#stowe ski home

[streamzoo]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[valhousersartwork]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[martinskita]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[wealllovesloths]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[caughtinahustle]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[wanderers-of-sornieth]

Formal Living Room

Inspiration for a large contemporary formal and open concept medium tone wood floor and brown floor living room remodel with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[feelingthefresharea]

Loft-Style Burlington

Large contemporary loft-style living room remodel inspiration with multicolored walls, a traditional fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[shinonarts]

Great Room - Contemporary Dining Room Mid-sized trendy dark wood floor and brown floor great room photo with gray walls and no fireplace

[youmakemelikecharity]

Living Room Formal in Burlington Large contemporary formal living room with gray walls, an open concept stone fireplace, a standard fireplace, and a medium tone wood floor. Wall-mounted television.

[aventurineswife]

Where the Lost Find Home

Summary: Jing Yuan encounters an otherworldly fairy who stowed away on his ship after fleeing the destruction of her world. Drawn to her fragile resilience, he guides her as she adjusts to life aboard the Luofu. As the fairy finds a new home, Jing Yuan rediscovers a long-forgotten warmth, a spark of hope that softens his centuries-hardened heart.

Tags: @thalita2, Jing Yuan x Fairy!Fem!Reader, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Exploration, Comfort and Angst, Romantic Undertones.

Warnings: Mentions of loss and grief (fairy’s race is extinct), Gentle romance (slow development), Healing and self-discovery, Light angst, Themes of loneliness and survivor's guilt, Light romantic tension and introspection.

The stars above the Xianzhou Luofu were more than just celestial bodies. To some, they were the beacons of destiny; to others, the silent witnesses of countless ages. Jing Yuan, Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Alliance and leader of the Cloud Knights, often found solace in the stillness of space. His usual calm demeanor belied the depth of his experience—he had lived long enough to see civilizations rise and fall, and yet he remained an unwavering fixture among the cosmos. His time was spent in quiet vigilance, managing peace through foresight and precision.

However, peace was never absolute.

One day, while taking his customary walk through the royal garden aboard the Luofu, he sensed something... unusual. A faint, almost imperceptible presence—a flutter of movement that didn’t belong to any known creature. It piqued his interest, though his expression remained neutral, a quiet curiosity lurking beneath his composed facade.

It wasn't long before he discovered the source of the disturbance: a small figure darting between the blooming flowers. A tiny creature, no bigger than a hand, with delicate wings shimmering in the moonlight. Her wings glowed faintly as she tried to remain hidden among the petals.

Jing Yuan paused, observing her from a distance. He had seen many strange things in his long years, but this was new. The creature was obviously not of any known species within the Xianzhou Alliance—at least, not one he'd ever encountered.

As if sensing his gaze, the fairy froze, her wings vibrating as she turned to face him. Her eyes locked with his sharp gaze, and for a moment, there was a palpable silence between them, the air thick with unspoken understanding.

“You are… lost, little one?” Jing Yuan's voice, smooth as silk, cut through the stillness.

The fairy, though small, stood her ground. “I… I didn’t mean to intrude,” she replied, her voice soft yet tinged with a quiet sadness. “My race is no more. I... I was born to a dying world, and when I had the chance, I fled. This ship... it passed by my planet, and I… I took a chance.”

Jing Yuan's gaze softened, a flicker of empathy in his eyes. “You are far from home. And yet, here you are, trying to find a place where none exists.”

The fairy nodded, unsure of how to proceed. "I don't know where else to go. I don’t even know where I am."

“Xianzhou Luofu,” Jing Yuan explained gently. “A place for the living and the lost.”

For the next few days, they spent time together, him guiding her through the intricacies of the Luofu while she marveled at the new world. Despite her small size, she seemed to have an insatiable curiosity, exploring everything from the ornate architecture to the vast skies above. Jing Yuan found himself drawn to her quiet resilience. There was an ethereal grace to her—an aura of sadness, yet also one of hope, as if she sought to rebuild what had been lost.

It was on the fourth day that the first magical change occurred.

