#what far lake draws your eye??? can you sing the old songs and live with the fact that they're just songs?? that you're not in them??

[july-19th-club]

the bright sword is the most 'heather dale's album avalon' book ive ever in my life read and this is the hugest compliment i can possibly pay it . holy shit he did it again says longtime lev grossman reader who never doubted he'd do it

[bokettochild]

request: sometimes time likes to be alone underwater. with his iron boots and zora helmet, it's easy to just take a stroll at the bottom of a deep enough lake, away from the rest of the world. he did not expect, however, to find legend relaxing inside a small hole in the stone. Mer Legend.

Oh boy! I was vibing with this one for a while, I just wanted to make it perfect!

I'm pretty happy with what I made too, but man is it long!

(I hope this makes you happy, anon!)

When he and Malon have kids, he hopes they don't have this many.

Nayru knows he loves his boys, but they can get a bit much sometimes. They can get loud and overwhelming, and as a man who’s used to traveling primarily alone, with maybe a fairy trailing behind him or his trusted mount, it’s a bit overwhelming. He’s not used to being around people so much, Malon and Talon are his only consistent company and even then, the work they share means that often times it’s only him and his thoughts as he mucks, mends and tends things around the ranch.

Sometimes, when the boys get especially rowdy and playful, it’s just nice to get a moment of quiet to himself. Between Sky and Twilight he knows that nothing overly chaotic will go down, and he trusts the boys to keep each other in check.

So, when they come to the Pup’s Hyrule, their battle in this world over and most of their number restless as they wait for the next portal to arrive and whisk them away, Time allows his boys their space, and with a quick exchange with the only two he can trust to not burn something down (at least while the younger ones can still see them) he heads off into the forest to get a little space to himself.

Of course, he can’t really go far, not if he needs to hurry back, but he doesn’t really need to. His destination is Lake Hylia, which is only a short distance from their camp, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and, when he gets there, he allows himself to actually breathe for once.

Wild, Warriors and Wind had been locked in a game of cards when last he left, the champion soundly beating the other two both at cribbage while Wars bemoans his poor luck, and Twilight and Sky were discussing wood carving with Hyrule, with the occasional comment from the smithy, who is only too happy to throw in something related every so often as he looks up from his book. That leaves himself and Legend, and he’s long since learned that the vet was one to disappear for his own space when possible.

He’s not overly worried. Legend has items and experience that far outmatch most of their group, and if he runs into trouble Time has little doubt that he’ll be able to get himself out of it to at least gather reinforcements, if not handle the issue by himself.

A deep breath of relief escapes him as the eldest of the heroes pulls a few items from his own bag. The boots are a familiar if not welcome weight as he slips out of his armor and dons the tunic and cap of the Zora, his breath bubbling softly as he steps into the lake before him with a contented sigh.

The cool water floods over the top of him, tugging at his hair and bubbling in his lungs, but it’s doesn’t burn the way that it should. He breathes easily beneath the rippling surface of Lake Hylia, the Zora tunic granting him freedom beneath the waves.

There is little sound beneath, only the muffled noise from above the surface, the flow of the water and-

Time’s ears prick forwards as a single blue eye turns to search the space around him.

Someone is singing.

It’s a haunting sort of melody, one that draws you in and makes you dazed, and Time finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he searches for the source. It is not a Cursed song, nor anything powerful from what he can recall, in fact, it’s almost familiar. It sounds similar to something he hears hummed about their camp at night while the boys take watch. He’d never been able to place which of the young heroes hummed the lilting melody, but he’s let it carry him off to sleep many a time before. Only this song, the one that twines about his head and whispers in his ears and makes his feet trek closer and closer to its source, this song is different, it’s haunted and Broken, and it is sung in a Voice.

Not a voice like most of those above the surface have, but a Voice like a fairy or spirit might have. One that pulls at your very soul and sings in your mind, un-hampered by wind or waves, able to carry across miles to be heard by those that it Sings too.

Heavy feet trod faster.

He’s under no spell, but he is a Link, and by now he has learned that all of their kind are blessed or cursed with courage and curiosity both, and to be without the latter is simply unthinkable for the young-at-heart hero. Something –the forest imp in him maybe- tells him to find the Voice, find the Singer.

He’s only made it part of the way across the lake, hasn’t even left the shoreline properly, when the song stops. Unease creeps over him as he looks around, alert and ready for trouble, only to see nothing but the peaceful stillness of the lake bottom around him.

There! His mind supplies as something pink flits in the corner of his vision, and he’s whipping around to come face to face with-

Long tangled hair drifts in the waves as glistening scales reflect the light pouring down through the waves. Too deep, too dark eyes stare at him in shock for a brief moment, and then-

The creature, the thing, is gone in an instant. Whipping away as it’s glimmer fades into the waves around him, speed no doubt granted by the brilliant tail of the thing sending it rocketing out of his grasp before he even has a chance to speak.

He tried to follow it. He does! But quite soon the adult part of his mind is reminding him how dangerous the thing could be, and that he still has his boys to return to back on the surface. It’s been exactly thirty-two minutes and thirteen seconds since he left them at their camp, and by now they usually would have sent someone to check and make sure that whatever member of their party had strayed off was alright.

Removing his boots is all it takes to float to the surface, despite the fact that he still holds the things in his hands, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he realizes that the bank of the lake is free of other heroes.

Time gathers his things together, wringing out his hair and clothes before returning to his normal gear and heading back to the camp.

Smiles and chuckles greet him as the young heroes tease.

“Go for a swim, Old Man?” Legend quirks a brow, staring up from his place by the fire.

Time doesn’t answer him, but he does shake his head violently enough to spray the younger heroes with water, earning shouts and shrieks from them as they try and shield themselves from the wet. “Seriously, Time?” Warriors moans, wiping lake water from his face. “What are you, a dog?”

Time smirks at the captain and, to everyone's surprise (which produces no small amount of delight for him), he barks.

“What sorts of people have you met in your adventures?” Sky asks a couple of days later, head cocked to the side as he watches his brothers. “You all talk about so many races, but I don’t think I've heard of most of them.”

“Well,” Wild smiles, there’s a glint in his gaze that isn’t quite mischief, but it’s a warning to be wary anyway, because they all know what a crack-pot their cook can be at times. “There’s Hylians, of course, and Sheikah, Yiga, Gerudo, Rito, Gorons, Zora and koroks! You’ve probably already met the Sheikah, since you mentioned knowing an Impa during your journey, and the Yiga are an offshoot of that group.”

Twilight blinks and stares, Warriors furrowing his brow as he two older heroes stare at the younger, but Wild seem entirely unaffected.

“Gerudo are a desert people. They’re really tall, and extremely strong! Most of their race have long red hair and slightly darker skin than the people around Hyrule. They are a society of all woman, with only one man being born to them every hundred years. They worship the goddess Din for the most part, and live out of an opulent city set in the desert where they specialize in the crafting of weapons and jewelry, and the farming of exotic plants.” The champion then proceeds to run down traits and knowledge about the other races, matter-of-factly, as if the details he is sharing are things that everyone from the surface knows.

“Wow.” Sky laughs as Wild finishes. “I had no idea.”

“There’s also the minish.” Four adds. “And the Wind Tribe, who are sky people, of course.”

Sky looks curious, but Four says nothing more, instead gesturing to the other heroes to share their thoughts, which they do.

“Terminans.” Time offers. “Very similar to Hylians.”

“Ordonians.” Twilight adds with a fond smile. No explanation is needed.

The others all nod along, but Legend rolls his eyes. “Humans, like, non-Hylian humans, Shifters,” The vet stares upwards with a light scowl as he ticks the races off of his fingers. “Technically they’re humans too, but Wild counted the Sheikah and Gerudo, so there’s also the Lorulians, Labrynninians, Holodrumese folks, Hytopians, Drablanders, Subrosians, Catalians-” Legend frowns. “I could swear there are more but I can’t really recall.”

Time, for whatever reason, he can’t really say why, cocks his head. “Any water people other than Zora?”

The vet snaps his fingers. “Mer-folk! Thank you, Time. I guess fae and animal folk count on that note.”

There’s a scoff and Warriors is leaning forwards with a smirk. “Fairies and animals, sure, but mer? Seriously, Legend? Have you even met a mer before?”

“Many times.” The veteran drawls, cocking a brow in the captain’s direction. “On multiple adventures. What about you, cap? Jealous you couldn’t snag one for your guild of brides?”

Warriors blusters about indignantly, earning laughter from the others as Legend smirks, but the man recovers quickly enough. “I do not have a guild of brides! That is- that is utterly disgusting!”

“Could have fooled me.” Legend teases, sipping some water from a flask.

“Give him a break.” Twilight snickers, shoving the vet playfully.

The unfortunate thing about Twilight’s shoves though is that the ranch hand doesn’t seem to know his own strength, and Legend is small enough that the light push is enough to send him scrabbling to not hit the ground. More laughter rings about their camp, but this time at the vet's expense, as Legend topples over into the dirt, spilling his drink and failing his arms as he goes.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Legend huffs, pulling himself back up and dusts off his clothes, scowling at the water spilled on him. “Great.”

“Oh, come on, you came back soaked to the skin earlier, what’s a bit of water going to hurt you, huh, vet?” Warriors ribs, smirking.

Legend shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“Legend,” Time starts slowly. “How would you describe the mer?”

The vet pauses, gaze resting maybe a moment too long as his hands as he brushes off the hem of his tunic. He’s already done so and there’s really no reason for him to do it again, but he does anyway. “What you’d expect.” He shrugs haltingly. “Hylian on top, fish beneath. Tail, long hair, that sort of thing.”

The old man hums. Legends ears twitch, nose shivering slightly as violet eyes flit over their group. “Care to expand on your sky people story, Four?”

“I’m good.” The smithy replies lazily.

Time would pass it off as a strange one-time thing, he would, but there are... other factors at play.

They’ve traveled to Four’s time, fighting off monsters and solving puzzles the same as they’ve always done. The boys are taking some downtime, playing hide and seek, and just like the last time, Time takes himself down to the river they’ve made camp ear and dons his Zora gear.

He isn’t expecting to see the creature, the mer, again, much less hear them singing -after all, this is a Hyrule far before his Pup’s- but there the creature is. It- or they- frolic in the water, chasing fish and singing softly. The tune is lighter than the last one he heard, a different song entirely, but there is no denying that it is the same mer.

Gold flecked, petal pink scales shimmer beneath the twisted lights that invade the water, hair of the same colors flowing in the current as long fingers, tipped with pointed claws, reach out to swipe at the fish swimming wildly away. They don’t catch anything, but Time hears it giggle anyways, the tune of its voice bubbling in merriment as it rolls like and otter and turns to explore some other part of the river bed.

The cursed curiosity of a hero niggles in Time’s mind. How is the same mer from before in this timeline, ages before Twilight would even be born? And why do they play and explore as if they’ve never seen this river bed before in their life?

Long claws pull through sand, and although their hair blocks their face from his view, he can still hear the warble of delight as the creature removes something sparkling and bright from the river bed. The mer floats in place, turning the item over in their hands curiously before whisking it out of sight and returning to their search.

A mer that likes treasure, huh? Why is he unsurprised?

His own soft laugh startles them, and for a half of a moment, golden ringed, violet eyes, wide and bright and full of shock, meet his own.

The mer is gone before he can make a move.

He asks Legend about it the next day. As they travel along the path towards the nearest town, Time falls back to ask the vet more about mer.

“Do mer like treasure?”

Legend starts, eyes wide as they meet his own, and something in the back of his mind is nagging him that the look in the vet’s eyes is somehow familiar. “What?”

“Do mer like treasure?” He repeats himself.

Legend stares at him, blinking slowly as they continue along the path, but eventually the vet shakes his head and answers. “Depends on the mer. They’re people too, Time, they can have varying interests and hobbies. There is no standard for mer. None.”

“Don’t they all swim at least?”

Legend’s gaze is flat. “There are disabled Hylians aren’t there? Not all Hylians can walk, and not Mer can swim. Some just choose not to because they don’t like it!”

Time frowns. How does the vet know so much about mer culture? “How do you know this?”

The vet shrugs, eyes darting away. “I’ve been a lot of places and met a lot of people. Mer are no exception.”

“I thought you hated swimming and the water?” Wind breaks in, falling back to join the two of them with an odd look on his face. He looks like a puppy and it’s killing Time not to ruffle the kid’s hair.

“Didn’t always.” Legend returns, smiling wryly down at the sailor. “But enough of that. The real question here is if you’ve ever met one, sailor.”

“A mer?” Wind furrows his brow, looking away with a soft sigh. “The water in my world isn’t safe for the people who lived in it. There’s hardly even any fish in most places. The Zora in my time had to adapt to the air instead in order to survive.”

Awkward silence falls over them, the vet looking guilty for a half a moment before he settles a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “The goddesses aren’t always fair, Maliit, it’s not your fault.

Time hums his agreement, heart aching for yet another young hero and a world that suffered for Time’s failure to have properly saved it.

He sees the mer again. Not just when he’s in the water himself, but when he’s keeping watch during the night or on occasion when he goes fishing with Twilight. The Pup says nothing about seeing gold and pink beneath the water, but Time finds himself watching it all the same.

It darts beneath the dock they’re fishing on one time, and when Twilight’s line gets a tug, the rancher pulls it up only to find the one of his boots dangling from the other end.

Time can’t help it, he laughs.

So, this mer is a prankster, huh?

He takes to seeking them out, trying to catch their attention or try to talk to them, but nothing works. The minute that gold and violet eyes meet his own, petal pink scales flick deftly in the waves and the mer is swimming away.

But Time isn’t dumb.

He knows that the same mer cannot reasonably exist across all of time, not with all the changes that come to the world with each hero. He knows that this being is somehow following them, and h’s got a rather good idea exactly how it’s happening.

It’s a long shot, but he knows for a fact that Legend is always gone from camp before he sees the creature, and enough times startling the vet when asking about mer has taught him that the expressions between the two are the same. All he knows on the mer’s face is shock, but the vet’s eyes glimmer the same shade of violet, even if they are different in size and shape, and the petal pink hair that the vet comes out of the forest with one evening after their group was separated is uncannily similar to the shade of the mer.

They’ve made camp again, and rather than climbing into the water when he catches a moment alone, Time settles on the shore, not in the mood to be in the water but in need of its calming song. The air has been tense the past few days, and Time welcomes a brief moment to relax, forcing himself not to think of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side or the ragged breath that wheezes between the rancher’s lips.

Twilight will be fine, he reminds himself. Hyrule and Warriors had worked together to tend the wound and while it would definitely leave a scar, the danger of losing their beloved friend and brother (and maybe son?) is not so high anymore.

He welcomes a free breath, away from the hurt gazes of his boys as they try and process that their beloved canine friend and the rancher are one and the same. A chance to think without having to stop those who were out of the know from bombarding those who were in it with questions.

He’s glad to be free of the questions himself.

Legend seems to be too, if the glint of pink beneath the waves is to be believed.

He doesn’t approach this time, doesn’t try entering the water to speak. He’s tired and he wants his spae, and he imagines Legend would like his own too. So, instead, he sits on the bank, feet trailing in the water and ocarina on his lips as he plays softly.

The tune is a sweet one, one he’d written himself that lilts and dips softly, very nearly perfect for a dance, but far more suited to a night by a fire or watching the sunset. And sunset it is, fading light stretching out across the water, glinting of the surface and reflecting off of gold and pink-

He stops, eye wide as he turns towards the flash in his vision.

Gold and violet stare back at him, framed in curling pink as Legend freeze half-way through pulling on his tunic again.

Gold fades just as the scales dissapear and leave the vet siting on the shore, tunic still bunched around his shoudlers and violet eyes wide with fear as he regards his leader.

“I won’t tell.” Time forces, turning away his gaze and returning his focus to the instrument in his hand. He doesn’t play, but he doesn’t look up either.

“It’s an item.” Legend forces, strained. His voice is still tainted with whatever power had shifted him between forms, and it’s sweeter and more melodious than normal. “I found it on my third adventure. Got cursed.”

“Like the rancher?” Time hums softly, not having to look up to know that Legend is shifting nervously, foot tapping madly at the ground beneath him.

“Yeah.” Legend huffs.

“Okay.” And he does look up them, calm and as open as he can make himself seem as he meets the vet’s gaze.

“Just okay?” One brow cocks as Legend crosses his arms.

“Just okay. It’s your secret, Legend. I can’t change what I’ve seen, but I won’t tell the others either.”

Legend nods, wary bit willing to accept the words, if only for now. “If you say so.”

They’re on their way back to camp, Legend carrying an armload of fish and Time carrying both of their bags when the vet stops and glares at him. “I don’t want to hear any jokes, alright? I get enough of those from Twilight and Sky.”

“They know?” The old man tilts his head in question.

Legend flushes, ducking his head and setting off again at a speed some might label a scurry. “No. Hurry up, these fish are gonna rot!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waves lap around his head and it’s all Time can do to break the surface, coughing and hacking as he struggles to remain above the water.

The portal had come at the worst time ever, and no one had been ready to be dropped into the center of the ocean.

Lightning crackles overhead as waves swirl and crash about him. The ocean rages and Time is again reminded how small Hylian’s are in the face of Mother Earth herself.

“Boys!” The shout rasps from his throat as he spins to look about, praying to every deity he knows that he’ll find the rest of them safe and sound, or at the very least together. Never mind that Twilight still can’t walk, much less swim. Never mind the smithy’s shattered arm and Wild’s fear of the water. He can’t panic about those right now, he has to find them!

“Over here!” Sky’s voice answers him. The Chosen Hero clings to the shivering form of the smithy, both are soaked and trembling, but they’re managing to stay above the waves.

“My Hyrule!” Wind calls out as Time strikes out towards them, and the sailor continues once he’s close enough to see that at least five of his boys are safe. “We’re near land,” Wind nods in a random direction and Time wonders briefly how the sailor even knows that. “It could be a challenge in these waves, but we can make it. Have you seen the others?”

Hyrule looks up at him hopefully, the water-logged traveler fighting madly to stay above the water but succeeding despite the waves. Time reminds himself to help the boy learn to swim more effectively later, and more importantly how to properly tread water, but for now he focuses on answering Wind. “You're the firsts. We’ll have to hope the others are alright, getting y’all to safety is my first concern.

“But Wild!” Hyrule splutters, choking on some water as Time swims over to give the traveler someone to cling to. Freezing fingers latch ahold of his armor as teeth chatter, the waves are neither kind nor warm and with their health as it is he’s certain someone is going to end up with a cold when this is all over. “And Twilight! A-and Legend and Wars! They’re out there somewhere!”

“We have to hope Legend and Warriors can elp the other two. We can’t do them any good if we’re fighting to stay above ourselves.” He tries to same calm, but his own mind and heart scream with the same message that Hyrule’s voice does, and its all he can do to push it down.

Thunder rolls overhead and waves beneath as they push off towards the shore, each of the older heroes aiding a younger one as Wind guides them all towrads the supposed island.

Time hs never been so relieved to see sand in his life, and as Hyrule pulls himself up the bach and Wind helps Sky to settle Four, Time can only pray that he’ll find his way back again. “I’m going to look for the otehrs. Wind, stay and help Sky.” The sailor looks as if he wants to hesitate, but he knows better than anyone how a small body can be lost to the waves much easier than an adult. “Make a fire, warm up as best you can. Keep an eyes out. I’ll come back if- when I find the others.”

He stops only to shed his armor and don his Zora gear, but a single dive beneath the water is enough to tell him that it’s for naught. Wind wasn’t joking about his water being toxic, and a single breath of the stuff leaves Time heaving as soon as he breaks the surface.

