#swift the wandering bard

[lamemaster]

Yandere the Silmarillion Elves

Request: Hello! May I request yandere headcanons for Maeglin and Maglor (separately), perhaps with a human reader? Also, I really love your blog you write incredible stories :))

Pairings: Maeglin x human reader & Maglor x human reader

Genre: Dark themes. Maeglin's is gorey >"<

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I enjoy writing dark themes and this definitely was my cup of tea. I hope you like it.

Next up- Finrod x Valyrian! Reader Fall trope event list

Maeglin- (yandere reader)

A mangled mess of limbs was how you found him, withering beneath the ruins of the fallen city.

Somehow, against all odds, he lived. An amalgamation of mass bound to a body. Condemned to survive in a body tortured by death’s refusal to grant him peace.

He had endured this state for nearly a year, trapped between life and death, as if the world itself were determined to deny him release.

And then, there was you. As a wandering bandit, the sight of Gondolin’s ruins had seemed a fortune, a treasure mine promising riches to last a lifetime.

Yet amid the remnants of shattered stone and splintered wooden furniture, there he lay—the last survivor of the city’s fall. The one who instigated it all.

The incestuous bastard who, miraculously, had survived it. Every elven bards’ latest villain, the one sung of in recent ballads with curses on their lips.

You lifted the broken elf, cradling his twisted form—if his position could even be called that. His eyes, devoid of lids, remained fixed on you, unblinking, raw from months of crying out for help that never came. Gods, even now, he was beautiful.

Thus began your labor. Five days passed as you set bones that had grown crooked with time, wrapped him in scraps of cloth salvaged from the ruins, and nursed him with poppy milk poured into his helpless lips. With his face streaked by dried tears, he grew drowsy, finally slipping into fevered dreams.

As he lay shivering in your arms, lost in visions of a life that had abandoned him, you brushed your hand over his unmarred skin, tracing the contours of his trembling eyelids.

You murmured softly, your voice a mix of promise and threat “I would never let anyone hurt you. They’d have to get through me first... and believe me, they wouldn’t make it.” As if your reassurance could pull him back from his dreams of the past life without you.

Here, in the grave of his past, he was yours. No one would come for the one even death had forsaken. He was yours alone, bound by fate’s cruelty and your own claim upon him.

Cupping his damp cheek, you grinned, a glint of madness in your eyes. “My darling incestuous bastard,” you whispered, a low cackle slipping from your lips.

Maglor- (yandere character)

Maglor would follow you into death. Not even Eru Himself could hope to take you from him. No one would ever take what was his, not again.

The wedding was swift. In fact, the secondborn Fëanorian had insisted upon it within weeks of meeting you, brushing aside your hesitations with fervent kisses.

Your concerns about the doom of mortality were hushed in whispers and promises; if death was a gift granted to Men, then Maglor would seize it back from its giver. His breaths would ebb and flow with yours. Nothing could alter that.

It was all he could do now. Time had sharpened his resolve, even blunted the burns of the Silmaril, leaving behind only faint scars.

He had glamoured away his past, letting his skin heal so he could become the perfect lover for you, forsaking his true name for a new one.

Peldis, he called himself. A mountain elf from distant valleys. By sheer luck, you hadn’t noticed the faint scent of brine lingering about him, nor the care he took in combing his tangled hair until it shone.

You hadn’t glimpsed the quiet ferocity with which he shed his former self to stand before you, a stranger made whole in the reflection of your wants.

It had been one fateful night, when the ache of the Silmaril consumed him, that he’d first seen you.

Or rather, he’d caught sight of you wading in moonlit waters, bare as the light itself, utterly unguarded. He hadn’t looked away. The years had been long, and the Fëanorian had been starved.

The vision of silvery moonlight tracing your body had entranced him, struck him with a longing sharper than any oath. 

You were it, he thought. The Silmaril reborn. Perhaps even better than any of his father’s works. You were more than a cursed jewel.

Like a viper shedding its skin, Maglor transformed himself into Peldis. A convenient presence in your village, a simple trader of carved wooden combs.

It had not taken him long to notice the way your own hair flowed down your back like silk, and he knew, watching you, that you would come to him.

From offering a delicate comb for your hair to placing the ring upon your finger, Maglor had orchestrated each moment, each touch.

The songs of your fairytale romance made it easy to draw you into his arms, into the warmth of your bed, far from prying eyes and whispers.

And there, as he held you close, his touch guiding you deeper into his embrace, he tugged your soul into a quiet submission, bending your will and your mind to his desire.

Maglor knew what was best for you. And in this life, that place was here, wrapped in his arms, your heart tethered to his.

Even in the harmony of the Timeless Halls, yours would be the song he would compose. His muse. His beloved. You were his, now and forever.

[comfortless]

Syl, my lovely, please. I need to see this vision come to life through your words. Would König take his darling to the Ren Faire?🌷

VANI!!! my angel!! of course he would… König is a just a hapless knight at heart & it gives him an excuse to treat you like an actual princess! 🗡💕 i can not promise you that he will not force you to sit in his lap and play skyrim or something when you get home though…! /:

“Danke for agreeing to come,” he whispers to you once you’re out in the sprawling field, an abundance of colorful tents, partitions and others in similar dress surrounding the two of you.

It’s a lot to take in, as though you’ve been whisked away to a separate world entirely; the air smells faintly of fresh food, a bard strums a lute somewhere out in the distance, and… was that supposed to be a dragon’s roar?

König dons a veil of tightly woven chainmail, only a glimpse of his jaw visible, lined with prickly stubble. The rest of his armor leaves little glimpses of him, his thick wrist between cuff and glove, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he curls his arm around you protectively. If it were possible, he seems even larger wearing the plates of armor, far more imposing like this.

Tucked at his side, stands you in your linen bliaut, a soft woolen cloak dyed a royal blue thrown over your shoulders; a stark contrast from the shimmering and hardened armor of the knight guiding each of your steps with his arm around your waist.

König has to look at everything— marveling at the handmade objects and shiny, smithed weapons in each booth.

When you give him a quizzical glance as he ghosts his gloved fingertips over the angular blade of an exceptionally smart spear, he pauses his frantic admiration for a time to explain to you that it reminds him of one he read about once— like Odin’s Gungnir, fierce and proud. Even you take a moment to admire its craftsmanship, to which the pale blue of his eyes seems to light up; he makes the purchase without a second thought.

You find yourself enjoying the atmosphere, especially with that ever-present grin on König’s face; he’s in his element surrounded by fantasies drawn from history. It’s a nice change, seeing him so filled up with whimsy as he whisks you from tent to tent, buying you anything that catches your eye, taking your picture any chance that he gets.

You humor him, lifting your skirts a little when you pass between two of the fabric structures, hidden away from the eyes of any other grinning merchants, pretty ladies, and bellowing bards.

Seated in his lap he tells you of holy grails and swordplay tactics while feeding you from a dish on a wooden countertop, a pastry stuffed full with apple.

You only think to offer a complaint once you note the three now emptied pewter goblets of mead in front of him as König proclaims he wants to act out a proper sword fight with one of the others donning armor in the small, hastily fenced in area serving as a knight’s training yard.

(It was certainly a coincidence that the one he chose to spar with happened to be the very same man who offered you a friendly wave in passing.)

He makes a display of his swordsmanship, swift knocks and parries that leave your eyes wide as you clasp your hands over your mouth; even a prise de fer as you dig your nails into the wood of the shoddy fence. You’ve never seen him so swift, so brutal, as when he finally knocks his opponent into the dust, the sharpened edge of his blade pointed downward. Had this not all been pretend, you could imagine the bloodshed that would have occurred here.

Thankfully, König backs off, dips his head in a begrudging bow to his opponent before wandering back to you.

Your hand is pried from the fence, a kiss placed upon every knuckle as you praise his talents. He smirks, proud, and whispers to you something about how he had to show off for his lady. Even has the audacity to tell you that he would kill for you, and you knew very well it was not said entirely in jest.

When the sun finally dims and lanterns are lit, bathing the green below your boots in a soft, tangerine glow, you find yourself helping to loosen the straps of König’s armor. Poor thing had not thought to wear a proper shirt beneath, or.. perhaps, that was intentional. The sweat glistens off of him when you’ve tossed his dark top and curved metal into a heap, the curls of his chest hair sticking to pale flesh.

You rove your hand over him to dull the ache of those straps digging into his shoulders. He groans, contented as he pulls you up to your feet, leaning down just enough to kiss you, to desperately grope at your hips, your rear, before the strumming of a lute and the cheers and giggles accompanied by dancing fills your ears.

Attentions turned, you find yourself curling your hand into his, tugging him towards the feathery songs and shuffling of feet.

“We should dance,” you suggest, all giggles when you tilt your head to offer a pleading glance to him over your shoulder.

“Anything for you, meine prinzessin.”

[thedemonofcat]

The Pankratz family possesses a rare trait that emerges once every thousand years in their bloodline.

Their blood flows like liquid gold, and their bones are hollow like those of birds. Despite the brittleness caused by their hollow bones, they are remarkably nimble and swift.

Jaskier, the first in many generations to inherit this trait, often feels like little more than a commodity to his parents, who exploit his golden blood for wealth and social status.

Feeling marginalized, Jaskier leaves his hometown of Lettenhove and eventually becomes a wandering bard, where he crosses paths with Geralt.

Upon discovering Jaskier's unique condition, Geralt worries about others exploiting him for his precious golden blood.

[writingrock]

the tale of two lovers [5]

pairing: barbarian! katsuki bakugou x reader (female) summary: a bard approaches a lone barbarian in search for a story to tell. Who could have known that the barbarian end up being such a romantic tale.

notes: fantasy au, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, bakusquad, barbarian bakugou, mentions of spiritual creatures

word count: 8.3k

part list

part one: chapter list

a/n: rough week but I managed to write this up. To think this will be forty chapters kills me sometimes.

Nothing was ever calm in Niniel's Veil. The air was thick with tension, the mist curling around the trees like creeping vines, and the ever-present feeling of being watched gnawed at the edges of your mind. The group had been moving cautiously, senses on high alert. When all of the sudden, Denki went missing. It was as if he’d been swallowed by the mist, his disappearance so swift and silent that no one even saw it happen. Panic swept through the group like a sudden storm, the calm unravelling in an instant.

“Where the hell did he go?” Kirishima’s voice was tight with worry, his eyes scanning the hazy woods as if Denki might suddenly materialise from the shadows. 

“He was right here!” Mina burst out, her tone wavered between fear and frustration, with her hands clenched into fists. “Denki! This isn’t funny!”

Bakugou was already on edge, his temper fraying as he looked around, seething. “Idiot probably wandered off again! Damn it, why can’t he ever stay put?”

Mina glanced at you, concern written on her face. “We have to find him. What if something—”

But while the rest of them buzzed with frantic energy, you remained calm, a quiet steadiness anchoring you in the chaos. You had seen this kind of thing before— the way Niniel’s Veil separated groups and turned panic into a weapon. You knew it was easy to get lost here, but you also knew that losing your head wouldn’t help.

You took a deep breath, letting the cool air settle your nerves before speaking. “Everyone, take a breath,” your voice cut through the panic. “Panicking won’t help us find him. We’ve been through worse.”

The group hesitated, eyes turning to you, their breaths still uneven but slowing, just a little. Bakugou scowled but held back whatever retort was forming on his lips. Even in moments like this, your calm was hard to argue with.

“Denki’s probably just around the corner,” you continued, the command in your voice firm yet reassuring. “Niniel’s Veil is messing with us— don’t let it get in your head.”

Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with each of them, making sure your calm was contagious. “I’ll find him.”

You outstretched your left arm, revealing a singular, gold line running from your wrist to your elbow— a mark the group hadn’t noticed before, perhaps hidden by the cloak you always wore. The line was simple, unassuming, but there was something almost ethereal about it

“Didn’t know you had that,” Bakugou commented, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity as he eyed the unusual mark on your arm.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” you replied, your voice calm, almost distant as you prepared for what you needed to do next.

Softly chanting to yourself, the markings on your arm began to glow, casting a faint golden light that flickered like embers in the misty surroundings. Your right hand traced the line, fingertips gliding over the shimmering mark as you murmured under your breath, each whispered word sharpening your focus. 

With each syllable, the energy within the markings stirred, responding to your touch. Slowly, as if summoned from the depths of the tattoo itself, a shape began to emerge— ethereal and flickering, like it was being drawn out of another world. The air around you seemed to hum with anticipation, the form taking shape with an otherworldly grace.

At first, it was just a shimmer, a distortion in the air, but soon it took shape— a feathered being, elegant and fierce. A golden eagle materialised from the tattoo, its wings stretching out wide as if testing the air. The creature was magnificent, with feathers that gleamed like burnished gold in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Its sharp eyes, a deep amber, scanned the surroundings with an intelligence that spoke far beyond a mere bird.

The eagle’s talons dug into your forearm gently, as though it had done this countless times before. Its gaze met yours, a silent communication passing between you.

“Kyrah,” you called softly, your voice holding a note of command and affection. The eagle tilted its head slightly, acknowledging your call. “Find Denki.”

The golden eagle let out a sharp, piercing chirp, its wings unfurling fully before it launched itself into the air with powerful strokes. It soared high above the treetops, a streak of gold against the deep green of the forest canopy. The group watched in awe as Kyrah flew with purpose, her keen eyes scanning the forest below for any sign of Denki.

