#the tree that grows out of the mountain is what caught my eye

[livethrushit]

i like to think nanika drew the dark continent on the walls to show alluka where she's from

[riminiscensce]

5 + 1

CHARACTER ... kinich

SYNOPSIS ... 5 times Kinich protected someone, and 1 time he felt protected

NOTES ... a kinich fic because what the fuck was that backstory bro CUT MY GUY SOME SLACK 😭

CONTENTS ... sfw , kinich-centric , spoilers for kinich’s character stories , gender neutral reader , can be read as platonic

Word Count ... 3367

1) His mother

From before he was seven, Kinich always remembered waking up to the smell of breakfast his mother would have ready at the table. 

Being the child that he was, he never fully understood how his mother was able to do it; to wake up before the sun could even rise, and still last long enough to make it past through sunset. 

Having a mother like her made Kinich feel included within the small group of kids that would pass by their house once in a while. 

The one they would often talk about is how their mothers would always be up early in the morning to prepare delicious food for them. Kinich, though not a part of their conversation, felt like he could empathize with them. 

He felt connected with the other children because of his mother.

Then the children started to talk about how close their own mothers were with the others. That they would have family dinners, share advice, talk about their family…

That was the one thing that separates his mother from the rest. 

Kinich always felt a stinging pain in him whenever he would watch his mother farm by herself.

Instead of like the mothers other kids have, his mother was different in a way that she would spend most of her time on her own.

At that age, Kinich was already aware of the reason as to why this is. 

If it was not for his father's behavior, his mother wouldn't have been ashamed of talking about her family to their neighbors. 

She wouldn't have to spend her time alone, dreading the moment her husband comes through the door with that sickening smell of alcohol and another empty pouch of Mora. 

That's why he took it upon himself to be there for her. 

To share the same silence as she did when no one else would. 

Kinich had a particular quietness around him, the same kind his mother had; it was one of the things he remembers about her.

But there was a time when they talked while they were farming. 

Most of their conversation was starting to grow torn and forgotten in Kinich’s memory. But there was one thing that his mother said that always stuck with him as he grew. 

“Thank you,” His mother once said with a heavy hand on his unkempt hair, and a somber look on her face that one could only give to her protector. 

When he first heard this, Kinich felt content, like he had done the right thing. He felt like he had saved his mother from ever truly being lonely.

But that would be the first and last time he felt that way with her.  

Things only went downhill when they were forced to move out of their house and into the mountains because of his father’s betting addiction. 

Then his mother left them—left him. 

It was something that never comes up between him and his dad. 

Looking back, Kinich thinks of his mother’s abandonment as the payment for the care she has given him and his father.

But he was just a child then, of course he wouldn’t have decided on an answer of his own back then. 

So he asked someone else.

2) His father

It was his seventh birthday when it happened. 

Kinich couldn’t have waited for a better timing than this. His father likely knew of his birthday, and so he might be more lenient with him for the day in return. 

That could’ve been what happened. 

Instead, a pair of bloodshot eyes drilled their way into his own—it felt so different to the eyes that he inherited.

Then the next thing he knew, he was running past trees, his father closely behind him, yelling drunken curses that a child should never have heard.

It was the waves of adrenaline that saved Kinich from being caught in his father’s violent hands, weaving through the thick bushes and trees while avoiding the wild saurians that were scattered around the area. 

It was also that same adrenaline that made him fail to notice the sudden absence of his triggered father. 

Only then was he forced to stop and look around. 

It wasn’t until he reached the edge of a cliff did his jittering get replaced with trembles. 

His father was at the very distant bottom, his inflamed eyes matching the color of his blood splattered around him. 

Looking back, it was the only time that Kinich almost cracked out a drop of tear. 

When he made his way down, he was no longer greeted with the enraged glare of his father. What remained of his expression was only of shock. There were no signs of regret or guilt of what he had done prior to his death. 

But Kinich can never be truly mad at his parents. 

He grew up with his father, and he was usually the one that brought home enough Mora to feed the three of them plenty.

And to add more, it started raining. 

The rain helped with washing the blood away and with imbuing the sight he was seeing. 

Kinich could only think of carrying his father’s corpse back to their house. What else can he do anyway?

If his dead body remained there, it would get washed away or land on a starving creature’s plate. 

So he decided to repay his father one last time and protected what remained of him. 

It was a tiring trek back home. 

3) K’uhul Ajaw

Kinich has formulated this understanding that anything can be done with Mora as an exchange, no matter how risky or dangerous the commission may be.

He is willing to do any favors, be it simple or treacherous, all for the right price.

But there was a time Kinich bypassed this ethos of his.

An organization dedicated for saurian research came up to his doorstep, asking to buy this relic he found in an unearthed ruin in exchange for a sum of Mora.

There were many pros in this proposal, and merely only one con.

Kinich could live comfortably for the next few months with that amount of Mora without having to worry about receiving another commission, he could even last to about a year if he remains humble with spending.

If he gave the relic to the association, it would stop them from bothering him ever again. Kinich would go back to a life without having to confront a desperate bunch of researchers.

And to add more to that, it would get rid of this nuisance that calls itself K’uhul Ajaw from ever causing trouble for him again.

Those advantages he had listed off were nothing but tempting to Kinich, luring him into tossing that wristband into the association’s business and going off to return back to his normal life of being a lone wolf.

The only thing stopping Kinich was the thought of Ajaw going absolutely rabid without him around.

He tells himself that that was the only con there was, not because he had already formed a pact with Ajaw, but because he would get involved with threatening matters if Ajaw goes wild.

As much as he tries to stay excluded from other people’s business, Kinich was human enough to at least concern himself with this possibility.

It would be a tragedy if people from different tribes were to be a victim of someone so awful as Ajaw after all.

All it took was a glare from Kinich, saturated with enough indignation that the researchers could feel it and eventually welcome themselves out of Kinich’s door.

It wasn’t even long before Ajaw awoke that Kinich suddenly regrets his decision.

Looking back, maybe he should have given K’uhul Ajaw to the association after all.

Oh well, he figures life would be more clement with him now that he made a choice to protect Natlan from this ancient dragon, if that’s how it even works.

4) “Uthabiti” Kachina

When Kinich first saw an enlisted job to sabotage a kid because their Wayob regarded her potential, he wondered how low those lowlifes could possibly achieve.

Ever since he saw that commission, he hasn’t paid much mind to it. The tribe leader of the Children of Echoes was a deferential man after all, he wouldn’t let a child get hurt by others simply because they were envious.

Then he saw this bullying in action.

Kinich only caught a glimpse of one final shove to the poor kid before the rowdy bunch willingly left, trailing only mocks and insults.

He eventually came to the assumption that Kachina was just selfless.

Not in the way that she would let others vent their frustration to her, but because she doesn’t want to bother the people who do care about her.

This assumption of his came into precision when he heard it from Kachina herself. She didn’t want to worry the people around her, and instead took the oppression as a means to get stronger and be more independent.

That’s what Kachina wanted, to rely on herself.

A thought came into Kinich’s mind, a rather debatable thought but, in a way, Kinich could see himself in her shoes.

Kinich grew up having to rely on himself for his own livelihood, and Kachina wants exactly that, to bring less concern to the people she doesn’t want to concern.

He had also dealt with a fair share of bullies in his childhood. Whenever they striked, Kinich never really fought back, that was another thing he and Kachina have in common, though his reasoning was far less modest than that of hers.

He knew Kachina would never fight back, and that will fuel more enragement to those haughty buffoons. 

So instead, he took it upon himself to act on her behalf.

It was one of the few situations when Kinich would throw away his preference for Mora.

This simple action of standing up against someone would have a far more personal approach for Kinich. He just wanted to do what he didn’t back then.

When doing so, a wave of satisfaction would come crashing against him at the sight of Kachina's struggling bullies.

That was it, that was his payment, to know the feeling of contentment if he did teach those bullies a free lesson.

And while at it, he protected a different version of his younger self from having more problems to deal with.

Looking back, the worst thing Kachina’s bullies had gone through was Ajaw’s nonstop degrading.

In a way, they at least had a taste of their own medicine.

5) “Malipo” Kinich

He always had to look after himself.

He took in his mother’s nature at farming, remembering the way she neatly handled the crops and applied that to his own way of farming for his food.

Like his father, he was the one who provided Mora for himself. But unlike his father, he knows about restraint and how to spend it wisely.

He has honed his fighting capabilities enough to not make him so dependent on a vision or an enigmatic wristband.

And of course, he relies only on himself.

He relies on this grown version of him who has seen and witnessed many things as he continues to grow older, a young man who inherited the ancient name of Turnfire.

Because of this, nobody knows much about him, much less knows about the little boy that remained with him from his early childhood.

It acted as a little consciousness, one so small that he could so easily fall asleep if it ever yelled at him.

But there were some nights when he would stay up at the smallest wails of this consciousness of a little boy.

Some nights, he wonders not about what went wrong, but what could have gone right.

It was something that he shouldn’t have brought up, what use is dwelling in the what-could-have-been anyway?

He isn’t an all-knowing being to change and weave through the past, he can’t fix it, he can’t abandon it.

He isn’t entirely certain if he can make it better.

But he can salvage and protect what good was left from it.

He doesn’t want to look back or look forward, he just wants this little boy to continue existing, to continue burning longer enough to keep him warm and alive.

Because what would he be without it?

+1) You

People usually come to Kinich whenever they want something deadly to be accomplished.

It was the usual get rid of rogues in the area, get rid of wild saurians, get rid of wandering automatons…

What they don’t come to Kinich for is when they need help to cook dinner.

You were the first to ever commission him for something so uncomplicated as this.

He had just been resting up in a tree during dusk when he felt the knocking of pebbles against the trunk. When one pebble hit him, it suddenly stopped.

When he looked down, he saw you, an apologetic gesture on you as you swiftly tossed away the remaining rocks in your hands.

Then you waved your hands to him, urging him to come down.

When he did, the first thing you greeted him with was a proposal. “Can you help me prepare dinner?”

Kinich would’ve been taken aback at the simplicity of the commission. You could probably ask that to your local elderly and they would agree with no payment required.

Then he starts thinking of another explanation, maybe you had meant gathering ingredients, or help with cooking for a large serving of people.

But he knows you, you live alone, and there weren’t currently any celebrations within the tribe that required a feast.

Was your request really that simple?

Then, you offered him a pouch of Mora.

Along the way to your house, Kinich held onto the Mora and to the silence the two of you shared. It wasn’t at all alike to the ones he shared with those unwilling of his company, this time, it was completely mutual, like there was no need for a conversation despite the odd request.

It wasn’t long before the two of you arrived at your front door, while twisting the lock with a key, you brought up a question to Kinich.

“Hey, what do you think I should eat, vegetables or meat?”

Kinich’s reply was fairly simple. “Whatever you have more ingredients of.”

He thinks his answers weren't up to your expectation when you gave him a look of discontent. “I have plenty for either,”

He wasn’t entirely sure what answer he should pick simply from this. He has an inkling suspicion that you would still feel the same if he were to pick one over the other.

“Then, both?” He was convinced that his uncertainty was obvious from his tone.

But it didn’t seem to mind you as you broke out with a satisfied smile at his answer. “Alright then. Help me gather some vegetables from the garden.”

When you led him outside, Kinich was surprised at the amount of crops you grew. The size was practically the same as he had at his place, and you even grew some that others wouldn’t typically have in their garden anymore.

Gathering farm crops with you was a quiet experience. The kind he was so familiar with as a kid that it felt like he was reliving the moments he had with his mother.

If it weren’t for the cold gusts of wind that evening, Kinich would have been fooled into thinking that he had gone back to that exact moment of his life.

He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something comforting about seeing another pair of hands in the corner of his eyes.

The quiet consciousness started to become a bit more audible, enough to make Kinich realize that he could start hearing the crackling of firewood.

It had been a while since the last time Kinich cooked with someone in a homey kitchen before.

The last he could remember was with Elder Leik, and that had been years ago when he was still a young teenager.

This time, instead of his elderly hands, it was yours that occupied the busy counter beside him. The sound of sliced ingredients dropping down onto the simmering water filled the area of what would have been just him.

The moment he stopped working the knives through the vegetables, his eyes would find their way to you, beside him. 

Completely mindful of your own business, humming a catchy tune as you gently mixed the ingredients in the pot. He was sure he had heard of that tune before.

Probably during one of the rare moments when his mother would break the silence between them, emerging with a simple, yet unforgettable melody.

Yes, that was probably it, his little consciousness confirms it to be so.

Like another piece of firewood had just been tossed in, the air around him started to become warmer than usual.

When the food had been served on your dinner table, Kinich figured he had finished his job.

“Where are you going?” He was about to leave the house.

“I helped you prepare dinner, my job is finished.” At this, your head seemed to have been afloat in the air for a while.

You then cracked into a small laughter. “Ah, right, I did say that.”

With that, you left the table and disappeared into some room within the house.

Kinich was about to use this time to leave the place, as he was about to put a glove back on, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Turning around, he sees you, holding another pouch of Mora in your hands. “Can you help me finish all this food?”

It was purely instinct at how his hand already accepted the payment before even processing what you had meant.

But just like how you are, you don’t further explain as to why, simply walking back to the table and taking a seat. Kinich noticed another plate laid out beside you, like you had intended for him to eat with you.

Well, an odd request still serves the same as a normal one.

So he walks back to the table, taking a seat and grabbing a humble serving of food.

The first bite of the meat stew felt weird.

It tasted different, different than how he would usually do it at least. 

You cooked this, it was a subtle reminder that other people have their own preference when measuring their seasonings and what they put in the dish.

It was a simple reminder that he didn’t cook this by himself, someone was there with him.

The more spoonful he ate, the more fuel was fed to the fire of his little consciousness.

It had been a while since he had dinner with someone with such normal circumstances. 

He realizes all of this was part of the what-could-have-beens that slipped into his mind during one late night.

He could have experienced gathering crops until late at night with his mother, hearing her hum a quiet melody while they cooked, and sitting around the dinner table along with his father… It could have been those.

But what’s the use of residing in it? He already made up his mind to not look back.

“Hm? Something wrong?” Your voice suddenly became more distinct in Kinich’s thoughts. “Oh no, were the seasonings a bit off?”

Without having answered, Kinich diverts his eyes to the nervous fidgeting of your hands. The same pair he saw in the corner of his eyes when cooking and gathering ingredients.

The same pair that have unknowingly hovered over his little consciousness’s fire, feeding it more and more kindlings to make its voice more evident.

It was strange, somehow he felt like the little boy left of him had just been preserved—protected even. 

Like how a pair of hands would wrap around the faintest of flames to keep it burning, to keep it hidden from the harsh winds but still not so much that it would be forgotten.

Just enough to know that it’s still there.

Don’t look back, but don’t forget either.

Kinich then answers you. “It’s sweeter than what I usually have.”

rimi’s notes

can I just say how bad I felt when reading his story bro like what the fuck

but I hope yall enjoy cuz I definitely did when writing this lowkey

hearts / reblogs / follows are very much appreciated !

[sukirichi]

𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊.

you never expected to like tea, or fall for the barista with a charming smile. but life has its way of surprising you, and your summer job just might be the best thing to happen to you.

→ barista! suo x waitress! reader. fluff fluff fluff! hand holding. suo is touchy and flirty. unedited. just suo being his usual charming self <3 reader is implied to be working before they enter university/college, but no age is mentioned. this is my first suo fic aaah i enjoyed writing him sm!! 2.6k wc

→ part of the help wanted collab hosted by @interstellar-inn !! divider from @cafekitsune thank you remi <3

You remembered your first day working at the quaint little café like it was yesterday.

It’d been your first day as a waitress, your first job since you’d graduated high school, too. Now that you were a summer break away from entering university, what better way to spend it than save up? So you’d sent in your application on the neighborhood café, popular amongst people your age, and began your first day at work.