His chances of finding the boys have lowered considerably.

Nayru above, don’t let anyone have sunk beneath!

Time swims for all he is worth, pushing past weariness as he battles each and every wave. And he’s just beginning to lose hope when he catches sight of something silver reflecting in the water as lighting flashes above.

“Time!”

Blue whips around to meet its twins as Warriors comes to swim beside him. “Have you found any of the others?”

“Wind, Sky, Hyrule and Four.” he breathes back. “You?”

The captian looks rueful but nods to his side. “Legend.”

Time can’t help but start as Legend’s eyes peek above the surface. Golden and violet are glassy in the pale ace of the vet, but they’re there and that means that Legend is alive.

“I’ve officially met my first mer.” Warriors sighs, but there’s worry in the captains voice and face both.

“Split up.” Legend’s voice rasps, and there none of the melodic song that Time is used to hearing from this form of the vet.

Legend is pale, far too pale.

“What’s-”

“Wind’s world.” Warriors tells him. “Water here is toxic.”

The water is toxic. The water, which mer have to breath to stay alive, is toxic.

Time’s gaze shoots to the vet but there’s only a flick of gold and pink as he disappears beneath the waves. Warriors groans.  “He keeps doing that! I swear, I have no way of knowing if he’s even still there, but he still insists on disappearing like the little shit he is.”

Usually, Time would scold his brother for such a tone, but he knows that Warriors is just sacred. He’s terrified, and it leaks into his voice and his actions, and the only way that the soldier knows how to hide the fear is by biting back with venom, not dissimilar to the vet’s own actions.

They swim together, searching and calling out for the two missing heroes. Hope is beginning to fade and Time can feel a gnawing fear eating away at his heart as he thinks of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side and the likelihood that Twilight would even be able to swim with it.

His pup’s chances aren’t high.

“Look!” Warriors shouts over the storm, jerking him from his thoughts as his eyes follow the captain’s pointing hand.

Pink bobs on the surface, backed by bedraggled and soaked black fur as Legend hauls Twilight’s limp form through the water.

“Pup!”

He’s taking the lad from Legend as soon as they’re in reach, and Legend seems to sag in relief as the weight is removed from his shoulder. “Was with Wild. Bring him to-” The vet wheezes and ducks beneath the water for a moment, coming up with a pained expression on his face. “Bring to shore. I’ll get Wild.” He gives them no time to respond, tail flicking as he disappears beneath the waves again.

Time and Warriors exchange a glance and head back to shore, supporting the weight of the rancher between them.

Wind and Sky have managed to get a virtual bonfire going on the shore, and the sailor has laid what blankets and bed-rolls he’s found of their equipment in front of it, allowing their dampened things to ry as he and the other three heroes bundle together for warmth.

It’s with a cheer that they al; greet Time and Warriors as the two emerge from the ocean, and Time can’t help but smile a bit in relief at seeing them all safe again. Only a little longer and Legend will be back with Wild, and then he can rest easy knowing they’re all out of the storm.

Rain still patters against already soaked skin and cloth, but with the fire flickering before them Time can’t bring himself to care over much.

Hyrule’s fingers shiver as they slide over the wound in Twilight’s side, cleansing it from the poisonous water that has soaked into the bandages, and while Twilight grits his teeth and winces, he’s at least conscious enough to do so, and that alone brings some peace to the others.

Warriors informs the others of the whereabouts of their two missing brothers, and Time helps to settle Twilight on one of the warming bedrolls. It made still be wet, but it’s better than getting sand in the pup’s wound.

They wait in tense silence, bundled together to share heat as nervous gazes watch the shore. Wind hasn’t stopped muttering under his breath and Four isn’t doing much better with his half formed sentences and steady murmurs.

It’s only when Wild’s golden hair can be seen on the shore that they all release a breath of air.

Cornflower blue is wide and glazed, likely from shock, but it doesn’t stop the champion from reaching back into the waves to pull out his companion.

Legend is a mess.

The veteran gasps and splutters for breath once he’s free, skin a sickly shade of white and eyes just as glazes as Wild's own as the two clings to each other, and when the two stand together Legend is leaning heavily against the shaking champion, and it’s only through sheer luck that Time and Sky get there in time to catch them before the duo collapses back into the waves.

Wild curls against Time’s chest, fingers shaking and eyes blank as the man carries him back to the fire. Legend doesn’t even stir, lying limp in Sky’s hold as the Skyloftian bustles back to join the other heroes.

Nothing is said about the glistening tail that fades into legs once Legend is warmed and dried, and even if anyone had dared the stern gaze of the first of their number would have been enough to silence them.

Violet blinks hazy and distant beneath the warmed fabric of Sky’s sailcloth, but they are all safe. They are all safe and they are alive.

“Thanks to Legend.” Wild whispers when he comes back, head resting against Times collar bone. “Without him I would have never got Twi back to shore.”

“Three cheers for the vet.” Wars forces a smile, and while the cheers are heartfelt and thankful, they do nothing to lighten the mood.

Legend doesn’t even seem to hear them.

[the-slasher-files]

Hello!! It's me again, I loved what you wrote from my last request, and I wanted to try if I could ask for another one. I know it's a holiday, so I understand if it's gonna be a while, or if you'll be unable to do it.

Picture this, s/o is out busy all day, leaving the slashers on their own. Then, while the slashers are in their duties, they spotted something that reminded them of s/o. It can either be clothings, accessories, or even the smell of something their s/o bakes, etc.

I would love to see how Michael and Jason (even the other slashers, for the other readers out there) would contemplate when something like that happens to them. Like a moment thinking about their s/o and recognizing their adoration for their s/o.

(Ask is a little long but I also wanna say I love you writings so much! Happy Holidays!)

oooooh I adore this!! Happy Holidays to you as well! Just to make it more painful I am going to make it so the s/o is gone for ‘longer’ making them yearn more :) Also forewarning there is quiet a bit of gore in this but not super bad, also includes people getting murdered and angsty vibes! hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS BEING REMINDED OF THEIR S/O WHEN THEY’RE GONE

INCLUDES JASON, and MICHAEL

JASON VOORHEES

A creature quietly stirred in the shadows of the trees, moving rapidly but somehow silently. A ghost. A myth. A legend of Camp Crystal Lake. When you were gone and he was on the hunt, the man that bared the name Jason Voorhees, was ruthless. Everything he was with you as a lover was lost and replaced by violence, rage and a malicious intent. Brutally spilling blood in revenge, becoming one with the forest and lake that hid him effortlessly, waiting for the time to strike.

The small group of teenagers were in the rustic wooden cabin glimmering in the night by with the warm glow of the campfire outside, left abandoned for other activities. He could hear the groans, heavy breathes and muffled music from the drunk teens, creaking the old beds in a rhythmic pace. The creature white knuckled the wooden handle of his machete, forcing bones and veins to appear along the damaged skin.

The normally creaky floorboards of the porch did not creak for him, hiding his presence, almost as in appreciation for the man that kept up the camp and fed the woods surrounding. Jason made his way into the wooden structure quickly meeting a sizable man, shirtless, protecting a young female that stood behind him poised to scream but the air never left her lungs for the machete brutally skewered both teens with little effort. A river of scarlet seeped into the old wooden floorboards beneath the killers muddy boots as the blade was pulled out of the slumped corpses. With forceful steps Jason marched into the small bedroom ripping the door open, the hulking frame of the beast lunged toward the naked skinny teen and with the clean whoosh of metal blood sprayed everywhere, the bed, the floor, on Jason and coating the now screaming women beneath the teen. Quickly the creature grabbed her throat, pulling her up and squeezing, watching the life drain from her trembling body, lips turning blue and eyes bulging, she was gone in a simple few minutes.

The night fell silent again until a new muffled song appeared from the bathroom, a familiar song, one the creature had heard many times before. Turning slowly and gingerly pushing the wooden bathroom door open, steam swept through the air and a phone laid on the counter, a woman was in the shower singing alone to the song playing from the device.

The scene was yours but the smell and voice wasn't. It brought the creature to a strange state, one that placed the man in between his two persona's; deadly murderer and gentle lover. Jason stood observing for a moment, remembering all the nights he would come home and find your little naked body in the hot shower pretending as if you were on stage to thousands preforming your favorite songs. So cute, so pure and vulnerable, coating yourself in the beautiful floral scents you always seemed to dawn. Jason would often step into the stream with you usually fully clothed making you laugh-- Your laugh was even so adorable to the large man-- and he would run massive hands where he pleased along your soft skin, making you look so small under him. Perfection was an understatement to Jason, you were his everything and you took him for what he was, loving the man with all of your heart.

Jason missed you and missed you bad; gone for a week seemed like a year to him. Hating when your family pulled you away to the fast and loud city, which you told your lover you hated too but you both knew you would have to see them sometime, making sure you were fine.

A ridiculously out of tone lyric was sung and it ripped threw Jason’s ears, drawing his ire and pulling him into the killer character. This was not you, not your smell, not your voice. Swiping the phone to the floor the creature destroyed it under his boot with ease and forced the giant blood covered machete through the shower curtain and into the unfortunate soul behind it.

MICHAEL MYERS

A scream broke the air of the cool October night. In the traditional white American home a crimson liquid painted the inside, smeared against the walls, sprayed along the flickering tv screen, pouring out of a woman. A man watched her, head tilted as she clawed against the grey carpet with one hand, while the other futility clutched her neck where a stream of blood ran. His anger was bright at the fact it wasn't you beneath him, bleeding out and crawling away helplessly.

The shape of Haddonfield had made home in the shadows tonight, slipping away between the cookie-cutter houses and stalking with warm glow from the windows. A blur of white and navy hid away for the moonlight didn't even want to touch the sick soul, seamlessly blending into the night.

He had watched her from the bushes with a feeling of desire forming in his core, burning fury and sick thoughts incased him. The shape could do things to her that he never could with you, but it wouldn't be the same, he knew. She had your same hair colour. Similar build. The same black hoodie. Baking something that smelled familiar.

You were gone, not at home but in your hometown. Far away from Haddonfield. Only one more night he counted in his head, one night too long. You had done everything to try and convince Michael to take the road trip with you but leaving his town wasn't something he ever wanted, you knew that and accepted it. However, Michael didn't accepted it, rage grew every hour you were gone, knowing he should have just tied you up in the bedroom, threatening to kill you. Fuck, he wanted to see how your blood would run between his fingers and shimmer on his cold metal blade. Something was different about you, and Michael just couldn't place it why he had kept you alive and allowed your touch for so long. It could've been your smell perhaps, it was sweet with a tinge of musk from himself; the copper smell fell flawlessly against your skin and mixed into a dangerous perfume. Maybe it was your nature, treating the man like a human instead of a demon, not ever wanting to push him on why he was the way he was, you just took what he gave you and it was enough. Every living thing has needs and you met his perfectly, unlike the bitch he watched.

Large boots squelched along the damp grass, striding with a wicked intent the shape quietly opened the back door of the home, stepping into the shadows of the hallway. Michael looped into the kitchen where the woman was; she gazed into the black eye holes of the white mask and screamed, faltering to the living room, Michael walked slowly grabbing the largest knife from the wooden block on the counter. Two large strides had the man towering over her figure, slitting her neck from ear to ear.

Michael had planned this from the very moment he saw her yesterday walking past the house you shared with him. She was not you, and that was the point.

[papergirllife]

Down The Rabbit Hole

Xiao De Jun (M)

🎃Happy Halloween,everyone.🎃

*gif credits to owner

*masterlist is pinned at blog.

warnings : unprotected sex, high sex, choking.

Alice in distress,

may the Cheshire cat be blessed.

Community service your mom said, it’ll be great for publicity, which is all she cares about. Your mom is the part of the community of your neighborhood, and let’s just say she loves fulfilling her duties so much that it’s become an obsession of hers to be seen on the local papers for the activities she attend, something like a minor celebrity. Sadly, the moms here all love her, your mom wanted to work a reputation up, since your father left her for someone younger, your mother needed something else to fill the emptiness and lack of accomplishment she’s felt because of him. Hence why you’re trekking in the forest of your town, trying to pick up as much rubbish as you could that were thrown by irresponsible hikers.

“This is all you fault Y/N, if it weren’t for you, we won’t be stuck in this shitty hike in such a cold weather.”

Becca was part of the so called ‘friend group’ of this neighborhood of yours that your mom forced you to make friends with just because she was friends with her mom. You don’t bother answering her nor the deathly glares from her clique to you, you didn’t have any real friends in this town, other than one or two boys you played games with.

It was until the middle of the hike when your mom called for a break, the community members all started to sit down and have a picnic.

“Remember to clean up after yourselves,” your mom said.

You chewed on a sandwich you packed begrudgingly, wishing you had hot food instead, cursing at yourself for not packing food into a thermos. When you finished, you decided to venture further away on your own, unable to stand the not so silent whispers behind your back. You decided to sit underneath a sturdy looking oak tree that looked older than any other tree here. Once you leant back, your back started falling, for some reason, the stem of the tree opened up and swallowed you in, the hole you fell in closing as you fell deeper into the hole. You didn’t scream, you were too scared, you knew you would be dead once you hit ground, so you closed your eyes and waited.

Instead of hitting ground, you fell into something that felt softer than cotton, with a blue glow like the clouds on the sky. Were you dead? You looked around, you were still in the forest, but the forest looked different here. Were these the unexplored parts of the hill?

“How graceful, Alice has nothing on you, sweetheart.”

You screamed, trying to get out of the ‘cloud’, but all you could do was trash in it because of how it’s too soft and big.

“Easy, don’t panic. I’m right here.”

Suddenly, a man around your age appeared next to you, his smile bright and somewhat familiar looking. That’s when the memory came back to you.

“You’re just like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland. Where am I? And who are you?”

“You’re in the other side of the forest, or the whole world, depends on how you see your position geographically. I’m Xiao De Jun, but you can call me Xiao Jun, and I’m a fairy. Oh and another detail? I eat humans.”

“Wait what? What do you mean the other side? What do you mean fairies eat humans?”

“Well, let’s just say fairies aren’t all Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella, those stories are told just to induce naive humans like you to fall in our traps. But you’re a pretty one, and you didn’t scream like a darned banshee just now, I might just keep you.”

“Keep me? Get us out of this thing, who said I was an object?!”

“I’ll get us out once we reach my palace, now hold on tight sweetheart, and please don’t scream like a mad woman, or I’ll eat you up in a gulp like the others.”

Xiao Jun booped your nose with his index finger before he leant back with an cynical smile on his face. The cloud floated up high, letting you see the scenery below you clearly. There were cities just like the human world, but instead of metal and blocks, these were held up by wood and magic, because there was no way a building as tall as the Eiffel Tower require no bolts and nuts, and you doubt its transparent like bubble had any glass panes.

"It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing compared to the beautiful lady beside me.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up at his flirty remarks. You quickly thought up of something to divert the topic, not being used to receiving compliments out of the blue.

“You said you have a palace? Are you a prince?”

“I’m a king, my father just passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Xiao Jun.”

“For a human you’re quite sentimental, cleaning the forest, not threatening to kill me even though you have a knife in your pocket, and not screaming at me like a mad woman. You’re quite different from what I expected.”

“What do you...

“That’s our stop, less chatter and get a move on, or no mint chocolate ice cream for you.”

Calling Xiao Jun weird would be an understatement, his personality was like a cross of between Marry Poppins and Willy Wonka, and his palace was nothing far from that either, fortress painted with pastel tones, and that fountain was definitely chocolate, the windows looked like panes of thin candy, while the draw bridge was shaped like a milk cracker. The swimming pool at the back looked like it was filled with different flavours of fanta.

“Are you the witch from Hansel and Gretel?”

“Do I look like an old hag?”

Instead of entering from the main entrance, the cloud took you to the back of the castle where there was a balcony which overlooked the pool and the garden. Once you landed, the cloud disappeared beneath you, but Xiao Jun’s quick reflexes caught you before you fell on your butt.

“Welcome to my chambers. I forgot to ask for your name sweetheart.”

“Y/N,” you said as breathlessly, still in shock from your near fall.

Xiao Jun’s room was huge, the walls were mint green while the furniture were all made of dark oak with gold accents, just like his favourite ice cream flavour. You looked up to see a beautiful chandelier that defied the laws of gravity. The candles as well as the whole structure of the chandelier was shaped like an overturned tiered cake, each tier turning at its own pace with different colours flickering on the candles. The bed was just like the cloud you travelled on, just bigger and in a shade of pastel pink that made it look like cotton candy.

“You must really like your sweets.”

“The only human food that actually tastes good. Make yourself comfortable, it’s not like you’re leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m keeping you.”

“You can’t do that! I don’t belong to you!”

“It’s written in the stars that you’ll be my queen, and I don’t have to force you. You’re going to stay.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been watching you and your fate in our stars, you lead an unhappy life in the mortal world, living like a balloon which lost its string, wandering aimlessly, slowly deflating just like your personality. When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without your mother giving you disapproving looks? What happened to your dream of being a writer? What happened when you said you wanted to go out for your birthday? What happened when you told her about your anxiety? Oh right, she called you a freak.”

Xiao Jun wasn’t shouting the words in your face, in fact it was gentle like an angel’s singing, yet what he said drizzled into your heart like sweet poison. You let out a chocked sob, you felt naked under his scrutinisation. Xiao Jun observed your life under a microscope, knowing you better than yourself.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I’ll show you.”

Xiao Jun wiped your tears with his expensive button up, the tears making the blue silk turn inky black. He then took your hand in his, guiding you out of his room into a room down the same hallway. Compared to the other odd looking fancy doors, this was bare of any jewels or gold. Xiao Jun turned the knob and led you in the dimly lit room, the room only had a large mirror with red candles on its sides.

“Show me, Lee Hyenji.”

That was your mother’s name.

The mirror flickered a few times before showing you the image of your mother.

“Where is that dumb girl? Always day dreaming and never getting things done. Wandering on her own, I’m just waiting for the day she leaves me like that useless father of hers.”

“Show me Becca Park.”

“I’m soo glad she’s lost, we don’t need to deal with her just to make our mothers happy anymore. She didn’t like hanging out with us anyways.”

Xiao Jun’s eyes flickered to yours to see your reaction, instead of holding sadness like he thought it would’ve been, your eyes were empty, the images on the mirror reflecting in your eyes like shadows in a murky lake.

“Why aren’t you angry?”

“Because they’re right.”

“No, they’re not. Mirror, show me Saved Memories.”

The mirror played images of you working on your short stories, snippets of you singing along your favourite song, as well as videos of you learning a dance.

“You shine like the brightest star in the galaxy sweetheart. Don’t let ducks call a swan ugly. They’re not even in your league, darling.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t need my confirmation, you can see it as well, maybe a flicker here and there, but those little flickers will grow into a  flame if you leave that life of yours. Don’t think too much about it, come, have a shower, I’ll show you to your room.”

Xiao Jun took you down the hall into your room, which was in front of his.

“I made it just like the bedroom in your world, so there shouldn’t be a problem with figuring out the shower. That laptop is yours, as well as those books, they’re the ones you already have and ones that you always wanted to read. The internet’s password is your birthday, yes we have internet access here. I painted the walls with the shade of blue you love, the bed is lilac, since you love that colour as well. There’s clothes from your own wardrobe as well as our clothes, it might be a bit fancy, but you might like it.”

Xiao Jun turned into such a sucker for you, the ‘I eat humans’ was such a front, you couldn’t help but smile at his dorkiness.