As Kyrah disappeared into the distance, you turned back to the group. They were silent, still processing what they had just witnessed. Bakugou, though he tried to maintain his usual nonchalance, couldn’t completely hide the intrigue in his eyes.

“How long have you had that bird?” Mina finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Long enough,” you replied simply, your eyes still on the horizon where Kyrah had vanished.

Minutes passed, and the group began to shift nervously, their eyes darting between the trees, expecting some trick of the forest to spring on them. But you stood still, your expression calm, knowing Kyrah would return soon.

And she did. With a swift dive, Kyrah swooped back down toward you, a sharp chirp signalling her return. In her talons, she clutched a small piece of Denki’s scarf, a clear sign she had found him.

“Lead the way, Kyrah,” you instructed, and with a nod, the golden eagle soared off again, leading you through the dense forest.

This time, the group followed you, trusting in your guidance as Kyrah led them unerringly to where Denki had wandered off. Within minutes, you found him, standing bewildered among a cluster of trees that all looked the same.

“Denki!” Kirishima called out, rushing to his friend’s side.

Denki looked up, sheepish but relieved. The change from his lost, frightened expression told you he was definitely shitting himself before you guys found him. “Uh, yeah, I... I guess I got a little lost.”

You sighed, thankful that he is unharmed. “This forest is tricky like that. But next time, try to stay with the group.”

Denki nodded vigorously. “Yeah, no more wandering off for me.”

As the group regrouped, ready to continue the journey, Bakugou gave you a glance. His eyes carried some sort of respect and interest as he studied the bird perched on your arm. “Guess that bird of yours is pretty useful.”

You patted Kyrah gently as she settled back onto your arm. The bird melting into your flesh as if it were never there. “Told you there’s a lot you don’t know.”

As more time passed, more facets of your character and abilities were unveiled, particularly within the complexities of the woods where your skills were most apparent. The group grew increasingly curious by your depth of knowledge and confidence with which you navigated both the physical and mystical aspects of the forest. 

Of all the members, Mina was probably the closest to you. She was easy to talk to, and the two of you often found yourselves in each other’s company, sharing stories and tasks.

During one such moment of respite, the group stumbled upon a hidden gem nestled among the trees— a series of natural hot springs, steaming gently amidst the cool air of the forest. You and Mina quickly called dibs on the first soak, playfully insisting the guys wait their turn. The two of you slipped into the hot springs, letting out sighs of relief as the warm water soothed your tired muscles and washed away the grime of travel.

As the heat unwound your stiff limbs, Mina turned to you with a soft, inquisitive smile. "So, you’ve told us a lot about the forest and your skills," she started, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet murmur of bubbling water. "But what about your family? You never mention them much."

You hesitated, the warmth of the springs making it easier to open up than usual. "I never really knew my mother," you admitted, watching the steam rise in wispy tendrils. "And there’s not much to know, honestly. She was gone before I could even remember her."

Mina’s expression softened in understanding, encouraging you to continue.

"I was raised by my father," you continued, the memories surfacing with fondness and sorrow. "He was an elven ranger who specialised in cartography. Ever since I was born, I was always by his side. He couldn’t afford to leave me alone in the settlement we came from, and honestly, I think he preferred having me with him on his expeditions rather than leaving me behind."

"So, no school or anything like that?" Mina asked, genuinely curious.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, no traditional school. My father taught me everything. Mapmaking, survival skills, how to read the stars, and even more than that, he taught me how to see the world through different lenses. He was my mentor and my guide."

Mina smiled gently, the steam from the hot springs rising between you in soft, wispy tendrils. “That sounds like an incredible way to grow up. Difficult, but… special.”

“It was,” you agreed, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My father showed me the world in a way few people get to see it. We travelled to places most people only dream about, and I learned how to survive in some of the harshest environments out there.”

There was a brief pause, the only sound the gentle ripple of the water as you both soaked in the warmth. Mina’s expression turned thoughtful, her gaze drifting to the starry sky above. “Do you miss it? The way things were?”

You considered the question, the weight of it settling in your chest. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I’ve also come to realise that I’m not just following in his footsteps anymore. I’m forging my own path, and that’s something he always wanted for me.”

Mina listened intently, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and sympathy. "It sounds like he was an amazing man. You must miss him."

"I do," you acknowledged, feeling a twinge of pain at the admission. "Every day. But he gave me tools to survive, to thrive even, and I carry that with me always."

Mina smiled, her warmth matching the water around you. “He raised you well. You’ve got a lot to offer, you know. More than just your skills in the forest.”

You looked at her with a small smile. Her words meant a lot to you more than she knows. “Thanks, Mina. That means a lot.”

The conversation lingered in the warm air, deepening your bond with Mina. The hot springs not only relaxed your bodies but also allowed a rare vulnerability to surface between the two of you. It was moments like these— simple, quiet, and deeply personal— that knit the fabric of trust and friendship tighter within the group. Mina's become someone you've become closer to. Only time will tell if you'll eventually fully open up to her.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the hot springs melting away not just the physical strains of your travels but also the emotional burdens you had carried. Above, the stars twinkled softly in the vast night sky, each one a silent sentinel in the dark. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to simply be in the moment, appreciating the quiet and unexpected friendship that had blossomed on this arduous journey.

As you relaxed deeper into the soothing embrace of the hot springs, a contemplative mood washed over you. Thoughts of your father drifted through your mind. You wondered where he might be at this very moment. The thought alone stirred a voiceless longing, a connection to your past that felt both grounding and achingly distant. Was he also gazing up at the skies with you? 

O’su, masse le enta.

Father, where will you be then.

Mina’s voice cut through the quiet, jolting you out of your thoughts. The steam from the hot springs swirled lazily around you, misting the air with a soothing warmth. You had been lost in the moment, enjoying the rare stillness, but Mina’s sudden comment brought you crashing back.

“Those tattoos of yours are incredible,” she said, her tone casual but laced with genuine admiration. Her eyes lingered on the golden markings that traced patterns across your skin, shimmering faintly in the dim light. You could feel her gaze travelling up your arm, tracing the delicate lines that wound their way over your shoulder and down your back.

She leaned forward, studying your back with a curious smile. “Wow, your back tattoo is stunning. It’s like—” Her words trailed off as she caught a glimpse of the faint, feathered tattoo etched into your skin. The tattoo seemed to shift subtly as you moved, alive with an ethereal quality that was both mesmerising and unsettling.

A flicker of something— discomfort, maybe, or perhaps fear— flared in you. The markings on your back were a part of you, something deeper and more complex than you often cared to admit. But they were also a part of you that you kept hidden, even from those closest to you.

Instinctively, you shifted, turning your back slightly away and drawing your towel up just a little higher. It was a small, unconscious motion, but it spoke volumes. You felt exposed, the vulnerability of being seen too closely clawing at you. You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling and force a casual tone back into the moment.

“They’re nothing special,” you said quickly, dismissively, hoping to steer the conversation away from the sudden focus on the markings that felt too personal. “Anyway, how’s your training going? I heard you’ve been working on some new moves.”

Mina’s eyes lingered for a beat longer, curious yet unbothered by your attempt to deflect. But she smiled, letting the subject drop as easily as it had been picked up. “Training’s been a killer,” she replied, diving into a story about her latest sparring match, her enthusiasm filling the space between you.

You nodded along, grateful for the shift in topic, but your mind kept drifting back to her words, to the way she had looked at you. It was just a passing comment, nothing more, yet it left you feeling bare in a way that the hot springs’ warm water couldn’t soothe. You tucked the feeling away, burying it beneath layers of conversation and the comfort of Mina’s laughter, but the faint, ghostly presence lingered on your back.

As you and Mina emerged from the enveloping warmth of the hot springs, refreshed and relaxed, you found the boys lined up, towels in hand, visibly eager to dive into the soothing waters themselves. Their faces, however, shifted from anticipation to mock indignation as they saw you approaching.

"Finally!" Denki exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I thought you two had decided to turn into mermaids and live in there forever!"

Kirishima, unable to hide his impatience, joined in with a good-natured grumble. "Yeah, were you planning on boiling yourselves or what? Some of us would like to soak before we turn into old men!"

Bakugou just crossed his arms, his scowl deepening slightly. "Took you long enough," he muttered, though the edge to his voice was softened by the clear relief at finally getting his turn. He's been wanting to jump in ever since the group laid eyes on the hot springs.

Mina and you couldn't help but laugh at their theatrics, the lightness of the moment spreading between you. "Oh, relax," Mina chided playfully, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "We were just making sure the water was perfect for you princes. Besides, a little patience never hurts anyone."

"A royal treatment for our finest warriors." you added with a wink, enjoying the roll of Bakugou's eyes and the chuckles from the others.

As the boys eagerly took their turn in the hot springs, discussing who would jump in first amidst the light-hearted exchange. You and Mina headed over to the campfire to start preparing dinner. The air was filled with the fading light of dusk, casting a golden glow that made the forest around you seem almost enchanted.

Together, you gathered the supplies, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring soon mingling with the crackle of the fire. Mina hummed a soft tune, adding a layer of warmth to the cool evening air.

"So, what's on the menu tonight?" she asked, looking over as you seasoned a pot of stew.

"Something hearty," you replied, stirring the pot and enjoying the rich, savoury aroma that began to fill the air. "We'll need the energy for tomorrow's trek."

As the food cooked, you shared stories and plans, the easy conversation weaving through the sounds of the forest. The chatter from the hot springs drifted over, letting you and Mina listen to every dumb detail of their chit-chat. Nothing notable, just an exchange of jokes and ludicrous topics. As the stew simmered and the boys' hollering echoed from the springs, you felt warm. You never would have thought that you’d find such comfort from guiding a group of adventurers.

By the time the stew was ready, you called the others over. They came eagerly, their spirits lifted by the warmth of the springs and the crisp chill of the night air. Laughter and light conversation filled the space, and the scent of the simmering stew seemed to heighten their appetites even more. The glow of the meal and the closeness around the fire made the night feel warmer, even in the cool evening breeze. Dinner was a lively affair, filled with casual chats and the clinking of utensils. The meal, simple but nourishing, seemed to satisfy everyone. 

The night grew darker, the stars brighter, and the sounds of the forest blended with the voices around the campfire. Despite the day’s trials and the journey's uncertainties, moments like these— simple, shared with friends— felt like treasures, precious and all too rare. As everyone finished their meal, the conversation slowly subsided, giving way to the evening's quiet chores. Kirishima and Sero took the initiative, gathering the empty pots and bowls from the group. They handled everything with care, a seamless teamwork that spoke of many nights spent around similar campfires.

You were just about to slip away to enjoy a moment of solitude under the starlit sky when Bakugou's firm hand landed on your shoulder, halting your retreat.

"You're on night watch with me tonight," he stated bluntly, his tone was serious and left no chance of argument.

You turned to face him, annoyance flaring across your features. "Seriously? Can't it be someone else tonight? I was planning to—"

"Nope, it’s you and me," Bakugou interrupted, his expression as immovable as stone. He could care less about your plans. You were on night watch with him and that was final. "Don’t whine about it. Just get ready."

You rolled your eyes, a sigh escaping you as you conceded to the inevitable. "Fine," you muttered, not bothering to hide your reluctance. His grip on your shoulder relaxed, and he gave you a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with your acceptance, however unwilling you were.

Despite the displeasure at having your quiet time interrupted, you couldn’t deny the importance of the night watch. The forest around you was bustling with nocturnal sounds, a reminder of the ever-present wilderness and its unseen inhabitants. As Bakugou walked away to prepare for the watch, you gathered your own gear, your mind already shifting from the irritation of the disrupted plans to the task ahead.

The night was cool and clear, the sky a tapestry of stars that watched silently as you and Bakugou took up positions around the campsite. The fire was now a mere glow, its embers casting a faint, warm light that barely touched the darkness beyond. As the camp settled down for the night, with only the occasional crackle of the fire breaking the silence, you found yourself adjusting to the reality of the evening. Maybe it wasn’t the night of solitude you had hoped for, but perhaps, something more could come out of it.

As the night deepened and the camp fell quiet, only the occasional snore breaking the silence, you and Bakugou settled into your watch positions. The stillness of the night was a stark contrast to the day’s liveliness. The cool air nipped at your skin, but you were prepared, wrapped in a warm cloak as you kept your eyes on the shadowy outlines of the forest. Sitting across from each other, with the dying fire between you, the initial awkwardness hung heavy in the air. Neither of you spoke at first, each lost in your own thoughts. The only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night creature.

You were terribly bored. The night was unusually quiet, and the stillness only amplified your restlessness. Considering the monotony, you thought perhaps you could meditate to pass the time more peacefully. Just as you were about to close your eyes and slip into a tranquil state, Bakugou’s sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped, eyeing you with irritation and alertness. “We’re on watch, remember? Stay alert.”

You groaned softly, abandoning your attempt at meditation. Did he have to notice everything? “Fine,” you muttered, straightening up and refocusing on the shadowy outlines of the forest.

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating, like the air before a storm. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to shatter the uneasy quiet, but Bakugou was quicker, cutting you off before you could even start. 

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low with irritation.

You clamped your mouth shut, rolling your eyes in defiance, and leaned back against a nearby tree, your gaze drifting to the crackling fire. The flames flickered, the only movement in the stifling stillness, but the quiet was grating, clawing at your nerves. You shifted restlessly, the absence of conversation making the seconds drag like hours. You needed something— anything— to break the silence, or you were sure you’d unravel completely.