The summer sun was high in the sky, its heat causing you to sweat under your clothes. The cicadas sang around you, a beautiful chorus from the trees, and their buzzing a welcomed soundtrack for the summer. The streets were lined with cherry blossom trees, their leaves a vibrant green, providing patches of dappled shade along the sidewalks. From where you stood, you could see the distant mountains, their massive silhouettes softened by the heat haze as they stood tall against the clear, azure sky.

Reaching the café, you pushed open the door, the bell above jingling softly. The café was known for its cozy atmosphere and exceptional tea selection, the place already bustling with customers. Your eyes darted around, taking in the sight of people sipping on steaming cups and enjoying pastries. Your heart raced as you approached the counter, a few of your co-workers already occupied and moving about.

“Hi,” you smiled, “I’m the new hire.”

A tall figure turned around, and your breath hitched. You’d seen him in the café countless times before, and begrudgingly admitted that he was the reason your friends loved visiting here so much. His name was Suo, the café’s infamous barista. He was pretty in the sense that you’d stop and give a double look when you first saw him, his voice smooth and his words effortlessly charming. But standing before him now? He was just so much prettier. His red hair caught the light, the auburn of it brighter and like burning fire.

“Ah, I’d heard you were coming today. Welcome,” he says warmly, “Follow me. Let’s get you started.”

Safe to say, your first day had been terrible. Throughout the morning, you fumbled with trays and mixed up orders, your clumsiness earning a few scowls from the customers. You apologized profusely each time, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. But Suo was always there, stepping in to smooth things over with a gentle smile and a reassuring smile. It worked like a charm, too. The moment he’d apologized for you, the customers leant back – smiling and reassuring him that it was not a bother at all.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said after one particularly harsh customer left. “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re starting out.”

“Did you?”

His eye lit up with mischief. “Maybe.”

Suo’s kindness only made your crush on him grow. You admired how he handled every situation with such grace and ease, his smooth voice calming even the most irritable patrons. You found yourself watching him whenever you could, entranced by the way he moved, the way his smile lit up the room.

One afternoon, the café had been unusually quiet. The summer head had driven most customers indoors, leaving you and Suo with some rare free time. He approached you then, a twinkle in his eye. “How about I teach you a bit about tea?” he suggested, “It’ll help with your knowledge, and it’s always fun to learn something new.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I’d love that,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. And there’s this silly voice at the back of your mind hoping – praying – that Suo was just making excuses to hang out with you.

He leads you to a small table at the back of the café, where a variety of tea leaves were laid out. He began to explain the differences between green tea, black tea, oolong, and white tea, his voice like a soothing melody. You hung on his every word, captivated by his passion and expertise. “Tea is an art,” he begins, his lithe fingers delicately handling the leaves. “Each type has its own unique characteristics and requires different brewing methods. It’s all about finding the perfect balance.”

You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way he spoke, his love for tea evident in every word. You watched him closely, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, the gentle way he handled the tea leaves. Biting the insides of your cheek to fight back a smile, your gaze travelled to his eyepatch.

“Do you mind if I ask… about your eyepatch?”

Suo smiles, his expression softening. “It’s a long story, but I don’t mind sharing it with you sometime. For now, let’s focus on the tea.”

You nodded, feeling warmth spread through your chest. You appreciated how he didn’t shy away from your questions, and it only deepened your fascination with him. He’d always been such a mysterious enigma. He knew everything about everyone, and joked enough with everybody to put them at ease with him. But it’s only now you realized that you knew very little about him at all – an issue you were determined to change.

As you continued with your tea lessons, Suo made you laugh with anecdotes and trivia, his smooth voice wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Days turned into weeks, and your confidence grew under Suo’s gentle guidance. You still had your clumsy moments, of course, but Suo was always there to lend a hand – his calm presence a constant source of reassurance. And the more time you spent together, the more your feelings for him grew.

One particularly hot summer day, the café was slow, and your coworkers happily shooed Suo away to take his break. Surprisingly, he’d asked you to join him, leading you out into the small garden behind the café. You sat on a bench under the shade of a large tree, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves. Suo handed you a cup of iced tea, his smile as warm as the sun.

“You’re doing really well,” he said. “I can see how hard you’re trying, and it’s paying off.”

You grow flustered, and look down at your tea – the one he’d made just for you. “Thank you, Suo, but really, I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Suo’s chuckles are soft, tender. “You’re too modest, you know that? You’ve got a natural charm that customers appreciate, and you’re always eager to learn. Those are pretty great qualities if you ask me.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping tea and enjoying the tranquility of the garden. You stole glances at him every now and then, your heart swelling with affection. Suddenly, you wanted to tell him how you felt, but fear held you back. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if it made things awkward between you? You couldn’t risk that. You still had a few weeks in this summer job, and you couldn’t quit now. Suo was most definitely not leaving anytime soon, either. Everyone knew this café was practically nothing without him.

Just then, Suo turned to you, his expression thoughtful and lacking his usual carefree smile. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

Suo hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. You’re kind, hardworking, and you have a wonderful spirit. Before I knew it, I found myself looking forward to our next shifts together.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? You looked into his eyes, trying to gauge for the answers.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Suo continued, his voice steady but soft, “I’d like to keep doing this – getting to know you better. If that’s okay with you, at least.”

Your heart soared. “I’d love that, Suo,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from breaking out into a full wide-mouthed grin.

Suo’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I was kinda worried you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been so kind and patient. I’ve always admired you from the start so hearing you say that… well, you sure do know how to make a girl happy…” you trailed off, hiding your smile from behind your glass.

With his own bashful smile, Suo tentatively extended his hand, his movements slow and deliberate. He hesitated, his longer fingers hovering inches away from hers. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and your pulse quickened. You could tell he didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’d paused, giving you the opportunity to pull away if you wished.

You didn’t.

You glanced down at his hand, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You didn’t move, didn’t pull away. You let your hand remain where it was, hoping it’d be enough to give him the permission he’d been asking for.

Suo’s fingers brushed against yours – a light, tentative touch that sent a shiver up your spine. Slowly, gently, he closed the distance, his hand enveloping yours in a warm, reassuring grip. A bout of giddiness crashes over you, a bubbling happiness that made your skin feel warm and your heart race a mile a minute.

Neither of you spoke, but none needed to be said. Suo’s thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a small comforting gesture that told a million words. You sat there, hand in hand, the summer sun warming you from the neck down.

As the summer days passed, you spent more time hanging out with Suo.

You spent your breaks together, sharing stories and dreams (mostly on your part, since Suo liked to keep his air of mystery, promising that you’d learn everything ‘one day.’) He continued to teach you about tea, and you found yourself falling more in love with both him and the art he was so fond of. Now, whenever you returned home, you’d fix yourself a cup of tea the way Suo taught you, inhaling its scent – simply because it reminded you of him.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the skies were painted in hues of pink and orange, you and Suo stood outside the café, sans the aprons and uniform. The air around you was warm, the gentle breeze making Suo’s bangs flutter to reveal a sliver of his forehead.

Suo turned to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Would you like to go out with me sometime? Outside of work, I mean.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great,” his smile widens, his hand finding yours. You recently found that Suo loved to touch, even in just the smallest of manners. At work, he’d occasionally brush his shoulders against yours, or have his fingers graze your knuckles whenever he walked by. It’s always subtle, not enough to catch the attention of your co-workers, but enough to have your heart fluttering each time he did. “How about tomorrow? There’s a lovely park nearby that I think you’d enjoy.”

“I don’t know,” you pretended to think about, “Will you finally tell me more about yourself if I go out with you? Because I’m pretty sure we said we’d get to know each other. And last time I checked, you know everything about me, while I know so little about you.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes, gazing at you so tenderly. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know then.”

When he promised things like that, you were impatient. The next day simply couldn’t come by faster.

That next day, the café was buzzing with its usual afternoon crowd, the soft clinking of cups and the hum of conversations filling the air. You moved through the tables, balancing trays and refilling cups, but your mind was elsewhere. Every time you glanced toward the counter, your heart skipped a beat. Suo was stationed there, his calm, confident demeanor as steady as always, but today, there was something different – his smiles were bigger, paired with a playful spark in his eyes that was meant just for you.

Each time your eyes would meet across the room, Suo would give you a small, knowing smile.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks each time he did, unable to suppress the grin that spread across your face. He was subtle, but you noticed that every time he brushed past you, his hand would graze your arm or the small of your back, a brief touch that sent shivers down your spine. His presence was magnetic, his smiles addicting, and you were inexplicably drawn to him, your thoughts circling around your first date with him once your shift ended.

And that shift dragged on.

Later, Suo made his way over to you as you carefully balanced a tray of tea, his hand brushing yours just as you set the tray down on the table. It was such a fleeting touch, one that made your pulse quicken. He leaned slightly closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours. When you glanced up at him, he winked, a playful glint in his eye.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your excitement in check, but it was impossible not to feel giddy with the way he was flirting with you – silently, without a single word.

Every time you looked up from your work, Suo would already be watching you, his smile warm and affectionate. The anticipation between you built with each passing minute, your shared secret adding a thrill to the ordinary tasks of the day. You both moved in sync, as if dancing around the café, each little interaction a tantalizing tease of what was about to come.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the sun dipped low in the sky as the last customers trickled out. You wiped down the tables with a speed that shocked you and your co-workers, too eager to get everything done and over with. The café was closing, and soon, your date with Suo would begin.

You couldn’t remember having a day that had felt this long, the hours stretching out with each longing glance and fleeting touch.

As the final chair was stacked and the last teacup washed, Suo appeared at your side, a wide grin on his face. “That,” he says, breathless with excitement, “was the longest day of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted my shift to end as I did today.”

You laughed, feeling the last of your nerves melt away under the warmth of his gaze. “I was just thinking the same thing!”

Suo reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb gently stroking the pads of your knuckles. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready all day.”

“All right,” he chuckles, though you don’t miss the way his cheeks flush red. “You don’t have to be so excited; it’s just me you’re going out with.”

“That’s exactly why I’m excited!”

You had always been a coffee person – someone who relied on the bitter, strong brew to kickstart your mornings. Tea had seemed too delicate, too nuanced for your taste, something to be enjoyed only on rare occasions. But then Suo had come into your life. He’d introduced you to a world you hadn’t ever been interested in – his world, the art of tea, the subtle differences between each variety, the rituals and traditions that made every cup an experience in itself.

As you walked side by side, you couldn’t stop yourself from marveling at how unexpected this summer had turned out to be.

You had taken the job at the café thinking it would be just another seasonal position, a way to pass the time and earn a bit of money.

You never imagined that it would lead to this, to him. To a summer filled with new experiences, to meeting a red-haired boy whose smile put the sun’s brightness to shame, to falling in love with Hayato Suo.

[echo-bleu]

“How do you even know he's alive?” asks Fingon.

Maglor watches him for a long moment, his face grave and closed in a way Fingon doesn't remember ever seeing before.

“Come with me,” he finally says.

With a swish of his long cloak, his armour perfectly oiled and silent, he turns around and leads Fingon to a side door. They ascend the winding, undecorated steps in silence. Fingon has a million things to say, to ask, to shout now that they're in private, but in the face of Maglor's stone countenance, the magnitude of the loss of his uncle and Maedhros, he can no longer find the words.

Before the narrow, windowless staircase can grow fully dark, the light of the sun filters in from another opening at the top. They come out on a crenelled tower, far above the rest of the fortress. Fingon looks around, discovering the lands of Beleriand from a bird's point of view.

Maglor stands there and waits him out without a word. When Fingon finally turns to him, he gestures at the North. There, beyond the snow-covered plains and pine forests, looms a sheer black cliff.

“Angband,” Maglor says. “The mountain is called Thangorodrim.”

“What am I looking for?”

Maglor sighs and shields his eyes from the sun with his hands, staring at the cliff face. “Close to the top, where it's the sheerest.”

Fingon squints. He doesn't know what to expect, so he has no time to shield his mind between the moment he spots a figure up there, dangling from the cliff, and the moment he understands.

Maglor reels back, as if struck. Fingon finds that he can't breathe.

He falls to his knees against the battlement. Nothing can make him tear his eyes from the figure of Maedhros hanging by his arm from the cliff. His stomach is trying to rebel, and tears blur his vision, keeping him from desperately looking for any sign of life.

“How long?” he manages to choke out.

“Almost two years, as close as I could tell,” Maglor says. He doesn't sound much less choked up, though this is clearly a habitual sight to him.

Two years. Almost two thirds of the time it took them to cross the Ice.

How has Maedhros survived this long?

“There's a winged creature who comes to feed him once a week.” Maglor must have caught his thought. “Well, force-feed him, really. I suppose Morgoth must think him a valuable hostage.” He pauses for a moment, still staring forward. “He's not wrong.”

Fingon has had too much. The strangled sob in his throat comes out as a cry of rage.

“And you've just left him there?”

For some reason when I was first reading the Silmarillion I got it into my head that they could see Maedhros from Mithrim... It's not geographically correct, but it's heartbreaking enough to share. The years mentioned here are of course Tree years, ten Sun years apiece.

[heavenlyraindrops]

Change With the Seasons| Stardew Valley| Sebastian x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡ Chapter One: Moving In

♡♡♡♡♡♡

A/N: This is just gonna be a cute romance between Seb and the Farmer, aka Reader. If It’s also available on AO3 and Quotev. I’d visit the masterlist if I were you, since it contains trigger warnings + the story blurb (summary/ synopsis)

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chapter Summary: After moving in and getting accustomed to life at the farm, you happen to meet a certain someone on a rainy day by the docks.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

The wind whistled through the trees, snaking its way through your hair and causing the leaves to skitter. Immediately the breeze died down as soon as it picked up. 

You had just finished speaking to Major Lewis. Robin, the carpenter, however, had decided to stick around for some more conversation, an idea you weren’t completely against yet weren’t completely welcoming towards either. 

“You should definitely get to meeting all the townsfolk,” Robin said, eyes surveying the wooded, overgrown land. They flicked back to yours, and she smiled. “It’s not everyday we get a new person here in Pelican Town. So they’re all very eager to meet you.”

You smiled and nodded, as she continued:

“And you should meet my kids too. They live with me in the Mountains, oh, the mountains…”

As Robin went off on a long rant on how wonderful and fresh the crisp air of the mountains were, you looked out at the farm stretched before you. It was covered in rocks, wood, overgrown grass and trees. You winced at the thought of having to clean it all up. 

“Anyways, I won’t keep you any further!” Robin smiled, and left. 

You proceeded to dump your luggage on the bed, which creaked under the weight, and rolled your sleeves up. The first thing on your list today, you decided, was to go into town and see how it was. You had, after all, dropped your safe, stable life in Zuzu for this. 

The walk to the village wasn’t too long. You picked up a daffodil along the way, with no other reason than finding it pretty. Immediately you arrived at what seemed to be a clinic. You peered in, but it was closed. The building next to it had a large sign. Pierre’s General Store. A calendar nailed to the wall caught your attention- it was listing all the events and birthdays in town. A specific day seemed to jump out at you: Flower Dance. 

You’d have to ask Mayor Lewis about that. 

You put your hand on the door handle to Pierre’s store and pushed, but the doors refused to budge. It must have been locked, too. You checked your watch. It was only seven. That explained it. 

You wandered down a little, taking in the buildings and houses. You squinted at a small figure in the distance, loitering near a couple of flowers. Seemingly very interesting in them. 

As you moved closer, you realized that it was a little old woman, tending to the flowers. She smiled at you, and you smiled back. “You must be the new farmer. Welcome to the community, dear. I’m Evelyn. You can call me ‘Granny’ if you like.”

You flushed at her kindness. “Alright, Granny.”

