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celtigxr · 3 months ago

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THE PINK DREAD - CH. 22 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: It's Maiden's Day. The Royal Conclave has officially begun with guests from all four corners of the Realm gathering into the Grand Hall for the first Ball of the season, where all the Maidens will be presented. Word Count: 5651 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Misogyny. Religious themes.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Maiden’s Day had begun shortly after the arrival of the King and Queen. The last three days were a flurry of last minute preparations. All the unwed ladies of the Realm were being prepared to don their white gowns, displaying their virtue on their sleeve, so they may all crowd inside the Great Sept atop of Visenya’s Hill and pay tribute to the Maiden.

In the Celtigar apartments, bodies milled in and out of the room with tailors and seamstresses alike. Valeana already had a dress made for herself, which she had done moons ago for Maiden’s Day. Though, at the time, she believed it would have been celebrated at Claw Isle, like it was every year for the past decade. Her sisters were a different story; their dresses were commissioned prior to the funeral, and they were now rushed to adjust days before the event. In comparison, they were plainer than Valeana’s, who had the time to stitch out every detail, but they were still lovely and extravagant, as all Celtigar women were known for.

Floris’ was a shockingly pearl white gown with a modest boatneck neckline, and tight wrist length sleeves. The neck, arms, and hemline adorned with the same damask embroidery stitched into it, with small quartz crystals polished into teardrops dangling along her neckline. Her hair was pulled away from her face, parted down the middle, flowing down her back with only a single braid woven down the middle. Any stray hair would have been held back by her crescent white hood that had a white veil hiding her brown tresses.

Shyla’s was an alabaster white, with a scoop neckline to accentuate her beautiful neck, and capped sleeves. She had more of an empire waistline, allowing the skirt to flow freely with its light tulle curtains. There was less detail in hers, but there were pearls woven into the skirt sporadically, like white stars on a canvas of clouds. Lastly, she wore lace gloves, a matching pearl choker with a ruby at the center, and unlike Floris, all her hair was piled up, topped with an albino peacock feather.

With her extra free time, Valeana was able to put her full attention on the dress she had promised Queen Alicent she would make. She had already presented the queen days prior to her departure with sketches of her designs, and Alicent had only responded with requests for minor changes. She did not wish to be scandalous, but she did want to make a statement. The design she chose would be tedious, but Val enjoyed the challenge. Rosy, her ever loyal handmaiden, was always there to assist with her mistress’ work. She had helped many times in the past, which has aided Valeana greatly when it came to multiple gowns for multiple occasions… Which she would likely need these next couple of moons.

She had a lot of work ahead of her, particularly her own gown for the Creature’s Ball. She had no ideas for herself, and that made it all the more difficult to start. Her hands moved along the soft fabrics that her mother had brought over from Claw Isle and bought in King’s Landing market places. All colours of the rainbow were presented before her, in various shades and saturations. From brilliant cobalt blues, to muted lavenders, to rose blush reds, to even unflattering palettes such as mustard yellow, mourning black, burlap sack brown, and salmon pink.

Maiden’s Day started painstakingly early as everyone got ready, aside from the men who did not need to don their formal attire until later, just before the ball. Valeana strapped in her more formal prosthetic, the one she affectionately called “Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby”, who had a wedged heel to accommodate the height of her wedged shoe. She always preferred this prosthetic over “Lady Footlyn”, it was more elegant, and walking in it felt more natural, but the caveat was that it wasn’t as worn in as she would have liked, and it would always have to be worn with a wedge shoe on her other foot. The increased height made it more difficult for her to stand for hours now that her right foot was made to bear the brunt of her weight on the balls of her feet. Still, she loved the way it made her hips sway side to side.

Her large ivory gown was pulled over her head, and pooled at her feet with its scalloped hemline. Out of the three dresses, Valeana’s was the only one with colour. Maroon embroidered roses were designed in the grand width of the gown, standing tall on their stems like an award winning rose garden. The same pattern was centered on her bodice, the bud of the rose centered between the width of her breast, and the bottom of the stem ending at the ‘V’ shape at her waistline. Her biceps had the same design as well, although more subtle, taking the snug shape of her arm until it got to her elbow where it flared out in delicate lace. Then, as always in Celtigar fashion, pearls decorated the dress all over, accentuating lines to give it more texture.

Valeana’s hair took the most amount of time. As long and thick as it was, it took two handmaids to tend to it. They pulled and pinned until it became a single large braid, the knots loosened elegantly, and decorated with sprigs of baby’s breath. Mother wanted it to be put up, but Valeana argued that the weight of her hair would cramp her neck.