Seeking to break the renewed silence and maybe learn something more about Bakugou, you decided to start the conversation, again. “So, what’s your home like?” you asked casually, curious about where the draconic prince hailed from. “You’re from a draconic kingdom, right?”

Bakugou shot you a glare, his annoyance clear. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” he grumbled, rubbing his temples as if your questions were a physical headache. He let out a sigh but you didn’t back down, your persistence hanging in the air between the two of you.

Despite his irritation, you noticed a subtle shift in Bakugou’s demeanor at the mention of his homeland. A spark of pride lit up his eyes, softening his usual grouchy frown. "Yeah," he said, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness. "It's nothing like this place. Back home, the terrain is fierce and untamed— rolling hills that catch the first light of dawn, cliffs that drop into roaring seas, and breath-taking valleys. The sky stretches wider, the stars burn brighter. It's a place where the elements are raw and wild, where every day is a test against nature itself."

He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The air there has a bite to it— crisp and sharp, fills your lungs with fire. The rivers cut deep gorges through the land, and in winter, everything is blanketed in snow so pure it hurts your eyes. It's harsh, but it's home. Makes you stronger just by being there."

Bakugou's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if he were seeing those landscapes unfold before him. "You'd probably find it rough," he added, a teasing edge returning to his tone. "Not everyone can handle it."

You reply with a snort. Shaking your head at his comment. 

He paused, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. “There’s a place, high up in the mountains, near the edge of the kingdom— it’s my favourite. When you stand there, you can see the entire valley below, covered in a sea of clouds. At sunrise, it looks like the whole world is on fire. That’s where I go when I need to think.”

His description painted a vivid picture in your mind, and you found yourself intrigued by the pride and warmth in his voice as he spoke of his homeland. It was a side of Bakugou you hadn't seen before— more reflective and connected to his roots.

“That sounds beautiful,” you said, soft as you listen to his warm descriptions of his home. “It must be tough being so far from there.”

Bakugou shrugged, a slight hardness returning to his gaze. “It’s necessary. Being here, doing this— it’s part of proving I can lead more than just armies. That I can do more than what’s expected of a prince from the draconic realm.”

Understanding more about his motivations and the weight he carried added depth to your perception of him. You nodded, appreciating his candour. “It sounds like you’re on quite a journey then, not just through these woods.”

“Something like that,” Bakugou admitted, and for a while, both of you fell silent, contemplating your own reasons for being far from home. The night continued quietly, with the earlier tension easing into a more thoughtful atmosphere, giving the rare opportunity for a slow reveal of personal histories.

There was another long stretch of silence, the only sounds being the distant calls of nocturnal creatures and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Bakugou seemed content with the quiet, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. You closed your eyes and embraced the stillness, feeling the night hold its breath. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his voice piped up.

“What about you?” Bakugou finally asked, his voice softer than before, almost reflective. “What’s home to you?”

The question caught you off guard, the simplicity of it somehow more intimate in the hush of the night. You paused, considering how to answer. “There isn’t really a ‘home’ for me,” you admitted as you thought back to your past. “I spent my life and childhood travelling. My origins mean nothing to me— it was just a place where I happened to be born. I’ve been moving from place to place for as long as I can remember.”

Your words hung in the air, a confession of sorts about your rootless existence. “There is no home for me. Home was wherever I found myself with my father, wherever we laid our maps out for the night. That was home, however temporary.”

Bakugou listened in silence, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The idea seemed foreign to him, someone whose identity was so tied to a place, a kingdom with borders and history.

“You never wanted to stop? To find a place to settle?” he asked after a moment, genuine interest threading through his tone.

You shook your head slightly. “Not really. The road, the journey—it’s part of who I am. Travelling keeps life interesting. You never know what you’ll find around the next bend. Besides,” you added with a slight smile, “Home is a person I have not yet found.”

“Travelling around taught me a few things,” you began, your voice calm as the dim crackles of the fire reflected in your eyes. “I could settle in any enchanted forest or beautiful city, but none of it would feel like home.” You paused, glancing at Bakugou. “Home is where your loved ones are.”

Bakugou seemed to mull over your words, the concept of home being not a place but the people in it— or perhaps the search for them— making him pause. Suddenly, it’s as though night’s chill began to deepen at your words.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he finally said, his voice more subdued than usual. There was a rare tone of thoughtfulness that you thought you’d never hear. “Makes sense, though, for someone like you. Always moving, always looking ahead.”

He paused, his eyes flicking toward you with an uncharacteristic curiosity. “Although, couldn’t you stick by your father’s side? You said he was your home.”

Your mood faltered slightly at the mention of your father. The warmth in your voice dimmed. “My father wanted me to make my own life. Explore at my own pace. Build my own memories— outside of him.”

Bakugou’s eyes remained on you, waiting for you to continue. You sighed, looking up at the star-filled sky. “Besides, remember what I said about elves and half-elves? He’s the elven parent. He’ll live till he’s seven hundred, while I’ll barely live a quarter of his life. I think… he’d miss me too much if I stayed around him.”

You paused, swallowing the bittersweet emotion that threatened to rise. “I don’t want him to mourn me forever. It’s better if he builds his own life, one that doesn’t rely on me as its foundation.” 

Your voice betrayed how much you missed him, a wistful tenderness cushioned your words even as you tried to convince yourself that the distance was necessary. You believed it was— this separation gave you both room to grow. Besides, how else could you carve out your own adventure?

Bakugou’s gaze softened, his usual fire replaced with a sincere understanding. “You miss him?” he asked quietly, almost as if testing the waters.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice quieter now. “But we still meet when we can. Between expeditions, whenever we’re free. It’s enough to know he’s out there, living his life while I live mine.”

He glanced at you, reassessing you under this new light. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

You considered his question, the stars overhead twinkling in the clear sky as if echoing your thoughts. “Sometimes, yes,” you admitted, the truth of your solitude seldom spoken aloud. “But it’s also freeing. There’s a whole world out there, Bakugou. Full of mysteries to unravel, paths to explore. And maybe somewhere along those paths, I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

Bakugou nodded slowly, his usual impatience subdued by the night’s quiet introspection. “I get that. Chasing something, or someone, who might make the journey feel complete.”

You smiled, appreciating his attempt to understand your perspective. “Exactly. And until then, the journey itself is enough. It has to be.”

The conversation dwindled into a thoughtful silence, each of you considering your own quests and what ‘home’ meant in the grand tapestry of your lives. Bakugou shifted slightly, pulling his cloak tighter against the cold.

The conversation faded again into a comfortable silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts about homes lost and found, the paths you chose, and the journeys still waiting ahead. This exchange, simple yet profound, seemed to shift something between you. It wasn’t a grand revelation or an obvious change, but there was a new understanding that grown over these quiet moments. Moments like this with Bakugou were rare. These talks seemed to only happen when the two of you were alone at night—perhaps it was easier to be vulnerable in the dark. 

While you were gradually learning to tolerate each other for the sake of the journey, your interactions were still marked by frequent bickering and exchanged insults. There were even times when it felt like you both had to fight the urge to kill each other. But despite the constant clashes, having a genuine, decent conversation felt like real progress. Each night, with every word shared, you were learning more about each other— more than the surface-level arguing and sharp-edged banter usually allowed. It was subtle, yet undeniable, hinting that beneath the antagonism, there might be the beginnings of friendship.

The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, painting the forest floor with shifting patterns of light and shadow. It was beautiful, in a way— if you weren’t so busy verbally sparring with the most infuriating person you’d ever met. By morning, everything snapped back to the usual routine— good old bickering, like clockwork. 

The uneasy quiet of dawn had barely lifted before the insults started flying, as if the night’s brief reprieve had never happened. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly when the back-and-forth had started, but you were certain it had something to do with Bakugou’s relentless urge to push your buttons. Would Bakugou really start hurling insults at you just for the sake of it? Absolutely. The guy was a walking hornet’s nest, and provoking you seemed to be his favourite pastime.

So, there you were, leading the group through the tangled woods, trying to focus on the path ahead while Bakugou’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade. “Maybe if you actually knew where you were going, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shithole,” he snapped, barely ducking under a low-hanging branch.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to hide your annoyance. “You want to get us lost faster? Be my guest. I’ll just sit back and watch you flail around like an idiot.”

His glare could have set the trees on fire. And honestly, he’s tempted to set this forest ablaze. “Who the hell asked you? You think you’re so damn smart, but all you do is waste our time.”

You scoffed, sidestepping a gnarled root without breaking stride. “At least I’m not the one barreling into traps every five minutes. But hey, I guess being an idiot is your strong suit.”

It was like a well-rehearsed dance, insults thrown like knives, each jab meant to provoke and annoy. The others had grown used to it, but the constant tension simmered between you and Bakugou like a fire that refused to burn out. Every word felt like a challenge, each retort a small victory in an unspoken war of stubbornness and pride. Yet, as much as you hated to admit it, the bickering was almost… familiar. A strange, twisted normalcy in the chaos of Niniel’s Veil, a constant that neither of you were willing to let go of. 

The group had gotten used to the constant back-and-forth between you and Bakugou; it had become as much a part of the daily routine as setting up camp or finding the next path. They expected it every day, bracing for the inevitable clash of stubborn wills as soon as the sun crept over the horizon. At some point, the arguments had stopped being just a nuisance and turned into something almost like entertainment.

Honestly, they had started betting on it. Quiet wagers passed between them as they trailed behind you, their footsteps light on the forest floor. Who would get the last word? Who would land the sharpest insult? It was like a twisted sport, with Kirishima, Mina, Denki and Sero quietly placing their bets on who would come out on top, their amused glances flicking between you and Bakugou. 

The stakes were small— a few coins, a favour, or sometimes just the satisfaction of seeing the other lose. But it kept them entertained, a little distraction from the relentless dangers of Niniel’s Veil. You could feel their eyes on your back, the quiet snickers stifled behind raised hands as they watched the two of you spar like it was some kind of show.

Mina leaned in closer to Kirishima, her voice low enough to keep it from reaching your ears. "Five gold says she gets the last word this time."

Kirishima snickered, casting a sideways glance at you before flicking his gaze back to Bakugou. "Nah, no way. Bakugou’s too stubborn. He'll dig his heels in just to win."

Denki piped up from the back, his grin mischievous. "I’m betting she lands the sharper insult, though. Bakugou’s good, but she’s been on fire lately."

Sero nudged him with an elbow, joining the quiet banter. "Yeah, but he’s unpredictable. Bakugou’s the kind of guy who’ll pull something out of nowhere when you think he’s done."

As they whispered among themselves, the tension between you and Bakugou simmered like it always did. You shot him a glare as his latest comment hit its mark, but you weren’t backing down. “You know, for someone who talks so much, you don’t say much of value.”

Bakugou laughed at your words, his lips dragging into a reluctant smirk. “And for someone who never shuts up, you sure haven’t learned a thing.” His tone was as sharp as ever, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes—a challenge.

Behind you, Kirishima exchanged a coin with Mina, the both of them wearing a wide grin as if they were watching their favourite drama unfold. “She’s gonna get him,” she whispered to Kirishima.

You took a step closer, arms crossed, refusing to let Bakugou’s smugness win this round. “I’ve learned plenty— like how to deal with someone who can’t handle being wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, folding his arms over his chest as if to mirror your stance. “The only thing you’ve learned is how to get on my nerves. Congrats, you’re great at that.”

Sero and Denki exchanged grins, their silent betting war intensifying. Mina stifled a laugh, watching the way you and Bakugou squared off.

“You two should really get this settled,” Kirishima called out, amusement thick in his voice. “We’re starting to lose track of who’s winning.”

Bakugou shot a glare over his shoulder. “Shut it, shitty hair, no one asked you.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting a smirk at the group. “See what I mean? Deflection. It’s his favourite move when he’s losing.”

Mina snorted, elbowing Kirishima playfully. “Told you she’d get him.”

Bakugou huffed, turning his attention back to you with a dangerous glint in his eye. “You wish. Keep talking, and I’ll bury you with words alone.”

You raised an eyebrow, your grin widening. “Try me.”

Behind you, the quiet wagers went on, the group’s amused whispers filling the spaces between your sharp words. To them, it was a game—a battle of wits with no clear winner. But to you and Bakugou, it was just another day of clashing, each of you determined to walk away on top. And so, the insults continued, echoing through the forest like a never-ending game you were both too stubborn to quit.

The Veil could only shift so much before its patterns, subtle as they were, began to emerge, and you were the one who could read them. You had spent years mapping this place, tracing its contours, and learning its secrets. The Veil could shift all it wanted, but it couldn’t outsmart you. There were moments where the forest seemed to bend to your will, as if recognising a kindred spirit who understood its games. 

When the path twisted in on itself, you would pause, close your eyes, and almost seem to listen to the woods, recalibrating your internal map. It was uncanny. More than once, Bakugou found himself relying on your judgement, trusting that you’d find a way through when everything else seemed lost. Sure, there were moments when even you were stumped, when the forest’s tricks were almost too clever, but you always managed to regain your bearings. 

Your presence didn’t guarantee safety, though; it only made survival a bit more likely. There were plenty of close calls, the kind that left your heart pounding and your muscles aching. It was a gruelling journey, made even more difficult by a group whose instincts often clashed with logic and reason. Especially Bakugou.

Remember when you’d called him out for barreling into traps without thinking? You’d mocked him for his reckless, headstrong nature, and he’d shot back with that familiar scowl, as if your words were nothing but noise. But now, here you were again, watching him prove your point in real time.