She smiled and nodded, before heading inside a small blue house, claiming to go bake some cookies. 

You exhaled slowly, staring at the flowers. The spring sun seemed to glow off of everything, yet the breeze was cool. You felt a faint smile growing on your face. You’d like it here, in Pelican Town. You knew it. 

-

A week had passed. So had your doubts. 

Everyone in the town had been kind to you so far- so far, being the keyword as you hadn’t met many people yet. You’d woken up that morning with rain lashing down, pattering on the roof, echoing through the small cottage. With watering your rather small number of crops being taken care of, you’d decided to devote the day to fishing at the docks, ever grateful for the rather flimsy bamboo rod Willy had gifted you. 

The rain was pouring down harder than when you had left as you arrived at the docks. Your hair stuck to your forehead, slick with water, droplets of it rolling down your cheeks. You carefully picked your way across the docks, which had grown slippery. The sea was choppy, and occasionally hit against the supports of the docks but they were fortunately high enough from the water level. Yet still a few salty drops sprayed onto your face now and then. 

Being as drenched as you were all ready, you just decided to sit down on the edge of the dock, before casting out your rod. You didn’t even notice the man already sitting next to you amidst the whirling wind and drops of rain and seawater. You shivered, cold, before glancing to the side and-

“Oh!” You jumped in surprised, almost toppling off the dock and into the angry sea. “H-hello.”

The man stared at you in silence, the black strands of hair obscuring his face, making it unable to be seen properly, before turning back to the sea. “Hey.”

You’d never felt awkward with the people in Pelican Town until now. You forced a nervous smile, tilting your head. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You don’t mind if I sit here, right?”

He dug his hands into the pockets of his black sweatshirt, the moody look on his face deepening. “Whatever,” he muttered, then said under his breath, “The ocean’s better enjoyed alone, though.”

Your own frown hardened into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It hadn’t even been ten seconds since you’d met this guy and you were already starting to feel a growing dislike for him.

“Nothing,” he said. You noticed the eyeliner around his eyes getting slightly messed up from the rain, and stared hard back out at sea. So much for everyone in the twon being nice. You must have jinxed it, or something. 

“What’s your name, anyways?” You asked, taking another stab at being friendly. 

“Sebastian,” came the blunt reply.

You stared at him again, for a moment. He caught you staring, and raised an eyebrow, an action which for some reason made your heart pound. “What?”

“Nothing.” You turned your attention back to the fishing rod. The weather was becoming harsher now, your clothes completely drenched through with droplets rolling down your face and arms. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, making you jump and let out a small noise. Sebastian smirked and you glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, clearly mocking you in such a subtle way you wouldn’t expect. You scowled, feeling something tug at the rod. It was a soggy newspaper. Feeling your face burn with embarrassment, you picked it up and scrunched it up in your hand before getting up and stomping down the dock, back towards your farm. 

“Nothing,” You muttered, mockingly. That day, you decided. 

You do not like Sebastian. 

[gaybatmanenthusiast]

EMBERS OF UNDERSTANDING (oneshot)

(THORIN OAKENSHIELD X GN! READER)

⋆★ word count : 922

⋆★ warnings : n/a

⋆★ summary : As Thorin’s company nears Erebor, the reader, who has joined them despite Thorin’s protests, shares elven traditions and tales by the fire each night. Though Thorin is initially dismissive, he finds himself drawn to the reader’s storytelling.

⋆★ extra : pleaseee hobbit fandom come my wayyy!!

As Thorin’s company neared Erebor, tensions between the dwarves and their reluctant elven companion—yourself—remained high. It was Thorin who cast the most withering glares, his distrust evident in the terse silences he insisted upon each night. Yet, despite his grumbles, he had allowed you to join the company, likely out of pragmatism rather than preference. It was a compromise that wore heavily on him, especially when you would start speaking, low and calm, weaving tales and traditions from your own people that danced and shimmered like the stars themselves.

The dwarves grew accustomed to it in their own way, some even gathering close to listen, eager for the warmth of your voice, though they’d never admit it outright. Even Kili and Fili, the youngest among them, would lean closer, eyes wide with curiosity as you recounted stories of ancient forests, rivers with whispered songs, and mountains that watched over the world with unseeing, timeless eyes.

At first, Thorin remained apart, ever the silent sentinel with his back turned, his mind far from your voice. But, despite himself, he began to listen—first to the lilting cadence of your speech, then to the strange beauty in the tales you shared. Your stories were unlike those he’d heard of elves; they were neither ethereal nor grandiose, but grounded in a reverence for the land, for each small creature and growing thing that found a place in your world.

One night, as a gentle silence settled around the fire, you shared a story of a tree that stood at the edge of an elven village, reaching towards the heavens with its ancient branches. You spoke of the times you’d rested beneath its shade, feeling its quiet strength, and of the countless others who had come and gone, all leaving their mark upon its bark.

Thorin found himself drawn closer without realising, compelled by something in your voice that felt…familiar. His eyes softened slightly, the firelight catching a hint of wonder in his gaze. After you finished the tale, a rare moment of quiet hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“You speak…strangely,” he murmured, his tone rough yet not unkind. “Of trees and rivers as if they are kin.”

You looked at him, your expression calm, yet touched by a gentle curiosity. “Aren’t they? Each holds life, and each, in its own way, shapes the land around it. Just as you, Thorin Oakenshield, have shaped your people.”

For once, he had no retort, the depth of your words leaving him pensive. As days turned to nights and the fireside tales continued, he found himself gravitating towards you, eager to hear more, even if he struggled to admit it. He was captivated by the way you spoke, as if each word was a thread in a tapestry that bound you to the world in ways he hadn’t considered.

Slowly, his distrust waned, replaced by something warmer and altogether unexpected. He began to look forward to those evenings, to the moments when you would meet his gaze across the fire, your eyes holding a quiet challenge and an invitation. The rest of the company noticed too, exchanging knowing glances as their king’s icy walls thawed, brick by stubborn brick.

One evening, as the fire burned low, you found yourself beside Thorin, a shared silence filling the space between you. He turned to you, his voice a low rumble softened by a rare vulnerability.

“Tell me…about your people,” he said. “Not the tales I’ve heard, not the ones filled with ancient wars and grievances. I wish to know…what you hold dear.”

You hesitated, caught off guard, but as you met his gaze, you sensed the shift within him, and you offered him a small smile, one that carried the weight of tentative trust.

As you spoke of home, of memories woven with light and laughter, Thorin listened intently, his heart softened by a growing admiration that was quickly outstripping his long-held prejudices. For the first time, he allowed himself to see you as an individual rather than an emblem of a bygone grudge. And, in turn, you began to see beneath his stoic exterior, glimpsing the depths of his loyalty and fierce pride.

The path to Erebor was fraught with danger and doubt, and both of you knew the challenges that lay ahead. But in that moment, beneath the vast, unfeeling sky, there was only the quiet, unspoken promise of something rare—something worth cherishing in a world so often marred by loss.

Beneath the vast, starlit sky, the world around you faded, leaving only the warmth of Thorin by your side. The fire cast a soft glow on his face, accentuating the deep, thoughtful lines that years of hardship had carved. His hand brushed yours, tentative at first, as if testing the weight of something fragile yet undeniable. You glanced at him, your heart quickening as his fingers lingered, entwining with yours in a gesture both tender and possessive.

He held your gaze, his eyes softened by something deeper than admiration—a yearning that had grown quietly between the words you’d shared, hidden in each stolen glance across the fire. You felt the pull of it, strong as the roots of an ancient tree, anchoring you in a way that defied reason and loyalty alike.

As his thumb traced gentle circles against your hand, Thorin leaned closer, his voice a low murmur, filled with reverence. “If there is beauty to be found in this world,” he said, his breath warm against your cheek, “then it is here, with you.”

[googleitlol]

After Wukong rejoins the group, things between him and Dove get a lot better. Sure, it's more awkward at first, but a whole less violent. They can actually be… friendly with each other? Even though the others get used to it, the change in dynamic is almost unnerving at first. I like to imagine whenever two of them, maybe Pigsy and Sandy have a moment to talk on their own, they make sure what they're seeing isn't some hallucination. Kind of a, 'You see this too, right?' moment.

Anyway, Wukong is having a blast now. Not only is he back, but he also lets himself indulge in teasing/getting payback on Pigsy for the Bone Demon incident. One great example is when he goads Pigsy into patrolling a potentially dangerous mountain. When the pig demon goes to take a nap instead, Wukong makes sure Tripitaka knows just how much effort he put into slacking off before he returns.

And then… well, that's where the trouble begins.

Dove Masterlist:

Landscaping

“Wukong really is in a meddling mood today.” Wujing remarks from where he sits next to you, the two of you basking in the midday sun with Tripitaka and Ao Lie. Your group is stationed by a large tree at the base of a wide mountain, waiting the return of two of the monk’s older disciples. After being warned of the danger posed by the area you all were meant to trek through next, Zhu Bajie was sent to go and patrol the area.

Unfortunately for the pig, Sun Wukong decided to tag along. “It has been some time that we’ve been travelling since our last encounter with a demon. I think the lack of serious threat has left him bored.” You shrug in response to the river demon’s observations. “If anything that old woodcutter told us was true, his boredom may be coming to an end.” He hums, looking out towards where his brothers took off.

“I hope for the sake of my heart, it doesn’t.” Tripitaka shudders, his tired gaze turned skywards. “I have had my fair share of demons trying to eat me, this never happened back home. I just want to get past one mountain without being caught by any monsters or upsetting anyone we shouldn’t.”

You can’t help but feel sorry for the monk. In the time you’ve been in travel with him, the sheer amount of demons that have looked to make him their meal has been problematic. With how much farther you have to go, you feel like saying it won’t happen anymore would be a lie. “If you want, Tripitaka, I can use my gift for a bit while we wait for Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie to return.” You offer, getting up to offer him a hand.

The monk shakes his head, swatting at a fly too close to his face. “Thank you, I think I should be able to manage for now.”

You offer a polite smile, mimicking his actions when you hear buzzing by your ear. “Alright, just let me know if–” The insect grows bolder, fluttering about your face. “Ugh! This annoying little…”

You notice the tiny monkey’s tail before the fly lands on your nose.

Sandy’s head tilts to the side when you go silent. “What is it?”

“…Sun Wukong?” You blink, and in an instant, the monkey returns to his form with a jump into the air. The shock of the action is enough for you to shout, falling back as the demon lands.

The Monkey King cackles, crouching down when you sit up. “You caught on faster than Pigsy!” He smiles, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Maybe Sandy was wrong in calling him meddling. At the moment, ‘rowdy’ fit him better.

“Where is he?” You use your finger to push him out of your face by his forehead, the King cooperating and stepping back to let you up.

“Still rehearsing what to say.” He answers while you dust yourself off. “He decided to take a quick nap instead of scouting, like I knew he would. I left him once he finished practising what to say in case any of us ask what he found.”

The monkey shifts into his younger brother, muckrake and all. “‘There was a rocky cave, with three sections!” He imitates, albeit dramatically. “There are wretched monsters and wild animals at every turn! We better turn back and return home, I’m sure my wife and father-in-law have been missing me.’” Sandy chuckles a little under his breath while you cross your arms. “That’s a bit dramatic of him, don’t you think?” Monkey King shifts back, seemingly still struggling to regain his composure.

It’s only made worse when Pigsy returns, spouting about the very same words Sun Wukong had already shared. He seems quite confident in himself as he prattles on. “There are wretched monsters and wild animals at every turn! We better turn back and–”

“–return home, I’m sure my wife and father-in-law have been missing me.” Wukong finishes in unison with his brother, the pig frowning when he does. The Monkey King scoffs. “Practise really did make those lines perfect, didn’t they?”

“Wha–?! But how did you…”

“Lying about going on patrol?” Wukong crosses his arms, giving Pigsy a pointed look. “I’d say that’s worth three strokes of my trusted staff. What do you say, Pigsy?” The pig demon looks at him wide wide eyes, almost shaking when he mentions his staff.

Luckily enough for him, Tripitaka intervenes. “There will be no beating anyone today.” He looks between his disciples, Wukong looking a bit disappointed while Pigsy sighs in relief. “Bajie, please go out and scout properly this time?”

“Ugh, fine.” The pig snorts, grumbling before he turns to leave back towards the mountain. The disappointment on the Monkey King’s face melts into a smug grin as he watches his brother march back to do his job properly this time.

While he scouts, the rest of you find yourselves waiting by the base of the mountain. You admit, being able to sit for a while instead of marching through trails of wilderness for hours is a nice change of pace. However, it quickly becomes old the longer you have to wait. Sitting with the horse, then leaning against the tree for shade, to the idle conversations that would occur between you and the others, you were getting bored.

An hour drags by, and then another. One can only admire the clouds in the sky for so long before becoming restless. Taking the horse to graze helps alleviate the itch to keep going somewhat, but it doesn’t help for long. You half-wonder if Bajie decided to take another nap somewhere else, but would he really risk getting caught like that a second time? Maybe something worse might have happened?

After a third hour passes, Tripitaka begins to voice your concerns. “Bajie has been gone for a while now. You don’t think something could have happened to him, do you?”

Sun Wukong gives out a hearty laugh from his spot in the tree you sit by with Sandy, resting on a low-hanging branch. “That pig is such a coward, he’d run at the first sign of danger.” He falls back, his tail hooking around the branch to face his master. “If he’s been gone for this long, he must be taking his time patrolling the mountain.”

“Still… something doesn’t feel right.” The monk frowns, his eyes fixed on the mountain. You frown, understanding the uneasiness in your friend. If Pigsy really was fine, would he be taking all this extra time to comb through the path? You half-expected him to return with some haste after being exposed by Wukong, to make up for slacking off.

You look over to Wukong, the monkey quickly catching your eye as you nod towards Tripitaka. “What?”

“Maybe one of us could check on Bajie?” Your brows raise a bit as your suggestion is made.

The Monkey King rolls his eyes, looking back at the worried expression from Tripitaka and quickly letting out a sigh. “How about this? Pigsy likes to move at a snail’s pace on his own anyway, why don’t we all just go and catch up with him?” He suggests, though the annoyance in his voice is far from well-hidden.

Tripitaka hums, glancing at you. “With Wukong’s logic, whatever Pigsy has covered so far should be safe.” You shrug. Even if the path isn’t safe, if something happened to Bajie, Tripitaka still has Wujing and Wukong to protect him. Between the lot of you, whatever potential trouble the pig demon might find himself in can be dealt with swiftly.

The monk frowns, deep in thought, likely thinking over the situation just as you were doing. After a few moments, he relents. “We might as well, it will be better than sitting around doing nothing.” With his word, your group gets to their feet. With the monk mounting the horse and Sandy taking the lead, you set off to begin hiking up the mountain.

A tense silence fills the space between the group as you journey up the mountain. Everyone is on alert, watching for any movements in the shadows of shrubs, listening for footsteps. Each of you prepare yourselves for some sign of your friend, some sign you aren’t alone.

A shudder from Tripitaka makes you glance back at the monk. His eyes look from one side to the next, shuddering again with a worried frown. Sometimes you forget how on edge he can get, especially when told of nearby danger.

You make eye contact with Sun Wukong, nodding over to the monk. He looks back at his master while you shift into your dove form to rest on the man’s shoulder. You do your work, using your gift to put his mind more at ease.

He notices rather quickly, cracking a small smile before Wukong clears his throat. “Master, you needn’t be so worried. You know I will not let anything happen to you while I am here.” He jumps in front of the horse while he speaks, walking backwards so as to not stop the group.

“If any demons dare to show their wretched faces, it will only take a swing of my staff to send them down to the ten kings!” He boasts, taking his staff from his ear and extending it to spin the weapon in his hands. Facing forward, he scoops up a few rocks to throw into the air and uses his staff to bat them all into a tree further ahead. When he runs out of ammo, he throws the staff itself, impaling the tree through completely.

