#they dodged every opportunity to write a death that had emotional right or engage with the characters feelings on the matter

[eriexplosion]

In a world where people understand the difference between criticizing how a writing choice was handled and criticizing characters we would avoid so many thousands of words about how everyone else is feeling Wrong about fictional media.

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[1destinywrites-blog]

The Origin Star: Ch. 2

Fandom: Southpark Genre: Fantasy Pairing: None Rating: T (Language and Violence) Chapter Word Count: 5,099 Triggers: Implied Torture

Summary: It’s time to start a new game! The Drow Elves and the Humans have been enemies almost since time immemorial. Despite this, a tenuous peace was created a decade prior. But when the peace is broken, the land spirals into war once more. Only one thing can stop it: The Origin Star. An artifact from the time of the world's creation with the power of the ancient gods that shaped the land. He who holds it holds immeasurable power. But there are those who would wield its power unjustly. Will it bring peace and healing to the war-torn lands? Or will its holy glow bring only further destruction?

Prologue__Chapter 1__Chapter 2__

The arrival of a human captive in the village had caused quite a stir. The people whispered to each other, sharing speculation and theories. The human was sent to burn the village, some said. Another war was starting, some posterized, chewing their nails nervously. It was a human commander they had captured, it was a lost farmer, it was a lowly deserter soldier, it was a beautiful lady, it was a handsome man, and on and on the rumors flew. Very few knew the truth of what had occurred, and those who did were not talking about it. All over the village, the drow tossed around their rumors and did their work, and occasionally shot curious glances at the grandfather tree--which held the royal quarters in its great bows--where their High Lord was no doubt formulating a plan.

   And he was, indeed. Kyle, the High Lord of the Drow, watched as his general examined the prisoner. The general’s heavily scarred hands turned the prisoner’s face this way and that, and he let out a derisive scoff.

   “Are we sure this one is really all that important to the humans,” the gruff man asked, looking back at his lord.

   Kyle nodded. “According to the ranger party that found him, he announced himself to be ‘Captain Donovan’ and they reported that he was clearly the one in charge.”

   “A captain? Humph.” The general released the human, wearing the expression of one who couldn’t free themselves of some unpleasant odor. “There’s not a scar on this curr. So, either he’s an unbelievably fine fighter, capable of dodging every blow ever thrown at him, or he’s a jelly-kneed coward. And since he was captured by a group of rangers without sword or armor, I don’t believe it is the former.”

   “Whether he is a coward or not isn’t our concern at this time, General Alder” Kyle reminded him, taking a seat at the council table. Normally, the long rectangular table would be populated with elders, strategists, and advisors, but as of now, it was just the two of them and the hostage in the echoing chamber. “Our concern is whether or not he’s useful to us as a bargaining chip. What have the humans taken from us that is worth returning a captain to them? What information can we get out of him while we have him?”

   “My apologies my lord. I allowed my emotional investments to cloud my focus,” the general apologized. Kyle waved a hand to dismiss it. He understood how much Alder hated humans. He was one of the few remaining survivors of the Drow-Human war. He had seen numerous cruelties done by humans in his time. It was understandable that he would be sharp-tongued and critical where the prisoner was concerned. The general composed himself and took a seat in the straight-backed chair to the right of his Lord.

   “On to the matter at hand,” He said. “As you, no doubt remember, a fortnight ago we lost contact with a scout troop we sent into human-occupied territory. They were tasked with making note of the area’s defenses, the strength of the men, and the location of the vital supplies. Our goal was to eventually mount an attack that would chase the humans out and allow us to reclaim a portion of our lost forest. However, all the scouts failed to return to the rendezvous point at the decided time, and all attempts to discern their position have failed. In addition, we believe that a spy that we placed in the human capital was discovered and captured. James Valmer was sent to the capital disguised as a human bard with the goal of relating any relevant information he might overhear back to us. He, too, failed to appear at the rendezvous, and other spies we had positioned in the area have been forced to retreat, reporting an increased number of guards searching for disguised Drow.”

   Kyle sat silent for the space of several heartbeats, eyes tracing the woodgrain of the table while he pondered the information the general had presented to him.

   “How many were in the scouting troop?” He asked without looking up.