Bakugou had done it again, charging ahead without a second thought and right into another trap—a tangle of enchanted, thorny vines that snapped around his body, pulling him off balance and leaving him struggling against their tightening grip. It would have been comical if it weren’t so frustratingly predictable. He cursed under his breath, sharp and furious, yanking at the vines with all his might, but the more he struggled, the tighter they coiled, their thorns digging in and refusing to let go.

You approached with an exasperated sigh, unsheathing your blade and moving with ease. “I swear, you have the survival instincts of a brick,” you muttered, crouching beside him. He shot you a murderous glare, but it was hard to take seriously when he was halfway tangled in greenery.

“You didn’t warn me,” he growled, more angry with himself than you, though his pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

“Firstly, you charged in before I could,” You ignored his protests and started cutting through the vines with precise, deliberate movements, each slice freeing him bit by bit. “Secondly, would you have listened?” you shot back, but there was a lightness in your tone. It’s not that Bakugou isn’t careful. He’s typically quite aware and perceptive when it comes to spotting traps. But in the Veil, the traps were expertly concealed. They weren’t easily noticed by most. Hidden in ways that only those deeply familiar with the forest’s secrets could detect.

With the last of the main vines cut, he was free to move, but a few stubborn thorns remained embedded in his skin, the severed vines still clinging to him. You couldn’t quite suppress an aloof grin as you stepped back. “Looks like they’ve taken a liking to you,” you remarked, watching as he grimaced, brushing at the lingering vines with irritation.

“Don’t yank at them— they’ll just tighten,” you warned sharply, watching as Bakugou tugged at the stubborn vines with an even more stubborn fury. You rummaged through your pack, retrieving the antidote specifically prepared for this kind of nasty enchantment. As you knelt beside him, you could feel your patience wearing thin; dealing with Bakugou when he was injured was like trying to tame a wild animal.

“Hold still,” you hissed, frustration lacing your voice as you knelt beside him, trying to administer aid. Your patience was thinning with the squirming man. The barbarian was as uncooperative as ever, wriggling like a child trying to avoid medicine. The trap he’d charged into had ensnared him in poisonous vines, leaving him with deep gashes and a nasty toxin in his system. The vicious vines were still digging into his skin, their claw-like thorns lodged deeply. Yet as you tried to help him, he acted like you were trying to poison him, not save him.

“Damn it, Bakugou, stop moving,” you snapped, your tone sharp as you wrestled with his arm. The crease in his brow deepened, and he yanked his arm away. But you persisted and tried to hold his arm again. 

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, his pride clearly wounded as much as his body. His voice was strained, betraying the pain he was in. He glared at you, his crimson eyes flashing with displeasure as he tried to yank his arm free.

“You should’ve listened to me,” you snapped back, making no attempt to conceal your frustration. You grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stay put as you pulled out the small vial of antidote. “I told you to let me lead and not to charge ahead. And there you go, charging into a trap.”

He shot you a glare that could have melted steel. “I was handling it.”

You scoffed, finally managing to pin his arm long enough to clean the wound. “Yeah, you were handling it right into a damn trap. You think you’re the first to underestimate this place?”

Bakugou flinched as you applied an ointment to the deep cut, but he bit back whatever retort was forming. His silence was telling— he knew you were right, even if he’d never admit it. His muscles tensed under your grip, and for a moment, you thought he might actually try to push you away. But something in your tone must have gotten through, because he finally, reluctantly, stopped struggling. “Tch. Fine. Just get it over with.”

You didn’t waste any time, applying the antidote with quick movements. The venom in the vines wasn’t lethal, but it was enough to slow him down, and that was something none of you could afford. You kept your touch firm but not unkind, and despite his earlier resistance, you could tell he was watching you, weighing your skills against his own unbending pride.

“This would be a lot easier if you weren’t fighting me every step of the way,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. The vines loosened their hold, retreating as the antidote took effect, and you allowed yourself a small sigh of relief.

Bakugou grunted, flexing his arm once the last of the vines had fallen away. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Didn’t need to,” you retorted, your voice edged with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. “But if you want to make it through this forest alive, you might want to start trusting the person who’s actually been here before.”

He shot you a look, something sharp and assessing in his gaze, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stood up, rolling his shoulder as if testing the limits of his now-healed arm. “Next time, I’ll handle it.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to face him, the distance between you not just physical but a challenge in itself. “Sure. Just try not to get yourself killed in the process.” He wasn’t easy to deal with, but then again, neither were you.

As you finished, you met his gaze, the flicker of defiance still there but tempered by something else— reluctant gratitude, perhaps. “Would it kill you to listen to me sometimes?” you said. “You know, you could try not to make my job harder than it already is.”

He grunted, clearly displeased with the whole situation, but didn’t argue. “You wish,” he muttered, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible hint of something lighter in his tone. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Or maybe, buried deep under all that bravado, Bakugou was beginning to see that having you around wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He didn’t say much more, just gave you one last lingering look before turning away. As he walked off, you could almost swear you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting back a smile. Maybe you had proven yourself after all— or maybe he was starting to realise that you weren’t just some mapmaker tagging along.

Apart from the constant bickering, Bakugou couldn’t deny that he was relieved you were guiding them through the Veil—though he’d never admit it out loud. It hadn’t always been that way; in the beginning, he was all too eager to dismiss your instincts, convinced he could handle the terrain on his own. He learned the hard way, of course, after charging headfirst into traps and dead ends, his stubbornness getting the better of him time and time again.

Now, every time you expertly navigated the group around hidden dangers or found paths where he saw none, he begrudgingly acknowledged, in his own silent way, that you were good at this—better than he’d given you credit for. It was irritating, but also oddly reassuring, knowing that as much as the two of you clashed, you always had the group’s best interest at heart. And deep down, past all the insults and glares, Bakugou was glad to have you at the helm, guiding them through the unpredictable, treacherous maze that was Niniel’s Veil.

The day wore on, the journey through the dense forest draining the group’s energy until finally, they made camp for the night. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or distant hoot of an owl. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows as the team settled down for the evening. One by one, they turned in, seeking rest before tomorrow’s trials. But Bakugou and Kirishima remained by the fire, the only two still awake as the night deepened.

Kirishima, being talkative, broke the silence first. “So, what do you think of our cartographer now?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. He didn’t look at Bakugou, fiddling with a loose thread on his tunic as if the question was just something that had casually crossed his mind.

Bakugou grunted, his gaze fixed on the fire as if it held all the answers he needed. “She’s fine,” he said, the words clipped and dismissive.

Kirishima wasn’t fooled. “Just fine?” he prodded, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, man, you’re usually quicker to form an opinion.”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t have the energy for a full-blown argument. “She knows her stuff,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have brought her along if she didn’t.”

Kirishima hummed, clearly not satisfied but willing to let it slide— at least for a moment. “She’s got guts. I see the way she handles you. Not many people have the nerve to stand up to you.”

“Tch. She’s just doing her job,” Bakugou snapped, though the memory of you pressing that quill to his throat flashed in his mind. There had been no fear in your eyes, just determination. That had thrown him off balance, more than he liked to admit. You weren’t just competent; you were sharp, resourceful— annoyingly so.

The conversation tapered off, the fire’s crackle filling the silence as the two friends settled into a companionable quiet. But Bakugou’s thoughts kept drifting back to you— your determined eyes, your steady hand, the way you navigated the forest with a confidence that made him bristle with a mix of admiration and irritation. You were a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But you were also someone he felt that he could rely on when it counted. And in the shifting, shadowed depths of Niniel’s Veil, that was exactly what they needed.

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a/n: do you guys like birds? Too bad if you hate em, you have a bird now. @chocogoldie @devils-adversary @l0kisbitch @miikii0 @onlyisaa @sleepisfortheweakpooh @helena-way07 @enzstr

border credits: @/enchanthings & @/adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[reimulin]

show about a girl who travels back in time to the medieval era and becomes a famous wandering bard. all of her pieces are covers of kpop or something, just on the lute, and she becomes a renowned musician of her time because all her melodies are so damn catchy. there isn’t a villain, but she has a rival, which is just another guy doing the exact same schtick but with taylor swift.

[myreia]

Desiderium

CHAPTER THREE: HAUNT

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 2,682 Notes: Set during early Endwalker, spoilers for the start of the expac. Summary: After arriving in Old Sharlayan, Aureia wants to see Thancred’s old haunts. He could not be happier to oblige, but his thoughts are occupied by something else entirely. Prompt: ii. hands | blush Chapters: one • two • three • four • five Read on AO3

Thancred picks up the pace as he heads up a steep incline. The Baldesion Annex rises at the top, its elegant windows alight with a golden glow. If the others have returned, there’s no sign—its doors are silent, no residents entering or exiting. For a moment she thinks he’s headed for the Annex itself, but then he turns sharply to the left and walks right past it.

“Where are we going?” she asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingertips brush her earrings; the constellation of silver rings in her upper ears are cold, a raw sting against her flesh. She hates removing her piercings, but she should do it before she regrets it.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes alight with mischief, his hand still in hers. “To say would ruin the surprise, fair lady,” he says, pulling her down a narrow path between buildings.

“Don’t ‘fair lady’ me, we’re married.”

“All the more reason to, no?”

“You know I don’t like pet names.”

“As you say, Aur.”

“That’s a nickname.”

“I’m certain that though it is lost on me, the difference is, indeed, significant.”

“If you keep teasing me like this I will turn around and go right back to the Annex and leave you on your own to—”

Aureia whoops in surprise, a short, sharp gasp escaping her as he suddenly shoves her off the path and into an alcove. He gives her no time to breathe, no time to take stock of their surroundings—his mouth is on hers and up is down and down is up, and she is lost in the swift spontaneity of it all. She clings to him, her hands tangled in his hair, her back sliding against smooth marble as he pushes her against the wall. He kisses her—hot and open and careless in his rush, easily encouraging her to part her lips for him.

Mirth bubbles in the back of her throat and she trembles, laughing as she kisses him back. He grunts, seeking more—demanding more—his body pressed to hers, a hand at her waist, the other gripping the fabric of her shirt. He tugs the hem free from her trousers.

Her heart pounds. He has no qualms here in the dim light of this out-of-the-way nook, this moment of passion slipped easily between two buildings like a bookmark between the pages. Her thoughts wander distractedly, floating away even as he kisses her again, fervent and urgent, his overwhelming need for her breaking free. Long days of even longer study must lead to finding creative ways of unwinding. She can imagine more than a few lustful and dissatisfied Studium students sneaking off to alcoves like this one.

Did he once, in his youth? A self-proclaimed bard, a rogue, hopelessly pursuing anyone who caught his eye with half-baked song and poetry. Some would have fallen for the act. He has his charms, after all. And his desires.  

Her hand slips from his hair and falls to the side, palm against the wall, her fingers brushing the ivy. “Thancred,” she murmurs.

He draws back, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers.

“Please tell me your haunt of choice has a little more character than the four fulms between two walls?”

Thancred shakes with laughter, grimacing as he tries to hold it back, and rests his forehead against hers. “The things you think of sometimes, Aureia, I swear…”

The enchantment in his voice makes her heart sing.

“Well?” she replies, arching an eyebrow.

He chuckles and takes her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “A little to your left and up. See if you can find it.”

She frowns. Her fingers comb through the ivy, seeking, searching—and then finally slide across the fine grooves that demarcate a door or opening of some kind. She cocks her head, perplexed, and he flashes her a grin. Reaching over, he pulls ivy out of the way and rams his hand against the wall. Stone scrapes against stone and the wall rotates inwards, revealing a passage beyond.

Aureia shoots him a sideways look.

“You wanted to open that while you were kissing me, didn’t you?”

“Me? Such a thought would never occur to me.”

“Overdramatic fool.”

Thancred laughs. Brushing hair from his forehead, he nods to the passage behind her and gestures for her to go ahead. Planting a swift kiss on his cheek, she turns her back on him and slips inside, eyes wide and heart alight with curiosity.

To her surprise there is nothing in the passage—a few old boxes, tucked away in a corner and forgotten years ago, a hefty wood ladder with broken rungs, worn-out tables and chairs stacked together. Her best guess is that they are rejects from the Studium, furniture that has seen more than their fair share of students and have since been retired to rot. She finds a flight of stairs a few paces from the threshold, spiralling upwards at a steep angle. A service staircase of some kind, judging from how tight it is. They must be in one of those spires that sprout off the sides of some Sharlayan buildings. She noted a number of them when their ship pulled into the harbour this morning; now she’s going to find out what is at the top.

She sets foot on the bottom step and begins the climb. The light is soft and dim, spilling in through the large greenish-blue windows that line the stairwell. The aura tinges the worn marble steps—typical for Sharlayan buildings, yet she finds it reminiscent of the northern lights. Her heart quickens with each step, following it round and round, passing arched windows as she ascends. It isn’t long before her calves are aching, her breath comes in pants, and sweat drips down the back of her neck.

“What is this place?” Aureia asks, her voice echoing strangely in the tight yet empty space.

“Nothing of import,” Thancred replies. “At least to Sharlayans. A place to eat and study and write reports—and to catch a wink or two if time allows. There are plenty more of those nap rooms G’raha is so fond on the first and second floors.”

“Is that where we’re headed? For a nap room?”

“Heavens, no. Do you doubt my taste in haunts so much?”

“For you, now? Never.” She draws abruptly to a stop and glances over her shoulder at him. “For you in the past? Hm. Well. That’s quite a different question altogether, don’t you think?”

