#traveling songstress

[hythlodaeusofamaurot]

Also not Hyth-related, but please look at my beautiful daughter. I love her A Lot.

[frcsthearted]

         @elfblcd​      //     unprompted  ( always accepting )

They would not refuse him the audience he sought, for they knew the importance of their guest.

He had been there on multiple occasions, always prior to engaging in some more official business. The first time had merely been seeing the sights the city had to offer. That night he had heard the singing of the beautiful songbird in the form of a woman and like a lonely man at sea he found himself drawn back to her siren song over and over again.

The elf had knocked on the door found backstage before entering. Though it wouldn't have been of particular concern had he entered while she was indecent, it was the polite thing to wait to be invited, and so he did.

'I apologise for intruding,' were the first words from his mouth, 'but I heard you singing tonight. I wanted to compliment you on your beautiful voice, Miss...?'

       ( can continue / reblog )

   It was far from the first time she’d been  visited  after a performance.  Most of her so - called  guests  never had the decency to knock prior to their arrivals,  simply letting themselves in as if they owned the establishment  -  owned  her  -  and she knew she had no room to refuse.  This time ...  She was given the opportunity,  yes,  but instead the songstress simply found herself opening the door that stood between them,  a wave of surprise washing over her as soon as words met her ears.

   Hesitation was brief before she stepped aside,  allowing him to enter the sparsely furnished dressing room  -  if one wanted to call it that.  Compliments were nothing new,  but this time ... ��

   “ Eh ?  Ah ...  Th - Thank you ... ”  Heart fluttered in her chest,  gaze quickly averting from him out of force of habit  -  of  training .  “ My name ...  Isn’t really of any importance ,  is it ? ”

        No one else ever thought so.

[avatarkv]

EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (1)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. (wc; 3104)

Jake knew a saying; held onto it ever since he had resided amongst Na’vi– every person is born twice. While he believed that it meant that the second time is when you earn your place here in Pandora, Eywa had a clever way of broadening the idea. His very children were proof of it.

He thinks it’s the great mother’s way of compensation, perhaps a second chance for him to do better– to do his very best to keep them alive on behalf of those he lost. 

While Kiri was a special case enough, you too were an odd one. 

You are Tsu’tey's daughter. Turns out, he had someone in secret while he trained to become olo’eyktan– when he was supposed to take Neytiri for himself. It was taboo– absolutely wrong to become unfaithful to one’s mate. But following the carnage of the great war, when Tsu’tey had so selflessly sacrificed his life, only then did Tsi’ewa came forward; told everyone of their love and what could have been. She was a simple songstress along Ninat, but it was her round and bulging belly that caught everyone’s attention.

It caused an uproar and understandably so. After all, Neytiri had only announced her rebellion with Jake not long before, but when the people connected the dots themselves and both stories had become one, they understood that their hearts merely yearned for another and no one should have ever dictated otherwise. Arrangements had been made and condolences were exchanged— everyone can only look back and wish that things could have been different.

Jake was supposed to take you under his wing as a way of honoring him– he owed Tsu’tey his life and perhaps an apology as big as so. But after your mother had unfortunately died during your birth, he knew to himself that he had to take you in; not as a responsibility, but as his own blood and flesh. His first daughter.

You were the loudest baby, he recalled. That day, Jake had rocked your body back and forth in his arms frantically, while Mo’at and Neytiri did everything within their power to help Tsì'ewa. Your cries were ear-splitting, enough to wake the whole clan up. 

“Just what do I do with you,” He muttered under his breath, eyebrows knitted in frustration– just where do he hold you? Is he doing it right? Are you hurt? Why are you crying so loud?

“Jake, the baby!” Neytiri’s shout from inside had cut his train of loud thoughts, snapping back to your bawling. He wasn’t doing such a good job. 

“I’m trying, Neytiri– this thing won’t budge.”

Neytiri had emerged from the hut, stomping her way to Jake with a scowl. "That is not a thing, you skxawng!" she exclaimed before gently scooping you up from his arms, cooing softly to you– though it was more like mocking him instead. “Does Jake here make you cry?” She said, patting your thigh soothingly. “He’s not at all pleasant to look at, but you have to get used to it.” 

Almost in an instant, your cries had died down. You babbled along with her, like you were agreeing with her every word. He slowly pulled himself closer to Neytiri, eyes wide with curiosity as he watched your small hands playing with her long braids. “Heh, she has Tsu’tey’s eyes,” He whispers, unable to look away. 

The flap of the hut swinging open was the only thing that got their attention, momentarily away from yours as they looked at Mo’at with anticipation. With a single shake of her head, sorrow surged their hearts, eyes traveling back to your innocent ones. They mourned for you; an unknowing child should never have to carry such grief. They had to make a choice– A responsibility they weren’t expecting to have so early. 

Jake mindlessly trails his finger down your stomach, gently, like you were the most fragile thing. Your little hand wraps around it and it was like you had binded his scattered thoughts into one big understanding. 

Sully. You’re one of them now.

Jake releases a breathless chuckle as he gazes upon his lover and you with a newfound clarity, a perspective so bright it illuminated in his very eyes. Then came an idea– the desire of having children of their own. Perhaps that’s why Neteyam came after only two years. You were quite the ploy; the push they needed to start a family.

You were truly blessed– the genius of your age was undeniable, your remarkable talent soon earning you the admiration of all who had seen it. By the time you turned six, you had already mastered many of the abilities that a hunter would need– your skills with a bow were unrivaled by most of the children your age, let alone those who were much older than you. They'd marvel at your accuracy each time you took aim with an arrow. You could never miss. You had to make sure you didn’t. 

By the age of 12, you had already accompanied Jake in hunts. You had developed a knack for planning, coming up with routes and back-up plans that were often surprisingly effective. You have proved to be helpful plenty of times. You were quick, silent– full of poise. They often wondered if you were an old, seasoned soul trapped inside a little girl’s body. 

But as quickly as the spotlight had shone down on you, it left almost as soon as it had come.

(“What you did today was reckless, y/n.” Jake settles his bow on the table aggressively, emitting a sharp thud. You were just as frustrated, throwing your satchel down the floor of the hut. 

The mission had gone rather wildly, with things not going along the plan. There was another airship– one that no one was aware of. Your instincts jolted your body, immediately throwing an explosive towards it which had it blowing all over the place– its pieces crashing and causing a wildfire. 

Jake argued that there could’ve been a more safer way. One that didn’t have to risk more of our resources and supplies; one that didn’t have to injure the other warriors. Of course you knew to yourself that you did the right thing. You did what you had to do. 

 ‘You could’ve been hurt and got others killed! Just what were you thinking?” He continued to berate you. You jest that if this went on, there’d be steam visible above his already heated head. 

“I had to take a risk– not everything goes to plan and this is proof of it.” You answered back with a scowl, “If I hadn't, there would’ve been more casualties.” 

“That’s not a call for you to answer to! Jesus Christ,” Jake runs his palms down his face, grunting, before looking back at you– expression suddenly tired and soft. “Come on kid, where’s that sweetheart who always listened to what I said?” 

You had scoffed, a hurt forming on the pits of your stomach. “That sweetheart once had a place in plans before.” You said, eyes unwilling to look at him. It weighed in your heart heavily– why did people assume that you were the only one who changed? You didn’t understand. “Pretty sure the Jake before was a good listener too.” 

The wrinkle in between his eyebrows deepened in confusion, but he never was one for confrontation. With a single dismissive grunt, he turns his back against you. “I’m way past your attitude. You’re grounded. Go.”)

As you grew, the resemblance to your father became ever more apparent. Jake started noticing the many similarities between the two of you; the way you walked– how you sauntered confidently through a crowd. Your braids would move along your heavy steps (and perhaps, that’s where Neteyam got his mannerism of swaying his too.), shoulders wide and proud. You even had his signature snarl, something Tsu’tey was known for that unfortunately seemed to have been passed down to you too. 

However, it was more than how you brought yourself. You were strong-willed– stubborn. 

There was another thing about you too. You didn’t call Jake dad anymore. It hurt him– left a heavy feeling on his chest every time you regarded him so distant. It was unfair that you still called Neytiri mom, why did it have to change with him? He didn’t have the heart to address it. Couldn’t ask you what went wrong. 

Because he knows damn well why. 

Lo’ak was enough of a headache, but you were a different kind of royal pain in the ass, more like a personal problem. It was tiresome. Petty. There was not a day that you and Jake wouldn’t argue and bite each other’s ass off– and yet, there was never a day where you two would talk it out. The fights would blur itselves out and before they knew it, things would be back to normal, only for it to fall out again over something small. It was routine. The only thing normal for you both. 

He missed you– missed his baby. Just when did you grow to become so distant? When did he start to overlook you?

You’ll admit, you might have indulged in the folk’s gossip. They always had a story for everything and they have plenty about your father. Tsu’tey was a fit olo’eyktan. He had proved so in his training and determination. Of course it was a low punch in the gut when the throne had been passed to an outsider– a demon, most of all. It was unfair, he knew it wasn’t right. A washed up marine had taken something he had worked for like it was nothing. Like he was nothing. 

You pitied your father and you feared you’d be like him– like nothing. 

And history might just repeat itself. You weren’t clueless– wasn’t blind to the fact that Jake had trained your brother more. He adored him so much that the very moment he was in the right age to train, you were off to fend for yourself; trained all alone while Jake went over the routine with Neteyam like he did with you. You remembered waiting for him every afternoon because he promised that he’d make time– that time was yours and yours only. But as the light bled and neared eclipse and you were too cold to wait outside, you learned never to wait again. 

They would come home soon after– smiles on their faces and a handful of apologies for you. 

Soon enough, your suspicions proved you right as the people started to talk again; Neteyam– the golden child. He would make a good olo’eyktan. 

Perhaps that would explain the drift between you and Neteyam too. Could they blame you for it? You had lost their attention so early– while you still needed them. You weren’t their kid and you were reminded of it everyday. In times when you didn’t know if you had space in the family hammock while they sat together, telling stories under the starry sky. You pretended to have fallen asleep everytime; back against them as you listened. In times where the family was growing and growing, until the small table wasn’t big enough for everyone anymore– or in this case, for you. 

(“Come on, ma’ite, what are you doing so far from here?” Neytiri had called for you when she noticed how distant you were from everyone. You silently scooted beside her, wooden bowl in your lap. “Look, I prepared your favorite.” 

It wasn’t. You hated it. You hated the tangy taste of it so badly. But you had decided to eat what was left on the table after everyone had gotten their meals and there wasn’t usually enough for you. Neytiri thought nothing of that– didn’t think that you eating only scraps and dried fruit was because there wasn’t anything else for you to have. She simply thought that it was your favorite and had been making it for you ever since.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not when she thought she had been doing well with preparing it. You kissed your teeth, smiling tightly as you lifted the food to your lips, eating silently. “Thank you, it’s good.” You muttered under your breath after.) 

But you were family; they said so themselves. When they tucked you in to sleep, when they patted your head. They were still present now, just not in the way you wanted– not in the way you longed for. It seemed like making them angry was the only way you could have their attention– particularly, your dad. You could never make Neytiri mad. She tries to understand you, she does. Explaining now just seems so.. Petty. So childish, you decided to push her away instead. 

What do you tell her? That you only let dad blow a fuse or two was because you missed him? Because you didn’t know what went wrong? 

So there goes your routine. 

“I just don’t understand why I can’t be olo’eykte.” You had brought up again, lips in a familiar snarl. “You tire me and for what? Kiri is already training to be Tsahik– just what would my place in this clan be?” 

“We are not having this conversation again, y/n. Not tonight.”

Jake had just returned from a particularly bad hunt; went home empty-handed and with a patience as thin as a strand of hair. He continued to sharpen his dagger, movements almost aggressive. Everyone immediately went out of his way, not wanting to be on the end of his temper– not you though. You could never get a hint, it seems.

“Yes, tonight! My ceremony is almost near, sir. I have been waiting.”

It wasn’t like he had a reason anyway. Jake couldn’t tell you because he had no reason as to why. Why couldn’t you be olo’eykte? You had all the skills to be one, even more so. But in the back of his mind, a thought so deep and petty that he couldn’t bear to say, tells him that the name he carried was something to gift his eldest son. Olo’eyktan was a privilege reserved for Neteyam. He never thought to have you so early– he always dreamed of having a son first. 

“Wait more.” 