Wheelhouse after wheelhouse left the Red Keep that morning. When they reached Visenya’s Hill, it was crowded with carriages, horses, and women in white. Hundreds of maidens gathered into the Great Sept, leaving behind their mothers, their aunts, their fathers, and other guardians behind.

Only maidens were allowed to fill the halls of the Great Sept that day.

In silence, Valeana and her sisters entered the massive structure. It had been a decade since she last saw it and it never ceased to amaze her. The domed ceilings were so high that you could hear a whisper of a prayer from the other side of the Sept. Her eyes roamed around, looking at unfamiliar faces of women and girls alike. From girls as young as three, to spinster women as old as 60. If you were never married, and never laid with a man, you were here to worship and honour at the feet of the Maiden.

She did not see Ellyn and Wylla in the crowd of white, and she ended up losing her sisters in the shuffle of the crowd. Not wanting to waste time on finding her people, she decided to take place in the first empty space she could. She immediately spotted one on a pew next to a young woman in a frost white gown, hair a beautiful red orange that was laid in waves down her back and plaited into a crown adorning her head. She was on the robust side, with rounded cheeks, a wide waistline, and soft arms. She reminded Valeana a lot of her former younger self, but admittedly this young girl was far more prettier, more vibrant.

“Do you mind…?” Valeana asks the girl in a whisper. No one dared to raise their voices while the Septas filtered through the crowd with vulture-like awareness. Every once in a while, they would ring a bell when someone was being too loud.

The girl looked up with surprised sapphire blue eyes, then she relaxed with a kind smile, “No, not at all.”

Valeana settled in beside her, and took a look around to see if she could spot her sisters, or her two only friends, Wylla and Ellyn.

“Looking for someone?” The girl next to her asks.

“Lost my sisters in the crowd,” she admitted. “Trying to spot my friends, but… with everyone wearing white, they all blend in together.”

The girl softly chuckled, then quickly covered her mouth, “Same thing happened to me, but with my cousins. I have no sisters, just too many brothers.”

Valeana smiled in response, “Who are your cousins?”

“They are Lord Tyrell’s daughters,” she answered simply, then extended her hand. “My name is Lady Catelyn by the way. Catelyn Redwyne. But you can call me Cat, everyone does.”

Valeana took it and they both shook gently, “Lady Valeana Celtigar.”

The mention of her name caused the young girl’s brows to raise and her mouth to gape a bit, “You’re Valeana Celtigar?”

The octave of her voice was loud enough for a Septa to sharply bring a bell in their direction. The two girls looked over before hunching down and continuing their whispers.

“Erm, yes. How do you know me?”

“Your name is spoken all over the pavilions,” Cat whispered in haste as she took a glance around to make sure no one was listening. “They say King Viserys’ two eldest sons are fighting over your hand.”

A deep blush stained her cheeks, “That isn’t… That’s not what is happening at all. Are people really talking about me? I haven’t even left the Keep since I arrived.”

Cat nodded eagerly, “It is all the ladies are talking about. That and your… uhm, many drunken exploits with men.”

“What!?”

The bell rang next to her ear, jostling her in her seat. When she turned around, a Septa was glaring at her with a twisted puckered face. Slowly Valeana turned back around.

“It was one time,” she immediately corrected. “And I was in the company of women.”

“Well, whatever the truth of it is,” Cat started, a little smile at the corner of her lip, “You are creating quite a stir in the Realm. It has caused a divide between the ladies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Half the women wish to end you, and the other half wish to be you. Either way, all here are green with envy.”

“And which half are you, Lady Cat?”

She smiled sweetly, folding her arms on her lap demurely, “I am a fan of great romances, and therefore, a fan of you. It reminds me much of this novel I read whilst living in Highgarden. It is about a woman from the North forced to marry a Dornish prince, but fell in love with his brother. But she ended up falling for her betrothed too, after some time. It was quite riveting.”

Valeana’s face was fully pink at this point, from outrage over this news, to flattery over Cat’s praise. At this odd book that sounded far too familiar for her liking. She cleared her throat, “And–and what happened… in the end?”

Catelyn sucked in her lips sheepishly, “Oh, I dare not say. Not here, not on Maiden’s Day.”

Valeana shot a look at the giant statue of the Maiden, whose feet they all circled. Then she looked back at the Redwyne girl, “Whisper it into my ear.”

Tentatively, Cat leaned over and cupped her hand over Valeana’s ear, “They both became her lovers. Often at the same time.”

If it was possible, Valeana’s face went pinker. Her eyes glanced back at the Maiden, green eyes filled with religious guilt.

Maiden, forgive me for my thoughts. She thought, swallowing thickly.