He sighs wearily. “You never get tired of this, do you?”

She flashes him a grin and spins around, ignoring the ache in her legs as she takes the steps two at a time. A moment or two later, she reaches the top of the stairs and bursts through the threshold. She slows to a stop, mouth open in wonder, and surveys the little chamber.

Hazy coloured light streams in through the windows on all four walls, dancing lazily across the marble floor. It has been some time since anyone has been up here, judging from the dust. What few furniture pieces have been collected here are covered in large swathes of protective white cloth. A bookcase stands in a corner, its tomes worn and their spines broken, the titles faded with age. Some do not even have titles, as far as she can tell; they may very well be journals. Ivy creeps in through the cracks in the stonework, spreading across the inner walls like cobwebs and dangling from the ceiling. How it survives here—or why no one has cleaned it up—she will never know. 

“It has been many a year since I’ve been here,” Thancred calls as he reaches the threshold. “And here I thought it may have changed. Perhaps I should consider myself a fool for thinking so.”

She passes through the chamber, the heels of her boots echoing against the floor. Click. Clack. Click. For a room so small, the sound is so vast. “Did you come here often?” she asks.

“Aye. I did say it was one of my haunts, did I not?”

“What did you come here for?”

“To think, to sleep.” He exhales a long sigh and takes up position in a corner, where the windowed walls meet a slim line of marble. He crosses his arms. “Perchance to dream, even. In reality, Aureia, this was an escape. From my master, from my mentor, from Fourchenault, from the stressors imposed upon a street urchin who had known nothing better. From the sights and sounds of the city. A place where I could take vigil on my own terms.”   

She nods and casts and eye out of the nearest window, peering through the green-blue and gold glass to observe the city below. With all four walls windowed in like this, there is an excellent view of all the major landmarks—the Studium from one side, the Rostra from another, the Noumenon and Scholar’s Harbour. She can’t help but notice that the furniture has been shoved aside in such a way that Thaliak’s statue is easily visible—and to the churning waters of the sea beyond it.

A reminder, perhaps. Of the meaning behind the surname Louisoix gifted him.

Her heart pangs. Despite this tower’s central location and its view of the city, she’s struck by how lonely it is. To be surrounded by so many people, and yet…

Aureia loops a long lock of loose hair behind her ear and runs her fingers over a white sheet. A chair beneath squeaks, its legs unstable. She frowns, shrugging out of her jacket, and throws it over the back. “Did others ever come here with you?”

The question is pointed, the double-meaning clear. She doesn’t know why she asked it—curiosity, perhaps, about who he was in his youth.

He makes a face. “I… why do you want to know about that? Must we go through my whole sordid history?”

“You know I don’t think about it that way.”

“Then you are a rare specimen in that regard.”

“I don’t ask because I’m jealous. I ask because I know so little of your time in Sharlayan. You never speak of it, but it is as much a part of you as anything else. You don’t have to hide it. You don’t have to put up some pretense that I’m the only person who ever mattered in your life.”

He falls silent, his expression unreadable. She pauses, cursing inwardly—was she insensitive for phrasing it as such? Likely. This wouldn’t be the first time she put her foot in her mouth. There have been many others in his life, for good or for ill. Some who came before her, and others who came after. He seems embarrassed—hesitant, even—to admit it front of her. But the truth of the matter is that she doesn’t mind the acknowledgement; if anything she prefers it.

“You had a life before me, Thancred,” she says quietly. “Just as I had one before you.”

He raises his head, his gaze finding hers. She pauses, heart thundering in her chest, uncertain what to say next. She has never broached the topic with him—not really—but she has sometimes wondered how awkward she has made his life. Unlike him, her sexual history is short and brief, and he is already too familiar with it. How strange have Alliance meetings become for him, knowing that Aymeric will always be in attendance? Or visits to Ala Mhigo, where there is always a chance of running into Fordola? To say nothing of Sidurgu, who is still very dear to her, with whom she shares a deeply personal connection she cannot explain, and thoughts she cannot easily express to the Scions. Not even her closest friends. Not even her husband.  

For him to know the others who have known her intimately… It’s not easily accepted.

She knows what this is like too well. She counts Hilda among her closest friends, and she has not forgotten the relationship that sparked between her and Thancred. Or the hurt it caused her and how their actions pushed her towards Aymeric.

All in the past now…  

There is no space for jealousy.

“Then yes,” he says finally, meeting her gaze. “I have had other lovers, and some of them have been here. Does that sate your curiosity?”

He pushes off the wall, the air prickling the back of her neck as he strides past her. His brow is furrowed, his mouth tight, all sense of the intense confidence and certainty he has before all but evaporated. He places a hand on what she suspects is a desk, his fingers twisting the white cover.

Aureia presses a hand to her chest, toying with her necklace. A simple silver chain, thin and delicate—a gift from Ryne and Gaia. “I’m sorry,” she says, regret twisting in the pit of her stomach. She should have left it alone. As with many things, she has ruined this by speaking out of turn. “I didn’t mean to push. Are you all right?”

He doesn’t answer. He simply stands—observing with the room with equal parts reverence and melancholy, as if mourning something he lost long ago. “Aye,” he says finally. “I am. I merely thought…”

She swallows the lump in her throat. She waits, her dark hair shining in a swath of blue-green and sliver light.

“This tower was disused for years by the time I stumbled upon it,” Thancred says finally. “A part of me hoped that others would find it, too. That it would have been re-purposed somehow. That it has not leaves me questioning… either my master did not want others to interfere out of sentimentality, or no one else has thought to come this way.”

She takes a step towards him. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No. I suppose it is not. I simply hoped that…”

He trails off.

She takes another step. “Home is not often how you remember it.”

His grip relaxes and he releases the cloth. Disturbed by his touch, it slithers to the floor, dragged down by the unstoppable pull of gravity. The desk beneath it is strong and sturdy, its surface still covered with brittle journals and yellowed papers. Was he the last to leave them here? Or someone else?

“It’s been over twenty years, Aureia,” he says, his voice cracking. “I was seventeen when I left for Ul’dah, when I failed to save Minfilia’s father. The age Ryne is now. Too young to be making such difficult decisions.”

“Aye,” she echoes. “Too young.”

He meets her gaze. “Do you remember where you were when you were seventeen?”

“Yes. Proving my worth to Garlean legatuses in a trial by combat. Proving the strength of my abilities to a certain crown prince.” She dares not breath Zenos’ name. Not here. Not now. “My mother staked not just the lives of my brother and myself on it, but her and my father’s as well.”

Her words are not bitter. She has no bitterness left to give. Kallias and Ariv may be alive somewhere in Garlemald, but Elgara’s death in Bozja closed the chapter on her birth family forever.

He pauses. “Too young,” he murmurs.

Aureia takes one last step, closing the distance between them. She places her palm against the back of his hand, her fingers entwining with his. He doesn’t flinch or move away. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says. “Do you want to leave? We can head back to the Annex now, I’m sure the others will be waiting for us.”

He doesn’t answer. The chamber is silent, its stale air somehow both warm and cool, the light a haze, the distant sounds of the city little more than a distant hum. Somewhere, there is a trickle of water. Somewhere, a tick of a chronometer. Below, above, she does not know.

His hand grips hers.

“Then let them wait,” Thancred says roughly and pulls her into him.

[karniss-bg3]

With all the talks about Kar'niss as a bard, I was wondering if you could write something with Tav and Kar'niss dancing together? (though I guess given how tall Kar'niss is, it might be difficult)

The air was thick with the aroma of burning wood from the nearby campfire. A blanket of stars spanned across the sky, twinkling from a far off distance. Tav had broken away from the group for some quiet time, wandering toward a nearby stream so they could bask in the crisp night air. Once they settled on the shore near the forest line they pulled out their violin from it’s case. They took time to tune the instrument, desiring a moment to play a pleasant tune for their pleasure. Tav sensed eyes on him from the nearby treeline, their head turning to see the familiar silhouette of a drider lingering between two trees.

“You’re welcome to join me if you’d like. I’m not opposed to the company,” Tav said.

Kar’niss froze once he realized he had been spotted, his hands clasped together to rub them in a nervous fashion. He emerged from the underbrush and wandered over to where Tav was seated, maintaining a small measure of distance.

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss asked, peering over their shoulder at the violin.

“Taking a moment while we have it. I haven’t had the chance to play for a bit, now seemed like a good time. Do you play any instruments?”

Kar’niss’ brows knit, mulling the question over. “We...used to. Don’t anymore.”

“Oh?” Tav perked up, interest piqued. “What instrument?”

“Violin, flute at times. Long time ago, doesn’t matter now.” Kar’niss waved a hand dismissively, turning his face away from Tav.

“Well, would you like to with me? A duet sounds fun. We have an extra violin in camp.”

Kar’niss scoffed and reared his head back as if insulted. “We cannot play anymore. We would ruin your music with our screeching.” Tav chuckled while pushing themselves up to stand. “I doubt that. Just give it a try. If you hate it then you aren’t obligated to continue. Please?” Tav leaned forward and boldly bat their eyelashes at the hesitant drider.

His cheeks puffed out with indignation. “Are they mocking us?”

“No, not at all. I’d just like to try something with you, that’s all.”

He growled under his breath, tapping a single leg against the ground while considering the proposal. “...Fine. One song only. If the instrument breaks it is not my problem.”

“Wonderful! I’d not worry much about the violin honestly. I think Astarion stole it from some merchant or another, won’t be much of a loss if it snaps. I’ll be back!”

Kar’niss watched Tav scurry back to camp to retrieve the item. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, his pedipalps trembled in place, betraying his anxiety for the performance soon to come. He’d not have to wait long. Tav had been swift in their retrieval of the instrument, they ran up to Kar’niss and held it up for him to take.

“Phew, there you go,” Tav panted, wiping a bit of sweat from their brow.

He lifted the violin and bowstring into his clawed hands, looking over each piece as if he’d been reunited with an old friend. It felt strange in his grasp and the jagged nature of his fingertips made either item a challenge to grip. Tav stood back and let him become adjusted to them, watching as he plucked a few strings to test their muted chords in succession. His nose wrinkled with some concern.

“What is it you wish to play?” Kar’niss asked.

“Have you heard of the waltz of the feywilds? It’s a bit complicated but it is one of my favorite songs.”

Kar’niss squinted and mulled over the request, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lips. “We are not certain. The title sounds familiar, it has been too long since I have played it.”

“Tell you what. I’ll start playing solo and if you catch the rhythm feel free to jump in as you wish. How does that sound?”

He hummed and nodded. “Very well.”

[Music]

Tav tucked the butt of the violin under their chin and rested the bow over the strings, straightening their posture. Kar’niss mirrored this, relearning the proper stance. It was a bit awkward as his chin now had an extra layer molded over top via the hardened chitin but he managed to adjust well enough. Tav positioned their fingers over the proper strings on the violin neck and began to play, a gentle melody rising from the instrument into the night air.

Kar’niss closed his eyes as Tav began to play, opting to focus with his pointed ears rather than his sight. He listened to the first notes of the song and honed in on it, digging deep into the recesses of his memory in search of something he’s heard before. It took him a moment but he soon willed himself to play the first note, sliding into Tav’s solo to turn it into a duet. At first he struggled, his fingers larger than he was accustomed to which made hitting the right strings a struggle. He’d strike off key or hold a note for longer than it was meant to be but Tav didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re doing great, keep going,” Tav insisted.

He exhaled his nerves and stuck with it even if he felt the urge to drop the violin and walk away. Steadily, he became accustomed to the added bulk of his chin and fingers, shifting the instrument in such a way that it worked for him rather than against. Once he did so the notes flowed smoother, in line with Tav’s own contribution. This made Tav smile, their body bobbing up and down on their knees once the music started to hit their core.

Their playing continued, gradually picking up pace into an uplifting harmony. Even for as stiff as Kar’niss could be he felt the draw of the music seep into his skin, pulling him back to a different time in his life. As his comfort levels grew his confidence in manipulating the instrument to his will increased, playing with a bit more passion than at the start. Despite his best efforts he found himself swaying from side to side in time with the beat, his long legs curled while rocking his large body like a pendulum. Tav took notice, unable to wipe the growing grin from their face. They chose to join him by shuffling their feet on the grass below, stepping from side to side to match Kar’niss’ rhythm.

He tipped his head to the side slightly at the sight of the display, deciding to up the ante a notch. He lowered his front half toward the ground, extending his pedipalps to drum against the dirt when he felt added percussion was needed for the melody. Tav unleashed joyful laughter due to Kar’niss’ improvised antics, finding them clever. They stepped forward and began to dance around the drider while he tapped at the ground, spinning and skipping around his impressive abdomen, soon returning to his front. All the while the two continued to play, their song growing in intensity as they progressed.

Kar’niss had become lost in the duet, the faintest of smiles threatening to stretch his mouth. The ballad increased in pace and came to a high pitched mid point, the pair putting their all into assaulting the strings with determined ferocity. Kar’niss closed all of his eyes and tipped his head back, matching Tav tit for tat. Once the mid point had passed they would side step to and fro while facing one another, Tav spinning around in place and Kar’niss following suit. Albeit his turn was slower thanks to his extra girth, but he still managed to do so with grace. Tav stepped toward their partner and Kar’niss stepped in to meet them before both walked back to restore distance between them. His legs stamped at the ground in sync with the anthem, his torso bending into the violin as he leaned into the more fast paced tone. His rounded abdomen swayed and rocked concurrently with his legs, putting his entire body in motion.

