#thread: snows that fall without reason

[crimsonretainer]

THE NIGHTS HAVE GROWN UNUSUALLY COLD OF LATE, more akin to Winter than the first kiss of Summer and just as lethal to unprepared travellers. The roads to Varley have seen their share of beasts in the past few days, alarming reports to the Central Church have prompted them to send more faculty to assist in matters it was clear the southern church was clearly inept at dealing with. More often than not, he would have choice words for approaching the church frivolously, and yet even he cannot fault them when the beasts are clearly closer to crest beasts than normal wolves.

Perhaps that's why Hubert is perched on the windowsill with nothing but candlelight for company, taking the first watch for the descending fog without a hint of questioning remorse. Perhaps he shouldn't feel comfortable turning his gaze away, and yet it's intriguing that even his countless contacts within the monastery have seen fit to encourage Margrave Gautier to take up the cavalry banner for something that had yet to threaten the borders of Faerghus.

A thought to pose to the man in question afterwards, perhaps, when the looming fog has not left his upper arms stinging from the raw magic humming in the air. Hubert supposes he can afford to take a moment, pulling the gloves from his fingers and flexing the numbed digits beneath. Crest Envy had driven his treacherous father to the brink of madness, a trait seemingly meant Hubert's own budding affinity with magic was exploited to the extreme, only when the pale marks on paler skin appear had the great Marquis Vestra been satisfied, content with the prowess shown despite the aches that the cold and latent magicks left in his heir's arms.

He wants to curse the man's hubris, condemn him to whatever hells await those like him, and yet Hubert's gaze returns to the window in a silent vigil. Even the lowly glowing embers are doing little to warm him, a fact that leads to the briefest hint of recklessness from the man as a low ball of flame sparks to life in his hands, illuminating the room and the man he'd thought to be sleeping, the flame reflecting on the hazel eyes staring intently. It would seem that he was not the only one with trouble sleeping, watching the man lurch off the far too soft bed and towards the window, pulling the flame closer and tucking a leg beneath him.

"Odd, isn't it, Margrave Gautier? For beasts to venture in from the wilds." Hubert cannot stand to look at the man, not when he's a reminder of the endless demands of his foolish father. Instead, his gaze is passing through the glass to the shadows skirting below, listening intently for the howls of the midnight hunt. "You must have some suspicions, after all, sightings of these creatures have risen around the territory of crest bearers as of late."

SNOWS THAT FALL WITHOUT REASON

[Reason+1] w/ @cielenruine

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 16: dating nat scatorccio in the wilderness

— summary: being nat’s significant other during winter hcs.

— warnings: some hurt/comfort. gn!reader. established relationship. some slightly suggestive content.

nat, who is uncharacteristically caring when it comes to you.

especially when the cold comes. after jackie dies, it’s like something inside her sharpens; she refuses to let you be next. she is always the first to notice if you’re shivering or struggling in the cold. she might not say much, but she’ll drape her jacket or blanket over you without asking. “don’t argue” she mutters firmly. when you open your mouth, nat cuts you off. “you’ll get sick”. “i was gonna say thank you” you whisper instead, watching as her hands linger, pulling the jacket tighter around you. it’s not much to keep the cold out, but it makes it bearable. “oh” nat whispers, her cheeks rosy. also: if you’re out on a hunt with her, she constantly checks to make sure your gloves and boots are secure, tugging them tighter if they’re just a little too loose. every few minutes, nat is glancing your way, scanning you for any sign of discomfort.

nat, who shares her rations with you.

during particularly harsh days, nat often sneaks you a larger portion of food. she brushes it off when you notice, saying she’s “not that hungry,” or “better at handling hunger than you”. “nat” you’ll occasionally try to reason when no one is around to hear. “you need this more than i do”

it’s true, rationally speaking: nat is the groups only chance of getting through the winter, her hunts the only source of food.

but nat brushes it off instantly. “shut up and eat” she instructs. her voice comes out a little harsh but you know she only has the sweetest intentions and that there’s no point in trying to fight her over this.

nat, who needs to be out of that cabin as much as possible.

no matter how cold it gets out there, or how exhausting the hunting can be, nat will rather spend time away in the cold that lose her mind in the constant company of the others. you’re the only one whose presence she genuinely appreciates. on rarer occasions, when there’s nothing else for you to do, she’ll suggest taking a walk out in the snow to clear both of your heads.

she jerks her head toward the woods, her voice gruff but softer than usual. “c’mon. let’s go for a walk”

you glance at her, puzzled. “a walk? in this weather?” she shrugs, already pulling her jacket tighter around her. “we’ll go crazy if we stay in all day. and you look like you could use some fresh air”

the trees are coated in frost when you step out of the cabin, their branches heavy with snow. nat walks a few steps ahead, scanning the woods like she always does, her hunter’s instincts never fully shutting off. for a while, neither of you speaks, she’s just leading the way through the trees. nat only pauses when you reach a small clearing, shoving her hands into her pockets and watching the snow fall around you.

but also: nat who, even in the cold, uses the walks as an opportunity to be alone with you.

“see?” she’ll say once you’ve reached said clearing. “that’s much better than the cabin, don’t you think?” she’s got a point there and you laugh softly, watching as she hesitates, her gaze dropping to the snow before flicking back up to you.

“what?” you ask, stepping closer

nat shakes her head, a rare smile curling up her lips. “nothing. just…missed being alone with you, i guess.” her hand reaches out on instinct, brushing snowflakes from your hair. things move fast from there: you’re suddenly pressed against the rough bark of a tree, nat’s freezing hands cupping your face before trailing down, her fingers curling against your waist and tugging you closer. the cold disappears entirely as her lips move against yours, urgent like she’s trying to make up for all the stolen moments the two of you couldn’t have. “missed this so much,” she murmurs against your lips, breathlessly.

you laugh, your hands threading into her hair as you tug her back into another kiss. nat’s cheeks are flushed, the tip of her nose a soft pink, but you don’t think it’s just the cold, not when her hands wander lower, tugging at the hem of your jacket, her fingers slipping just beneath the fabric to brush over your hip.

“nat,” you whisper, leaning your head back against the tree to expose more of your neck to her mouth. “what?” she grins, her hands not stopping once .“i missed this too” you mumble when you catch her eye, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek. her smile softens for a split second before her lips capture yours again, hungrier this time. that’s when you know you won’t head back anytime soon.

nat, who sits by the dying fire when neither of you can sleep at night.

you’ll often do that for each other, especially in winter. when one can’t sleep, the other will stay up to offer some warmth and comfort. the fire crackles softly still, casting flickering shadows on the cabin walls. you sit beside nat, knees nearly touching as the two of you huddle close to its warmth. she occasionally pokes at the flames with a stick, her expression distant. some nights, she’ll speak. others, you sit together until you drift off eventually.

“what date do you think it is?” she asks you one time.

you glance over at her, startled by the question. “i don’t know. it’s hard to keep track”

nat nods, lips pressing into a thin line, eyes fixed on the fire. “feels like it could be christmas,” you offer hesitantly.

she snorts softly, a breath of amusement. “christmas,” she echoes, shaking her head. “doesn’t feel much like it” finally, nat glances over at you. “maybe it is,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a hint of something you can’t quite name. “guess it doesn’t really matter out here, huh?”

nat, whose protectiveness can sometimes flare into anger.

out in the wilderness, you obviously try to be as helpful as possible. you might not be much of a hunter like nat, or capable of doing the gruesome stuff shauna does daily. still, you’re determined to try. this is when nat’s protectiveness can flare up, especially because she’s worried about you. if you push yourself too hard, whether from hunger, cold, or you chores, she’ll snap at you to take better care of yourself. when you try to get fire wood in the mists of a snowstorm, nat goes as far as to come out and get you:

your hands are numb despite the gloves you’re wearing, and the basket of firewood you’re carrying feels heavier with each step through the thick snowfall. that’s the state nat finds you in as she comes striding towards you. “are you trying to get yourself killed?” she snaps when she reaches you, cold hands feeling up your face. “why the hell didn’t you just stay in the cabin? it’s freezing out here!”

you bristle at her tone, even though you know it’s coming from a place of concern. “we need more firewood,” you reason. “i’m not just going to sit around and let everyone else do all the work” nat rubs a gloved hand across her forehead. “you think you’re helping? you’re barely standing. you’re gonna pass out out here, and then what? who’s supposed to carry your ass back?” her words sting, but before you can snap back, she grabs the basket from your hands. “give me that. go back to the cabin. now”

“i’m fine, nat, i-” you insist, but the look in her eyes stops you. there’s a rare flicker of vulnerability beneath the frustration, a hint of how scared she really is for you.

“just… please,” she mutters, her voice softer now. “go inside. get warm.”

nat, who still shares soft moments with you in spite of all the bitterness.

she feels that out of everyone who’s still alive, you’re by far the softest. the one most deserving, to her, of a good life, in a place suitable for your kindness and gentle nature she’s learned to love out there. so, regardless of everything (including herself), nat makes sure to share some soft moments with you. on those rare occasions when the fire crackles low and everyone else is already asleep, you’ll find her sitting next to you, a subtle tenderness in her actions.

you’ve grown used to the way nat holds herself, always on alert, always prepared to hunt or run, but in these quiet, shared moments, she lets that guard slip just enough to be with you. when the cold is biting harder than usual, she surprises you by sitting down beside you, resting her head on your shoulder for a moment. it’s not something she does often, and she’s clearly uncomfortable, but she wants this.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you here” the words come out quietly, vulnerable, even if she doesn’t fully recognize how important they are to you.

speaking of which: nat, who still struggles with open affection.

she isn’t the type to show her feelings with grand gestures or sweet words. she’s never been one for sentimentality, especially not after everything that happened. but when it comes to you, there are these moments where her affection comes through in the most subtle ways.

one particularly cold evening, after a long day of hunting and gathering firewood, you feel the chill settling deep into your bones. you didn’t realize how bad it was until you sit down near the fire, shivering. before you can even ask anyone, nat is there, kneeling beside you with a thick blanket in her hands. she doesn’t say anything, just drapes it over your shoulders. nat leans over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, her hand lingering longer than usual. “you’re okay” she whispers so quietly no one but you will hear and sounding like shes reassuring herself rather than you. “you’re okay”

nat, who misses not the house she grew up in, but your shared hometown.

the days blur together in the cold, and no one really knows the dates anymore. the passing of time becomes irrelevant when every day feels the same: survival first, everything else second. but deep down, you both know that, one of these days, back home in wiskayok, your families are likely celebrating their first christmas without any of you. nat doesn’t talk much about it, but every now and then, you can tell she’s thinking about home too.

one time, while you’re laying curled up together, a soft snowflake drifting through the cracks in the cabin walls, you can’t help but mention how strange it feels: “one of these days, back home, they’re all celebrating,” you murmur. it’s not a question. it’s not even a wish, but a recognition that christmas is still happening, somewhere out there. nat grunts, from behind you. “who cares?” she mutters, her voice rough. but then, after a long pause, she adds, softer than usual: “i guess it’d be nice to be home for once”

chilly winter mornings with nat <3

obviously, waking up in the freezing cold is miserable, but nat’s there to make it bearable. she’s always up before you, moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone else, and by the time you blink awake, nat is already perched beside you with a cup of lukewarm ‘tea’ she’s managed to scrounge up, her expression soft despite the biting cold.