The Great Hall was near its capacity with the collection of noble families that crowded it. Hundreds if not a full thousand people mulled around, mostly men as half the population of their guests were making their way towards the Red Keep from the Great Sept. Aemond lurked in the fringes of the hall, eye moving along to each faceless body, trying to identify who belonged to which family. He spotted Lord Borros immediately; he was an easy character to pick out from the crowd, and it was not because of his size. He was loud and tended to take up as much space as possible. Along with him, he found Jason Lannister, their Lord Treasurer’s twin brother. Lord Tyrell and his Dornish wife, the Redwyne brothers, the Starks, the Freys, and even the Greyjoys were in attendance.

Aemond knew that most would not stay longer than the length of the Tourney; it was not just wives that these bachelors looked for, but titles and knighthoods, of which the King promised. But there were many bachelors indeed, easily identifiable by their attire.

The maidens wore white, and so did the un-affixed men, save for the widowers. The young men and boys that had not married once wore various shades of white doublets and jerkins. Their breeches are generally a darker colour, and a formal cloak of their house colours framed their bodies.

Aemond abhorred the colour white on him, but at the very least the dark forest green of his cloak gave him the depth of darkness that he preferred. The lapels and stitching of his satin jerkin carried the same green, and in the same shade of white, dragons were embroidered onto his shoulders and the bottom near his hips. His cloak hung on a gold chain clutched in the jaws of two dragons at his shoulders. His eyepatch was the only black piece of clothing on him; it was his most formal one, with swirly switching in the leather. The strap this time was tucked under his hair and under the shell of his ear on one side, giving room for the golden circlet above his brow, showing his status as a prince of the realm. Lastly, part of his hair was intricately woven into a series of plaits that collected into a fishtail braid that went down the center of his head, the length of the rest of his hair fanned over his back like a sheet of silk. The process of which was irksome, as Aemond absolutely loathed anyone but himself and his mother to touch his hair.

His eye fell onto Aegon, who wore similar garb, but held more gold than green on his doublet. His hair was only half pulled back into a small twisted plait on the back of his head, and the circlet that rested on his brow had emeralds encrusted around the gold rim. He kept himself busy with socializing, as that was what Aegon was known for. He surrounded himself with the team of Redwyne brothers, laughing loudly over goblets of wine, likely made from their wineries.

Aemond moved his attention away from him, landing onto his uncle who was on the other side of the hall, keeping to the fringes just like him. Daemon wore black, whether by a personal preference or to convey the fact that he was still in mourning. It was likely the former of the two, knowing his uncle’s reputation. Daemon’s cloak was black as well, though the inside was blood red, making the Rogue Prince look like the Black Dread in human form.

And of course, Daemon was looking directly at him.

Aemond kept his eye on him, refusing to move it an inch.

It was always so strange to him that he and his uncle had not formally met at Leana's funeral, and even after the incident, no regard was spared. Daemon lurked in the shadows while his mother screamed for justice over Aemond’s eye, and not once did the Lord of Flea Bottom say a word about him claiming his late wife’s dragon. It wasn’t until only a couple days ago that they had even locked eyes with each other, after Valeana and Jacaerys greeted each other.

It was bizarre. Like looking into a mirror that showed him his future.

The staring contest broke when Daemon was joined by his step sons, oblivious to Aemond’s spectre on the other side of the Great Hall. Both men wore identical garb, save for their colouring. As heir to the heir, Jace wore a red cloak, draped over one shoulder, being held on by a silver dragon’s claw. His brother wore a muted aquamarine one, and his doublet had the image of the seahorse woven into patterns at his breast. With Lord Corlys still abed with no indication of survival, Luke’s choice of colours was a clear statement that he was the heir to Driftmark… But anyone with eyes knew the title belonged to Lord Vaemond Velayron.

The doors to the main entrance opened with the blaring of trumpets announcing the arrival of the maidens. A hush went through the crowd as all men, and married and widowed women flanked the sides in order to make room for the ladies that would be presented. The first, of course, was Princess Helaena, who was dressed resplendently in a true white gown with a train that followed behind her. Her hair unbound, with a crown of white flowers upon her head. Her dress had little crystals woven into the hems and linings, and the shape of butterflies could be seen in the fine embroidery. Her sleeves were long and billowy, flowing into her skirts and covering her arms and hands completely.

It was painfully obvious how nervous and fretful she was. She slowly descended down the wide staircase, eyes flickering around the crowd as her eyes shone with a glossiness of unease. Helaena was not good with crowds, and here she was on display for the entire Kingdom. Aemond made a step towards her, intent on collecting her from her personal hell, but his mother beat him to it. She swiftly cut through the crowd that parted and bowed for her. Upon reaching Helaena, she took her hand and silently pulled her through the crowd towards the head table where the royal family would be seated.