The monk blinks a few times as his disciple retrieves his signature weapon. “I really am fortunate to have him as my disciple, and not an enemy.”

“Take it from someone who has fought him, you are lucky to have never felt the pain from that staff.” Sandy laughs, and you find yourself amused as Wukong returns, flipping through the air.

He shows off a bit more as you continue on the path, showing off kicks and punching the air. At one point, he shatters a boulder you pass by with only his head. Is it a little over the top? Absolutely, but it does wonders to lift Tripitaka’s spirits. 

By the time Wukong is finished with his demonstration, the air is considerably lighter. He takes his place beside Tripitaka and the horse, looking up at you with a smirk. You give a quiet coo in response, thankful for his help in reassuring the monk of their safety. You have to say, with the jabs between you two being less frequent and of a more playful nature, working with the Monkey King is becoming easier than you ever thought it would be. Dare you say, sometimes it was even fun.

It isn’t as though you were unaware of his cleverness before– his more impulsive actions sometimes made it difficult to remember– but you find it easy for the two of you to bounce off each other’s ideas. Sure, there are times where his plans baffle you, but you found that trusting his plots usually works out well. Whether it’s in battle or in the midst of a ruse, even with something as simple as how you worked to help Tripitaka, the two of you are surprisingly good at coordinating together.

For some time, the hike is uneventful. There is still no sign of Pigsy, but before you can worry yourself with his whereabouts, you hear a distant cry further ahead on the path. Cries for help.

“That sounds like a man…” Wujing frowns, your group quickening their pace to find the source of the voice.

Up ahead, you spot a bush, an elderly man just behind it. “Someone, please! Save me!” He shouts, groaning in pain as he keeps a tight grip around his leg. The closer Tripitaka rides, the more you can see of him. He’s on his side, his clothing scratched and torn. His grey– almost silver– hair is a bushy mess. His leg looks mangled, twisted in the wrong direction and dressed in blood. “Please, you must help me! I cannot move!”

Tripitaka wastes no time in dismounting, crouching down to the man while you return to your human form. Sun Wukong is quick to join his master’s side. “What happened to you?” The monk frowns, inspecting the elder for any other concealed injuries.

“I am a daoist from the temple just west of here. I was travelling with my disciple before he and I were attacked by a tiger.” He explains, his breathing heavy from the pain of his wounds and spent energy. “It killed him and dragged him away. It left me for dead, but I am afraid it may return. I beg of you, please help me return to my temple, and I will be in your debt!”

“Of course we will help you.” Tripitaka offers the elder a kind smile, turning to call one of his disciples. “Sha Wujing, bring my horse here for this man to ride. We can accompany him to his temple together.”

The man hisses through his teeth, clutching onto his injured leg. “I cannot ride.” He is able to shift over enough to show a gaping wound on his inner thigh, a deep cut that runs down his leg and already looks to be infected.

Looking closer, you take a step to the man. “Here, let me have a look at it.” You move past Tripitaka to crouch down, but a hand grabs you by the arm before you can.

You look back to find Sun Wukong, his glare making you freeze. However, his eyes focus not on you, but the elderly man. He pulls you closer, leaning over to whisper. “The last time you healed anything physical, you were unconscious for hours.”

“You mean when you were blind?” You match his volume, the reminder getting him to actually look you in the eyes for a moment, just to give you an annoyed look. “Why are we whispering?” His eyes narrow at the question, though he turns his attention back to the injured daoist before you can get an answer.

“Don’t waste your talents, Dove.” Is all you get before he crouches down in front of the old man himself. “If he is not fit to ride, let me carry him.”

A chill runs down your spine from his tone alone. His previously relaxed posture is now rigid, hostile. His smile to the man feels more like a threat than an invitation. You, Tripitaka, and Sandy look to each other from the sides of your eyes, even the horse looks concerned.

If the man notices the clear aggression in the offer, he does not show it.  “How kind of you, hairy-one.” Despite how uneasy you feel, you hold in a snort of laughter at the man’s words and Wukong’s look of offence.

“Hairy-one?” He frowns, the old man smiling.

“Yes, please. I would greatly appreciate it if you were to carry me.” He responds, and the monkey demon lets out a short huff.

He reaches down, getting the daoist up and onto his back while Tripitaka gives you a look. You quickly put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll keep watch. If he’s acting like this, something must have tipped him off about this man.” You keep your voice low, the monk nodding in response.

“Thank you, I just didn’t want to leave him on the side of the road. Do you think he might be…” He trails off, looking back at the disciple and daoist.

“You just stay close to Sandy, I’ll call out if anything happens. If I do, ride off as fast as you can and hide.” You instruct, following his sight to the two before Tripitaka gets back onto the horse. You and Sandy were talking about how quiet these last few days have been, maybe some monster overheard you and decided to keep you on your toes.

It’s silent as you continue westward, unease wrapping around the group as you go. You make sure to glance over to the old man every now and then, keeping him and Wukong in your sights. Even when they begin to slow a bit to readjust every now and then, you stay by their side. Tripitaka and Wujing begin to get farther ahead, which is honestly a good thing if this man isn’t who he says he is.

You catch his eyes a few times, giving you a strange look. It gives you bumps along your arms, and you tell yourself not to reach for any of your weapons. He hasn’t done anything yet. You see him give the same look to Tripitaka, making you feel even better the further he and Sandy get from the stranger.

After some time, the monk and his disciple are so far off, they are no longer in your line of sight. Wukong pauses again to adjust his grip on the daoist before humming. “Dove, would it be alright if I bugged you for something?”

“What is it?” You frown, a little put off by his cautious words. It would be more normal if he just told you to do whatever it is he wants.

He matches your pace but keeps his distance. “Sandy is with Master, and they are already so far ahead of us… I don’t want to slow us down any further but I would really appreciate something to snack on right now.”

…Is this some ploy? A show for whoever this man is on his back? “Seriously? I am not your servant–”

“Please, Dove.” You look down as his tail wraps around your arm, looking back up to find a pleading look in his eye. “I think I saw some berries a little further back.” Alright, this is definitely an act. Some reason to be alone with the daoist, perhaps. Why else would he wait for Sandy and Tripitaka to be out of sight before asking? It’s clear that he knows more about the elder on his back than he’s letting on, but you trust that whatever Monkey knows, he can handle it.

“Alright, I will be back soon. Shout if you need me.” You nod, the monkey mirroring your action before you transform into a dove and begin your flight back. All you can do is hope the Great Sage knows what he’s doing.

Surprisingly enough, you do find the bush of berries Wukong mentioned. Maybe part of him really does want something to eat quickly. You start picking the berries, your thoughts drawing back to the strange daoist, the odd way in which he was looking at you and Tripitaka. Usually, it is your friend’s demon disciples that draw the eyes of strangers, not their human travel companions.

There has to be something wrong with that man. You’re embarrassed you didn’t catch it yourself, that it took Sun Wukong stepping in to tip you off. Part of you wonders how he can pick up on these things so quickly. He wasted no time in killing the bone demon when she was disguised. His ability to recognise danger on a whim is quite helpful, but you wish you knew how he did it.

You wonder how long you should take picking these berries, it’s obvious Wukongs wants time to deal with that daoist on his own. Just when you decide to head back, a thunderous boom sounds from the distance. The ground beneath your feet shakes and you stumble back, only just catching yourself. You barely have any time to regain your bearings as a second deafening crash echoes through the land, tremors shaking the earth beneath your feet even more violently than the first.

A tree crashes down to the ground, nearly crushing you in the process before you jump out of the way. What is going on?! What was that, two earthquakes under the span of a minute? Your head immediately swivels to the west, certain that whatever just happened is the result of a certain simian. That’s when you take a moment to blink, the sight before you confusing to look at. You see two mountains where the horizon used to be.

“What the…?” Did they just appear? How?! You could have sworn they weren’t there before, over where you left Wukong and the old man… There is no way this could mean anything good.

To add to your horror, a third mountain materialises before your very eyes, creating a third explosive boom. The ground shakes again, even more forcibly than before. It’s enough to knock you off your feet entirely. Once the earthquake stops, you’re able to sit up again. What the hell is happening back there?! Is Tripitaka okay? Is Sun Wukong fighting the old man now? Why are mountains appearing before your eyes?!

Your questions are put on hold when you hear his scream.

So loud, he’s yelling at the top of his lungs. Dropping whatever berries you had picked, you transform to fly back to where you left the Monkey King. He has to be in trouble, he would never shout like that if he wasn’t.

The closer you get to the spot where you left him, the closer you get to the mountains. The three are practically stacked onto one another in a cluster. They start to tremble, a flock of birds taking off from the trees on one of them when they do. Once the trembling stops, you hear his voice again, a furious howl coming from below.

Following his voice, you dive down. It takes a little while before you’re able to spot him, just his head. You land, rushing to his side before a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, or… what you can see of him. The Monkey King lays against the ground, his body pinned down by the newly-arrived mountains. Only his head and a forearm are visible. He’s bloodied and bruised, his head whipping around wildly and his breathing erratic.

He grunts, straining as the mountains once again shake. His hand digs into the ground for support, but his efforts are shown to be fruitless when the mountains remain, and he slumps back in exhaustion.

“Sun Wukong!” You call, rushing to his side and kneeling down. If he can hear your voice, he ignores it, his eyes darting frantically to and fro. They’re unfocused, panicked. His breaths are mercurial as he tries again to free himself, each attempt as successful as the last. He’s barely taking anything in. “Wukong– hey.”

You take hold of his swivelling head, working your gift into his mind. “Wukong… breathe.” It takes him time, each breath working to ground himself amidst his panic. He starts to slow, blinking a bit as he looks up at you. His head falls a bit, leaning into your hold as you continue using your gift. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“Dove?” He frowns, coming back to his senses.

“Sun Wukong, what happened? Where is that old daoist?” You question, looking back behind you to make sure you are really alone, that this isn’t some trap.

Wukong growls at the mention of the man. “That was no daoist, it was a demon. I wanted to get him alone so I could deal with him myself when the coward summoned these cursed mountains!” His fist slams into the ground, the earth quivering beneath it.

You frown a bit, hoping he doesn’t cause the ground to open up under you from unbridled anger. “Why not say anything before?”

“And risk another incident like with the bone demon?” He brings up a fair point, grunting as he plants his palm into the ground and attempts to free himself once more. He grits his teeth, straining with his eyes trained to the ground as he puts his all into lifting the mountains.

You quickly turn his head to look at you again. “Stop, you’re hurt.”

“I have to get out!”

“And we will get you out, but it’s clear that these mountains aren’t moving. All you are doing is wasting your energy.” You point out the obvious, making him groan with frustration. You can’t say you blame him in the slightest. Wukong already spent five centuries under a mountain, you can’t even begin to imagine how much dread and trepidation saturate every bone in his body in this moment, having to relive it all again.

“That demon must have Master by now, and I am stuck under here!” He shouts, clenching his fist.

“Sandy is with him.” You remind the sage, standing up as you begin to rack your brain for your next steps. “I am sure he won’t let anything happen to him. Just breathe, we have to get you out of here first before we can help Tripitaka.”

You try to think of what to do, but what can you do? If the Monkey King is unable to move the mountains, what can your mortal strength do to help him? With Sandy occupied with Tripitaka and the demon on his way to steal the monk away– not to mention the fact that Pigsy is still nowhere to be found– you can’t count on them to assist. You might have to go out and find someone that could help. If this demon summoned these mountains, surely there is a way to send them away, right?

Looking back down at the monkey demon, you notice his breaths becoming irregular and crouch down to once again hold his head. “Monkey, hey. Look at me.” He does as you ask, unable to hide the anxiety in his eyes. You can’t remember a time you have ever seen him like this. You’ve seen him concerned, for Tripitaka, for you, but this is different. This is fear.

You remember a time you thought the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, held no fear in his heart. How wrong you were, then. In his state, how could you go find help and leave him here on his own? “I’m right here. We’re going to figure this out together, okay? I’m not leaving you here, not even for a moment.”

Your words seem to help, his eyes softening. He reaches up to your hand holding the side of his face, taking hold of it with a securing grip. For now, it seems the best you can do is comfort the monkey demon, despite your own worries starting to eat away at you. There is no way you can just leave him here with his anxieties to eat away at him, but how else are you meant to find a way to help him?

[izgnanik-a]

Someone put it in my head, and I can't stop thinking about it now so I'll make it your problem — Shifter!NikPrice (Grizzly Bear!Nik x Wolf!Price) MDNI

back to masterlist

slight gore under the cut (they’re carnivores obvi)

Winters are usually easy going for Price.

The cold makes it so much easier to shift, so when he wants, he’ll strip down to nothing and slip out into the snow blanketed world. It’s quiet, cold, and yet Price hears and feels everything.

He doesn’t have to worry about hunters because he’s miles and miles out from civilization in his cabin. He also gave his neighbors a rumor that he’d managed to tag one of the wolves, and with a makeshift bright collar he’d given himself, the neighbor let him be.

He feels the snow crumbling under paw as he tip-toes into his own steps, making him a silent killer. Driven by the noise of carrion overhead, they’ll see something fresh and dead before he ever does. But when he gets closer, he realizes that the murder of corvids and vultures obviously didn’t take this beast down.

Wary of the tracks surrounding the body, he steps closer and the birds rush off in fear of being a chew toy in his teeth. The meat is scalding under his maw, but delicious and savory. He’s covered in blood and guts to his chest before recognizing the warning cries of danger from the corvids.

When he tips his vision up, he sees it.

A bear.

Standing up on its hind legs to gaze at him, once it’s spotted, it settles on its front paws like it’s been caught. Huffs and grunting, it comes in close.

Price hasn’t had his fill of the dead carcass yet, but he sends a prayer, and steps back when the bear grows closer. With a warning growl and snarl, the bear lingers back before snatching the dead carcass by its spine to bring it closer to itself.

The bear, though he’d seen bears before in person, didn’t compare in size to the usual who loomed in the country. He wasn’t exactly a model wolf either, bigger than a Grey Wolf, heavier than an American Dire Wolf. All of his human bulk and weight had just translated over.

If someone were to catch him, they’d have a bountiful dinner (that is until he turns back into a human when his heart stops beating).

With big black eyes and massive paws, its nails dug into flesh and pooled more blood into the cavity that had been dug out by Price himself and the vultures. Price stared too long at the size of it.

Price let it take his found kill. He’ll just find dinner elsewhere at his cabin.

He returned home slowly.

🐾🐺

When he went out again, bright collar around his neck, he walked a whopping 10 miles up the mountain before catching wind of something; the smell was thick with musk, the kind that made him think of the underside of wet bark, deep layers of earthy dirt, and scalding warmth.

It brought him to a scented tree, the tuffs of fur stuck between the cracks. It was a bear’s smell, no doubt. He didn’t want to stay longer than he needed to if he was moving into bear territory. He’d have to mark it on his map to stay clear of it when he gets back.

What he didn’t expect was to find a small campsite in the middle of a clearing. Someone had hunkered down in the snow behind his land without his knowledge. He was tempted to steal the cooked meat left to dry on the rack, but the movement of a standing body coming from the stream made him pull back.

He was spotted before he could dash.

“Oy.” The man clapped his gloved hands to spook Price, but he wasn’t moved. “You’re a brave big dog, aren’t you?” His eyes panned to the bright collar around his throat. “I’ve never seen a collared wolf before.”

Price kept his defense up, watching the man with a low head, lip ready to snarl if he stepped too close. Even though he was in this man’s campground, what was going to stop him from finding Price’s cabin and breaking in while he was away?

“You hungry?” Said the man as he moved forward, daringly towards Price.

Price snapped his jaw before scurrying up the incline to get above the man.