As Jing Yuan watched the fairy with a rare smile, she suddenly shimmered, her wings glowing brighter than ever before. The light expanded, and in an instant, the small figure before him grew, her form shifting until she stood at the height of a normal human. The fairy stumbled a bit at the change, adjusting to her newfound size, while Jing Yuan simply observed with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

"Are you... alright?" he asked, though his voice was laced with concern.

"I... I think so," she replied, testing her newfound height, stretching her arms out. "This is... so strange. I can feel everything so much clearer. The ground feels different under my feet. The air... it’s more expansive." Her voice was filled with wonder, but also confusion. "How is this even possible?"

Jing Yuan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I suspect it has something to do with the magic of the stars. It is rare for such transformations to occur, but not impossible. We will need to take this slowly, however."

The fairy nodded, her face a mix of awe and unease. "But... what do I do now?"

Jing Yuan gave a small, reassuring smile. "Now, you learn how to live in this form."

And so, they spent days together as she adjusted to her new life. Jing Yuan was patient, offering guidance as she navigated this new world. He took her to quiet corners of the Luofu, showing her how to blend in with the other inhabitants without drawing too much attention. Though her heart was still heavy with the weight of her past, the new world she now inhabited seemed to offer her a glimpse of possibility.

She found herself growing fond of the gentle commander. There was an ease about him that made her feel safe. His calm, calculating demeanor was a balm to the uncertainty she carried in her heart. He never judged her for her past; rather, he listened, offering advice without pressure.

And as the days passed, she noticed something in his eyes—a warmth, a subtle affection that had begun to grow between them. Though he rarely showed it, the fairy could feel it. He was not just the strategic leader of the Cloud Knights; he was a man who, despite his wisdom and his years, had never lost the ability to care deeply for others.

Yet, Jing Yuan’s feelings were more complicated than they seemed. He had lived for centuries, seen countless faces come and go, but the fairy was different. She was a symbol of lost innocence, of something pure that had somehow survived the ravages of time. As she adjusted to her new form, Jing Yuan found himself yearning to protect that fragile hope she carried within her—a hope he hadn’t realized he still possessed until she arrived.

"You've changed." he said one evening as they sat atop the Luofu’s highest tower, watching the stars. The wind carried a soft hum through the air, and the fairy’s wings fluttered gently in the breeze.

"How so?" she asked, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

"You've become... more than just a wisp of light in the darkness," he replied, his voice soft. "You’ve become a part of this place, and in doing so, a part of me."

The fairy looked at him, her heart fluttering, and for the first time in ages, she felt like she was home. She had found a friend, and perhaps, something more.

The path ahead was uncertain, but for now, they walked it together, side by side.

And for Jing Yuan, though time had long since stripped him of the ability to feel the simple joys of life, this fairy—this once tiny, fragile creature—had brought a spark of warmth back into his world.

[1800titz]

Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs. 

It’s a nice view. 

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor. 

Well. 

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest. 

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man. 

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely. 

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.  

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought. 

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence. 

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry,  sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon. 

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge. 

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly. 

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply. 

“Let’s give this another go.” 

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again. 

So. 

That was a failure. 

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch. 

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts. 

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?” 

Seren stares him down. 

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child. 

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?” 

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage. 

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?” 

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head. 

“I’d just like a chat.” 

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts. 

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.” 

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence. 

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech. 

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips. 

“Third time’s the charm.” 

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment. 

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed. 

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically. 

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?” 

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny. 

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute. 

“This is a pretty piece.” 

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph. 

That’s a pretty sound. 

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story. 

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin. 

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.” 

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth. 

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little. 

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs. 

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes. 

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead. 

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down. 

“Y’gonna get loud?” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs. 

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress. 

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.” 

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip. 

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth. 

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances. 

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers. 

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face. 

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day. 

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she��s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over. 

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly. 

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?” 

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth. 

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision. 

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.” 

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks. 

Almost. 

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.” 

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed. 

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority. 

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.” 

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift. 

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?” 

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait. 

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this. 

He doesn’t.  

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest. 

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.” 

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone. 

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.” 

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself. 

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.” 

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds. 

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated. 

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?” 

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t. 

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips. 

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.” 

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process. 

The silence is wonderful. 

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight. 

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold. 

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls. 

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall. 

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud. 

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift. 