“This is insane– sa’nok!” You had turned to Neytiri, eyes pleading. She quickly grasps your arm and tries to tug you back towards the exit, speaking in a soft but firm voice as she tries to soothe the tension.

“Ma’ite, why don’t we go out for a walk?” She whispers. To be frank, she was tired of this– never of you, no. But at the way things had been. Parents aren’t parents automatically just because they have had children of their own. It’s a skill they have yet to muster– to truly understand. She didn’t know where the line between you and her had blurry along the years. Didn’t know where this constant need of yours to be seen came from. 

You jerked your arm away from her, almost too harshly. It tugged on her heartstrings, not knowing what was going on with you. “I cannot wait anymore.” You said, taking two steps towards Jake with an unreadable anger– an anger he didn’t know when had stemmed from. 

“Is it because I’m not your daughter?” 

His eyes widened. A flash of vulnerability visible in his gaze, momentarily softening his glare. “You stop this right now, y/n.” He had stood up, tucking the dagger back to his loincloth. Jake’s larger frame towered over you, telling you to drop it– to leave the conversation. But you weren’t backing down. 

“I am your eldest–! You trained me earlier than Neteyam, I have been here long enough–”

“You aren’t ready!” He had shouted with the same fierceness, earning a dirty look from Neytiri.

“Why won’t you see me?” Your voice had softened, borderline begging– just a bit, but enough for his ears to flatten in response. He knew that beneath those few simple words lay many layers of underlying meaning; emotions that have yet to be spoken. 

But he turns his back against you dismissively anyway. “Neytiri, get her out of here.” 

Neytiri grabs you by the arms again, although a bit forceful now, but just enough for her to touch you– to have you in between her arms. She embraced you, like she was trying to keep the words from escalating. She feared one of you would say something out of line; something you both would regret. 

But on the brink of the tension– the severity of the situation, you had muttered. Your voice was muffled, but it was clear. The message was oh so crystal. “You took everything from my father.” 

Jake grunts, “Yeah? Well maybe your father wasn’t enough either.” 

“Jake!” Neytiri hisses and although Jake couldn’t see her, he knew very well he was getting quite the conversation with his mate too. 

It was a low blow. Unnecessary. A straight strike to the gut. It was a pain so bitter, you didn’t want it to linger any longer– you were nauseous. You wanted no more than to vomit everything that spiraled out of your stomach. 

“You want to lead so badly and you can’t even control your temper. No clan wants a hot-head for a leader.” But he kept going– relentless and cruel. “You ought to be someone else’s shadow.” 

“But I’m your daughter,” Your tone had softened, almost cracking as the lump in your throat grew. Tears blurred your vision, threatening to escape as Neytiri held you close. 

“And yet you never listen to me— because I’m not exactly your father, yeah?” With one last glance, he stepped out, passing his children who stayed just outside the door, listening. Jake opens his mouth, desperate to ease the tension– the discomfort written in their faces, but he quickly shuts it and continues to walks out. He had said enough for tonight. There was nothing saving his face from this. It was best if he left instead. 

“Oh, ma’ite.” Neytiri rocks her body along yours, drawing soothing circles on your back but the embarrassment settles in your chest– gnawing at your body. You catch a glance of the pitiful looks from your siblings as they try to enter the hut silently. 

How could you make a mess out of yourself in front of them? Why had you let this blown over?

You retracted slowly from your mother’s hold, wiping your tears before running the opposite way from where Jake had gone to. It was better if you left instead.

mauve here! finally done writing this after racking my head for weeks. wanted it to be relatable (??) as much as possible, idk why. there is just something therapeutic w writing about your past issues <3 but i hope this one's alright!!! really excited to finally post this heheh

lots of kisses!

[madbrake]

Finished Ratatoskr!

Ratatoskr was one of the tricker members of the first brood to draw since there are only two images of her officially associated with ffxiv and two of those are very stylized. I added design notes and thoughts below the cut for anyone curious. They're nothing too crazy since a lot of her design is very similar to other members of the first brood, but I did think about her a lot while working on this piece and wanted to share where I pulled a few elements.

As a base, I gave Ratatoskr the spikier build of Nidhogg and Tiamat based on those images but with some modifications to to match her image in the first brood concept art:

As a result, she has fewer horns and spikes than Tiamat or Nidhogg. The spines along her back are thinner than her siblings’ also to match the concept art and to make her feel a little closer to Midgardsormr.

I also wanted to keep the thick frill(?) of reverse scale plating around her neck from her concept art because it reminded me of Vishap’s more literal neck frill. I liked the idea that some descendants of the first brood might have incorporated elements of her form into their own evolutions. It didn't end up appearing as prominent in my drawing because I had a little trouble wrestling with proportions and the neck bend, but it's there! In pervious drafts I gave her frill identical to Vishap's but I had a little trouble getting it to feel like it fit her design so I stuck with thick scales instead.

Her head shape was based directly on the two stylized images of her from the game. I really enjoyed the strong shape of these. It felt almost shark-like to :

I don’t usually include other characters or props to my first brood drawings, but I wanted to add the moogles after thinking about Ratatoskr’s history, her dungeon, and her Encyclopedia Eorzea entry which describes her as a bearer of dragon songs and one of the friendlier dragons. I like the think the moogles loved to complement her songs with their own instruments. Working on this piece as a whole made me really appreciate Ratatoskr and legacy all the more and I'm eternally sad that we'll (likely) never get to meet her in game. I think she would have been a wonderful friend. Her design is a little non-standard for a child of Midgardsormer in small ways, but I feel like she was probably a little non-standard as a traveler, songstress, and friend to man.

Lastly I want to give a little shoutout to the site Tales from Dragonstar which was put together by @/ahzuvi-txt and which made my reference hunt a ton easier. It has a lot of wonderful information about the dragons of Eorzea. It's also got an interesting guide to dragon language that I want to dig into soon. I definitely recommend checking it out!

Thanks for reading! Bahamut will be my next and final first brood piece to cap this series off. :)

[dunanana]

My first concept art of my OC, she's pretty self indulgent so I was a lil hesitant posting her asjhdjf Her power and appearance are heavily inspired by the Ibong Adarna, A phoenix-like creature who can heal people or make them sleep through songs. Her personality here is full of optimism but timid. Truthfully haven't gotten around to solidify her backstory yet except the bare bones of it xD But I was thinking that she'd be the empress' personal songstress She met Wukong during his drunken stupor in the heavens, convincing him to free her from her cage in one of the palace and doesn't take alot to admire him from then on and follow him.

What she currently looks like in Black Myth Wukong, alot more melancholic this time but still kind. Her earrings are a gift from Wukong at one point in their journey and she treasures it deeply. It can turn into weapons as well (still yet to design) "Now we match!" There isn't really alot of thought designing her clothes, but I like pink and she has to have comfortable clothes while travelling! As for the name, she doesn't have one currently since she's a character I envision in reader inserts for this fandom :D maybe if I figure out more of her backstory I might name her.

[knightforflowers]

Ethersea hyperfixation day 815 I have started obsessing over a character who functionally does not exist within the narrative (do you guys ever think abt Devo’s mother. because I do.)

some headcanons under the cut

- I’ve been calling her Aurèlie!

- She’s a songstress from the travelling Hominine performer group that came to the shoreside, and her outfit is inspired by traditional French dresses!

- Devo looks almost just like her, and his accent derives from her too.

- Had an acrimonious parting with her Cern partner not long after the move to Founder’s Wake.

- Wasn’t entirely subscribed to the Parish’s beliefs, and was mostly there because it provided shelter for herself and her child, and kept her hidden away from the Cern family whom she wanted nothing more to do with.

- Stopped singing almost entirely after the move, only singing lullabies and other melodies for Devo and no one else.

- Was often reclusive and aloof with the other parishioners— she was uncomfortable with the strange interest they seemed to have in her child. She liked Guidance the least.

- Intended on leaving the Parish with Devo when he was a little older, but it was never able to happen.

- The reasoning for her disappearance or what became of her after is not exactly known, but it was likely not of her own volition— she loved Devo more than anything, and that likely made her a threat to what the figureheads in the Parish wanted from him.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

The Scenic Route

More dead boys! Post-canon, Payneland, pre-slash/getting together-ish, bestieism, bickering, sex talk/innuendo and soppiness. 2k. Enjoy!

Also on Ao3 (need to be signed in to read)

~

"Cheer up, Edwin," said Charles, brightly. "Might never happen."

Edwin gave Charles a look so haughty it had its own title. "It very much has happened, Charles." He sniffed and straightened out his newspaper with attitude, the rustle of it loud and sharp as a whip crack. "I don't see why we couldn't have simply hopped through the mirror and met Crystal there."

"At this point, Edwin, I'm in total fucking agreement," said Crystal, not opening her eyes. She was burrowed under her coat like a blanket, doing her best to make the uncomfortable upright seat look like a cosy bed. Fortunately this train car was basically empty, so she had space to stretch across two seats – and no one close by to comment on the floating newspaper across the table and the fact she was having a barney with it. "You're like, the worst person to travel with."

"He's just not used to taking the scenic route," Charles joked, nudging Edwin's shoulder. "Whole world out there if you look up from the crossword, mate."

"I've already finished the crossword," said Edwin.

"With my help," Crystal pointed out.

"I died in nineteen sixteen. How am I supposed to know which songstress recorded 'Strike Me Once More'?"

"’Hit Me Baby One More Time’," said Charles.

"Atrocious name for a song," Edwin muttered. "I was given to believe violence against women was frowned upon in this day and age. And yet here you are, making popular songs about it."

"It's a metaphor, innit?" said Charles. His brow furrowed. "I think. Haven't heard it."

"We get it. You're both old ," Crystal groaned. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep. Some of us still need to do that."

"You would've had more luck in my day," said Edwin, wrinkling his nose in distaste at their surroundings. "Decent benches, private compartments. Of course, travelling without a chaperone might’ve raised issues. I hardly think Charles and I count, given that no one but you can see us."

"And we're lads." Charles winked at her. "Fit, single lads."

Edwin gave him a withering look over his paper. "Yes, that as well." He flipped through to the personal ads, voice dry as a bone. "Lord only knows what tomfoolery we could be getting up to without supervision."

"No offense, Edwin," said Crystal. "But I don't see you and me getting up to 'tomfoolery' no matter what century we're in."

"Hm. Something else we can agree on."

"Well, I'm game," Charles grinned, folding his arms on the table and waggling his eyebrows. "Never done tomfoolery on a train before."

Crystal snorted. "Don't. Not fun. And don't ask me how I know that,” she said, cutting Charles off sharpish before he could quiz her. “Anyway, without Edwin's fancy private compartments your options are the bathroom or risk a sneaky handjob in your seat."

Edwin perked up. "There's that word again. Charles, you never did tell me what it means."

Charles winced. "Didn't I? Um. Right. Basically, yeah, it's when you..." 

"If you're gonna sit here giving grandpa a sex ed class, I am definitely getting up for coffee," Crystal muttered, throwing her coat aside and levering out of her seat. 

"Sure you don't wanna weigh in?" Charles called after her. He fully expected the middle finger she flipped him before stomping off down the aisle.

"So," said Edwin primly, newspaper set down in exhange for his notebook. He was poised and at the ready with his pen in two seconds flat. "Handjobs."

Charles squirmed. "It's not exactly arcane knowledge, mate," he said, struggling to look Edwin in the eye. "It's when you..." he made a strangled noise, and a descriptive hand gesture. "Y'know. For another bloke."

Edwin watched his hand, and realisation dawned. "Ah,"  he said, slowly tucking his book and pen away. "Indeed." He sniffed. "Crude name."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Well. I haven't an equivalent term for the act as... bequeathed to another, so to speak.”

Charles bit his lip, holding back a grin. Who the fuck else in his life would use bequeathed in normal conversation? In a sex conversation? He crossed his arms before he could do something stupidly soppy and fond, like drop his head onto Edwin's shoulder and ask him to list his favourite words.

Edwin carried right on, oblivious to Charles' little moment. “But my father would've referred to the solo variation as ‘self-abuse’."

Charles snorted. "'Course he would."

"Yes, it was... a different time." He picked up his newspaper with an air of rigid discomfort. "People are certainly much more liberal in that regard nowadays."