   “Five, my lord. All skilled scouts. However, if it came to fighting, I’m afraid I cannot guarantee that they would hold their own.”

   “I see.” Kyle put an elbow on the surface of the table and tangled his fingers into the fire-red curls that were only slightly kept in check by the royal wreath that circled his forehead. The fingers of his other hand drummed rhythmically on the wood. So, the humans had six hostages and they had one. How much was a captain worth to the humans, he wondered. Could they barter for the return of all six? If not, who did he take and, by extension, who would he leave behind?

   “Do any of them have family?” He asked the general slowly.

   “Two of the scouts are married; Asher and Amos. Amos has two young children. One--Magnolia--is engaged to her sweetheart. Aspen is the sole provider for his younger siblings after the death of their parents. Kanis is unattached. The spy, Valmer, is also unattached.”

   The information didn’t make the decision any easier. “Is there any chance,” he began, closing his eyes, “that we could convince them to trade all six of their hostages for our one?” The general blew a stream of air through his teeth contemplatively.

   “For a Captain? It’s unlikely, my Lord. For a general, perhaps. Or for a particularly loved fighter. But not for a Captain. In my experience, the most we can reasonably hope for is three. Four, if we’re lucky and this trash is as important to the humans as he claims to be.” Alder shot another glare at the prisoner, who glared back balefully, unable to comment, bound and gagged as he was.

   “I see...,” the Lord said again, more quietly this time. He knew what he needed to do. The decision weighed heavily on him as he looked up at his general. He caught the man’s tender expression before it changed quickly to one of solid dutifulness. General Alder had been his father’s general as well. The old soldier had watched Kyle grow up, and now he was watching the little boy that had begged him for bow lessons and war stories make calls on the lives of the people he was prematurely responsible for. Kyle pretended that he hadn’t seen.

   “General, would you please be so kind as to fetch me a scribe. I need to draft a writ of demand to the human capital.”

   “Of course, my lord. I believe there is one awaiting orders outside this chamber.” The general got to his feet and strode over to the large double doors on the opposite end of the room, his footfalls echoing like the marching of many soldiers around the room. One of the doors was cracked open and a slight-built elf slipped in, her arms laden with parchment, ink, and sealing wax. She hastily curtsied to the lord and then hurried to the table. Both Lord and general watched as she rushed nervously to organize her materials. Her parchment was spread, her ink was uncapped, a candle was lit, and a melting tray full of wax was placed over the flame. Finally, she dipped her quill and looked at the High Elf Lord, ready for his dictation.

   Kyle rose to his feet and went to the window of the chamber to look out, speaking loudly and clearly so there was no doubt about his commands.

   “I, Kyle Broflovski, King of the Eastern Forests, High Lord of the Drow Elves, Write to inform you, the King of Humanity, of our custody of one of your military commanders; one Captain Clyde Donovan. He was detained earlier this day--the seventh sun of Novetide--discovered commanding a band of soldiers through Drow territory. The entirety of the Captains troop was eliminated in the skirmish that followed their discovery. As of now, Captain Donovan remains unharmed.

   “I have been informed of your potential possession of a number of my men. The missing are as follows: James Valmer: Citizen Musician. Morgan Asher: Scout. Stewart Amos: Scout. Feylin Magnolia: Scout. Trevor Aspen: Scout. Wulfric Kanis: Scout.

   “In exchange for Captain Clyde Donovan’s life, I must firmly request the return of at least four of my subjects. This number is non-negotiable. The four to be returned are: Morgan Asher, Stewart Amos, Feylin Magnolia, and Trevor Aspen. Once again, the number and names of those to be returned are non-negotiable.

   “I assure you that Captain Donovan will remain alive, unharmed, and cared for until we no longer see benefit from doing so. I ask that you respond post haste with either your acceptance or denial of the terms I have outlined above. I also humbly request a report on the health and wellbeing of all six prisoners, should you possess them. I shall expect your reply before the thirtieth moon of Novetide. Should a response fail to arrive by that time, I cannot guarantee the continued health of Captain Donovan.

   “Such is the word of the High Lord. With Regards, Kyle Broflovski.”