“c’mon, sleepyhead,” she murmurs, nudging your shoulder and holding the mug out to you. her voice is so low, you’re the only one who can hear the tenderness in it. “the fire’s going! let’s get you warmed up”

you grumble under your breath, reluctant to leave the relative warmth of your spot. nat sets the mug down beside you and leans in closer, pressing her cold nose against your cheek. you yelp at the chill, but it’s enough to pull you out of your sleepy haze, earning a quiet chuckle from her. “see? knew that’d wake you up,” she teases, pulling back and offering you her hand.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.” 

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported. 

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had. 

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you. 

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together. 

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you. 

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner. 

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought. 

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients. 

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self. 

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!” 

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed… 

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head. 

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together. 

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything. 

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.” 

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster. 

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance. 

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.” 

“I’m fine.” You gritted. 

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache. 

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage. 

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors. 

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.” 

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.” 

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to. 

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified. 

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.” 

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him? 

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to. 

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite. 

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid. 

“I-I don’t like ��em.” He stammered. 

“You used to.” 

-

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago. 

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth. 

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality. 

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled. 

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos. 

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running. 

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.” 

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though. 

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.” 

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.” 

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face. 

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana. 

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you. 

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year. 

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours. 

And it worked out… surprisingly. 

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together. 

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie. 

Because he changed. 

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all. 

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat. 

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-” 

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose. 

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body. 

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then. 

And he hadn’t seen you since. 

Until now.

-

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet. 

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you. 

But it didn’t have to. 

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny. 

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you. 

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength. 

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain. 

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating. 

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation. 

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him. 

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance. 

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?” 

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so. 

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again. 

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him. 

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in. 

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation. 

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged. 

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye. 

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.” 

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open. 

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest. 

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness. 

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further. 

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes. 

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.” 

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously. 

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face. 

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood. 

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off. 

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand. 

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you. 

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger. 

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door. 

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.” 

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you. 

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you. 

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them. 

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours. 

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist. 

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of. 

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him. 

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie. 

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit. 

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

[throneofsapphics]

Hello, can I please have a honey hazelnut marshmallow cappuccino with cinnamon and cold foam? Iced, please. 😈

summary: feysandriel, amnesia, dark, with spice 

warnings: dark!feysandriel, injury, amnesia, light smut, foreplay, dubcon

a/n: this was foul bestie. I loved it. I hope you enjoy <3

coffee bar celebration

Something must have knocked you in the temple, that was the only reasonable explanation for the pounding headache currently splitting you in two.

Eyes fluttering beneath your lids, you tried to take in your surroundings without sight, the additional sense would only serve to drive your headache further. Soft sheets, high thread count, a comfortable quilt, a breeze hitting your cheeks. Open window? The scent of snow, freshly fallen, and hot chocolate somewhere. No other signs of life you could detect. The entire ritual took you several minutes to complete.

“We know you're awake,” a rough, hard, male voice said. An angry voice. “You might as well open your eyes.” You'd missed that very important detail somehow. He must've been shielding himself. Heart pounding in your chest, sensation ricocheting through your body, you listened to the voice and blinked your eyes open.

You were greeted by the most beautiful male you'd ever seen, leaning against the wall next to a half-open window, his arms crossed, eyes dark with fury. A beautiful nightmare. The second after the thought registered, his expression changed.

-

Rhys knew the moment you blinked those pretty, traitorous eyes open that you had no idea where you were. Your thoughts practically screamed at him, he didn't need to slip into your mind.

'Play along,' he spoke wordlessly to Azriel and Feyre, receiving different forms of agreement and caution coming back. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he crossed the few feet separating the wall from the bed.

“That was quite the fall you took,” he changed the tone in his voice to something softer, something a lover might take.

Sitting next to you on the bed, he bent over to inspect the wound, perfectly shaped like truth tellers pommel.

Barely ghosting his finger over it, you still winced away from him, covering it with your own hand, shoving yourself up to sit. He caught your shoulder, hand warm against your cool skin, steadying you as you swayed.

“Who are you?”

“Rhys.”

“Who are you to me?” You added, voice sharp and suspicious. That wouldn't do, if this last minute change of plans was to work.

“We're your partners,” Feyre said, expression perfectly sweet and melancholy. You blinked, eyes tracking from her to Azriel who assessed from the back of the room, his shadows swirling around his wrists and neck, nearly corporeal.

“I need a nap,” you slid yourself back down, curling onto your side. Rhys had an idea on how he could fill your dreams. It wasn't too early to start planting you back into your new reality.

-

The woman, from earlier, was at your side. Her name popped into your mind, Feyre. It rolled perfectly off your tongue, would sound even better if you were - you cut off your line of thinking, she might know you but you hardly knew her. Still, you couldn't deny she was absolutely gorgeous.

Her hands ghosted down your sides, stopping to grip your hips, pushing them down into the bed as she climbed in between them, her mouth pressing kisses over the fabric of your clothing, nipping in some areas. You gasped with each new sensation, each new press of her fingers.

Other hands joined, Rhys's slipping up your shirt, cool to your skin. Pleasure built and built as he idly, lazily, circled the peak of your breast.

Rough hands, the other male. The name, like magic, popped into your mind - Azriel. He rolled one nipple between two fingers, before leaning down over your to take it in his mouth. His soft hair brushed against your skin as his teeth tugged. Tightness coiled in your belly, Feyre's hands gripped your waist band. You gasped.

And woke.

Alone.

[mr-nauseam]

Practice 1.

TW: Manipulation. Emotional dependency. A character was murder out of scene. A character tried to unalive themselves out of scene. Light violent sex.

...

A visit to his convalescent, bedridden friend was an almost perfect alibi but Sejanus still eyed him suspiciously. Which was worrying because if in his annoyance he refused to lie to them about his arrival time, perhaps the agents would make the connection between the cold corpse and the scratch on his hand. It was a bummer to have to worry about loose threads, and Coriolanus berated himself for allowing himself to make such a reckless slip.

But this was no time for regrets. The avox arrived with his tea and thanked him against his better judgment, in an attempt to soften the sick man's expression. It helped a little, he seemed proud of his feigned kindness. Good. Now Snow is asking him questions about the accident. He couldn't let Sejanus be comfortable for long, a relaxed version of him, could read the signs in Coriolanus, as he was the only one who had seen what he looked like after committing a murder.

Plinth lowers his head. And begins to apologize before offering an explanation. His wrists bandaged, like his neck, hiding the scars from his suicide attempt. He says he really doesn't understand why he did it, Coriolanus knows that's a lie, and he points to the Capitol as the culprit, tells him he wishes he could take him back to District 2. It's not kindness, but as usual Sejanus muddles his words and his big brown eyes are soaked with tears. He can see the guilt eating him alive.

Snow doesn't comfort him right away, enjoying seeing his pitiful expression and he does it also to grant him a bit of sincerity by letting him see a part of the indignation he actually felt. Who had given him permission to slit his wrists and try to hang himself in a closet? Not him and that should have been enough for him to stop, but Sejanus was a spoiled brat. Always thirsty for more and for that very reason he ended up being reckless.

Oh.

An idea popped into his head as he approached his side to offer him a handkerchief and reassuring words. Snow thought about refraining from dating after this failed attempt, to give himself some time to plan things better, but he had a near-perfect suitor right here. It needed some tinkering, but nothing impossible, and fortunately over time the idea of Sejanus being born in District 2 was less repugnant to him.

After all, he was already more of a citizen of the Capitol, after living there for a decade and more here, even if he kept denying it. That's why he came out of his usual stoicism to give him a couple of compliments. "Of course you are valuable Sejanus," "My life would be very sad without you."

And, brushing his ear with his lips he drops the bombshell:

"I always knew you would be special to me."

You can see him get dazed. It's true, he thinks Coriolanus still has a girlfriend. And he is not blind, nor so foolish, as to ignore Snow's gaze and the way his arm runs down his back. It's now or never, before Sejanus thinks it through and his kindness pulls him away from his own happiness.

Coryo kisses him.

Gently but as soon as it is reciprocated the gentleness disappears, replaced by longing and desperation. They were already in a bed, so they must do nothing but lie down. The garments fall, and there is something in Snow's gestures that make him look similar to a white fox about to tear his prey apart.

The image was fitting, because the force of his grip will cause bruises on Sejanus' skin, and there is a fervent desire to tear the other to shreds. It is ruthless, because he wants to know if he will flee in the face of his wrath. At one point his hands get too close to the other's neck, and he wants to see how he would look gasping for air, but only for an instant.

He didn't want to deal with another dead lover today.

...

The next morning Coriolanus waits anxiously for the call. He knows they must have found the body by now, and he can't stay much longer at Sejanus' house, but he can't leave him alone either, without Snow by his side to contain his reaction. He might try to hang himself again, and it was in his best interest that his future husband not ruin his beautiful neck any further.

It almost broke his heart to see Sejanus so smiling. If Coriolanus could isolate him completely in a dark room maybe he would break the news to him later.

Snow's phone make a noise and he and answers, standing up, his voice a whisper and drops hist his shoulders. He hangs up and slumps slightly. Sejanus rushes to his side.

It was cute the way his voice trembled. Asking Smow.

"They found Livia dead."

There it was. That look of horror on Sejanus' face when he realized what he did. As Snow predicted he neeed support, to process that Coriolanus was unfaithful to his betrothed the night before she died.

For now it would delay their eventual relationship with little Plinth for a couple of months but something like that in his background would be useful to Coriolanus later on.

[creative-classpect]

The Land of Wire and Fog

The world is cloaked in mist and shadow. Howling winds scream through the valleys. The mountain peaks, titanic crests that scrape the sky, tower over the world far below. Windswept tunnels and a myriad of wind chimes decorate the mountains, creating a strange melody deep beneath the fog layer. In the lowest portions of the fog, far below the mountain tops and deep into the gloomy river valleys, lies a web of wires and threads, a delicate, world-spanning design that gently pulls the wind chimes with each passing breeze.

Welcome to LOWAF! The Land of Wire and Fog!