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass. 

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn. 

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again. 

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall. 

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles. 

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away. 

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all. 

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before. 

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far. 

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.” 

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it. 

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.” 

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.” 

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“ 

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves. 

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t. 

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut. 

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh. 

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.” 

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag. 

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!” 

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.” 

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language. 

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.” 

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously. 

It’s a victory. 

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship. 

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.” 

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

[hopefulkidshark]

Stowe, Vermont, United States: Stowe is a town in Lamoille County, Vermont, United States. The town lies on Vermont Routes 108 and 100. It is nicknamed "The Ski Capital of the East" and is home to Stowe Mountain Resort, a ski facility with terrain on Mount Mansfield, the highest peak in Vermont, and Spruce Peak. Wikipedia

[convexicalcrow]

The sky was clear as it always was, or so Cub thought. Hadn't seen much else in the few years he'd been out here with Scar. Clear skies for days with very little else. But then, deserts were like that. Clouds only meant one thing: storms. That was the sign to take shelter in any way you could.

Still, the desert out here was so very different to his home, where he lived by the river and he knew the seasons like he knew the gods who walked the earth. Out here, it was hot, and cold, with very few varieties in between. Sure, sometimes it was less hot, and sometimes it even rained, but mostly it was clear, dry, and hot. It had become a little monotonous if he was being honest.

If only his main complaint was the weather though! How lovely that would be!

If he was honest, if he only thought about the weather, he could forget about home for a while. He could forget about everyone he'd left behind who he was sure he'd never see again. That way lay pain and trauma he was not prepared to deal with.

But then, Scar was the same. No point in facing that. Cub was sure they'd both never be able to stop if they ever let themselves grieve.

-

They were somewhere in Tjehenu land, that was about as specific as Cub was willing to be. They'd had to flee from someone they knew that they'd seen in Kyrini, so it wasn't safe to go back there. If they'd been clever, perhaps they'd have stowed away on a ship headed for Greeze or Rome. Perhaps next time. Until then, they were in the desert, on their own, killing whatever animals they could find for food.

Was this the life he had pictured for himself? Not really. Many other things were destined for him than this. But the fates can be strange creatures, and everything he thought he was going to be had been taken from him.

Of course, it was the same for Scar. They'd both lost so much, even if they never spoke of it.

Cub idly wished to be back with the Masrai. There had been other priests from the Two Lands there. They had taught them so many things about ritual and priesthood and the medu netjer and serving their gods. Cub had wanted to stay. Scar said they had to go. Keep moving. So they left. In that moment, looking up at the night sky, he missed them all intensely.

-

They'd stopped at an oasis, this one strangely uninhabited, but perhaps more because of its size than anything else. It was really too small for anything more than a transient population to find useful. But it had good water and plentiful fish, and they had been able to make a small shelter to camp in.

Jellie was happy at lasst. She'd missed fishing, and had been the main source for their food since they arrived here. They were lucky there was enough food for the camel. Cub had been aware they'd been pushing it a little too far, so this oasis was a good place to stop and rest. They all needed rest. It had been too long, and too hot, and they were all tired of it. A moment, that's all they needed.

Perhaps they could just stay here. Make a little house for themselves. There were a few extra palm trees they could cut down, right? Not that they had any tools with them that would cut down a tree though. Cub knew very well why they couldn't stay, either. There was no permanent life out here, not at this oasis. This was a place to rest for a while and then move on. To stay would deplete the resources here too quickly. They would have to move on anyway.

Ah well. Perhaps another will be found soon. Or, better yet, perhaps they head north and take that boat to Rome. That might be what they need to escape, just for a while. If they can be sure they aren't going to be seen in Kyrini, perhaps that's the best move. To stop roaming around in a desert, struggling to survive, and go across the great green.

What would be waiting for them on the other side? Who knew? People who spoke strange languages and had strange customs. They'd seen some of this in Kyrini, but Kyrini was a mixture of a lot of people, and perhaps not as indicative as to what might be found elsewhere. Still, Cub went to sleep dreaming of that great green expanse of water, wondering if that might finally be a place of safety for them after too long spent in the desert.

