns on my sword are a tribute to the power it lends me.”

more about kiyoharu misa iii

“you want to know about my title? well, moonlit swordsmaiden refers to the way i utilise my vision. the light of the moon reflects through the electro element, and i believe that through this combination i can convey the power of the resistance.”

more about kiyoharu misa iv

“i’m an only child, so the fate of the kiyoharu clan rests in my hands. traveler, i believe that through knowing you i have become a better person. i hope that you will visit inazuma once again.”

more about kiyoharu misa v

“here, this is for you. it’s a charm made from pure sea glass. the way the sun and moonlight reflects through its unique colours is a rare sight to behold. i suppose this is a thank you gift, for everything we’ve been through together.”

kiyoharu misa’s hobbies

“my hobbies? well, in the late night and early morning hours, i enjoy heading down to a secluded beach and basking in the moonlight. those hours are the perfect opportunity to practice swordsmanship, and the art of sword dancing too. besides that, i suppose i enjoy embroidery too, although i’m not particularly good at it…”

kiyoharu misa’s troubles

“i often worry about the other members of the resistance. i find myself questioning as to whether they still have their visions, or even their lives. on top of that, i hope that one day i will be reunited with my lover… i pray that he too made it out safely.”

favorite food

“my mother used to make the most takoyaki. my family weren’t so insistent on having maids running around when we could cook everything ourselves, so i would always snack on my mother’s dishes. even today, the taste of takoyaki brings back vivid memories of my mother.”

least favourite food

“honestly, i’m not much of a picky eater, but i’m not too fond of anything containing fish eggs…”

birthday

“happy birthday! it’s a special day for you today. is there anything in particular you’d like? no, don’t be silly, of course i’ll get it for you! seeing as you’ve helped me this far, it’s only right that i give something back to you! on top of that, if there’s anything you ever need at all, i’ll be sure to help you out, friend.”

feelings about ascension: intro

“my blade only grows stronger. let’s continue working hard.”

feelings about ascension: building up

“how to describe this feeling… lightweight, but more powerful. the dance will go on.”

feelings about ascension: climax

“with each passing day, my blade grows keener. the moon seems more radiant than ever before.”

feelings about ascension: conclusion

“i believe i owe you a great thanks. the moonlight that rains down on the world will forever be in your favour, traveler. both you and i will improve leaps and bounds from here on out.”

addition to party

“are we heading off?”

“alright, ready when you are.”

“it’s time, let’s go.”

elemental skill

“will of my sword!”

“shrouded in moonlight!”

(convergence) “cut them blind!”

(convergence) “beams, converge!”

elemental burst

“kiyoharu art: carver of radiance!”

“dance of death.”

“face my blade!”

fallen

“i thought… we’d meet… again…”

“friends… i’m sorry…”

“no… i wasn’t… done…”

—

talents

—

normal attack - kiyoharu sword art

perform up to 5 consecutive attacks with a sword.

charged attack: consume a set amount of stamina to unleash a more powerful attack, dealing physical dmg to enemies.

plunging attack: plunges from mid-air to strike the ground below, damaging opponents in an aoe upon impact.

elemental skill - remnants of moonlight

tap once: kiyoharu misa dashes quickly forwards, dealing electro dmg to enemies in her path. she leaves a thunderblade at her starting and end point of her dash.

tap again: the thunderblades converge with kiyoharu misa as the focal point, creating a triangular zone of convergence. enemies within the zone of convergence are dealt electro dmg and are knocked up. a mark of radiance is applied to enemies within the zone of convergence.

if the skill is not reactivated, the two thunderblades will converge in a line after 4s. marks of radiance last for 12s.

elemental burst - kiyoharu art: carver of radiance

kiyoharu misa leaps into the air, before plunging down and dealing a powerful slash to enemies, dealing massive electro dmg. for 3s after her slash, thunder strikes will crash down on enemies who are marked by mark of radiance, dealing extra electro dmg.

passive 1 - swordsmaiden’s revenge

enemies affected by a mark of radiance will take 15% more damage from kiyoharu misa’s normal and charged attacks.

passive 2 - thundering retribution

kiyoharu misa’s crit dmg is increased by 10% for 5s after a zone of convergence is activated.

natural passive - lightning clarity

all party members’ crit dmg is increased by 10% when kiyoharu misa is in the party.

—

constellations

—

constellation 1: tenacity of lightning

the duration of thunderblades on the field is increased to 6s, and the duration of marks of radiance on enemies is increased to 16s.

constellation 2: shredding thunder

enemies marked by marks of radiance have their elemental res decreased by 20%.

constellation 3: roots of kiyoharu

the level of kiyoharu art: carver of radiance is increased by 3.

constellation 4: fatal reunion

if there are more than 5 enemies within the zone of convergence cast by remnants of moonlight, the cooldown is decreased by 3s.

constellation 5: swordsmaiden’s unwavering will

the level of remnants of moonlight is increased by 3.

constellation 6:

kiyoharu art: carver of radiance deals 50% more dmg to enemies previously affected by electro.

—

appearance

—

kiyoharu misa is a young woman and is of average height, with light brown hair, tied half up in a braided bow and then tied at the very bottom. she has bangs which frame her face. her eyes are deep gray-purple, and she has a small scar across the bridge of her nose. her outfit is coordinated with white and lavender colours, and her paper umbrella is also patterned with lavender coloured lightning and flower patterns.

i’m horrible at art so here’s a fun picrew of misa …… this isn’t what she’d wear but it’s the closest thing to what i was imagining ig …… also the band aid is supposed to be her lil scar LOL

[astrodances]

One last update before the finale (and then, hopefully, many more after).

-------

Ad Astra Per Tenebras

It's just past two a.m. when the pitter-patter of tiny webbed feet enter the hallways of McDuck Manor. Their owner isn't much older than the time on the clock–only a difference of three years or so. She's been able to count that high and then some for quite some time now. These days, she's learning how to do so in French and Russian.

But there's no counting tonight, none that she would care to do, anyway.

There's only rain and wind battering harshly against the walls of the mansion, punctuated every so often by extreme gusts that howl through the halls like the shriek of a demon. And with the structure perched high on Killmotor Hill, there's no light pollution shining up on the underbellies of the clouds from Duckburg below.

It's just terribly violent weather and, to little Webby's dismay, complete darkness.

She doesn't like it.

To her, darkness makes the mansion seem twice as big and four times as lonely. An easy feat, considering that only three of them live there. If she had a sibling close to her age, or a friend, maybe it wouldn't seem so bad. Maybe they could be afraid of the dark together.

But since such a companion isn't just going to show up on their doorstep tomorrow, she'll take the option available to her: her granny.

Bentina's room is just around the corner and down at the other end of the hall on the right, closer to the main landing and foyer so she can serve as the first line of defense against a home invasion. Yet even with such a short distance to traverse, Webby clutches a flashlight in one hand and the edges of her favorite blanket wrapped around her shoulders and neck in the other, the excess trailing along the ground behind her.

With every gust, she's hitching the blanket further up to cover her head from the darkness behind her. Every passing doorway and branching hallway, and she's waving her flashlight around to check every last corner. For what? Webby's not sure.

It's not a fear of monsters. She's done enough research on Mr. McDuck already to know that monsters are a normal and often-expected part of adventure, and that's what she wants to do when she grows up. See the world! Be an explorer!

Monsters, in her eyes, are cool, and one day, she'll get to meet and/or fight some.

But...from what she has gathered, Mr. McDuck always had a partner or a team with him on his adventures, someone to watch his back when the monsters jumped out at him.

...She doesn't have that. Not now, or in her vision of her future.

It's just her, alone in the dark. No one to face the unknown with standing by her side, or to fend off a monster attack, should one occur.

It's this train of thought that preoccupies Webby when her flashlight catches on a bright patch of red where rustling leaves should be dancing out the window at the end of another hallway. The patch moves, startling Webby into dropping her flashlight with a tiny shriek.

This is it, she thinks, retreating ever further into the useless defense of her blanket, resigned to a lonely defeat. This is how it all ends.

"Webbigail?"

A second passes, and Webby's senses rush back to her, crowding out her previous worries, but not by much. It's not a monster, but a paradox.

Scrooge stands in front of the window, the call of her name hanging between them laced with fatigue and a bite of annoyance. The light from the ground catches the underside of his features in a looming glow, making him out to be every bit the legend Webby has come to see him as (even in his robe), yet just as much the stranger in her house she knows him to be. Both angles do little to quell her heartbeat. She fumbles to bunch up her blanket further around her shoulders and gather her flashlight, making sure to point it and her own gaze away from his eyes.

"S-Sorry, Mr. McDuck," she trembles. "I was just going to Granny's room."

"Very well." He nods once, content enough with her reasoning.