Both continued to prance from one side to the next in unison with one another, turning around in place at proper intervals, lowering their bodies into a crouch then springing upright. The smile Kar’niss had fought came out victorious, fully visible on his expression. It was a toothy grin that was both endearing and haunting at the same time. Despite his impressive size Tav wasn’t intimidated with his dance partner, rather savoring his enjoyment knowing how rare such a treat was for him.

The pair were reaching the crescendo of their song, the very apex building in urgency between the pair of them. As the final elongated note was shared between them, Kar’niss lifted his body upward while he held the high pitched sound, pushing until he was balancing on his back four feet. The other four extended outward alongside his pedipalps, opening wide as if he were in a defensive stance and yet that was far from the case. He tipped his torso back until his hair fell from his shoulders and dangled freely in the air, Tav watching the display in awe of his beauty in that moment.

The lengthy note was dropped, the final chords played afterward in rapid succession to end off the song with a flourish. Both Tav and Kar’niss played the final refrain in a quick strike and once finished they dropped into a low bow in front of one another. Their arms extended outward, bow string and violin clutched in either hand jutting from their grasp. They held the lowered position for a moment to catch their breath, Tav the first to lift their head to find they were eye level with Kar’niss; A rare thing indeed. Their gazes met, the drider offering the smallest of smiles in Tav’s direction, his hair a mess across his face.

“You did it,” Tav whispered.

Before Kar’niss could respond the pair heard the sound of clapping nearby. Tav stood with a jolt, looking behind them to see others at camp had gathered around. Wyll in particular seemed enthused by the performance.

“Well done, well done!” Wyll called out.

“Got an encore in you??” Karlach shouted.

Tav smiled sheepishly at the pair and shook their head. “I doubt it, but glad you enjoyed it.”

Kar’niss made a face at the unexpected audience. He dropped the bow and violin, backing away as he felt a tingle in his cheeks.

“Kar’niss, are you alright?” Tav asked.

The drider growled ever so slightly and then turned, quickly scuttling away from Tav and the others. He fled back into the underbrush of the forest and disappeared from sight, having none of it.

“Ah shit, did we scare him off?” Karlach asked.

“We’re sorry Tav, we didn’t think it’d be a bother.” Wyll added.

Tav exhaled and wandered over to retrieve the discarded instrument, looking it over with some fondness.

“No, nothing to be sorry for. I think he is a bit more shy than he lets on. Give him time, he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Kar’niss wandered back into the forest and climbed into the tree he picked to call home for the night, complete with scattered webbing throughout the area. He’d settle on a thick branch, his arms crossed as he worked through his temporary embarrassment. Part of him was still in disbelief that he’d done that at all, that he still could. The feeling of an instrument in his hands felt better than he dared admit aloud. Once he started to calm down he turned his gaze to the stars, a sight he often favored while alone. The tips of his pedipalps began to gently tap at the branch below, one, two, one, two. He bobbed his head from side to side and before he knew it he was humming the song they had just played. He continued to do so while training his eyes on the sky, his wobbled smile making a return.

For now at least.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Simril

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Notes: a little something I had in mind thinking about the holidays approaching slowly but surely ☺️

Words: 1022

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Simril was not only an annual winter festival celebrated along the Sword Coast but also the perfect opportunity to gain new clients for a certain devil. That was until you entered his life...

The sun had set and the festivities of Simril had engulfed the entire city of Baldur's Gate with a magical aura, bringing joy and cheer to the hearts of its inhabitants. It was an evening filled with laughter, merriment, and the promise of the blessing received upon finding the lucky star on the clouded sky. As the celebrations unfolded, the city became a playground of different coloured lanterns, merry tunes and enchantment. Raphael, adorned in his typical formal attire, was casually strolling through the streets during this festive day. He would wander through the bustling streets, keeping an eye out for potential clients and his so-called business opportunities. However, on this particular Simril, fate had something else in store for him.

Unbeknownst to Raphael, someone had been observing him, studying his every move. It was you, the mysterious figure lurking with in the shadows, a mischievous smile painted across your face. Since you got to know the devil, you always thought that he was way too focused on gaining souls, signing contracts, never truly embracing the tempting pleasures of his nature. So, of course, you had devised a plan, daring and audacious as you usually were according to your devil, to capture Raphael's attention and demanded a favour from one of his more noble debtors. As you caught sight of Raphael meandering along a bustling road, you couldn't resist any longer. With a swift and confident stride, you approached him, taking his arm and leading him away from the noisy crowd.

"What in the nine hells?", Raphael cursed, slightly bewildered, yet willingly complying with your guidance, captivated by your audacity.

You guided him through a myriad of hidden passages, until you arrived at a secluded courtyard adorned with exquisite decorations. The air was filled with the delightful fragrance of heated wine and the faint echoes of a minstrel's tune. In the center, a bonfire crackled, casting captivating shadows that danced around the surroundings. With a mischievous sparkle in your eyes, you presented Raphael with a cup of warm, spiced wine.

"Join me," you whispered, your voice carrying a note of invitation, "sit with me by the fire, let the music fill the night and let us enjoy ourselves."

Intrigued, Raphael complied, settling down next to you on a cushioned seat. The bard's melodies filled the air, wrapping the courtyard in a blanket of tender notes.

"If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am, this particular courtyard belongs to one of my debtors," Raphael calmly remarked, "and that bard over there recently signed his contract with me."

You delicately sipped your wine, avoiding his piercing gaze. Uncertainty filled your mind as you pondered whether this could potentially mark your final day on this mortal plane, condemned to be dragged down to the depths of hell for your transgressions. Although, there remained a tiny glimmer of hope that you might escape punishment for borrowing two of his clients for your own purposes. As you drained the last remnants of your wine, the devil snapped his fingers, conjuring two handwritten notes that ominously hovered before you.

"I do believe that is your handwriting," he declared, his fingers gently finding your chin and tilting your head upward to examine the notes, "And my signature, which, if I may say so myself, appears rather convincingly authentic."

You hummed, eyes darting to Raphael's unreadable expression. Deep within you, a sense of fear began to rise as he stood up, reaching out to lift you from the bench. His strong fingers curled around your neck, his piercing gaze digging into the depths of your soul. Even in his human form, his aura exuded authority and danger, reminding you of who he truly was.

"My little mouse", Raphael sighed, unable to hide a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I can't decide whether to be angry or proud of your audacious escapades."

"I'd prefer the latter", you offered, attempting to conceal your mounting anxiety, "after all it was all in favour of you relaxing for once."

"I bet you do, little mouse", the devil laughed, his mind lingering on the last part of your statement.

As the fire flickered, casting a warm glow on your face, he suddenly was all to aware of how effortlessly you succeeded at wiggling your way into his heart. He couldn't deny that he had grown rather fond of you, for reasons that would forever elude him, you had chosen to stick by his side and help him without any contract or asking anything in return. The memories of how he huffed in sheer disbelief as you claimed that you simply liked him were still as fresh as the day they were forged. No mortal had ever demonstrated such unwavering loyalty, not to him nor, he would stake his wretched soul on it, to any other devil in the infernal realms. And yet here you were, going through all the trouble and danger to ensure he would have one evening to enjoy himself. Raphael leaned in, pressing his lips on yours in a tender kiss, muffling your surprised gasp. To hell with all that meant being a devil, his mind urged him. Under the spell of the enchanting atmosphere, Raphael allowed himself to embrace his humanity, if only for this night. He resolved that there was more to existence than the relentless pursuit of souls—at least for this fleeting moment.

A wistful smile formed on your lips as you broke the kiss, your eyes sparkling with pure happiness and Raphael couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His little mouse, a potential client who became his unlikely ally and, if he'd had any say in the matter, would become even more in the days to come. You suddenly jumped away, looking up to the sky, gasping as your hands found his, fingers intertwining with his.

"I found my lucky star", you giggled, "do devils have a lucky star?"

"No", Raphael chuckled, "but I have a suspicion that this particular one just might", he whispered, a faint smile playing on his lips as he kept his eyes locked on your silhouette.

[albenyx]

Venti and Love

character — venti

warnings — grammatical errors, typos, not proofread, taylor swift references, reincarnation!au, modern!au, historical!au, canon!au

note — literally a super random early birthday (for aug. 14) post dedication to a venti stan friend, happy birthday lods.

— > playlist for more feels.

The whole thing started off simple, seven days with you, a week being your companion. It should've been simple, a platonic harmless idea to accompany you around as you wander mindlessly in this world full of lost souls.

It started off with your honesty, your laughter that he realized is the best sound. The melody he wishes to hear every single time. 

It was a bad idea, or so others say. Falling in love with someone, with you, but to Venti… he hears the words and yet all he had thought about was that you should be together.

Every smile is contagious, and when you shine so does he shine for you. 

“Don't be afraid, jump then fall.” He uttered to you the first confession. “Jump then fall into me.”

Fall, it was such a scary word, but if you were to fall, fall towards him and Venti promises to catch you ever time. No matter how many times you do so, he will be there to catch you. “I'm never gonna leave you.” He uttered during that night where doubts clouded your mind, when people had said things that bring you to your knees, he was there to catch you. 

Venti vows, he will be there when you need him, when you feel like crying, he is sure he will be there throughout the night holding you as he does so, until you smile.

In all honesty? During the first day, that first look, first meet. Venti admits, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. As if a spell was casted upon him, you have bewitched him, both body and soul. 

Was it unusual for a bard to fall in love?

Certainly not. But for Venti, it was different. He was known for his ballads, his music, he was not known to be the poet who had love. And yet he knew, from the first note he played, the first time his gaze landed on your figure. He knew he'd be breaking a lot of things, his rules, just to see you. 

But of course, he was no one special. He was no one special, just a wide-eyed bard who happens to be desperately in love with you.

And the moment you accepted him as yours, when you no longer rejected him snd his affections. Venti loved and continued on loving you. “You're pretty.” He whispered, “I'm a mess, Venti.” And you'd utter, but despite such words you stated to yourself, you were beautiful, enchanting nonetheless.

He admits, you were and are the best thing that's ever been his. 

The second time, when your gaze met, in a classroom, he was in a hurry. With walls of insincerity, shifting eyes around the hall and vacancy yet all of those observations of his vanished when he saw your face right after he opened the wrong room.

Your reincarnation was inside, your face was blue, as if waiting for something or someone. He saw a glimpse of how your eyes had whispered “Have we met?”, a sense of familiarity and yet at the same time, you were unfamiliar of who he was and what he was to you.

He admits, it was enchanting to meet you again, to reunite with you. And compared to the first life, this the first page this time, this wasn't where the story line ends. Although, he hopes, that as much as his thoughts echoed your name throughout the centuries without being by your side, he hopes that you weren't in love with anyone yet, waiting for anyone that wasn't him. (but if it made you smile, he wouldn't mind.)

Even though life makes love look hard, where the stakes are high and the water's rough, but with you, things were different. This love was yours.

It was the kind of love that you only find in one lifetime, the kind you don't put down. And somehow, Venti knew that you and him would've found each other.

In another life, you still would've turned his head even if you'd met.

Because he knows, through busy streets and busy lives, that interesting thing called fate would have you two meet, one way or another.

Even though in every lifetime, you two were or had to be hurt, wounded every single time you meet. It was nothing for Venti, it was viewed as a simple challenge, to him it was a way to prove he was worthy and deserving of your attention and affection.

And trust him when he says, when he accompanied you that day… He never saw you coming. He never expected to be able to be in a love where it is brave and wild, because love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right.

A worthwhile fight, in his opinion. 

He is in love.

Deeply, desperately with you. Without words needed to be stated, you can hear it in the silence. You could feel it on the way home and with the lights out. It was all true, Venti was in love with you, truly.

Even if your reputation wasn't the best in every lifetime, even if you had always been viewed to be the villain, he was always willing for you. Venti wants you. He likes you for you, whether you'd try to push him away and speak to him as if he had ever lied to you, it was a fact. 

A truth one cannot lie about.

And although people had been telling him not to rush, to wait until it was his turn to be noticed by the Gods, but it seems as though religion was rather in your lips, even if it's a false God, he'd still worship it with you, even if he was a God himself in his other lives; yet even with that fact, the high status he gets every lifetime which he tries so hard to distance himself from, where he always acted as though no one could ever leave him and hidden the thought that no one could ever stay. You always saw through his facade. And he saw through yours, in all the other ways others couldn't.

He was a companion, a best friend, a lover, all in one. In every life, he has played that role every single time, he has been by your side as promised in your first life, forever and always.

“Here.” He smiles, so out of the blue as you both sit in the cafe, waiting for your orders. “What's this?” “A paper ring.” One where he had quietly promised that the next time he gives you a ring, it'll be the real one.

Venti didn't have much to offer to you, that was a fact. He wasn't as rich as others are, he works as a musician, a florist, simple jobs every life, all he can currently offer is a ring he made with paper. He can only offer so much yet with the littlest things he does, Venti is unaware he slowly became the daylight through your dark nights. If you had once believed love would be black and white, with Venti by your side, it was Golden.

And he never failed to prove it, every single time the invisible string tied to him led him to you. 

No matter how long, he was yours and yours only, he was your man. No matter what storms you both have to go through, because long story short, in every lifetime you both survived. 

“Hello, my cecilia.” There he stood, in front with a gentle smile as he met you at the beach. The clock ticked and if you were close enough, you would hear one's heart beating quickly. “Hey…” You trail off, senses heightened for you weren't able to see as clearly as others were, so you managed to hear the quick beat.