The world above is an endless horizon of clear blue sky. The world below is a treacherous maze of wire. While the mountains of this land are breathtaking (often literally with their elevation) there is a growing crisis building, a growing rift between the mega mountains and the valleys that lie between them.

Up beyond the fog and clouds is a terrifying freedom, nothing but clear skies and endless horizon. At the price of terrifying wind storms so great that they can tear flesh from bone at their worst. While much of the sky is open, if a tad tumultuous at times, there is a perpetual storm surrounding the highest peak, a point that has become the center of myth and legend to the consorts.

Down below the mountain tops, covered in thick clouds and fogs, lies a dense world of river valleys and old growth forests. The air here is still and calm. But the earth, however, is not. The mountains themselves have begun to crumble. Earthquakes have begun to shake the shrouded land as avalanches throw stone and snow down into the darkened depths. In the shadows of the great mountains, entire consort villages are destroyed in an instant. The more daring (and desperate) consorts have been pushed to mountaineering, ascending to great heights to escape the looming disasters below. Many others have taken to hiding in the middling mist, above the great fog, but below the treacherous, windy skies. These consorts have all but disappeared into the mountain caves and have not been heard from in quite some time…

Now is a time of great change for LOWAF as the distance between the top of the world and the bottom seems to expand with each passing day. This burden of tension will ultimately fall upon a hero, one who can master the roaring winds and the secrets that the ultradense fog below holds. One who will master the skies and all which lies beneath them. Should they fail, LOWAF will surely be torn asunder.

The Witch of Breath must traverse the fearsome peaks and mysterious valleys, explore the lost tunnels of wires that scour the planet, and find the denizen that has caused the world to spiral into ruin!

Denizen: Oranos, primordial of the sky, and father to the Greek Titans.

Features

The Pinnacle

While the towering heights of the land can easily outclass most mountains found on earth, even these mountains pale in comparison to the Pinnacle. The tallest mountain on LOWAF and in fact, the tallest non recursive point in any Sburb game.

The Pinnacle is a testament to the endless bounds and horizons of LOWAF, it is as if a continent has been uprooted from the world and pointed skyward. This mountain, scarred but uncompromising, holds with it a terrible weight. Its mere presence calls winds to swirl around it and create hurricane super storms across it. Its storms can even breach beyond the planet's atmosphere into the rest of the session.

This storm force is so great that it is the sole reason for the fog across the planet. Such a structure can not exist without consequence.

The Pit

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Beneath the behemoth that is the Pinnacle lies the Pit, a massive cavern system that runs across the interior of LOWAF. It is here where the wires originate and where much of their true nature is revealed.

The Pinnacle seeks to rise, to ascend beyond all else. To leave LOWAF behind. It is held in place by hooks and wires, binding it down to the surface. This tension and strain is the cause behind the planet's erosion and slow destruction.

Side quests

Song on the wind

Difficulty: 3/10

Mysterious winds on LOWAF is nothing new, not by a long shot. Strange songs and melodies carried from lands unknown to destinations obscure? That, however, is cause for curiosity. 

A number of mysterious wind chimes and bells can be found across the land, all inscribed with ominous scripture of the denizen and almost prophetic accounts of the session, both past and future. 

In isolation they hold singular notes and stories, but together they weave breathtaking songs and epics of what is and, more importantly, can be.

Rewards

Resonant wind chimes: These small bells always chime with wind, regardless of actual weather conditions, and appear to be linked, allowing sound and wind to pass through each like a portal. Any items alchemized with a chime is permanently linked to any other item

(Ok creator's note, I really like the idea of a big bell as a wind grenade, that's just so cool to me)

Wind wire: Some of the threads found in the particularly windy tunnels have started to erode and fade, becoming ultra thin and light. These wires are near imperceptible to sight, sound, or feeling, as if they are made of thin air. They are deceptively durable.

Jet stream

Difficulty: 9/10

A mysterious surge of howling winds have begun scraping through the land, bringing with them a storm of destruction wherever they roam. This rogue jet stream waves and bends all across the world, reaching the highest points in the atmosphere before plummeting through the deepest valleys. This would be intimidating and a bit peculiar, but there is another factor taking this rogue wind and making it into a serious problem.

It has begun to roam the session. Rocketing across the Battlefield of Skaia, across the moons of Prospit and Derse, and crashing through the various lands of the session. This rogue wind has begun causing havoc and destruction *everywhere*

Where has this wind come from? Why is it so unlike the others? And how can it be stopped?

Rewards

Aether: Known as the ‘pure upper air of the gods’, parts of the rogue wind can be siphoned off, processed, and transformed into a powerful new elemental state of matter. This element is extremely volatile to anyone lacking a Breath player’s unique connection to it. 

Shard of the heavens: In the very center of the jet stream, protected by the storm surrounding it, is a pure shard of the firmament. A glass-like crystal shard taken from the sky itself. It powers the jet stream as its heart. The shard is mysterious and near deified by the consorts of LOWAF and it is believed to have some sort of connection to Oranos himself.

Mini bosses

Storm Giant

A hulking giant made of raging storm clouds, the Storm Giant is a unique monster of incredible proportions. A behemoth of near unparalleled size and with nigh incomparable power, the Storm giant is the ever present guardian of the Pinnacle and protects the lair of the Denizen. It does so by blasting anything or anyone the denizen demands it to. The Storm Giant is a cruel tyrant over the skies and a loyal bodyguard to Oranos. 

But loyalty can only go so far. Orders are not the way of Breath. The Storm Giant has begun to travel away from the Pinnacle and has even been seen riding across the jet stream across the session.

Ranking: S

Strengths

- Incredible size and physical power. A top tier tank and bruiser

- Devastating thunder and lightning magic. They know every spell in the book

Weaknesses

- Short sighted and brash. To say they think things through is an overstatement at best

Loot drops

Storm shells: Various jars, urns, and other vessels can be found littered across LOWAF, hidden by the thickest layers of fog. These ancient damaged containers react strangely to the rogue wind and have a strange affinity for lightning and thunder magic. 

Crown of Cumulonimbus: This audacious crown gives its wearer the 2nd fastest flying speed, behind Oranos. Those unfamiliar with such speed and elevation can suffer extreme burns from wind resistance.

Viper of the valley

Hidden in the caves and tunnels, blending into the stone and disappearing into the thick fog, a serpentine monster lurks. A unique basilisk, the monster feasts on unsuspecting consorts foolish enough to seek refuge or attempt to ever leave the lowland river valleys. Its 

A basilisk that terrorizes those in the depths

Ranking: B

Strengths

- Intelligence. The Viper is remarkably aware and has shown higher thinking and complex problem solving.

- Basilisk biology. The viper's bite and prolonged stare can turn flesh to bone.

Weaknesses

- Cruelty. The Viper feeds on fear and traps its prey. This makes it predictable and resistant to adaptation

Loot drops

Basilisk scales- extremely sturdy, surprisingly lightweight, and deceptively quiet

Stone venom- a crystal blue liquid that causes a creature to slowly, and surely, lose all momentum. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. Any excess is released into the surrounding are

Denizen's lair

Hidden upon the precipice of LOWAF, towards the very peak of the Pinnacle, lies a castle obscured by the father of all storms. A place unseen for untold centuries, protected (or perhaps imprisoned), by the treacherous mountain below. These ruins, scarred and marred with erosion and age, cracked by thunder and scorched by lightning, are a testament to their prisoner. 

Sburb is a game of extremes, of ideology and power. The aspects, as raw and unfettered primordial concepts, could easily eat away at the very foundations of reality. Nowhere has this been more clear than with Oranos who strains against their purpose in this world. 

The ruins of this once great palace show a scene of antiquity, modeled after the greatness of Oranos. Monuments and sculptures that emanate incredible storm magic. Great statues of ancient heroes (underneath Oranos, of course) who stand as loyal centurions, throwing lightning and thunder to any intruders and any consort foolish enough to reach up towards the skies. Great basins of cold water, almost frozen by the chills of the upper atmosphere, whose winds sweep down and form the thick, obfuscating fog across the world.

This hollow place is dedicated to Oranos’s glory and is the seat of power in which Oranos would see himself rule over Skaia itself. Should the anchors keeping the denizen’s lair tied to LOWAF ever yield, Oranos will be free to do as they please.

- - -

This post was commissioned by @panopticonsys ! If you want to commission me or support my content, you can find me @ https://ko-fi.com/kesscal or over at https://linktr.ee/Skywhale09 !

[valy-gc]

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The Resonance Unfolds

The images still burn in your mind: swirling lights, vivid scenes, the strange mark seared into Hatterick’s hand. Your thoughts spin uncontrollably, refusing to make sense of what you just witnessed.

This can’t be real.

Your breathing grows shallow as panic sets in. You stammer incoherently, words spilling out without purpose—fragmented questions, denials, anything to claw your way back to rationality. You grip your head with trembling hands, tapping at your temples in a futile attempt to wake yourself from this impossible dream. It’s not real. It can’t be real. You mutter, desperate to wake-up. The world around you feels distant, the chatter of the students drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

Then, without warning, a sharp flick lands squarely on your forehead.

The shock jolts you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your hands drop, and you blink up at Solon, who’s now standing directly in front of you. His blue eyes hold yours, steady and unyielding.

“Stay calm,” he commands firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let the ceremony proceed.”

His words ground you, though your confusion lingers. Before you can even begin to piece together your next thought, Solon turns away, his attention shifting back to the pond.

“Elric Briarthorne,” he announces.

Another student steps forward—a noble figure but clearly nervous, maybe as much as you but for different reasons. As Elric reaches the edge of the Ethereal Mirror, the room seems to hold its breath.

The ceremony begins again.

The pond glows faintly at first, then erupts into brilliant light. The spiraling images this time are entirely different: an ornate ballroom, a figure towering over others with a cruel smirk, and a shattered glass slipper glinting like shards of ice. You recognize the story instantly: Cinderella’s wicked stepmother.

The figure materializes, imposing and regal, her expression sharp as she offers her hand to Elric. He hesitates, his unease written plainly across his face, but he eventually accepts. The process continues, and soon a mark etches itself onto his hand. The glowing light solidifies into the shape of a glass slipper.

Elric winces as the mark settles into place, his discomfort unmistakable.

Solon steps forward again, his tone reassuring. “The Resonance doesn’t dictate who you are,” he says, his voice calm yet firm. “It reflects potential and traits, not destiny. You are not bound to the choices of your Resonance. Your destiny is yours to shape.”

Elric nods faintly, his tension easing slightly.

One by one, the ceremony continues. Each student steps forward, their Resonance revealed in a dazzling array of images and figures:

A graceful woman draped in shimmering silk—Princess Kaguya.