The two words serve as some sort of unneeded permission for Webby to continue on to her destination, but she falters when she sees Scrooge return to staring out the window, into the nothingness that had her running from her own room. Granny always told her to never bother him, that he would come to her first if he needed something, but...even without any words, Webby knows what someone who needs a friend looks like.

She slinks up next to Scrooge's right, bravely turning off her flashlight and hiding it underneath her blanket. Without it, the shadows of the hallway seem to want to gobble her up, but standing next to Mr. McDuck, she knows that nothing can hurt her.

A few more silent, awkward seconds crawl by, until Scrooge clears his throat and asks, "Is something wrong?"

Webby's quick to blurt out, "No!"

Don't bother him.

"I mean..." She averts her eyes again, doing her best to silence the voice in her head. She doesn't want to bother him, not with this. But she also doesn't want to lie, and he did ask, and he doesn't look busy... "I-I'm just...afraid of the dark."

She dares to peek up at him, only to find him giving a half-hearted chuckle and telling himself more than her, "Ol' Twenty-Two's bairn, afraid of something?"

"Mr. McDuck?"

Scrooge shakes it off and regards her, tiny and vulnerable, barely reaching his waist. Webby can't see the memories playing behind his scrutiny, the struggle to maintain composure after an already restless, haunting night, so it comes as a surprise when he gives into a sigh and settles a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I understand," he says.

"You do?" A part of Webby is still shocked that he showed her even a small sign of affection, let alone let her stick around, while the rest is even more shocked that her hero might have fears of his own. "Are you afraid of the dark, too?"

"Not the dark, lass," he whispers, looking out the window at the wrath of the storm with a grimace. "Not the dark."

Before Webby can fully look outside like Scrooge, he's already turning back to her and kneeling down on one knee, taking hold of both her shoulders in a manner similar to that of her granny's, and it shocks her even more. Gone is the serious businessman, the shadow of a legend, instead replaced by a reassuring, compassionate smile and a sense of protection and wisdom.

"Lass, ye have nothing to fear" Scrooge shares.

He doesn't ask her why, doesn't intrude, and yet Webby feels like he knows all the same. Maybe, she thinks, maybe darkness is a monster he's already faced and defeated. Instead, he guides her in a little closer, as if to share a secret.

"Even on a night like tonight, you're never truly in the dark." He glances out the window again, this time towards the sky as if he can see past the clouds. "We have the stars, and storm or not, they'll always be there, waiting, to light the way for us. If you watch out for them, they'll watch over you."

Webby absorbs every word, looking at him as if he's giving her the answers to life itself, before a question prickles at her mind. "But what about when there are clouds and I can't see them?"

"Then that's a sign to seek out shelter until you can see each other again," he replies easily, and the researcher part of Webby doesn't let it slip her notice that he just essentially gave her some adventuring advice. With some effort, Scrooge is back on his feet and looking back down at her. "Come on, let's get ye to your grandmother's room."

It takes about two doors into the next hallway for Webby to realize that either she or Mr. McDuck has latched onto the other's hand for the walk, and the action leaves her feeling warm and fuzzy, her earlier fears very much banished for now. When they get to her granny's door, she reaches for the doorknob, but before she can turn it, she glances up towards Scrooge one last time.

"Mr. McDuck," she begins, whispering, and he looks at her expectantly. "Thank you. And I hope the stars watch over you, too."

For the second time that night, Scrooge smiles, this one genuine and grateful. "Thank you...Webby." The name sounds foreign on his tongue, but she beams nevertheless. "Good night, and sleep well."

"Good night, Mr. McDuck." She dares to squeeze his hand, and when he squeezes back, she gazes up at him in awe. With a wink, he ushers her towards the door, then retreats back down the hallway to his own affairs.

As she watches him go, Webby vows to keep the stars close to light the way, for her and for them all.

[mst3kproject]

Beast from Haunted Cave

I’ve actually received a couple of requests for movies to review, and I am looking into them.  I just have a few others I want to get through first… like this one.

Beast from Haunted Cave begins with a familiar tune – over the credits we hear the same jumpy ‘suspense’ music that opened both Night of the Blood Beast and Attack of the Giant Leeches.  It seems to have been a favourite of Gene Corman (Roger’s brother), who produced all three movies.  The writer, furthermore, was Charles B. Griffith, who did the same job for half a dozen MST3K movies, including It Conquered the World, Gunslinger, and Wizards of the Lost Kingdom II.  Finally, Beast from Haunted Cave has the strange distinction of being the only movie I’ve ever seen that thanks ‘the people of South Dakota’.

A master criminal and his drunk, stupid henchmen (one of whom is a drunk, stupid henchwoman) have decided to rob a mining operation.  In the process they annoy some kind of giant bug monster that was living in the mine, and it stalks them and their guide through the wintery mountains until they reach a cabin where they hole up to wait out a blizzard. Between the monster lurking outside and the fact that the gang are all getting fed up being stuck indoors and starting to hate each other (a familiar scenario in 2020), it’s a good bet that no more than two of them are getting out alive.  Probably the henchwoman and the guide, since they were kissing earlier.

Beast from Haunted Cave is a typically cheap Corman production.  The familiar music persists through the entire film, and gives the same impression it did in Blood Beast – the soundtrack people were given a set of pre-existing pieces and did what they could with them.  A terrible winter storm is represented by howling wind noises, but it never actually snows.  The monster is dreadful.  The webs draped over everything demonstrate that it’s a spider, but all we actually see is a featureless head and a couple of flailing arms that resemble nothing so much as one of those inflatable tube men at a used car lot.  When all we’re seeing is one leg reaching out to grab people it’s not awful, but as soon as we get a good look at the whole creature it’s clear that this is some kind of repurposed Hallowe’en decoration.  The gold bricks the thieves came to steal are just… well, bricks painted gold.  The paint isn’t even shiny.

Outside of that, however, the movie isn’t really that bad.  Everybody on the crew seems to have known what they were doing, and did their best to work within their meagre budget.  The photography is surprisingly competent.  The lighting rarely qualifies as atmospheric but there’s always enough of it – even in scenes set at night or in a dark cave, I never found myself squinting and wondering what’s going on.  The snowy landscapes are shot on location and look suitably hostile (although they could often only do one take, since after that the snow wouldn’t look pristine anymore).  You can see the actors’ breath, which gives a visceral sense of the cold.  The writing is mostly just serviceable but every so often there’s a little gem tucked within it.

The two places where this shows best are in the character of Marty and in the relationship between the mastermind, Alex, and the henchwoman, Gypsy.  Marty is a drunken buffoon but there’s more to him than that.  Early in the film he invites a cocktail waitress from the ski lodge, Natalie, to make out in a cave with him.  They disturb the monster, and Marty escapes but leaves Natalie behind.  For the rest of the film, even as he continues to be a drunken buffoon, it’s clearly eating him up that he abandoned this woman.  There’s an ambiguous moment when he finds Natalie’s still-living body webbed to a tree in the middle of the woods – perhaps it really happened, or maybe he’s having a nightmare.

Gypsy has clearly been working for Alex for some time, as secretary, girlfriend, and as a way of distracting the targets of his robberies. She’s an alcoholic sad sack who looks ten years older than her stated age of twenty-six, and clearly regrets her self-destructive life.  She cannot leave, however, because Alex is controlling and violent, and because she wouldn’t know what she wants or who she is without him.  When he beats her up for kissing Gil the guide, she later says Alex had a perfect right to slap me.  At the same time, the film hints of happier times between the two in a running gag, never explained, where Alex and Gypsy call each other ‘Charles’.  This seems to have once been an endearment, but is now a passive-aggressive insult.

One character whom I wish had done more is Gil’s housekeeper, Small Dove.  She rarely speaks, but she carries an axe and spends a lot of time judgmentally watching the stupid white people.  She could have been this movie’s Eulabelle, but she ends up getting eaten by the monster without ever doing anything badass.  Shame.

Let us now return to a familiar question: who is the main character in this movie?

I guess Gil is the ‘hero’.  He’s the hunky male lead, who gets the girl at the end. He never does much to further the plot, though, except for urging Gypsy to leave Alex and figure out how to lead her own life. Although she seems romantically interested in him, Gil may not return the sentiment – it’s hard to say.  He doesn’t kill the monster, Marty actually does that by setting it on fire with a flare gun.  Gil is just sort of there, a cardboard cut-out in the ‘handsome guy’ box all movies must have.

Gypsy has a much better claim on the protagonist role.  The script takes much more interest in her situation than in anybody else’s, and we are encouraged to sympathize with her feeling lost and trapped.  She survives at the end to run off with Gil, though we’re not given any indication of what they’ll do now or whether the budding relationship between them will last.  Like so many other movies of its era, Beast from Haunted Cave has no denouement.  We simply fade to black from the monster on fire (another thing they could only do once, since they actually burned the prop).