True to what Xiao Jun said, the shower was just like a regular shower, and the clothes in the wardrobe were nicely prepared to fit your size, making you wonder how he knew even these little details.

You went out and knocked on his door, Xiao Jun was out by the third knock, his hair now in yellow curls.

“What’s with the hair?”

“This is my natural hair colour, didn’t want to scare you too much just now. Though we really do eat humans, just the hearts, the hearts taste exquisite, according to the old fairies, and only if they threaten to develop that piece of forest. We used to eat humans all the time, until my father put a ban on it, didn’t want to look suspicious.”

There was a look of horror on your face.

“Trust me, only the old fairies eat humans, we prefer animals most times.”

You let out the breath of air you were holding in.

“This is my own private dining room, and tonight we would be having steak and ox tail soup, no humans.”

You manage to let out a laugh at his odd humour, starting to feel more at ease in his presence.

The two of you ate and drank wine, talking about his life as a royalty in his fairy kingdom.

“My mom told me I would have wings, I was so scared I checked my back every night before I slept, until I realised no one had wings and that it was just something made up in the tales.”

After dinner, the two of you danced ungracefully, the wine making your head light and footsteps a mess, giggling at each other’s mistake. After the two of you got tired, Xiao Jun carried you into his room.

He placed you on top of a couch, taking a seat beside you to admire the beautiful stars in the clear night sky.

“Would you like to try fairy dust?’

“It makes you fly? Like Peter Pan?”

“That is only one usage of fairy dust, we eat it as well. Wait let me show you.”

Xiao Jun took your hand and led you to his walk in wardrobe, it was just as big as the room he gave you, but what caught your attention was a mini pool, but instead of liquid, it was filled with swirling sparkling dust.

“Oh my god.”

Since you were drunk, you did the dumbest yet most logical thing ever, jumping into the pool. The dust made you bounce on an invisible force.

“Why am I not flying?”

“You have to give directions in your head, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that, I wouldn’t want to call medic when you hit your head.”

“Right...Jump in, join me!”

Xiao Jun shook his head in disbelief, but jumped in with a smile on his face regardless. Xiao Jun walked to your direction, stopping right in front of you.

“Breath it in.”

You did as he said, the fairy dust making you feel happy and free, as well as a warm feeling in your stomach that you can’t put your finger on once you look at Xiao Jun,, your eyes scanning his beautiful physique. Xiao Jun breathed in the dust after you, his eyes diluting into a darker shade of brown, his senses picking up little things about you that he didn’t before, like the plump of your lips, the curve of your hips under that tight skirt.

“Y/N, I want you.”

Xiao Jun kissed you with fervour, his tongue dipping into your welcoming mouth. Instead of pushing him away like he thought, you kissed him with just as much passion, your hands starting to linger under his shirt. Xiao Jun started to unbutton your top, throwing it out of the pool.

“No bra?”

“This isn’t the mortal world, there aren’t any sex predators here.”

“What about me?”

“This is for you, my king.”

Xiao Jun didn’t know whether this was you talking, or the fairy dust in your system. Xiao Jun marked up the length of your neck, purple flowers blooming in his wake as you started taking off his shirt and pants.

“Why the rush, love?”

“I need you, please.”

The amount of slick flowing onto your legs was too much to be normal, you didn’t know what side effects the dust has, but you just needed relief, and only Xiao Jun could give that to you. Xiao Jun took off your skirt and panties, smiling at that pretty piece of ruined silk in his hands.

“Wonderful.”

Xiao Jun let his hands travel southwards as his lips engulf your breast in his mouth, nibbling and sucking away like a new born, as well as leaving a mark near your nipple, the slight possessiveness sending shivers down your back. Your hands curl in Xiao Jun’s soft locks as he pushes a finger into you, when he could feel how wet you were, he decided to push two more in, curling his fingers at your sweet spot, making you cry out his name breathlessly. 

“Xiao Jun, more please. I need you inside me.”

You grinded onto his bare cock, his pre cum smearing over your slit, egging him to slide inside you.

Xiao Jun, pushed inside you in one go, your wet walls welcoming him. The action made both of you moaning in sync, lust filled relief washing over the both of you, making both of you crave for more. He started moving once you adjusted to his length, you could feel every vein and curve of his length as he bottoms out inside of you. Xiao Jun pushed himself closer to you, feeling you nipples against his own as he thrusted inside of you, the friction making your head spin from pleasure. Xiao Jun couldn’t believe it, after so many years of waiting, he finally had you in his arms, withering under his pleasurable touch. Xiao Jun slides a hand from your hips down to your clit, rubbing quick circles over it. Whimpers of his name fall from your lips like a beautiful piece of music, you were nearing your high as you felt the build up of an orgasm as your toes start to curl, your legs wrapped tighter around Xiao Jun’s waist as your head falls onto his shoulder, the overwhelming pleasure binding your body with his as he continues his thrusts, pace quickening once he felt you nearing the edge. Xiao Jun lifts you higher to thrust into you at a better angle, his tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, making you scream his name as your nails dug down his back, the pain mixing with the pleasure fuels Xiao Jun’s desire to absolutely ruin you under his touch.

“Cum for me, Y/N. I know you’re close.”

When you didn’t answer his request, Xiao Jun snapped his hips against yours at an even quicker pace, the speed of his thrusts inhuman, making your head swirl in pleasure as little bits of saliva drip from your lips down your throat as you throw you head back, the sight of the marks Xiao Jun left behind from earlier pushing his need for release. Once Xiao Jun wrapped a hand around your beautiful neck, you lost it. You couldn’t even scream as the pleasure was overwhelming all your senses, blinding white light behind your closed lids, your mind chanting his name like a mantra. Xiao Jun let out a beautiful moan once he felt your walls closing around his length in a vice grip, sending him over the edge as he paints your walls a milky white, his pearly white teeth biting down your shoulder to muffle his noises.

Once your orgasm subsides, you collapsed into Xiao Jun’s arms, energy drained completely by the handsome fairy. Xiao Jun carried you into his bed with the assistance of fairy dust, glad that he didn’t need to wobble into bed supporting your weight as well as his. He adjusted the pillows and blanket to accommodate your comfort, slipping in beside you once he was done, taking you into his warm embrace. Only one thought in his head.

‘You’re going to be with me for eternity, and nothing is going to take you away from me, my love, just like what the stars told me.’

[galadhremmin]

glim maewion

The shrill cry of a true gull can cause any of them to long for what lies beyond the great Sea without warning, for that strange country hidden even before the world changed forever; this they know. This is why they try to avoid the shoreline, those who wish to stay here, little though there seems to be for them to stay for, here where so much remains unfinished, inchoate, nothing truly complete or unmarred. This is why Círdan, in his long penance for some offence already lost to the slow crawl of time, knows no relief; this is why he has long stopped his ears with yellow beeswax, though he still sings through his grizzled beard while he works, an unidentifiable ancient little tune for no one in particular. He will not hear his own voice again until the last grey ship has left his weathered hands, until history ends for all of Eldalië and he is freed from his shallow grey harbor to drift out into the ocean’s vast blue embrace. 

This is why the Singers of the Shore sing strange, overlapping songs, near-discordant, deaf to one another; though they row to the same rhythm, perfectly attuned; though they dance to the same song vibrating upwards through beaten wood beneath the soles of their bare feet, slapping the ship’s deck in tandem. When they wish for company beyond touch osanwë is the only way left for them in truth, unless one is ready to leave; and in this old haven strict boundaries between self and other have slowly eroded to a degree those not so close to the ever-changing Sea find disconcerting. Visitors to these strange cities tend to prefer Hwerme, an old sign-language, fallen mostly out of use with the advent of the palantír; thought-up when it was hard even to reach one’s allies on the other hill, separated usually by vast swathes of screaming, trumpetting armies on the run, though sharp sight might yet see the arms of a friend speaking. 

The call to come home to the land beyond the world is shrill, and full of sorrow, with an edge of impatience to it; this they know. Some have wondered why such a vulgar beast should be the one to announce irresolvable longing to an immortal heart, if not set it ablaze itself. This mean, rude bird, fighting and squabbling on the sand, living often on half-spoiled, stolen fish, so often their sole message from otherwise silent Gods. They wonder, and do not know; though some suppose it is simply that old Ulmo speaks through their yellow beaks. Picking diminutive form as he likes to do when he fears frightening his disciples too greatly to be of use after, spreading himself thin until one might look him in any orange-ringed, cold grey eye. They do not wonder at there being hundreds of birds in the air at once, not one of them speaking with exactly the same voice; for are there not hundreds of waves emerging and dissolving all the time in the Sea, all and none of them the shape of their Lord?

But Ulmo does not speak through the birds. Ulmo does not speak through the birds, but to them; quite the other way around. If discordant song buries sharp hooks deep in tender elvish hearts, it is through familiarity, not novelty; through sorrow, not promised joy in land so far unseen. If the birds of the shore are a vulgar, squabbling bunch; well, might not the same be said for many of their own forebears, once one separates them from the dazzle of song? If there is an edge of impatience to their incessant, insistent announcement, there is also in their voices a simple, raw pain, unblemished by beauty; no nightingale promise of paradise lost before most of those who remain were born is what draws a heart away from home, but a voice like the cry of a soldier rent open on the battlefield, bleeding out his last alone. 

The Sea is a net, the sky a hook, drawing them all in; hesitant Nandor and unwilling Avari, a sorrowful Noldo and his still vengeful King. A low conch-note sounds over the great water every time a lone fëa recalcitrant or simply afraid refuses Mandos’ heavy, Dooming call, saying; here you may stay and leave everything unfinished, unjudged; here you may dwell safely until the end of time, at a remove from any Gods other than I, both dark and light, away from any who would change or use you; who would speak your story and set the price you are to pay for it, or take and twist you until very little of what you were would remain in some fell beast, ravenous with hunger for what it can no longer bear to have. No. Here by the Sea, where the water shifts restlessly against the rocks it meets with the tides just the same in every century, you may stay just as you are, albeit caught in flesh of less repute to avoid suspicion. You may stray as far inland as you like, though you must ever watch for the Morgoth’s heavy fist, and are safer always by the water, where you might leave everything as inchoate, unfinished, threads hanging forever uncut from immense and changing tapestries, singing no song but the sharp mewing cry of the soul. 

This is the shrill cry of a true gull which can cause any of them to long for what lies beyond the great Sea without warning; for it is the call of memory, and of loves lost, sometimes long before they crossed the sundering water, left behind in blessed regret. 

 And so it may be Fingolfin’s cool grey eyes that catch yours, one lonely evening on the empty pier by the lake, orange-ringed and without mercy for what he is about the inflict, which is after all only the song of himself; his heart’s cry caught in sharp-beaked tongue; all the memory of Aman distilled into the simple, wretched, longing call of a common seagull. 

This story on AO3

[monstersandmaw]

Leyil’s Christmas (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Hello! Happy Christmas folks! I hope you’re having wonderful days, whether you’re celebrating or not, and I’d like to offer you a little thank you for being such a fabulous bunch of people.

Content: fluff, a chilly and grumpy merman, and some nsfw Wordcount: 2112

Also check out this stunning artwork by the immensely talented @ilustrariane​ of Leyil

( Part One | Part Two (nsfw) )

___

You heard the distress call way before you realised that it was snowing.  

Bolting out of your door into the late morning light, still wearing your pyjamas (because hello? It’s Christmas Day?!) and a long coat, you rushed to the lake shore to find Leyil lying out on the ice, looking like a landed carp, howling miserably at you.  

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s so cold,” he whined. His claws scratched and scrabbled pathetically on the thick ice as he stretched out towards you, the tiny circle of his breathing hole visible just behind him.  

“You’re lying on your belly on bare ice, of course it’s cold!” you scolded him. “What did you expect? And I thought your kind hibernated for the winter anyway? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” And you’d missed him too, and all his shy but somehow still sassy humour. He’d recovered well, and had nearly fished the little lake dry while he’d been recuperating, but things had calmed down now that he was healthy again.  

“I… I should be hibernating,” he grumbled, rolling over onto his back and whining. “I just… You were talking about Christmas and snow and you seemed so excited about it…”

Your eyes went wide and you sank your hands onto your hips, astonished. “So you waited up for weeks just to see if the hype was worth it? You’re worse than a kid waiting up for Santa.”

He fixed you with his deep green eyes and shrugged. “I suppose. What’s Santa?”

You ignored his question, a plan already forming in your mind. “Well? Was it worth getting frozen on ice like a market-day catch?”  

“Not so far…”

You rolled your eyes. “You want to come in and warm up?”

He blinked slowly, his third eyelid raking horizontally across his weed-green eyes. “You’d be ok with that?”

With a nod, you sighed. “Stay there. I’ll get the wheelbarrow.”  

He’d been in the wheelbarrow a number of times before, exploring your tiny smallholding as you’d showed him the chickens and how to plant artichokes, but the metal of the barrow would be cold against his back so you nipped inside and flung a lurid, red tartan rug over it and then hurried back to where he lay on the thick ice of the pond.  

“Tell me you’re not actually stuck to it,” you said and he shook his head.  

“’M just cold,” he slurred. His skin was pale as the snow on the ground, and his black hair stood out in stark contrast, sticking pathetically to his scalp and his shoulders. It had grown even longer since you’d rescued him that summer, and somehow it made him more attractive to you. His body had filled out a little after the months of starving homelessness he’d suffered since his shoal had been forcibly moved from the lake, but his frame was still birdlike in its delicacy.  

You’d got the hang of hoisting him up by his armpits into the wheelbarrow by now, and it was never elegant but it worked well enough. His siren’s tail was long, but he grabbed hold of the iridescent fluke and hoiked it out of the way while you wheeled him towards the house.  

“I’ll run you a warm bath if you’d like,” you said. “Now that I’ve got the boiler running reliably, I’ve got more hot water than I know what to do with.”

“Really? Hot water?” he asked, practically wiggling out of the barrow in his excitement at the concept.  

“Keep still, you overgrown eel,” you laughed and he dutifully promised to behave.  

Leaning to one side, he trailed his clawed fingers through the six inches of snow, raking four furrows in the perfect whiteness, and he sighed. “I’ve never really seen snow before,” he said dreamily. “Normally we just sleep at the bottom of the lake until the water warms up enough for us to start hunting again…”

“The novelty wears off after a few days,” you muttered. “I’m fed up with scraping it off the truck so I can drive into town. You’re going to have to haul yourself into the house,” you added as you neared the steps. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to push the barrow up the steps.”

“That’s alright,” he smiled before slithering out of the barrow like a fresh catch into a soft bank of snow, which made him yelp, but it had to be warmer than the water and the ice back out on his frozen lake. Using his powerful torso, he dragged himself easily up the steps to your little farmstead and you shoved the front door open for him.  

He’d been inside before, and he immediately made for the sofa, curling himself up on it with a luxuriant sigh. It was only as he lay back and opened his eyes again that he spotted all the decorations. “What… What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the tree covered in baubles and glittering cut-glass decorations.

It took a while, but you explained the concept of decorating the house to celebrate the festivities, also showing him what Santa was, and he gasped when he saw the cut-glass mermaid’s tail you’d bought at the market the week before.  

“Let me see it,” he begged, holding out his long-fingered hands until you brought it over to him. He turned it over and over in his hands, grinning dangerously until he finally asked, “Why do you have this?”

You shrugged, embarrassed. “I thought you’d never come indoors in the winter, so I wanted something that would make me think of you while you were asleep in the lake…” you admitted.  

His pale cheeks flushed, the scales darkening in colour on his shoulders too, and you grinned.  

“You like it?”

“Mmm” he hummed, offering it back to you.  

Feeling brave, you leaned down and as you took it from him gently, you left a kiss on his cold cheek. His hands flashed up and grabbed you, drawing you close until you toppled down onto the sofa with him. It took a bit of adjusting, but finally you lay practically on top of the entire length of his body, and he grinned, nipping playfully at your neck. “It’s still strange to me that you have no gills,” he murmured after he’d raked his dangerously sharp teeth over your skin, following the gesture with a broad lick of his tongue. “And your skin is always so salty…”

“Hey,” you complained, but you realised it was probably true in comparison to his.  

“I like it,” he smiled. “And you’re so warm…”

After a while, however, he started to shuffle. “What’s wrong?” you asked.  

“I’m drying out…”  

His fear of drying out again was completely understandable after having spent so much time begging near the chlorinated fountain in town. “Let me run that bath for you…”

His face did something complicated before he hid it behind a smile. “Thank you,” he said.  

“I asked you here,” you said as you stood and headed towards the little bathroom next door. Your farmer’s hut was a very simple shack really, with an open plan living room and kitchen on the ground floor, and a bathroom at one end, and the staircase that led to the rafters on the second floor, where your low bed sat. And that was it.  

Lying back in the tub a while later, Leyil let out a deep groan of pure joy. “This is wonderful,” he said, humming softly. Your ears began to buzz as his music filled your mind, and you remembered then that he was no ordinary merman, but a siren.  

As if he too recalled that, he suddenly stopped, apologising.  

“It’s ok,” you said as you sat on the floor beside him while his tail flopped out at the other end of the old tub. “I know you’re not going to lure me into a stupor and eat me by now.”

He surprised you again by taking up your hand from where it rested on the edge of the bath, and pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Not everyone is so generous to my kind, you know?”

“I know.” Letting your fingertips play along his glacially pale arm, up to his shoulder, you watched as he shivered and then rolled his head back against the curve of the end of the free-standing bathtub.  

“Leyil,” you breathed. “You’re so beautiful…”

His breath hitched visibly and his chest heaved once. Taking that as an encouragement, you worked your way down his white marble torso, playing lightly over the base of the fins at his hips until he whimpered and gripped the rim of the bath in a white-knuckled grasp.  

“You want me to stop?”

“Never!” he gasped, his face flushing swiftly with embarrassment, right down to his prominent collarbones.  

“Never?” you asked playfully and he groaned.  

“You know what I mean…”

You did. You watched as the slit in his tail began to swell slightly, and as you ran your fingers inside the rim of the opening, you discovered a slickness that had nothing to do with the warm water.  

“Ohhhh,” he sighed, and water sloshed over the side onto the tiles and into your lap as he bucked.  

You didn’t stop.  

In a few minutes, his slit began to pulse beneath your touch, and the tip of his pale blue cock began to emerge. Leyil was gasping and moaning, not holding back the power of his voice, and you began to touch yourself in a matching rhythm.  

“Leyil, look at me,” you hissed as he arched his spine powerfully, fins flaring, neck on show as he tipped his head back again with a loud moan.  

Leyil’s eyes rolled open dazedly and he fixed you with an unfocused look. “What?” he murmured. “Oh spirits, look at you…” he added when he took in the sight of you touching yourself. “Let me sing for you? Let me… please?”

You nodded and his cock slid all the way out, writhing idly in the warm water. It was ridged and slick beneath your fingers, and so hard that every time you slid your hand up to his arrow-head tip, he let out a panting whimper. “Sing for me then,” you murmured.  

His song was like nothing you’d ever heard. Sure, you’d caught snatches of the refrains he sung to himself out in the lake as he hunted or patrolled the edges of the body of water that was now his own, and he’d even sung gently for you that time you’d nearly drowned wading out to apologise to him for some empty words spoken in anger, but he’d never unleashed the full power of his siren’s voice, and never just for you.  

As you worked him harder, your fingers gripping him firmly, working him from base to tip, he called a wild, ululating song, part chorus of moans, part love melody, until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it was going to explode.  

“Leyil, I’m close,” you said, still with your other hand tending to your own body, even as you worked him closer and closer.  