A grim man with a bow in hand—Snow White’s hunter.

A young fawn rubbing its head on the hand of a young lady—Little Brother.

A mischievous imp spinning golden threads—Rumpelstiltskin.

A regal figure holding a frog in her palm—The Princess.

A pompous man draped in invisible finery—The Emperor. Some are familiar, stories you’ve heard since childhood, while others are complete mysteries. One student, Kadar Serpenscale, is greeted by a snake coiled protectively around a young mouse—a Resonance with “The Snake.”

The ceremony feels endless. Dozens of students become hundreds, each revealing their Resonance in turn. Your mind drifts, dissociating from the overwhelming spectacle. The sheer impossibility of it all leaves you detached, your thoughts circling back to the same conclusion: none of this can be real.

You’re snapped back to attention when silence falls over the room as the ceremony appears to end. But then Solon frowns, glancing back at his list.

“There’s no one else listed,” he mutters. His sharp gaze cuts through the crowd, landing on you. “You.” His voice pierces through your lingering haze. “What’s your name?”

Your stomach twists in knots as every eye in the room turns to you. You stammer out your name, barely audible.

“Micah Calloway?” Solon repeats, his tone skeptical as he scans the parchment again. “M. C…. There’s not even a single name on this list with those initials. Where are you from?”

You mumble a response, your voice faltering under his intense scrutiny.

Solon’s frown deepens. “I’ve never heard of that place,” he says, glancing around the room. “Has anyone here?”

The students shake their heads, murmuring quietly among themselves.

After a moment, Solon exhales, his expression softening slightly. He places a hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

“You must have come from another world,” he concludes. “I don’t know how or why you’re here, but the fact that you appeared in the Hall of Echoes, here in Fablewood Academy, means you’re now under my responsibility.”

His voice takes on a reassuring tone, the weight of his hand grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “But you’re here now, so you must complete the Resonance ceremony.”

Your pulse quickens as Solon gestures toward the Ethereal Mirror. “Step forward,” he instructs.