"Yeah. Nowadays." Charles watched him closely. He'd always been a buttoned-up sort of chap, but. Since all that stuff in Port Townsend, with Monty and that bloody Cat King he'd... opened up, sort of. Wasn't going out snogging people or reading dirty mags in the office or anything, 'least not as far as Charles knew. But there was a curiosity in him, now. Something in those keen eyes that sparked up, latched onto certain things. All still wrapped up in good old fashioned Edwardian manners, of course, but Charles knew Edwin like the back of his hand – and he knew what his face did when he was interested in something. Just so happened what he'd been interested in lately was, well. Blokes. Some more than others. "You never try it then?" Charles teased. "The old, uh. Self-abuse?"

Edwin couldn't exactly, literally blush on account of being dead, but Charles could spot the signs. "Privacy was hard to come by," he said, carefully measured.

Charles raised his eyebrow. "But not impossible?"

"...No. No, not impossible." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should change the subject. Crystal will be returning shortly. Impolite to discuss it in mixed company."

Charles chuckled and sank back in his seat, casting his eyes out the window. The countryside rolled by, arid and golden. "Never been to France before."

"I suppose we haven't had any cases lead us here," said Edwin. "Nor have we had the need to travel through it," he added, voice clipped and curt. "Up until recently , that is."

"Got a right bee in your bonnet about the bloody travelling, haven't you?" said Charles. "C'mon, mate. Not like you and me are short of time, innit? Got all eternity to sit on bloody trains if we want to."

"I can think of better things to do with our time."

"Well – think of Crystal, yeah?" Charles reasoned. "I mean, she's alive. She's got what, eighty years or something left to be alive. How d’you think she feels 'bout having to spend half of it on public fucking transport?"

Edwin sighed. "Being alive was rather inefficient, in retrospect."

"I'm just saying... don't hurt to keep her company, eh?" He offered his best winning smile – and he had a good winning smile. “She's one of us, in't she?

Edwin rolled his eyes, but for once he didn't argue – Charles had him, and he knew it. "I'll... endeavour to be lenient," he offered.

"That's right big of you,” said Charles. He let their knees knock under the table. "Don't worry, not saying you have to be nice or anything. Just give the grumbling a rest for a bit, yeah?"

Edwin smirked. "Very wise of you to manage your expectations. 'Nice' is not a particular specialty of mine."

"I know." Charles grinned. "That's alright. I like it when you're a rude prick."

Edwin looked at him, and the hard lines of his face softened some. "Yes, you do seem to," he said; light, fond . "An ailment for which I fear there's no cure."

Charles ducked his head, smiling something daft. "We should do France properly sometime,” he said. “Go to Paris. Bet there's a load of old bookshops and that in Paris.”

Edwin brightened, with a little happy hum. "Capital idea, Charles. I haven't had reason to practice my French in some years." Then he sighed, proper dramatic. "Though I suppose we'll be taking the train again."

"Depends on if Crystal wants to come."

"Why wouldn't she?" Some of the stiffness had returned to Edwin's shoulders, but he was doing an alright job of hiding it. Anyone who wasn't Charles might not've noticed at all. "I daresay you two will want to take in the romantic sights while I peruse the booksellers."

Charles chuckled. 

Edwin flashed him an annoyed look. "It's a fair assumption."

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly like that."

"Is that so?"

Charles shrugged. "Had a bit of fun, but. She's still figuring some stuff out. Not looking for anything serious."

Edwin hummed, tightly, eyes fixed on the newspaper. 

Charles swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat, and flicked the corner of the paper to get his attention. "Besides: had some stuff to figure out myself, too, haven't I?"

Edwin froze, the paper rustling in his hands as his fingers tightened on it. "Oh." He glanced furtively to Charles, while obviously trying not to look furtive. For a detective, he was a right crap actor, sometimes. "Yes. How is that... progressing?"

Charles rolled his neck, tilting his face in Edwin's direction. Edwin looked right strange, perched all prim and proper on the polyester train seat with its bowling alley fabric pattern. Charles could almost squint and see through time, to how he would've looked on a train in the nineteen hundreds; surrounded by wood panels and velvet, by family who wouldn't touch him unless it was to fix his hair, straighten his bowtie. He looked out of place here – but he was right next to Charles, so actually, he was exactly where he ought to be. And the afternoon sun on the yellow fields looked dead pretty scattered across his cheekbones and his nose and that neat, handsome sweep of dark hair from his temple.

Yeah. Charles was figuring a thing or two out, alright.

He looked away and fidgeted, trying to shut his eyes and settle back in his seat in a way that looked relaxed, unbothered – and not like he was trying to avoid looking too closely at his best mate's lips or his eyes or his long, clever fingers. "Let's make it just a you and me thing," he said. "Paris, I mean."

There was a moment of quiet, then the sound of Edwin's newspaper coming to rest on the plastic table. "...Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

Charles smiled, and let the rhythmic motion of the train roll over him – if he had a heart, it'd be thumping in time to the clickety-clack on the tracks. He couldn't sleep, not even in the dark behind his eyelids, but he could daydream. Imagine that he could feel the sun on his face, the vibration at his back.

And while he was at it, he could reach out, just a little, and hook his pinky finger through Edwin's. Just 'cause.

A very, very small laugh escaped Edwin – almost like a runaway gasp. "I suppose," he said, mildly. "The scenic route has its charms."

 ~

Soon, the thud of Crystal's boots rejoined them, along with Crystal herself. Charles didn't even need to open his eyes, so he didn't bother.

“Charles,” Crystal greeted – and then, curtly: “Edwin.”

“Crystal.” Edwin replied, with matching coolness. But the ice soon broke on an audible, weary sigh. “Truce?” he offered.

She took a loud, long, deliberate swig of coffee before answering. Her and Edwin were peas in a dramatic, petty little pod, much as neither of them wanted to admit it. “...Truce.”

Edwin cleared his throat. “Yes. Very good.” Then, after a moment: “Thank you for your patience.”

The sounds of Crystal getting resettled stopped abruptly. Charles opened his eyes and found her half in her seat, hand and coffee cup on the table, staring at Edwin like he'd grown an extra head.

"So you're in, like… a good mood, now?” she said. “That was almost an apology. What'd I miss?”

Charles glanced sideways. Edwin had his face angled to the window – and a small, soft smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh," said Edwin lightly. His finger twitched around Charles’, just a little. Almost a squeeze. "Nothing of import."

Charles fought – and failed – to suppress a grin.

Crystal looked between them. "Charles. You didn't like..." She made the same crude handjob gesture he'd done earlier. "Give him a demonstration ...?"

Edwin squawked in indignation, Charles burst into surprised, sheepish laughter; and the golden fields outside the window gave way to row upon endless row of lavender and grapevine as Provence rolled alongside them, painting the plodding hours in green and purple.

And Edwin only complained about it ten, maybe eleven more times. New record, that!

~

Hope you liked it! Consider dropping us a comment or a reblog if you did 😊

Wrote this in part to distract myself from a horrifically busy train ride, in part as wish fulfilment while daydreaming about a world where the British public transit system isn't in shambles and I can get on a cross country train that isn't cancelled and sit in my pre-reserved seat as planned. Written and posted on my phone so apologies if that's reflected in the form and formatting!

Til next time!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: Charles keeps his promise to show you the parts of Monaco the tourists don't get to see. Warnings: 18+only, NSFW, smut WC: 1.9k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

You had never seen water clearer than the crystalline sea you floated on in a sheltered cove Charles had anchored the boat in. The sun kissed your skin and you closed your eyes, letting the water fill your ears and numb you to sight and sound of everything in the world, if only for a moment. 

You could feel eyes on you and peeked out to see Charles drifting closer, the colder waves in his wake gently lapping against your warm skin until he reached you. 

“This place is magical,” you sighed as your toes buried in the sand and you wiped the water from your face.

“It’s untouched,” he said as he looked to the shore that was only accessible by water, large cliffs climbing sharply behind the sand, “and unknown. I guess that’s why I prefer the seclusion here.”

“I can’t even imagine how hectic going anywhere must be for you.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said as he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you against him so you could wrap your legs around his waist. “You’ll be playing sold out concerts and travelling all over the world.”

You bit your lip and draped your arms around his neck. “You think?”

His smile was brighter than the sun and hope fluttered in your chest when he nodded. “I really do. There’s so many people who can sing, but what you did, that was something more. I can’t even put it into words, émouvant, like that song - ‘strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words, killing me softly with his song’ you did that with the voice of an angel.”

He chuckled when you winced at the off key singing but the point he was making sent a flash of heat throughout your body and your legs tightened around his waist. “Thank you.”

The sunlight caught the water drops dangling from the strands of his dark hair, a thousand tiny worlds suspended before they fell and became one with the sea again. With the man in front of you and the sun at your back you felt lighter than you had in weeks, free of the pain and self-doubt that had filled you after being thrown aside like a toy that had been outgrown and overused.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as his eyes traced the shape of your lips. The gold ring around his pupil danced with the green surrounding it until your eyes fluttered shut and you gave into his magnetism, your lips finding each other and the taste of salt on his tongue. 

The water ran down your body in rivulets as he walked to shore, his strength never wavering and his kiss never breaking until he laid you down on his towel. The question lingered in his eyes as his fingertips teased your skin beneath the two piece swimsuit and you laced your fingers in his hair, guiding his mouth to your breasts as you arched your back to meet him.

A deep hum of satisfaction fell from his parted lips as he pulled the bra aside and grazed his teeth over the supple skin before sealing his lips over your nipple. Your hips rolled in search of the friction his body could provide as his tongue swirled your nipple and he sucked it to a peak before moving to the other with the same enthusiasm that had you purring his name.

Your core tightened with his ministrations as you found the edge of your vision turning to shadows as pleasure washed over you like the tide arriving and you cried out as it crested. Shock and bewilderment replaced the elation and he frowned when he saw the look, pulling away nervously.

“Are you alright?”

“Um, I just, um,” you trailed off as you covered your cheeks that were hot against your palms. “Is that normal?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, equally confused as he sat back on his heels, his erection tenting his trunks.

“That.” You waved a hand over your body. “Coming. Without even touching me there.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened as they trailed down your body, lingering between your thighs longingly. “You’ve never come like that before?” His voice had dropped a notch and a depth of pride laced the words that teased a smile on his lips.

“Up until last night I hadn’t really come at all,” you admitted shyly.

He shook his head, cold water drops tickling your skin, and he tipped it back as he shouted to the sky in a language you didn’t understand. He took a deep breath to calm himself before he fell forward and caged you beneath his strong body.

“He was a fucking fool,” he growled against your lips, “and you deserve better.”

His kiss was scorching and left you delirious when he broke away to continue it down your body, between the valley of your breasts and past your navel. He rolled his eyes up to meet yours as his hands grabbed your hips, lifting them off the towel while he caught the material of your bikini between his teeth. You shivered at the intensity in his stare as he drew them down your legs and cool air rushed in to kiss your heated core. 

“You deserve to be worshipped,” he murmured between the delicate kisses he placed on your inner thighs. 

You could hardly breathe as your entire body locked up on edge. His lips were so close to where you needed them most and you could feel his warm breath on your skin but he held your eyes up the length of your body. Waiting. Watching. Teasing.

“Please,” you begged as you finally drew in a shaky breath.

His smile was lost between your legs as his hands pulled you to his mouth and your head fell back to the sand without a care for the mess it would leave in your hair. His name echoed off the cliffs as he worked you to the edge of bliss with deliberate flicks of his tongue that sent shakes down your legs but he was in no rush to send you teetering over the edge. He was savouring your taste on his tongue and knew he was quickly becoming addicted to it.

“Oh my Charles,” you moaned as you tugged at the damp strands of hair between your fingers and he chuckled, the vibrations against your clit detonating an earth shattering orgasm.

“Lucky there is no one around for miles,” he said with a smirk as he reached into my bag that had his phone and wallet, the latter storing the much needed condom. “I still have a lot of worship left to do.”

You bit your lip as he stood up and shoved his trunks down, freeing his hard length before going to tear open the foil packet. “Wait,” you found yourself interrupting as you rose to your knees a little shakily and ran your hands up his muscular thighs. “I want to taste you.”

With your ex blowjobs always felt like a chore but that was because it was always one sided and you never initiated the act. Now, you felt empowered by the choice and you wanted to pleasure him as he had pleasured you because it wasn’t an expectation and there wasn’t any pressure.

Charles shuddered when you wrapped your fist around his base, gently stroking him while you teased his head with your tongue. You took your time, enjoying the sounds he made when you found a sensitive spot and the praise he rained down when your nails dug into his backside and you pulled him deep into your throat.