[hanayori89]

A Trail of Feathers : SS Link x Reader One shot

🪶 * 🪶 * 🪶 * 🪶 * 🪶 * 🪶 * 🪶 *🪶 * 🪶*🪶

The peace on Skyloft was beyond compare.

Skyloft, was up high- oh, so high- that the clouds were rumored to be made of the very cotton that Hylia's dress was woven from. The clouds floated and flitted en masse, erasing the function of time.

The function of feeling like you existed.

The vast sky was home to a multitude of levitating archipelagos, yet Skyloft was deemed Hylia's favorite. Certainly, it had to be, as it was blessed with blissful, balmy temperatures and gentle fluttering winds that aided the island's loyal companions, the Loftwing.

Yes, the peace of Skyloft was truly unparalleled.

So then, if we were fortunate enough to live on an island considered the goddess's sacred jewel, which was stowed away in the chest of the expansive skies, why did Link go to the surface?

Your eyes snagged on his closed bedroom door in the Knight Academy. They snagged so hard; it was like a thread from your clothing on a doorknob that you couldn't tear away.

Beyond that door was where Link would always be sleeping in, and now it was empty and inhabited, like your heart, which had missed his presence since going to the surface.

Your mind was relentless in its harsh pursuit of what it was like to be on the surface. What if Link favored the surface and all its exoticism to the tranquility of the sky he's always known?

What if he decides to never return to Skyloft? To never return to all that is familiar and mundane?

What if you never saw him again?

You would sometimes traverse the halls of the Knight Academy like a trapped spirit, roaming aimlessly in the middle of the night hoping to catch him sneaking in his window or hear him fumbling in his room.

But there wasn't a peep to be heard.

There was no sound, and there was no Link.

Exhausted from your knight training, you hunkered your weary limbs into bed early. Your eyelids fell to the gentle flapping of Loftwing outside of your window.

🪶 🪶 🪶

You awoke to an itchy feeling behind your ear as the first rays of daylight touched Skyloft.

A feather, long and wispy, threaded in the shade of ashes, was tucked behind your ear.

A feather you did not place there.

Your heart began to crash against your chest with the voracity of a mighty torrent. You twirled the feather in your hands, admiring the way the light transformed the ashy gray into a fetching shade of charcoal. You tickled your chin with the feather, deep in thought.

Someone had been inside your room. It was someone who knew where your room was located within the Knight Academy. Someone who possessed great stealth,

Your heart was screaming "Link", but your mind logically knew he was far beneath Skyloft. And you were far beneath Link, at least in ranking. Link was kind to everyone, so when he befriended you and helped you become a better Loftwing pilot and knight, you never saw it as anything more than what it was. Besides, he was so close to Zelda, and she was the dish of Skyloft, for obvious reasons.

No, it couldn't be Link. Why would he return here to put a feather behind your ear? And besides, his Loftwing was crimson.

This feather wasn't particularly attractive, but something about its dismal gray was comforting. Like someone was holding an umbrella over your head during a rainstorm.

Not that you had ever experienced rain. You would have had to go to the Isle of Songs for that.

You chalked it up to Fetch or Pipit- someone playing a prank. Despite your decision, you tucked away the mysterious loftwing feather.

You brushed your fingers across the fibers of it one last time before tucking it beneath your pillow.

Even if it was a joke, something about it was consolatory, even if that wasn't the intended purpose.

Without seeing the radiance of Link's smile in your life, you needed solace.

You needed him.

You tucked that thought away with the feather and got up to start your day.

You picked your pillow up and looked at the assortment of feathers you'd amassed. What started out as a prank slowly became part of your routine.

Feathers were finding their way to you, and you continued to unearth them.

They were in your locker. Left on your pillow. Hidden in your drawers.

It even went so far as to receive them arbitrarily from strangers.

You went to the bazaar to get your sword repaired from Gondo when you heard the fortune teller calling out to you.

"Miss, Miss- please, let me tell you your fortune!" Sparrot begged with his asymmetrical, googly eyes.

You waved him off. "Not today, sir."

As you collected your sword from Gondo and began to walk away, Sparrot howled, "A reunion is coming." He held a feather in his hand, and the searing orange seemed to flicker like a candle in a dimness of the bazaar.

It beckoned you toward him. "Where did you get that feather?"