   As Kyle’s voice faded away, nothing but the sound of quill scratching on parchment could be heard. He took the opportunity to breathe in deeply, quelling the guilt he felt at having to pick and choose his people. It especially hurt to have to leave James Valmer in the clutches of the enemy. Kyle knew him personally. The man liked to go by Jimmy. He had been born with twisted legs and a persistent impediment to his speech, yet there was no one in the village that could match his quick wit or his skills on the lute. He knew Jimmy was tougher than he appeared, but it still caused him great turmoil to have to abandon him.

   The scratching halted and the letter was read back to him. He turned away from the window to face the two inside.

   “What say you, General, he asked, “do you find my words satisfactory?”

   “It is not my place to derive satisfaction from anything you do, my lord,” General Alder replied faithfully. “However, if it is my opinion you are after, I can tell you that I believe your words to be well spoken and your demands wise. This should do nicely.”

   “Thank you, General. Scribe, please dry the letter and prepare it for delivery.”

   Under the watchful eye of the Lord and the military man, the scribe took in a huge lungful of air and then exhaled slowly over the parchment. A billowing cloud of purple mist was expelled past her lips, carrying with it the unmistakable energy of magic. The mist seemed to cling to the parchment, quickly drying the pine-green ink, and bestowing on it a level of water, fire, and dirt resistance that increased its chances of arriving at its destination completely readable.

Her long breath ceased. The mist dispersed, leaving the parchment seemingly unextraordinary in any way. The scribe’s deft fingers folded the parchment, then rolled it into a tight spiral. She tied it closed with a ribbon the color of the spring grass and then poured a dollop of emerald sealing wax onto the knot.

Now it was Kyle’s turn. His fingers found the hair-thin chain of gold that laid against the skin of his neck. With a careful reverence, he lifted it up and over his head. From the chain swung a pendant of opalescent white crystal in the shape of a six-pointed star. The pendant normally stayed safely hidden beneath his clothes, coming out only occasionally to act out its duty of signet on official documents. The scribe offered him the rolled parchment. Kyle took the pendant in his fingers and pressed it firmly into the lump of warm green wax, holding it there until the wax cooled and released the pendant with no sticking whatsoever.

“There,” he nodded approvingly at the now sealed letter, slipping the chain back around his neck and tucking away the star once again. “Please take this to the raven keeper at once. I want it sent out without any delay, understood?”

The scribe, who had said not a word since she had been called in, took the scroll and nodded. She slipped the letter into a pouch at her hip, gathered up her materials, and excused herself with another curtsy.

“Well, that’s done, then,” Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and marveling at how tense he was. “I think I’m going to try and unwind before dinner. General, I trust you can take care of our honored prisoner?”

“I can indeed, my Lord,” Alder confirmed, going over to Clyde and dragging him up by his bindings.

“General, I ask you be gentle in your search for information,” Kyle requested, already most of the way out the doors. “I told the king he would be unharmed. If you must use extreme measures, see to it that it doesn’t leave a mark. I don’t want anything to potentially hurt our chances of exchange.”

“I understand, my Lord.” Kyle concerned himself with it no more and took his leave.

He dragged the tips of his fingers along the wall, feeling the bumps and knots that comprised it. The keep of the Lord High Elf was situated in--and made up of--the branches of the ancient Grandfather Tree. The entire structure was made of living wood, rough to the touch and fragrant. The massive willow tree stood taller and spread wider than any other tree in the forest. It was said to be the first tree planted by the Ancient of the East. It was easy for Kyle to believe it. The air surrounding the Grandfather Tree felt as old as time itself and seemed to buzz with a long forgotten energy.

Through the living hallways, Kyle sensed the warmth of the great fire below him in the Grandfather Tree’s grotto. The wooden cave was home to the throne of the Lord High Drow Elf, as well as to numerous tables and chairs where the whole tribe gathered every night to eat together. The grand cooking fire in the center of it all kept the royal dwelling pleasantly warm in the winter time.

He exited through the grand entrance and came out onto the platform that circled the gargantuan trunk. The air outside contrasted the warm atmosphere he had just left behind, being chill and brisk with a slight breeze blowing through and giving motion to everything. He advanced to the edge of the platform and stepped onto the elevator: a separate platform, about four feet by four feet, with railing on three sides and a gate one could pull closed on the fourth. Kyle did this, then gave a rope that dangled above him a firm tug.