With no real evidence of nervousness around the “wild wolf”, the man proceeded to unhook his meat and toss it at Price’s feet. “There you are, pup.” He huffed. “We all get a little hostile when we’re hungry.” He smiled.

Price took the food and turned.

He didn’t report the man in the woods. But he wondered if he knew there was a bear in the same territory he settled down in. And if it would run him out of the woods. Or worse.

(a/n : More?? Lmk)

[amazingmsme]

Come Out, Come Out

AN: happy digital circus release day! I couldn’t believe it when they announced the new episode date & it lined up with my first tadc fic! I had a harder time with this one ngl, so I focused most of my efforts describing the candy landscape lmao. Regardless, I still hope you enjoy! Here’s day 4!

Pomni had never expected to see Gummigoo again, especially not so soon. She tried to hide her excitement when Caine mentioned that today's adventure would take place in the Candy Canyon Kingdom, but she was uncharacteristically cheerful and excited.

So much as to vanish immediately upon their arrival.

It wasn't their first time back, and Pomni had since reunited with her friend, and was eager to catch up. And even though the other circus members were growing on her, she'd rather spend some quality time with Gummigoo...without them.

It didn't take her long before she ran into him. She filled him in on her adventures since she last saw him, and in turn, he told her about everything that's happened to him in the meantime.

As he talked, Pomni reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt, taking a dry, crumbly bite.

"What're ya doin' mate? Spit that out, it's trash."

"What? Everything's candy! It tastes like an orange pixie stick!"

"An orange what now?"

"It's a type of candy where I come from," she explained.

"Yeah, well there's better candy," he teased, chuckling when she shoved him.

"Hey! It's good!"

"Could be better. C'mon," he stood and brushed himself off, walking away. She jumped up, following behind.

"Where are we going?"

"To find you some real candy."

"Wha- this is real candy!"

"Well then, I'm showin' you where to find the really good stuff," he smirked, glancing at her from over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping up.

He lead her to a large candy rock mountain, coated in a rich chocolate with mint garnish acting as natural foliage. The dirt here was a dark cookie crumble, with larger pebbles that made it easier to lose your footing. Pomni watched her step as they continued their ascent, and Gummigoo caught her when she nearly slipped in a chocolaty mud puddle. The higher they climbed, bright colored crystals stuck out from beneath the sweetened earth. Pomni paused to catch her breath and allowed herself to take in her surroundings.

"Whoa... it's beautiful up here," she said, staring out at the view from the mountain. Tall licorice trees spotted the countryside, and in the distance, she could see a herd of gummy deer hopping through a meadow of cotton candy. In a nearby mint shrub, a small chocolate bunny nibbled on a leaf, twitching its ears in her direction.

"Sure is. I like to come up here to get away sometimes. That's when I discovered this," he said, leading her down a narrow rocky path to a cave opening. "Go ahead, look inside."

Pomni did as she was told and peaked her head inside the cave. She let out a quiet gasp, her pinwheel eyes growing huge at the dazzling sight.

Inside the cave were large candy rock crystals of all colors and sizes. Rays of light filtered in through the mouth of the cave, bouncing off the crystals to create a truly radiant display. She took a step inside to get a better look, and notices a light pink liquid trickling down the rocks and dripping from the ceiling.

"It's pink lemonade. Go on, try it," he said, walking up from behind. He cupped his hands beneath where it was dripping at took a drink. She did the same, sipping slowly.

"I think that's the best lemonade I've ever tasted!" she exclaimed. She stuck her head beneath where it was dripping and opened her mouth, catching the drops as they rained down.

Gummigoo chuckled and did the same, "Ain't it though? Always best when it comes straight from the source."

"I'll say," Pomni agreed, wiping her mouth when it began to run down her chin. "So what other secrets have you been hiding?" she teased.

"Don't know whatcha mean, I'm an open book. But, that reminds me! This place is perfect for hide an' seek."

"Really?" she asked curiously, grabbing a chunk of candy crystal off a larger rock. She took a loud, crunchy bite.

"Oh yeah, it can get pretty boring sometimes. It's actually pretty fun, and not as easy as you'd expect," he explained. Now Pomni was intrigued.

"It sounds like fun! Would you wanna play?" she asked sheepishly.

"Sure thing, I'm always up for a round of hide an' seek! Since it's your first time here, I'll let you hide first. Y'know, let yourself get acquainted with the cave," he joked. She giggled along, rolling her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means have fun an' get to hiding! Or I'll getcha!" he playfully threatened, holding his hands up in menacing claws. She yelped and took off running deeper into the cave. She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out.

Pomni ran further into the cave as Gummigoo covered his eyes and began counting. She noticed a few decent hiding spots along the way, but she continued looking until she found one that seemed suitable. She finally his in a large crevice behind a thick, blue crystal. She pulled off a chunk and took a lick.

Cotton candy. One of her favorite flavors.

She stuffed the candy in her mouth, quietly sucking on it instead of chewing. Finally, she heard him call out, "Ready or not, here I come!"

She tucked herself further into the hole, her vision warping behind the large crystal. She could hear his voice echo off the cave walls, his steps getting closer.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he cupped his hands to help throw his voice down the crystal tunnel. He didn't expect an answer, but he wanted her to know he was coming. It was all part of the game after all.

As he came around the corner, he saw the bright colors of Pomni's costume reflecting off the crystals and followed them like arrows leading the way. He came up behind, jumping out from behind the rock and grabbing her by the arm, yanking her from her hiding spot.

"Gotcha!"

Pomni screamed in shock, the sound morphing into a giggly squeal when Gummigoo began squeezing her sides.

"Gummigoo! W-whahat are you dohohoing?" she asked as she tried to wrestle his hand away.

"What, didn't I tell ya what happens when you lose?" The tone in his voice indicated he knew that he didn't tell her, and was just rubbing it in. She gasped when his hands traveled up to her ribs, biting her lip to contain her laughter. It was a moot effort, really, especially when she tried to answer.

"Nohoho, you dihidn't!" she argued lightheartedly.

"Really? Must've slipped my mind," he taunted with an amused chuckle of his own. He squeezed and poked at her belly, enjoying the steady laughter and occasional snort.

"L-liar!" she managed to choke out before falling victim to a giggle fit.

"Well that's not very nice," he mused, notably not denying it. Instead, he continued to scribble over her soft tummy, evading her efforts to stop him.

"Okahay ohohokay, stohohop!" she pleaded, and he stopped as soon as she asked. She caught her breath, shooting him a mock glare.

"Thahat was mean," she said, playfully punching his shoulder. He flicked one of the jingle bells dangling from her hat in retaliation.

"That was just part of the game," he teased, shooting her a wink. She rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"In that case, it's your turn to hide," she said, poking his chest to emphasize her point. He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well-" he started to protest, but stopped himself, letting out a defeated sigh. "Yeah, I guess that's fair."

She smiled and covered her eyes as she started to count.

[nostalgicnarrator]

Over Hill and Under Mountain

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Word Count: 5,269

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Bilbo decides to follow Thorin’s example and decides to visit Erebor, but somehow the trip doesn’t go as planned and he’s going to be very, very late.

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

Mention of bodily Injury and description of injury, he is hurt, maybe blood, continue with caution and care.

Note:

Listen to me, I’m still trying to find my style when writing and I spent a really long time on this to make sure it was okay, if you see anything that might be confusing or something that is so horribly wrong don’t hesitate to tell me, I value criticism and wish to grow my writing ability. Also I kinda really struggled with the last bit but I think it’s okay-anyway, till next time.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Bilbo sat at the edge of his garden, his pipe in hand. The smell of his sweet tobacco wrapped around him in ribbons as he blew smoke rings. Bilbo watched as faunts chased each other down the road towards the marketplace that was being prepared for the coming festival.

For as long as Bilbo could remember, each season Hobbits from all over the rolling hills of the shire would come far and wide to see the festivities of Hobbiton. His favorite festival has truly always been the summer festival.

If Bilbo closes his eyes, often he could remember the bright colors of the fireworks, the food and games he’d once enjoyed. That isn’t to say the autumn festival wasn’t lovely in its own ways.

Bilbo always remembered how the rolling hills took on shades of tan and brown. And how the farms begin to grow crops as colorful as the leaves that fell. The autumn festival was always so full of warmth and fun trinkets and full of rich food.

Bilbo hums to himself, pulling himself from the distant memories of his childhood. He watched from his bench as wheelbarrows were filled with squashes and other crops, and then wheeled off to the market stalls.

He closed his eyes as a burst of crisp air nipped at his nose. Bilbo loved the smells the festival would bring. He couldn’t ever forget the smells of pies and grand foods as they wafted through the air, warming anyone who caught a whiff.

Bilbo sighs softly ‘shame’ he thought to himself fluttering his eyes open once more, ‘Thorin would have loved the festival’. Bilbo hopped up and tapped out his pipe before heading inside, the sweetness of his tobacco following him as he went.

‘Thorin’s tobacco,’ he smiled to himself, ‘Always smelled earthy, and bitter then lemons…I never did like that cheaper stuff, but I suppose it matches him.’ Bilbo thought as he moved through his cozy home.

He could hardly stop himself as his thoughts kept turning to Thorin. The memory of the dwarf’s deep, gravelly laugh, the wrinkle in his cheeks, the twinkle in his piercing blue eyes. That last thought made Bilbo’s heart ache and twist in a strange way.

‘What a silly dwarf,’ Bilbo mused, ‘Coming all the way to the Shire just to see me.’ He shook his head, a fond smile finding his lips. ‘He’s so proud of his kingdom, I’ve never seen anyone so proud of something. Not even Hamfast, I wonder how things are in Erebor now’

Bilbo paused, looking out the window, he could see the trees, how their leaves began to turn yellow and fall as the wind shook them softly. ‘It’s been months since Thorin visited…Perhaps it’s time I returned the favor.’

The thought buzzed in his mind, like a fly in the ear, it grew stronger with each passing moment. Then he grinned like a fool. ‘visit Thorin, huh? I suppose It is about time I saw the Lonely Mountain with my own eyes.’ Bilbo thought as he quickly shuffled away picking up some parchment on his way to his writing desk.

A raven Thorin had sent to Bilbo sat not far from him, the bird ruffled though his feathers, cleaning them gently. “Hello, Hugin,” Bilbo greeted the young raven as he began to write rather quickly.

Thorin had gotten quite fed up with the amount of time Bilbo’s letters seem to take. So much so that on one particular night he found a raven tapping on his window with a note.

Bilbo had taken to taking care of this young raven, as Hugin more often stayed in the shire near Bilbo. It was his job after all to carry letters for the hobbit.

Thorin had written a quick note explaining to him how a Raven carried quicker than most other creatures, and Bilbo agreed with that, seeing as how mail carriers can take as long as they liked with such things.

By now the young raven had stopped his ruffling and hopped a bit closer, tilting his head to look at Bilbo. “Hello, Master Baggins. Are you writing to the Mountain King again?” Hugin asked and leaned forward curiously to watch Bilbo’s pin.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, feel up for flying?” He asked, Bilbo ticked his tongue and scribbled something out.

“Always, Master Baggins!” Hugin flapped his wings in excitement and then tilted his head once more, “I am the quickest of the ravens! I’ll get there faster than the fastest of horses!” Hugin ruffled his feathers up and clicked, puffing up proudly.

Bilbo smiled, this raven often reminded him of Kíli. He has always been the one to immediately volunteer to do things. Kíli was never one to like being left out of things if he had any say in the matter.

‘Thorin never seemed to like that about his sister's youngest son.’ Bilbo couldn’t help the Sudden twist to his heart, it had only been a few months since Thorin’s visit, yet to Bilbo it felt like years yet again.

He looked down at his letter quickly, he sighed before a fond smile found his lips on again. ‘His parting for his journey back home was so, bittersweet…’ he thought as he finished his letter quickly, before waving it a little to dry, folding it up, and sealing it with a wax stamp.

“Well then” started the hobbit, after a seemingly long moment of silence. “you better get to flying. This needs to reach Thorin as fast as possible.” Bilbo held out the letter and looked to the raven as he finished speaking, his smile still tugging at his lips

“What’s it about?” asked the juvenile raven as he took the paper quickly.

“Nosy little bird, if you must know, I’m warning Thorin that I will be visiting very soon.” Bilbo said with a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

The young raven made a noise-one Bilbo had come to know as one of excitement-Hugin hardly waited another beat as he flew out of the window giving Bilbo barely enough time to open it.

Bilbo smiled excitedly and closed his window and sat down a moment silently ‘I truly hope Thorin won’t mind’ he hummed at his thought and began organizing his desk.

Once it was somewhat straight, he began to get up and straighten some more things around his smial ‘it is such short notice’ Bilbo made his way to the kitchen to make tea as he continued with his thoughts. ‘I hope he has time to prepare-‘

He paused, then his eyes widened, he gasped and put a hand to his head “wait, what am I doing I have to prepare!” He said out loud to no one, and just like that he was off.

He abandoned his tea pot as quickly as he had grabbed it and he found himself quite basically running around his burrow to pack. Bilbo knew that really, he should wait for Thorin to tell him that he got his letter, though Bilbo had a feeling his letter left little room for discussion on whether or not he was coming.

And before Bilbo realized anything he had on his blue coat he had gotten from the dwarfs, the cloak Thorin had given him draped over his shoulders held by a familiar clasp, and Sting strapped on his belt.

He remembers when Thorin gave it to him ‘he was so adamant that I take it’ Bilbo thought to himself as he put extra clothes in his pack. ‘Said he didn’t want me to get cold…’ he smiled a little more at that thought.

Thorin had walked Bilbo all the way back to the shire after they had settled after the battle for Erebor. Gandalf had offered to take him at first, seeing as Thorin was a little busy but when the king under the mountain heard Bilbo was heading home he had raced to catch the hobbit and offered to take him instead

Blibo found his cheeks warming up slightly and his face tugging his smile till it lit up his face. He pressed his hand to his cheek gently and sighs ‘Thorin is such a sweet friend’ Bilbo could feel his smile drop slightly at that thought.

Bilbo focused on the world around him once again, Bilbo blinked slightly in surprise as he found himself out of the rolling hills he calls home and on a shaggy pony already on his way to Bree. He smiled once again as he felt his excitement bubbling up within him.

After a few days of traveling Bilbo suddenly remembered why he had not visited sooner, Bilbo grumbled as he wiped his nose with his handkerchief. He never did like riding ponies; all the hair and dust did something foul to his allergies.

Bilbo huffed as he thought to himself. ‘Miserable, quite miserable. Oh, why did I think this a good idea?’ he thought dourly.

He huffed again. “I blame Thorin for this,” he muttered as he blew his nose. “Coming to see me in the Shire, bringing such fantastical stories.” He grumbled to no one but himself.

The Hobbit groaned and stared up at the sky, he couldn’t see much of it but what the trees allowed to filter through their leaves. It was getting a tad but cloudy. He huffed, if it rained, that would truly put the topping of this fowl afternoon.

He was beginning to miss his home, his warm hearth, his books and maps, his armchair- ‘it’s not too late’ Bilbo’s mind supplied to him, ‘you can go back tell Thorin you had changed your mind.’

But then his thoughts turned to Thorin once more, of his blue eyes, of his warm smiles, the ones he only reserved for those rare occasions, of his company, how Bilbo’s heart flips and skips every time he sees Thorin. And he shakes his head, chasing the thoughts away.

“Come now Bilbo” he chastised himself “you are a Baggins, of Bag End, you can do this, you have once before you can again!” He held his head a little higher as he spoke to himself.

But before he could do much more thinking or talking to himself, he sneezed, Bilbo groaned and wiped his nose once more, ‘I can not wait for when I stop sneezing’ he thought, ‘irritating business really’ he thought once more.