"Miss, I have taken an oath of secrecy."

He passed the feather up to you, and you took it from his short, stubby fingers. "I'll pay you. Please tell me the source of the feathers." You pleaded.

Sparrot shook his head. "I may need rupees, but not at the cost of my word. They told me to tell you about the reunion.

A customer walked up to Sparrot, interjecting between you both. You took it as your cue to exit the bazaar.

Once outside, you let out a deep exhalation of breath. A reunion could only mean Link.

Or Zelda.

You moaned outwardly, "Or Groose."

You walked back towards the knight academy, scolding yourself. You couldn't help but hold onto the idea that it was Link. But realistically, a reunion could be anyone.

You continued the rest of your training, completely distracted. Sparrot's words echoed in your head and grew louder, washing out the sound of your blade swooshing through the air. You could see Eagus looking at you with concern.

"Y/N, why don't you go home and get some rest? You don't seem invested today."

You wouldn't decline that offer. You apologized to Eagus for not giving it your all. You left, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You felt like you were no better a knight than when Link left. Link had probably grown quite strong since his departure from Skyloft. Who knows what he's encountered beneath Skyloft on the surface?

Maybe the feathers were simply meant to keep your morale up? Morale or not, you could never be on Link's level.

You entered the Knight Academy and were greeted with Pipit and Karane making goo-goo eyes at each other. You wished they would just ask each other out already. You gave them a shrewd nod in passing and made your way to your room.

Only to find your bedroom door wide open.

You ran into your room and saw feathers scattered all over your bed, as if someone had wrestled with a Loftwing in your sheets. As you focused on the rainbow calamity on your bed, you homed in on more feathers spilling out of your window, which was open and definitely not the way you left it.

You gazed beyond your window to see the feathers form a trail.

The sound of your heart beating made your ears ring. Were you supposed to follow them?

You jumped out of your window, the trail of feathers a never-ending sight.

The trees and flowers that were lush during the day seemed to wilt and sway along with the crepuscular radiance of the dark night sky. The feathers illuminated your path as you continued to follow them around the island, stopping at the stairs that led to the Statue of the Goddess.

You took a deep breath, preparing your lungs for the one hundred step-trek. You had to admit, whoever was doing this was incredibly detailed. They had managed to lay a feather on each step.

You began to jog up the stairs, counting a step as each foot landed on it. You were trying to calm your frayed and worn nerves at the idea of who was waiting for you at the top. You lunged up, skipping the top three steps and landing before the gargantuan statue of Hylia.

Your heart fell.

There beneath the darkness of Hylia's night sky was Groose, finger combing his vivacious red mohawk. He took his thumb and licked it, stamping it with his forefinger and running it on a rogue strand that wouldn't stay in place.

"Groose!" You hissed. "You're the one behind the feathers?"

He continued messing with his pride and glory, his hair, which caused you to lose your patience.

You stomped your foot. "Groose!"

"What? Oh, Y/N, have you been here this whole time?"

You let out a savage growl. "Aren't you supposed to be on the surface?" You made sure the animosity in the word 'surface' could be detected.

"Nah, I'm back. Why did you miss me?"

You felt your heart plummet in your stomach. "What about Zelda? And... Link?"

Groose grinned at you, giving you a confident wink. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

You turned to see a figure at the top of the stairs.

Slow, shallow breaths were expelled from your lips causing minuscule clouds to float and obscure the figure. He walked closer, a crimson feather being spun between his fingers. Each step forward was agonizingly slow. Until a glimmering ray of moonlight caused a crack of the shrouded night shadows to reveal the figure's face.

Link smiled at you. His blue eyes twinkled with a hint of perversity. Overhead, the sound of his Loftwing cawed out as it flapped between the obstacles of stars.

"Link..."

He stood before you, tucking the crimson feather behind your ear.

"I'm home."

You felt your bottom lip wobble as you took in his presence. "You left the feathers? But why..."

"With Zelda returning safe and sound... I couldn't help but wonder if you'd accompany me to the wing ceremony this year?"

"Me?" You questioned, your cheeks ablaze in a way that made the Loftwing feather blend in with your flesh. "You're asking me?" You asked again incredulously.

Link gave you a tender smile, his eyes leaving a trail of desire from the feather in your hair to your lips.