Gil is the one who describes the cave as ‘haunted’, but this never has anything to do with the story.  There is not even a hint of a ghost or even a ghost story connected with the cave.  I assume the word is in the title mostly because Beast from Cave sounds like a dinosaurs-and-cavemen movie made by the cavemen, and having put it there, Griffith felt he had to justify it with a line of dialogue.

The character who had the most potential to go through an arc is actually the antagonist, Alex.  He’s been pulling heists like this for years, and is proud of his success.  He has no reason to think this job will be any different, and yet as the movie progresses, Alex has to watch his plans fall apart all around him.  One of his henchmen is going mad from terror and guilt.  The other, Byron (who you can tell apart from Marty because Byron is The One In The Stupid Hat), is developing a crush on Small Dove and thinking about getting out of crime and settling down.  Gypsy is kissing Gil right in front of him, and Alex worries what she might have told him about the real purpose of the ski trip.  Then there’s the storm, which means the plane that was supposed to take them to Canada can’t get to them, and the lurking monster.  At the end of the film, Alex is still trying to regain control of the situation, even as the monster closes in on him.

Criminals on the run getting menaced by a monster seems to be a surprisingly common plot for a movie.  Voodoo Woman and Killer Fish were both variants on the theme.  I’m guessing this serves two purposes within the plot: the first is that it means we’re not too sad when the main characters die, since they were already bad people.  The second is what I think Beast from Haunted Cave was going for – it means that the characters cannot ask for help with their situation.  The group know, from hearing it on the radio, that they’re being hunted by the authorities.  If they were to call for help, whoever came to the rescue would find the gold bars in their bags, and they’d go straight to prison.

This idea is mostly implied.  Nobody ever actually suggests calling for help, or even trying to contact the people who were gonna be flying their getaway plane.  It also seems that they had no contingency plan for bad weather, which makes the whole operation look very poorly-planned.

One thing I did find myself thinking about is that the radio news mentions the police looking into the theft, but we never actually see the cops investigating.  This applies to the other movies I mentioned above, as well… in Voodoo Woman we’re in an area that doesn’t seem to have much by way of police, but in Killer Fish, too, law enforcement is entirely absent. This is a good choice on the part of the writers and directors, because it allows us to focus on the monster plot. If they were to include detectives, that would unnecessarily complicate things and require a resolution of its own.

Then again, if they had two resolutions, they might have had to include some ‘wind-down’ time.  I don’t like it when movies end abruptly after the monster dies, because it tends to leave dangling subplots.  Gil and Gypsy are still in the middle of nowhere, and must now shelter in the cave until the storm ends.  Are they going to be okay?  Last time we saw Small Dove she was weakened from blood loss but not yet quite dead.  Can they save her?  Will Gil and Gypsy stay together, or will he encourage her to go find herself? So there’s another lesson for aspiring film-makers: don’t end your movie until the story’s actually over.

[kidcarma]

Kinda of cheesy but 15 - a ‘ just to say i love you ’ hug - with genderbend kamukoma perhaps?

u are genius and i hope u like this 

15. a ‘just to say i love you’ hug | genderbend Kamukoma

“Do you need to stop and rest?” Kamukura asks her. “We are ahead of schedule.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t worry about me,” Komaeda says through her grin and technically it’s not a lie (she would never lie outright to Kamukura)- her wellbeing is trivial, a nuisance to take care of and Kamukura should not concern herself with it. Komaeda does not deserve that. But of course, Kamukura can see right through her.

Even if the bright grin she’s plastered on her face doesn’t betray the way her legs and lungs are burning, fighting with every breath to get enough oxygen, Kamukura still knows.

They’ve been walking all day, with only small ten minute stops in between, and the way the light of the setting sun casts golden rays reflective on Kamukura’s hair now is quite a beautiful mirror of how it had been this morning. The same, bright bits of sun that manage to escape the thick haze of the red clouds, sky blanketed and smeared with smog and well, it might just be Komaeda’s imagination. But there’s some sort of metaphor there she knows, but she just can’t reach on the tip of her tongue.

But Kamukura would be just beautiful no matter the scenery.

“We will stop for the night,” Kamukura decides and Komaeda is tempted to fight her on it again but the tone is that of finality, so she nods in surrender, and follows Kamukura off the beaten path of the road, the concrete, guided by her chain as they begin to search the area for shelter.

Luck comes in handy for this, an industrial sized dumpster blocking the better part of the entrance to a small alley. Covered by overhangs, they have access to the fire escape that’s been mostly mangled from the third story upward, but after a quick inspection, the second story room it gives way to is unoccupied and still habitable for sleeping. No gas, no electricity, no water of course, but Komaeda is all the more happy to watch as she sits on one of two plastic crates they’ve dragged over to use as chairs, humming pleasantly, the food they’ve scavenged heating up over the makeshift barrel fire in the desolate alleyway to cook outside. Warm meals are a rarity. But fires aren’t so uncommon that someone might come looking to hurt them. Kamukura must be in a good mood, since they’re so ahead of schedule with travel.

“Don’t get so close,” Kamukura warns her because Komaeda has taken to tilting her head upward, watching the occasional ember fleck off and escape into the air as a distraction.

“Ah, sorry,” Komaeda scoots back, out of the range of smoke blowing into her face, of a stray spark landing in her hair and igniting it, of leaning too far in and touching the scalding metal. “Kamukura really is too kind, putting up with me.”

Kamukura hums, tilts her head, and the shifting weight makes her hair cascade over her shoulder. “It is… fine,” she decides on.

But is it really though?

For Kamukura to stop in her journey, just for Komaeda’s sake. To settle in for the night when she could clearly keep walking for miles. To do the things Komaeda can’t now that she’s down one hand- helping her get dressed, helping to work the knots out of her hair on the days they’re fortunate enough to find something like a bottle of conditioner and running, clean water. To bandage her injuries, to soothe her limbs when they ache- is it really fine for Kamukura to do that? Especially when Komaeda is supposed to be the one serving her? Serving kindness, serving hope.

Her hope.

Komaeda shifts then, leaning and reaching over to where Kamukura is sitting on her own crate, stretches out her arms across the small gap and wraps them around Kamukura’s middle. Presses her face into Kamukura’s shoulder, and relaxes. Just a little. Kamukura doesn’t have to ask what it’s for. She’s aware already, of course. But Komaeda will still remind her.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

[letsbenditlikebennett]

It Must Be Bunnies! || Ariana & Carrington

TIMING: Prior to the most recent full moon during the Living Nightmares POTW PARTIES: @carringtonblackwood & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Prone to meeting in the woods, Ariana discovers Carrington lost in the fog. This time Ari helps him find his way home, but not before running into someone’s worst nightmare.  CONTENT: Bunnies? 

Even in the midst of somewhat surreal movements and weather around town, Ariana couldn’t stay away from the forest. It left Luna a bit on edge, but with the full moon having just passed, she trusted her other senses to take her where her sight wouldn’t be able in the thick cloud of fog that seemed to sit in town. Was it mystical? Probably. Did she care? Not entirely. She had a bit of an advantage and it was hard for anything to sneak up on her. Sticks and leaves crunched underneath her light steps as she navigated the trail she’d walked dozens of times before. Something familiar picked up on her radar and she followed the scent. That night had been a blur to her, but she did remember the vampire’s kindness and wondered if he fearlessly trekked through here as well. She did her best to make her steps heard as she approached Carrington and called out before she reached him, “Carrington?” She hoped her voice alerting of her presence wouldn’t startle him and smiled though she could only see an outline of his form. The fog really was getting thicker. “Hey, is everything alright? I know it’s a bit hard to see out here.” 

Carrington was no stranger to fog. London, Paris, Tokyo, Amsterdam… all had their own brand. And even if his vision was limited, he still had his other senses. His hearing and his sense of smell. Or… he should. So when he finally stopped to get his bearings before he became completely lost in the thick, white cloud that rose up from the forest floor, Carrington knew something was wrong. This was no ordinary fog. Though he could hardly expect anything less from this cursed town. So he stood very still and tried to find something… anything… that might tell him which way was the right way. But as luck would have it, something - or rather /someone/ - found /him/. He tilted his head, eyes still closed, towards the familiar voice. “Ariana?” The vampire gave a small huff of laughter. How the tables had turned, hm? “Yes. I’m alright.” He turned slowly towards the young wolf, smiling softly when she came into view. “But a bit lost I’m afraid.”

Even if sight wasn’t her primary way of navigating through the world, Ariana was still growing annoyed by the ever persistent fog. At least for the moment, it didn’t appear that one of those giant fish were present. It wouldn’t be White Crest if they just had normal weather like anywhere else in the world she supposed. She answered easily, “Yes, it’s me.” It was a relief to know he was alright. She wasn’t sure if one of those fish things were actually dangerous, but she wasn’t too inclined on taking her chances. Being lost was something she could easily help with. She’d walked these woods enough to smell her way around with her eyes closed and this fog was essentially that. “Where are you heading? I can navigate the area pretty well on smell alone. I’ve been told I make a pretty good werewolf tour guide.” 