Every instinct screams at you to stay put, but your feet move hesitantly toward the pond. Finally, you stand at its edge, the glow of the Mirror reflecting in your wide, uncertain eyes.

~~~~

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

[ohifonlyx33]

sorry i just had to get this out of my system

even though i've made a poste like this before, I am still struck by the depth and poetry of Ryan O'Neal's songs

Keep your chin up, as you untangle God From cold blood and bruises We are X-rays of something broken

Wrists get tired rewriting futures Our bodies beg us to be creatures of habit

-

"Fast-forward motion Will gracefully show The flickering story That all of our sketches unfold."

-

When we were young Our words were innocent Whiter than snow, Awkward and slow.

Now when we speak, We risk an avalanche. But that's not enough now To reroute our plans.

-

Change is slow, but I feel it taking shape Folding over us like waves On origami ocean tides, we sway Like blueprints constantly being rearranged

-

So we wrestle with it all The concept of grace And the faithful concrete As it breaks our fall.

Like firewood, Burning bright In the dead of winter, By only a flicker We cling to this life.

We study our story arcs: Inherently good, Or were we broken right from the start?

Our hesitant fingerprints Trace every mountain, Lace every valley Until we're convinced That we know it all by heart Every blade of grass Bears our mark, In the name of being brave, Though it's just another word for being afraid.

-

While collecting the stars, I connected the dots: I don't know who I am, but now I know who I'm not I'm just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit

-

No one can unring this bell Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new God knows, I am dissonance Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune

-

We'll build new traditions in place of the old Cause life without revision will silence our souls

-

Stitch by stitch, I tear apart If brokenness is a form of art I must be a poster child prodigy

Thread by thread, I come apart If brokenness is a work of art Surely this must be my masterpiece

-

I had the most vivid dream My feet had left the ground I was floating to heaven But I could only look down My mind was heavy Running ragged With worst-case scenarios Emergency exits And the distance below I woke up so worried that the angels let go

-

Bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust For a moment, we get to be glorious Ice sculptures, adorned in light Sand castles built tall, in between the tides I'm stuck swimming in shadows down here It's been forever since I came up for air Flashlight in hand, determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin To try to describe

-

It is the calm water In the middle of an anxious sea Where heavy clouds part and the sunrise starts A fire in the deepest part of me So I let go and in this moment I can breathe

-

Where there is light, a shadow appears The cause and effect when life interferes The same rule applies to goodness and grief For in our great sorrow, we learn what joy means

-

It all spills out Reckless but honest words leave out my mouth Like kerosene on a flame of doubt I couldn't make it right Alarms will sound But it's too late for holy water now Sooner or later the fire dies down I'll open up my eyes again And I'll try and find the image of God In mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke

-

She drew in her first breath, I learned what love meant And my heart, reconciled all the darkness and light inside my chest

-

You begged and begged for some kind of change Maybe they'd wake up tomorrow and regret the pain That they've passed down to you like DNA But no luck, no luck It seems only by the hand of God or death Will they truly change their silhouettes For a miracle or a consequence You wait and wait

-

"You're alive, quit acting like you're dead" Like a mirror, it spoke so clear "Don't you recognize the reason why you're here? To be enchanted."

-

A bright sunrise through shattered glass A fountain of youth slipping through the cracks I drag my feet through perfect sand Toward a future I no longer understand

In the water, we remember That nothing, even death Lasts forever I want to swim, I want to swim, I want to try To trust in the mercy of the merciless tide My mother taught me all will be reconciled God, what a gift to be my mother's child

-

Just a little longer Everything will make sense Broken things will be remade But what about the meantime? How do I ignore the signs that one day Everything I love will fade? I'm too tired to fight In a civil war of faith

There's some kind of Heaven Just around the corner And all this pain will be replaced With unimaginable grace

-

I am the sail, the plank The mast that breaks and gets replaced I am remade, repaired, reshaped But somehow, still the same Even after every cell in my body changed I know my name

[sakurarisen]

Meet the Mun.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

I've actually had Sera as a muse for well over a decade. She's easily one of my oldest muses and ocs, and came about in a period of my life that actually helped contribute to (then unrecognized) PTSD. While she's been through a HELL of a lot more than me, Sera is something of a comfort character and forever my strongest muse, and I don't think there'll ever be a day I'm not writing her. <3

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

I'm not really fond of cheating plots, especially ones taken as a 'just handwave it off' kind of thing? Just not my cup of tea. I'm also not really fond of horror and violence for the sake of violence, again especially when just shrugged off or thrown in for no reason other than shock value/no reason at all, and I definitely don't like plots where all it is is 'A antagonizes B, B has to deal with it with nothing else going on aside from A antagonizing them' - I've had a lot of encounters where I literally couldn't do anything without my muse being shit on every time they showed up or opened their mouth, and it was treated as a joke my muse (and I) should just deal with. Shit's not funny after a while. I also don't like turning EVERYTHING nsfw it the same vein as that, either, being it sexual or not - It's exhausting trying to write a conversation between muses and it boiling down to/derailed into a slew of dirty jokes and innuendos, or a trauma dump in reply to something "what do you want for lunch". A bit is fine and funny, but there's a time for it, in my opinion.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

I do love softer things! Give me relationship building! Give me lore building! Give me meaningful and impactful moments - Some of my favorite threads are ones where I've walked away and learned something new about the muses! <3 I love writing fluff, I love letting the muses just be, but I also love touches of angst occasionally and serious moments just as much. <3

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ��ᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

Oftentimes they're things I've been thinking of for a while and just had a breakthrough on, or a sudden realization - Things like Sera being a snow phoenix fall under 'sudden realization', while others, like her scars, were a breakthrough from thinking about. A good chunk of the time, they come around via threads making me see something in a new light or my love of reading made me think, or a video game sparked up a few thoughts, and it always tumbles into something massive the more my muse nodes her head and finally opens up in a 'you finally figured me out, here's more detail' babble.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

Both - I usually do better with silence, but if I can't get that, I'll slap on some instrumental type music, oftentimes Lindsey Stirling. Things with lyrics usually serve as a distraction because I want to listen to the vocals over writing. XD

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

Both! A LOT of them are winged, especially since I just let Sera (and Shayan!) do her own thing usually and oftentimes she ends up doing things I didn't expect her to do anyway, but I also like to plan out a little bit a lot, too. That's usually as simple as looking to a partner and going "I think this is going to happen" or "I'd like to touch on this", or even pointing out "hey, here's how my muse feels after that" - But from there it's usually winged, never planned out word for word.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

I love shipping, but unfortunately I've had some pretty horrible experiences with it outside of an incredibly tiny handful of close friends, which's really dashed my desire to jump into it with anyone aside from them. This is actually why I've gone totally singleship and exclusively shipped with @honorisen - I've been burnt so badly over the years I'd rather just keep romantic shipping to a super close friend who knows me and I know just as well in return.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

I go by either Lita, Pom, or Pomberry, the later being a mix of Pomeranian and Tonberry! Though to be fair I also regularly answer to just 'hey you-' as well, and used to go by Pomsky before it got shortened to just Pom! I'm not super picky in which I prefer, so hit me with any of them <3

ᴀɢᴇ?

A good bit over 30-

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

October 13th <3

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

Purple, dark green, and probably a little mid-ranged blues in there too-

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

I spent my childhood in the 90's, so I've gotta say most songs by the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC - With special nods for the later to Bye Bye Bye and Space Cowboy. I also really, REALLY love Lindsey Stirling's Shatter Me and Roundtable Rival, as well as What You're Made Of, and Breaking Benjamin's I will Not Bow and Breath - I could list a ton here, but that's because I'm usually fond of songs and less so of groups in general!

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2! It happened to be on tv, and I can never turn down GotG <3

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

...Prooobably Jeopardy? I don't watch a whole heck of a lot of TV aside from old re-runs of 90's/early 2000's anime, but we watch Jeopardy and Family Feud here during dinner most days, so-

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

Currently have on Space Cowboy by NSYNC! <3

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

Toss up between chicken tetrazini, meatloaf, and bbq ribs <3 Not really a food, but I finally got to try bubble tea/boba and I'm falling in love with that too-

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

Anything that isn't hot as all getout, which is most of the year where I live, unfortunately. x.x' I like spring and fall for that reason especially? And while my health doesn't agree, I LOVE winter and miss it since moving to a warmer climate several years back-

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

Yep yep! <3 @honorisen / @yoroiis, @waltzofphoenix, and a friend who's unfortunately no longer rp'ing here, but I talk to daily! <3

Tagged: Saphie said steal it SO <3 Stolen from @azure-steel and replaced with cupcakes <3

Tagging: @yoroiis, @waltzofphoenix, Grab it! <3

[tenfoldtranslation]

Phew, first draft of volume 1 turned in!! I'm so looking forward to once this gets announced and I can actually talk about it!! Hopefully it'll have more readers than the last series I worked on ^^; Especially because we really need to make it to some of the later volumes, like people need to buy it so we can get to at least, like, volume 8!

To celebrate, here's a short list of translation quandaries/thought/notes that would be too stupid to put into print!

’Bowl’ is better but I think it says ’皿’ so we’ll go with ’dish’

When the original says "evolve" but that's not how evolution works

’shitsuke’ is hard to translate

(ahh now I see why my editor was complaining about the apostrophes, they only show up as pointed the wrong direction when I copy-paste them out)

Apparently lay is transitive and lie is intransitive, who knew??

Silly owner! -> Tricks are for kids! (changed it to Stupid owner!)

KIDDEN (I can explain once the series gets announced)

Looking up the difference between sardines and anchovies

"Thanks" with your mouth full: could be "Danks" but that looks too much like "dank" (went with "Fanks")

MC is really great but there are several lines the get borderline creepy if you look at them wrong ("SFXCreep", "Ahh. You smell so clean.")

you KICK Miette?! (but that’s anachronistic to when this first came out ;o;)

Translator’s notes I can’t include: this reminds me of the eromanga days ("I’ll make sure it’s not scary. So relax, okay?")

(Followed by "I’m not blushing. Not blushing!!" It do be like that sometimes)

This series has a lot of one-page gags which is way different than the ones I worked on before, it's kind of nice to have it all condensed like that!

(It took me like, a dozen reads to finally get all the tiny story threads with the art and the jokes I think)

Oh wait I forgot to send this!! "[Page 36: The joke was originally a play on ’hayaoki wa sanmon no toku’, meaning ’there’s benefit to getting up early’, and [character] heard ’sanmon’ as ’salmon’.]"

(Same character) ohhh, [redacted]-yuki, light snow fall; small snow flakes (like her tips)

へーい -> Mmkay.

It's kinda refreshing, I guess, that we see [main character] without a shirt on a lot...?

About さんきゅー: lol I’m gonna says ’thanks’ is okay since it’s in hiragana (and then I changed... and snuck in Purrfect, thanks; that'll probably get changed. There's actually a spot where it says "Perfect" later, but I think changing it would interfere with a joke there.)

Translator’s notes I can’t include: since it doesn’t actually say body horror ("Like body horror?" -> "Like a horror movie.")

Translator’s notes I can’t include: ("don't make up a man to get mad at" -> "Don’t judge what you don’t know!")

thank goodness for Katekyo Hitman Reborn so I know what a 仮定教師 is

There's a panel that just says マーキング that kinda squicks me out for some reason.

doesn’t specify which meal but, dinner? could be both…? ("今日のご飯なぁに？" -> "Yuya, what are we having today?")

SANMA SAURY

oh same problem here actually, it’s not necessarily rice… (ご飯)

[character name] is named after another character I like from Ajin and acts like another character from D.Gray-man, so those influenced my first draft, but I think I have a solid enough grasp on his own character now after reading up to volume 10

see ’picked you up’ really doesn’t work here (for 拾う, because it means 'took in', but it could get confused with 'lifted off the ground')

too sexy for his shirt

if boku is uke and 俺 is seme, is オレ switch? >>

[main character] really doesn’t strike me as someone who’d say ’Tch’??!! -> "Got me."

oh, cat fight, I hadn’t noticed (I get so focused on the words sometimes it takes me way longer than it should to notice the art)

meager? flimsy? sparse? skimpy? paltry? *scant?

Translator’s notes I can’t include: also now it’s a sneaky Ajin reference (right?) OH that's why I wanted 'play ball' and not 'play catch'... (it did get changed to 'play catch' as of now)

LOTR potato song