It seems the world was against him doing anything really, as his mind was interrupted by the sound of hooves behind him and he turned to face the noise. a beautiful white mare came to view and an awfully familiar gray clad wizard.

“Gandalf.” Bilbo greeted kindly, despite his foul mood and stuffy voice. Truly, that the moment he wanted to tell the wizard to kinda sod off, but alas, he was still a Baggins and manners seem to run in his blood-especially when it comes to the gray wizard.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf rumbled, “what in Middle-earth are you doing this far from the Shire?” Gandalf spurred his horse to pick up beside the Hobbit’s pony.

Bilbo hummed and smiled at the wizard. “I was about to ask you something similar, Gandalf. I am going to visit my dwarfs.”

“Your dwarfs?” Gandalf mused, raising a bushy brow, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Are you now? Alone? Do you truly think that’s a good idea, my dear hobbit?”

Bilbo shrugged, trying to appear as if this wasn’t the least bit nerve-racking. “Thorin did it. I don’t see the issue.”

Gandalf chuckled softly,“Thorin is a well traveled warrior and a king. And while you’ve faced orcs, goblins, and a dragon, I dare say, you seem to struggle with dusty roads and grumpy ponies.” Gandalf said, his tone teasing and riddled with mischief.

Bilbo bristled slightly but kept his voice as polite as one can be to such an irritating wizard, “I’ve managed quite well on my own so far, thank you very much! I can handle this journey as well as anyone else!” Bilbo all but yelled in reply.

Bilbo could see as Gandalf’s smile softened a small amount into something bit more genuine, “Oh, I have no doubt about your capabilities, Bilbo Baggins” said Gandalf, his tone remaining as teasing as before. “But I wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun. Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but Gandalf interrupted, “And I’m sure Thorin wouldn’t mind if I tag along. In fact, he might insist upon it.” Gandalf said, sounding a tad more serious this time.

Seeing the glint in Gandalf’s eyes, Bilbo sighed, knowing good and well it was futile to argue. “Very well, if you insist.” Bilbo said.

Gandalf’s grin widened. “Oh, I do insist. Now, let’s be off before you change your mind and decide to return to the comforts of Bag End.”

Blibo widened his eyes and gave Gandalf a look then he turned away and huffed, ‘this will be a long journey indeed.’ He thought grumpily.

The days seemed to pass a tad bit faster than Bilbo thought and he had found himself not entirely upset over Gandalf’s presence.

Often during the night, when they would camp, the wizard would tell him stories of far-off lands and ancient times. other nights, often the more longer feeling ones, they would sit in comfortable silence, smoking their pipes, blowing smoke rings that would blend into the crisp night air.

The days came to Bilbo much faster than before, as they rode through lush valleys and over towering rocky hillsides. Sometimes Gandalf would point out places he thought the hobbit may find interesting and share snippets of history.

Bilbo began to suspect it was because Gandalf was trying to negate Bilbo firm complaining for the 70th time this trip, even then Bilbo couldn’t help but feel wonder as they rode

Bilbo had passed through these lands before, more than a year ago now. And it seemed to be the same dusty roads that stretched on for what felt like centuries. But, as Gandalf continued to talk about the landscape, it began to feel like so much more.

He began to ache a long time ago now, but whether it was from sitting on his pony to long or shiver the colder temperatures, he did not know.

As the cold settled across the lands he and Gandalf traveled, Bilbo couldn’t help but to worry about Hugin. And with how fast it felt the winter was approaching, he feared the worst. For not only Hugin but Gandalf and himself as well.

One could starve, or freeze in conditions like this. Then when the nights he’s longer, Bilbo would often find himself each evening, gazing up into the darkening sky, hoping to catch maybe a glimpse of Hugin even if it was pointless to do so.

“I hope Hugin is okay…and that Thorin received my letter,” Bilbo muttered, as they settled down to rest near the warmth of a fire. “It’s been a few days and Hugin should be there by now but I can’t stop thinking that maybe he isn’t, maybe he’s freezing somewhere…”

Gandalf looked at him over the rim of his pipe. “Ravens are resilient creatures. If anyone can make it through these conditions, it’s a raven.”

Bilbo nodded and relaxed at Gandalf’s words, ‘he’s right’ Bilbo thought, fishing his one pipe from his coat and lighting it ‘though he seems to be more often than not most days’ Bilbo thought with a huff.

On one particularly cold day, as they were making their way through dense forested trails, Gandalf suddenly slowed his horse to a halt and raised a hand to stop Bilbo. “What is it?” Bilbo whispered, feeling a slight worrisome unease creep into his stomach.

Gandalf’s eyes scanned the trees, before he spoke. “We’re being followed.” Gandalf said as he turned his head some more.

‘Being followed!?’ Bilbo gripped the reins of his pony tightly, ‘of course we are! Of course we’re being followed!because nothing can go right for long can it’ he thought to himself as he struggled to push his panic away.

Bilbo snapped his eyes to the tree line and whipped his head around trying to catch a peek of anything in the shadows of the forest. “B-By whom?” He asked, trying not to sound afraid

“Orcs,” Gandalf said quietly. “A small band, I believe. They’ve been tracking us for a few miles now.”

Bilbo’s hand instinctively went to Sting. “W-What do we do?” Bilbo asked worriedly as he looked at the wizard. “Gandalf!” Bilbo whines as Gandalf sat quietly for a moment too long in the hobbit’s opinion.

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled with a familiar spark of mischief, one Bilbo strangely found comforting. “We give them a surprise they won’t soon forget.” Gandalf said.

Suddenly, Gandalf spurred his horse forward, and Bilbo scrambled to follow not wanting to be left behind. They rode hard and fast, the trees blurring past them as they made their way off the path deeper into the forest.

Eventually, Gandalf seemed to find where he had wanted to take them, they stopped in a clearing, and Gandalf dismounted swiftly. “We make our stand here,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

Bilbo faltered slightly. “O-our stand- what- but, but Gandalf! I- what if-!“ Bilbo stuttered desperately trying to reason with the wizard.

“Bilbo Baggins,” thundered the wizard, “Where did all the courage go from all those days ago? Had you truly no faith?” Gandalf asked, the start of angrier lacing his words.

Blibo shrank a bit into his saddle as he was still sitting on his pony, “I-of course I do Gandalf!-” Bilbo said quickly.

“Then get off that pony my dear Bilbo, and draw your sword.” Gandalf said harsher then he probably meant to as he turned his attention back to the forest around them.

Bilbo’s eyes widened-he nodded quickly as he scrambled off his pony, drawing Sting and positioning himself beside Gandalf. They waited in tense silence, Bilbo twitched at every noise or sound.

Suddenly, the forest erupted from its silence to a more chaotic noise as the orcs burst into the clearing, their weapons gleaming in the diminishing light of the sun.

Gandalf raised his staff, a blinding flash of light emanating from its tip and sending the orcs into a more unorganized frenzy.

Bilbo moves on instinct as he lunges himself forward, his sword clashing glinting in the light as he strikes down the nearest orc.

The battle, if you can call 6 Orcs attacking such a thing, was over swiftly and soon the clearing was quiet once more. Bilbo looked around making sure it was safe.

Bilbo stood panting, his heart beating hard in his chest, it shook his hands as he still held Sting. When Gandalf patted Bilbo's shoulder gently he jumped and looked up at the wizard, a proud smile was on Gandalf’s face.

“Well done, Bilbo. You may have the spirit of a Took in you yet.” Said Gandalf jokingly before a much more soft smile found its way on the wizard’s face, “your mother would be proud.” Gandalf nearly whispered to the hobbit.

Bilbo grinned as pride settled in his stomach. He nods softly and let out a relieved chuckle, “I-thank you Gandalf, though I doubt she’d Like the idea of her sun running around fighting Orcs” Bilbo said softly

“Nonsense my dear hobbit!” Gandalf replied, a smile pulling on his face as his eyes twinkled with that knowing mischievous look, “she’d be quite proud. Now let’s get going before all light is lost, we do not want to lose the road.”

“R-right yes!” Bilbo said as he sheath Sting and quickly got on his pony before following Gandalf back to the path.

Gandalf looked down at Bilbo as he came to step beside Gandalf, the wizard chuckled and shook his head. “Fret not my dear boy” Gandalf chuckled in a teasing tone, “soon, we will soon find ourselves in much more hospitable surroundings.”

Then, no more than a day later, seemingly spurred on by those very words themselves, their luck seemed to turn against them as the weather worsened and rain began to fall.

It was a cold, unrelenting drizzle that soaked through their cloaks and made the roads slippery as the ground became mud. Bilbo huddled deeper into his cloak that Thorin gave him.

Even in the abysmal conditions he couldn’t help but think of Thorin, ‘He had begun to grow his beard back out again’ his mind supplied, seemingly looking for a distraction from the freezing cold rain that pelted him.

As his pony trudged on though the thick mud he began to wonder how long it had grown since the last time he had seen Thorin, ‘he truthfully looked quite dashing’ Bilbo thought as a bit of warmth found his face as he thought of his kingly dwarf. He was shook from his thoughts when his pony whinnied skittishly. She had slid in the mud.

He looked off the side of the path and at the sheer drop below him and then to Gandalf, even the wizard’s horse had been struggling in the mud. He opened his mouth to call for the wizard but before Bilbo could say a word to Gandalf, his pony suddenly reared back harshly, it threw Bilbo off.

The wind wiped in his ears as he tumbled down a steep hillside. Bilbo desperately tried to stop himself as he crashed into various things he couldn’t really make out.

His head hit harshly on a rock and he wasn’t really sure of anything else anymore except for pain that shot through him, a sharp, explosive agony that left him gasping desperately for air he couldn’t seem to catch as he rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

He struggled to push himself up; his mind struggled sluggishly as pain radiating through him with each movement. When he tried to breathe, fresh waves of hurt coursed through him, worse than the last.

Bilbo was faintly aware of his legs shaking. When Gandalf’s voice called from him he tried to understand the words tumbling for the wizards mouth as he made his way to Bilbo

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as his vision tilted and his legs buckled under him, when he opened his eyes again his vision was swimming violently.

Bilbo blinked trying to clear his vision, ‘Thorin,’ Bilbo thought desperately as he clawed at the earth. ‘I’ll be late; I need to get up,’ his brain supplied to him, he let out a whine as panic gripped him.

He was going to be late? He didn’t want to be late, he wanted to be with Thorin- ‘maybe, maybe he could make the pain go away- make it better’ he thought to himself

Thorin always makes him feel better, always makes him feel happy. He liked feeling happy. He liked that Thorin makes him feel happy.

Bilbo faintly could make out Gandalf’s voice over all the thoughts crowding in his head. His vision blurred again as his heart beat pounded in his head making catching his breath so much harder.

Bilbo whined and closed his eyes, he let out a short sob as the pain riddled him. He didn’t want to be late. Thorin would be so sad if he was late.

He clawed at the mud beneath him, it began to feel slightly warm as he dug his hands into it, it squished between his fingers leaving a strange feeling between his fingers.

‘I can’t be late, can’t, Thorin,’ he thought desperately as he pushed himself harder to move. A sob wracked his body harshly as a hand took his arm and scooped him up.

Warmth wrapped around him as the hands pulled him close, Bilbo let a whine tumble from his mouth, he clutched onto the cloth his face was pushed against.

His mind was struggling as it began to foggy over, but each jostle and fresh waves of pain sobered his mind even only slightly. He felt like he needed to throw up as a headache pounded harder than before. Bilbo felt himself being moved onto something tall and the world around him was a blur.

Bilbo felt his mind give as he squeezed his eyes shut when the world around him moved dizzily, things began to feel fuzzy and distant, then all at once it stopped and he felt like he was floating.

The first thing Bilbo could remember after a long while of floating in only darkness was that he felt warm again. He cracked his eyes open dizzily, finding himself on something soft and warm.

He rolled his head to the side weakly, trying to make sense of anything. He could make out blurry figures moving around him and could hear noises and voices, foreign to him, he could almost recall one of the voices though, it felt familiar, it sounded familiar.

Bilbo felt someone touch his arm, and he let out a loud whine, before he weakly kicked his feet to try and get away from the unknown blob.

He couldn’t make sense of the sounds and voices around him. He pulled his arm away as a cold thin hand took it.

‘No’ he thought- or did he say that out loud, maybe he did as the blobs stopped trying to grab at him ‘Thorin, I want him, please’ a sob bubbled up in his throat.

He grasps at whatever was beneath his hands he whines again, he wanted Thorin, he wanted Thorin, Thorin would make all the pain disappear and maybe hold him till he felt better again.

Bilbo couldn’t stop the loud, hiccupping sob that pushed its way up his throat. Bilbo started shaking violently as his pain began to grow worse.

When Bilbo blinked his eyes open a familiar shape moved over him-Bilbo grabbed for them desperately, like a child would with a blanket.

The face of the person became much clearer, “Gandalf '' he heard himself cry out, he let out another sob but this one was laced in relief. “Get him-plea-ase g-get him!” Bilbo could hear himself beg as he gripped the wizard’s cloak.

“Bilbo, calm down, my boy. You are alright,” Gandalf said quietly. He pressed a hand to Bilbo’s head as he took the hobbit’s smaller hands in one of his.

“You’re hurt. You need help immediately,” Gandalf said. His voice was calm and soothing and Bilbo couldn’t help but to calm down, even if it was only a little bit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, Bilbo shook his head and sobbed, “Please, Gandalf… Thorin, please-please”

Gandalf’s voice sounded pleading as Bilbo felt him squeeze the hobbits hands gently, “Bilbo-” Gandalf tried to say before Bilbo interrupted him.

“Ple-please, Thorin, please! I need him-Gandalf, please!” Bilbo's voice shook and he opened his eyes and pleaded to the wizard.

Gandalf froze then his face fell into a serious look. “I will do what I can, Bilbo. I promise.”

And that was that. Bilbo couldn’t recall much after that, his memory either being too blurry or his eyes being too full of tears to really take anything in

Bilbo had no idea how long he was in that state of mind, drifting in and out of it like a leaf lost to the raging waters of a river.

On one particular occasion when he could, he could hardly make sense out of anything around him till Óin walked in quickly, Bilbo's mind lurched suddenly, sending a shot through him that mhm feel more awake then he had in a long time

Bilbo looked at Óin as the older Dwarf looked at him with enough clear worry that made Bilbo’s stomach turn knots and flip. Bilbo reached out to him.

Oin took his hand gently, “laddie, your going to be alright I’m here now, let get you patched up how's that sound?” His voice was quiet, like he was trying to offer comfort to the hobbit.

Bilbo hiccuped and tried to fight crying again and he reached up to hug Óin. Óin quickly scooped the hobbit into a hug.

“your alright lad, your alright…” Óin mumbled into his hair as he hugged the hobbit and for the first time in a long while Bilbo began to relax.

When Óin released Bilbo he immediately began to dart around the room gathering things or preparing others at a speed that was almost surprising to Bilbo.

Bilbo watched Óin work with amazement, and in a matter of minutes Óin was beginning to clean Bilbo up. Bilbo stopped Óin as the healer was cleaning him up. He needed to know.

Bilbo interrupted Óin as the dwarf began to open his mouth to ask what was wrong, “W-where's Thorin? D-did he get my-my letter?” Bilbo asked weakly as he let Óin go.

Oin made a face that told Bilbo he didn’t hear him, he repeated himself again a little louder when had Óin asked him to. 

“Aye lad,” Óin said as he nodded, he took a rag to Bilbo's head causing the hobbit to flinch and the dwarf to give him a look. “Thorin got your letter lad, don't worry” Óinsaid as he got back to cleaning the wound on Bilbo's head.

“When we got Gandalf’s letter. Thorin was worried, so he sent me ahead.” Óin tossed the rag into a bowl, he moved to dig through his bag pulling a needle and thread out and coming back over. “Came as fast as a pony would ride, even had some help from the mirkwood elves surprisingly enough”

“Wh-what are you going to do with that?” Bilbo asked shakily, Óin looked at him with a look one might give the village idiot.