The fog was maddening. It turned Carrington’s senses upside down. Made him feel like a lost child waiting on someone to come save him. Thankfully, his savior came in the form of a young woman - a young wolf - he just happened to know. And when Ariana called out to him in return, Carrington felt relieved. He’d seen - or thought he’d seen - things moving in the fog. But he couldn’t be sure, his senses tripping over themselves like they were. “I was walking like I normally do - no real destination I suppose - and then this fog just… drifted up from the ground. Next thing I know, I finding my own tracks again.” He gestured to the overlapping footprints nearby and made a sheepish face. “Well, I’d be ever so grateful to get that tour right about now. Everything smells… damp.” He frowned as something seemed to shift in the distance again, but it was beyond his ability to see it clearly. “Things move out there.” His eyes fell back to the young wolf. “In the mist. Have you seen them?”

Ariana was no stranger to taking aimless walks in the woods. It happened to be one of her favorite pastimes seeing as she was a werewolf. The woods had always been where she felt most comfortable though this fog was taking away a bit from that. Her other senses were still sharp, but she preferred being able to utilize every advantage she had. “I get that, I usually don’t have a destination in mind either. Nose just kind of leads the way,” she explained with a laugh, “I can lead us generally out of here and toward town though.” She smelled the fish again and let out a groan. At least Carrington probably wouldn’t want to film them, but she’d much rather keep her distance all the same. “The giant fish? I can smell one nearby. They look creepy as hell, but last time I saw one they just kinda swam right on past me and my friend. That being said, I’m not too eager to take my chances in annoying one.” 

Carrington enjoyed the forest as well. Despite the strangeness to be found in Whitecrest, it had a beauty and a surrealness all its own. And he found the forest and it’s moonlit paths helped quiet his mind. But not tonight. Tonight his mind felt trapped. Suffocated like the senses he had relied on for four centuries. So he was quite relieved when Ariana said she was capable of getting them out of the worst of it. “I’ll be eternally grateful for your nose then,” he said, giving her a wry smile. “And yes. The fish. They don’t seem aggressive, but I find them… unnerving. If that serves.” He couldn’t explain the feeling. It was like seeing a phantom image of something that was once living. Even though the fish weren’t dead. Not at all. Ghosts didn’t usually have a smell. 

“Me either,” Carrington agreed. He closed the distance between himself and the young wolf, keeping an eye out - not that it did much good - for any shapes in the mist. “My luck with supernatural creatures isn’t the best.” Alghouls and that cat-fae creature from the shelter were just two of the things he’d been accosted by recently. “So I’m ready when you are.” 

There was no denying the fish had an eerie way about them. Maybe the fog contributed to all of that, but Ariana was sure she’d be inclined to agree even if she saw one on a perfectly sunny day. She’d rather not take her chances and piss one off. “Oh yeah, they’re pretty chill, but definitely creepy. I’m not a fan,” she agreed. 

Ariana took a moment to gather her sense of direction back into the main part of town before she finally advised, “This way. Follow me.” Her nose led her down a path to the right. Being able to feel out the terrain as they walked would have been preferable, but for the most part, she knew the little intricacies of the trails, even if they were ever changing. Each step she took was careful and deliberate so she could determine if she needed to warn Carrington of any slippery or unstable spots. Did vampires have good balance? She wasn’t entirely sure. Carrington was the only vampire she knew. A chill ran down her spine as she heard a sort of dissonance around them. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming, it just sounded wrong. She grumbled slightly and asked, “Did you hear that?” 

“Me either,” Carrington agreed. He wasn’t one to spook easily. He’d lived a long time and seen many things. Fogfish were hardly the worst of it. Though he wouldn’t appreciate meeting one unexpectedly. 

He waited patiently as Ariana found the right way, and then followed close behind, so as not to lose her in the thick fog. His balance was just fine - it would be quite hard to twist an ankle or injure himself without decided effort - but he appreciated the warnings Ariana gave him regardless. The journey was slow, but steady, and Carrington almost believed they would come out the other side unscathed. But a strange sensation prickled against Carrington’s skin just before Ariana spoke. He frowned, turning his head slightly as the strange sensation became audible. The dissonance made Carrington feel slightly ill, but he shook it off. 

“Yes.” His tone betrayed his disquiet, but he kept pace with Ariana. “We should hurry.” He was unsure what made him say such a thing, but it felt pertinent. 

They were making a pretty quick pace despite the fog clouding their vision which was a relief to Ariana. While her senses were spot on, she had been hoping for a relatively calm walk through the woods to clear her head. With everything that was coming up, she needed a bit of de-stressing in her life. So obviously the fog had to roll in. The shuffling noise didn’t actually do much to comfort her. “Yeah,” she agreed, “Let’s keep moving.” 

However, she stopped in her tracks when she felt the breeze of movement only a couple feet in front of her. “Fuck,” she half shouted, half whispered as she squinted her eyes. “Back up,” she instructed as she sniffed around her to get a good idea of what they were up against. Nothing smelled out of the ordinary. It smelled like wet dirt and wood and animals. What didn’t have any sort of smell? Finally, she saw a few small forms hopping around and took a few cautionary steps back before one brave little rabbit hopped up to her. She jumped slightly before realizing, “Oh.” 

Carrington hated the fact that the fog was throwing off his senses. It was absurd. Though the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it was a psychosomatic response to the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia the fog brought with it. Small spaces weren’t Carrington’s favorite. Spending a week buried alive in a coffin would do that to someone. So with that thought in mind, although it didn’t make him feel any better, Carrington followed Ariana through the mist. 

He nearly trod on her as she stopped abruptly a few moments later. “What the-” Carrington pulled up short, but was almost immediately ordered backwards. He did as asked, completely capable of taking orders in the name of good sense and self-preservation, and watched as Ariana seemed to survey the area. Carrington couldn’t smell a damn thing except the damp earth directly beneath his feet, and the smell of the young wolf. But he did notice the cluster of small, round shapes that were uncomfortably close (close enough for him to see). His mind immediately ran through a list of possible dangers that came in miniature form. It was unlikely to be anything that could harm him or Ariana irreversably, but one never knew for certain. With his senses dulled and his fear of enclosed spaces having been dragged to surface in the name of explaining away the aforementioned dulling of his senses, Carrington was in a strange headspace. 

Which meant he didn’t realize it as he - a 420 year old, 6’ 1” vampire - took a step behind the much smaller, and very mortal, teenage werewolf. It was not his best moment. Nor was the startled jump that followed Ariana’s own - much smaller - startled jump. But then… 

“Good Lord… is that…” Carrington peeked cautiously over Ariana’s shoulder. “...a rabbit?” 

Ariana felt herself relax a bit as she realized they were just rabbits. She even quickly picked one up to give it a good sniff. It’s back feet kicked at her, but it was decidedly just your standard rabbit. Nothing special or supernatural about it. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to bring one or two home for a good stew. It had been one of her favorite childhood meals back when she was still too small to effectively take down a deer on her own. If anyone else in the building saw her, they’d definitely think she was bringing them home as pets. 

“It’s definitely a rabbit… or, rather rabbits,” she answered as the tension left her shoulders. She couldn’t believe they’d both been startled by a group of bunnies. It really was quite laughable. The fog and White Crest had clearly gotten to both of them. With a laugh, she said, “Maybe we skip out on telling anyone we both just got frightened by bunnies. I think I’ve caught and eaten too many rabbits for this.” 

The bunnies still kept hopping around them. It was odd they didn’t seem to sense she was a predator and they were one of her natural forms of prey. Hell, she felt hungry just looking at them and they kept congregating around them “I will admit they usually run from me… because well, wolf.” 

Carrington was about to ask if Ariana was certain they were just rabbits… he was even on the cusp of asking if she could give one a sniff to make sure… but the young wolf was already a step ahead of him. The vampire watched with no small amount of cautious amusement as the little creature kicked its feet in protest of being handled in such a way. The other rabbits continued to hop aimlessly around them, snuffling the dirt and cleaning themselves as if they hadn’t just simultaneously scared the life out of a werewolf and a vampire. 

Ariana’s comment made Carrington laugh. It was a soft sound, low and quiet, but it was genuine. “Yes, I’d say this is best kept between us. I’ve hunted my share of them over the years as well.” He glanced down as one of the rabbits nibbled on his shoelace, seemingly unafraid of either of them. A gentle push with his boot sent the creature hopping slowly back into the fog. Carrington shook his head. Rabbits. Of all the things. This fog was getting to him. Correction. It had gotten to him. There was no denying it. 

Carrington stood still as the group of creatures mingled around their feet, seeming unfazed by the two predators (for lack of a better term) in their midst. “Same. Do you think the fog has affected them as well? Perhaps it… takes away their fear… whereas it heightens our own?” It was a loose theory, as neither of them were overly terrified; a bit on edge, yes, but nothing that would qualify as true fear. 