After that was settled, the gently bred ladies were introduced to the room three to four at a time. There were the Four Storms, the Baratheon sisters, then Jason Lannister’s girls, and so forth. After a lady Redwyne and her Tyrell cousins were introduced, the names of Floris, Valeana and Shyla were announced, and Aemond snapped to attention.

“Lady Floris Grafton, Lady Valeana Celtigar, and Lady Shyla Celtigar,” the announcer’s voice echoed in the hall. Aemond’s eye swept around for a moment, noticing some of the women whispering to each other as they craned their necks to watch the three girls descend down the stairs.

Aemond tried to appear impartial, but his body moved without his consent. He stepped in between bodies, forcing them to part with his shoulder. When people craned to see who had been cutting through them, they jumped aside. Had Aemond been paying attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed he was not the only one that filtered through the bodies to get closer. Apart from him, there were three others.

Valeana had her hands clutched in her gown, chin down on her clavicle as she watched her steps down the stairs. Her hair practically glowed in the midday sun that shone through the skylight and stained glass windows, giving her a halo of dust particles dancing around in the air about her head. Aemond has never seen her in white before, at least not from head to toe. She was radiant, like a star on earth.

A divine creature descended from the Seventh Heaven.

The Maiden in flesh and bone.

His eye trained on her every movement, his vision a tunnel and she was the light at the end of it. She was the only thing that existed in that room, in that world. Once she reached the ground, her eyes lifted and like a magnetic force they immediately found him.

There was a ringing in his ear as he became deaf to everything and everyone around him. They were suspended in time the moment their eyes locked onto each other. Aemond’s lips parted as the breath was quite literally stolen from his lungs, and his life flashed before his eyes. All moments in time that he shared with her, as far back as babes.

Squeals of laughter and delight as they played in the rain and mud, and then ran through the corridor tracking dirt on the flagstone, being chased by two irate Septas. Sitting back to back in a copper tub as the same two women scrubbed them down to their bones.

Wrestling over the last lemon tart on their shared platter underneath the Heart Tree, getting tangled in the roots as they tugged at each other’s hair and pinched each other’s arms. They always ended up splitting it in the end when Valeana tapped out, huffing in disappointment and ignition.

Their “discreet and secretive” sleep overs they would have under a large desk in the royal library. Sharing a large pillow and blanket as he practiced his Valyrian to her until she fell asleep on his shoulder. Maester Artos would always find them, barking loud enough to wake them in a startle, causing their heads to bump into each other.

Her face lighting up whenever he presented her with menial gifts, such as shiny rocks, seashells, flowers, or rusted jewelry found on the beaches of Blackwater Rush. She would always make something out of them; pendants, earrings, or unconventionally sewn in an embroidery loop, woven in her art for eternity.

She running to him in tears after the Greyjoy boy kept on pinching and slapping her behind whenever she had her back turned. He had taken his handkerchief and dried her tears and smoothed down her hair, vowing that he will never let him touch her again.

And then lastly when his father told him he would be marrying her, his best friend. And his one and only weakness. His pride and fear consumed him then, but now…

Now, as he watched her turn away, her hand poised out to grasp the hand of her elder brother, he was consumed by a new type of fear. The fear of losing her completely, of which his pride now would not allow.

Valeana Celtigar belonged to him.

As time took motion once more, the chorus of music and chatter filled his eardrums. Aemond was returned to reality, left to stare at her back as Clement brought his Valeana over to the side, where the rest of her family waited. Aemond forced himself to turn away before he could do anything rash in front of quite literally all of the Realm.

The first dance of the ball was to begin shortly after the mingling of guests, and it would be followed by the feast, and a parade of fools and entertainers. Aemond intended to reach Valeana before the dance could begin, before Aegon or Jacaerys could reach her. He cut through the crowd in long strides, hyper aware of the eyes of his father, mother, sister, and rogue uncle upon him as he narrowed the space between himself and the Celtigars. However, before he could even get within yards of them, his path was intercepted by Lord Borros and the eager brown eyes of Maris Baratheon.

“Prince Aemond,” The Stormlord greeted, his smile calculated and false. It didn’t reach his dark eyes, which assessed him with keen suspicion. “I thought you might have lost my beautiful daughter in the crowd, and so I personally escorted her to you.”

Maris looked up at her father in gratitude before back at Aemond, “I told my father it was my wish to take my first dance with you, Prince Aemond. If it pleases you.”