"Yes. Because what I learned the most on the surface is that my thoughts of you kept me afloat. Adrift. Like the feathers that help the Loftwing fly. So if you'll have me, my rightful place is with you in the sky."

🪶Edited:10/25/23🪶

[luminous-jellyfish]

A Writeblr Intro (English Version)

Link zur deutschen Version

Hi, I'm Marlin! I've been lurking on tumblr and in its writing community for years but was always too shy to engage. Now I've finally decided to start sharing my own stuff (mainly to organize myself) and become active!

⫸ About Me ⫷

I go by Marlin (she/her), or on some platforms by luminous-jellyfish

mid 20s, queer

I write (mostly) in German, but post (mostly) in English

my favorite genre is fantasy, and all the different direction fantasy can go in, but I like trying my hand at genre mixing

my main blog where I reblog general stuff and fandom things and so on is @secondrealitytotheright

⫸ Current WIPs ⫷

I'm currently most actively working on a few different stories that all take place in the same world (though at slightly different points in time) that I've dubbed "leviathan world" in my notes - after the gigantic sea creatures that live in its deep oceans (and sometimes the sky, who can resist sky whales, seriously). I would probably call it a fantasy world with steampunk elements.

All of those stories feature queerness in different forms, and most of them include at least slight elements of what might be called body horror.

All of these stories are still operating under working titles and are in various, wildly differing draft stages. As always I have far too much planned in this world but these four are the stories I'm actually actively writing right now:

Seeds beneath our skin

Genre: Magical Academy Fantasy, Coming-of-age story

Setting: a group of islands and archipelagos near the equator, where the leviathans are generally both revered and feared as holy and powerful creatures connected to the spirit world

Short Summary: A young girl who grew up as a sea nomad joins the temple that has controlled religious practices throughout the islands for a hundred years. Against her will she becomes a key figure in the struggle for power and religious freedom that is about to grip the temple. To survive spirit possession, human intrigue and ideological differences she is forced to reconsider her identity and world view and define herself on her own terms.

Honey cakes and bloody satin

Genre: Steampunk Fantasy, (Cozy?) Mystery, Romance

Setting: a harbor city on the northern continent, famous for their leviathan hunters, where a technological revolution is happening as the blood of leviathans is turned into a powerful fuel

Short Summary: A journalist working for a revolutionary underground newspaper and a seamstress involved in the golem's rights movement are thrown together when a man dies right in front of their eyes. They must work together and solve the crime while also hiding everything happening from the Watch, to protect both of their secrets.

Short WIP Intro

Half the lights

Genre: High Fantasy Adventure, Romance

Setting: A city on the back of a leviathan, as well as the open skies, oceans and harbors frequented by smugglers, messengers and pirates

Short Summary: A wealthy, bookish young woman who dreams of investigating weather phenomenons escapes having to forge a psychic bond with the leviathan carrying her home city on its back. She stows away on a messenger ship and finds herself among a shady crew of smugglers. Eventually she gets herself involved in pirate adventures, a political revolution and a growing attraction to a headstrong fighter with a rigid code of honor and high ideals.

And surrendered the flesh

Genre: Science Fantasy

Setting: a big city in a sub-tropical climate, surrounded by jungles and plains that have been gripped by a powerful virus that contorts nature and all living things

Short Summary: A young girl from the country travels to the city to find her missing sister and gets involved with an organisation that strives to perfect the human body. An ambitious scientist fights to be recognised for her genius and to keep her past mistakes secret. An old woman is forced to join a struggle she has been hiding from for years and rediscover forgotten powers to try and save her grandchild. All three of them will shape the face of the city.

[garricks4thwingqueen]

how about reader being stuck snowed in with garrick and bodhi so they share her?

This is never happening again Garrick X reader with Bodhi ski trip au.

Synopsis: Comfy cozy ski trip au. You're traveling with your fiance Garrick Tavis who had always loved all things winter sports related since he was a kid. His best friend since childhood Bodhi Durran had exactly the same winter crazy head. You? You were perfectly content spending any winter night or day with a hot beverage, a good book or good book while the boys did their thing. This thanksgiving weekend the boys had decided they wanted to take a trip to stowe Vermont. 