All his fins fanned wide again as his back arched and he yelled. His cock broke through the surface of the water and you came hard at the sight of him, his song filling your head like a summer day. As your concentration was broken, so your attentions on his painfully-hard cock slowed, and he choked something in disappointment, but when you recovered, you found him watching you, his voice silent now but his eyes still speaking volumes.  

With a trembling finger, you ran your touch around the inside of his swollen, slick slit, and he jerked wildly again, more water slopping over the edge of the bath onto the tiles. You repeated the gesture, leaving his cock untouched for the time being, and as he began to tremble, shake, and almost convulse, you wondered if you could make him come from this alone.  

After the fifth time stroking his sheath, you felt it contract and pulse, and he bent forwards, his abs tensing, almost folding himself in half, and he screamed his pleasure so loudly that your ears almost hurt. He covered his chest in his release as he twitched and flailed, voice cracking with the force of his orgasm.  

When he finally slumped back into the half-empty tub, he was spent and exhausted, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and his cheeks flushed pink.  

“Happy Christmas, Leyil,” you smiled when you saw the state he was in.  

“Definitely worth it,” he slurred without opening his eyes. “Happy Christmas…”

___

Don’t forget that I’m doing 12 full length stories - a new one every day between now and 6th January - over on my Patreon, which is the equivalent of a whole year’s worth of stories in just 12 days!! The first one went up today and is a whopping 10k words long!

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[pink-imagines]

reach me behind your voice

chapter 1: harmonize

summary: Shoto, your childhood friend, has grown distant towards you despite your history and Bakugo, the seemingly no-good rebel, has an interesting secret.

a/n: i’m not great at summaries, but you get the jist. this chapter is shorter since it’s more of a try-out. the other chapters will probably be longer and therefore take longer time to make.

warnings: none, yet

masterlist

requesting rules

You can remember clearly how throughout your childhood you’d always be dancing, no matter what the situation. It easily gained you nicknames like “ballerina” or “sugar plum fairy”. As soon as you could, you took any dance class that was available to you. Street dance, break dance, jazz, modern and, your favorite, ballet.  So of course when you heard someone playing the violin solo from the Swan Lake theme, Op. 20: No. 18, in the house next to yours you tried to find out who it was. The neighbour who lived next door was the Todoroki family, you had seen little of them at all but knew that they had a son the same age as you. Your eight year old self made it a mission to figure out if it was him who was playing. Luckily, your window to your bedroom faced his so it wasn’t hard to figure out. The hard part was getting him to notice you. Knocking as hard as you could on the window didn’t seem to help, he was probably wearing ear plugs.

The first time he noticed that you were there was when he for once opened his window. It was a hot  day so your window stood wide open as well. Shoto had never thought about looking into his neighbour’s window before but the music made him look a bit closer. You were playing some sort of hip hop song, practicing for your latest recital. He liked watching you move like that, it seemed as if you had fun. But as soon as you caught him he went to close the window. “No! Wait!”, you exclaimed and almost threw yourself out the window, “Could you play me Op. 20: No. 18?” He didn’t answer, he could only nod. With an eye still on you he started playing, and of course you started dancing. His smile grew and grew, sure you messed up at some parts but it was still fun to see someone dance to his music. “I’m not great at ballet but I’ll practice more if you play for me!”, you promised.

That promise was kept until the present of today. Shoto and you became close friends, first from your windows and then up close. Soon enough you did everything together, you had even fixed a can and string phone between your windows. The phone was still up, but rarely used- seeing as you had real phones now. You had been through a lot with Shoto, and you had supported each other every step of the way. Music is what kept you together, and it seemed as if other people could see that too. The two of you put on a lot of shows together, and whenever either of you needed to practice the other would be there too. Shoto would play for you and you would dance for him. 

Your senior year of high school is when you started drifting apart. Shoto had too many competitions and you had too many performances... other than that it seemed as if he wanted to give up on his talent, and was only hanging on a thread made by his father’s approval. Dancing had become a thing that only happened in a studio or on stage, and playing the violin had become a thing that was only supposed to be played in his room or on stage. 

From time to time you’d walk to school together. You made sure he was eating, and he made sure you didn’t have to walk home alone later. The smallest reasons gave you hope that you still cared about each other. “We’re having a live performer during my next ballet recital.”, you told him on your walk to school, “Kind of like how you used to play for me.” You knew it was useless to try to grasp at something so far away, but you couldn’t help but to try. The chilly air only fueled your want for the warm feeling of Shoto’s embrace. You never thought about how much you’d miss his hugs, but the late-September weather only made it worse.  “Oh really?”, Shoto kept his eyes on the road, “What is it about then?” Of course he completely ignored your last statement, but there was nothing to do about it unless you wanted to make things worse. “The pianist had composed it himself, we’re gonna get to know about it today.”, you explained. “What’s the pianist n-” “Hey, Y/N!”, one of your close friends interrupted Shoto mid-sentance. “Hi, Mina.”, you waved at her but she still engulfed you in a hug. “Cute scarf, it even matches the uniform!”, she smiled and then looked over at Shoto, “Sorry, I didn’t interrupt anything right?” “No, I was on my way anyways.”, he put on a charming smile, “Have a good day- and don’t walk home alone if it gets too dark, Y/N.” “I won’t.”, you waved and watched him walk away. “I totally interrupted something, didn’t I? You look disappointed-” “Just forget about it, Mina.”, you smiled at her even though you were kind of disappointed. “I told you, you should tell him that you have a crush on him. Then he’d totally pay more attention to you.”, she wrapped her left arm around your shoulders. “I don’t have a crush on him!”, you exclaimed even though she gave you a very unbelieving look, “Even if I did, it doesn’t mean that he’d actually like me back.”

School went on like usual; you had your morning classes, ate lunch with Mina and Kyoka and then had your afternoon classes. During the entire day you didn’t talk to Shoto, whenever you tried he always had somewhere else to be. So it was like every other day, though at the end of the day he approached you. It was right when you were about to leave, you has just taken out your outdoor shoes from your locker. “It says it’s gonna rain later.”, he held out his umbrella to you, “You shouldn’t be catching a cold before your performance.” “Thank you.”, you took the umbrella from him and gave him a soft smile, “Are you sure you shouldn’t have it though?” “I’ll be fine... just take it.”, he scratched the back of his head and looked away from you, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” “Sure.”, you nodded. “Bye, then.”, he huffed and walked away. “Bye, Shoto.”, you said and followed him with your eyes as he left.

Like Shoto said, it started raining. It wasn’t a lot of rain but he was overly careful like that at times. You skipped over the puddles forming on the uneven road and hummed the tune to singing in the rain. No one was out on the road so you lost yourself in your own imagination as you danced down the lonesome path.  You were thinking about why things with Shoto had turned out the way they did, if you really just did fine different friendgroups. He couldn’t be completely blamed for the distance that had been put between you since you had taken a few steps back when you realised you had feelings for him. You didn’t even want to think about it, your own feelings could ruin your entire friendship. He probably just distanced himself because he saw you did the same... You didn’t have time to think much longer as you bumped into someone. “Hey, watch it.”, the boy hissed. “Sorry!”, you quickly backed up and looked up at him. It was the boy from your school, Bakugo. You didn’t know much about him, just that he seemed kind of rude and that he hung out with the very nice Kirishima. You never quite understood their dynamic, they were really the opposite when it came to personality.  He let out an irritated sigh before he kept walking... in the same direction you were going. After a while he stopped suddenly, making you accidentally walk into his back. “Are you following me or something?”, he turned around to you. “No, I’m going this way too.”, you huffed and walked past him. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked, and honestly it grew tiring. “Do you have a staring problem or something?”, you turned around to him. “Huh? Why would I look at you?”, he walked up next to you, “You skip when you walk, of course you draw attention to yourself when you walk weird.” “Oh, sure!”, you shook your head and kept walking, faster this time. Bakugo quickened his pace, making it obvious that this was some sort of competition. So of course you walked faster.

This lasted until you were both power walking to your destination. You hadn’t even realised that you got to the dance studio until you almost walked into the door. You pulled out your card to open the door, but Bakugo already had his out and opened the door. “What are you doing? Why do you have a key card?”, you asked. “I’m working here.”, he looked away from you as he held open the door, “Are you gonna walk in or what?” You skeptically walked in, keeping an eye on him during the entire time. He wasn’t a dancer, was he? If he was then you’d know it. He wouldn’t look you in the eye no matter how hard you stared and his ears were turning slightly red. “What are you staring at!?”, he exclaimed. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a dancer.”, you muttered. “I’m not a dancer.”, he said. You stared at him with squinted eyes, trying to see if he was lying. “Fine then.”, you said and walked to the changing rooms, “I wouldn’t care if you were, you know.” “I’m not!” “Okay, okay!”, you walked into the changing rooms.

When you got out into the dance studio you saw Bakugo talk with your dance teacher. You pulled your pants up higher over your leotard, making sure that they sat at just the right place, and went to stretch. While stretching you kept an eye on Bakugo, noticing the piano in the background... slowly pieces started to fall together. As soon as they stopped talking the teacher walked out of the studio, probably to get changed, and Bakugo walked up to you. “You better do well, I’m partly in charge of choosing the roles today.”, he grinned. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”, you sat down in a split and looked up at him, “Whether you like me or not, it has nothing to do with my dancing and I’m sure that my teacher wouldn’t be fond of you picking favorites because of their personality.” “Whatever...”, he huffed and walked over to the piano.

When all the dancers had gathered the teacher walked back in and quickly counted all the students. “Seems like we’re all here. I hope everybody has warmed up and stretched, we’ll begin immediately.”, mrs. Takahashi said in a stern tone, “This is Bakugo Katsuki, a well known pianist whom has won many competitions.” You looked at Bakugo as he bowed in a greeting... you had no idea that he had won competitions, let alone that he was well known. Then again, you never really cared about where the music came from unless it was from Shoto. “He’s composed a few pieces, which put together becomes an hour long performance.”, she explained further, “So it won’t be the longest performance we’ve done, but it’s new and exciting. I’m expecting all of you to do your best at these auditions, but for today we’ll be learning the parts.” Mrs. Takahashi motioned for Bakugo to start playing, which he did. It was quick, nothing that you hadn’t done before but it’d always be harder to learn when the beat is quicker. There was no time for slacking, and your interest had peaked. “That was a part of the introduction.”, mrs. Takahashi said as Bakugo stopped playing, “As you can tell, it’s quick. This is a story of tragedy, a young boy who’s invisible to everyone around him no matter what he does. He falls in love with a girl, and though she cannot see him he still tries his best to save her from different situations. I’ll be giving you a short story, so that you can read through it later. For now, let’s get to work.” And so the practicing started. Bakugo never looked away from the notes, he was extremely focused... it was probably the first time you had seen him this quiet and calm. You couldn’t let yourself be distracted, though- afterall, hadn’t you kind of challenged him. Details were to be perfected, steps were to be remembered, and your energy needed to be focused on doing the best you possibly could.

At the end of the lesson, while you were stretching before you got to go home, mrs. Takahashi gathered your attention by clapping harshly twice. “Listen up! You all did fantastic today!”, she sounded proud for once, “Next time we meet will be in two days, for our next lesson. You’ll get an email with the right location, that’s where you’ll audition and that’s where we’ll later hold the performance. Be on time, alright?” “Yes, ma’am.”, all the students answered. “Great work, you’re free to go.”, she nodded and everybody made their way to the changing rooms. You went to grab your waterbottle and when you stood back up mrs. Takahashi stood beside you. “You did well today, Y/L/N.”, she said, “I’m expecting a lot for you in the near future.” “Thank you, ma’am.”, you bowed your head and walked over to the changing room. Before leaving you grabbed the last pile of papers, which had the story written on it. It felt unbelieveable that Bakugo Katsuki had written his own short story, let alone composed music for it.

When you got out you were just about to call Shoto to tell you about it, but then you saw Bakugo standing by the entrance. “I’ll give you this, Bakugo.”, you said as you walked up to him, “You’re pretty good at piano.” “Pretty good?”, he scoffed, “You sure are cocky, aren’t you princess?” “What’s with the nickname?”, you folded your arms over your chest. “Prancing around like that in the studio, I might as well call you a princess.”, he chuckled, “Or do you prefer idiot?” “I’d like to see you ‘prance around’ like I did.”, you huffed. “I didn’t say you were bad.”, he looked away from you, “Whatever, I’m leaving. I’m counting on you to get the lead, princess.” He started walking away.

-

Now it’s your turn to choose: follow Bakugo or call Shoto? Click here to choose

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[wendimydarling]

Can’t Help Falling in Love with You (Sound)

Title: Can’t Help Falling in Love

Summary:  Sight | Scent | Sound | Touch | Taste

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 795

A/N: I am attempting the senses challenge that @viking-raider​ just completed not too long ago. Find her work here! I’m doing it a little differently, each snippet will add a new filter to the same scene instead of lengthening it, if that makes sense. I live for comments, let me know your favorite part!

~~~~~~~~ Sound ~~~~~~~~

The leaves in the branches brushed each other quietly in the breeze, creating a soft, ambient, background track to the scene laid out before us. I could hear the long draw of cicadas, indicating the peak of summer. A couple of birds were flitting above us, chattering animatedly about something or other. Henry’s steady breaths entered my ear as he lay next to me; every now and then his throat would constrict and the air from his lungs would stroke his vocal chords in such a way that a small, endearing grunt would pass his lips. Further away, I could hear the waves from the lake crashing against the dock and it reminded me of our swim. 

Henry had wrestled me into the water, laughing at my screeches of protest. His laugh was otherworldly, deep and rich and full of life. It was infectious; once you heard it you couldn’t help but laugh with him. All my cares seemed to melt away at the melody of his mirth, and I made it my mission to hear that sound whenever I could. We were alone; our playful banter bounced off the blue expanse of the lake, uninhibited by other residents.

“No, Henry, No!”

“You’re going in, love… the moment I catch you!”

“Oh my god, Hank, I swear. You throw me in and you can walk hoooooooome!”

He’d swung me over his shoulders and beaten, I was unceremoniously thrown off the dock, that beautiful laugh the last thing I heard before being submersed. All sound was severed as my body was baptized, and the world around me took on a completely different wavelength; I closed my eyes to listen. I heard the muffled splash of Henry following me, the rush of water as his hands pushed against its resistance, and his chuckle resonated through my insides as the surrounding liquid magnified the sound. The momentary pause in time was broken as I surfaced, normalcy of life returning to my ears. Water against water, water against skin, skin against skin; this was war.

Drying off under the tree, I had soft music playing on my phone, and time seemed to stand still as we lay there reading. The rustle of my book pages as I flipped through them reminded me of ASMR, and I shivered as goosebumps crawled over my arms. The song changed, an old romantic croon given a modern take by a newer artist. I sang along quietly, my soft soprano floating into the air like gentle spirals of smoke. 

“Like the river flows surely to the sea,  Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

“Here, you dog-earred this one,” Henry says, and I stop singing to look at him. The book he’s reading is my collection of poems by Robert Frost that he likes to borrow when he’s visiting. He begins to read, and instantly his baritone draws me in.

“The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,     The road is forlorn all day,  Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,     And the hoof-prints vanish away.  The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,     Expend their bloom in vain.  Come over the hills and far with me,     And be my love in the rain.”

I could immerse myself in that voice for hours. The same as his laugh, it’s deep and full and round. If he discusses anything he’s passionate about, it becomes very animated and the pitch changes rapidly, but there’s also a steady calmness about it that never fluctuates. When I’m anxious or I’ve had a bad day, I’ll snuggle in close and ask him to teach me about something. His voice is low, with a gravelly undertone, and is instantly relaxing. When he discovered that I have trouble at night when he’s gone and I listen to online interviews of his in order to sleep, he recorded my favorite book on tape so that I wouldn’t have to deal with commercials or other people interrupting. His kindness knows no bounds.

Henry finished the poem and I audibly hummed in appreciation, causing him to look my way. He catches me staring at his body and grins.

“Like what you see?” he teases, humor in his tone.

“Shut up,” I sass back before leaning down to kiss him. The tiny pip of soft lips meeting evolves slowly into the erotic smack of mouth on mouth, it’s steady beat blending with soft moans and heavy sighs to create an enchanting aria of happiness, of peace. Breathless gasps replace the song as we pull away, contented expressions on both our faces. I hear the dull thump of his hand connecting with my back as I return to my book, the score of summer once again lulling me into a euphoric state of mind.

~~~~~~~~

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[honeybeewriter]

Icarus

Chapter 1: The Rebel Princess

Au: Fantasy AU

Word count: 2.6k 

Pairing: Hawks x reader

Warning: Smoking, light cussing

Link to next part:

A/N: im super excited to be writing this story! its my first story ive written in a long time and im super happy to share the first chapter of Icarus with you guys! hope yall enjoy it as much i as i do!

Aesthetic:

This overbearing weight of being royalty and responsibilities of princess has hung on your shoulders like a horse stomping on a snake, it was awful to say the least. Along with this your father had now set up an arranged marriage to the kingdom next over to make peace: something you did not want. No, your heart soared for adventure and your senses longed to smell the sea and feel the cool breeze through your (h/c) locks. It’s a wish, a dream, something far from your grasp.  

The morning dew settled among the kingdom, golden warm rays flooded in through the window, caressing your face, rubbing against your eyes as they flutter open. The feeling of silk and cotton danced along your naked legs, you stir awake, outstretching your arms. A gentle knock echo’s out into the silent room, before the creaking of the door opening. “Ah,princess (l/n) you’re awake!” The maid known as Mina entered the room, with a bow. “You know m’lady you should get out for a while! I know about your little dreams” Mina laughs as your face flusters “Mina!” you exclaimed and held your hands to your face “I’ll cover for you, Please don’t bring home another fae!” you had jumped out of bed at the thought of adventure. “Mina! Tamaki is a nice fae!! Don’t be rude!” You both erupt in fits of laughter. What a start to the day. 

Adventure was in the air, as you snuck out of the castle. You dawn a fine silk gown that a fair maiden would wear, a pale lavender tone matched with a wine red hooded cloak: To hide your identity from the ones who would stitch to your father.  

Across the forest, in a cart with friends laughing and having fun. A winged man stood with a guitar singing a merry tune, a man with burn scars guiding a horse with a scowl, a woman with blonde hair in buns reading her daily tarots card. The winged man lowers his guitar and his singing fades as he begins to speak “Hey Toga, whats is my card today?” he asked, sitting in front of the witch, who then shuffles them a few times before drawing out. The wheel of fortune. “Oh! Change is coming! This can be exciting, this means something big is at work, but what goes up must come down. Therefore be careful when change comes!” Toga explained before putting away her cards her satchel. The man with scars turned around and glanced at the two “There is a kingdom coming up, and we need to resupply before heading onwards.” His voice husk from smoking as teen, he still does nonetheless. The song of the frogs and bird sang throughout the woods as the trots of the horse and that squeaky wheel join in the chorus.

The winged man looks to the sky and ponders,Hm change? I wonder what the winds will bring me? The clouds line the sun, like curtains with only peeks of yellows rays shining down. The cart comes to a stop, and the man with raven hair and scars stood up, while lighting a cigarette “Alright we are here, no trouble, gather supplies and come back to the cart before sunset” He inhales the tobacco and puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Got it, keigo?” 

Keigo looks back with a smirk “Me trouble, pssh, never. You’re the one that burnt that caravan, Dabi, oh powerful burnt bastard!” Dabi snarls, clenching his fist tightly “Get out of here you damn buzzard!” keigo waved him off as he slipped on a leather jacket that was inscribed with magical rune that hid his wings. “Meet here at sunset, got it crazy?” Dabi spoke to toga as keigo ventured off into the kingdom.