Once she finally felt a bit more confident there was nothing around but rabbits, Ariana set the kicking bunny back down on the ground so he could hop about with his friends. They were oddly brave, but they didn’t seem violent in any way, so she figured she could leave them to their business though she was tempted to take on home for a stew. They seemed to somewhat clear the way, but she could feel an occasional one brush past her ankle. It was hardly worth being startled over. Still, paired with the impossible to see through fog, any little surprise became more alarming. 

“Trust me, this secret is safe with me. I’m not sure I’d hear the end of it if someone found out I was startled by bunnies. Although maybe we shouldn’t talk about eating them… Just in case, you know.” They were still hopping about as normal as they reached the edge of the woods, but there seemed to be wildy high amount of them. If there was some sort of weird rabbit magic going on here, she didn’t want to be the one to piss them off. Hell, it’s not like vicious bunnies would even be the weirdest thing she’d seen in White Crest. This town was quickly teaching her better to be safe than sorry. 

As they made their way on to the road, the fog lifted a bit. “Who knows, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many here at once. Wouldn’t be shocked one way or the other.” She shrugged lightly and got them to the main road. “Looks like it's clearer out here and we found the main road. Shouldn’t be too far off now. If it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna say we stick together. My truck isn’t too far off, I can give you a ride.”

[barbaramoorersm]

April 25, 2021

4th Sunday of Easter

April 25, 2021

Acts if the Apostles 4: 8-12

Peter explains to the religious leaders in whose name the cripple was healed.

Psalm 118

This is a psalm of thanksgiving.

1 John 3: 1-2

The author affirms that we are children of God. 

John 10: 11-18

Jesus once again shares another “I am” description of himself.  This time he states, “I am the good shepherd”. 

 At least seven times in John’s Gospel, Jesus uses the phrase “I am” to describe himself.  You I am sure, remember many of these statements.  “I am the vine, the way, truth and life, and the light of the world” are just a few of these important statements.  Even in the Old Testament God uses the phrase, “I am who am”. Today we hear perhaps one of the most familiar uses of this litany. “I am the good shepherd”.

It is fascinating that these identifiers are always used in the present tense.  He does not say, “I will be” or “I was” the “light of the world or the vine”. In our daily lives we can recall when we changed opinions about a reality.  Often it is described as  “I was his friend”, or “I hope she will be a source of support for me,” or “I was not faithful”.   But the present tense conveys an ongoing reality. That is, a reality in our daily lives. The author of 1 John hopes his readers will grasp the meaning of the phrase, “I am a child of God” and all that it implies.

The metaphors that Jesus uses like light, bread and a vine are clear to us, but shepherding is not a reality most of us understand or experience.  And to name himself the “good” shepherd might not be a phrase his contemporaries would use. Father John Mackenzie gives us a graphic portrait of this reality. “Cultivation of the land restricts the right of free pasture, and the pasture of flocks damages the lands and the crops of the peasant. The peasant thinks the shepherd is a starveling bandit and the shepherd thinks the peasant is a mean-spirited digger”. And we see these feelings play out in the feud between Cain and Abel and the result was murder.  

But today Jesus calls himself “the good shepherd”.  What are the qualities that Jesus’ displays that fit this title?  Shepherds are nomadic and travel to meet the food and water needs of their sheep.  Is Jesus saying that he will serve as a guide for us…a guide to green pastures that is, to life and wholeness?   The shepherd finds shelter and safety for the sheep and is concerned about those who stray. Is Jesus by using this title, offering comfort and protection for us?  We are told that the relationship between the shepherd and the sheep is intimate and personal.  Names and voices are recognized by the sheep. At night the psalm says, “Your rod and staff give me comfort”.  That happens because the shepherd places his staff in the ground near the sleeping herd and covers it with his shawl so they sense his presence. Do we feel that intimacy with and protection from God?

Jesus seems to be saying that this is how God will care for us.  Protection, leadership, intimacy and community.  No wonder, the early and present church refer to their leaders as shepherds.  And it is also no wonder that we are so shocked when our shepherds fail to live out these duties.  Failure on the part of shepherds in Jesus’ day could mean death for the sheep. Failure on the part of modern “shepherds”, that is religious leaders, parents, coaches or teachers, can cause a variety of deaths to those in their care.

Shepherds were not in leadership roles in their communities and the nature of their nomadic work often left them and their appearance less than approachable. But there they are among the first at the birth of Jesus and their positive qualities are those he names about himself.   The shepherd searches for the lost ones in his flock and does all he can to protect them.  Jesus uses this idea in the Gospel by saying, “A good shepherd lays down his life his sheep”. And in John’s first century Christian Community, they understood that statement in light of the crucifixion.

Examples of “shepherds” are all around us these “Covid” days and as our communities begin to slowly reopen, let’s not forget the enormous role they have played in healing, protecting, leading and caring for all of us. You and I, no matter our ministry or calling are all shepherds of one sort or another. May the example of Jesus’ shepherding be our model.

[midzelink]

Day 2 - Found

MIDLINK WEEK 2020

(In which Midna is happy to be home, even if only for a little while.  This one got kinda outta hand. Takes place shortly after the final battle with Zant.)

*               *               *               *               *

“A-ha!  Found you!”

If Link had had any idea about what, exactly, Midna had been rummaging around for in that long-abandoned room in a remote corner of the palace, the small, and what appeared to be fairly unassuming stone she emerges with had definitely been far-flung from it.  Yet the way she cradles it enthusiastically, as though she’d recovered a keepsake once thought misplaced, he can only imagine what secrets it might hold, what precious memories might lie therein. She draws near him, holding it aloft that he might get a closer look.

Is— Is this what you wanted to show me? he says but doesn’t say; he doesn’t need to, as she’s already begun to answer it.  “This isn’t it,” she explains, eyes wide and brimming with something akin to glee, “but we’ll need it where we’re going.  Come on, quickly, we’re going to miss it!”

Miss it?  Miss what? She silences him, unintentionally, before he gets the chance to ask, hurriedly taking him by the hand as she guides him through long and unfamiliar halls, imposing and angular, to where, oh, where he wouldn’t be able to venture a guess.   They move swiftly, too swiftly, the carved obsidian and low blue light of the twilit palace rushing past them in a terrible whirlwind, and Link has to resist the urge to free himself from her grasp, remembering the off-kilter, near-pleading words she had carefully offered him not but an hour ago:

“Hey… Link?  Before we go back to Hyrule...”

The Hylian had resigned himself never to admit it (gods, how could he, after how highly she had spoken of her home?), but from the moment the two of them had stepped foot into the realm beyond the Mirror, he had wanted nothing more desperately than to return to the comfort of the light.  Thrice before he had pierced the veil and taken on the form of a divine beast; he was no stranger to the twilight, oppressive and dour though it may be, but here, in the comfort of his own skin, it is all the more disconcerting, as though the fur coat he had worn as a wolf had been the only thing sheltering him from the thickness of the surrounding air.

The air.  Gods be damned, the air, barren and foul, was it even air at all? It rushes past them as they meander through rooms and corridors that blend together into one identical haze, and it threatens to siphon the life from his body with every painstaking breath. It is neither warm nor cool, neither brisk nor stifling; it is an absence, a sensation he does not have the vocabulary to sufficiently articulate, yet the longer he stays here, he swears, he cannot breathe, gods, he doesn’t remember how to breathe, the black walls around him are closing in and snuffing him out, and he is suffocating, anchored to a ball and chain at the bottom of a deep, dark lake, drowning with no salvation in sight...

Had Midna felt this way, too, when she had arrived in a world that was not her own?  He recalls, briefly, how much it had been her own custom to loudly complain about Hyrule and its inhabitants at her own discretion, before Zant had happened, before Zelda had happened.  And then a more horrid thought strikes him: one of being trapped in this realm with no way out, as Midna, too, had been trapped.  He feels the cold grip of terror begin to grasp him as he imagines something happening to the Mirror on the other side, where he can do naught to reassemble it...

Pull yourself together.  You can stay a little while longer.  For her sake.

Not soon enough, the black and blue blur of the palace walls slowly come to stop.  They stand before a carefully polished but otherwise nondescript stretch of wall in a room Link believes to reside on one of the monolith’s top levels, and Midna again draws their attention to the artifact she had been so determined to retrieve. “This stone,” she begins excitedly (excitedly, of all things, what had gotten into her?), “is...sort of like a spare key, to a portal, here in the palace.  It leads to a place that’s a secret to everybody except members of the royal family.  It can usually be opened with a bit of royal magic, but…” She trails off, perhaps loath to admit that even after they had defeated Zant and retrieved every piece of the Fused Shadow, she was still cursed, the magic that was rightfully hers as the true leader of the Twili lost to her. Shaking her head, she continues on. “But this is how we get in without it.  I, uh, used to use it to sneak up here all the time, when I was a kid,” she admits rather sheepishly, and for a moment, the image of a younger, and somehow rowdier Midna causing trouble within the very walls he now graces is almost enough to distract him from how impossibly heavy his chest feels.  Almost.