Trigger Warnings: NSFW, Poly intimacy, Swearing, Consent is used. Trope one bed. 

Word Count: 1721

 Y/N POV 

  You had just finished up a wonderful thanksgiving dinner at your parents home in northern New York. Your fiance had always joined your family events since you both had started dating in high school. This year Garrick’s best friend Bodhi had joined your family for the holiday. You were contentedly curled up next Garrick as the boys were discussing something happily you weren’t really paying attention to. 

   “Sounds like a fun trip right babe?” Garrick asked you placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Hugh?” You mumbled as Garrick chuckled, which was a sound that you so desperately loved. “Yeah sure.” You yawned as Bodhi chuckled now also. “Alright two rooms booked at the Talta Lodge in Stowe for next Friday until Sunday.” Bodhi snickered. “Hugh what? Like the big ski lodge in Vermont?” You asked. 

   “Yeah babe.” Garrick chuckled. “No, absolutely not.” You started to protest. However much you were intrigued by the lodge’s amenities itself, you were not looking forward to the fact that the two boys usually forced you to at least try skiing once. You especially were not looking forward to the idea, especially since you twisted your ankle on the bunny slope two years ago. 

  “Babe please it’ll be a fun little get away before christmas and our new years wedding.” Garrick looked at you with pleading puppy dog eyes with his damn hazel eyes. “Fine but I’m not leaving the lodge.” “Fun killer.” Bodhi chuckled. “I’m not a fun killer. I don’t want to accidentally hurt myself weeks before my wedding. Thank you very much Durran.” You said and playfully kicked him. “Hey ouchhh!” He whimpered. “Oh shut up.” You snickered as Garrick chuckled. 

                                                 -Next Wednesday-

  “Got everything babe?” You asked as you watched Bodhi pull into the driveaway of yours and Garrick’s small ranch house? The three of you could have easily left tomorrow and made it to Stowe on time for your vacation but the first snowstorm of the year was supposed to hit tomorrow morning so the three of you were determined to make it to Vermont before the snow hit. “Think so; I just need my gorgeous fiance.” Garrick smirked as you giggled softly as he lifted you up and spun you around.  

  You had just barely made it to a small town in Vermont and were just a few hours from the lodge. “Ugh guys I don’t think we are going to make it on time.” You said from your seat in the back of the truck where you were super comfy as you watched the snow starting to pick up around you. “Fuck. Probably not.” Garrick cursed from the driver’s seat. “Babe can you see if there are any rooms nearby?”  

  You started the search on your phone with luck so far. After looking at three hotels that were nearby and you almost gave up until you noticed one that was ten minutes away. “There’s one ten minutes away says they have one room left.” “Well it shouldn't be too bad if there is more than one bed in the room.” Garrick said and smiled back at you from the rearview mirror.  “It wont let me book online but here is the address.” You said handing Bodhi your phone. 

  The three of you pulled into the small bed and breakfast parking lot a half hour later which should have only taken you ten minutes to get there according to when you had handed your phone off to Bodhi. You were just glad you had gotten there without any issues as the weather was really picking up outside and it was almost nearly impossible to see it at times. “Here’s my wallet babe.” Garrick said handing his wallet back to you before you got out to go check the availability of the room which you hoped was still available. 

   You came back out a few minutes later with a room key in hand. Opening the driver side door and resting your elbows on Garrick’s legs you gave the boys the good and the bad news. “It’s ours but there’s only one bed.” “Guess we’ll just be extra warm then tonight my princess.” Garrick said getting down out of the driver’s seat as Bodhi also got out of the truck. “Yeah it’s better than sliding around in this mess.” Bodhi said, shaking his head as he got out of the truck you smiled softly as you watched the snow flakes bounce out of his brown curls.  “She also said we got here just in time for dinner.” 

    “Prefect.” Garrick said, slinging an arm around your waist as he grabbed both of your bags and headed towards the small B and B. “Third floor second door on the right.” You said to the boys. Garrick opened the door and you slightly frowned as you realized the bed was a double. Garrick chuckled slightly at the bed and Bodhi piped with “Ugh it's totally fine I could sleep on the floor or something.” You shook your head as you went to freshen up before dinner. 