Far below, a bell tinkled, alerting the dozing operator that someone was in his elevator. He snapped to his feet and gave his donkey a firm shove. The creature began a slow trot around in circles, turning the great pulley system it was attached to. As the turning gears began gradually releasing rope, the elevator began its slow descent.

From his position in the gently swinging elevator, Kyle was able to see much of his domain spread out before him. The village had stood in this ancient forest for centuries, and the size of the trees made that clear. While none were anywhere near the size of the Grandfather Tree, the smallest of them would still take at least ten men with arms outstretched to circle their trunks completely. In the branches of these great trees, the Drow made their homes. Platforms supported the weight of houses high off the ground. The lower houses connected to spiraling ramps were typically the homes of the elderly or the ill. The homes built high up connected by webs of rope bridges were the norm for most Drow. And the small structures built almost up in the canopy were the play areas and clubhouses of the children. In the trunks and roots of the trees, one could find any number of structures carved out at ground level. Shops and stables, storage and meeting houses, places to sit and places of protection for the other pulley systems scattered throughout the village. The Drow were truly one with their woodland home.

With a gentle plop, the elevator came to a rest on the ground, and the operator bowed at the waist as his lord stepped out. Kyle nodded to him and began down a path that he walked often. All those he passed paused in their activity to bow or curtsy respectfully. Then once he had gone by they continued on their way. It was almost dinner time, so a majority of the activity in town was directly related to the preparation of the communal meal.

In the Drow culture, morning and midday meals were the responsibility of the individual. Food could be bought or traded from bakers, hunters, and shopkeepers. But dinner was a special time, meant to bring the tribe together after the tasks of the day had driven them apart. Food was cooked and eaten as a large group, and once the food was gone, someone would stand up and present a story: usually a history of their people or a moral fable. More recently, they had been presented with war stories from the survivors of the great battles. Tonight, the storyteller would be Ike, Kyle’s adopted brother.

Kyle approached a tree with a house situated close to the ground. Up and down the trunk clung the dying remains of climbing rosebushes, the onset of winter forcing them into a chilly sleep. Once close enough he ducked his head into a hollowed out arch in the base of the tree, intending to say hello to its resident. However, Kyle discovered that the hollow was empty. All it held was a threadbare blanket, a leg bone that had once belonged to a large animal, and the oppressive smell of wet wolf.

From behind him, Kyle heard the sound of a gentle, wheezing laugh. He withdrew himself from the wolf hollow and turned to face the sound. Its source was a stooped old man, smiling at Kyle with fond familiarity.

“Good evening, my Lord,” He greeted. “What, pray tell, brings one as noble as yourself to my humble, smelly wolf hole?”

“Elder Rowen!” Kyle smiled, reaching out and taking one of the withered hands in both of his own. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh, you see me often enough at council meetings, young one. More often than is good for me, I fear. Every year the trip to the Grandfather Tree feels longer and longer. And then there’s that blasted donkey pulling the lift. It jerks and sways so violently sometimes, I fear my heart may fail me on the way up. That is if I’m not dumped off the platform first.” The old man chuckled.

“Elder, I have invited you to stay with me in the keep before. And the offer remains ever open. If it is so hard for you to go back and forth then please, make your home in my home. And I don’t want to hear anything about not being a member of the royal family. Given how long you have looked after me and how close you were to my father, you practically are my family. Please, won’t you consider it?”

The old man shook his head slowly. “You are generous as always, my Lord, and you honor me with your words, but I must refuse yet again. The Grandfather Tree is your home. This one is mine.” Rowan shuffled stiffly over to the tree’s trunk and ran a hand along an exposed section of the bark. “This tree has been my home for three centuries. It holds memories for me, even as the ones I hold start to leak from my head. And it is Stanley’s home as well. And though he is grown and capable of caring for himself, I don’t wish to leave him alone just yet. My time on this earth will soon draw to a close. But what little time I have left, I will spend with him.”