“Fuck, chérie,” he groaned as he pulled away panting. “I won’t be able to hold back if you keep that up.”

Your smile was playful and you nipped at his thumb as it traced your swollen lips. “Then don’t hold back.”

He tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his hard length, his eyes darkening at the challenge. “Only if you promise the same.”

You lay draped over Charles as the sun began to set beyond the cliff, his body heat combatting the dropping temperatures that came with the shadows crossing the beach. You weren’t quite sure that you were going to be able to walk before midnight after the marathon he had put you through but you would happily sleep under the stars in exchange for the blissful bubble of peace you found yourself in.

Unfortunately Bea had other plans as her ringtone chimed from your bag. With a defeated groan, you sat up and grabbed it to find a dozen text messages had been missed before she gave up and just called. 

“Hey Bea, are you alright? I didn’t have my phone on me.” Charles sat up with a worried look and mouthed ‘Pierre?’ “Are you still with Pierre?”

“Yes and yes but you are not going to believe who just called me.” She paused dramatically before sighing. “Aren’t you going to ask me who called?”

“Who called?” you replied dutifully, earning a huff as you didn’t show the same enthusiasm.

“Capitol Records, and they want to sign you. Someone saw you on Tik Tok and they want you there ASAP, like yesterday,” Bea screamed and you had to hold the phone away before she deafened you. “Why aren’t you screaming too?”

You got up and brushed the sand off your knees before walking along the water's edge. It was completely surreal. “I’m just…lost for words.”

“You better find them soon because I already said yes and booked the flights to LA. Ahhh, it’s finally happening!”

“Uh, yeah, that’s, um, that’s really great,” you murmured as you locked eyes on Charles sitting slumped, his fingers drawing abstract pieces in the sand. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You slowly made your way back to him and he eventually looked up when your shadow stole his light. “I don’t know if you are my good luck charm or if the universe finally decided to cut me a break but…I’m doing it, I’m going to make music.”

You failed to put any real enthusiasm into your words and Charles leapt to his feet, his hands gripping your shoulders as a smile chased away the frown lines. “What? That is amazing! Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am,” you said with a sigh that contradicted you, “but I think I had pretty much accepted that it wasn’t going to ever happen…and then we had that wild night last night and today was somehow even better…it just feels like I’m going to wake up at home and be disappointed because it was all a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” he promised as he pulled you into his arms and pressed his lips to your forehead. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then we still have tonight.” He swiped the towel and bag from the sand, bunching it in one hand so he could hold it above the water while wading out to the boat, and took your hand with his other. “If you’ll come spend it with me, that is.”

You shivered as the cool water crept higher up your body without the sun to keep it warm. “I’ll take whatever time I can have of yours.”

He helped you climb onto the back of the boat before following and brushing away a few grains of sand that clung onto your cheek. “So if I was ever in LA…”

A smile grew on your face at the thought of seeing him again. “You let me know.”

Click here for part four.

Tagging: @91vhs @alwaysclassyeagle @applespiez @ravenqueen27 @booksobsess @tempo-rary-fix

[sparklebeamx]

I realized I haven’t posted any of my other wynncraft characters here. So I’m starting off with Skyris cause it’s a crime on my part for me not sharing her sooner. I love her so much QwQ

Some doodles

Some info about her down below

Also to note that this is the wynncraft counter part of her.

Skyris Nariyama

Age:25-26

Pronouns:She/Her

Height:5’8

Family: Altair(Older Cousin),Electra( Younger Cousin)

Voice Head canon: Dorothea (FE3H)- Allegra Clark

Class:Mage (most likely riftbender archetype)

Skyris is a traveling songstress, but she wasn’t always one to begin with. Being the daughter of a captain back in Detlas,her teens were spent training to be a soldier.But years later, she decided that being a part of the army wasn’t for her.

Skyris always had a love for singing and writing her own songs. After leaving the army , she became a traveling songstress, hoping her music will bring joy and even raise the morale of others. She wasn’t alone, as Altair, Cyrus, Tavaris and Adrian tagged along with her. The five of them traveled through Wynn and Gavel. Despite traveling with a group it doesn't mean there wasn't any hardships, one night,her and the others almost fell to a sudden ambush of corrupteds. They fought for their lives, Skyris fighting alongside Tavaris to make an opening for the group to escape and eventually they did. It was a night survived, a moment that Skyris and the others will remember.

Though, the group would have one more event that still affects them to this day. Tavaris, one of Skyris’s closest friends since youth and fiancé, was severely injured during a mission of theirs. Skyris stayed by his side, taking care and healing him to make sure he survives, making sure that he stays with her a bit more.

One day when Skyris came back from a supply run, she and the others were met with an empty bed. No signs of Tavaris. No letters. Some personal items are missing. He was gone. Skyris broke down that day, running rampant to nearby areas TRYING to find him. But she didn’t…her love was gone. The others and eventually her, believed that Tavaris didn't want to pass in front of them and went off to do it on his own terms.

It took her years to heal from that day,from Tavaris…

Years later, she decides to give herself another shot at being in a relationship,perhaps… It was time to move on . During a time in Gavel, a certain soldier caught her fancy, It was Elphaba. The two of them didn't get along at first ,which led to a bit of rivalry. Skyris enjoys this , messing and teasing Elphaba any chance she gets, only because she wants to see her again. Eventually the two get to talking and actually get to know each other. Putting their little rivalry in the past, they get into a relationship . Skyris is glad to have a partner to love , though at the back of her mind she hopes the same thing doesn't happen again.

Other notes:

•Born and raised in Wynn

•Skyris also likes to do some tailoring , even does custom orders

•Skyris is the one that thought Electra how to tailor clothes

•Don’t let her looks fool you as she can be quite the scary one to deal with if you’re not on her good side

•She can and will beat your ass

•Likes to make fun of Altair whenever she gets the chance

•Her staff is based off of Robin’s( from HSR) mic

•Lowkey would be the type of person to sing the most beautiful ballads and then listen to music the complete opposite to that. Deadass would listen to heavy metal

•Main element is air

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐊

❝ In what she considered to be the ultimate, terrible tribute to her name, Lark had been living most of her life like a bird in a cage. First, her cage had been the mansion in Albatross Town in which she had lived as a child, alongside her parents, the town’s governors, who upon realizing their daughter’s natural talent for singing had trotted her out to perform in front of their fellow government officials from the time she was as young as seven. Then, after her parents had passed away from illness when she was still young, her cage had transformed into the embrace of World Government officials, who, remembering her from those parties in her childhood home, had thrust a guitar into her hands and forced her to travel around all four Blues, singing hollow songs about how good and just the World Government and the Marines were for crowds of the Marines themselves.

And even more than she hated being trotted around the world like a show pony at the Government’s whim, Lark hated the music she was forced to perform - and how she was kept from even learning about the music that truly interested her. From the time she was very young, just starting out in her role as the World Government’s little songstress, Lark had been fascinated with the songs pirates sang, the odes to the horizon and life on the high Blues that they would sing on their ships and in taverns when the moon was high in the sky. She ached to hear all of the pirate songs that had ever existed, to fill the songwriting notebooks she kept in secret with their notes and lyrics and perhaps even write one of her own. But since her Government handlers had always kept such a close watch on her, steering her away from any music that was not her approved setlist for performances, she was forced to constantly escape for a few hours whenever she could and fill her notebooks with whatever scraps of songs she could overhear spilling from pubs or could persuade a sailor to sing for her and kept those scribbled words close to her heart, longing for the day when she could burst out of her cage and finally submerge herself in the music she truly wanted to sing.

Finally, after so many years of waiting and wanting and playing the part of the World Government’s little songbird no matter how much she hated it, Lark was given her opportunity for freedom in the form of Monkey D. Luffy and his newfound, ragtag little crew of pirate hopefuls. After seeing one of Lark’s shows and somehow seeing through her public persona to the desperate trapped bird she was underneath, Luffy had approached her with an offer to run away and join his little crew, an offer which Lark could not do anything but accept. Snatching her chance to escape and holding on tight, Lark had sailed away with the Straw Hat crew carrying nothing but her guitar, a few of her favorite dresses, and her beloved notebooks, more than ready to sail the open water and be exposed to the songs she had been longing to hear for so long.

But, of course, the World Government is not willing to let their prized bird fly free for too long, and in addition to evading angry fishmen, keeping their swordsman from dying after he picks a fight he has no chance of winning, and trying to keep a terrifying clown from sending them to their deaths, the Straw Hats must also deal with the threat of a determined Marine Admiral who wants to arrest their captain and has received orders to bring Lark back to his employers. But what everyone who has ever kept Lark captive has failed to realize is that she is much stronger and more determined than she seems - and if she, her newfound friends, and the charming chef who lost his heart to her the first time he heard her sing have anything to say about it, this songbird will be dead before she will be forced into a cage again. ❞

One Piece Taglist: @auxiliarydetective, @starcrossedjedis, @xoteajays, @oneirataxia-girl, @supermarine-silvally.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[ragingbookdragon]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Lindir x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: :( --> :')

**********************************************************************

Their journey back was quiet. She knew all three of them were in a particular state of mourning, she for Fili and Kili, Bilbo for Thorin, and Gandalf for all three of them. The old wizard had felt particularly responsible for the deaths of the three, even though it hadn’t been his fault in the slightest. Usually, when someone she knew had passed, her calling as a songstress had her performing ballads of their lives and greatest deeds, but this time, she couldn’t find it in herself to sing such songs just yet. The wounds still too fresh, memories of her dearest dwarven friends still too heavy a weight on her heart. She knew if she tried, she’d break down in tears. Still though, she kept her hopes high, and her grief hidden enough to comfort the other two on their journey back.

She wasn’t sure where she’d end up. Thorin’s company had simply crossed paths by chance and that was how she’d gotten along, but now, Bilbo was going home, Gandalf escorting him, then he was off to who knows where doing who knows what but only the old wizard. That left her where she had been before—simply wandering. But she’d seen the west, seen the great heights of the Mirkwood trees, seen the low valleys of Lake-town, and the majesty of Erebor. What else was there?

Her thoughts continued to plague her all throughout their travels back, through Lake-town, through Mirkwood, and back through the mountains until they’d come back upon the elven settlement, Rivendell. She couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes, the comfort, food, and care had been greatly remembered and desired ever since she and Gandalf had departed after the company those months ago.

Lord Elrond and his council were already waiting for them when they finally crossed the bridge and the elf looked rather disheartened when he greeted them. “Welcome back,” he murmured, carefully taking in both Bilbo and her expressions of sadness. “Word has already come from the west.” Elrond looked between them all. “My most sincere sympathies go to you all for your losses.”

She cleared her throat, bowing slightly. “Thank you, my Lord Elrond. It is a most kind gesture. We…the journey there and back have been long and arduous, physically, mentally, and emotionally.” She said nothing more, feeling the tears coming to her eyes as she blinked them away and gently placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, squeezing it for comfort; the hobbit merely reached up and squeezed her hand in return, unable to speak, for his wounds were the greatest.

Gandalf looked at the two close together and asked Elrond, “My old friend, might we find refuge for a day or two before traveling back?”

“Always,” Elrond said and turned, leading them up the stairs and into the courtyard; he looked at the elf standing to his left. “Lindir, take our songstress and hobbit and show them to some rooms. I need to speak to Mithrandir.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lindir replied and waited for the two travelers to meet him. “Has the journey back been beset by any trouble?” he asked her as he led them.

She inhaled. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” She tried to smile at him. “How has Rivendell faired since we’ve been gone?”

“As usual. Other than his lordship leaving to Dol Guldur.”

“Ah yes, I heard quite a fearsome battle occurred between the forces of evil and good.” She smiled this time. “Perhaps I shall ask Lord Elrond for the details and compose a ballad. Do you think Lady Galadriel would allow me to perform it for her?”

Lindir laughed quietly. “I would not see why not.” As he brought them to two secluded rooms near the edge of the house, he opened the first door for Bilbo. “Here you are,” he said to him, and Bilbo nodded, finally managing to look up.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly and looked over at her. “I think I’m going to rest until evening dinner.”

“I understand,” she replied and watched sadly as he disappeared inside and shut the door behind him. It was only but a second then she turned to Lindir in tears and whispered, “My heart aches so deeply for him.”

Lindir gazed at her sadly, and instead of leading her to the next door, he took her to a secluded area of the garden beneath a grand willow. She put her pack down beside the bench and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her as Lindir sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry that you have lost your friends,” he said softly. “Though I did not know them well, I did sense honor among them.”