The town was lively and hardy, towns folk chatter and trade, while the echoes of laughter of children and barks from the stray dogs dance throughout the streets. The smell of fresh baked goods with the smell of blood from the meat market, not very pleasant to smell. You browsed the fruit stands, gliding your hand along the fresh picks, thinking within your thoughts of today's adventure; maybe a nice picnic in my secret garden, or maybe an adventure in the outside forest. Your mind was so deep in thought that you hadn't noticed that a certain knight was next to you. 

“Ahem!” the knight coughed, causing you to jump with fear, as your eyes followed the armor, you gulped.. Iida.. “What are you doing here Iida!” you barked as you gathered up some fruit that had caught your eye, paying the merchant. “I should be asking you that Princess.”  Iida was a stickler for the kings rules and so the king had appointed young iida as your bodyguard, since you liked to skip out and such. “Iida please let me have today off! Please!” you begged as you held the bag fruit to your chest, bouncing like a child begging for a sweet. 

Now usually rumors and gossip caught Keigo's attention but, overhearing the about the rebellious princess, now that caught his keen hearing. As he turns from the stand he sees a tall knight and a cloaked person unknowingly, it was the princess. He strolls on over and wraps an arm around your neck. “Look, knight, i'm sure you have some crown to guard, so do me and my friend here a favor and bug off would yah?” and without waiting for an answer keigo whisps you away into the crowded streets. 

“Geez what a killjoy!” keigo said as he leads you to a quieter part of town, “Ha, I'm sorry if that was weird or if i made you uncomfortable, but that knight seemed to be hard on yo-” Keigo was cut off as you whipped out your opal knife, “Look i don’t know you or where you came from, you take me back to my knight!” You snarled. Keigo just laughed and grabs gentle onto your wrist, lowering the knife “Ah so you are the rebellious princess i’ve heard about! Tell me, Do you really want to go back?” you look defeated and huffed, shaking your head no as you sheath your knife. 

“No not really i just want to go to my garden and eat.” You said as you lowered your cloaks hood. Keigo finally got a good look at your face, (h/l) beautiful (h/c) hair, along with a pair of radiant (E/c) orbs, that sparkled in the sun. You looked just like a princess, no.. a queen at best. His eyes lit up as he looked your body up and down. “Will you please stop oodling me, come on, i guess you will have to be my pretend bodyguard for now” You spoke, you knew when they found the both of you. The two of yall were in serious trouble, him more so, i mean kidnapping a princess that is very bad to the king. 

The streets grew into dirt roads, and the houses disappear as you walked further into the depth of the kingdom, humming a tune, singing as you go. Keigo follows of course, his curiosity growing about you, a runaway princess. 

 “Down in the depths, where the marble stairs cry, to left pink flowers hang their lives, make a right. Trot down the path into the pine, two stones of moss on the northside, listen to the whisper of the willow that lays upon the pond bank , that is where you will find. The sweet little spot of mine.”

Pure white marble stairs lay in bed against the hillside, a makeshift stream runs down the steps, carrying twigs and leaves, a sight to see. Such sad marble stairs longing to be cleaned and re-purposed. Keigo watched as you took off your shoes, the sound of splashing as you walk down the steps. He follows in suit taking his own shoes off, the pitter patter of wet feet echo throughout the silent forest-line.

You stop and look up, “Up there is where the pink flowers hang.” you loop your arm with his as you tell the story about a lonely prince who once lived in this ruin. How his family had gotten a witch to curse the boy, he was a sweet green haired prince who wanted adventure like yourself, but one day he had crossed a line into the dragon land, and he had fallen in love with the king. But once his family found out he was shunned, and casted out. One day his dragon king had found him and they were happy, but the curse of the witch:

Those be warned who want to find the lost, if you travel further than the pine you will find poison, outcast from his family, a lock against the seal, betrayed, outcasted its a weakened deal. The blood of royalty lay among the scales, heed my warning, your life frail. 

“Story of the green prince and the king.. So is this place cursed or something?” Keigo asked as you both walk into the pine forest “i believe it is cause i found the skeletons of the two” You said as your hand glides across the brush as you walk. “That must have been a sight to see.”  Your face fell as the memory plays in your head. The two skeletons embracing in against a tree seemly untouched by mother nature. “A pure sad sight” You tug the blonde male along the path. 

Two stones with moss on the northside, and the whispering willow. The two of you stop admiring the willows horror filled beauty. The willow had to be at least 100 years old, her branches twisting and growing in a way that makes your stomach get a sick feeling. A thick fog rolling over the lake, like a dress dancing over a marble floor. 

“So are we almost there?” Keigo asks his eyes fixed out onto the stilled water. Taking the male’s hand you pull him along into the ruin of clay and brick, a small grotto hides away this lostwonder of a place. Keigo's eyes widen, what a hidden away little base. “Wow, this must have been their home.” Keigo rubbed the back of his neck as he took a seat on the edge of the water basin, you sat next to the male and pulled out the fruit bag that you had bought earlier. 

“So what brings you to the kingdom of berbile?” you questioned With a small chuckle as he takes a pear, 

“I'm actually just passin by, me and a few friends are heading west towards the coast.” He takes a bite of the green fruit, the juice running down into his beard. Your ears perk up at the mention of the ocean.  ‘Wait you mean the ocean! That's like a 5 month cart drive! Give or take if weather and such.” your voice chirps, your eyes brighten at the thought of the salty breeze.

 You take a chomp out of your (F/F) as he explains the mission that his leader sent him on

. “Keigo, dabi and toga i need you three to go west and find recruits, send them back this way we are finally going to take down the two kingdoms along the way, When you get to the ocean that is when you will turn around and come back.”

 Keigo looks at you and ponders “you want adventure, do you not?” 

Keigo quirks his eyebrow at you. You frantically nod your head. “Yes yes!! More than anything! My father has set up an arranged marriage and to hell with keeping the peace to the kingdom” You jump up on the bricks of where you were sitting “I rather see the world!” You exclaimed, pumping your fist into the air. 

Keigo grins “Well why don't you get a maid to gather clothes and meet me by the castle walls near the stables, tonight after dark?”

--

Later on you both went separate ways to avoid getting caught by iida and the other guards, The night set among the land, the quarter moon in the sky guiding your path to the outskirts of the kingdoms edge. 

“Mina i have to go, this is my only chance to get adventure! I won't be coming back, please come with me, won't you!” You held your bag in your arms, dawning a black cloak, money clattered in the coin purse as you pull against minas arm. “(Y/n) as much as i know you want adventure you know, your father will be mad if he finds you gone!” She huffs and pulls you back towards your room. 

“Tell him I died or something I don't care! I'm leaving this kingdom, and you're not stopping me!”  you exclaimed with tears in your eyes, jerking your arms back to your side. Mina looks at you, her eyes soften and a damn broke through, her cheeks flooded and pink. 

“Go, Ill cover for you” You embrace each other in a tight hug before your crawled down the makeshift bed sheet ropes and disappeared into the darkness. 

Giving one last look to the home you grew up in. The hell that was raised, your mother would be proud of you for leaving this greed filled kingdom. 

Dabi tapped his foot impatiently, “You said this girl would be here by now, Where is she!?” he barked, flicking the ash from his cigarette, keigo huffed and  stretched his neck looking over nothing to see if anyone was there Where is she? He pondered. Out of the shadows a small hooded figure comes running, a 2 large bag on its back and a large purse in the other.

Toga grins, looking up from her spot in the cart “oh? You made friends with the Princess I see now~” toga giggled as keigo brushed her off, lighting a torch and holding it out “Two stones!” he called out, dabi and toga give him a weird look before hearing. “With moss on the northside!” a soft voice returns 

Keigo jumps off the old wooden cart, his boots met the mud as your flats met the end of the stone road. You flipped your hood down allowing your (h/c) locks to fall into place. “So it is the princess, damn hawks. Boss will be pleased.” Dabi takes a drag, blowing out a cloud of ashy smoke. “Alright princess, load up, it's gonna be a long journey.” 

You get into action, tossing your bags into the bed of the worn cart, Toga leaning against the edge, looking you over. “This is certainly some change, a princess joining 3 commoners. I'm sure once the king finds out your missing, people will be after us.” The blond female giggles and sits back down, “Call me (Y/n) (L/N). please. No need to be formal, its stupid.” 

Keigo helps you into the cart and then jumps up into the passenger seat next to dabi. “Well you know who i am, This burnt bastard is dabi, Just dabi, he refuses to tell us his real name, and that little crazy next to you is Toga!”

Dabi whips the reins, causing the horses that pull the cart to move on. The clatter of hooves against the ground, the old night owl, singing his hunting song. The voices of the howling wolves, echo throughout the forest. Keigo takes off his magical jacket,  and a pair of beautiful deep  crimson wings emerge. Your eyes in wonder, “Wait you didn't tell me that you had wings, keigo!!” 

“Makes him look like a buzzard if you ask me!” Dabi chims as toga laughs. “Hah, Yeah each of us has some kind power, i'm a witch, dabi up there is a warlock and keigo is just cursed!” Toga explained. 

You look over the three with a warm smile. Adventure was well among its way, and youll be there to greet it with open arms

[floweryfandomnerd]

Of Snow and Cherry Blossoms

Summary: 

One night, Yato slips away and climbs a mountain, digging around in the snow, he finds what he’s looking for. He can’t help but think back to it when he looks at Yukine, trapped between three borderlines and halfway to being an ayakashi. Blight looks just like bruises.

— This has spoilers for chapter 86!! A character study of Yato during the flashback from that chapter and also during Yukine’s ablution since I liked the idea of exploring how it would influence Yato’s emotions and feelings during the ablution from chapter 11

word count: 1665                   

ao3

: : :

Yato stings, whether from the biting cold or the blight on the back of his neck where Yukine pricks him over and over doesn’t matter. Perhaps it is just the utter rage at what he knows he will find buried amongst the snow that stings - the same snow Yukine had fallen with, the snow he’d named him for just a few days ago. Yato drives the plank of wood into the ground with all the force he can muster, its jagged edges push splinters into his hands and his palms are blistered painfully. Yato can barely feel it. Again and again, he hacks at the ground, pulling up dirt with every action, his shoulders hurt and he feels sick to the stomach, sagging with fatigue and retching so much he can barely breathe, Yato keeps digging; how many times has he done this kind of thing now? 

Then he strikes something hard, like metal.

For a moment, Yato pauses, he is tired and the blight that afflicts him seeps in heavy. He can’t blame Yukine for the blight - Yato’s memories of this place, memories that aren’t really his no matter how they haunt him, are far heavier. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Yato steels his jaw as he properly unearths the object. He finds a fridge, it looks the same as in his stolen memories, only dirtier, and Yato swallows down the urge to puke. He’s found it, which means no one else ever did - did anyone even care to look? Maybe that’s a question he doesn’t really want to know the answer to, there probably isn’t even a police report.

It takes everything Yato has in him to force himself to open it, he sinks to his knees and grasps the edge of the door with shaking hands. Then he pulls it open, eyes closed to give himself one more moment to brace himself. The smell hits him anyway, old blood and decay. Yato tugs his scarf up over his mouth and nose to block it out. It does little to help. When Yato opens his eyes, he wishes he hadn’t. The cold of the mountaintop only ever briefly uncovered by snow and the protection from the elements the boy’s horrid coffin provides has preserved the body well despite the decades that have passed. Or well enough, at least, that Yato can still see the bruises that marr him all over. Yukine’s body looks as broken as Yato knows he feels inside, the image stings nastily like the blight on the back of his neck. Yato balls his fists, fingernails digging into his already ruined hands. He wants to scream and punch something, anything to destroy the site where he stands. His nature has always been a destructive one, it’s hard not to give in.

Instead, he gently picks up the child - just a child, Yukine was just a fourteen year old boy, just a child - and cradles his body in his arms. The tears are hot against Yato’s cheeks. He doesn’t attempt to wipe them away. With one last dreadful glare at the scene, Yato kicks the side of the old fridge as hard as he can, Yukine’s prison and coffin dents slightly, then he leaves that awful mountain behind. He’ll take Yukine’s body somewhere that he can be at peace, and then he’ll do his best to give his spirit peace too. As he carries him away, Yato doesn’t acknowledge the searing pain shooting up his leg from his right foot. It doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as what he’s found anyway. 

It feels like an eternity that Yato’s been walking, leaping and bounding unseen over building tops and countryside, taking precious care of the lifeless boy in his arms, but it is still the same night when he comes to a stop. He’s chosen an old abandoned cemetery with a pretty view of the lake, there are trees at the back of it that sway slowly in the wind and wild flowers growing nearby; it hasn’t been used for over a century - not by anyone but Yato. No one ever comes here but him anymore, the families of those laid to rest in this place have long since forgotten them. He never strays too far from here, hasn’t in a long time. There are too many days where he comes back to visit, and even if he did go far away, it wouldn’t help because he’s never forgotten a single one of them. Yato pushes open the gate.

He buries Yukine beneath the sakura tree where the petals from its blossoms will softly fall in the spring like they have every year since Yato planted it so long ago. Patting the dirt down neatly, Yato marks the grave with a wooden cross. He’d made it in advance, even so, having to use it is almost too much to bear. When Yato is done, the dawn is breaking. 

He collapses against the sakura tree in exhaustion, watching the sun rise, Yato sings. It is a quiet melody that fills the air around him with melancholy, an old mourning song one of his shinki once taught him even though she never remembered how she knew it.

“You were supposed to have a long life Yukine, I’m sorry,” Yato says, his voice is thick to his own ears, then he looks upwards at the branches of the tree, “You too, I’m sorry. I’ll give him the chance I stole from you. Sleep well." 

He pats the tree fondly, he likes to think that she’s there, and pushes himself up to stand. He leaves wild flowers on Yukine’s grave. 

: : :

Yato can barely move. He curls in on himself, lying on the ground outside of Kofuku’s shrine and choking, struggling to find his voice whilst Yukine is frozen in place by Daikoku’s threat to kill him. 

Not again, he won’t let it happen again, Yato thinks, he promised to give him a chance to be happy this time around. He hasn’t even seen the kid smile yet, not genuinely. Still, he cannot so much as reach out a hand to the boy, he can’t comfort him, even though he’s so scared. They’ll have to perform an ablution and Yato is scared too - if it goes wrong, Yukine’s last moments will once again be terrified and pained. Yato opens his mouth to tell them to stop, to beg Yukine not to cross that line, instead he coughs up more blood. 

Then Hiyori comes back. Kazuma follows her and his face is grim but the three shinki get to work. Mayu, Daikoku and Kazuma each draw their borderlines. Yukine is trapped. He pounds on the walls, pleas to be let out turning to threats as the ayakashi begins to take hold of him. Blight spreads across his skin in splotches, a deep purple just like the bruises his father left on him, Yato can’t stand to look at it. He squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can and clamps his hands over his ears but it does nothing. He can’t drown it out, he can still hear it, still see it in his mind, Yukine crying and screaming, he can still feel it. It hurts.

Yukine’s name begins to slip, fading away as the ayakashi wins over more and more of him, wings made of blight sprout from his back when he refuses to confess his wrongs. Daikoku winces, all three shinki straining to keep up their borderlines, to not be devoured the way Yukine is so close to being. Yato claws at the ground desperately, if he can just call his name then it’ll be okay, it won’t disappear, he tries to push himself up to face Yukine but can’t, Yato slumps pathetically to the ground. His voice is stuck in his throat, dying on his lips when he coughs up blood. He can’t do anything for Yukine in this life either then, just one horrible existence to another and then nothing, moving from a deadbeat shitty father to a useless master who could do nothing for him before becoming an ayakashi, how unfair. Yato still can’t find his voice, if only he could call his name, he’d do better for the kid than let him be covered in bruises. Do better than only hurting him. If he could just stop Yukine’s name from vanishing, he’d do better… for both their sakes.

“Yukine-kun,” Hiyori shouts, “You can’t go over there, don’t become an ayakashi!” She pushes against the borderlines, ignoring any warnings to get back even when it burns her fingertips, Yukine faces her and Yato can feel his name just slightly more, of course she wouldn’t give up on him either, “Yukine-kun, you have Yato don’t you? Yato even said that he was honing you himself, those words… were like those of a father!”

She pulls him back from the brink with her words, Yukine pauses, staring at her whilst tears run down his cheeks and listening despite the ayakashi.

Hiyori keeps talking, if she can just get through to him then maybe Yato can do something too, “If you keep betraying someone like that again,” Hiyori cries, desperation flooding her voice, ““Then he won’t be your friend anymore!”

It works, just enough. Just enough for Yato to regain a little strength and to breathe enough that he can speak, he lifts his head and pushes himself up to face Yukine, still gasping in breath, “Yukine!” Yato calls, finally finding his voice, “You were given a person’s name so live as a person!”

Yukine breaks, sobbing in regret and finally understanding. Yato can feel it like a weight being lifted off his chest that Yukine understands, to be a shinki is a second chance to live.

He has a second chance, so he’ll be better, Yato promises himself, he won’t ever abandon the poor kid, or hurt him, he’ll be a better father than either of them ever had - he promises.

[24hour-blues]

all the ones you haven't answered yet? i'm sorry you're sad💙

thank you, that's very sweet. i hope you're doing alright 💛

1. when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? - more milk. i always end up putting too much.

2. do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? - yes

3. what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? - library receipts, post-its, junk mail, pencils

5. are you self-conscious of your smile? - i think it’s one of the few things i’m not self-conscious about, actually. i like my smile.

8. what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? - writing, often poetry but sometimes prose. i like creating playlists, too, and singing.

9. do you like singing/humming to yourself? - yeah, i sing to myself all the time. whatever song i have stuck in my head at the moment.

10. do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? - side, but very occasionally my stomach.

12. what’s your favorite planet? - jupiter

14. if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? - lots of pillows and blankets of all types. succulents and cacti on the windowsills. wooden utensils and dark cabinets in the kitchen. a breakfast bar with stools that don’t match. rugs with funky patterns. a big, soft couch in a bright color that you can sink into. a small balcony with fold-out chairs. rows of mugs and barely any plates. the bathroom crowded with makeup and skin products, writing on the mirror in blue marker. beds never made. a guitar in the corner of the sitting room.

15. go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! - there are more trees on earth than stars in the milky way

16. what’s your favorite pasta dish? - angel hair pasta with puttanesca sauce

18. tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. - i can’t think of anything...

19. do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? - everything. sometimes it’s big things, sometimes small. my fears and what i’m in love with. regrets. shame. hope.

20. what’s your favorite eye color? - grey

21. talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. - idk if it’s really my favorite, but my current backpack took me all through college and it’s good for storing stuff or using as an overnight bag. it’s from timberland and is a nice earthy brown with a flap over the top. lots of pockets.

22. are you a morning person? - i can be

23. what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? - make breakfast and tea. read or watch a movie that makes me rethink everything

25. what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? - a school, i think?

26. what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? - i haven’t had them forever, but i wear my doc martens with everything. i used to wear plain white keds with everything.

27. what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? - winter green

28. sunrise or sunset? - sunrise

30. think of it: have you ever been truly scared? - yes

31. what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. - i like soft, fluffy socks and ones with fun patterns. i love hiking socks. i don’t wear them to sleep tho.

32. tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. - i went to a waffle house at 5am with a friend and some friends of hers i’d just met on her birthday. we were all really drunk, the food took forever, and it tasted awful, but we were happy and laughing.