“Your…?” Venti simply smiled as he approached you, yes. That was right, this time, in this life, it was he who died. And yet not even death could stop his heart from beating once again. 

The both of you were silent, only the sound of the waves can be heard and the smell of the ocean breeze. This scene felt like what they once saw on a screen, and the smile on Venti's face seemed like he won a contest and to hide it would be so dishonest.

And everything's fine, the feeling of being wanted felt like a dream and yet here it is, lifetimes passed and he chose you, over and over again. Every intention to become friends become a glitch, suddenly, he doesn't want to be friends, he doesn't want you like a bestfriend.

And that was fine, because either way, you both weren't just bound to become best friends or just friends. You were made for each other, in every way possible, and Venti standing here in front of you proves just that.

Every second that passes, every chance he slowly realizes, he did not fall in love, but he simply walked into it, with you.

“Happy birthday, my dear.”

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 22!!!

We're back after an absolute doozy of tech failures. Tonight's gonna be the last BG3 stream for a little while so be sure not to miss this one! Come see @radiofreederry as Dhudlei Durite, Elf paladin, @mayflowers429 and Nana as Leviathan, Dark Urge monk, @flagellant as Micah Harper, Tiefling wizard, and myself as Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling bard!

Character art by @bijillion, recap under the cut!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with dancer and son of Bhaal Leviathan and the self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" known as Dhudlei Durite. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have arrived in Rivington, the gate to Baldur's Gate, and find themselves in the middle of a town with some big problems of its own...

LAST TIME: As Micah stayed restlessly awake after the party freed Dhudlei from Shar's creeping influence, Karlach approached Micah, pleading for the Direct Actors' help finding the smith Dammon to save her from her deteriorating internal engine before it explodes. The others, in their sleep, were visited by fleeting visions of the Emperor, showing his true face and attempting to ease them into trusting him. Mama D, for her part, pried at the Emperor for information about his past, but remained unswayed by his offers for partnership. The next morning, Dhudlei enjoyed a pleasant date at the circus with Lae’zel. Paired with a vulnerable but reassuring conversation with Mama D about his relationship anxieties, Dhudlei was back to himself at last.

With renewed spirit and a disguised Dhudlei, the Direct Actors left the circus to pursue rumors of foul play in the temple of Ilmater. Micah set about questioning both the living and dead on the scene in cooperation with a delightful hollyphant detective named Valeria. While rummaging through the cemetery behind the temple, Micah reunited the sentient amulet from the grimforge with the object of its desire, resulting in a battle for his own sanity as the spirit passed on a piece of Shar's blessing to him, against the party's concerns and advice. 

The party took their investigation into Wyrm's Crossing, after slipping past a frightening metal golem with the help of the deep gnomes from the underdark. Dhudlei and Mama D took off to the brothel Sharess' Caress, where Mama D found Arfur, the nobleman who rigged the children's donations with explosives, found out what he knew, then insulted him to death. However, the duo's hot streak came to a swift end as they witnessed one of a loving couple turn into a mind flayer before their eyes. Without the help of their two allies, the poor sex worker was killed in the crossfire. 

As Dhudlei and Delilah wandered through the brothel, they came face to face with the devil Raphael, who revealed his evil plans and offered the party the means to free themselves from their obligation to the Emperor, so long as they brought him the powerful Crown of Karsus. Dhudlei, beseeching Mama D's trust repeatedly, signed his name on Raphael's contract, which he now keeps safe in his House of Hope. With Dhudlei signed away to Raphael and the murders solved, the two heroes collected their rewards: a session with a drow courtesan for Mama D, and a fancy sword for Dhudlei.

While Micah lightly burgled in the adjacent flophouse, Levi had a tense conversation between his two selves. After closing the murder case, Levi--the brooding, asocial and pink-eyed half of the white dragonborn--pressed Micah about his strained family history, and his grandmother’s role in it. When the sinister, yellow-eyed personality took over for a moment however, the conversation turned back to Levi, and Lorenz--the cunning, coy, and cruel green-eyed half of Leviathan--gave Micah permission to use different names for the two sides. Though the three-way conversation with the two men was tense, Levi took a moment to solidify his friendship with Micah, and express curiosity with what his future holds ahead of him. 

When the party reunited with their combined information, the party was at first enraged at Dhudlei, believing him to have signed all their names to the service of a devil with the thinnest of plans to undo the contract. While Delilah assured the party that only Dhudlei's name was on the physical, destructible contract which was within their reach in the city, Micah fantasized about what knowledge he might glean from the Crown of Karsus. Dhudlei, who once witnessed the fall of the kingdom of Netheril to the Crown's influence in ages past, pleaded with Micah to tread carefully.

After finding the deep gnomes' sanctuary and discovering a terrorist plot by known bastard and criminal Wulbren Bongle, the party made rest to plan their next move. Levi, quite vulnerably, asked Mama D to teach him how to play Minthara’s lute one day, and she accepted, offering tutelage and a stronger friendship between them. Later, Micah shared a theory with his grandmother about that fateful day in Waterdeep. Micah believed that Mama D could only have raised so many dead that day if she, like Micah, had a latent talent for necromancy. Though she was troubled to hear this, she chose to look past her discomfort to accept Micah, necromancy and all, for who he is. Micah, more passionate than ever, rambled to Delilah about his plans for the future, his fascination with Illithid and Githyanki magic and technology, his curiosity with their planeshifting capabilities, and his excitement to study it all firsthand. Mama D did not understand a word he said--she simply watched and listened with pride.

How will Dhudlei's devilish scheme turn out? Will Levi and Lorenz keep themselves together in the face of the Bhaalist conspiracy? What casualties will the notorious Harper Hubris take next? Find out on another exciting entry of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[iskra-tqd]

Who: @conanindebt Where: Some party in Eterna city center When: Perhaps as things cool of in Haven? If you want a different timeline just say so Notes: Fantasy Taylor Swift walked so that Conan could run - I did my best, sorry

Iskra was pretty sure she had been young once, but tonight? The clock had barely budged past midnight and if she had to wager a bet she would be turning into a pumpkin any second rather than one of the princesses from the fey tales she had grown up with. Some old contact from her prime in Eterna’s social circle a few years back had given her the drop on the after party she was in attendance in now and Iskra could not decide if she regret coming or not. Clearly, she could not keep pace with her younger self, but she didn’t leave Avalon to hide from the world in her aunt’s townhouse forever either. Whoever it was that was hosting the party–Iskra had forgotten several cocktails back–seemed a generous host with how freely the mead, ale, and bottles flowed. Complementing the variety of drinks available to the guests were a number of herbs, tinctures, and small rolled cigarettes the uses of which had different physical and psychoactive effects. 

For the majority of the night, she had limited herself only to imbibing drinks she recognized, but the looser she seemed to feel the more she seemed to think, and that was precisely what she meant to avoid. The wafting instrumental music and din of conversation might have overwhelmed some, but for Iskra it was like a comforting homecoming from the brighter days of her youth–if someone could call four to five years earlier in their life their youth. It lowered her walls, and she had no qualms passing a small, rolled cigarette of she did not know what between an old acquaintance and the new faces they had added to their circles. They had played puff puff pass with her as a matter of mere courtesy, and as her head began to swim and the effects of whatever she had smoked softened the edges of her world. 

Glassy eyed and aimless she wandered through the throngs of people stopping here and there to eavesdrop just long enough not to be caught, to consider some small sculpture or painting, or pluck a drink from a tray to maintain the high of her buzz. As she continued to float from group to group, something caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed and her brows knit together as she laid eyes on Conan from a small distance before a slow, lazy smile spread across her face. “Hey, I know you,” she began in a too-casual tone for a stranger as she stepped a bit closer to Conan. “You’re a bard, right? You write very good lyrics.” She attempted to lean casually against a tall table set up for the guests to commune around, but overshot where her hand ought to rest by an inch or so and instead stumbled a step or so before steadying herself.

[corvusasteris]

character profiles

intro post

Jasper

While in the imperial capital of Melera, you counted him among your closest companions. He is the child of merchants from Thalasseon, the empire to the south, however he has spent most of his life in the Illyosian Empire. For as long as you've known him, he's been obsessed with discovering more about the spirit realm, frequently neglecting work and/or personal relationships while on the trail of some obscure myth.

He's quietly sarcastic and a persistent over-thinker, but fiercely loyal to those he counts among his friends. Your relationship is somewhat complicated by the fact that he believes you to be dead following the incident that prompted your escape from the capital, and vice versa.

appearance - beige skin, shoulder length wavy medium brown hair often tied back from his face, hazel-brown eyes. tall.

notes - his background (either as a spy or scholar) is set depending on whether the MC is a spy or a scholar. precise circumstances around the swift exit from the capital are in the prologue. demiromantic & bi. transmasc.

Leonora

Your first introduction to her was her saving you from certain death at the hands of the Illyosian Empire. She helps you to reconstruct your life in Kemorlen, setting up an alchemists shop next-door as you became the resident mage. You know surprisingly little about her past, besides the fact she was once a mercenary, as evidenced by her skill with a sword.

She's blunt, impulsive and always on the move, creating potions, warding from spirits or starting a fight somewhere, and lives by the policy of acting first and apologising later.

appearance - golden-brown skin, straight black hair often plaited or in a low bun, light brown eyes. tall.

notes - precise circumstances of meeting set by the prologue. bisexual. cis woman.

Augustine

They arrived in town one night, shortly after you did, reportedly from the north east of the empire. Good humoured and quiet, you still can't shake the feeling that they're hiding something. Their skill as a healer is unrivalled, and they quickly become a key part of the team dealing with all the magical oddities of Kemorlen, alongside you and Leonora.

They have a tendency to freeze in a crisis and are slightly squeamish, with a dry sense of humour. They don't trust easily, always seem to be looking over their shoulder, and they don't seem to sleep a great deal.

appearance - light brown skin, dark brown neck-length loosely curly hair, dark brown eyes and freckles. short.

notes - bisexual. non-binary.

Mira

She wanders into town one day, lyre in hand, and entrances the townsfolk with melodic tales of heroes, gods and strange creatures. She has been wandering the roads of Aiolos as a bard after being exiled from her home kingdom of Luria, gathering stories (and gold) from wherever she goes. She also seems to collect small animals, including a tiny mouse she imaginatively calls mouse.

You expect her to move on quickly, but she stays for reasons she doesn't disclose. She's pessimistic and absent-minded, always getting half-way through composing songs before forgetting about them and starting a new one.

appearance - deep brown skin, long curly dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. medium height.

notes - bi and asexual. cis woman.

Theo

They are a spirit that technically speaking you are responsible for bringing back from the underworld. Their memories are faded and patchy from being dead, but a sense that they have been wronged remains, as does a deep-rooted want for revenge. They tell you that they were a ruler, once, of a northern kingdom that they can't recall the name of.

They're awkward, contemplative and restless, unsure of who or what they are in a world that thinks them to be dead, and desperately wanting closure on their old life.

appearance - fair skin, messy short light brown slightly reddish hair, grey eyes. short.

notes - gender selectable either cis male or nb. bisexual.

[ladylvndr]

Elder Scrolls Online: Eveline Valencourt

Breton | Daggerfall Covenant | Magicka Warden

Eveline Valencourt harbored grand dreams that soared far beyond the confines of her impoverished upbringing. The daughter of a minor Breton noble and his housemaid, Eveline’s existence was a product of a forbidden affair that was shrouded in secrecy and scandal. Driven by a hunger for power, Eveline’s father deftly navigated political intrigue in his quest for social advancement. Eveline’s mother, however, was raised on tales of romantic, dashing heroes and longed for her own fairy-tale ending.

Cast out by her lover after learning she was with child, Eveline’s mother sought refuge among an ancient order of Druids, finding solace among the people of the forest. Growing up amidst the tranquil beauty of the forest, Eveline found solace in the art of storytelling, weaving tales of daring adventure and dashing heroes to entertain her fellow Druids. Yet, even as she reveled in the magic of her own imagination, Eveline couldn't help but feel the pull of the outside world. Inspired by the tales of bards and troubadours that drifted through the forest like whispers in the wind, Eveline yearned to step onto the grand stage of the world and share her stories with a wider audience. Her longing for the finer things—exquisite dresses, dazzling jewelry, and the devotion of adoring crowds—was not merely a desire for material wealth, but a symbol of her aspirations to transcend her humble beginnings and make her mark upon the world.

Eveline's relentless pursuit of her dreams eventually led her to join a troupe of traveling performers, where her charismatic presence and boundless creativity endeared her to fans far and wide. Under the spotlight, she dazzled with her performances, earning accolades and adoration wherever she roamed. Yet, just as she seemed destined to ascend to ever greater heights, disaster struck with devastating swiftness. Without warning, Eveline found herself stripped of her creative inspiration, her once-vibrant imagination reduced to a barren wasteland devoid of inspiration or passion. Desperate and despondent, she teetered on the brink of despair, her dreams crumbling to dust before her very eyes.