The reality of his decisions of the past few weeks weighed heavily on his shoulders in that instant. Since that moment in the corridor with Valeana the other day, he had forgotten he had shown personal interest in Maris Baratheon. By now Borros surely was already fixated on the idea of betrothal, else he would not be here carting his daughter to him like a sacrificial lamb. More likely than not, the Stormlord surely had talked to the King about it already, which presented more problems. Had this been a week ago, Aemond would have only hesitated for a moment before bending to duty, should it have been the will of his father and mother. Both of which he knew were against it for some vague reason, given the lecture that was given to both him and Aegon the night of their return.

His eyes flickered above their heads where he could just about make out Valeana, standing partially behind the body of a girl with red hair and a round, plush face. Aegon and Jace crowded them, effectively snuffing out his chance at claiming Val’s first dance.

Aemond’s jaw was tense when he looked back down at Maris, but he forced himself to smile, just enough to make him look convincing.

“It would please me greatly, Lady Maris,” he extended his hand to her, which she took with a bright smile and casted a look to her father over her shoulder.

Lord Borros hummed satisfyingly, “Wise choice, my Prince. Next to my little Floris, she is the best dancer at Storm’s End. Beauty, brains, and grace!”

“Father! Please!” Maris chided, taking her place at Aemond’s side. Too close for comfort. Too close for him to look detached.

Separating himself from Maris now was going to be a challenge. The last thing he needed was contention with Borros Baratheon, when in the future his mother and grandsire may need his loyalty.

Aegon was well into his cups before the maidens arrived for the ball, and that was simply due to his nature. A man who quickly found friends among strangers, Aegon was by all accounts a social butterfly, and an avid social drinker. When the maidens started to enter the Great Hall, he leaned against a large pillar casually next to Redwyne brothers, as the four of them each judged every girl that walked in.

“Ah, Cassandra Baratheon,” Aegon turned to the three men, “Beautiful, but a bore. She complains about every bloody thing.”

“That is unfortunate,” Cleyton, the eldest, tutted. “I like tall women.”

Aegon scrunched up his nose at that, “Do you really? Not for me. I like them short… easier to align their nose with my cock.”

The men laughed and turned back to the parade of women. Jason Lannister’s daughters came in after, hair like spun wheat and looking like clones of each other.

“I’d take them all, one at a time, or all together, really,” Ser Cedric, the second son, giggled into his cup while his younger brother slapped him in his arm.

“Such a pig, Cedric. A greedy pig,” Colin chided, earning him an incredulous look from Cedric.

“You’re one to talk, baby brother. You were ogling the widows like a hunger panged hound.”

Cleyton leaned into Aegon’s shoulder, “He likes older women.”

Aegon’s shoulders shook with a soft laugh, “I do not blame him. Older women often make the most eager sluts.”

“Lady Wylla Stark, Lady Barba Bolton, and Lysara Karstark.”

“Oh, now she is a work of art,” Cedric stepped forward, his hand gesturing to the raven haired woman descending the stairs. “I always thought Northern women were large, hairy and had beards. Thank the Seven I’m wrong.”

“I’d be careful with that one,” Aegon said thoughtfully. “She will emasculate you with her eyes alone.”

Cedric smirked widely, “Sounds like my kind of woman, then. I enjoy a good hunt every once in a while, you know?”

Cleyton snorted, shaking his head, “You forget she’s a Stark; a direwolf. She’s the hunter… And you are a pretty boy with a long stick and shiny hair that you spend too much time on.”

The boys laughed, even Aegon, as Cedric shook his vibrant mane away from his face haughtily, “Thank you for calling me pretty, brother. You know how it gets me hard.”

“Good gods,” Colin sighed embarrassingly into his palm.

Then the doors opened to three women, two tall and willowy with dark brown to black hair in coiled curls and thin braids, and the third a shorter girl in an empire waistline dress and bright orange hair tumbling about her shoulders. Clearly a chubby one, even with the cut of her dress that tried to shield her unwanted curves.

“Oh, that is simply not fair,” Aegon tutted, “You don’t pair up the thoroughbreds with the mule.”

“Oi, careful now,” Cleyton rebuked while Cedric made a sharp hissing sound through his teeth before covering his grin with his fist.

“That’s our sister, my Prince,” Colin quickly added.

Aegon grimaced, sucking at his teeth as he casted a look over to his new mates, “Sorry. What I mean to say is: Your sister is very lovely.”

The girls were introduced as Lady Sharis and Malora Tyrell, and Lady Catelyn Redwyne, first cousins likely from their mother’s side of the family.

“Lovely, sure,” Cedric snorted in his cup, earning him a quick whack from his elder brother upside the head.

It was not long after that the Celtigar sisters were introduced to the crowd. The mere appearance of Valeana was enough to sober Aegon, but only to then get drunk at her visage after.