“'What do you think I'm going to do lad?” Óin asked his voice laced with mirth, “You have a good gash across your head, I need to sew it up before it gets infected” Óin said as he threaded the needle.

Óin huffed and moved closer now before taking Bilbo’s head “It looks like they've just been wrapping it up, hmph, that's a good way to get an infection, and one is already trying to take hold” the dwarf huffed as he began to stitch up bilbo’s head. Bilbo flinched and whined as he did.

Óin continued stitching, his movements quick and efficient. Bilbo eventually stopped wincing and Óin finished his work. He then checked Bilbo's arm and the smaller injuries before bandaging him up.

“I think you'll be alright lad- though it seems you may have a small fever, but it should break in a day or two” Óin told him as he patted the hobbits arm comfortingly. Bilbo nodded at Óin’s words and began to relax,

“A-And when will the others be here…?” Bilbo asked him. Óin hummed in response.

“Not sure lad, not sure when they left after I scramble to come here.” Óin said he got up and began to pack and clean things back up. “Though they can’t be too far behind, maybe in a day or two.”

Bilbo nodded at that. Óin pointed at him and puffed his chest a bit as he glared at the hobbit- but Bilbo saw no real malice behind it. “You worry about getting some rest lad, I’ll wake you if they show up.”

Bilbo chuckles and nods softly; he had already started to feel a tad drowsy, so he doesn't have to wait far too much longer before he nodded off, with dreams of lonely mountains, distant places and of his friends.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I’ve finally finished this second part, and I’m sorry it took so long to do but as I have said before unfortunately it’s not everything I wanted to write, I split it up for my own mental wellbeing. That means I’ll be making part three and if you like this and part one, then keep an eye out for three. Now to @ people, because for some unknown reason you people want to know when I’m being a heathen.

@bllbabaggins @m4yh4ps

[tenderlytouchingjesters]

TIME TO FINISH MY SCTIR PRIDE WEEK PROMPTS IGNORE THE DATE PLEASE

Day 6: Werewolves/Weremonsters

Monsters exist. They’re all around. They live in society as normal people. Well, most of the time as normal people. Those not in the know don’t usually realize they exist.

Han Yoojin is a monster, albeit a pretty weak werecat. He just was going about his day as usual. Going to work and then going home to take care of his brother. When he was walking home something jumped at him from the shadows, a strong hand wrapping around his throat. Han Yoojin looks up to see threatening eyes, fangs and a hairy body looking down at him.

Oh. It’s Song Taewon. He’d recognize that chest anywhere. It’s his neighbor whom he helps out occasionally. Seeing the man work so many late nights had worried Han Yoojin after all.

And ah- the hand around his throat is getting tighter. It’s getting harder to breathe. Han Yoojin tries to speak a croaky, “Song Taewon-ssi,” escapes past his lips. Then suddenly a sharp pain slams into him as the man above him punctures his shoulder with his canines.

“AHK!” a short scream tears out of his throat as he tries to push the hairy beast off of him. Teeth sinking into his skin and tearing out his flesh. It’s blinding, the blood flowing out of him, and getting caught in his throat. Ah, he might die. The pain soon becomes too much to bear and Han Yoojin passes out.

——

Song Taewon comes back to his senses with his mouth around someone. A chill tears down his spine as he quickly lifts off and sees the amount of blood. So much blood. What has he done? How could he, and he was so careful too. Making sure he never transformed and when he did, he made sure he was chained up.

His… acquaintance usually helped him but that damned vampire was on a business trip abroad.

Carefully getting up he sees his neighbor. Oh. Oh no. He knows this guy, and he knows he has someone to go back home to. He sees his small neighbor gargling on his own blood, struggling to breathe.

Song Taewon had to something. He picked up the smaller man and started running to his apartment. He could try to fix this. He had to fix this.

Getting there in record time he bashes open the door and sets down Han Yoojin on his table. Song Taewon quickly grips onto his phone to call the golden vampire, he must know a doctor.

Holding the bleeding wound with one hand and the phone with the other, he quickly dials up Sung Hyunje.

Too focused on the phone Song Taewon doesn’t notice the other start to twitch, claws and ear growing on the smaller man. He doesn’t notice until a mouth gnaws on his arm and his blood and flesh get consumed by the other.

“WHAT!” Did he accidentally turn Han Yoojin? This is the worst outcome, but he should’ve expected this. After all he was an alpha male 🐺 awooo. Purebred too. Damn his strong genetics and big tits.

Slowly the man under him turns more and more into a small dog, but something’s wrong. Why does he look like a cat? Why does he look like a cat and a dog?

Day 7: Friends

Han Yoojin looked around him.

Everyone he knew hand in hand.

All looking into the sunset of the beautiful world they just saved.

Tears forming in his eyes.

His beautiful partner speaks up.

“Perhaps the true journey was the friends we made along the way, and the world we saved was each other Han Yoojin-gun.”

Something’s wrong. What’s happening? The sunset is gone and a crescent moon high up in the sky. Looking down upon a small white tree sapling. It’s cold. Where is he? Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Where’s Yoohyun?

Where’s Yerim?

Where’s Sung Hyunje?

Where’s Song Taewon?

Where’s Yoo Myeongwoo?

Where’s Noah?

Where’s Moon Hyuna?

….

Hello?

He looks down. A river of bodies.

A mountain of corpses.

Oh god. All his friends. Everyone who’s dead because of him.

And so many.

Yoohyun, Yoohyun, Yoohyun.

-

Han Yoojin wakes up with a start, Han Yoohyun runs into his room, Bak Yerim following closely behind. They both hug Yoojin asking if he’s okay, trying to gently coax and answer out of him.

He can’t stop crying.

- When saving the world was the friends we made along the way. -

[instruth]

THE SCARS OF TIME

(An Interesting Exploration)

I was searching, not searching to find - just searching, and … waiting.

Suddenly, I found myself standing at the foot of a mountain. I turned around slowly, scanning the captivating beauty before me. I fell on my knees and kissed the ground. I looked up to the sky … And discovered how small I was in this place, surrounded by mountains, near and far.

A glow at the top of a distant mountain caught my attention. It was the sun rising from behind it. The sun rays blinded my eyes. I covered my eyes with both palms, and turned around. When I opened my eyes, the new view mesmerized me. The shinning rays converged to a spot on a nearby mountain before me.

I knew I had to walk towards this mountain and climbed the steep terrain to the spot clearly pointed out to me.

My travel was easy. My growing excitement was the impetus to my onward journey. I told myself I merely needed to converge to the spot, halfway up this mountain. And it would be over pretty soon.

I started the climb, walking steadily up the narrow paths. However, the slippery remains of decaying leaves made it difficult to traverse to where I aimed to reach - up the steep terrain. Furthermore, I soon came face to face with a frightening sight. Snakes! A whole lot of them that barred the progress of my expedition - feeling intuitively, that I might be breaking or infringing into guarded forbidden territories.

I took a little diversion to avoid the colony of snakes, with a slight deviation from my original direction. I strove on. At every turn I broke branches of small trees to mark the spot, so I could trace the paths I had taken. I rested and had a drink of water from my plastic water bottle.

My mind, gnawed at the edge of consciousness, began exploring my inner purpose and meaning for what I was doing. Remnants of past events came to mind. I saw a visual image of a gentle glow, intricately carved into the labyrinth of my stored memories, with an exhibited gallery of past events. I felt confident I was doing the right thing. This was immediately confirmed by a gentle sound. I walked towards it. Joy! Oh joy! It was the sweet sound of dripping water. I topped up my water bottle and continued my travel of discovery.

I moved speedily, no longer gradually strolling the paths among small scrubs and plants that loomed the rocky road. Soon I grew tired. Fatigue forged a deterrent effect on me, as exhaustion finally led to increased despair. I stopped and looked down. The aerial view came to sight. Oh God! I declared.

The sight of the deep valley below frightened me. My earlier estimation was inaccurate. I was now so high up in the mountain. And so alone. It was a stark reminder of my most feared past. Loneliness!

I sat on a convenient block of rock, reassessing my options. I sipped water and refilled my bottle. This somehow reinvigorated me. And I decided to pursue my quest.

The climb did not seem to discourage me. I was filled with renewed enthusiasm. Sooner than expected, I reached the exact spot, halfway up the majestic mountain. To the full capacity of my lungs, I shouted, “Oh! Glory! Glory to God in the highest heaven.”

The entrance to the cave was small, just large enough for a man my size to crawl inside into a large labyrinth of a quiet place of assembly that seemed sacred. Immediately, a nagging concern probed my mind - Beware! Be careful not to tread into any private holistic gathering of the gods!

I heard the comforting sound of dripping water. I proceeded to explore this mystical place. There were clear evidence of countless footprints inside the cave. I hesitated, but stepped forward daringly, only to be greeted by the resounding chants of eerie echoes. I retracted a few steps and stopped to survey the surroundings. It was an easy and quick decision - to proceed towards the sounds of the gentle drippings of water.

I saw pointed columns of crystalline rocks rising to the ceiling (stalagmites) and similar ones coming down from the ceiling (stalactites). I shone my torch light and watched the amazing glitters from the crystals. I knelt and prayed.

The silence was profound.

I shone my torch at the huge walls around me. Intricate carvings stood out with a clear display of colored artworks - ancient writings in symbols, and drawings of familiar beings, humans and animals, together with unfamiliar creatures - depicting an intense tale of ceremonies and celebrations - customary and traditional, including pictures of wars, huntings and various kinds of gaming activities.

At the lower levels of the walls were ancient writings with ‘pages’ of words and with additional notes to reveal ancient mysteries, practices and discoveries - like recorded chronicles of a kingdom or a well respected tribe, I suppose.

On the ceiling were other intricate drawings of flying creatures with large wings, with an unmistakable large background picture of a bearded face of a man.

On the floor were neatly placed receptacles (hewn out of solid rocks). These appeared to be storage chests for treasured items of the inhabitants. They were mostly small articles that had metallic wheels and spokes, flapping appendages attached, quite apparently, some kind of tiny vehicles that could fly.

I picked up sufficient courage to explore further, up ahead where there were curved bends with clean slopes of smooth (or polished) rock formation. I was keen to discover more. With grit and sheer determination, I stepped one foot across the new boundary to continue my journey of discovery.

Suddenly, I heard the loud ringing of a sharp piercing sound. I looked into the darkness in the direction of the shrieking sound ….

I then turned and looked behind and caught the sight of a blinding light ….

It was then I awoke, staring at my curtain-drawn bedroom window …

- An Ellipsis (when the Reader becomes the Author to complete the conclusion of a story)

©Johnny J P Lee (Novelist, Author & Poet)

18 August 2024

An Ellipsis Story (unfinished imaginary)

Photos Credit, Unsplash Images

[kowbelll]

Lost in the Dark

"Stiles, where the hell are we going?"

Stiles' focus remained on the road as his girlfriend of just a few months (and best friend since preschool), sat in the passenger seat of his Jeep with growing anxiety. His narrowed eyes didn't leave the dark road as he tried to answer casually, "Don't worry about it."

She looked at him gobsmacked and her voice slightly raised with panic, "How on Earth am I supposed to not worry? We've lived in Beacon Hills all our lives, and I have never seen this road. Ever."

Stiles, trying not to panic just as much as she was, did his best to scan the area as he drove. "Psh, we've been here plenty of times. Remember a couple of years ago, when we, uh... we, you know... uh..." Sighing in defeat, he caved, "Ok, fine. I have no idea where we are."

Hearing him admit the truth made the reality of the situation sink in quickly, making her exclaim with worry and annoyance, "Stiles! You promised me a relaxing, late night drive, not a trip to the middle of nowhere!"

He rubbed his forehead regretfully, trying to remember what mistake he made that led them to this road in the first place. "I know, I know, but maybe it isn't so bad. Just look at all the... thousands of trees surrounding us that all look the same..." He glanced over at her and caught a glimpse of the intense glare she had, pointed right at him, causing him to marginally wince.

"If I don't make it home safe and alive, you can bet your ass that my father will hunt you down, whether you're still alive or not." Stiles simply nodded as she spoke, avoiding the thought of her dad and his menacing scowl.

As Stiles continued driving down the unfamiliar roads and paths, and making 'educated' guesses on how to get back home, his girlfriend shifted nervously in her seat. At one point, Stiles slowed down and squinted his eyes into the inky woods, towards the passenger side, and spoke ponderously, "Oh, look. Maybe we can ask that guy for directions."

With a spark of hope present in her, she turned her attention to where he was looking. However, that spark was quickly put out and replaced with frustration and fear as she exclaimed, yet again, "Stiles, that's a fucking mountain lion!" Stiles' eyes widened and he quickly drove off and further down the road. She ranted on about how much of an idiot he was and how much she no longer trusted him to escort her anywhere.

He interjected defensively, "It's pitch black out here, how am I supposed to distinguish a man from a mountain lion in these conditions!?"

She didn't hesitate to snap back, just as snarkily, "Well, maybe if you hadn't gotten us lost in the first place, you wouldn't have to worry about that!"

"Oh, excuse me for not having a GPS built into my brain!" Stiles looked at her, bugged by her matched fieriness.

"It's a real shame you don't, we should definitely look into that!" The tension between the two seemed to be reaching its peak until both of their attention was drawn to the vehicle as it slowed down. Her tone turned into one of confusion, "Stiles, what are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," Stiles frantically looked for the source of the problem as he spoke, still holding onto the steering wheel. He, too, was very confused by the turn of events, until the realization hit him. He hesitated to speak, knowing that the information he was about to reveal would only make him seem like even more of an idiot.

Nevertheless, his girlfriend knew him better than she knew herself, and she could easily read that adorable face of his. And so, she spoke warningly, "Stiles... Just say it."

He sighed, trying to build up the courage, and leaned his head back against the headrest. He looked over at her apologetically, and his voice softened with a hint of nervousness, "We're out of gas..."

She stared at him blankly, slowly digesting his words. After a moment, and after Stiles was about to freak out from the way she was looking at him, she just burst into laughter and bowed her head from the intensity of it. He was completely unprepared for that reaction and looked at her with concern.

"Wha-... What? Why are you laughing? You are laughing, right? What's happening?" he spoke cautiously, yet worriedly.

She lifted her head, still very amused, and barely got the words out between her inapt giggles, "We're so fucked."

And so, Stiles couldn't help but laugh along with her, choosing to enjoy his girlfriend's presence and her sweet laugh, despite the predicament they were in.

[morningstargirl666]

TBBW SNEAK PEAK

Oh, Kol Mikaelson, my beloved:

Before long, they were pulling off the main road and driving through heavy, electric-powered iron-wrought gates that marked the entrance to the Mikaelsons’ private property. She ended up looking out the window at the trees that banked either side of the long, winding drive, fall leaves rustling in the night-time breeze and fluttering to the ground. A thin slither of the moon could just be glimpsed behind their gnarled branches, shining in the distance, before it was blocked out completely by the growing foliage. And then the encroaching woods finally parted completely, revealing the Mikaelson’s towering c-shaped mansion at the end of a circular drive in all its towering, alabaster glory. 

Caroline leaned further forward as the car pulled up alongside it, slowly looking up. The building looked darker tonight. Maybe it was the lack of golden fairy-lights littering the perfectly-sculpted hedges, or the absent flower arrangements decorating the entrance, but the house loomed more ominously than she remembered. There was just something about it — something that gnawed at her gut, twisting it into knots. It wasn’t for lack of light either: there were signs of life within the walls, windows on either side aglow with warm, yellow light, dark silhouettes passing by on the other side every so often. The hanging porch light that reminded her of the White House was even on, chasing the shadows away. 