33. what’s your fave pastry? - probably a cinnamon roll

35. do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? - i like a good calligraphy pen and new notebooks. i don’t use them often; i feel like i don’t have anything important enough to write.

37. do you like keeping your room messy or clean? - it’s usually clean unless i’m not feeling well. sometimes i get disorganized.

38. tell us about your pet peeves! - overlapping conversations. people interrupting others. loud mouth noises, like chewing or licking. people criticizing my driving. nitpicky comments on my clothes or how i look. being talked about.

39. what color do you wear the most? - black, probably.

41. what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? - how it feels to float by helena fox

42. do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! - nope

43. who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? - i’m not sure

44. when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? - i can’t remember

45. do you trust your instincts a lot? - not really

46. tell us the worst pun you can think of. - i can’t remember it but something about pigeons and being coo-l

47. what food do you think should be banned from the universe? - bacon. i just wanna make people angry.

48. what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? - my dad told me a story once, about when i was a kid. he said that he and i were walking together near the lake in the neighborhood across from mine. i was holding his hand, and i said to him that this was the happiest time in my life because i wouldn't be the same when i grew out of being a child. i think i have the same fear now--that i'll never be that happy again.

49 do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

- i like records but i only have one. it's an album by ccr. i really like them

50. what’s an odd thing you collect?

- beer bottle caps

52. what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

- maybe those "girl..." text posts that just say stupid shit

53. have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

- watched them all but pulp fiction. i don't really remember heathers at all

55. what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

- lets not talk about that

57. go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

- not in the mood sorry

58. who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? - bri is wine mom. quincy and i are vodka aunt.

60. do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

- yes but i rarely remember favorites. i read so much and feel it then forget all the words

61. what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

- someone gave me a rock once. i get too nervous to give stupid gifts

62. do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

- orange or cranberry

63. are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

- i'm more fussy about music than books, but i do like my books organized. i like them worn in and well-read tho, not in perfect shape.

64. what color is the sky where you are right now?

- a fuzzy, light blue-grey. it's snowing

65. is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

- a few

66. what would your ideal flower crown look like?

- lots of green leaves in all different shapes and sizes. tiny white and blue flowers.

67. how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

- isolated and insignificant. safe

68. what’s winter like where you live?

- cold, grey, snowy.

69. what are your favorite board games?

- idk if i really too many board games. maybe cranium. i like puzzles more

71. what’s your favorite kind of tea?

- honey vanilla chamomile

72. are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

- yea and even then i forget.

73. what are some of your worst habits?

- i give up too easily

74. describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

- excitable. emotional. so very smart. creative as all hell. self-conscious where they shouldn't be. never runs out of words in the best way. loves to share.

75. tell us about your pets!

- my dog shiver is turning into a little old man, but he still acts like a puppy. he likes attention and whines to communicate. he'll greet you at the door and put his front paws on your thighs to say hi. follows you all around the house. loves to cuddle.

- my pigeon spirit is young and vocal. she coos for attention. when i go to sleep, she grunts every time i move to ask where i am and if i'm okay. i take showers with her and sit on the tile; she puffs up right into my side and sticks her wings out for me to splash water on her. she likes to be close to me to get neck scritches and push her head into my neck and preen every bit of me she can.

76. is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

- a lot probably

77. pink or yellow lemonade?

- limeade

78. are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

- i dunno they're cute

80. what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

- it's white wallpaper with pink roses along the top and ribbons of pink and green striped vertically. my mom chose it before i was born.

81. describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

- they sort of remind me of dark water where everything is reflected back in it--not just the sky but the trees and people walking--and they make you want to look closer because you know there's something in there, it's not just a reflection, like flat glass. but it's hidden until you dio your hand in the pictures broken.

82. are/were you good in school?

- pretty good

83. what’s some of your favorite album art?

- i don't look at albums

85. do you read comics? what are your faves?

- not really, but watchmen is one of my favorites.

86. do you like concept albums? which ones?

- dunno

88. are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

- um. idrk. i like whatever monet was doing.

91. where do you plan on traveling this year?

- maybe michigan

92. are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

- i like cheese

93. what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

- i just kind of. let it do whatever.

94. who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

- my uncle

95. what are your plans for this weekend?

- honestly have no clue

96. do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

- put them off until windows tells me it's restarting the computer in five minutes

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

- mb

98. when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

- in college with jacob, although i wouldn't really call it joking. we just walked through a state park. it was beautiful.

100. if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

- idk. i feel like i'd make the same mistakes if i went back, but the future scares me.

[fickleminder]

For Wild Area Ranger, do they ever meet up with any of the other gym leaders?

(Sorry for the wait! This one got away from me >.<)

Milo + Nessa

- It’s a well-known fact that the first three gym leaders in the circuit are close. Kabu himself had shared with you that Milo and Nessa were two of his first friends in Galar, and you think their little tradition of sending off successful gym challengers from Motostoke is really sweet

- One day you make your way towards North Lake Miloch where Kabu had requested you deliver some rare berries. When you reach the designated meeting spot however, you find that he isn’t alone; Turffield’s and Hulbury’s gym leaders are there too, helping to set up camp and chatting with one another amicably

- You’re about to ask Gallade to drop off the berries discreetly, not wanting to disturb their private gathering, when Milo spots you and waves you over

- Turns out you’ve been invited to one of their regular meetups under the guise of berry delivery and since you’ve so helpfully provided them the ingredients for lunch, they simply have to feed you in return

- (Sneaky old man)

- Despite his size, Milo is super gentle with your pokemon and really friendly too. He’s brought along one of the Wooloos from his farm and you can’t get enough of petting the cute sheep. You think you can sleep forever if you use it as a pillow

- Nessa is easily more intimidating and you feel extremely underdressed compared to her. You certainly never expected her to stride up to you and shake your hand while thanking you for keeping the waters clean

- You’ve been fishing out trash from the lakes in the Wild Area as part of your duties but you have no idea how she found out about it

- Lunch is delicious and you learn that Kabu is actually a pretty skilled cook. You pick up some tips from him along the way and generally have a good time with the three gym leaders

- (Kabu doesn’t say it, but he thinks Milo and Nessa have already decided to adopt you as their little sibling)

Bea + Allister

- Bea trains in the Wild Area every now and then. She’s always super focused doing drills with her team: running, lifting boulders, practicing her katas, and sparring with her Machamp

- You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that she can keep up with the superpower pokemon, like, sweet Arceus —

- Of course she’s more than capable of handling herself so you generally stay out of her way

- (Yes it’s a coincidence that you always seem to be heading in the opposite direction whenever you happen to see her. No she doesn’t scare you, what nonsense)

- Allister, on the other hand, likes to hang out at the Watchtower Ruins

- Golurk had wandered off from camp one night while you were preparing dinner and you’re out looking for it when you feel something grab the back of your jacket and yank —

- (In hindsight, Allister had only been tugging at the hem of your shirt but your nerves were at an all-time high and frankly you’re surprised the sheer volume of your scream didn’t immediately summon the rest of your team to investigate)

- Not too far behind Allister is none other than Golurk, who looks awfully gleeful watching the two of you scare a decade off each other’s lives

- The gym leader says he has a message for you from Golurk. It wants to apologize for giving you a concussion during that horrible battle on Axew’s Eye all those months ago

- You don’t blame it of course, you never did, and you feel bad that Golurk still harbors guilt over that incident

- Allister scurries away with a meek nod after you thank him and you resolve to give Golurk an extra large serving of curry later as it walks you back to camp

Opal

- The Wild Area may be your main base of operations, but that doesn’t mean you don’t take time to explore the other cities in the region during the off season

- Ballonlea is as mystical as they say; the pretty lights and glowing mushrooms really add to the whole atmosphere and you’re glad you made the effort to visit

- You’re about to trek through Glimwood Tangle when you’re approached by Opal, who’s just emerging from the forest herself

- Her intense stare sends shivers down your spine; she seems to be looking right into your soul, and you find yourself instinctively standing at attention as she scrutinizes you

- It feels like hours before Opal suddenly smiles, shaking her head and making her way back to the gym

- “Not enough pink,” you hear as she walks past you

- You can’t help but think you just failed some kind of test

Gordie + Melony

- Circhester is another city you’ve been wanting to visit for some time now. The Hero’s Bath is one of the hallmarks of Galar’s rich history and you hope to check it out while you’re there

- You decide to grab lunch first and treat yourself to a nice meal at a restaurant. Bob’s Your Uncle is highly recommended on Galar’s tourism page so in you go

- It’s hard to decide what to get; there aren’t many pictures in the menu so you end up looking around at other people’s dishes, seeing if there’s anything that piques your interest —

- When the waitress arrives to take your order, you lower your voice and point subtly at the table next to you. “Can I get what he’s having?”

- You’re surprised Gordie isn’t swarmed by fans while dining in public seeing as he’s pretty recognizable. He seems to be enjoying his steak though, so it’s worth a try

- So. Good. You can’t go back to curry anymore after this

- After that satisfying meal, it’s time to hit the Hero’s Bath

- Lapras’ pokeball rattles excitedly when you approach the hot spring (she can never resist a nice pool of water), and you try not to draw too much attention to yourself as you whisper furiously to her, promising her a long soak later if she behaves now

- There’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn around, ready to apologize for causing a scene, but the words get stuck in your throat when you find yourself face-to-face with Melony herself

- Winking, she tells you that her own Lapras is the same and suggests Circhester Bay as a relaxing place to let her out for a swim later

- You stammer out some form of thanks before booking it out of there in embarrassment

Piers

- It feels a bit like cheating when you’re watching a concert for free

- To be fair, you’re perched high up on one of the buildings in Spikemuth to avoid the mosh pit below and the music coming from the stage is somewhat muffled, so it’s not exactly a HD experience

- You bury yourself in Corviknight’s feathers for warmth as you hear Piers sing, bopping your head along with the melody and clapping instead when his fans scream and cheer in support

- It’s a nice way to unwind after a long day at work; Piers’ songs are a little rough around the edges, but they’re really catchy and they never fail to put you in a better mood. No wonder he’s consistently trending on Galar’s radio stations

- You freeze when Corviknight suddenly covers you with his wings. Trusting your pokemon’s instincts, you remain as still as possible

- After a minute or so, the giant bird nudges you onto his back and prepares for takeoff, flying you back to the safety of the Wild Area

- Neither of you realize that Piers knows you’ve been there all along, his eyes tracking Corviknight’s dark silhouette as it cuts through the night sky

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Wondrous Tails: Listening to Music / Polyamory Discussion

This is going to be my last official prompt entry for the Wondrous Tails of FFXIV event. It's been an absolute blast, and I suppose no better way then to cap it off on a dual prompt my bingo board just gave me. With my Bard. And the weird road he's taken to get here.

  Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers) Very minimal spoilers.

Notes: All characters are aged up. Mentioned possible poly relationship between my WoL and the twins. No, there won't be incest, ship what you like but I still don't think it fits the twins' personalities.

Also I have no idea how I keep writing from Alisaie's perspective but it keeps happening and I'm not even going to argue at this point.

  Her brother was hopeless in matters of love. It was something Alisaie had long known about him, especially after having to endure the misplaced affections of several of his numerous crushes in the Studium. But watching him around Alvaar was borderline painful by proxy at times.

She’d thought it odd, the way he had immediately excused himself from the lavish hall of the Canopy as soon as Alvaar had taken up his harp and the amused snort the Bard made as he left. Yet another inside joke between them it seemed, and again one she hadn’t the faintest what it meant.

Having heard Alvaar’s music many times before she knew it wasn’t that he was terrible. In fact, his cheeky quip of being a ‘Bard of Bards’ sounded fairly accurate as she’d seldom met anyone rivaling the pull and sway of that skilled tenor and accompanying harp. Music hadn’t been any form of her specialty or interest in her studies, but she knew enough to tell when someone was good. Hells any random passerby who stopped in could tell that he was exceptional. A fair few had even found a seat and ordered food and drink to enjoy while they waited out yet another of Gridania’s torrential downpours.

Perhaps it was given his long years as a Bard of battle, raising voice and lyre to inspire and weave bolstering magic with his allies, which lent a persuasive pull to his songs. There was a... sincerity, she supposed. Buried deep in every tune ringing off strings and lyrics resonating in his voice. Age old stories and memories wrapped up in each song and if she closed her eyes it was almost as if she could see them herself.

Far off battles for ancient kingdoms. The journey and trials of heroes. The giddiness of a wild flight through open skies. The sorrow and determination of a Queen of ice.

And though there was no trace of Bardsong in his movements, no telltale hum of potent resonance as he wove supportive spells, she could vaguely read a subtle shift of aether. Not enough to invoke anything, but there nonetheless, shifting about him as if charmed by his song.

It explained a great deal she supposed, if his regular singing could tune and prime surrounding aether. Several of his clever tricks and impressive feats in their adventures made more sense if that were the case.

But even if she enjoyed his songs, it wasn’t in her nature to sit idle while the sun was still up. Rising to her feet after an hour she made for the door. A bit of rain didn’t mean she couldn’t explore the indoor market space or perhaps brush up a few skills in one of the practice yards.

It was just as she was clearing the door that a familiar shock of white caught her periphery, surprised to find her twin on the porch still, seated against the corner of the building and sketchbook on his lap. For a moment she pondered leaving him be before discarding the notion. What was the fun of that? Much more interesting to find if he would be too absorbed in his work to notice her approach when she doubled back to try the south exit and creep up over his shoulder that way.

“From memory, dear brother?” she asked abruptly as she studied his half-finished drawing, smirking as Alphinaud startled and almost dropped his charcoal stick. And even if he quickly and quite huffily clapped the book closed, they both knew the damage was done.

“Invasive as ever, dear sister,” he returned flatly.

“You know Alvaar would likely hold still for a portrait if you asked,” she commented lightly, leaning against the corner wall, and crossing her arms over her chest with a smug air.

“It’s just practice,” he murmured. “Nothing I would need him specifically for.”

“Mmm. So why, if I may ask, are you seated out here, in less than ideal conditions, sketching pictures of a man who’s been sitting fairly still and inside with better lighting?” she inquired.

“I like the peace and quiet actually, and ordinarily the privacy, but it seems rather lacking in it today,” he clipped back.

“Funny, I can still hear Alvaar just fine from here. Almost uncannily so...”

At that he merely shook his head and stared out over the lake the Roost overlooked, expression pensive and clearly not in the mood for their usual banter.

“... You should tell him you love him,” Alisaie stated after a moment, glancing down to meet his surprised stare. “Oh please... I’m your twin. I know you’ve been enamored with him longer than I have whether you want to admit it or not.”

A soft noise left his throat, trying for words and clearly meaning to protest before breathing out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumping in defeat. It was probably one of the most miserable looks she’d seen on him in some time, and the notion of it grated on her nerves far more than she liked.

“And to what end?” he asked quietly. “I’ve no interest in hazarding the bonds we’ve built and driving a wedge between you and I, Alisaie. He seems quite taken with you, so I’ve no wish to jeopardize that for my own self-interest.”

“We’re casual. There’s nothing there for you to jeopardize,” the Red Mage answered simply.

“But you wish there were,” he returned promptly, meeting her gaze with a moment of resigned and knowing maturity.

It was enough to still her reflexive scoff and the lie that wanted to spring from her tongue. Damn it. Even after all these years he still had those moments of being infuriatingly mature. “... I do,” she answered.

“Then I’m not about to hazard that,” he stated firmly.

Sighing deeply, she lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose a moment. “Alphinaud... just because we’re minutes apart does not make me a child needing to be coddled from the world. Don’t sacrifice your own happiness because you believe mine more deserving. I’m a grown woman, I will be able to handle whatever he may choose.”

Silence filled the space between them, only accented by the hiss of rain and distant hum of harp and voice. Brow knitting in irritation as her brother continued to stay mired in his thoughts with no sign of changing his mind, she blew out a slow sigh for patience.

“Who’s to say he picks either of us anyway? .... Who’s to say he won’t pick us both?” she tosses out flippantly.

“Begging your pardon?!” Alphinaud blustered, staring at her in stupefied surprise.

Giving a one-armed shrug she gestured vaguely with her other hand. “I’m just saying that historically, things tend to work out where Alvaar is concerned. You never quite know how they will until they do, but neither will you find out just sitting around being miserable. And I’m not about to thank you for martyring your own feelings on my behalf, Alphinaud. You’re my brother. My twin. The one constant I can count on if no one else. If the world threatening to end several times hasn’t managed to change that, what makes you think the Warrior of Light could either?”

Glancing at him and the sincere surprise and sentiment in his eyes she looked away with a huff, resettling her stance to ease some of the embarrassment she was feeling.

“Do you mean that?” he asked softly.

“Of course I do and you know it. ... Besides, we’ve shared everything else most of our lives. If we could manage to handle sharing Angelo growing up, I think we could manage this too,” she reasoned casually.

“A dog is a far cry from a mutual boyfriend, Alisaie,” Alphinaud mumbled, face staining a bit red even just speaking of it.

“Well it would certainly make a more sensible reason for sharing the same house now wouldn’t it?” she teased, flashing him a grin at the inside joke.

Blinking at her in puzzlement for a moment, he finally gave a soft chuckle when it clicked. “You still remember that? Gods that was... over a decade ago now I think,” he mused tapping at his chin with a knuckle in thought.

“Of course. And I’m still just as intent on spiting that old bat now as I was then,” Alisaie confirmed.

She could still remember with perfect clarity the words Alphinaud had thrown back at their first instructor. An overly prim and proper Roegadyn woman who had picked and pried at them during and after lessons for always being together. ‘What will you do when you’re grown and married?’ she’d challenged them one day, haughty toned and dismissive as she’d stared down at them. ‘We’ll all live in the same house together of course!’ he’d shot back angrily, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. Because at the time, and to them, it was.

If they weren’t meant to be together, two sides of a coin, why be born twins at all?

Giving an amused snort at the memory she pushed herself upright fully and stretched. “Maybe we can get another dog too. That would be nice.”

“You’re serious?” Alphinaud asked, tone still wary with disbelief.

“Sure. If you pay for it, I may even let you name it this time.”

“Not about the dog, Alisaie,” he sighed, ruffling his hair in exasperation. “You know what I meant.”

“I meant what I said Alphinaud. If you can be fine with whatever outcome happens, I can be fine with it to. If he picks you, or me, neither of us, or even both of us. It won’t change anything between us,” she answered firmly. “But if you don’t tell him because you’re worried about me, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Sitting back against the wall, the Scholar made a slight face at the threat before he looked thoughtful instead of withdrawn. “I’ll... consider it.”

That was progress of some form at least she supposed, and that would have to do for now.

“Very well! But note I do demand payment for my invaluable advice,” she intoned haughtily, drawing herself up grandly before striding away. “Finish up that portrait and leave it in my inn room before sundown and I’ll waive my travel expenses too. If you need me, I’ll be in the markets.”

She didn’t need to look back to know the put-upon expression he’d be making. Just as she knew that half-finished picture of the Bard would be complete and on her bedside table when she retired to it.

    “Hey Ali!” Alvaar greeted her cheerily, face flushed from liquor and a slight slur on his words. He was sitting at a table when she arrived back to the Roost during sunset, leaned heavily against the furniture and various bottles littering around him.

“What did you do?” she asked flatly, hands settling on her hips as she surveyed the scene disapprovingly.

“Nothin! Just... playin and singin and need booze fer my throat,” he chirped, smiling brightly.

“And about drunk off your arse. Come on, let’s get you to bed, it’s getting late.” Stepping closer she moved to help him up but stopped when he pressed a hand to her arm and held fast.