   You sighed as you curled up next to Garrick in bed that night as he started to trace soft touches up and down your soft skin. ‘“I feel bad that his on the floor.” You mumbled into his chest as he was nibbling and kissing your neck. “Yeah?” Garrick snickered. “Yeah. One night won't hurt.” “Yeah but I can’t have fun with you then.” “You can’t have fun with me tonight anyway Tavis.” Garrick sighed probably knowing that you were right as he pinched your side playfully. 

   “Get up here Durran.” He mumbled. “Really?” Bodhi asked. “Yeah I feel bad now get up here before I change my damned mind.” You said as you watched your friend spring up from the floor and crawl into bed on the other side of you. “Comfy?” Garrick asked. “Yeah loads.” You smirked as you still felt Garrick’s hand exploring your body under the sheets. “For the record this never happens again.” You said as you leaned your head into Garrick’s chest and let Bodhi lay his head onto yours. There was no point in trying to stop him; it was already way too intimate already. 

  You heard almost synchronized absolutely nots coming from the both of them as you gasped slightly as you felt another hand exploring your body that was definitely not Garricks. “Is this ok?” Bodhi asked, looking up at you with his brown eyes. You glanced towards Garrick not sure how to respond. You wanted to welcome the touch to try this once in a lifetime thing to its fullest that was never going to happen again; but you also didn't want to push the boundaries if your fiance was not ok with it. “I’m ok with experimenting as long as your comfortable with it, baby.” He said softly his hand sneaking under your shirt to find your right breast as he started to gently knead the tissue. 

  “Yeah it's ok.” You said looking down to Bodhi and kissing his forehead. Bodhi smiled as he sat up slightly, his hand starting to roam over your thighs; Garrick’s hands still working magic one your breasts as he started to suck your neck gently. You gasped slightly at the feel of bodhi’s tongue against your slit.  But you relaxed as you started to feel his tongue slide in and out of you. 

  You tried reaching for Garrick’s cock wanting to give Garrick attention while the boys were taking care of you. Wanting Garrick to know you still wanted to pleasure him. As you whimpered Bodhi’s name of your tongue as you felt the boy smirk against your skin as he curled finger up into you. But you felt Garrick swat your hand away. 

  “Tonight is about you Princess.” He said softly kissing your temple as he added a finger next to Bodhis and both boys curled and pumped them simultaneously at the same speed making you quiver and shake beneath your touch. “But I want to please you both too.” You managed to whimper through a moan as their fingers both worked magic making you feel that familiar knot in your core as Bodhi started to kiss up your stomach and stopped just before your lips. 

  “You heard Garrick. We are taking care of you tonight.” He said softly running his fingers through your soft blonde hair as his lips found yours and you crashed yours against him as both of them added a second finger into your core.You gripped onto the curls of Bodhi’s hair for purchase as you moaned against his lips. “Good girl. God you look so damn beautiful coming undone like this for us my Princess.” Garrick cooed kissing all over your thighs. 

  You felt the all too familiar knot tighten within your stomach and arched your hips to meet their fingers. “N-need to come p-please.” You mumbled into Bodhi’s shoulder as he chuckled in response. “What was that Princess?” Garrick asked, looking at you with his fully enlarged Hazel eyes. “N-need to come please baby.” You said as each of them slowed the pace down with their fingers as you whimpered. 

 Garrick looked up at you with a nod as you came undone around their fingers moaning both of their names on your lips. Garrick had gently placed a hand over your mouth to stifle some of your noises as who knew how paper thin these Bed and Breakfast h“God so beautiful.” Bodhi cooed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Isn’t she? But don’t get too used to this. She's mine.” Garrick said, kissing you softly as you were starting to come down from your high.

  “Believe me I know Tavis. I wouldn’t Dare.” Bodhi chuckled nuzzling against your shoulder.  “Now that we have warmed you up baby girl, think you can take both of us at once?” Garrick asked as you looked into his hazel eyes with need and then glanced towards Bodhi’s brown eyes with the same need you had looked at Garrick. “I’ll take that as a yes. Why doesn't my Princess just lean back against the headboard and get comfy while we take of her yeah?” He cooed softly, kissing your forehead as you nodded and both boys lined themselves up perfectly against you.