“I understand,” Kyle said, watching the ancient elder. He had offered Stan a place in the royal halls as well once before, but he too had denied him, for much the same reasons as his guardian; his home was right here in this tree.

“Speaking of Stan,” Kyle continued, steering the conversation back toward his original purpose for coming, “I came to find him. I was hoping to speak to him for a bit. But he doesn’t appear to be here since Sparky isn’t here either. Do you know where I might find him?”

“I thought that the reason for your presence. You always come calling for Stan.”

“As you said, Elder; I see you often enough at meetings.”

Rowan gave another wheezing laugh before answering. “Indeed. Well, Stanley went to wash at the spring. When he returned home he was absolutely covered in blood and dirt. He thought it best not to turn up to dinner in that state, and I quite agree.”

“So he’s at the spring, then? Thank you, Elder Rowan. I will see you at the meal. May blessings find you.”

“And you, my young king.”

Kyle watched the old man shuffle up the ramp and into his treehouse, noticing the way he groaned softly with each seemingly painful step. It seemed it hadn’t been hyperbole when he had spoken about not having much time left. The thought made Kyle’s heart feel heavy. When the Rowen disappeared from view, he turned and began walking swiftly in the opposite direction.

The hot spring was located outside the village, connected to the town only by a narrow meandering path. It took Kyle down a steep incline until he stood at the base of a rocky hill. There, nestled in among the tree roots, a spring bubbled gently, steaming in the chill air.

Kyle smiled softly, seeing a set of clean clothes folded neatly over a low hanging branch. A few more steps brought the stone surrounding the spring into view. There was sparky, curled up on the warm stone, his chin resting comfortably on his folded paws. Kyle shifted his weight slightly, the cloth of his great robes rustling softly. Sparky’s ears twitched and the wolf raised his head. He sniffed the air and his bushy tail began to thump against the floor. Then, all at once, the lupine beast bounded to his feet and threw himself at Kyle with an excited yelp. The Lord laughed as he was knocked to the ground by a creature as long as he was tall and significantly heavier. The wolf nuzzled and nipped playfully, the great pink tongue finding its way into Kyle’s ear and making him cringe with the sensation.

“Sparky! Get off! Get off of me you mutt! Come on off! Hey, no licking, come on, that’s disgusting! Yes, I’m happy to see you too, now OFF!”

“Sparky, down!” The wolf obeyed the voice of his master and slowly backed off, letting Kyle sit up and wipe the drool from his face. “Come lay down, Spark.” The wolf retreated and plopped himself back down in the warm spot he had vacated to greet Kyle.

“Can't you control your animal, Marshwalker,” Kyle asked, stepping out of the tree cover and folding his arms across the chest as he wore a playfully stern expression.

Stan shrugged. “So sorry, my Lord. We weren’t expecting anyone to be here at this late evening hour. You startled him.”

“He viciously attacked me! I should demand a coat from his pelt!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Kyle.” Stan balled up a soaking piece of cloth and threw it at the High Lord. It smacked into Kyle’s shoulder and fell to the ground with a plop, leaving a dark wet spot on his red robes. Kyle snorted and both of them devolved into laughter. Kyle picked up the wad of fabric and tossed it back in the water before sitting himself next to Sparky on the warm stones.

“You know how much I hate it when you call me ‘my lord.’ You’re not just some citizen; you’re my best friend. You have been for almost as long as I can remember.”

“First of all, yeah, I know you hate it. Which is partially why I do it,” Stan said to him, taking the wad of fabric and scrubbing it between his hands. On further inspection, Kyle realized it was Stan’s shirt, and that the dark stains on it must’ve been what was left of the soldiers’ blood. He was amazed at how much of the once green fabric was now a rusty brown. It served as a reminder that, while Stan was a humble ranger, he knew his way around a sword. “And second of all, it’s just habit now. Rowan has instructed me to call you ‘my lord’ since day one. If he heard me call you Kyle, he’d give me an earful.”

“But he can’t hear you. When it’s just us can we please drop some of the formality,” he pleaded? “I get enough of it every day from everyone else: I am Lord every other time, so this time let me just be Kyle.”