“Oh, ho, ho,” Cedric dog whistles and nudges Aegon’s arm, “That’s her then? The Celtigar girl that’s gotten the Princes of the Realm all in a tizzy. Now I can see what the fuss is all about. It’s the only bloody thing Cat, Shar and Mal can ever bleedin’ talk about.”

Aegon grinned, eyes still glued onto Valeana as she descended down the stairs slowly, her sisters trailing ahead of her at a faster pace.

“The whispers have reached the pavilions then?” Aegon’s eyebrow raised, not paying them a minute of his attention. His teeth grazed his bottom lip as his eyes drank in every inch of her. Her neck, her hair, her bosoms and her cinched waistline. He felt a stir in his loins and the overwhelming desire to taint her white dress by deflowering her took over his senses.

Her maidenhead will be his.

He stopped listening to the Redwyne brothers; their prattle was background noise to him as he swallowed the remains of his goblet and quickly shoved it into one of the boys’ empty palms.

“Excuse me,” he pushed himself from the column, eyes trained on Valeana as she parted from her family to go converse with none other than Catelyn Redwyne, of all people.

As he made his way through the milling bodies, in the corner of his eye he could see another filtering through towards the same destination. His eyes caught his nephew’s, and with a dual glance back at Valeana, the race was on. The two princes cut through the crowd, causing curious looks and shocked whispers at the sight.

“Seven Hells,” Valeana startled when she turned around just in time to see the brown and silver haired princes all but collide with each other. Overwhelmed by the sudden attention, she put Catelyn in front of her to shield her. The redheaded girl did not seem to complain.

“Good Maiden’s Day, Lady Valeana,” Aegon greeted first, a knowing smile upon his face. “You look resplendent today.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” Val curtsied stiffly.

“I dare say she always looks resplendent,” Jace smiled, his hands folded neatly in front of him, “But, you do look exceptionally more today, Lady Valeana. White suits you.”

Aegon sent him a withering look.

Catelyn turned to Valeana, all wide eyed and gleaming with barely concealed excitement. Aegon didn’t see, but she mouthed: “Three princes?!”

Valeana’s eyes widened slightly at her before returning her attention to the men in front of her, “Prince Aegon, Prince Jacaerys, this is my new friend, Lady Catelyn Redwyne.”

“But, please call me Cat. Everyone does.”

“Ah, yes, I was just acquainting myself with your brothers,” Aegon bobbed on his feet and smiled politely at her. “Lively lads, them. It is true what they say about the Redwynes; they can drink anyone under the table and still walk in a straight line. A talent I someday wish to have.”

Cat giggled, then gave a soft snort, which caused her to blush heavily and cover her mouth, “Oh! Oh, dear, that was embarrassing.”

Aegon hummed amusingly, smile still donned, “Aren’t you a darling. If I can make a lady laugh to the point of snorting, then I have succeeded in life.”

The four of their heads perked up at the sound of lutes and drums, signalling that the first dance was about to begin. Aegon turned back around, eyes finding Valeana’s His mouth opened, ready to ask her for a dance, but Jace was quicker and his request left no room for refusal.

“I promised Lady Ursula that you would be the first I asked to dance, Lady Valeana,” Jace stepped forward with an extended hand, his smile charming, “I hope you do not do me a disservice by forcing me to break that promise.”

Valeana swallowed, looking at Aegon briefly with pained eyes, and then back at Jace. The corners of her lips tugged upward, twitching as she tried to keep a polite face.

“Well, I would never wish to disappoint my mother,” she placed her hand in his, and he gently pulled her into his orbit.

Aegon glowered silently, nostrils flared as his finger curled into fists. Jace gave him a smug look of triumph, the end of his lips turning into an insufferable smirk before returning his baseborn brown eyes onto Valeana. She gave Aegon one last look before she disappeared onto the dance floor.

“Strong bastard,” Aegon hissed, forgetting he was not alone.

Catelyn laugh-snorted again, then promptly covered her mouth, eyes wide with realization. “Oh no, I should not have laughed at that.”

Aegon’s mood significantly shifted; his smile broadened as he turned to her. “Oh, but I am glad you did,” he tilted his head and offered her his hand. “May I have your first dance, Lady Cat?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE SNEAK PEAK He hummed, his eyes glancing down to the floor where her feet were hidden behind the hem of her dress, and then back up. “I didn’t see you dancing.” She couldn’t help her eyes from narrowing, “You were watching me?” There was a faint smile there, one that she could not decide if she liked or not. Though what he said after did make her toes tingle and her face feel hot. “Always.”