She nodded, barely able to keep the tears at bay as she looked towards the setting sun. “Bilbo will not speak of what happened before Thorin died. He will only tell us that they parted in friendship.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “But the boys,” she whispered. “Fili and Kili were just boys. They didn’t deserve this as a fate. They deserved to grow up in their homeland. Find loves and have families.” She looked at him. “It isn’t fair, Lindir.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her expression pinched. “I survived. A useless trobairitz who couldn’t even swing a sword or draw a bow and three battle hardened dwarves didn’t. What kind of fate is that? Why me? Why useless m—”

“You are not useless,” Lindir interrupted with a rather harsh look for the reserved elf. “You survived because it is what fate wished. You survived because fate has not come calling for you yet.”

She frowned and swallowed thickly. “But I wanted them to survive as well.”

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching over to take her hand in his slender one; he gently brushed his thumb over the back of her thumb. “That is our greatest ache. The ones who did not join us at the end.”

Her gaze met his. “Truthfully, Lindir, I don’t know where to go now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bilbo is going home to the Shire, Gandalf I assume is going to off doing what wizards do…but for myself?” she shrugged. “I am back to traveling the land singing for gold and fame.”

“You have no home to go back to?”

Her eyes were humored but had a sadness to them. “The home I had as a girl is long gone. A songstress knows no home but the next stage.”

Lindir gazed at her, mouth opening and closing for a moment before his cheeks tinted pink and he asked, “…perhaps you could make Rivendell your home?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

He shifted in his seat. “You have no home, but you acted wonderfully as an ambassador between the elves and the dwarves.”

A laugh escaped her. “You mean I mothered them and glared until they obeyed.”

Lindir smiled. “However you managed it, it worked. I could not imagine a better place for you.”

“An ambassador? Lindir, I am a singer. My role is to compose and sing the songs of our heroes. The ones who live, the ones who die. I am simply their storyteller.”

“Yes, but the people respect you for your role in Thorin’s company. You represent a great position amongst other races. I am not naïve to assume that your voice does not have sway too. You could be the connection between our races.”

She gave Lindir a look. “Something tells me, you wish me to stay in Rivendell more than anything else.”

Lindir swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and admitted, “I…have been hoping that you would come back to Rivendell.”

“Oh?”

His cheeks warmed. “Meleth nîn…”

“Oh, there are those words again,” she teased. “Lindir, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you have not been thinking I would return so much as you have been thinking about kissing me.”

Lindir looked like a startled deer, red cheeks, a bit frazzled if she were honest and he tried to splutter out some form of a reply but ceased when her laughter reached his ears, like twinkling stars and he gave her a heartfelt smile when she scooted a bit closer and leaned closer to him, nuzzling his cheek.

“If it soothes your wild heart, I have long thought about you, Lindir.”

He turned slightly, their noses brushing, and he murmured, “I have been talking to Lord Elrond about your possible staying here if you ever returned.”

“Uh huh, and what did he say?”

“He would think about it.” Lindir blinked. “That answer usually means yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what he would tell Lady Arwen when she was a child and she asked for something only to give it days later.”

“Oh? So, my stay is already promised?”

“I truly enjoyed your singing.” He cleared his throat, adding, “we all enjoyed your singing.”

She smiled at him, gently pressing her lips to his cheek, and she said, “Well guess what? You get to hear it whenever you want.”

“You will stay?”

“If you’ll have me,” she chirped and Lindir’s face split into a handsome smile.

“I would have you with me forever.”

“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“I…had planned on trying to court you…if you ever returned.”

She blinked, staring at him, then she shifted across the bench and laid down, putting her head in Lindir’s lap. “I think I would enjoy that greatly, Lindir.”

“O—oh?” he replied, fumbling with himself on where to put his hands until he settled for resting one on her hip and the other gently in her hair.

“Mhm…a lot.”

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling down at her as the tension began to ease from her expression and body, eyes slipping shut as they enjoyed the setting sun together.

[frillsinadress]

CONFESSIONS : REDSONG

characters : akagami no shanks , pearl belon , benn beckman , captain aoi (oc) , sakazuki (mentioned)

warnings : fluff , confessions , drinking , slight mentions of slavery

word count : 1k 

authors note : OKAY i am slowly posting my drabbles from the opoc world discord server run by beloved moot @discordantwritings ! this is one of the first i cooked up for my oc x shanks ship!

the two were drunk again- a phrase beckmen was slowly getting used to saying alongside calling his captain a drunkard. ever since the red haired pirates had become acquainted with the song pirates it seems the crew’s ability to party doubled. everyday was a grand show with live music and copious amounts of booze- and at the helm of it all were them. 

pearl was a showy woman, beautiful and charming. her looks alone caught shanks like a fish deprived of food. one would’ve thought the two would simply be a careful fling, simply looking for the company of someone beautiful or powerful and move on. but they kept meeting, over and over. pearl wasn't a bad person, quite the opposite. their first meeting with the song pirates was pearl freeing a field of slaves and ushering them onto her ship.

he knew something between them was brewing. with too many longing gazes when the other wasn't looking and the way they simply giggled ‘one more dance wouldn't hurt’ and swayed to the beat for minutes that turned into hours. beckmen was sure at first it was all superficial,  when he caught pearl tenderly caring to shanks when he was experiencing a bout of phantom pain, whispering soothing words that eventually boiled into genuine, vulnerable talk he began to wonder if the seas most famous womanizer would eventually be anchored down.

but tonight merriment continued. pearl and shanks were elbow locked, twirling and whirling about the deck. her crew were personally celebrating a massive victory in freeing several slaves. no doubt the entire grand line would hear them! 

shanks laughed, tugging pearl to sit atop his knee after almost six songs of straight dancing. pearl shared in the joy, leaning into him immediately and gracefully taking the tankard of some random alcohol he had handed her before taking his own. with a quick clink the two set to drinking. 

“what a day!” she said with eager excitement, looking at shanks as he looked out at the crew. 

“i’ve never seen my men this merry, you’ve truly cast a spell on them *siren songstress of the sea.~*” shanks teased as she rolled her eyes and playfully scoffed. 

“blame your men for being so easily swayed!” she said, sighing happily at the noise and energy that surrounded her. the two kept their tankards filled and their smiles bright. as the night raged on the two were absorbed in a conversation raging between them and their peers about which marine admiral they could beat in a race. pearl was white girl wasted, leaning against shanks and practically melting. hell he wasn't much better.

“pearl, my pearl you truly are something, challenging that evil sakazuki!” shanks said sloppily, nuzzling his cheek against her own.  pearl had proudly declared herself the winner of the hypothetical marathon. 

“because! if i were to win and he got angry i know my emperor would swoop into save me!” she giggled back as shanks nodded and then loudly enough for his voice to travel said,

“i would never let that - that *brute* lay a hand on you, my love! mine alone, id make sure you’re the safest woman the world has ever seen.” as he spoke he began to pepper kisses across pearls soft skin, causing her to yelp and laugh at the sudden affection. the two had never passed heavy petting, and suddenly this was welcomed. 

“no one— shall hurt my woman, the one i love.” shanks rambled, his words slurring as he moved to press kisses across her face. pearl felt her heart race at his confession, panic lacing her hands as she gently tried to push him off. his lips touched dangerously near where that heinous scar lie— something she feared he would see and find repulsive. she whined softly as his lips moved, the tankard he once held discarded to hold her cheek with such delicacy that her heart was at war. 

his lips brushed against her right socket and he froze, pulling back to stare at her. this was it, he would shove her off his knee and leave. but then he brushed her bangs from her face and pressed his lips firmly against her eyelid. she gasped, freezing up until he began to speak.

“like this, that captain aoi. he should count to ever lucky star, pray to every god — simply cuz of your mercy. i wish you’d let me handle him for you. i'd bring him to your feet and let you watch as i behead him for hurting you.” he confessed, words that soothed the pain that coursed through her. his words while in a drunken stupor were genuine, he always was. she pushed his head back and her hands reached up to grab his face and smash her lips against his. shanks eagerly reciprocated, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist. her arms linked behind his neck as a chorus of cheers erupted from around them. they had been wondering if this song and dance was ever going to amount to anything. 

the light and music kept up into the early night, but eventually lulled into more natural beauty as many headed to bed. pearl found herself joining shanks, immediately face

planting drunkenly upon his mattress with shanks almost smothering her into the pillows. the hangover the next day was miserable, and the day had begun with a fresh clear morning. 

pearl and her crew were set to go towards another island as per their typical schedule, and once the ships were ready to depart she met him on the plank between their ships. her graceful hands rested at her hips and she beamed at him. 

“you love me?” pearl started, 

“i do.”

“and you mean it?”

“every word.”

“okay.”

“okay?”

“mhm.”

“well then my love, until next time?”

“of course, i already miss you.” pearl finished, taking the pocket watch that had her vivre card and kissed it gently before turning and stepping onto her ship. she turned to wave him off as the ships split apart. but as he watched them go he swore he heard the familiar girlish squeals of pearl and her crew as they no doubt celebrated the new relationship.

[novemb-r]

Gunvor Hofmo (b. 30 June 1921 Oslo/Kristiania - d. 14 October 1995, Oslo) was a Norwegian writer considered among the country's most significant modernist poets. She eventually was named "Mørkets sangerske / songstress of darkness", being one of the leading poets of the post-war period, the horrors of the war and the loss of her Jewish lover Ruth Maier left a deep mark on the majority of her writing.

P.1: Gunvor Hofmo P.2: Gunvor Hofmo & Ruth Maier

Hofmo was only 19 when the war broke out, and several of her relatives were imprisoned or killed by the Germans. But perhaps the biggest loss was her lover, Ruth Maier, an Austrian Jewish woman born in 1920, who came to Norway as a refugee in 1939. A year later Hofmo met Maier at a voluntary work service at Biristrand, both being fond of writing, they quickly became friends. Eventually the two women became lovers and they traveled around Norway together, working from place to place, until they returned to Oslo sometime in 1942.

Ruth was arrested and sent to the Auschwitz extermination camp together with 532 other Norwegian Jews on the transport ship Danube on 26 November 1942. Gunvor followed her girlfriend to the dock and never heard from her again. Maier died 1. December 1942 in Auschwitz.

P. 1&2: Ruth Maier

Ruth wrote several diaries that Hofmo kept after her death. She made attempts to publish them in the post war period, but it was only after her passing in 1995 that Ruth Maier's diaries were discovered and later published in 2007.

The topic of homosexuality plays a role several times in her diaries, already at the age of thirteen, Ruth discussed same-sex love and desire with a friend in Vienna but was happy when she could push the subject away: "I think about how horrible it was when I went and thought about it. I looked it up in the encyclopedia. I asked Mutz [Ruth Maier's mother] too, but she said it's the kind of thing I don't understand. Thank God it's over now. Yes , if you don't have problems, you get them!" Later, after she had gotten to know Gunvor Hofmo in Norway, she would return to the topic.

Unlike Gunvor Hofmo, it is not easy to decide whether Ruth Maier was a lesbian or not, but her love for her was clear, she wrote of Hofmo in her diary several times:

In January 1941, she wrote: "Gunvor's eyes are dark blue. They are bottomless. […] The days are brighter when you love someone." In the autumn of the same year, she admitted that she could not imagine life without Gunvor.

Again in 1941, "I can't say how warm I feel with Gunvor. I love her deep eyes. I love her reserved way of talking about things. Gunvor is a valuable human being. I would sacrifice a lot to make her happy."

In her diary after Maier was admitted to Ullevål Hospital in Oslo after a nervous breakdown, the doctors asked her about her feelings for Gunvor Hofmo as well. In her diary, she noted: "I can't do anything for that I feel so deeply for her. The doctors must have thought that I in this regard have an unnatural inclination. That is not the case. What I feel for her is completely natural. I feel spiritually connected to her. There is not the slightest hint of physical lust in me. But it may be that I have a need for love that requires its expression, where Gunvor is a (dear)welcome object."

Gunvor Hofmo and her girlfriend Ruth Maier

After the war, in 1946, Gunvor Hofmo published her first collection of poems: Jeg vil hjem til menneskene / I want to go home to the humans.

It is here that we find the iconic post-war poem "Det er ingen hverdag mer / There is no everyday anymore":

God, if you still see: There is no everyday anymore. There is just silent screams, there is just black corpses that hang in red trees! Hear how quiet it is. We turn to go home but we always meet them. Everything we sense one day is the breath of the killed! If we in hiding go: it is their ashes that we tread. God, if you still see: There is no everyday anymore.