“Alright. I can do that.” Stan gave up on cleaning his stained shirt and simply tossed it to dry land to let it sit forlornly beside the equally sopping pair of trousers he had also given up on washing.

“Good. Thanks.” Kyle sighed and reclined until his head rested on Sparky’s side and he could look up at the broken fragments of the orange sky visible through the canopy. The wolf didn’t seem to mind terribly that he was being used as a pillow. “It’s nice to only be Kyle now and then. Can’t goof off when I’m the High Elf Lord of the Drow. There’s too much responsibility.” He trailed off for a bit, then continued, “Today, I had to choose who deserved to be rescued more. We could only barter for so many hostage returns. I had to leave people behind. I’m responsible for their lives, man.”

Stan went to the edge of the hot spring and rested his arms on the edge, chin resting on top. “You did what you had to do, Kyle. Even if you had to leave someone behind, others might be saved. That’s what matters.”

“Is it, Stan,” he asked, feeling the validation from his companion lighten his burden ever so slightly?

“Yeah. You can’t always save everyone, but you can usually save someone. One life is worth just as much as any other.”

“You say that, but your clothes are covered in blood. You snuffed out a bunch of lives today. Isn’t that a bit ironic?”

Stan shrugged. “I tend to care more about animal lives. Most humans are kinda garbage in my opinion.”

“Am I garbage?”

“Yes. But less garbage than other people. I’m garbage too. The guys in the forest today were super garbage. Like, toxic waste poured into a well kind of garbage.”

Stan’s reasoning was full of fallacy, but Kyle overlooked it, for now, choosing to take comfort in it rather than take the argument apart.

“Still, making that choice left me so tired. All I did was think and speak but I felt like I had just fought a battle. No wonder dad always looked so exhausted, even before the war.”

The two of them drifted into silence, each remembering a time now passed. Kyle remembered playing with Stan whenever Elder Rowan brought him over for council meetings with his parents. While the old people blabbed on and on about boring politics, the two of them and Sparky ran around the Grandfather Tree, playing knights and Dragons, Hide and Seek, and all number of childhood games. Stan was usually the only other child Kyle got to play with. There weren’t typically average folk in the royal dwelling place, and the elders were all too old to have young children. Eventually, Kyle’s parents adopted his younger brother, Ike, from the Alfar elves, and the boys got a new playmate.

“I heard Ike is back.” Stan’s voice pulled Kyle out of his memories. The young lord nodded, lifting the twisted wooden crown off his head and laying it to the side of him for the sake of comfort. His red curls sprang free of the circlet and mingled happily with the wolf’s fur.

“Yeah. He got back last night. It’s a long way to the main Alfar village. It’s already snowing up there, he said, so that slowed his return. He was supposed to be back three days ago. As good as the Alfar are, they can’t control the weather.”

“How was his visit? Any idea what story he’s going to share tonight?”

“No idea. I haven’t had much time to talk to him. I’ve just been too busy. Hopefully, things calm down quickly.”

“Things will,” Stan reassured him. “Hey, close your eyes. I’m getting out.” Kyle obliged and contented himself listening to the wind in the leaves, the gentle patter of water, the wolf’s steady heartbeat, and the flailing of a wet human trying to pull his dry clothes on before he froze solid. Once the last sound subsided somewhat, Kyle sat up and opened his eyes, replacing his crown where it belonged.

“Well, you’re not covered in blood, which is good, but you still smell like wet fur.” Kyle teased. “You almost smell more like a wolf than Sparky.”

“Oh I’m soooooo sorry, m’lord,” Stan mocked, “that I do not meet your olfactory expectations. Not all of us can smell like spices and flowers all the time.”

“I do not smell like spices and flowers,” Kyle protested.

“You do too. You just can’t tell because you’re nose blind to it.”

“Whatever. Come on, let’s head back. Dinner is soon.”

“Yeah, I can tell. I can smell it from here. It smells like pork and honey.”

“I don’t smell anything,” Kyle said offhandedly, well used to Stan’s seemingly impossible sense of smell by now. The guy could smell chocolate in the pocket of someone across a room. Stan responded simply with a shrug. Kyle stood, and Stan whistled, bringing Sparky to his feet and too his master’s side. Then, together, the three of them walked the path back to camp.