just realized [character's name] looks like [redacted] Street

"ass backwards" would be really funny too (went with "Do you two know the phrase ‘cart before the horse’?)

Things on Walmart are called ’senbei’ so that means I can use 'senbei' too right

we were just doing this to Panda (scaring my friend's cat and her tail puffed up)

OMg the jisho example sentence for gikuri… 圭はその問いにギクリとさせられたが、頭を何でもないといいたそうに横に振る。 [redacted] is startled by that question, but shakes her head as it to say that it’s nothing

two very conflicting purposes for this line: not revealing [redacted]'s gender, and also conveying what the line means >>

not to mention it's about おっぱい and this isn't that kind of manga

I mean I guess we could just say 'buns' (instead of dango) but since we're launching directly into Otsukimi that seems unfair to the reader

(It was really funny how frequently things I was doing irl overlapped with what was happening in the manga as I worked on it! Christmas, mochi, snow, cats being cute...)

hey their names all use different writing systems

もみもみ-> knead knead, directly followed by こねこね→knead knead

"Super" seems too girly for [redacted female character]?

"You know, in other countries, they say a lion lived there [on the moon]." I swear I searched for at least half an hour and I cannot figure out what this is talking about. Hopefully someone else can figure it out.

oh like the wood getting in the mochi?? (from the thing you pound the mochi in, we had just been talking about that)

"The moon’s so pretty." -> I love you?

"now I’m translating and I don’t want to get up bc of the cats…"

Staying with my host sister in Tokyo-Chiba gave me perspective on what really counts as ’inaka’ LOL

I probably posted about this already, but over the 2.5 months of translating this, I've become hyper-aware of dekopons. They're everywhere! Even in the U.S.! Trader Joe's just featured them in their latest flyer!!

Translator’s notes I can’t include: deception by orange: ("OK BUT THEY HAVEN’T EXPLAINED THIS YET… god am I going to be sucked into ANOTHER red herring about oranges XnX" -> after Code Geass many moons ago)

"ああしてるとやっぱ男の子だな" -> "Boys will be boys." I dislike this line but I feel like this is an okay solution…? except [main character] isn’t like that XD is that making a new point? I mean I guess what he said in JP would be making the same point… < ah that’s funny because [main character] is supposed to be (speaking?) more feminine

"やっぱユーヤはかっこいいね" -> "You're handsome." this feels like a huge stretch but also supremely in prince [redacted] character?? like she says it offhand. okay well the first word on jisho for kakko ii is ’attractive’, so maybe handsome works? I still think this is the right choice

Tara-> cod means you get poetry like "I think we’ll do hot pot with cod for dinner."

Translator’s notes I can’t include: moyashi (?) ! (like D.Gray-man) -> string bean

is that too SpyxFamily? -> Borf (from わふん) (Went with WORF) (I did borrow "shock" for ガン though)

I thought it sounded dumb but I’m getting attached to it… ("Alarm of cuteness blast")

uptight? careful? particular? mindful? cautious…

Translator’s notes I can’t include: Knitting doesn’t work that way. Also even if it does, the clothes would look more knitted...

仕事、おつかれさま -> "We know you worked hard today." is this what gets me cancelled

最高気温10度 well actually that one works both ways XD XD XD whether it's Celsius or Fahrenheit, 10 degrees is still cold!!!

I don't think the book they're reading about Santa is any existing book in particular

"I’m not a kind" oops -> "I'm not a kid" (silly typo)

"It’s no fun receiving without giving in return." "Prepare yourself!!" (this is about presents, but... is that too sexual or am I just a bad person? it’s fine. bad person confirmed)

lol that puts "Roger!" in two of my series too

Heh sounds too lecherous but hmph sounds too dispassionate…

I really should be writing this 100% in caps all the time huh (since manga is usually lettered in all caps, it might be better to have an idea of what it might look like)

[theyrejustbehindtheveil]

Happy holidays @watsons-falling-snow and thanks for being so patient for your @mlsecretsanta gift

Read on AO3

Marinette is sitting on her bed, squinting in the slightly too dim light as she tries to line up the thread with the eye of her needle when there’s a knock on the window above her. She jumps, and drops the needle into her lap. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, and then looks up to see Chat Noir waving one clawed hand at her through the skylight. She unlatches the skylight, and then shuffles out of the way to let Chat drop down onto her sheets. 

“Good evening purr-incess,” he says, eyes glowing green “I saw the light on in your turret and this noble knight simply couldn’t help but drop in.” There’s flakes of snow in his messy hair, melting now in the warmth of her room. 

Marinette rolls her eyes fondly. “Hello to you too, Chat.” 

She wants to ask what he’s doing out this late, in the snow and the cold. It’s not normal for either of them to transform without an akuma on the loose, and there's definitely not one of those out right now. But something about the hunch of his shoulders stops her. 

“You wanna stick around?” She asks instead. “I need to finish this hem tonight, but I could use the company.” 

Chat brightens at the offer. “Yes please!” is his eager reply. 

“Go on then, get comfy. There’s a lot of hem I’ve still got to finish, since for some reason I chose to do a full circle skirt.”

Chat grimaces in sympathy. “Those do have a lot of hem, princess. They look super cool though, you’re going to look so pretty in it when it’s done.”

She’s long since stopped questioning his unusual breadth of fashion experience. 

 “Settle down, kitty, I've got a lot of work to do before we get to that point.” 

She watches as he settles himself down into her doona, tugging another blanket over his legs. He looks so cozy. Marinette wants to tuck him in and curl up next to him and just fall asleep. She imagines him curling one arm around her, holding her close and secure. 

She shakes her head at the thought. Even the thought of it is starting to make her feel sleepy. And she still has to finish a third of this skirt hem. 

It’s only when she goes to reach for her needle that she freezes in realisation.

“Fuck.”

“What's wrong?”

“I lost my needle,” she grumbles. “And if I don’t find it it's going to stab someone at like, the worst moment possible. Shit.” She starts lifting up the sheets, searching desperately for a telltale glint of silver. 

“Cmon, Chat, help me look for it before it stabs one of us.”

“It can’t be that urgent, surely it’ll turn up eventually.”

“Seriously Chat, bed-needles are the worst , they're like a ticking time bomb, but you get stabbed in your sleep.” She can’t see where it's got to, the needle lost in the folds of her bedclothes. Fuck.

“Never fear, noble lady, for I will be fine,” he says, gesturing at his torso. “Impenetrable suit, keeps me safe from the dreaded bed-needle”

“This is my bed, you menace. I sleep here.”

Chat goes a little pink under the edges of his mask. “Mmph,” he mumbles. 

“And only one of us is a costumed superhero, and it’s not me. I’d rather not get stabbed by a needle in the middle of the night.”

“Ah,” he says, still looking a bit lost. He rallies after a moment, straightening up and shucking off his blanket cocoon. “Chat Noir to the rescue it is then!” He flourishes into a bow as best he can with the low headroom. 

Marinette can’t help the giggle that escapes her, and it blossoms into a proper laugh when he straightens up too quickly at the waist and wacks his head into the ceiling. 

He’s staring at her, rubbing the top of his head with his eyes wide and his cheeks all pink and his hair sticking up the wrong way in the back.

Cute , she thinks, and then wait, what?

Cute isn’t an adjective she’s ever thought might apply to Chat. Silly, yes. Ridiculous, earnest, brave, of course. Kind, and sweet, and…

Charming.

Oh, hell . 

Chat’s gaze is still fixed on her, his hand frozen on the back of his head. 

Marinette feels like her entire world view has shifted on some invisible axis. It feels a little like that first unexpected act of kindness from Adrien, a sweet smile and a freely offered umbrella and the feeling inside of her that says  oh, hello. There you are.

Chat’s cheeks are still pink.

It’s still cute. 

The last time she had a crush on a boy, she turned into a stuttery mess every time she tried to talk to him. She can’t let that happen here. Chat is her friend, and more importantly, he’s her partner. Ladybug can’t be a stuttering mess when they’re trying to fight akumas, and Chat doesn’t deserve to have to deal with that. 

In times of crisis, Marinette has started trying to apply the mentality of what Alya playfully refers to as "What would Ladybug do?” 

The fact that Marinette is actually Ladybug has not stopped this being an effective strategy. Ladybug has to be confident, and brave, and self-assured. It’s easier to work herself up to being these things when she’s pulling that facade over herself. 

So Marinette takes a deep breath, and pulls a little Ladybug-ness over the panic and anxiety she can feel twisting itself up into a knot inside her. 

She leans forward a little, raising her chin to look Chat in the eye. “Are you feeling alright, kitty?” She waits a beat, before letting herself smirk a little. “Cat got your tongue?”

His mouth drops open, and then he tips his head back in a laugh that echoes between them. 

He’s beautiful when he laughs.

She starts laughing too, buoyed up by the bubbling joy and the infectious sound of CHat’s laugh. 

Their laughter gradually peters out into silence. Chat is staring at her, intent and steady. The weight of it makes Marinette feel unsettled, like something is about to change beyond the point of no return. They’re on a precipice, and she doesn’t know if she wants to fall or if she should jump. 

In the end, it’s Chat who takes the leap first. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, steady and sure, serious in a way he so rarely seems to be. 

The abruptness of the request takes her breath away. His green eyes are electric, fixed intently on her and sending a little thrill down her spine. She nods, mute.

Chat leans forward, tentative and a little shy, and presses his mouth against hers. It’s sweet, gentle, and she feels like she could unravel, like a ball of yarn unspooling down a hill. 

Marinette leans in, rising up a little to meet him and tilting her chin so their noses don’t get squished. Blunt claws gently scrape her jaw as Chat cradles her face, and she feels like spun sugar, like she could shatter and dissolve in an instant.

Warmth spreads through her chest, bright and happy. She feels like she might burst with feeling, like it could crack her open and spill out of her. She reaches for something to hold onto, to steady herself against the tidal wave spilling out of her. 

Abruptly, something sharp stabs into her thigh, and she breaks away with a sharp yelp of pain. 

“What? Are you okay? Marinette? Are you hurt, did I hurt you?” Chat’s face is creased with worry, and both hands reach for her and start anxiously checking her for hurts.

She reaches down to where she felt something stab into her, and feels along the worn cotton of her pj’s until she finds what she’s looking for.

She holds it up so Chat can see. 

“I told you someone would get stabbed by this thing at the worst possible moment.”

He looks between her, and the needle glinting between her fingers. His face clears, and his hands come to rest on her knees, and then he’s laughing once more, a rumbling chuckle that she wants to feel in her bones. 

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. All of her wants to keep kissing Chat, to let herself express all the joy and pleasure still locked up inside her chest. Another part of her, the anxious stress-balling part of herself, is tugging insistently at her, reminding her she has a project that she needs to get done. 

In the face of Chat’s rakish grin, it’s no fucking contest. She can set an early for tomorrow morning, and hate the universe then. For now, she’s here, in her room, with a boy looking at her like she hung the stars, and she never wants to leave this moment. 

From the look in his eyes, neither does Chat. He’s already leaning back in to press a kiss against her lips. And another, and another, and…

“No wait. Chaton, I’ll drop the needle again. Chaton!” she laughs, fending him off with one hand as she looks for her pin cushion. “Hold on, lemme just… aha!”

She finds her pincushion and pushes the needle firmly into it, and then sets it safely on the shelf above her bed. She folds the skirt she was working on, only slightly hindered by the way Chat is trying to catch hold of her hand, and sets it aside too. All sharp and pointy objects set safely away, she turns all her attention back to the boy in front of her. 

“Okay, where were we?”

And she takes his hand, and leans in to accept the kiss on offer.

She hopes it's the first of many more. 

[officialleehadan]

Lover's Festival

Trading Secrets

+++

“River Sprite.”

The household had mostly settled into the new normal of having Saber and his retinue staying at the dutchy. It was almost the end of winter, but they had gotten a late snow that very thoroughly closed all but the biggest roads down and turned even those into a soupy mess of mud and slush. Saber, of course, had taken one look at the frankly terrible weather, and extended his stay until the roads were better.

Knowing what she did about the roads, the weather, and Saber’s own motivations, Aliea rather suspected that he planned it intentionally just to have an excuse to stay longer.

She couldn’t say that she was unhappy about it. She had missed him, and while they still had to be very careful when they met up, it was a joy to be able to see each other every day nonetheless.

It was also a joy to share a bed more often than not, but Aliea was keeping that to herself. A few people either knew or had figured her out, but none of them were willing to reveal her without a good reason.

Saber was as cautious as the rest of them, wary of revealing his fondness for her to his courtiers who might try to use her against him, and unwilling to put the fledgling rebellion in jeopardy. Both were true dangers, and were more than enough to make sure they never failed to watch themselves. Aliea had already come close, too close, to disaster when her grandmother caught her returning from Saber’s rooms one morning.

So if Saber was using his nickname for her, it was because he was certain it was safe to do so.

Small wonder. Aliea had removed herself to one of the small workrooms that the maids preferred, with a whole pile of mending to keep herself busy. It was one of the few places in the castle that she could get some solitude, and that was a rare treasure. The mending was less exciting, but Aliea had been a maid longer than she had been a queen, and she didn’t like having her hands empty. The mending would have to be done by someone, and she might as well be that someone.

She hadn’t locked the door, but when Saber slipped in, he bolted it behind himself. Upon seeing him, Aliea immediately set her mending aside and went to stood, but he waved her back down into the comfortable window seat. Before she could decide what to do, he slid onto the padded bench behind her and sighed when she leaned back against his chest.