He takes a moment to more carefully consider what Midna had said, and he finds himself wondering if the room they had torn apart from corner to corner looking for the so-called “spare key” had once been hers—but before he can think to ask, another thought strikes him: Wait, only members of the royal family know about this place?  ...Is it okay for me to be here? He suddenly feels uneasy, as though he were about to deface hallowed ground, but this goes unnoticed by the Twili, who raises the stone to the wall expectantly.  After a moment, it begins to glow gently, and then all at once a portal, not dissimilar to the ones they had so frequently used to traverse the lengths of Hyrule, appears before them.  She turns her attention on him, eager as ever.  “Are you ready?”

He isn’t, but nods anyway; the portal activates, and he feels the familiar sensation of his body slowly stripping itself away, until he can feel nothing, nothing at all—but they emerge whole, as they always did, as they fully expected to.  There is a moment where he allows himself to adjust; he flexes his fingers, lets his eyes focus in on the relative brightness of his new surroundings...

..and he blinks.

They stand on a platform, of sorts, in a place that at first appears to fly far below the palace and the many other isles of the realm, but closer inspection makes the young man wonder if “below” is a word that even holds meaning in this place.  The palace looked to be far above them, true; but the dark obelisk of the towering structure was pointing towards them, as though it were hanging upside down, a precarious chandelier suspended leagues out of reach, yet clearly visible despite the distance.  And it wasn’t just the palace, no; like a world map plastered onto the inside of an incomprehensibly large dome, it’s as though he can see everything, everything at once, and Link has to steady himself against the sheer magnitude of it all, against the gut feeling that he could fall at any given moment.

“It’s not real,” she starts calmly, when she notices the increasingly dizzying expression on her companion’s face. “Not in a physical sense, that is.  But from here, the rulers of my world have long been able to watch over their kingdom and its people in their entirety, that they might better serve them.  They can connect with them, feel what they’re feeling, their contentment, their suffering…”

The Twili speaks so distantly of royalty Link cannot help but wonder how long she had been a princess before the Usurper King had unceremoniously dethroned her.  And speaking of the “king,” she continues thusly: “Zant caused so much suffering, but now that the Sols have been returned to their pedestals, they’ll be able to give life to the realm and its people again, and anyone still under the effects of his foul magic should be restored.  I wanted you to see this at least once, before we go,” she confesses, though the sentiment is rather lost on the Hylian, who furrows his brow quizzically.  I could always come back and see this later, right?  He cannot say that the thought of returning to the realm of shadows willingly is a pleasant one by any means, but he imagines it will be all the more bearable once the threat of disaster looming over Hyrule Castle has been dealt with, and its princess saved.  

But he is here, now, and there is something so hopelessly endearing about his companion’s enthusiasm, so mind-bogglingly human about the way her small body bobs through the air like a leaf on rippling water, near-bursting at the mere thought of whatever it was was about to happen. But what, what’s going to happen? As if on cue, the princess of twilight frantically begins pointing upwards, urging her companion to lift his gaze to meet it.  “Oh!  Oh, it’s starting!”

He looks up on cue, towards the palace, towards the distant but unmistakable light of the Sols he had not long ago retrieved.  He blinks once…

...and nothing changes.  

He blinks a second time…

...and something, something changes.

The soft glow of the spheres far above them grows in intensity—slowly at first, but it quickly catches on, radiating in pulses and spreading out from the center.  It pours through the very earth, then the sky, till it touches everything he can see, dancing like the intricate ballet of a million shooting stars, before spiralling back in, rhythmically, like the world itself was breathing, was alive—and there is a humming all around them, like the chorus of a thousand people crying out in joy, joy for their princess who had finally returned to them, joy for the freedom they had so long awaited, freedom they now knew without a doubt was theirs.  The swirling light they stand amidst is not true light, he knows that, not like the light of the sun in his world—but despite that, despite everything, he understands why his companion had so dearly wanted him to see this, of all things, and why she had insisted they come here to do so. It was, for lack of a better phrase...quite the sight to behold.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispers as she places a hand on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the surrounding kingdom, her kingdom, the one she had fought so valiantly to return to—and when he steals a glance at her, a wide, snaggletoothed grin swelling up and spilling out from the fullness of her heart, he cannot help but think that maybe, just maybe, the twilight isn’t so bad after all.

Because for a moment, Link swears that he can breathe again.

Yeah, he says but doesn’t say.  It really is.

[specialagentsnark]

Marriage of Choice - Chapter 5

It’s Kili Tuesday! I hope everyone is having a good week, getting enough sleep, eating well, taking care of your physical and mental health. Stay safe and happy all! As always, this will go up on AO3 on Friday if you’d rather wait and read it there. 

Please leave comments!

Summary: Tauriel gets a gift. Fili practices. Dis gets fed up.

Chapter 5

Tauriel stood on the battlements, watching as the dwarrow and men that had gone to Dale trudg their way back into the cover of the mountain, leaning into the driving wind and snow as they went. She’d thought about going to greet them, walking out in the storm to help guide them home. Though she knew the men would not care and might even be grateful to know they were almost back within Erebor’s sheltering walls, she doubted the dwarrow would view it in a similar light, Kili excluded of course.

Now, as the small gate that had been rigged up in the lower portion of the wall closed behind the last horse, she descended from her perch, avoiding patrolling dwarrow as she did. When she reached the ground floor, she headed straight for the stables.

The air within the stables was warm and humid, turned that way by the breathing of the large horses, rams, and boars that resided there. It smelt strongly of hay and the almost sweet smell that lingered around such animals. The hay strewn across the floor absorbed the snow and slush dripping off those that had just returned.

Tauriel scanned them, searching for Kili amongst the battle rams. Finally, she found him when he stepped away from a ram, handing its reins over to another dwarf who took it to care for its needs.

A small bubble of laughter worked its way out of her mouth when Kili finally looked up at her. His expedition to Dale had been cut short when a late winter storm rolled in, forcing them to return to Erebor in a last harsh, bitter blizzard. His normally dark hair was frozen in places, snow clinging, ice crusting, and meltwater dripping from the strands. Ice and snow clung to the scanty beard on his face. Despite how cold he must have been feeling, he grinned at Tauriel. Some of the snow flaked away from his moustache and beard when he did, dripping onto his already soaking wet coat.

“Amrâlimê!” he cried and moved forward quickly with his arms outstretched, obviously intent on a rather damp hug.

Tauriel danced out of his reach with another laugh. “Go put on dry clothes! I’m warm and intend to stay that way.”

Kili’s grin widened and his eyes narrowed. He prowled toward her, head tilting down while keeping his eyes fixed on her’s.

“Oh no! Don’t even think about it!” She stepped back. Her eyes widened and she fought against the nervous laughter that threatened to encourage him.

Kili darted forward with a shout. Instead of pulling her to him in a wet embrace, he grabbed her arms, leaned over, and shook his head. Water, snow, and ice sprayed out in all directions, splattering across her face and clothing and anyone or anything close enough to be caught in the mess.

“Kili!” she cried and tried to push away from him. He kept shaking, shouting wordlessly as he did.

Finally, he stopped and stepped back, letting go of her arms.

Tauriel glared at him, holding her arms away from her sides as snow and ice dripped off her face and hair. Some of it ran down the collar of her tunic and she suppressed the freezing shudder the tried to ripple its way down her spine.

“I missed you,” Kili said. He stretched up on to the tips of his toes to kiss her cheek.

Shaking freezing slush off her hands, she glared at him. “I’m going to take a bath,” she grumbled and turned to leave without further comment. Kili’s joyful laugh followed her. An answering smile tugged at her lips and she moved to make sure Kili never saw it.

~*~*~

Tauriel took the time to indulge in a long, hot bath. No one had scheduled her for any patrols that night and Oin all but ordered her out of the infirmary after he found out she spent over twenty-nine hours mixing tinctures, grinding dried herbs, and cleaning and rolling bandages three days before. 

“Elf you may be, but I’ll not have anyone in my domain over exerting themselves. Go! Read a book or something! I don’t want to see you for a week.”

She’d been a bit stung by his comment about not seeing her for a week but shook it off. Surely he’d banished her only out of concern for her welfare. They’d been getting along so well.

With a sigh, Tauriel shoved her doubts aside. She could deal with Oin and his actual intentions. For now, she needed to get dressed.

She walked into her bedroom, toweling her long hair dry. She stopped her progress toward the dressing room off to the side of her bedroom. There was something on her bed wrapped in plain paper. Something that hadn’t been there before.