No, this wasn’t about the dark that lingered at the edges of the house (if it even could be called that, look at the size of that thing—). What unnerved her was how still it was, like she was staring up at a mountain; jagged and unyielding, splitting the horizon straight in half—

—An ancient god standing among infants.

Her eyes flickered to Kol, already getting out of the car. He looked impatient, a displeased curl to the edge of his mouth. He took his sunglasses off as he looked up at his home, gaze scanning around them, narrowing on the dark treeline that bordered the woods. Searching. Calculating. Checking for threats, she realised. He turned his head slightly and caught her looking, meeting her eyes through the glass. The chestnut brown of his eyes looked black in the dark, absent of anything human. Like looking into an empty room. 

Caroline swallowed.

[1001gallery]

pandora. chap. 1 - Before Light, There was Darkness

masterlist | chap. 2

a/n - if you read the first time this chapter came out...

no you didn't

The city of Musutafu watched as their shadows disappeared.

Once thin, wispy strands of clouds now carried veins of grey bleeding into the white, the city being engulfed in inky dark sky. Day turning to night in only seconds.

Along with the shadows went the sun blocked by the ever growing storm cloud. The air chilling as the ones on the street watched the spectacle, some with their eyes, while others took behind their phone screens recording the moment, wondering if they would get more than just a storm.

Their words caught by the wind as it wound its way from the sea through the coastal city.

Up and over the beach to the grassy hill as a mother sighed watching the damp-haired children play, complaining to the ones around her of how someone could ruin this day. The importance of it all. Some nodded their agreement as their eyes landed back to the children's screams of joy. 

"I'm All Might!"

"Fat Gum!"

"Can I be All Might?"

Twisting and turning through the densely packed cityscape that seldom felt overcrowded, two young men ambled. Steps unsteady as they focus on a cellphone, the screen showing white clouds, gangly veins of grey soon following.

"-ems to be out of control."

"But no rain. Could it be some type of gas Quirk?"

The leaves were a whispering audience, tumbling around the wheels of cars as they were shot into the air by the different slips of wind. Others drifting along, going higher and higher till they reached the top of the multi-story buildings.

Flipping backward and continuing forward as strong gusts blew them further north. Where the thickest and darkest clouds converged.

Just as things do, the leaves found gravity and fluttered down, skipping as it scratched the pavement, joining in a chorus as trees blew along. Moving below swings as they creaked and swung filling the playground void of laughter.

The wind formed around the structure, creating an invisible outline as it climbed to the top, cocooning a body. Still and Silent.

You heard it before you felt it. Rustling of the trees that border the width of the playground. The slithering of wind as it came up the slide wrapping itself around you.

Whooshing past your ears. Whispering. Laughing.

"Why are you lying? My mom says lying is bad."

"All Might is a real hero!"

Didn't your mom tell you it's bad to yell at other people? You thought as your arm that came up to wipe your nose froze, the sound of marbles clicking together makes you stop.

"It's a bracelet! That's a bracelet!"

Talisman. A talisman, not a bracelet. Stupid. You wiped your nose once more before placing your arm in your lap, the two marbles falling. One hitting the side of the slide while the other lay underneath your hand. Bound by the string wrapped around your wrist. 

What do they know of heroes? What do they know of the mountain your hero is? A twitch of fingers wrap around the one marble, its surface uneven.

Was. That your hero was. Your eyes begin to sting from the wind. It's always the wind.

Stupid kids, stupid All Might, stupid Heroes.

If only you didn't open your mouth. If only they weren't stupid and understood you. If only you weren't the problem.

Looking up as another burst of wind comes from behind, you see two lampposts sat on either side of the playground, the only lighting offered to the front of you. While behind - marbles colliding against the metal, ringing - as you grip the slide's bars to keep from falling down, was the jungle gym. 

Behind the jungle gym, a blue fence separated the playground from the apartments. The sidewalk beyond the fence shined brighter as three lampposts were spaced out. One on the left, one in the center, and one to the right.

It was all the same in the end. You were alone.

Even in your short-lived life, even with the experience of the eyes that followed your family. Your young self was taught to not mind the people around, that you are you, and nothing is better than that. You still couldn’t help it.

The hope of a friend.

Maybe that’s why your body found itself on top of the playground’s structure. Waiting for someone to come, didn’t kids like to play at the park?

Huffing that ended in your inhale stuttering, you settled back to the front. Letting go of the bars as you slid down, the sting in your eyes worsening.

Silent as your feet met ground, your hand formed a fist achingly tight as it wound around the marbles, to the point it felt like they would burst. You hoped it would always be like this - dark, windy, the smell of rain, the safety the darkness held - it would be better than when the sun was out and the days were loud and happy.

A cold swept your body, wind hitting your back. Your throat filled with an icy feeling, you coughed to clear it away. Only to be in time with another sound.

Your head snapped up. You couldn’t have imagined it. The leaves crunching were steady. The sound of something skipping along the pavement came with it. You looked to your right just where the lamppost was used as a mark between the neighboring houses and playground - there! The shadow that followed as a rock bounced along the length of the sidewalk.

Heartbeat quickening as your knuckle cracked from your hold. The one who walked came into view.

His blonde spiked hair never moved in the wind. A net of some sort sat on his shoulder, the hand closest to you swung as he walked, in no rush to get home even with the storm clouds overhead. Yet the most prominent feature, he looked to be your age.

Your eyes glued to him as he continued his strut, never once looking in the direction of the playground. The boy had already reached halfway when your chest tightened, the heat in your head running cold. You wanted to call him. You wanted to scream, but all that came out was a held back whine.

He wasn’t going to see you.

Please see me. Please. Please. Please. A gust once again blew at your back, rustling the surrounding trees as it made contact with the boy. His head snapped in your direction as if you had been the one to ruffle his clothes.

Eyes widening, body shooting straight up a thought came to your child’s mind. Did you finally find a friend? But all too well, even with the distance between you two, you saw as his eyes bulged.

Net swinging down at such force, it broke in two, hitting the ground. His fist clenched, eyes turning into a scowl, “What do you want, HUH!” The boy’s nostrils flared, standing to his full height even if he were close to being five-years-old.

“You creep!” Throwing the net back over his shoulder, handing by a thread, the blonde shoved his free hand in his shorts pocket. Clicking his tongue as he disappeared around the corner.

Cut from strings your shoulders slumped, bones cracking again as you loosened your hold around the now sweat covered marbles. Landing in your lap as the world ebbed away. The sting once brought from the wind now numbed to the familiar pins growing in your heart, spreading to your whole chest.

Lap, shoes, and ground mixed and blurred together even as your eyes dried.

It was your fault. YOU. you. you. you. yo- A blob of red.

 The blonde haired eyes were red. Did he see a monster sitting on the slide?

“Um..” The red took form in the shape of shoes. Shoes that shared the same space as your own colourless ones.

“There’s a storm coming,” This voice wasn’t rough. It was higher pitched, small. “You- you should go home.”

Home. You could never go home. Why are his hands bawled?

You crawled into yourself more, the movement seemed to spur the boy as his fists tightened.

“Are you o-” “YN!”

Thump. You know that voice. Thump. The string around your wrist rubs against your skin. Thump. When did it get so cold? Thump. Would you ever be able to go home?

Red shoes pointed to the direction of your grandmother’s voice.

“Hi-um. Hello.” The boy’s second attempt sounded more respectful toward the elder. Footsteps you knew by heart moved closer but never made it to you or Red Shoes.

“Thank you, child.” Her voice was breathy and drawled. Your head lowered. You could no longer see past your lap. Your hands felt like ice. “Come now, the storm is about to break.”

You wait till Red Shoes moves, moving around in a wide arc, coming up beside your grandmother. 

Red Shoes must have done something as Obaa clears her throat, “You, too-”

“Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, ma’am.”

“Izuku, come along.”

You see hands swatting their dismissal in your peripheral. Before any words can leave him, Obaa has already turned her back on you two. Dipping your eyes as the boy follows after your grandmother, a flash of a green box around Red Sh- Izuku’s waist, the only thing you see as you follow behind. The voice of Izuku quieting when he realized Obaa’s words were final.

Turning a corner, you were met by the back of an apartment building. It was nothing like you ever saw. 

Koi streamers hung from the railings of the balconies, decorating the cement coloured buildings. Green. Black mixing with red and blue. Pink and a dash of blue created one koi's scales. Long and short, they hung to signify the parents and children. You spotted one with its fins, like wings. Yet as wind filled their paper bodies, bringing them to life, the koi swam.

Their soft rustling echoing as you three made it to the front of the building. Izuku bows and thanks your grandmother for walking him home even when a few minutes before he had been adamant in his own to walk back alone.

“No one should be in a storm alone. You have a goodnight, Izuku.” He bows once more before turning and opening the door of the apartment building. Warm air blasting out as it mingles with the wind from outside. 

Red shoes are already halfway through the threshold holding open the door when they hesitate. Shuffle. And turn. Pointing directly at you.

“It was nice to meet you-”

Izuku was doing what your grandmother had, leaving room for you to introduce yourself. Your voice felt croaky and quiet, more air than sound, “Yn.”

“Y-” His voice pitched up in question as he sounded the first letter, his body leaning towards you, and you saw green. Green box hanging in the air as his body leaned to catch your vision. Green bushy hair. Green eyes that were more beautiful than anything you had ever seen. You felt your body stiffen as you pulled away, heart uncomfortably speeding up as your hands came up to your stomach as if it would make a wall between you and the boy.

Baby, you thought. Having to have Obaa tell him your name because your voice would not come out.

“Yn-chan.” The door closed, and with it came a burst of warm air filling your chest even as the wind continued to thrash around the awning. The way he said your name, those eyes that locked on yours for a second.

There was fear. But his eyes were kind. He was kind.

A strong gust with dust and all whipped in your face, breaking you out of your reverie as the silence was filled with your grandma’s labored breathing. It had been getting worse. You watched as she slowly declined ever since you showed up at her door. Wheezing for breath after only a couple of steps. Having to sit on a chair in order to cook food for the both of you. 

Ever since you came.

You try to ignore the ache settling in your legs in your chest. It was your fault for how your grandma was, how you ran off, and had her search for you. But the children’s laughter, their mocking, grew in your head.

Looking to the woman you hurt, you found her eyes already on you. Your own falling to the side, followed by her sighing as she leaned heavily to her left and all in one motion shuffled towards you. Reaching down to grab your hand but found your wrist instead only to blink and hold nothing but space as you thrust your way out of her grasp, coming out of the cover of the awning.

A single drop of rain hitting your head.

“Yn.” It was a commanding voice with no room to argue, “I have traveled all evening to find you. I am passed the age as to pretend my body is fine.” You never knew, but she saw how your back spoke for it all.

I hurt everyone I love. I’ve already hurt you. Looking to the ground as she sighed, she sent a prayer, somewhere, to someone. Asking for the strength needed.

“Come here, child. Now.” After a few seconds, you moved back to her silently. She gripped your shoulder, limping severely as her body weight leaned on you for support.

“Rain is to be enjoyed under a roof, where you go to bed warm and wake up dry.” Your steps were slow and steady as you made your way back to the home your grandmother spoke of. The sky rumbling in the distance.

Yet not one drop fell. Not when the door to the house closed. Not when your bones grew weary, your breathing uneven as the pins and needles grew underneath your skin. Hands pinching and clawing your back as you lay in bed.

The first drops came when your grandmother hobbled her way over and found strength to tuck you in. Your body sighing with relief as the hands melted into the warmth of the mattress.

The rhythmic slow descending rain was your lullaby, eyes growing heavy as your consciousness slipped into darkness.

Only then did the storm break. Lightning cracking and thunder booming as rain beat heavily on the roof, wind howling as it moved the trees to dance hauntingly.

Even so, you slept through it all. Dreams only a blur as they filled with green.

masterlist | chap. 2

[starspray]

White Flowers

written for @nolofinweanweek, also on the SWG

(minor warning for canonical character death)

.

“Do babies always take this long to be born?” Turukáno asked Findekáno. They were perched in the tallest tree in their mother’s garden, which gave them a great view of the house and the surrounding countryside, and the walls of Tirion not far off, gleaming white under Laurelin’s radiance. Turukáno had been banished from the house early that morning when Anairë had felt her first labor pains, and Findekáno had come out to join him after a while, claiming that he recalled how lonely and worrisome it had been for him when Turukáno had been born.

“I don’t know,” said Findekáno, swinging his legs idly as he leaned against the trunk. He had a lyre in his hands and was plucking at the strings absently. “You didn’t take very long, as I recall, but I have been told that it varies.” He strummed a few chords. To all appearances he was utterly unconcerned and at ease, but Turukáno could see his eyes flick toward their mother’s windows every few seconds. Figures were moving about inside, and occasionally a faint cry reached them in the garden.

At last, the windows opened, and Turukáno heard a sharper wail as their father leaned out to call them in. Findekáno immediately leaped to the ground, and caught Turukáno when he jumped after him. “Where are you going?” he asked, when Turukáno did not immediately follow him to the door.

“Wait for me!” Turukáno said as he gathered a bunch of flowers, tiny white ones with a sweet scent that grew in clusters like little stars, and one or two pale pink dahlias that his mother loved. He ran after Findekáno, inside and upstairs, where their Aunt Ëarwen opened the door to usher them in.

Their mother lay in bed propped up on a mound of pillows, and their father was beside her, holding a small squirming bundle. “Flowers! Oh, thank you, my love,” said Anairë, taking the bouquet and kissing Turukáno on the nose. “Come, meet your sister.”

“What is her name?” Findekáno asked as he leaned over Nolofinwë’s shoulder to peer at the baby. When Nolofinwë handed her back to Anairë, Turukáno finally got a look at her, little and flushed and wrinkly, her tiny hands balled into fists. She was the loveliest thing Turukáno had ever seen.

“Irissë,” said Anairë.

Irissë opened her eyes and cooed, reaching up for the flowers. Her grip was strong and tight, and once she had hold of the stems she would not let go, and tiny white petals rained down on her face, making her sneeze and the rest of them laugh. “Hello, Irissë,” Turukáno said, reaching out to run his fingers through the soft dark hair atop her head. “Hello, baby sister.”

.

The sun shone with blinding brightness and heat down upon Gondolin. All was quiet. No bells rang in the towers, and there was no music, no singing, no flutes or drums or harps. Even the flowing fountains seemed muted. Outside the city gates, upon the green grass of Tumladen, a cairn was being prepared. In life Aredhel had rebelled against walls, and so in death she would rest outside them, where the wildflowers grew and the wind passed whispering through the grass. How bitterly Turgon wished he had kept her inside the encircling mountains in life—that he had kept her safe.

The funeral would be held late in the afternoon, as the sun began to sink and the air cooled. Until then Aredhel lay in state, and all who wished could pass by to say farewell. Turgon stayed away. He did not want to witness others’ grief, nor to have witnesses to his own outside his own household. He did not know where Maeglin was—nor what he would say when he saw him again.

The flowers that had grown in their mother’s garden outside Tirion long ago did not grow in Beleriand. There were similar blossoms, tiny white things like stars, but their scent was not as sweet. Turgon still grew them, and he gathered a small bunch before at last descending. The crowds were gone, and the room empty. Aredhel lay upon silken cushions, clad in her favorite gown of white shot with silver brought across the Helcaraxë from Valinor, with a silver girdle and a circlet of diamond and pearl resting upon her dark hair. Her favorite bow and quiver had been laid at her side. Were it not for her unnatural stillness, and the grey pallor of her skin, she might have been asleep. The only sound was the whisper of Turgon’s own robes as he crossed the floor to stand at her side. Her hands rested one over the other on her stomach, and were cool when he laid his own over them. Carefully, he tucked the flowers into her fingers. “Farewell, Irissë,” he whispered into the stillness. “Forgive me, baby sister.”