“Nah... ahm good. Dun worry bout me,” he soothed, smiling warmly. “Help will be along soon. Always does when I stop playin.”

Raising a brow at him, she sighed and opted to humor him. While she could certainly haul him to bed with the wiry strength she’d gained with her growth spurt and years of Red Mage training, trying to force Alvaar into anything when he didn’t want to was a recipe for failure. And bruises, as she’d learned once before on accident.

Grabbing up the empty bottles she took them to the counter for disposal, perking up at Alvaar’s next enthusiastic greeting while the proprietress made off with the bottles.

“Hey Alphi!”

Turning to watch her brother finally make his appearance from the stairs, she stayed put at the bar and waited. Noting the way Alvaar brightened in that quiet way of his, nodding and answering whatever questions Alphinaud had for him. The way her twin’s expression softened with a lovesick fondness even as he fretted over the Bard gently while Alvaar leaned into him for support instead of the table.

A few years ago, she’d spotted the easy trust between them. How they could speak without words almost as well as Alphinaud and she could. The confidence in each other and way they both eased when together. It had been an alien feeling, vexing in a way she couldn’t describe. Half worried she was losing her brother, and half convinced the flame of a crush she’d held for Alvaar was already a lost cause.

In some way she still worried, but if the many years fighting side by side against the threats of Source and Shards alike hadn’t diminished any of the bonds between them and only managed to strengthen them instead, she told herself there was little reason to pay it much mind.

“Ah, that’s a sight I haven’t seen in some time,” the Elezen woman behind the counter remarked softly, drawing Alisaie’s attention for a moment. She was an almost plain woman, with cropped ashen brown hair and simple dress, but the air of gentle confidence and friendliness was refreshing in a city that tended to huff at outsiders.

“A few years ago it would be almost weekly they would be here, Alvaar entertaining my patrons until he could barely stand, and young Alphinaud finally swooping in to see him off to bed like clockwork,” she mused aloud as if to no one in particular. “Alvaar used to get so sad when he played late into the night after he went to Ishgard. It was as if the sound of a broken heart was on those strings. It’s so nice that his music has its joy again.”

Blinking at her quietly for a moment, she looked back at the pair with a small nod. “Yea, it is,” she murmured.

“And they’ve grown up so much over the years too. Why, I remember when Alphinaud was still almost elbow height! And he used to boss our poor Bard around all the time and Taelis would get so furious with him he’d stomp out at all hours of the day. Of course, at the time Alvaar barely said a word so it was definitely on his behalf… It took Alvaar so long to come out of his shell from when he first arrived here, a fresh young Adventurer looking to help people. Oh, but then there was that nasty rumor in Ul’dah that had them both taking refuge here years ago… and then a few months after that Miss Y’shtola was recovering in one of our suites. They must have been sitting out here together until almost dawn waiting for her to wake up. They’ve been through here so much I almost can’t remember all the tales I’ve heard accompanying each visit...” she mused aloud, voice cheerful as she spoke of days long past.

There were a few beats of pointed silence that stretched between them, both watching silently as Alphinaud gathered Alvaar’s things for him and pressed the Bards harp into his hands so it could be dismissed dutifully.

“They love each other very much I think,” the proprietress mused aloud. “You can see it plain as day in how they look at each other.”

Feeling her heart sink at the ease of that statement and the truth in it, Alisaie looked away, starting to move before the woman spoke again.

“I wonder what adventures he must share with you, Alisaie, for him to look at you so lovingly as well.”

Turning abruptly to stare at her in surprise, she tried for words a moment and only managed a flustered, “W-how?”

Smiling at her kindly the woman raised a finger up with a gesture of confident intuition. “A Mother knows many things. She can always tell when one of her children is so genuinely in love.” Looking back at the pair fondly she continued. “I have always dearly wished for the happiness of the many adventurers and aspiring heroes who have found their way through these doors. So please, I ask you and Alphinaud both to take care of one of my dearest sons, as I know he will take care of you.”

Studying the gentle and proud demeanor of the woman in puzzlement, she was interrupted from whatever she might have said in reply by a loud cry of, “Ali!”

Looking over she noted her brother’s quiet amusement as Alvaar waved at her energetically in his liquor fueled excitement.

“Come on time for bed! I’m not going without you I told Alphi so!” Alvaar announced loudly, shifting his stance needlessly given the Scholar was mostly holding him up at this point anyway.

“Yes, I’m coming,” she called, casting a glance at the proprietress who still smiled at her fondly. Unable to think of anything to say she offered a nod, quickly making tracks as Alvaar whined her name again. Sweeping up under Alvaar’s other arm, she helped Alphinaud to carry his weight towards the suites. “Come on you, that’s enough yelling. Let’s get you to bed,” she chided.

“Okay!” the Bard chirped overly loud again. “Goodnight Mother Miounne!”

“Goodnight Alvaar! Pleasant dreams!” Miounne called fondly, watching the three make their way off to the stairs.

“Yes, you’ve all made Mother very proud indeed,” she murmured to herself fondly.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: Chapter 10

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(on ao3)

Wei Wuxian.

                                 Wei Wuxian.

         We’ve been waiting, Wei Wuxian.

                                                            Do you remember, Wei-gongzi?

You can’t control it, Wei Wuxian.

                                                                            You promised.

              You promised, Wei-gongzi.

                                               Wei Wuxian.

Let us out.

                             Let us out, Wei Wuxian.

                                                                 Don’t you want to?

            Wei Wuxian.

                                                   Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian.

                                                                                  It’s time.

Half-spectral, ash grey—

“Wei-gongzi, please.” Blood on his teeth, an open grave empty of bones— Revenge— Don’t you want revenge? Wen Chao laughing, sneering; Wen Chao trembling, peeling his own skin off in bloody strips. “Do you know what it’s like to starve, Wen-er-gongzi? Do you know what hunger tastes like?” Tears running hot as fresh blood, broken fingers closing around a seething hilt. Resentment cuts through him, splinters bone and tatters veins. His heart thumps hollow with the two-beat rhythm of revenge. “Wei-gongzi, please, you need to calm yourself.” Calm yourself. Restrain yourself. Chenqing hissing under his hand. Of course they can attack him as they please, but when it comes to protecting himself, he must hold back, curb his strength. How fragile they are, these all-mighty gentry. How thin their pride, how feeble their strength. The crack of bone breaking, a punched-out gasp. A valley of undead swarming two golden sparks. Jin Zixuan swaying, surprise breaking bloody over his lips. “A-Li—” Wei Wuxian comes to in the feeble light of candles. A tear slips hot down his cheek and he doesn’t let himself brush it away. How obscene, how wrong, to feel sorrow when he’s the one who’s brought this down on all of them. He is the architect of their ruin and he has the gall to weep? Absurd. He’s been lying to all of them, pretending he’s anything but a weapon, trying to hide his sharp edges under the swaddling of smiles and laughter. As if he could ever be anything but what he made himself. He’s a demon with a smile, a curse in human skin. “Why?” he asks. “Why him? You could have killed anyone else — why did you have to kill him?” He sits up, somewhere outside of his body. Nothing hurts anymore. All those aches and old breaks have been replaced. Reverse ossification, where once was bone is nothing more than resentment, dark hunger swallowing him whole. He understands. His body is not his own. His hands close around Wen Ning’s collars, clenching the fabric as if to tear it off or fling Wen Ning away. Wen Ning puts up no resistance, uses none of that terrible strength Wei Wuxian forced onto him. “Why did you kill him?” he demands. “Why did it have to be him? What is shijie supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do?” “I’m sorry,” Wen Ning bursts out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” Wei Wuxian stumbles back, releasing him. Wen Ning is a weapon. Wen Ning is a blade in careless hands. He drags his fingers back through his hair, digs his nails into his scalp. “What am I supposed to do? Why did I choose this path?” he mutters, begs. “What on earth should I do? Who can tell me?” His nails bite into his scalp, blades of pressure against his skull. His body hums, sings, is brought to life with his grief and rage. Black sand scrapes through fragile capillaries. “What can I do?” he wails. “Who can tell me what I’m supposed to do?” Slipping down his skull, his hands clench around his hair, tugging, before they drop to fists at his sides. His own voice falls dead on the cave walls. There is no one here to guide him. He is alone, utterly and wholly by his own making. “Wei-gongzi?” Wen Ning’s voice is so tentative, hesitant and fearful. Fair, he thinks. Fitting. He remembers only snatches of the pass; he remembers enough. Fear, anger, blood, his own will rising like the tide and drowning out Wen Ning’s, the current dragging him under. Wen Ning had only ever wanted to be a cultivator and a medic, to make his sister proud and help his family. He’s only a kid — only nineteen when he died and only nineteen forever, trapped in a slipshod eternity. Wei Wuxian had thought he was helping when he did it — or was that only another lie he told them? He can’t remember his thoughts at the time, can only recall anger and grief and thrumming, screaming power. This is his own disaster. No one can fix this. His grief and panic cool, solidify like iron dropped in a bucket by the forge. Tempered, honed, he steadies. “Wei-gongzi, there is a message from Yunmeng. It came the night before last.” Wen Ning’s eyes are wide and worried; he watches closely even as he extends the arrow on shaking hands. Wei Wuxian takes it, and the spelled shaft unfurls into a small, tight scroll. He recognizes Yu Bujue’s hand, and before he has even read the first character, he knows the naïve hope that is to follow. ‘Da-shixiong, there will be an attack the day after tomorrow. All the sects have pledged forces.’ How innocent of a-Jue to think this warning would be either news or helpful. He’s always been like that, just enough younger to always seem a child even when he was fighting beside them in a war. Of course the sects are coming. Wei Wuxian has killed the heir of the Chief Cultivator himself. There is no other path they could take. “Perhaps if — if I turned myself in,” Wen Ning suggests. Wei Wuxian shoots a sharp look his way, silencing him. Wei Wuxian has done this. He started all of it, and he puppeted Wen Ning in the pass. He will not let another take his punishment. “No,” he says, straightening. He can feel the resentment now more than ever. It distorts his edges, blurs the boundary of his skin. His heart no longer pulses for his own blood but to set a steady beat for the burn-song replacing his veins. Every movement is a half-conscious command, a sequence of notes directing his limbs as Chenqing leads ghosts and ghouls. “No,” he says. “Leave. Go anywhere away from here, but do not turn toward the sects. There is a desert far to the north. Go there, go to the mountains, to the sea, but do not ever turn back here.” “Wei-gongzi—” Wen Ning protests. His dark eyes are wide and fearful. Wei Wuxian turns to him, crumpling the talisman scroll in his hand. Wen Ning’s throat bobs once before he squares his shoulders and faces Wei Wuxian stubbornly. “Wei-gongzi, I cannot leave my family,” he says. “I can’t leave you to face the sects alone. I did it, I was the one who attacked. Let me help you.” Help? What help will he bring but his own destruction? Does he really think there is any way Wei Wuxian will walk away from this? The end is here. There is no escape from the encroaching night. “If you won’t go on your own, I can make you,” Wei Wuxian says. His voice comes out cool and even, and Wen Ning flinches back. Wei Wuxian has always promised that Wen Ning was his own person, wasn’t a puppet, wasn’t just a tool. He’s made a lot of promises over the years. “Wei-gongzi—” Wen Ning starts, taking an uncertain step forward. “Wen Qionglin, leave this place,” Wei Wuxian orders. “Leave and never look back. I don’t need Chenqing to command you.” Some part of Wen Ning still seems to protest; his gaze searches Wei Wuxian’s face, begging, pleading. Wei Wuxian meets it, flat and uncaring. He promised Wen Qing he’d keep him safe. He owes them too much to do anything else. If Wen Ning will not save himself, Wei Wuxian will give him no choice. Wen Ning takes a faltering step backward. His face is so still, but there’s the faintest start of a frown. If he were alive, he’d be crying already. Wei Wuxian holds himself tight and still, strings pulled taut through the hollows of his bones. Wen Ning’s hands are shaking as he brings them before him, bowing low and solemn. “I’m sorry, Wei-gongzi,” he says and his voice trembles. Wei Wuxian doesn’t watch him leave, but he can feel it; the threads still connecting them, thin and stubborn, stretching farther away. He’ll feel it when Wei Wuxian dies. He’ll know when he’s free. Now, Wei Wuxian turns to his work. There are forty-eight of them living here. With Wen Qing and Wen NIng gone, that leaves forty-five villagers to protect. He doesn’t need to factor himself in, doesn’t need to calculate his own protections. That cause has long been lost. Everything is thinner, sharper-edged. He flickers on the threshold between realms, yin energy replacing his blood and bone. It scours the backs of his ribs, bites into the soft tissue still lingering like meat that hasn’t yet rotted from the bone. There were lessons Jiang Cheng took alone growing up, as sect heir, ones where Wei Wuxian would wait outside the hall and then talk them over with Jiang Cheng when he emerged. The duties of the Head Disciple weren’t limited to teaching, after all, even if that had always been his favorite. An attack on the Burial Mounds, on the Yiling laozu, will warrant full forces from all the sects. Now, he sketches rough estimates of the army coming for his head and prepares. The Jin sect will be the greatest force, both because they are the most offended and the most powerful. Next, the Nie sect — martial and brutal as their sabers. The Lan sect will hold back a little, still nursing wounds from the burning of Cloud Recesses; like Yunmeng Jiang, they haven’t fully replenished their numbers. He draws in a steadying breath. Yunmeng Jiang will bring the smallest force, but they won’t be able to winnow their numbers in his favor without risking the sect itself. They will come to fight, even if they don’t want to. He calls up disciples’ faces, draws up his shidis and shimeis, Yu Bujue and the new swordmaster Cao Xingtao. He pictures Jiang Cheng. The Burial Mounds have always liked him, ever since they tugged him down the first time. It reminds him a little of the lakes of Yunmeng, how he’d been able to feel the living energy swirling and flowing around them. The lakes had always pulled to him like the tides, ebbing and flowing, giving and releasing. Every Jiang disciple knows the harmonies of the waters, recognizes the disturbances caused by common problems: water ghouls, drowned spirits, and the like. The Burial Mounds are not so forgiving. The dead do not love by halves: they are made of hunger, of want. He’d bartered and bargained and dealed the first time to make them let him walk away. They’d resented having to give him up even temporarily, jealously clinging to this new song he composed from their screams. There are no concessions this time. He will not walk away. They give back fully, energy rushing up to greet him with seething delight. The qin-wire strings of his existence resonate with the force. There are no more lines between them anymore. He is the Seal is Chenqing is him. The Burial Mounds open up and welcome him. He cuts into his palm and begins painting. The array will be a focal point, the center of his force. The parched stone soaks in the scarlet of his blood, the thick lines spreading into the cracks of the rock. He chooses carefully, selecting with intent. Amplification, exclusion, repulsion. He is his own arsenal; he arrays his forces in the patterns of talismans and wards. With each cut, each stroke, he feels the resentment take firmer root. A spreading snarl of roots knotting through his chest, wrapping around and cracking open bones. The voices are louder now, shrill screams echoing in his ears as if reverberating through his own hollow shell. A bitter wind scourges his skin as the Burial Mounds opens itself to his crooked hands. “Wei-gongzi?” Popo and Uncle Six stand side by side, shoulders curled as if they’re only barely keeping themselves from cowering. Popo’s veiny hands shake where they’re clasped before her ribs. “Wei-gongzi, how can we help?” Uncle Six asks. They are so frail before him, so small and fragile. He can feel their qi, dull and quiet against the raging resentment all around them. Only the faintest brushes of yin energy shadow their own souls; they are peaceful people, gentle. They don’t have that shuddering quake to their bones. “Go inside,” he says. “Close the doors and do not open them. No matter what you hear, do not come outside.” Uncle Six swallows, shaggy brows furrowing as if in worry or perhaps fear. Popo reaches out a shaking hand but pulls back before touching his sleeve. “Wei-gongzi,” she says gently, “your eyes…” Her hand creeps back to curl close to her chest. He does not feel regret. They should have known from the beginning, should have been better warned of the monster walking among them. Wen Ning was never the one to fear. “Go inside,” he says. There’s a long hesitation before, finally, they give little bobbing nods. He can feel the rest of them watching, the uneasy shuffle into their hard won homes. The houses are small and flimsy, put together with hard work and meager materials. There are no wards that can make the dark wood stone, but he can seal them once they’re closed. It will be something at least, a barricade of broken table legs. The sects have their swords and spiritual weapons, but they can still bleed. A hundred thousand needle pricks can drain an elephant. Drawing out the Seal, he picks up Chenqing and begins to play.   The screaming night of the Burial Mounds and the yin energy of the Seal have always been of two different fabrics. They share the common thread of resentment, but they’ve been woven in separate ways. Where the Burial Mounds is raw, unfinished grief and rage, the Seal is refined and condensed, a purer form of resentment. Ghosts and spirits are drawn up from their shallow graves in the Mounds; the Seal gives power with nothing but corrosion tagging along. Chenqing sings for them, drawing and plaiting them together. She hums with this overload of energy, this sudden flood soaking into her wards and walls. She was forged here, too; she carries the Burial Mounds in her edges the same way he does. The boundary is reinforced, then new walls of protections pulled up. He plays new seals into being and builds up walls of the living dead. The spirits echo his own music, and the notes reverberate through the Seal. Each passage, each resounding chorus, strengthens and solidifies the spells. “Xian-gege?” The voice is thin and frightened as it interrupts Chenqing’s dirge. Playing out the last notes of the spell, he lowers the flute and turns. A-Yuan stands at the edge of the array, his little shoes just shy of the blood. A paper butterfly is clutched tight to his chest, wings crumpled in his small fist. “Xian-gege?” he says again. “A-Yuan,” he says, lowering Chenqing. It takes him a moment to recall the name, to draw up the identity of the child before him. The resentment stirs, uneasy at this interruption, but recedes enough for him to reach out a hand. “A-Yuan, why are you outside?” The doors have already been sealed, blood painted in tight arrays along the walls. He could feel the huddled bodies behind them, the fear marinating in their four walls. “Xian-gege, I’m scared,” a-Yuan says, tears bright in his eyes. He can feel it, sublimating off his little frame. He’s not steeped in it, but it’s wound into the young fibers of his core. Resentment in the form of his arms circles around a-Yuan, pulls him up to rest on his hip. The boy nestles in close, his heart racing rabbit-like under his skin. He can’t feel his warmth anymore; there’s a gap between sensation and his soul now, the chasm filled by the prickling dark. “Xian-gege, will you sing for me?” “Of course,” he says. He hums as he walks, a melody untouched by the writhing anger around them. It rises from deep inside him, slips between the shadows of his shattered soul. The spirits do not touch this song, do not attempt to echo its refrain. This is his his his. It is a last bloom on a mountain of ash. They will not taint it. A-Yuan hums along, holding tight to his collars. He’s so little still, small for his age and always skinny. They’d given him extra portions whenever they could, everyone slipping something off their plate for his, but even still, there has only ever been so much to go around. Now, he fits easily in Wei Wuxian’s arms and hardly weighs anything at all. “I need you to be good, a-Yuan,” he says. There’s an old tree at the edge of the clearing in which they made their fragile home. Black rope-work scars it, and the bark peels back from the gash of the lightning strike. It’s an old wound in an ancient tree, and the edges have been worn smooth by wind and rain. “A-Yuan will be good for Xian-gege,” the boy promises solemnly. He offers up a smile, hopeful, even as his big brown eyes are dark and worried. Settling him up in the hollow, Wei Wuxian smooths back his mussed hair. “Be good and stay quiet,” he says. A-Yuan bobs his head in a nod. His little hands fold tight around the butterfly, clutching it close to his chest. “And a-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian says, “don’t look. I need you to promise me.” There are tears gathering in his eyes, his brows pinching toward each other in distress. Wei Wuxian cups his cheek with his palm. “Xian-gege, are you going away?” he asks. Wei Wuxian swallows, hums an affirmation around the knot in his throat. It was easier moments ago, when he was alone in the storm welling up inside him. So much resentment has threaded itself through his skin that he hardly remembered who he was if not an extension of the hurt and rage of this place. “Xian-gege, please don’t leave,” a-Yuan says, fat tears welling up and breaking. “Please don’t leave. I’ll be good, Xian-gege, I’ll be really good.” “Mm.” Wei Wuxian clears his throat and leans a-Yuan’s head forward to brush a kiss to his forehead. “It will all be alright, a-Yuan. I promise.” “You’ll come back?” Such a small voice, already breaking. Wei Wuxian settles him, smooths flyaway hairs where they’ve slipped from the tie. It’s only one more lie. “I’ll come back,” he says. “But you have to promise you’ll be quiet and you won’t look. Alright, a-Yuan?” After another tremulous pause, a-Yuan nods. “A-Yuan promises,” he says. A smile flickers on Wei Wuxian’s lips, shaking even as he suppresses it. It’s quick work to ward the tree, to seal it against the coming attack. Cruelty, even in this — to imprison the boy in an unmarked tomb. Perhaps his spirit will forgive him. He’s always been a kind boy, quick to forget his own tears. It’s too much to hope for, but it’s the smallest wish he can make. Perhaps, in another life, he’ll have the chance to say ‘I’m sorry.’ For this life, there is only so much he can do. Turning from the tree, he walks back to the center of the clearing and raises Chenqing once more. There are still a few loose ends, unraveled edges of wards. The corpses shuffle closer to the edges, congregating on the border toward Lanling. The Seal, still halved, hangs suspended at his sides. It hums, all hunger and thirst. Its filigree burns, rings with the white-hot heat of want. Sibilant words sing out from it, memories and reminders of the power that it holds. All he has to do is fit both sides together, slot them into place, let the power flood him. How strong they’d be if only he let them. He holds off. Perhaps some stubborn hope still lingers where he thought he’d drowned it. Maybe it’s Jiang Cheng’s insistence that they can figure it out; maybe it’s shijie’s assurance that the three of them will be together. He doesn’t really want to die, even if he knows he’s long past living. If he connects the two halves, it will be surrendering any hope of return; he will be lost in a way even death can’t fix. He’s been planning to destroy the Seal for so long, he knows the process by heart. If he can only get through this — if he can just hold off the sects and keep the Wens safe — then he’ll break it apart. He’ll be done. At least he’ll be able to do that one last good thing. He just has to hold on a little longer, dig his fingernails in and cling to his fraying control. There’s a ping against the wards, the first sign of an approach. It hums through him like the echo of qin strings in a cave. Reverberating through his chest, it’s caught and overwhelmed by the tearing sensation as the wards are broken. Pressure mounts, spiritual energy a rising crescendo against the seething resentment called up around them.