In the debut collection, as in all of Hofmo's later releases, it was grief and suffering that stood at the center.

In the post-war period, she was to become a long-term patient at Gaustad Hospital in Oslo. Doctors diagnosed her with "schizophrenia, paranoid form" in 1954. She was there for shorter and longer periods for 22 years - until she was discharged in 1975. Before and after this period, she produced a large number of poetry collections.

Just before she was admitted to Gaustad, she wrote one of her most famous poems, Jeg har våket / I have awakened. The last part of the poem, about Maier:

... I saw my friend, the only one, I saw her go to die. And since the trees have mourned, and since then Death has drawn my body and soul and voice into the sea of ​​despair!

In 1947, Hofmo began a long term relationship with Astrid Tollefsen (1897-1973) and became one of the first Norwegians living in an openly lesbian relationship. They continued to live and travel together until Hofmo was incapacitated and committed to Gaustad for her illness.

Afterwards there was a period of 16 years silence where she published no new work until she broke her silence with the collection 'Gjest på jorden / Guest on earth' in 1971.

She lived an anonymous life in the capital city, refusing to be interviewed nor did she read her work aloud. Her last years spent mostly in solitude and isolation apart from a few friends who were allowed in. She died suddenly in October 1995, debilitated by diabetes with which she had been struggling for a couple of years.

Hofmos work was little translated during her lifetime. And there seems to be no official translated works in English. (The poems you see on this post have been translated by me.)

Sources: x x x x

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's plans go awry when confronted with his own past.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 12: Hunt*

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, CPTSD episode during sex, Cazador, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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Vampires are some of the deadliest monsters we may contend with. I do not relish my current mission to seek out the spawn, Astarion. But, he may be the only way we can ever see our children again. I am plagued by visions of them being carried away by these blood hungry creatures. Plagued even more by their screams that fill my mind in the most quiet of hours. Full blooded vampires become consumed with whatever they set their eyes upon. But spawns—I have to wonder—if they were to escape their masters, would they be able to redeem themselves if they took the road less traveled?

— Gandrel of the Gur Tribe, journal entry 567

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“I suppose I should, yet again, count myself lucky: the bastard is alone,” Astarion smirked, picking a few stray leaves from his clothes. He had just returned from a lengthy scouting trip assessing the hunter they may parley with.

It had been several days of traversing rocky footpaths until they arrived in the Sunlit Wetlands. Several days of anxious nights wondering if Cazador sent more pawns to retrieve him. Several days of nothing more than forlorn glances exchanged with the elven songstress.

Wyll crossed his arms, concentrating on Astarion’s face. “That at least bodes well. Did he look familiar to you?”

“Not at all. Though I have met a lot of the city’s miscreants over the years, it’s possible he’s a scorned lover of a lover that Cazador convinced to seek vengeance. He had a lot of connections in the city—so it’s hard to say.”

“Let’s fucking goooo,” Karlach roared as her axe split apart a piece of log. She swiped away wood dustings from her brow, turning to the vampire. “What makes you think this is Cazador’s doing, fancy boy?”

“Oh, how could I forget that it must be one of my many adoring fans, come to shake my hand out in the middle of blasted nowhere,” Astarion replied with a sneer. “Tell me: who else could it be?!”

Of course it had to be his former master! Cazador Szarr would do anything to ensure his spawns stayed forever reliant upon him. For them to know that survival without him wasn’t possible. Astarion knew deep down that no matter how he repeatedly longed for freedom, if he showed up, without question the vampire spawn would still feel betrothed as a slave to enact his heinous mandates. Compelled or not, the attachment to him remained.

The fiery tiefling teetered her axe over her shoulder, ready to swing downward again. “Alright. Alright. As much as I’m always raring to go, I just want to be sure we aren’t getting caught in a trap, yea?”

She had a point. Cazador, reclusive as he was, commandeered powers that most were unaware. Their group was mighty, but could they defeat a vampire lord? It would be nearly impossible, but the fraction of a percentage that they could end his life for good, ignited an invaluable resolve inside of the spawn.

Astarion debonairly examined his nails. “Well, darlings, I’m sure I can go about this on my own if you’re not up for a bit of potential excitement.”

“I have every bit of faith you can handle this by yourself, but I think it goes without saying that hunters are all too well-versed in regions such as these. There may be something we don’t know from what you’ve investigated,” Wyll interjected.

“Why Wyll, the famed monster hunter is going to help protect a monster?! I could kiss you! Or bite you—if that is your preference,” the vampire giddily responded, clasping his hands together as he flashed the tip of his fang.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Astarion,” Wyll chuckled, uncrossing his arms to gesture a stop signal with his hand. “Shall we say around morrow’s noon we head down to speak with the stranger?”

“I’d prefer to stab first, but if you insist, who am I to deny such a handsome face?” Astarion flirtatiously bowed his head.

Karlach visibly shrugged her shoulders, breathing out a long sigh. “Ugh, finnnne. Let’s get this good and over with before something awful happens to your pretty face and you break someone’s fucking heart.”

“My dearest Karlach, are you saying you wouldn’t miss me?”

“I’m saying that our leader wouldn’t be all too happy with any of us if we just let you sod off on your own,” she clarified firmly. “By the way, you may want to speak with Tav about our plans.”

The vampire fisted his hand near his mouth, pretending to cough. “Ahem, well, I’m sure she’s been far too busy entertaining our newest druidic hunk we’ve adopted to camp. They’ve been practically braiding each other's hair since the party.”

“Gods, you don’t sound jealous at all,” she teased. “And look who it is! Mornin’ to you soldier!”

And there she was. Trailing into camp on melodies she sang under her breath. Lavender and vanilla invisibly suffocating him with its whorls of scent around his neck.

Wyll waved in her direction. “Tav! Could we trouble you for a moment?”

Tav quietly nodded, giving him a subtle smile out of the corner of her mouth.

“Astarion just returned back from surveying the bog and it would seem that this hunter is currently alone. Few weapons, but I reckon he has the good sense to protect himself with other means.”

“The three of us are heading down to speak with him come highsun tomorrow. But, if shit goes bad, we’ll be armed,” Karlach added, flexing her arm high in the air. “Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Karlach. Personal matters.” The bard tried to peer behind the tiefling, staring at the elven man that was clearly avoiding her. “Astarion, did you approve of this?”

He raised his head, the state of her startling him. The skin around her eyes was swollen, a glaze of wetness having long filmed over her sclera. It was evident she had been crying on and off since their last encounter. She was lacking her usual demure aura, visibly rundown.

Astarion cocked a bleary eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Then, I trust you to handle this to the best of your abilities.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

In the middle of the night’s air, Astarion stood outside of Tav’s tent entrance, overwrought with a queasiness burning the walls in his stomach.

After their argument several days ago, he left in a panicked state to hide under the forest canopy bordering their camp. The illusion of hyperventilation attacked his lungs—a memory of it really—as he held onto the bulwarked trunk of a tree. And then, blood spewed from his mouth. He leaned over, coughing and vomiting up a mouthful of the bear’s crimson he consumed earlier that evening.

He had charmed and manipulated Tav enough times to create the image that would steal her away like a rogue in the night. And she craved it. She wanted him to fill the role of her abductor, appearing from behind the curtains in her bedroom, to entice her with cool lips on her knuckles and sworn covenants of intimacy with his bite. Urging her to just let go.

Yet, his plan kept hitting snags.

Without a doubt, he knew his instinctual techniques were all in order. When there had been a few mishaps, he quickly adapted and switched his tactics. But, what he didn’t account for—what he had little to no proficiency in—was dealing with these people’s bygone histories for this length of time. Try as he might to reluctantly focus on the lamentable surface details of the bard and the kettle of vultures—their companions—that circled the hearth of their campfire, piles of their shit kept unearthing themselves like the carcasses of burying beetles.

And he didn’t fucking care.

Why should he? He didn’t know them. Oh, they were a formidable bunch, each having inherited an adeptness for physical or magical strength. He extended his belief in them about as far as relying on them in battle would allow him. But what had they truly done for him otherwise? It wasn’t them that offered mercy upon his vampiric existence and allowed him to stay within their group. It wasn’t them that made sure he was properly fed, baptizing him in their blood.

No, the only person he owed a speckle of his acknowledgement to was the songbird with the voice of singing jewels. Though she challenged him at every nook and cranny of their time together, she was the only one to judge him in such a way that seemed fairly balanced.

Until now.

Tav with her saintly observations, was becoming aware of his methodical ministries. Perhaps not in the sense that she could pinpoint exactly what his strategy was, but gods, her cursed awareness and the cloistered tale of her former life, filled him with enough discomfort he almost considered forgoing his plan entirely.

She knew something was amiss with him. She knew he had to be embellishing everytime he damn near spoke to her about anything other than his wretched past. So, why didn’t she make more of an effort to single him out and put him on trial? Had she been waiting for him to tell her otherwise? To correct her misgivings she was having about him.

It made him uneasy to not know. He could poke around in her mind with their worms, but that certainly wouldn’t bode well if she was unreceptive to the notion.

What an absolute shitshow, Astarion chastised when a strained laugh cut silently through his teeth.

Not to mention the realization that it was not only the façade of her companionship and intimacy he would have to contend with. This foe was clever—more so than he. It had been in her life years before him. Knew her in ways he had yet to scour. And when she tried to disobey it, it had a way of enticing her back into the comfort of its everlasting punishment.

And the name of such a formidable nemesis? Her past.

He couldn’t afford to lose her—not yet. It was too soon and far too late to humor his whims on another camp occupant. Nay, he would see this through to the end. Tav’s or anyone else’s lives be damned!

“I can smell the bergamot in your oils,” a meek voice breathed out. “You can come in whenever you’re ready.”

Astarion deeply inhaled, preparing himself to face her, knowing he may have to use his body for another nightfall to convince her not to forsake him. His performance hinged on being immaculate tonight—to be everything she wanted.

Another transaction: imitated comfort for the reinstated troth of her loyalty.

He lowered himself to his knees and opened the flap of her tent to enter. Tav sat with the used lute on her lap, twisting and tuning the pegs on her bare thighs. She struck a chord, listening intently as the sounds vibrated off the walls of blue linen, then adjusted further or moved onto the next string.

She lifted her head to acknowledge him. With the candlelight casting a golden glow across her face, Astarion thought this may have been one of the few times she possessed such a delicate lethargy.

“Is something the matter?”

“I—no,” he paused. What would be the right thing to say in this situation? “I thought it would be in my good nature to check in on you. But if now isn’t a good time, I can come back later.”

Tav blinked at him several times, then gestured for him to come further in with a nod. He scooted closer to her on his knees, allowing the flap of the tent to cascade off his back like a discarded blanket.

“I'm not a fan of this lute, especially the strings on it, but some things can’t be helped right now. I should be grateful Alfira could even find one available for me,” she spoke softly as if he wasn’t there. “Hopefully, when we make it to a different area or even the city, I can buy a new one.”

The vampire cleared his throat, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. “There’s differences between them? I mean, of course the details are not the same, but what of the sound?”

A shallow smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she continued fiddling with the tune. “Lutes, flutes, drums, violins—any musical instrument really—sounds different depending on several factors. The material used. Strings. Weight. Length. It all determines the sound produced.”

“What type of wood do you prefer for your lutes?”

The messy bun pinned on top of her head bobbed as she popped her head up to stare at him. “Spruce. Always spruce. It has the brightest sound—perfect for ballads.” She pushed her bangs to the side as an afterthought, placing the instrument by her side. “I appreciate you coming here tonight, but you don’t need to pretend you’re actually interested in a music lesson.”

“My dear, I have quite the appreciation for the arts of all kinds,” he grinned. “However, since your perception precedes you, I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I realized that the whole thinking part was actually a worry.” He covered his lies by slowly lifting his eyes under a refuge furled lashes to peer at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tav stated, pursing her lips.

“I’ll have you know, that I could be sinking my fangs into a deer al fresco right about now, but instead I choose to be here. Now, let’s forego this game of hopscotch and chat.”

She ran the pads of her fingers along the edging of her nightshirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to revisit parts of our disagreement from a few days ago—if you’re willing to talk about it with me.”

He wasn’t willing, but what choice did he have if he wanted to keep up this charade with her?