In her darkest hour, fate intervened in the form of a chance encounter with a wandering adventurer whose tales reignited the spark of inspiration within her soul. Reinvigorated and emboldened by newfound purpose, Eveline resolved to set forth on a solitary journey across the vast expanse of Tamriel, determined to seek out new stories and experiences that would reignite the flames of her creativity. Armed with nothing but her indomitable spirit and boundless curiosity, Eveline ventured forth into the unknown, her heart ablaze with the promise of adventure and the tantalizing prospect of discovering the tales that would define her legacy for generations to come.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Georgie

Character bio for my wotr commander, Georgie - way more under the cut

Character Name | Georgie Heartwood Character Titles - Nickname | ‘my [little] starry night’ ‘The Wandering Bard’  Race | Tiefling Class(es) | Bard [Beast Tamer] Pronouns | He/Him Path | Azata Alignment | Chaotic Good Professions | Shepherd - Farmhand - Babysitter - Traveling Performer

Skills

Georgie has a wide knowledge of nature and the world, due to his upbringing as a shepherd and farmhand, and his travels respectively, with both contributing to the swiftness and sureness of the way he moves through the world [Lore (nature), knowledge (world), athletics and mobility]

Appearance

A blue skinned Tiefling with rams horns and short curly and yet darker blue hair. He has non-symmetric full body vitiligo, mostly around joints, but is most notable in a large patch over his right eye, and white freckles over the left side of his face. His irises are a bright and glowing turquoise, with tiny white pupils, and sclera of a similar tone to his blue skin.

His body is wiry muscle on a slight frame, his height at 5’ 7” without his horns, and they only add an inch or two. His skin is nice because of the oils of the sheep he tends, but his hands still have the calluses of someone who has done manual labor all his life, not to mention the calluses from his fiddle. His most noticeable scar is on his cheekbone on the left side of his face, and alongside his white freckles, looks like a crescent moon in the night sky. But he has many others all over his body, white flecks from thorns, his carving knives, and even some sheep bites among others, the marks of someone who spent most of his life outdoors.

Personality

Georgie is an optimistic person, but one that's aware of the hardships of life. His love of music and folk tales is the first thing you notice next. He is down to earth most of the time, but when something fantastical is going on, he has a habit of moving his head to the clouds. He will always reach out a hand to help people regardless of their situation, his kindness knows few limits, and he is always looking to befriend people, regardless of their station in life.

His kindness has one main exception, people who profit from the suffering of others, and who generally abuse their power over others. Most nobles fit under this category, and so do many figures of authority. Those who scorn others and discriminate will also earn his ire.

Don't let his joyous demeanor fool you, he is capable of dangerous deeds, and is a revolutionary and freedom fighter at heart, who will challenge anyone who obstructs others freedoms and rights to exist. His summons are adorable until you're getting attacked by a glowing frog, several fay creatures, and his dogs, all while his eyes are glowing unnaturally bright, and songs of war are weaving around the room, inspiring his summons.

History/Hooks

Georgie was abandoned in the hamlet he would come to be raised in as a baby, presumably abandoned by someone passing through due to his tiefling nature. He was found in a hollowed out wood stump by one of the local shepherds, who raised him up in the hills. He contacted the small settlements Headwoman, who refused to name the child Johhny, so instead he was named Georgie Heartwood, as they both hoped he would grow up to be someone who was loved enough to be fought for, and Heartwood, for how he was found in the ‘heart’ of the tree stump.

He grew up as a jack of all trades, mainly watching his fathers flock, but also assisting the blacksmith, the carpenters and the hunters. He felt he needed to pay back his community for raising an ‘unlucky’ child like him, and they had not always discouraged that idea, and he had to slowly win them over with his hard work and determination, suffering from many petty chores all the while.

Eventually he grew up into a fine young man, who was a valued member of the community, taking over his fathers role as shepherd of their flock, however he had come to realize just how different he was from his community, and through the traveling performances, wanted to pursue life on the road as a traveling performer, with his trusty fiddle. Eventually this was found out, and the community pushed him to realize his dream, and so he set out with the next caravan train with a promise to be back every harvest.

He was shocked by the discrimination he would come to face, and while he still held his suffering against those in his community, he was made aware of just how much worse it could be. Still it wasn't all darkness, he met a fellow performer who converted him to worship of Desna, as his old god Erastil no longer appealed with his more law-like aspects, to the growing chaos of Georgie's good heart. They also became lovers, before parting amicably. He enjoyed performing, soothing hearts and bringing joy to people's faces alike, learning more of the many peoples that inhabited his world.

Eventually, he was returning home for harvest, when he was forced to make a detour near the worldwound, only to wake up in Kenabres square on a stretcher.

[cash-app-cash-out1]

Explore Reasons Why Cash App Says Cash Out Failed?

Cash App stands as a beacon of seamless transactions in the swift currents of digital finance. Yet, amid the virtual symphony of smooth exchanges, some issues can happen such as “Cash App Out Failed”. If you are having the issue fear not, by continue reading you can learn the reasons behind Cash App’s cash-out failures and weaving ingenious solutions to reinstate your digital harmony.

Why Does Cash App Say Cash-Out Failed?

A failed cash-out beckons from the shadows in the mystic of digital payments, bearing an enigmatic aura. Let us shed light on this riddle and explore reasons why Cash App says cash out failed:

· Imagine the digital wallet of your Cash App yearning is having insufficient balance. The lack of funds is a leading culprit behind the “Cash Out Failed” issue. Thus, before venturing forth, bestow upon your coffers the riches they deserve.

· In virtual connections, the winds of connectivity sway capriciously as ever. A weak network tether can shatter your transaction dreams with the whisper of failure.

· Amid the digital ether, even the sturdiest server’s stumble. Technical glitches and maintenance masquerades can cast shadows upon your cash-out quest.

· Should the key to your treasury, your payment method, be rendered ineffectual through expiration or lack, the gates shall remain locked, thwarting your cash-out ambitions.

· Beware the sentinels of security! Additional verification beckons, and its unanswered call can lead to the haunting refrain of a failed transaction.

Why Is My Cash App Not Letting Me Send Money?

Ah, the irresistible allure of sending digital gold through Cash App’s conduit! Yet, within the intricate web of transactions, entanglements may arise, causing your golden plans to fizzle:

· Unveil your identity through account verification, for without this step; the gatekeepers might bar your way, withholding the power to send.

· In the realm of recipients, arcane settings might cast chains upon your golden gift. Ensure their account is open and unshackled, ready to embrace your virtual embrace.

· The symphony of transactions might stumble upon frozen echoes — an account frozen due to suspicions or a misstep, thwarting your virtuoso performance.

· Beware of the dance of details as you weave your tale of the transaction. Mismatched or misdirected steps can lead you astray, away from the desired crescendo.

How Do I Fix “Failed to Add Cash to Cash App”?

The endeavour to infuse life into your Cash App treasury can sometimes plunge into the abyss of “Failed to Add Cash on Cash App.” Fear not, for we shall traverse this chasm with aplomb:

· The melody of your linked payment card must resonate with validity and sufficiency. An expired note or an empty tune shall lead to this sad refrain.

· Cards, like wandering minstrels, might be bound by limitations. Please verify with your bard and your bank whether online or mobile payments are within their lyrical range.

· Should the mobile app falter, a cache’s whisper could bring clarity. Clear the cache, unravel the glitches, and let the harmony of Cash App resound anew.

· The river of transactions knows its tides. Patience becomes your guiding star when servers teem with activity or maintenance calls. Wait, and the waters shall calm.

What is the Cash App Cash out Limit?

Within the digital tapestry, there are some Cash App cash out limit. Cash App’s embrace holds boundaries, and the path to transcending these boundaries is adorned with wisdom:

· The crown of higher limits rests upon the brow of verified accounts. With identity crowned, transactions flourish, and boundaries recede.

· When the realm of higher limits beckons, the oracle of support awaits. Seek its counsel, request a limit’s expansion, and chart a course beyond the ordinary.

[lesya-writes]

barduil wip

He paced behind his desk, only occasionally stopping to take a furtive glance at the missive, before resuming his tread.

He stopped again, in front of his large balcony window. His eyes took in the glistening snow, already melting in the noon sun, but his mind was elsewhere.

That little piece of paper burned.

It burned as his wound still sometimes did, a constant reminder. He knew he could not run, not anymore. He promised. Still, the paper laid on his desk, unopened and untouched. Was it really such a difficulty to read one letter? Yes. Letters don’t mean anything good. They did, once, many years ago. Thranduil would write, voraciously some may say, to his dear friend and fellow king. They ranged from purely logistical and political to friendly and mundane.

He would prefer mundanity, after all the so-called adventures he has faced. He’d long since learned that no matter the prowess or strategy, some battles simply could not be won.

So, it is with that pitiable acceptance that he finally turned back to pick up the paper. His eyes briefly caught on the wax seal holding it closed. The insignia stamped into it was burned in his mind, a bow with a single arrow pointing to the sky. On banners they were usually black, but this seal was red and unpainted.

Red as blood. I pray to the Valar the words are not.

His itching fingers ran across the wax. The muscles in his restless legs clenched, ready to propel him from stillness into swift motion. His mind wandered away, out the door and back to his rooms where an old familiar wooden box lay. In it are letters, numerous pages filled with the friendly and mundane, all stamped with the very same wax.  

Each and every night, he would open up his delicately carved wooden box and take the papers out, one by one, slowly and with care. He would run his fingers across the pages, over the inked words, both in Westron and Sindarin. He would think about the other hands that held those pages, the other fingers which rolled the papers and held them as hot wax poured over the ends to seal them.

He would torment himself with these fantasies every night as he had done so in the past. Perhaps he was a masochist. Or maybe, after an age of trying to forget his first love out of pain, he was desperate to remember the second for the very same reason.

He clenched his fingers, crumpling the paper. Not wishing to damage the message, he stopped and pushed one finger under the seal to finally break it.

There was no time for nostalgia and memory now; he could indulge in such things later, when night was fresh. He always told himself that it was foolish, that he should ignore it and simply go to sleep. One day, perhaps, he would be able to do so without even glancing at the box.

He doubted that day would be today and he doubted tomorrow would be, either. His own personal reassurances were always false. He always gave in to himself without much of a fight, so easily. He was lucky no one saw it, for how could anyone choose to follow such a king? Pathetic.

Thranduil felt he should not shoulder all the blame, however. It was all his doing, after all. His secret and quiet influence which opened Thranduil up and turned him into this. Each passing day it was harder, not easier, to hide his unease. He kept still, held his expressions blank and yet he still felt exposed to the world.  

As the seal broke, the words upon the page spilled forth and greeted him. His eyes ran across the lines of carefully written Sindarin, finally learning what it was that the Men wanted of him.

The words did speak of blood, but not the sort Thranduil had expected. There was no death nor violence here, merely a passage of time and power. The lineage of his dear late friend has survived and resulted in more than one king. This new one was to be named after him as well.

Bard the second, succeeding his father Brand, son of Bain.

Bain, that boy. Thranduil knew the lives of men were short, but his especially. His sisters had lived long lives, but Bain’s had ended at a round thirty. What a cruel injustice it had been, forcing a crown upon Brand at such a young age. Thankfully, Tilda had been there to guide him and make sure everything was all right. However, he knew the death had pained her, as it must have pained Sigrid. Thranduil had been there to witness it, shamed as he was to come forth and leave his meagre offerings of comfort. He had not been there when Bard disappeared and he hadn’t been there to witness Bain’s descent.

He did visit the grave afterward, though he had not been alone. Sigrid and Tilda had stood there and they had been silent. He had stood with them and they did not give him one word of reproach. Tilda had eventually broken down and wept, clinging to Thranduil’s robes like a child once more and not a woman grown.

He had let her.

He himself had not wept for he had long run out of tears, but that night, when he had finally left the grave and girls behind, he sang a mournful song. He had been pleased to hear his people’s voices join his, creating something beautiful out of something so tragic. In this, at least, he was not alone.  

At least Bard did not have to see his child die.

Bain’s son still lived. The reason for his stepping down was unclear, but Thranduil figured he would learn of it soon enough. He’ll need to plan accordingly; the trip was not overly long but he knew, similarly to elves and dwarves, the Men enjoyed their feasting and revelry. This coronation would last for days.

His thoughts were interrupted by a door opening, revealing Galion with a chalice of wine and some choice meats and fruits.

“Your wine, my lord,” he announced, rather pointlessly.

Galion moved to his desk and put down the platter and chalice, eyes skipping to the letter.

“Have you written your reply yet?” he wondered, his tone carefully neutral.

“No.”

“May I ask what it says?”

Thranduil took a moment, composed himself further and replied, “It says Dale is to have a new king. The coronation will happen in a week.”

This caused Galion to still, all the small movements giving him away as living suddenly stopping, giving him the appearance of a statue. He looked around, searching for what to say. Or, perhaps, how to say it.

Thranduil did not wish to see the pity on his face, so he turned to look out of the balcony window once again. The trees were once again springing to life as the snow thawed, new buds forming underneath the passing frost. This winter had been horrid and Thranduil was glad to see it finally go.

“My lord,” Galion said. “If you do not wish to go, you can-”

“I will go,” he spoke loudly, cutting Galion off. “This is an important matter and I cannot send some delegate. It would be demeaning and surely taken as an insult. At least, in this instance.”

Galion did not argue the point.

“Prepare my spring shirts and coats. I’ll wear my crown, but I’ll need my circlet for the ceremony.” Thranduil paused, but remembered an old lesson, spoken in a familiar voice. Be nice. “Please.”

Galion bowed to his king and said, “Of course, sire. I will leave you to your writing.” And he left without another comment.

The second the doors shut, he collapsed back into his chair, strings cut.

He did not dare to look upon the letter once more, so he instead pulled a blank sheet to him, got his pen, and committed.