Closing his eyes, he lifts Chenqing and begins.

[lily-valley-games]

Reader, if you would know of the Forbidden West, there are none more qualified to be your teller than I, the Considerate Udain, healer of Blazon Arch. Why? For I yet live, unlike the outlanders who gasped or shrieked the tales that follow. Foolhardy blazons and madcaps all, they were brought to me near death, poisoned, mortally-wounded, or driven witless by what they had experienced in the lands beyond the Daunt. With such wounds, it was all I could do to ease their pain and try to make notes from their ranting. As the Sun shines upon me, I cannot vouch for the full truth of these tales. I only hope they will satisfy your curiosity, and turn you from the path that led these imprudent explorers and daredevil trekkers to their deaths. Though each account differs, it is certain that the Western lands are most unlike our own. Some crossed deserts of palest white, others deserts the color of fire, or even limitless sweeps of blue sand that seemed to reflect the sky above, broken only by the remains of ancient machines. Others spoke of vast prairies of tall grass, each blade sharp enough to draw blood, dotted with shivering black flowers. Or incalculable plains of dried mud, cracked like a great mosaic. At night, unknown animals watch with glowing eyes, and strange birds, all the colors of kites and fireworks, chitter and call out in men's voices! Most extraordinary of all are those reports of a lake one hundred times the size of the Daybrink-- so wide the far shores cannot be made out, and so deep that an entire city of the ancients stands drowned within. The water is sour to the taste, and sickening, and it is said to rise up and push back against those who attempt to cross. It would seem that dead cities without number have been consumed by the shifting dunes in the West, their skeletal towers mired in seas of sand. The wind is heard to sing a low, mournful song through these ruins, or through the skeletons of vast metal birds now fallen, or over great metal bowls now filled with depths of black water, where fish dart like shooting stars. That song of ruin, rising from a hum to a howl, still haunted these men and women as they thrashed and sweated in unquiet sleep. But though the Western lands are harsh, and even their beauty hides dangers, it is not the land alone that swallows up all who venture within, that inflicts the brands and wounds suffered by those few fortunate enough to return. Oh yes, all have spoken of new machines in the West, machines more strange and terrible than any found in the Sundom. With their fingernails, dying witnesses have scratched out impossible shapes, or, if they still possessed several limbs and vocal organs, mimicked jerking movements and imitated awful sounds, all belonging in the throes of madness. And what manner of men can live where the Sun goes at night? These tales were the most chilling. One spoke of drinkers of machine blood, their lips and tongues stained, their teeth replaced with metal. Another described youths as pale as ash, all wearing the same faces, who hunt silently and tirelessly in the night. Still another told of a tribe, seen only from afar, whose folk busied themselves digging deep pits in the sand only to fill them in again for unknowable reasons, while another tribe was only glimpsed on the waters of a great lake, riding their thin dark boats. O Sun, a half of me regrets scribing these stories, for they inspire questions that can only be answered by yet more doomed expeditions. And yet, I must tell the tales, for what else remains of these poor and wretched men and women? If they sought riches, they found none to bring back--nothing save a handful of black silt, or a curiously-stamped piece of metal, a chunk of desert glass with shifting hue, or an odd smooth shell. I have kept all these things, to remind me of those who went in search of the forbidden, and paid for it dearly. Reader, if you think yourself an adventurer--heed the warning in this old man's collection of strange, small things, and go not into the Forbidden West!

Scanned Glyphs -  Blazon Arch (HZD)

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Ghanima Music Drabbles

This is a warm-up I like to do. Here are the rules:

One fic per song.

You write that fic only while the song is playing

When the song ends, so does the story.

You cannot edit while writing the fic, only after all the songs are done.

Do at least 10 songs, at any length.

I did this for Ghanima so I can share more of her. Music is from Pan’s Labyrinth OST, a total of 21 songs and 21 fics. Not sorry if I make you cry.

You can read this on AO3

Song: Long, Long Time Ago 2:11  

She remembered her mother’s humming. Late at night, when she was cold and alone, she could hear it as though her mother were still holding her. The song put her to sleep within a minute, as she  was rocked in her mother’s arms. She couldn’t remember her face very well, but her eyes. She remembered those eyes looking into hers as she fell asleep. Blue as the sea, deep and bright in the dark of the night. She would  look into   them and see her own as she fell asleep to her song. So long ago...so  very long ago.  

Song: The Labyrinth 4:07  

Along in the dark. Any other time, any other day, it wouldn’t bother her. But she  couldn’t see the walls, couldn’t feel them, and the echo came back so lonely. Where was she? She didn’t dare pace, there was no telling how lost she was. A light! Better than remaining cold and alone. She followed the light, step after careful step. A rock, the sound of it rolling, as she kicked it in her movements. The light never faded, it kept going, at pace with her. Was it waiting for her? She rushed a little more, eager to not be alone in whatever this place was. Now she ran, following as the light turn a corner. No slipping, just running. Faster now! Her lungs were burning in the cold of this place. She grew closer to the light and saw a figure. It was holding the light, or was it the light? No sounds but what she made. She kept going as it turned again, rushing after it now. No thoughts but to reach it, no time to think. Keep pace, keep your steps. Reach it! 

Song: Rose, Dragon 3:36  

She looked at the dress on the stand. A gift, a sick gift she wanted to burn. It had his signature all over it, no doubting that. Why would he send this? Now, of all times? Anger burned inside her, made worse by the breaking of her heart. She had just put the pieces back together, and now her she was, staring at this thing. She laid her hands on her belly, then balled her hands into fists and let them fall to her side. The dress was a wedding dress, of all things. It appeared to  be made of magic and flowers, of wind and spring breezes. The train of the skirt was several meters long, heavy with the flowers. The bodice deep and the middle...no thought for her belly. He  didn’t know, she never told him. She had planned on it, but then he changed all that. He still  didn’t know, probably never  would. She set the dress on fire and watched the ashes fall.  

Song: The Fairy & the Labyrinth 3:36  

“If you were here, I don’t know what I would do. I would rage at you, scream at you, wish you dead. I would cry, beg you to tell me why you left, hope for an honest answer. Were you ever honest? I like to think you were, in moments between lies and loathing. I loved you, love you, want to love you and be loved  by you. Would telling you about the pregnancy have changed anything? I don’t  know. I’m afraid of what your answer would be. Would you have poisoned my tea, just enough to end this life we made?” She stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, imagining Solas somewhere out there, listening to her. “You lied. It was all a lie. I loved you as I never dared love anyone. To be that intimate with anyone was forbidden by my clan. I told you this! I broke the rules because I fucking could, it was my right. Now here I am, shunned by my Keeper for daring to be my own.”  

Song: Three Trails 2:07  

She listened with full attention, to every word, every nuance, every shift of tone. I will be a better Keeper. All of nine years old and here she was thinking herself more.  

She watched with full attention, to every movement, every change in breath, every shift of body. I will be a better Keeper. All of 15 years old and here she was, knowing herself to be more.  

I am a better Keeper. All of 35 years old and Keeper of so many.  

Song: The Moribund Tree and the Toad 7:11  

Steps light, soft, hand on her waist, hand on his shoulder, a sharing of hands and touch. Around and across the floor, skirts flowing around her, his eyes never leaving hers. A moment together in the crowd of mannequins. The only living, the only moving, the only ones really here. No one else in the hall, no sound but what they made.  

They didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Here they were each other and themselves. 

In her youth, she loved to dance. The soft and slow, the fast and burning, but never so intimate. Those dances were as ritual as this, but a different kind. Drawing power and connection, certainly, but in completely different worlds.  

Different worlds. Was that what it is? She lived in so many. The world of the Inquisition throne. The world of the Winter Palace and The Game. The world of war room with all the choices and none of them what she wanted. The world with her companions, and each of those worlds different. Some brought together as pieces to create a world among many.  

But not this world. This one was where she could be herself, where she could be with him. Let them  guffaw, let them cover their mouths with their fans as they whispered. Leave them to their sad little world where they locked themselves in cages and claimed to sing freely.  

Here she was as free as she was trapped. By his grip, his eyes, his smile. The promise his breathing told her. A promise of later, of a much later, and more after that. A world in waking, in sleeping, in between.  

What would happen if all these worlds met? If any of them simply vanished? She let the thought pass, giving it no piece of her mind as it flitted away like a rumor.  

Song: Guerrilleros 2:08  

The place was as alien as any she could imagine. Too much structure, too much stone. No life, no growth, just cold and snow.  

She kept her distance, observing as the Keeper had instructed. Never interact, keep away, watch  and learn.  

Except she couldn’t. The stone was cold under feet, and something was wrong. She felt it in the air, a wrong magic, a twisting that burrowed into her mind.  

She followed it.  

Song: A Book of Blood 3:49  

Giggling was the first thing she learned not to do when playing this game. It gave her away, and that would mean death for her. She learned to breath  just right, to keep it slow with her heart. The hunter cannot know the prey is so near.  

Sprinting was the second thing she learned she must do to win this game.

Sprint when spotted, do not pause. Run as fast as you can and zig-zag, never a straight line. Some may have bows and a straight line is easier to hit.  

Jumping and reaching was the third thing she learned. There are  nearly always   perches to grab hold, be it trees, a wall, anything. Move up, always up, and then over when you  can’t go up any more. Zig zag and keep the breathing controlled.  

Closing her eyes and trusting her ears was the fourth thing she learned. Her people’s eyes reflect the light, and always her people  are found. Be as a cat, if you must, but do it from down low and  squint to keep the eyes smaller. Better to be blind and hear instead.  

Hide and Seek is never a game. 

Mercedes Lullaby 1:37  

She held her daughters, one in each arm, swaying back and forth. So tiny, so very tiny. Three days of labor and a pair of twin girls. It had been hard, but she refused to let go. Now, alive, she holds them and sings the song her mother gave her. They slept as swiftly as she had.  

The Refuge 1:34  

A tree is a good place to hide, especially in summer. The leaves obscure everything, especially when the right clothes  are worn  . Never too shiny, never too dull. Remain still in a way like a tree limb. Blend in so well your eyes are that of a predator.  

So young and so well learned in survival. Hear the silence and up you go.  

Not Human 5:53  

She was an observer first. Learn the field, any battle. That’s what it was like with the  Orlesians. She couldn’t  even think of them as people, not with their ridiculous masks and behavior. Always thinking themselves clever and sly, but the  subtlety was more blatant as a fart in a chantry. Yes, that’s what they were to her. A stink in a room she didn’t want to be in. Their whispers were loud as wind on a poorly sealed window. Creators, why couldn’t just shut up for one fucking minute? She wanted to leave as soon as she saw them, but knew she couldn’t. This a battlefield and they must never believe they have the high ground, not for one damn moment. She put on the mental armor, ready for war, armed with everything her Keeper, companions, and advisors had taught her. She left her opponents afraid, sometimes more socially wounded than they thought they could recover from, and often receiving the respect they never wanted to give in any situation where they didn’t win. Yes, it’s better this way.   Watch them  squirm and writhe.  

The River 2:52  

She lounged on a warm stone near the creek, on her belly, head resting on one arm as the other hung down far enough she could dip her fingers in the water. Birds sang, the halla grazed nearby, and she could hear her clan at work. But today was for herself, a gift from the Keeper for paying better attention during lessons.  

The sun was warm on her back, as was the stone she rested on, feeling like home. It was a home she vaguely remembered, from before she was made   part of this clan. What were her people called?  

 A Tale 1:53  

In a tree overlooking a lake, she sat with the quiet of the night. The Keeper had told her this was her clan, to never ask of where she came from. Those who had come with her, from home, were now banned from speaking to her and sent to other areas of the clan. Their skin was like hers, why couldn’t she know why it was so different from who they were now?  

Deep Forest 5:48  

Run! That was the only thought in her mind. Humans never came so far in the Woods! This what’s their place, never was, and now they chased her. She yelled at her companions to run faster. They couldn’t fight like her, but they could run faster. Up! Go up! They leapt, just like they  were taught, and up they went. Leaping from limb to limb, high as they dared. An arrow shot up at them, but missed and hit and branch. She was behind them now, and she was okay with that. The men would be a nice meal for shadow cats that lived here. She went off one tree and to the next, leaping as best to could, and caught an arrow in the calf. It hurt, Creators, it hurt! But she didn’t release the branch she caught and instead pulled herself up.  

Never pull the arrow, and break it if you must. That’s what she learned from the hunters. If it went through, try removing the head first. Humans didn’t seal the tips on well. Leaning on the trunk, well above the humans and out of sight, she gritted her teeth and twisted the tip while holding the arrow. It hurt, and she saw stars, but it came off. The end was smooth, pull it out, and bind with what you have.  

The humans were yelling, shooting aimlessly.  

She pulled out the arrow out and pulled the bindings on her legs tighter. Would she be a shadow cat meal too?  

Vals of the Maldrake  3:41  

Beaches of red sand, warm sea water hitting her feet. She kicked her legs and the water sprayed. A squealing giggle came from her as the hand hold hers tightened a little. Jump, pull back, stay a little longer. They did and she splashed more.  

The cliffs were back! The big hill with rocks and sand, then up and flat so high they needed rope and wood. She didn’t was so sleep, so tired. Kicking is hard work. Strong arms lift her up.  

The Funeral 2:46  

She watched her girls play in the hall, giggling and laughing, Iron Bull on the flooring reaching for them. It made her smile, seeing them like this. He didn’t   know a thing about raising children, and had been so afraid the first time he held them. Now at  almost two years old, Iron Bull is playing with them rough as he dares. The jump on him, knocking him to the ground. Limp, dead, and the girls go to investigate. She remembers feeling this, a long time ago, and hopes her daughters remember it always.  

Mercedes 5:37  

She had refused the bed at the Winter Palace. All the running around, finding every passage, every hidden door, she  couldn’t feel safe enough to close her eyes. Thankfully her advisors agreed it was too dangerous. At an inn now, with Solas beside her, she was still on edge. Was this place filled with hidden ways? Were the walls hollow? It made her skin crawl, thinking someone could watch them, come in while they rested, and kill them. She felt safer in the damn  bog   than she did here.  

Was that a footstep? Yes, but outside the door and down the hall. Creators, she was not going to sleep. Solas shifted, pulling her closer to him. He wasn’t   asleep, eyes open and aware. No assurance he gave her helped her relax, not a damn word. She got plenty in herself, stating how ridiculous this is, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling they were watched.  

Then the sun was up, Solas holding her and keeping her safe.  

Pan & the Full Moon 5:07  

Sleeping was different now. It took only one attempt and she had crossed into the waking world of the Fade, shocking Solas and setting off a new path she hadn’t expected. It was motivation beyond necessary to learn this skill. How much could she learn in these dreams? The Redcliffs were what she didn’t   want to learn, but she knew it was necessary. Know the history was what her Keeper taught her. Solas guided her when she stumbled. Here were her people, the memory of them, ghosts. Then it was the building of the castle and village. There was hope, and she saw it  was made of a little boy. The hope became pain and was gone, replaced by betrayal in the shape of a woman. Solas had told her all stories have many sides, she learned all the sides. The little boy, she knew his name and what it meant to many people. The woman reeked of betrayal and fear, of losing what she loved. Then it got ugly. Creators, how could this happen? Keep your own emotions under control or you’ll change the narrative. Watch. So, she did.  

Ofelia 2:20  

The flowers on the cliffs were bright orange and full of warm. She plucked a few with the long stems and gathered more as she walked on the wood and rope way. Never take too many; they must be able to return. A thick bouquet of orange was growing in her hands, and when she was  satisfied, she sat on the landing with hammock and table. It had taken practice, but now she could make a good crown of sunset.  

A Princess 4:02  

She held her head high when they could see her. Especially on the throne. A casual position had become difficult in recent months, with her belly swelling like it was. She felt the kick when she set her hands on it.  

The humans from Denerim had arrived today, dignitaries and bureaucrats. At least they were visibly honest. They weren’t even a little bothered by the pregnancy, unlike the Orlesians who implied she was a whore who had better learn to be careful. These humans brought a small trunk with gifts. Blankets of soft warm wool, a mobile to hang over the basinet, some wood toys and soft dolls. It was a formality, but it was honest.

Pan’s Labyrinth Lullaby 1:52  

She hummed the song to Cullen several times, to comfort him when he didn’t   suspect. He was a good human, a good man, with a past he couldn’t forgive himself for. The addiction didn’t help. So, she gave him a song.  

Then she needed comfort and he gave it to her by violin. Her mother’s song made solid for her.