Astarion cocked his head to the side to nod, flaring his nostrils with a practiced breath. “If it's truly that bothersome to you, then I suppose I could pencil you in right this very second to listen.”

He could hear the strums of her pulse trembling. She was nervous.

Blood rushed to her lips, coloring them in roses. He saw tears welling up, threatening to spill over her lower lids. She could no longer hold it in. “First of all: I’m so so sorry, Astarion. What you said about ‘power’ reminded me so much of…I…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like I did. You are your own person, not some reanimated villain of my tragedies.”

Ah, so she wished to focus on her reactions instead of the subject he hastily broached during his blood drunken stupor. How very like her to satisfy her own accountability. This could work in his favor.

Astarion would not press. Should she circle back to his unfavorable comments, well, he could always blame it on the mind flayer tadpole having deceptively influenced his mind after their encounter with other ‘true souls.’ In case he needed to change routes in the moment to suit her thoughts and actions, he made a mental note to be considerably more deliberate in reading her facial expressions.

Finding out just how much power these worms wielded, delighted the vamp. Of course they would be valuable in advancing his fight against Cazador, but directing those around him to do as he pleased? Gods.

The positions he could seat! The material wealth he could own! The liberty to indulge in all manners of debauchery and authority!

A future living side by side with an illithid creation suddenly didn’t sound so horrible.

“May I ask who he is?” he questioned, trying to inflict his tone to a more polite wisp.

She shied away from looking at him directly, guilt-ridden and hiccuping. Tav’s lips trembled, shaking her head to refuse him while she continued to weep.

It intrigued Astarion to see the normally strong-hearted woman bearing this unknown man’s crown of thorns with the pith of his blackened blood dripping from her eyes like melted candles. Days ago, during their night’s quarrel, the soul mark behind his ear hammered rapidly to the point of searing pain when she mentioned him. This man—this incubus—still choked her with his malignant hands, even though he was probably leagues away.

The hells cracked open, And he was reborn. With evil tongues spoken, Her scrawled promises would not be mourned.

While bewitching the bard had been as ordinary to Astarion as any everyday routine, she was hiding the flotsam of her personal dogmas sundered by this same mortal, making his task all the more difficult. A heretic to her own emotions.

They were both slaves to their pasts and towed the weighted cold night visions where escape seemed nothing more than mere fantasy. And he felt something by this acknowledgment. A blink of connection to her in the form of empathy.

Empathy?

Hells, it had been so long since he knew any emotion except anger, terror, and numbness. But, empathy held dire consequences. One of the last times he felt any ounce of said emotion, cost him a year of starvation inside of that derelict burial place. The memory still seemed so fresh in comparison to the ages he’d lived. If he let himself know empathy once more, it would mean allowing himself to be in a position of the same weakness he had been in for centuries.

“You don’t understand how awful I feel for how I reacted,” Tav managed to squeeze out of her throat.

He moved further within the tent to sit cross-legged in front of her, angling his head downwards to grab her attention. “Silly creature, of course I understand how awful you feel. Your heart is literally an open wound gushing onto everyone it passes. If someone ran into you, YOU would be the one to apologize.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Well, you are at least, but I do have the advantage of being ravishing forever,” he added with a quip.

The bard laughed as her body shook with sobs. Hands flew to her face, catching the falling tears with dabs of her fingertips.

“Darling.” He reached out to her with his palm up. “Come here. I can’t leave you blubbering like some muppet begging for scraps.”

Taking a hesitant breath, Tav placed her hand gingerly into the inviting salve he offered, holding onto it tightly. “A moment longer. I have more to say.”

Astarion’s mind filled with dread. If she terminated their agreement, that would be it—his protection would cease. The possibility of Cazador dragging him off screaming into the shadows, felt more real than it ever had been. Swiftly, his brain sprang into action. He would use whatever methods possible to adapt.

Touch. Comfort. Sex. Promises. Encouragement. Which would she need?

“Don’t keep me in suspense now, my sweet. You know how I hate to wait,” he smirked in his typical silvery tone.

“I’m trying to word this as not to sound like a psychotic lover here,” she laughed anxiously. “But, I have run ’us’ through my mind more times than I can count and I keep wondering if it would be best if we end whatever this is between us. Casual distractions would be much easier if we didn’t see each other everyday, but we don’t have that luxury and—

“Do you even like me?” Tav questioned wearily. It was apparent such ideas had been consuming her.

No.

“Do I like you? I mean, you definitely have a certain set of allures about you,” he answered slowly. He wasn’t lying about her qualities—if that’s what people choose to call them—but, no, he did not care for her.

A grimace settled on her expression as she removed her hand from his.

“Were you expecting a more defined answer?”

The bard chewed at her lip lightly with her front tooth. “I’m expecting something that doesn’t feel like you’re acting on stage,” she replied stiffly. “You seem so versed in saying all the right things, but there is a pit in my stomach warning me it’s not all true. I don’t want you to force yourself with me.”

Oh, but he would force himself. His survival depended on it.

The spawn ran his hand through his curls, flashing a glib smile she didn’t detect. “Ha! Could that be your own insecurities speaking? Or shall I get down on my knees and recite a sonnet of my undying affections for you? Would you believe me then?”

Turning away, she looked past him towards the ground. “Is it so wrong for me to desire something real, Astarion?”

Hope.

She wanted hope.

He could perform hope.

The vampire enclosed her ruddy cheek with his hand, thumbing a gentle swipe across the roundest point. She shut her eyelids lazily, microscopic tears still adhering on her lashes like diamond dust.

“Don’t turn away from me, Tavelle,” he commanded her gently. “A woman that has as much to offer as you, deserves to hold her head up high and be worshiped.”

As if to confirm her yearning for him, her eyes roamed half-opened to search his face. She fisted the ruffling of his shift tightly, pulling herself taut against his chest to crash her lips fervently against his with a tight gasp.

The kiss was urgent. Delivered as if they’d both turn into smoke in an instant. Like she’ll lose me someday, Astarion thought.

He could hear her heartbeat stepping out of its darkness, begging, begging, begging him to cradle her adorations for him.

Kneading his pale lips on hers instinctually, she tangled a free hand into waves of silvery-white earning her a low hum from the deepest reaches of his voice box. “Star…" she incanted into his mouth.

Fluidly, he reached up to unpin her hair, allowing her tresses to fall over her shoulders. He decorated his lithe digits with her silken strands, tugging her head gently backwards to drop fervid pecks down her throat. She cried out, sputtering lilting syllables of his name everytime he idly rearranged his hold on her hair.

Tav held onto his arms as he worked his tongue in circles. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” she pleaded, clawing at his clothes.

Releasing her hair, he pulled Tav back in to seam their mouths together. She sucked tenderly on his upper lip, grazing her tongue horizontally across it, before she finally nipped at it playfully.

He pushed his nose into her cheek, abruptly stopping them. She was short of breath, heaving in anticipation for him to kiss her again.

Grabbing her chin firmly, Astarion’s eyes flitted down to her lips as he spoke mere centimeters from them. ”You’ve slowly been driving me insane,” he roughly asserted, avoiding her want for affirmations.

She snuck her fingers up the length of him, lacing them behind his neck. Her lips parted, a husky reply threatening to swallow them whole. “What do you mean to do with me then?”

A lukewarm thumb found safety pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue tunneled through the gap of her mouth and licked a teasing small patch of skin on the inside of it. Debauched images of him drawing blood from her tongue filled his mind. Biting and biting every inch of her supple flesh until he had his fill of her essence settling like a fine wine in his veins. He panted maddeningly at the thought, his shaft hardening immediately.

Then, the minx slinkingly shifted onto his lap, encircling her legs on either side of his hips. She undulated on the length of his bulge compressed in the middle of her soaked smalls and his trousers. Insolently, she yanked a handful of his hair. He hissed at the delicious pain now aching through his cock and the back of his head.

Pallid dexterous hands ripped the front of her shirt open, cutting buttons loose to fly into the air. The strength of his paw found her breast hiding behind the torn fabric and he squeezed it considerably, pinching an erect nipple. She moaned his name, trying to keep her body upright.

Sharp teeth nibbled a sliver of flesh near the corner of her lips. “Is this what you need? For me to take you as I please?”

Tav nodded innocently, her whole body turning flush with desire.

And then something feral snapped inside of Astarion. That spine-tingling rapacious trait that was half vampire and half carnal man. He could have her if he wanted her; whenever he wanted. Fill him with her blood just to sate him. Her life belonged to him, if he so chose to take it.

“You can follow instructions properly, can’t you sweetheart?” Astarion grumbled as he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. A strangled noise squeaked from her mouth as she shook her head. “Good. Now listen closely: I want you to unlace my pants, push your smalls to the side, and slide my cock inside that very wet slit of yours.”

The songstress whimpered, whilst she untied the bindings of his fly. “I want to be good for you, Astarion.”

Fuck, his name sounded like the filthiest sin coming from her mouth.

He peeled back the material of her shirt from her heaving bosom, exposing her soft milkiness. Humming around one of her pink buds that popped into his mouth, he felt her remove him from his pants with a few precursory strokes. Instinctively, his gaze feasted on the light bluish veins spreading across her breasts. Just a single bite couldn’t hurt?

“Hells,” he groaned as she sunk the crown of his cock into her clenching heat. “You like being this drenched for me, don’t you?”

“Only you…gods…make me like this,” Tav sang out, holding the back of his head while she adjusted to him inside her.

Her wetness dripped down his length as she stuffed him further into her, trickling down to settle on his testicles. A howling wail started from the middle of Tav’s diaphragm up through her windpipe when she glided up his erect prick once and came back down to his hilt. Astarion chased her mouth with his, muffling her frenzy with open-mouthed kisses.

“Shhh. Shh, songbird,” he hushed in a chuckle. “We are about to wake the lot of this camp soon.”

“I’m sorry. Just love…having you…inside of me,” she giggled lowly, kissing him with blistering ardor between her words.

Surprising the bard by grabbing under her ass, Astarion cajoled her to ride the stiff hardness in his lap. Tav hooked herself onto his shoulders, using them for support while she bounced upon him. Her tits brushed against his shirt with her movements, causing her swollen buds to stay hardened.

My prodigal son, what do we have here?

Master.

Ah, of course. Tonight would belong to the echoes of Cazador. There would be no need for the paralysis that enthralled the spawn’s body to take over, not when his master’s commands needed to be minded.

The vampire busied his fingertips by pressing them further into her flesh, focusing on her slickness encompassing all those nerves at the tip of his cock. He pushed her all the way down to his base, relishing the swaddling of her warmth around him.

A bard, hmm? Bring her to me.

Yes, master.

He reached a hand down in between them to swipe his thumb through her folds, caressing her clit in gentle circles. Tav’s mouth formed into a small “o.”

Look at her—enjoying your flesh like a whore. She’s exactly like all the others. You are only meant to satisfy her needs as a means to fulfill my hunger.

I won’t disobey you master.

“My sweet, turn around and let me fuck you from behind,” he urged mildly, trying to maintain his composure.

Astarion couldn’t let her see. He was steadily losing his grip on their surroundings, disappearing into the quilted stars of the night sky he summoned as he disconnected. If she saw he wasn’t present again, she would send him away.

Tav didn’t respond, continuing to pump his shaft with her tight cunt at a steady pace. She opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, replaced by heady breaths. Did she not hear him? He placed his hands on her waist attempting to settle her motions.

Would you like to hear her sing, Astarion? How do you think she’ll sound with her blood gurgling in her throat as I feed from her?

“Turn around,” he demanded firmly.

Body slowing to a near halt, she cupped his cheeks with a litany of fingers rasping the sharpness of his bones. She pressed a peck to his lips. “Lover, I want to look into your eyes while I’m on top.”

He bucked his hips maneuvering his legs to lift her off of him enough to push her down onto her bedroll. Spreading her legs open, he swiftly settled in between her thighs, and brashly reentered her with a concrete plunge. The bard yelped in shock, clutching his biceps tightly.

Soulmates? Tsk. Did my beloved spawn forget that he is not allowed to be connected to anything except me? Get rid of her mark.

I wish to please you master. Allow me to show my fealty to you.

His vision rapidly moved from side to side until he arched Tav into him to rest his forehead onto her soulmate mark, hiding, endeavoring it to disappear on its own so he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He thrust up into her hurriedly, trying to chase her to the banks of her climax to end his delusions.

“Wait,” she uttered as he drove into her.

Astarion ignored her, opening his mouth to frame his teeth around her soul mark. He must dispose of it.