Notes: Oh, where do I begin. You finally get to meet my other babies. If it wasn't obvious already, the heroine for Aegon's Spin Off story has been introduce, along with her brothers and cousins. They party hard at the Arbor, what can I say. I havent decided yet if I'll wait until the end of TPD to post his story yet, but I will warn you guys, that there will be a mia moment of no updates for probably two weeks as I try to work on both of them simultaneously. I've only written the prologue, and I need to make sure I get the timeline right. But that will probably not happen until sometime in November.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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quellawrites · 2 years ago

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the rainbow on your lips

Grief, Hob finds out, is bright yellow.

He would have expected it to be a sickly grey or the darkest black, and perhaps, if it were, it would have been a little more bearable.

He’s at Dream’s wake and everything is coated in a brilliant, devastating yellow. It’s the colour of ripe lemons, of sunflowers in full bloom, infinite like a field of corn bathed in sunshine. It creeps in every thought, in every crevice of his heart, in every vessel of his body, until it’s all Hob can feel.

In the days and months that follow, it invades Hob’s life like broad strokes on a clear canvas. Sometimes, at night–when Hob dulls it with the best whisky he can find–it fades to a pale yellow, like a patch of sunlight on the carpet filtering through a window.

It always returns to its previous brilliance in the morning.

----

Comfort has the colour of a lilac bush, with its pretty little flowers all clustered together, their delicate petals unfurling like a lover’s embrace.

Hob leans into Death’s hug and his world bursts in shades of lavender, violet, and amethyst, soothing his soul like a balm.

“There might be a way to bring him back,” Death says, and hope blossoms in Hob’s chest, slow and tentative, vibrant red like freshly spilled blood. “But it won’t be the same.”

He won’t be the same, Hob reads in her words and sorrow paints his senses in a pale grey, the colour of a dove’s feather.

He swallows and thinks about Dream’s pride, about his single-minded intensity, about his Endlessness. “Only if he wants to,” he says, and these five words cost him everything he has.

“He might not want to,” Death answers, her voice low and kind, pink like a rose petal.

Not even for you, Hob hears beneath her kindness, and he’s terrified that even their budding relationship won’t be enough to get Dream back. Though, he knows it’s a chance he has to take.

He nods and fear spears through him, vivid green and sour like a lime.

---

Happiness bathes the world in orange hues, like the flames of a bonfire.

Dream stands in front of Hob, as thin and pale as ever, his beloved face twisted in a little frown that Hob yearns to smooth away. When his eyes land on Hob, his lips tick up into a tentative smile, a smile that stokes the flames of Hob’s happiness until they shine as bright as the sun.

“Dream,” Hob breathes, and reaches out to grasp Dream’s hand. It is solid and warm and lovely against his own.

“I do not,” Dream says, and his voice is deep and rich just as Hob remembers it. He pauses, swallows, and his fingers tighten around Hob’s like a vice. “I am afraid I cannot claim my old name any longer.”

You’ll always be my Dream, Hob wants to say, but he suspects Dream might not yet be ready to hear it. “Morpheus, then?” he offers, and squeezes Dream’s fingers back. I got you, his touch says.

Dream smiles and it’s soft and beautiful and bittersweet. “Morpheus,” he agrees, and he may not be Endless anymore but his eyes still hold galaxies within their depths.

“You’re here,” Hob marvels, reaching out to cup Dream’s face. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Dream says, leaning into Hob’s touch, and he looks so vulnerable that Hob wants to gather him in his arms and shield him from the world. “Though, I am no longer who I used to be.”

“You are in every way that matters.” Daring, Hob leans over and places his lips over Dream’s forehead in a soft, tentative kiss. Love blossoms through Hob in blue waves, like a raging ocean, cresting at the deepest blue and settling into the pale calm of still waters. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his own feelings, Hob whispers, “I can’t believe you really came back to me.”

“I found I could not leave my loved ones, if given a choice,” Dream murmurs. “Even though I must now learn to navigate the intricacies of this new form.”

Hob pulls back to look Dream in the eye and he’s not surprised to see fear and insecurity flicker over Dream’s face, a muted palette of greens. Immortality means Hob has had to go through important changes in his long life, and has had to weather many storms of his own. Throughout it all, he’s always had Dream, his only constant in a sea of never ending transformations. Now, it's Hob's turn to help Dream through his own storm.

“Then you hold onto me,” he says, and pulls Dream into his arm, cradling the back of his head. His fine, impossible hair slides through his fingers like silk and Hob could weep at the feeling of touching it again. “And we get through this together.”

Dream rewards him with another of his tiny, precious smiles. “Together,” he says, and the single word settles beneath Hob’s ribcage, warm and comforting.