There weren’t many that had access to the royal wing and thus her rooms. Even fewer would ever even bother to come inside. So who had dared?

She approached her bed cautiously. As she passed the little desk she kept, she picked up one of the knives stashed on it, prepared for any sort of treachery. 

When she reached the bed, she carefully shifted the paper aside and examined the contents. A small smile tugged at her lips as she lifted a beautiful dress (and where on earth had it come from? No one had time to make one and there was no reason for something so fine to be within Erebor in the first place). A small piece of paper sat beneath it. She picked it up and flipped it over.

“‘A ant an cin,’” she read. “A gift for me, is it?” She ran a finger along the deep purple fabric cut in a distinctly dwarfish style with its layers of fabric and metallic threads worked into it. It felt familiar, something created by her own people. But where had it come from and why would something crafted by an elf and obviously for an elf be made in the dwarfish style? “And who would write it in Sindarin?” she murmured to herself, looking at the paper again. Bilbo knew Sindarin, but he had little cause to give her something like this. And she knew his handwriting. This wasn’t it. His flowed smoothly, almost as fine as any elf’s. This was blockier with sharper edges, despite Sindarin not lending itself to such penmanship. If she didn’t know better, she would say it looked almost like cirth.

Curiosity piqued, she lifted the dress and examined it closer. It slid across her palms, its weight less than what it looked. Glimmers of silver threads sparked in the light from her lamps and fireplace. She found delicate, white and blue-purple flowers and silver stars embroidered around the hem and edges. The flowers reminded her of some sort of lily she’d seen in late summer and early fall. She’d always thought they were beautiful, often picking them and bringing them back to her quarters to lend a little color to her sparse accommodations. 

It really was lovely, she decided. Unable to find anything nefarious about the dress, she pulled it on instead of her usual greens and browns. She took a little extra time with her hair, being sure her usual style was neat and tidy. She left her weapons behind, except the knives she tucked into the tops of her boots. Once finished, she took a moment to examine herself in the tarnished silver mirror.

It had been a long time since she’d bothered to wear any sort of finery. The Captain of the Greenwood’s guard rarely had reason to dress nicely. She’d almost always been on duty, serving her king and her people. It hadn’t ever bothered her before.

It still didn’t, but she could admit to herself that she enjoyed wearing the occasional dress, even if they weren’t practical. It wasn’t often she actually felt feminine.

Would Kili like it?

She hoped he would. Taking a deep breath, she went to her door, ready to leave her rooms and go find her own dinner. No one ever really talked to her other than Bilbo, Kili, sometimes his brother Fili, and some of the humans, such as Lord Bard and his children. The youngest daughter Tilda had taken a shine to her in particular. 

She opened her door.

And stopped moving.

Little crystal lights sat on the ground, leading down the hallway in the opposite direction she planned to go.

“Odd…” Tauriel murmured. She glanced back into her room, wondering if she should change back into her usual clothing before following the lights. She had no desire to try to fight in the lovely dress.

“Paranoid,” she grumbled to herself. Still, just because she was paranoid didn’t mean there wasn’t an assassin waiting to kill her at the end of the lit path before her. She ducked back into her rooms and grabbed her sword, strapping it onto her belt before once again leaving her rooms. She locked her door behind her and followed the little crystals into the depths of the mountain.

They led her out of the royal wing in a direction she hadn’t gone before. She followed them down the hallway and up a spiraling staircase that rose high into the mountain. A little blue light shone from each and every step. Higher and higher she climbed the steep stairs until she finally reached the door. Absently, she wondered just how high in the mountain she was.

She nudged the door open. 

Cold air rushed at her, stirring the hem of her dress a moment and lifting her hair away from her shoulders before settling again. More soft blue light illuminated the room with the soft blue light. The little crystals lined the walls in little nooks and crannies. More lights lined the floor, leading across the room to an open doorway. Another breeze stirred around her, coming from the doorway. She followed the lights.

“Meleth nín.”

Tauriel blinked in surprise, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Amrâlimê,” she said and took the hands Kili held out to her, allowing him to pull her close. “What are you up to?” she asked in Westron.

He smiled at her and turned a bit, releasing one of her hands. In slightly broken Sindarin, he explained. “I thought we could have a private dinner, just the two of us for once. I feel like we haven’t seen much of each other lately.”

“You’re learning Sindarin,” she said. Something seemed to tighten in her chest and she felt pressure behind her eyes. She swallowed back the delighted tears and bent to kiss him. He stood on his toes to happily return her kiss.

“I’m trying to learn,” he confessed. “It’s slow going at times.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” she said as he led her over to the edge of what she now saw was a small balcony. “Where are we?”

He opened his mouth to reply and then paused, frowning. “I can’t remember it in Sindarin,” he confessed. “It’s the royal rookery. The ravens that served Durin’s Line before Erebor fell lived here. There’s a larger rookery lower on the mountainside where the ravens live now. We have plans to renovate this one a bit before they take up residence again.”

“It’s a wonderful place,” Tauriel said and tipped her head back. He must have shoveled all the snow off the balcony. Even though it was cold, there wasn’t any physical evidence of the season anywhere around them.

“Come,” he said, returning to his heavily accented Sindarin as he tugged her gently to the side. A couple of braziers burned near a pile of blankets and soft furs he’d laid out. A simple basket sat next to them, a fine supper filled it. He helped her sit on the soft pile and draped a fur-lined cloak over her shoulders before taking his seat beside her. He pulled the basket over and started divvying out its contents between them.

They talked as they eat, Kili trying to use Sindarin as much as he can but having to ask Tauriel for translations when he either forgets a word or never learned it in the first place. She laughed at his accent, telling him he sounds like some snobby, posh lord or something.

“I learned from Bilbo,” he said. “He probably learned it from books with proper phonetics marked in or from his mother who probably learned from Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

She agreed with him and they sat back to relax once their meal was all but finished. As they enjoyed the last of the ale, the sound of a distant violin being tuned reached them.

Tauriel straightened and looked back at the stone wall behind them. Kili, she noticed, perked up too and climbed to his feet. He walked over to the railing and peered over it. Setting her mug aside, she moved to join him.

Far below them, a light shines through one of the few windows on the mountain side. From there, the beginnings of a simple, sweet song started floating on the air.

“Fili,” Kili said with a grin. “He still plays sometimes, when he’s had a long day in meetings and such. I really should play with him more, like we did before we left Ered Luin.”

“You play?” Tauriel asked as she leaned against the rail. It was low for her, but she planted her feet a good distance behind the balustrade to make it easier.

“Sometimes,” Kili said. “Not as often as Fi. He’s better. I did more of the singing. We made more money when we played the taverns that way.”

The music changed from something commonly heard in taverns and town squares, becoming something more complicated, slow, and flowing.

“He also learned more traditional, high society stuff. I never enjoyed it enough to learn it all.”

They stayed where they were for a time, just listening. The song drew to a close before another began. It wasn’t one she knew but Kili stepped away from the railing and pivots. Tauriel stood straighter as she followed his movements.

“Seems a shame to waste such an opportunity,” Kili said, once again using Sindarin as he extended a hand to her. “Dance with me?”

It had been a long time since she’d felt any sort of timidity, but there, on that balcony, with the handsome and charming dwarf asking her to share a dance in her own language, she couldn’t help but feel a bit shy as she accepted his hand and let him pull her into a slow, swaying dance she didn’t know. She followed his lead as best she could and relied on her reflexes to keep from stepping on him.

As they circle slowly around the balcony in a simple pattern. Kili occasionally threw in a simple spin or turn. Each time, Tauriel’s dress flared out and caught the fire light from the braziers and creating an effect that mirrored the stars above them.

After a time, Kili slowly drew them to a stop. “I have something for you,” he said and went over to the basket they’d abandoned. He waved at her to stay put when she took a step to follow him. He returned shortly with a small wooden box. He opened it, showing her a set of plain silvery beads.

“I can’t ask to officially court you until Fili marries or declares he won’t, but I can give you a promise,” he said as she took the box he offered her. “No matter how long Fi takes to make up his own mind on the matter, I will never change my mind. You are my One and you are the only One I will ever want, have ever wanted by my side.”

“They’re lovely,” Tauriel said as she lifted a bead from the box to examine it closely.

“I’ll make you something finer when I’m allowed to pay court to you officially,” he said.

Tauriel set the bead back in the box. “I need nothing more than these,” she said. “I need nothing more than you.”

Kili grinned at her and surged up onto his toes, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her into a delighted, heated kiss. She responded in kind, tracing her fingers along his jaw and burying them in his hair.

When they finally parted, Kili pulled her back over to the blanket. She sat at his urging and he pulled a brush and comb out of the depths of his seemingly endless basket. “May I put them in your hair?” he asked. “It’s customary for my people.”

Tauriel leaned back and kissed him over her shoulder. “Please,” she said and settled in to allow him to do just that. 