“Being noble is a test of my patience,” he said after they sat long enough for Aliea to pick up her mending again. She was almost done with it, and there was no reason to fill their comfortable silence with chatter until they had something to say. “There are several ladies here who are pursuing me like a cornered hare. It is not my preferred pastime.”

“Did you inspire their ardor in any particular way?” Aliea asked, much amused as she didn’t doubt his love for her, or his distaste for the ladies in his retinue on this occasion. “You’re usually able to keep them from chasing you about.”

“It’s the Lover’s Festival,” Saber grumbled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He told her back in the mountain cabin that he liked to watch as she did the mending. It was a task he vaguely knew happened, but had never actually seen until his brief stay with her. The festival he had named was a Court event, although the common folk sometimes celebrated it in their own ways. It was a time for showing admiration for ones’ lover. No few babies were born nine moons after the Festival. “I have never showed any preference for any particular lady, but they all hope that each year I will suddenly come to my senses and fall in love with them on the spot.”

“Love doesn’t generally work like that,” Aliea noted and tied off her thread so she could toss the mended shirt into the pile of laundry. The fine steel needle went carefully into the needle case on her chatelaine. Good needles were expensive, and she only had a few. “Although I suppose I can’t cast many stones, given how we met, and what happened after.”

“It’s no fault of mine that I heard a river sprite singing in the forest and lost my heart on the spot,” Saber joked as his mood lightened in the peace and quiet of their little sanctuary. “But I do have something to ask you, here with just the two of us.”

“Alright,” Aliea said curiously. Her mending finished, she turned in his arms so she could lay her head on his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

“You will be queen when this rebellion succeeds, and my father is dead,” he said slowly. Aliea got the impression that he was selecting each word carefully. “But I know you’ve read enough history to know that the years after that will be… trying. It will be impossible to kill everyone who has ever been loyal to the king. I… have a way to bring them to your cause peacefully once you sit the throne.”

Aliea thought she might know what he was coming at, but she wanted to hear him say it. “I’m listening.”

He hesitated, and kissed the top of her head again before tangling their fingers together as he abandoned all of his polished artistry all at once.

“Will you marry me, River Sprite?” he asked softly in he quiet of the empty workroom and the thin winter sun. “Not just for the good of the kingdom, but because I love you, and I want little more than to spend our lives together?”

“It’s going to be so complicated,” Aliea whispered, although her breath was coming short and tears were in her eyes. “There’s going to be fighting, and political problems, and probably a lot of people trying to kill me. Are you sure? It won’t be peaceful, maybe for years.”

“My life has never been peaceful, but with you, it has been happy,” Saber promised her hopefully. Despite his nerves, and the way his heart pounded under her ear, he held her gently. “Wedded or no, you have my heart and everything that comes attached, but I hope that you would be my wife as well as my queen.”

“My uncle will be furious,” Aliea said, but her mind was made up already. Had been made up ever since she spoke to her grandmother. She, at least, would approve. She would understand. “But if I am to give my life to the service of this kingdom, if I am to be queen, I will have no one but you by my side. Yes, Saber. I will marry you, and damn anyone who disapproves.”

+++

Trading Secrets:

Raise a Hand

River Sprite

Up the Cliffside

In the Mountains (Subscriber Only!)

Over a Long Night

Swamp Water Tea (Subscriber Only!)

A Breath of Rebellion

Whispers of War

Helpless No More (Subscriber Only!)

Lessons for a Lady  (Subscriber Only!)

Silks and Secrets

A Discussion of Family  (Subscriber Only!)

Cousins by Candlelight (Subscriber Only!)

Suspicions Raised

Words of Warning

Summoned to Crown

Echo Blade (Subscriber Only!)

Carriage Secrets

Fine Threads

Trusted Shared

Meeting Gazes (Subscriber Only!)

Getting Lost (Subscriber Only!)

Lady's Approval (Subscriber Only!)

In the Garden (Subscriber Only!)

Under Branches

Dramatic Library Moments

Lover's Festival (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[theofficersacademy]

In the wake of the Ethereal Ball and the Morfisian elementals’ departure, winter comes in full force. A heavy blizzard slams the monastery and the surrounding mountains, dumping several feet of snow and ice, and forcing the closure of the roadway to and from the gate. There hasn’t been a storm quite like this in decades, say the sages, and it’s nothing they can’t weather. But to the young nobility and students from abroad who have not had such experience, their dwindling supplies looks like the countdown to their deaths.

The Knights of Seiros and faculty employed by the monastery are called upon to be the leaders during this disaster, and their vigilance is more important now than ever. Keep the students safe, the hearths blazing, and the supplies carefully rationed until the snow clears.

Faculty and Staff Mission: Stay the cold’s hand...!

Though the mission is labelled for the “faculty and staff,” this Mission Season is for all muses unaffiliated with the student Houses. So if your muse is affiliated with the Church of Seiros, the Knights of Seiros, Abyss, the Ashen Wolves, or Those Who Slither In The Dark, this is their time to shine!

Like always, threads using tasks from the Faculty and Staff board must contain an Unaffiliated character as a participant (which means that faculty affiliated with any of the three houses do not count), but there are also non-mission tasks available to everyone without restrictions.

Faculty and Staff Mission Task Board

Small hunting parties regularly venture beyond monastery walls to hunt for additional food to pad out supplies. On one of your patrols, your arrow manages to sink deep between the ribs of a young buck. He flees, alive, but leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Tracking him down will take all night, which is bad news when there’s snow already falling. Even so, you can’t just return empty-handed. [Grants Bow +1]

The younger members of the clergy empathize deeply with the fearful students. Noticing that it’s the Guardian Moon, one of them decides to show the students how to make a “Saint Seiros charm” from their hometown, a traditional craft for Saint Seiros Day. The bit of Faith magic woven into it gives the trinket a certain comforting aura, something much-needed during these perilous times. Others offer instruction about their own version of charms that, while not for Saint Seiros, offer a sense of togetherness and cultural connection, and helps take one’s mind off the cold.

An overnight outage to the stables’ heating system results in the deaths of several wyverns, personal mounts and beloved lesson drakes alike. In their grief, passionate students vowed to sleep overnight in the wyvern stables to help them keep warm through the night. [Grants Flying +1]

The long, dark nights often lead to despair, but this year seems to have led to a more extreme crisis. Some members of the Knights of Seiros defy their orders and steal away with some crest stones in the dark of night. The promise of power and, most importantly, eternal warmth in a cold winter drives their actions, but they are powerless against the curse. These monsters roaming the hills may have been your allies once, but there is no trace of them here.

Desperation pushes starving villagers and stranded merchants to unscrupulous means to survive. As you finish up one of your patrols, a band of thieves manage to catch you by surprise and take one of your colleagues hostage. Holding a knife to their throat, they demand gold and supplies to help them survive the storm. They are still inexperienced civilians in the end though. An experienced warrior like yourself would cut them down easily, if that’s what you choose to do. [Grants Gauntlets +1]

NEW! Oddly, the mages notice that Reason magic has been on the fritz lately. Even the most experienced sages find it difficult to control their magic, never mind the practicing novices that keep burning themselves and injuring others. A late-night attempt to study for a Reason exam quickly gets out of hand and sends a classroom up in flames. The Knights of Seiros and other members of the monastery’s facilities must rush in quickly in order to contain the fire and save lives. [Grants Reason +1]

NEW! Mail arrives at the monastery for the first time in weeks, carried by a brave messenger who dies almost as soon as he arrives. With the break in communication and lingering unrest from the incident with the imposters, friends and loved ones from other continents are desperately trying to reestablish contact. Their frantic letters speak of trouble from home, but there’s no way to get a timely reply back in this weather…

NEW! As you brave the wilderness for more food, you hear the howl of wolves nearby. It looks like they’ve just brought down a massive buck, big enough to feed an entire pack… the hunger pangs return, gnawing at your empty stomach. When was the last time you had a proper meal? Do you have it in you to keep hunting for however many hours it takes, when there is food right here? Trying to steal from starving wolves is a big risk to take—you’ll become prey yourself if you’re not careful. But a deer that size could provide many meals to your friends and allies back in the monastery. You better act fast before the wolves devour every piece of meat. [Grants Lance +1]

Non-Mission Task Board

The Ethereal Ball is done, but as you're leaving, you see flocks of people making for a barely-trodden little footpath leading partway down the mountain. Should you follow it, the sound of music and hollering would begin to swell, until you are greeted with a barebones but extremely lively party with a large bonfire and no shortage of entertainment. Dancing, singing -- both far more boisterous and free than anything the Ball offered -- is plentiful, and it only seems to be getting started. There’s even a fun axe-throwing game set up between the trees. Better take advantage of the party now - those clouds overhead look ready to snow. [Grants Axe +1]

Certain students concocted their own solution to last month’s shrinking problem: a potion that allows one to add a couple of inches to your height. It’s so potent that the effect remains even after the curse was dispelled, resulting in students noticeably taller than they were before the incident. No one knows what the side-effects are, or how long the potion lasts, and yet demand grows among the student population. Investigate by offering yourself as a guinea pig, or observe from afar.

A new exercise craze has taken over the continents and has now infiltrated Fodlan’s borders. A group of people claiming to be professional instructors are hosting a class promoting ‘The Askr’ along with other various aerobic, high-energy exercises to keep one warm! If the new wave and synth pop beats don’t get you moving, then maybe the brightly-colored leotards, headbands and legwarmers will grab your attention. (Or maybe you’re just there for the cute men and women in said leotards). [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

Winter has settled in at Garreg Mach, and the long hours of darkness are working their way into the bodies and minds of its staff and students. Shelter from the bitter winds and snows that blow outside soon turn just as suffocating, as the stillness permits too many unwanted thoughts to worm their way into the crevices of your thoughts. A fresh distraction is desperately due, but in short supply during this season. A minor Faerghus noble knows these troubles all too well, and so she offers to Garreg Mach a small donation. A small, vacant building in town has now been renovated into a simple retreat for anyone to visit. Rustic and cozy, it features a host of simple food and drink, a warm fire...and a challenge not for the faint of heart! Participants need to eat a whole bucket of the spiciest pieces of chicken you can imagine or fall over trying. Will you come to cheer or boo the competitors on? Enter it yourself? Or stow yourself away in a more quiet corner to have a drink and reflect?

Have you ever wanted your own emblem ring? Well look no further! A professor at the academy, who shall not be named, has recently begun forging copies of his Ring of the Avenger, which he promises will grant overflowing power and arcane energies to any who equip it. But, he also warns, it curses the wearer with an insatiable urge for bloodlust! With so many copies floating around, surely these claims can't be real... Better slip one on and find out for yourself!

NEW! Stir-crazy students, desperate for anything new, have latched onto a new fad. An anonymous student’s ongoing novel, updated with a new chapter every other day with little fanfare in the past, takes the academy by storm! The premise is of a group of students on a frozen planet a grand city, the last bastion of humanity, in hopes of finding others of their kind. Students rave over the gripping plot and complex characters, but when the story begins inspiring reader to set out on an adventure of their own, the administration moves quickly to ban it from school grounds. You ought to see what all the fuss is about.

NEW! This most recent run of the Arena results in more injuries than usual, and with resources scarce as-is, the infirmary turns to lesser-used remedies and ancient herbs to try to treat these wounds. Few people want to try them, for good reason: the list of potential side-effects is almost as long as your final essay in history class. Yet the nurses are in grave need of test subjects willing to test out these new cures. Will you help them out? [Grants Faith +1]

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Unaffiliated Muses. Therefore, tasks from the ‘Faculty and Staff Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone that is affiliated with the Church of Seiros, the Knights of Seiros, the Underground Citizens, the Ashen Wolves, or Those Who Slither in the Dark. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their group as well. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-Unaffiliated muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays an Unaffiliated muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards.

Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

If my muse is not an Unaffiliated muse, can I still write an open starter for the mission tasks?

Yes, but only the non-mission tasks. Your character must be Unaffiliated to write an open starter for this season’s mission.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim any skill points once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 2 reblogs and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