“Astarion, no. Don’t bite there,” Tav ordered, snaring his curls at the root. “Look at me. Please.”

He’s everywhere. He knows where I am. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ll never be free, Astarion screamed inwardly in anguish.

His fangs pricked the first layer of her epidermis, pellets of crimson gathering around the invasion. The bard severely yanked his head to detach him, dribbles of her blood coating his lips. “I said no! GET OFF OF ME,” she shrieked, thrashing her body under him.

They became motionless. Her face had morphed into thousands upon thousands of blurry conquests. Voices: high and low, moaning, whispering their pleasures. Luring each of them in the dead of night to their death eternal. And Astarion, bound to the scaffold with a noose around his neck, forever being led back into Cazador’s arms.

And then her eyes were suddenly there in focus. Afraid and sorrowful. Full of tears. For her. For him. Rainy storm clouds floating across the earth. Tav with her inquisitor view, leading him on a pilgrimage away from the haunts of his deadened soul.

She covered her nakedness, pulling her ripped shirt over her breasts. Two pin prick spots of blood seeped through the fabric, reminding him of his violation. He was disgusted with himself.

What had he done?

“Tav, I’m sor—” Astarion proclaimed hoarsely, loosening his brace on her waist.

Tav reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Leave,” her voice whispered sternly.

He couldn’t wash this away and escape what he was made into.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Burning iron-vine powder levitated in a cloudy haze around them.

A Gur?! A godsdamned bloody Gur. Cazador’s cruel humor never seemed to fail; he must have sent him.

His mind started to race. Astarion’s safety may be coming to an end. It was a misjudgement to ever presume that he could disappear without facing the repercussions of his former master. Would he ever have somewhere to land from all this falling?

“You’re Astarion?!” The monster hunter loudly said in surprise. “Apologies to your companions, but you’ll need to come with me.”

“Gandrel, was it? I’m not going anywhere.” Astarion removed the blade from his back, pointing it towards the man.

“Fuck! This is bad,” Karlach muttered to Wyll.

“Then, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take you by force,” Gandrel declared, shooting an ‘Ensnaring Strike’ spell at both the vampire and fiery woman.

Thorny vines raised up around their legs, holding them in place. Astarion sliced at them, trying to wriggle free, but the bindings only reinforced their seizure. “Uh, a little help?!”

He was too distracted to fight. Flooded by the memory of how Tav’s tears flowed like blown stars living their final moments. But, he could still feel her hands upon his cheeks. Her hands where flowers bloomed in the dark; flowers that emerged wherever she appeared.

Karlach swung her axe in a criss-cross pattern. “I can’t move! Wyll, you’ll need to repel him!”

Wyll lunged forward casting an Eldritch Blast that narrowly missed the hunter’s cheek. “Damn!”

Gandrel placed another arrow in his crossbow, aiming it at the spawn as he approached. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you’re needed else—”

The hunter suddenly collapsed onto one knee, a spray of blood ejecting from his mouth. He looked down at the arrow protruding out of his right side, then looked past the spawn.

Astarion followed his gaze, mouth wide open in shock when he reached his destination. “Songbird? But why?! I don't—”

Tav threw down her bow, reaching to unsheathe her rapier. “You’re a beacon of trouble, ‘Star.”

[razorblade180]

Like about OCs, or ask questions to OCs?

Either way.

What type of Huntsman/Huntress would Nick/Summer be?

Going after bounties, looking to strike it even more rich, or just guarding a Kingdom?

Summer leans towards search and rescue. It’s not only a good reason to travel, but providing aid to a village or person tends to be easier when you can sing a song to ease the stress. Gives a new definition to being world wide songstress.

Nick would probably use his money to lead expeditions or start projects that wouldn’t go over nicely with rich scum or people in power. They could try hiring someone to ruin his plans or attack him, but that wouldn’t go well for them. It’s basically a grand way of telling the world “I do what I want and you can’t stop me.” If he wants to help fund an entire Faunus project to give them more resources, who’s going to stop him?

The twins are good people, but they will hesitate to make sure their enemies and haters understand that the two of them are better than them on their worst day.

[aurora-daily]

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: AURORA Talks New Album, Performing & More

AURORA's interview for Pop Crave by Harry Johnson (August 16th, 2024)

AURORA is one of pop’s most ethereal songstresses. An unmistakable voice and poetic candor has landed her both critical acclaim and commercial success. Her latest studio effort, What Happened To The Heart?, released in June this year reached the UK top 10. Inspired by a letter co-written by indigenous activists, it sees AURORA seek spirituality, connection and humanity and stands out in a year already stacked with high-quality pop releases. Ahead of her headlining What Happened To The Earth? Tour later this year, she has been completing the summer festival circuit, including a stellar set at Flow Festival in Helsinki.

Pop Crave sat down with the star backstage at the festival to chat about the record, performing, activism, and even BRAT summer.

You’ve been doing a festival run this summer, with your What Happened To The Earth? Tour coming up later this year. Is there a difference between performing at a festival compared to a show that’s specifically yours? Do you prepare for them differently?

Yes. I feel like a club tour is like having intercourse with a lover that you know and a festival is like having intercourse with a stranger. They’re both fun and magical, but very different.

Do you feel more pressure or nervous for a festival?

Not really, I don’t really feel nervous around being on stage anymore cause I know how to do it. I’m more nervous about talking to people or other things than being on stage. It’s different, you kind of need to preserve a lot of energy because you know that you have to really burst with it. Inside with club shows, I can sing more to myself as well but here you need to sing out, like put out the energy. It’s more heavy but it’s really beautiful, too.

You have a tour book that gets passed around your fans where they can put photos and messages. How did you come up with the idea for that?

I have no idea where it is! Obviously we all love our fans or supporters – I don’t know what’s the right name. I really appreciate my listeners because they take the art in with such grace and open minds and hearts, and I really appreciate having the chance to make music and art for a crowd that I feel really wants to understand it and gives it the time, which is rare in times where we don’t have much of an attention span. But they still give me their time and I’m really honored by that, so I just wanted a way to connect us more and to have something physical that reminds us that we are connected no matter where we are in the world. I don’t know where the book is now but I wanted to do something fun that connects all the fans.

It’s great that you have a physical piece to take with you after the tour.

Yes! I feel like now everything is online and there’s something special when an actual item has traveled through people’s hands.

You said when talking about your new album, “Historically, the heart was regarded as the center of intuition. This album is about the lack of spiritual connection in the world, and how we reclaim that and grow together.” Do you find in performing for your fans a sense of reclamation? Do you find heart and hope?

Very much so. I guess what really entices humans or is interesting to us, are the things that require you to believe in it for it to exist – something we cannot touch but we kind of feel that it’s there. That’s the thing about this world that intrigues me the most, like love or these invisible, large, beautiful things. And it’s the same with the spiritual connection because it’s untouchable, it’s unexplainable and now in this world, I feel like a lot of young people especially are growing up in a world that is so easy to get lost in because there is such a lack of realness sometimes.

I feel like it’s going to really mess with people’s heads and if we’re going to have hope for a future with no thing like war, the way they do it now, like bombing a whole country, which is insane. Or having a planet that breathes still and that lives still – all of these things that we still kind of want in the paradise. It can only be accomplished, I believe, if we have spiritual connection to ourselves, and each other, and the world because it’s so much easier to respect things cause people respect their god or fear their god. But, this is kind of without the fear just based on goodness, I guess.

You have been very vocal, in and out of your music, about your support for Gaza and Palestine. Do you feel that you have a responsibility as an artist with a platform or as a human being to speak about that?

As a human being. 

Do you ever feel nervous about backlash or repercussions? There’s a lot of discourse surrounding artists being “contractually obligated” not to speak out. Does that not bother you?

No, and there’s a lot of trouble when you are vocal about things. You do get in a lot of trouble. But, as a human, nothing else makes sense and if I don’t do it, the music I write will stop making sense and even that won’t be real anymore. I think it’s kind of just being decent. It’s the bare minimum to be a human in your work as well. And obviously, I think it’s scary that we do rely on celebrities a lot to tell us what to think, which is scary because a lot of stupid people are famous and it f**ks everything up as well. It’s also scary that uneducated people lead the world now and not research-led, you know, the people who really understand and take the time to try to understand things.

I feel like, as a human: always show your support when you can because that’s the whole backbone in our humanity. But as a public person, take the time to learn about things, and learn about the multiple sides of things so you can actually speak about the world in a way people deserve that isn’t misleading or too black-and-white, because nothing is. Except for the fact that genocide is wrong, that’s quite clear. It doesn’t really have any nuances to its color. I wish we understood where the world was heading, to whom the people pay attention and who they trust. And people don’t really trust their leaders anymore because they’ve led us here. And so many of us have been treated so wrongly for just being who we are. There are so many issues in our politics that I understand that people go somewhere else to be led but I feel like we have to speak about things in a way people deserve.

Speaking of humanity and being a human: In this album, you ask a lot of questions and search for answers that many of us seek for. Did you find any in making the album? Did any surprise you?

It did surprise me – some things, actually. I kind of realized that, every issue I was asking a question about and every issue I had personally with my own pain and my wounds, everything kind of has one answer. Then it all came back to the main question of the album – what happened to the heart? Because everything that is painful for us and that makes life painful for us human beings now, except for if you’re really unlucky in life and you just get the worst of the worst on your way and you still fight through it, you see that bad experiences that we can’t control, that doesn’t make bad people. They’re often some of the strongest, kindest people even though their wounds are visible. You can see that they’re struggling but still there is so much goodness there.

It’s one of the things that we can control, how we see each other and how we see ourselves. I guess, what happened to the heart? What happened to compassion and where we put our value? Because now our values are so messed up, we go in such weird directions searching for things that are going to make us happy, and it’s never going to make us happy. We haven’t valued the Earth – that’s why we’ve almost killed her. We haven’t valued, through history, people of different colors, religions, genders, sexualities, and you see how the world treats them, us. It comes a lot to value. People who don’t value themselves find people they hope are going to love them, but they treat them badly and they think they deserve it so they won’t leave the situation because they don’t think they’re worth it. So I think value surprised me, that it all came to that. It’s a deep answer, I guess, but it’s also surprisingly simple.

Sometimes it takes a certain eye to be able to see something simple, or an experience or perspective.

Yes. And also the thing you see on the surface after having been in the deep, people can notice when you speak about the same things again that there is a soul in the words that wasn’t there before because now you understand. We can feel when people haven’t been through the exploration, so we all need to kind of take a moment I think. And now, like in London, again we’re being racist and everything is the immigrants’ fault. It’s super odd how much we have to hold on to our progress, which is scary. That’s why we can’t stop fighting. People are like, ‘Pride Month again? But isn’t it OK now?’ No, you have to do it forever or it can be taken away from us again.

We have so much trauma from the past, especially with racism, that still lingers in the air that we are supposed to just know is there but behave normally and just pretend. It’s a trauma that’s just there that we don’t talk about everyday, which must be odd for so many people that have been through it. And now, even though they’re [the far-right rioters] outnumbered who wish better for England, even if this calm downs, it’s not going to be gone for the people who are scared. It’s going to linger with them for so long. It’s such a big step back emotionally. I feel so sad on behalf of our friends.

If you could name one thing where you find heart, what would it be?

When I look at the crowds. We’re so used to being watched now and presenting ourselves to the world, being judged for how we look, how we dress. When people don’t know they’re being looked at – because they think I can’t see them – but I look at them and they just live and cry and dance and talk. How beautiful it is when we are human without being aware of ourselves. It’s so inspiring. I think this career has really helped me fall in love with people again and kind of like people. There are so many cool people out there, beyond what numbers describe.

And finally, what music have you been enjoying recently?

I’ve been really into Nick Drake lately. His voice is like velvet. I just read that he had quite a hard life and he struggled a lot with his mind, poor thing. But he made such beautiful art and I’ve been really diving into his world lately and it’s enhanced my world and how I see it. So that’s been really rewarding. I do like Chappell Roan, of course. I think it’s a new light in this world that is needed. She really touches my heart in a really cool way, I think she’s beautiful. And also Billie Eilish owning her sexuality. She always has done I think but being like she is now about it I think is really cool. I feel like I can hear people having fun in the music now, which I think the world needs. I like that you can hear that. BRAT summer as well is really fun.

Have you been having a BRAT summer?

Every summer is BRAT summer for me. I’m a rat girl. I’m born in the year of the rat. So I am a rat/brat, always.