He made quick work of taking out the braids she’d been wearing before reverently brushing her hair, letting it run across his hands as he worked. They remained silent while he brushed. She watched curiously when he sectioned out some of her hair and started braiding.

“That looks like yours,” she said, eyes flickering to one of the braids he wore next to his ear. He didn’t wear them often, usually leaving his hair loose except for the single clasp at the back of his head that kept some of it out of his face. “Do they have meaning?”

“They define us,” he said. “Normally, I don’t wear mine. I prefer to go unnoticed in crowds. Wearing braids that declare me as one of Thorin’s heirs can get a bit awkward or irritating, so I leave my hair loose most of the time.”

Tauriel hummed. Finally, he finished the braid and placed a bead at the end. He sectioned out more hair and started a new pattern. “What’s that?” she asked.

“How I see you,” he said. “We can work together at another time to make it more comprehensive if you like.”

“Tell me?” she asked as she watched his fingers work their way down her hair.

So he did, listing qualities she wouldn’t have thought of for herself as well as others she would have. Brave, strong, beautiful, warrior, dwarf-friend, and so on. When he finally finished, he capped that braid with a bead as well. He then took the two braids and started looping them together in a third braid. When he finally finished, he pulled the largest of the beads out and used it to clasp the entire thing together. Tauriel reached up to feel the finished result.

“I have no beads to braid into your hair,” she said as she ran her fingers on the slim braid.

“That’s all right,” Kili said. “I’ll make a set when we can actually start courting. I’ll just borrow a pair from the treasury when I need to have it up, at official events and the like. Unless you’d like me to wear it all the time, of course?”

She smiled at him. “There’s no reason,” she said. “I’ve always felt that we should be able to make our own decisions in regards to how we dress and what we wear. I feel no compulsion to tell you to wear my braids in your hair when you don’t even wear ones for yourself.”

“I have said it before, and I’ll say it again. I am a damn lucky dwarf,” Kili said and leaned over to kiss her firmly. “Feel free to take that out any time you want,” he said. “I’ll teach you to do it so you can wear it anytime you feel like it.”

She ran a hand across it again. “I quite like it,” she said, “though I may find a way to incorporate it into my usual hairstyle. I’d hate to get hit in the face with one of these beads in a fight.”

“And that’s the other reason why I typically don’t wear them,” Kili said with a smile.

~*~*~

The sun melted away the last of the snows. Driving snowstorms gave way to spring showers. The desolate area around Erebor turned green with new life. Dale’s new citizens left Erebor for their own city, along with rotating contingents of dwarrow soldiers and workers. Kili often went with them.

Tauriel stayed behind and worked in the infirmary or walked patrols. She heard plots on occasion, mutterings against King Thorin but more often against his consort Bilbo. She took each and every report to Nori. One such report couldn’t wait. She dragged the dwarf to the guardhouse and handed him over to Dwalin to take care of the matter.

She worked hard in the infirmary to follow all of Oin’s instructions but to also expand his knowledge with some of her own, limited though it was. She also tried to remain inconspicuous as much as possible, especially where the royal family is involved, excluding Kili. It was rare that they all met together, usually at Bilbo’s insistence and almost each time he did he invited the entire Company as well. At such gatherings, she tended to find a quiet corner to observe those around her. More often than not, Kili joined her, soon followed by Fili. 

Kili bounced his way up to her one morning late in the summer.

“My mum’s almost here!” he said joyfully and took her hands, squeezing them slightly.

“Your mother?” Tauriel said and something inside her dropped heavily toward her boots but somehow stayed firmly rooted in her torso. 

“Yes! Will you ride out with us to greet her and the caravan?”

Tauriel swallowed back the sudden panic and tried for a reasonable, light tone. “I think I’ll stay behind. I’d imagine she would want to greet her two sons without any more audience than necessary.”

Kili frowned and hesitated.

Tauriel touched his cheek gently, just the barest graze of her fingertips. “You should greet your mother without me there. Let her enjoy your reunion together before we meet and complicate things.”

He seemed to war with himself before his shoulders slumped. “If you’re sure?”

“Yes, Kili. Go. I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to see you.”

He smiled, a bit sadly, she thought and gave her hands another squeeze before leaving, heading toward the main gates.

Tauriel avoided the caravan when Dis finally arrived in the mountain with the royal family and the Company leading the way. She watched them enter the mountain from a distance, unsure of her welcome.

The next few weeks were an exercise in stealth. For all Tauriel had promised Kili she would meet his mother, she did everything she could to avoid the situation entirely. She made sure she left her rooms early in the mornings before anyone else woke and found places to be busy within the mountain and without. She joined exploration groups that delved deep into the mountains, carrying supplies for them and reaching areas they couldn’t. She joined hunting parties or went out on her own. When Princess Dis and Kili walked near where Tauriel leaned against a pillar eating an apple in her spare time, Tauriel abandoned her snack and clambered up the massive stone structure before Dis realized she was there, watching from her perch until the dwarrowdam moved out of sight.

“You’ll have to meet her eventually,” Kili laughed when he found her still sitting high above his head half an hour later. He’d noticed her half-eaten apple on the floor when he’d first passed.

“Not today,” Tauriel said as she jumped down. He shook his head and they went to practice their archery in the nearest training rooms.

~*~*~

Tauriel walked down the hall towards her rooms, her nose buried in the book Kili had recommended to her. It captivated her so well that she didn’t realize there was someone in front of her until she’d almost run directly into them. Once their footsteps registered in her hearing, she stopped and peaked over the top of her book, intent on looking just long enough to find the easiest way around whomever it is.

Princess Dis stared at her, her lips parted slightly as she clutched a book in one hand as well.

Tauriel’s mind ground to a halt, her hands dropping closer to her waist, leaving her face open to Princess Dis’ scrutiny.

Princess Dis.

Kili’s mother.

The dwarrowdam Tauriel had been actively avoiding for over a month.

Was standing in front of her with eyebrows raised.

Expectantly?

Probably. 

Tauriel had a feeling facing down another dragon would be less nerve wracking than talking to her (hopefully) future mother-in-law by herself for the first time. By all the Valar, where was a dragon bent on overtaking the mountain again when an elf needed one? 

She needed to pull herself together. She was Captain of the Greenwood’s Guard for Eru’s sake.

Former captain, a nasty voice in her head sneered. It sounded far too much like King Thranduil on one of his worse days for her comfort. She was the former captain of Greenwood’s guard.

She rebelled. Former captain she may be, but only because she’d threatened her former king’s life on behalf of this dwarrowdam’s youngest son. The son Tauriel loved with all her heart.

The venomous voice gave her the irritation she needed to pull herself out of her panicked stupor. She took the anger and used it to break through the idiotic babling consuming her thoughts.

She dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Your Highness,” she murmured.

The leather-booted feet in Tauriel’s vision shifted slightly. “I fail to see a cause for such genuflection.”

Tauriel froze. Perfect. She’d already irritated Dis. Not exactly the first impression she’d hoped to make. Then again, she’d hoped to never have to make an impression. Avoiding Dis for the rest of her days had seemed like such a good idea too.

“Stand up. I’d have thought by now you’d have realized we don’t stand on such ceremony here.”

Tauriel rose to her feet but kept her eyes downcast. 

“There, that’s better,” Dis said and stepped closer. Tauriel resisted the urge to lurch back and away from her, even as Dis moved into her line of sight, peering up at her with a familiar glint in her dark eyes. Kili’s eyes. Or rather, Kili had her eyes. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

“You… have?” Tauriel asked and mentally berated herself. In all her years, nothing had come close to preparing her to meet her dwarfish love’s royal mother. She scrambled to find purchase in her own thoughts and position in the conversation.

Dis’ lips tipped up at the corners. “Indeed. Walk with me?” she asked. “I’d like to speak to you.”

Tauriel nodded once and turned to fall in step with Dis. They moved in silence for a time until they reached the rooms Kili now shared with his brother and mother. Dis led the way inside.

The brothers weren’t there and Tauriel steeled herself against the urge to bolt like a startled deer. Dis set her book down on the dining room table and motioned for Tauriel to join her by the unlit fireplace. Cautiously, Tauriel did so, sitting on the edge of the low chair Dis indicated and tucking her legs beneath it, digging her the toes of her boots against the stone in case she needed to make a hasty retreat.

“I’ve heard of the things you did,” Dis said.

Things like imprisoning her sons and brother for weeks.

“You saved my sons- Kili on more than one occasion- I hear. I owe you a great debt.”

Tauriel shifted uncomfortably. “It was not my intention to-”

“No, of course not,” Dis said, “but I still owe it. And for my son’s sake, I will put aside my grievances with your kind in regards to you. Would you allow me to get to know you?”

Something loosened in Tauriel’s chest. “I would like that very much,” she said with a relieved smile.