- The House Leaders

[aurellya]

Heart's Longing

Summary: Where Childe reunites with Zhongli in the most unexpected situation — the ex-archon in disguise as one of the fatui’s recruits.

[“I only ever wanted to spend my remaining years by your side” — 红绝]

[Originally created as a thread fic posted here]

Meeting

“A pleasure to meet you, Tartaglia,” The person who had just walked into the room greeted, smile peeking through behind the mask he wore, and it takes Childe all of 5 seconds to realise just who was standing before him.

“ZHONGLI?!”

“Yes, that is me,” Zhongli laughs as he removes the mask, golden eyes piercing through Childe. “I—“

Grabbing the other’s shoulders, Childe pulls him to the side and out of view of the recruits in training. “Just what are you doing here?”

Perhaps it had been the slight bitterness to his tone that had unwillingly seeped through the cracks, or the way he had the former archon pinned to the closed doorway, but Zhongli simply stared back at him — gaze unreadable.

“To see you.”

“And why would you want to do that— Is it because—”

“Because I loved you, Ajax.”

Loved

Loved — Zhongli loved him. The word rang within the silence of the room, almost mocking.

There had to be more than mere memories leading Zhongli to him once more. And yet as the former archon’s gaze burned into him, only one truth laid in those golden eyes.

“Zhongli… what did you do.” Childe spoke slowly, free hand reaching out, pausing just before it met Zhongli’s cheek.

“To let this happen…it was an oversight on my part and I apologise. But, Ajax—“ Inhaling sharply, Zhongli clutched at his chest. And, as if he were just a paper puppet, Zhongli crumpled to the ground, lines of gold pulsing across his skin.

“I need your help.”

To see the oh so proud geo archon lacking his usual grace and composure was almost unbelievable, and yet that was exactly the sight before Childe.

“…alright.”

A hand is offered out with a soft smile he cannot hide, concern dancing within ocean blue orbs, and Childe insists that this is fine. That he would help Zhongli as needed, and nothing more.

That their love had long since been discarded. Ever since the day Rex Lapis had fallen.

Yet why did his chest hurt as he helped the other up, hands meeting ice-cold skin that lit up on contact with his hand. Why did those golden eyes stare at him such a way. Why did he feel—

[Ah, perhaps this was another trick and he was the fool yet again… all because of love…]

Warmth

The warmth of another next to him is a comfort Zhongli had not experienced in a long while.

The steady rise and fall of Childe’s chest, the arm wrapped around him, the soft, sleepy mumbles breaking the silence — it’s almost as if nothing had changed.

But that, of course, was not true. That which has been broken can never be made perfectly while again.

The gap between them was unmistakable.

He could not fault Childe for resenting him after he’d learnt of the truth behind his identity. And, perhaps even now, the other still held such feelings… After all Zhongli was once more requiring his help.

A blessing of the adepti, or to some a curse, it was — to have one’s soul bound to another.

Though this was the first time such a thing had happened without proper ceremony…

“It’s that Snezhnaya’s rascal isn’t it— Dijun, let me—“

“A mortal?! How dare—“

“Quiet, all of you, I’m sure Dijun has his reasons.”

As his adepti hovered around him, Zhongli could only sigh as he gazed out towards the sea. Towards a faraway land covered in snow.

He’d never meant to fall in love. Much less… fall so deeply that such a thing could happen. And yet it had.

Yet his carelessness and lack of full understanding of the heart had only brought such a precious bond to ruin. Even still… that warmth was the same as ever.

“And what happens should the bond break?” Zhongli had asked, though he already knew the answer.

With a sad smile, Madame Ping placed a hand on his. “The adeptus dies.”

“Zhongli?” Hearing Childe’s voice, Zhongli turns, smiling as he takes in the sight of the other’s tousled hair and unfocused eyes blinking away the last bits of sleep.

“Good morning, Ajax.”

He tries to hide the disappointment as Childe pulls away, sitting up on the other edge of the bed. Yet the adeptal magic curling itself around his heart only makes it more known as it pulses painfully — attempting to reach out and failing only due to Zhongli’s hold on it.

No. They would take this at Childe’s pace. It was selfish enough that Zhongli had done such a thing just to get close to the other and speak with him once more.

If Childe could not love him back then… then so be it. At least he’d managed to experience that warmth once more.

Clash

Blade pressed against the ex-archon’s neck, Childe laughed. “Can’t handle a simple Fatui training routine, Morax?”

Losing focus in the middle of their sparring session… just who did Zhongli think he was to be disrespecting his opponent in such a way.

It has always been like this, hasn’t it. The archons seeing those beneath them as mere pawns in Celestia’s game.

Just like that fateful day in Liyue, their blades had clashed. Raging waves crashing against unmovable stone in complete silence as their movements spoke for them.

Broken trust, shattered friendship, the loss of something more. What needed to be said had been spoken through the clanging of steel against steel high in the clouds above Liyue Harbour.

It had been the most thrilling battle of Childe’s life — save for the day he’d slain the beast that threatened to take his flickering flame of life during his time in the Abyss.

But this time, as they clashed once more, something was very off.

A strange cloud of tiredness seemed to hang over Zhongli, holding the other in its grasp and rendering his reactions slower than usual, eyes faintly glazed over no matter how he visibly fought the haze away.

A wheezing cough broke Childe out of his thoughts. And as he pulled back his blade, the liquid gold now staining its body glittered under the light of dawn.

An almost beautiful sight of the same liquid did not currently coat Zhongli’s lips.

“Zhongli? Wha—“ He called out, throwing the blade to the floor and stepping forward only to recoil as the temperature of the air around him plummeted, biting at his skin and suffocating him in a way not even Snezhnaya’s coldest winters could.

“Apologies, please do excuse me for today. I do not seem to be feeling well.” Zhongli muttered, hand held over his mouth as he continued to cough.

And before Childe could even speak, Zhongli left — taking the odd chill with him.

Gold dripped from the tip of his blade and onto the crystalline floor, steam rising where they met. And where betrayal had once been back in the heights of Liyue’s golden palace, there now only remained a strange ache.

[Zhongli… Just what is it that you are hiding from me now?]

~❄️~

Upon her icy throne, the goddess of love sighed. “Time’s running out, Morax… what is your choice? Whatever happens, do forgive the child of winter… he does not know anything else. After all, Snezhnaya’s winters temper even the most blazing inferno.”

Truth

“Zhongli,” Childe called between the clashing of their blades, training hall empty.

But the god did not respond. Only continuing the rhythm of battle they’d given themselves to.

“Zhongli, you— Won’t you say something?”

Few words had been spoken between the sessions that followed that day, pleasantries and necessities exchanged but never anything more.

The light within those amber eyes dimmed with each passing day. Power fading in a foreign land. And yet…

“There is nothing to say, Tartaglia.”

Maybe it is the adrenaline running through his veins, remaining battle lust from the mission overnight influencing his decisions. But the god’s response only led to uncharacteristic anger rising even further.

“Then tell me, what is this?” Grabbing Zhongli’s wrist and throwing the sword he held across the icy room, Childe shifted the sleeve of Zhongli’s fatui uniform till it revealed cracked veins of gold skin rough as stone.

It did not take a genius to know something was clearly wrong. The odd fatigue. The distraction. The secrets…

[I knew it] Childe thought to himself, fist clenching at his side.

The very picture of calm, Zhongli simply smiled. “Nothing you should be concerned with. It is a strength… and inevitable weakness of my kind.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it.” The words were barely loud enough to be heard over Snezhnaya’s howling winds. Still, they are heard.

Countless unopened letters had laid neatly in a box within his room. The same number of unsent ones piled beside them and even more unfinished scraps scattered across his desk.

And written in familiar ink on those letters had been the truth.

“It is not. The decision was my own.”

“Then tell me. Do you still feel the same? Even after

“… a heart of stone is a heart nonetheless… but there is no need to force yourself for my sake—“

“Do you think this is me ‘forcing myself’?” Childe laughed, leaning in. Zhongli’s warm breath fanned across his cheek — faint but sill there.

The smile Zhongli gives him is more than enough. Distance between them closing.

Power fills the hall, rushing in and sending the doors slamming open as the icy ground cracks.

It wraps around them, piercing their cores and flooding them with all the light of an ancient bond.

In that moment, it is almost as if nothing else mattered.

The odd emptiness and chill of Snezhnaya’s endless winter within his heart dispelled. His world held in his arms at last.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading and feel free to say hi on Twitter [@mikarin_Z], or find my other fics on AO3 [aurellya]!

[69misato69]

setâre ✦ kaeya x childe — sfw

archive of our own ✦ twitter ✦ masterlist

It's a night just like any other.

Kaeya is knelt by the campfire, fueling it further so the flames can combat the blistering cold that creeps up on them. 

Not that Childe minds.

He lays on the snow half-naked, showing no signs of discomfort as he dries his hair. 

Kaeya believes that a frozen lake is frozen for a reason, but Childe can’t resist cracking the ice and taking a dip before they set up camp every single time. 

He takes a deep breath. Exhaustion washes over them both, legs nearly giving out from hiking and hunting all day and bones aching from the cold. 

When Kaeya is finally content with the intensity of the flames, he scoots closer to Childe and lifts his head to lay it on his lap. 

Damp, ginger locks wet his pants as the moon rises. 

Kaeya cups his cheek.

Warmth eventually swallows them both.

Words are unneeded. Distant howls and the crackling of the fire fill the silence as Childe looks up at him with droopy eyes.  

At moments like these, Childe always wonders if Kaeya knows how much he adores him.

The captain has many virtues, but seeing the beauty in his own ways is sadly not one of them. 

It's understandable, given how much weight he carries on his shoulders. No matter how much Childe tries its best to ease it, he knows that not a second passes without Kaeya sinking under the burden.

It's easy to get carried away when everyone expects so much of you. When the world crushes you to its very core, when the waves engulf you as you drift into nothingness, a vast ocean cluttered with misery. 

Kaeya loses his way often.

Like a sailor pushing his way out of the waves enraged with roaring thunder. He holds a compass that never seems to pull him out of the depths.

He sinks as the thread that holds him together unravels and floats to the surface.

All Kaeya can do is watch it elude him and force his eyes open while he begins to lose feeling in his limbs. 

Darkness falls and Kaeya’s heart travels back into the rib cage of a kid abandoned in the middle of nowhere. 

He clutches the toy he simply can’t ever fall asleep without.

What good is it without his own bed? Without being cosseted in loving arms and rocked gently to sleep as a lullaby fills his ears, what is it but a piece of cloth stuffed with feathers?

Home feels far away. It has been discarded just like him. Even if he miraculously washes up on shore, there is nothing left there to fill his hollowed out soul. 

Though, even as he drowns in the depths of the unforgiving ocean, whenever Kaeya looks up, a star always shines down on him. 

Light seeps into his soul, the clouds vanish on sight as thunder quiets down. 

Nothing but an enticing calmness. 

Kaeya holds it inside his palm kindly like a wilting flower, cautious and tender, and allows it to warm him up. 

It sprouts and blossoms along his numb hands and corroding heart, holds him by the shoulders and pulls him close. 

Leaves a loving peck on his lips and Kaeya tastes the night sky with the tip of his tongue. 

Childe loves him like a shore enamored with the sea. Fascinated by the storms brewing inside him and pacified by the soothing waves that wash up on its skin.

Loving Kaeya is coming home. It's taking off your shoes and taking a bath. It's settling in your cozy bed comfortably and drifting to sleep, thinking of all that excites you. 

It’s making up stories until they tire you out and waking up with puffy, glossy eyes. 

Childe doesn’t need much.

A lazy afternoon nap in Kaeya’s arms or a picnic on a cliff. Playing with the dogs that climb their legs every time they walk through their turf.

Closing his eyes and leaning back at Kaeya’s chest blissfully as they soak in the water. 

It’s more than enough. 

Kaeya doesn't have to be anything. The strength that everyone expects of him, Childe doesn’t.

To him, Kaeya is the only thing that makes sense amidst the chaos of his mind. 

With one kiss, he dissolves the sorrow and drowns the worries.

He feels lost, but with Kaeya a bit more found. As if it’s the head pat of a stranger that feeds the stray cats every night or a ship’s anchor that performs its crucial task silently. 

Kaeya can't hear any of that without his heart racing in his chest when even a simple ‘I love you’ is enough to have him shy away from Childe’s gaze. 

Only when darkness veils his face can he lay on Childe's chest and listen to him whisper in his ear all that made him fall in love with Kaeya.

He watches with tearful eyes as gentle fingers card through his hair and affection drips from the lips he's addicted to kissing. 

It never gets easier to hear that he is worthy, but Kaeya is smitten with a man that will never stop reminding him. 

short and loosely inspired by the poem 'another birth' by forugh, i hope you enjoyed !

[kimurasato]

Find the Vibe Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @akiwitch!

My vibe is “I don’t care”

“Stop,” he begged, hot tears welling in his eyes.

They threw their head back, their laughter echoing in the quiet park. The last strand broke, and the thread faded away; two more people lost without ever knowing their soulmate. Large, fluffy flakes of snow began falling, like the sky was grieving the heartache with him.

“Why?” Abner needed to know. He reached up, rubbing furiously at his eyes to clear away the tears. His chest ached, and it felt as bad as when it happened at Blue Nebula. “Why are you doing this?”

They stood over him, sneering down with disgust in their eyes as Abner sniffled and hiccupped. “Because I can,” they said coldly, like that was reason enough.

That works, right?

Again, tag to whomever wishes to do it.

Your vibe is “You lost me.”