Hob leans over, and their lips slot together with the ease of an old habit. It’s slow and tender and like coming home but also dizzying and all-consuming like their first kiss. Fireworks explode behind Hob’s eyes, in a colourful whirlwind of love, hope, and happiness, washing out the lingering yellow tinges.

He’s not such a fool to believe the road ahead of them will be smooth and painless, but as long as he’ll have Dream with him, he’s going to do his bloody best to make it work.

#dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #warning for temporary character death #mari rambles

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demonologistfucker · 4 years ago

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MC wants to meet some Creatures - Obey Me! Brother’s - Fluff

Gn!mc asks one of the brothers to take them to find a magical creature. This is for the main brothers, but if people want one for the newly datables just ask! I would love to do more <3

Lucifer

Is Cerberus not enough? We can go down and pet him if you like

It’s going to take some convincing to get this trip to happen. Needlessly risking the human's life just to see something neat? I think not

But your eyes were so big when you asked… fine. He’ll find something worthwhile that isn’t going to get you killed

Prep for the trip is Lucifer covering you in about 50 different protection spells.

Then you’ll be flying. Hold on tightly and try not to look directly into the wind. That’s not good for your human eyes. Lucifer’s arms are firm around you as his wings stretch out. With a push you’re off. Being lifted from the ground purely from the strength of his wings? It’s an undescribable feeling.

Soon you are out of the Devildom and flying above the Hell Wilds. A vast landscape of all sorts of terrors. From red grasses that could cut through bone, or the vast tar fields that bubble toxic gas. There is a beauty to it. Especially if you are safe above it all.

A large canyon comes into sight. “This canyon was cut by Lotan’s first rampage, and where Levi made Lotan his pet.” Lucifer begins to descend. Swooping down in a tight spiral to slip into the canyon.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then you can see something glowing. Many somethings glowing. They crawl over the canyon sides. They are nothing like you’ve seen before, but if you were to pin down to something earth like… they are most similar to sea slugs? But they have legs and bright, piercing eyes. With beautiful fins running down their back. Each looks to be a droplet of a rainbow.

“Gems left in the earth can collect enough magic to come to life.” They have no name, but they could fit in the palm of your hand. Tho please don’t touch they are highly condensed magical creatures and could shred your human body without meaning too.

Mammon

“Can I trust you?” He looks at you with surprising serious. Though he’s scratching his chin which makes it a little hard to take him seriously. When you say Of Course, Mammon quickly cracks into a grin. “Alright, give me a day, but-” He just starts nodding and runs off. Delighted with his own idea too much to tell you more

The Next day you meet Mammon outside the house of lamentation. He is already in his demon form and has a large sack in his hands. Which appears to be full of weird trinkets and a whole lot of grimm.

Where are you going? The Hell Wilds. Which is… so unhelpful because the Hell wilds are nearly infinite.

Mammon scoops you up bridle style, and then you’re off into the air. Mammon cannot stop smiling, “I haven’t taken anyone here before.” He mainly says this too himself. But looks at you with so much delighted you can’t help but blush.

This would be a much longer flight if Mammon wasn’t so good at using the air currents to his advantage. Diving to catch the updraft that send you both rocketing through the air. You’re at not risk of danger. Mammon wouldn’t let that happen to you, but it does feel like a roller coaster. When you level out, you’re facing a dark mountain. It cuts into the air with jagged certainty. Mammon lands halfway up its sides.

“She doesn’t like it when I fly into the nest. So we’ll have to walk to the rest.” If you ask any questions about what is happening. His response is a grin. “You know how Crows and I get along? Well… this is where that started.”

The mountain is only partial rock. The rest is ash, twigs and mud stuck together to keep the mountain from falling apart. Crows and ravens sit perched along the cliff sides. Some crows come flying to the mountain with fresh mud to repair parts of the mountain. The dark birds watch you and Mammon with intense, unrelenting eyes. Mammon smiles to them, and carries on with ease.

The path winds up to a crack in the side of the mountain. Mammon gestures for you to wait outside while he walks in first. You can hear something massive stir. The rustle of feathers and the scratch of claws against stone. Then Mammon pokes his head out and beckons you in.

Curled within the mountain is a great beast. It’s hard to tell one part from another because she is massive, and her dark feathers blend into each other. Her head is stuffed into the bag Mammon brought. When she sits up, she has a golden cup in her maw. The Crow Drake is stunning and terrifying. Her eyes are molten red, and her teeth cut through the gold.

The Crow Drake is the matriarch from all the crows and ravens in Hell. When Mammon was young, he fled to this mountain and was given a drake’s comforts. As well as his first crow familiar.

She reaches up to get a good look at you. Her beak pressing against you. Nudging you around and bringing her eyes right up to yours. Then she sits back and let's out a satisfied sqwaks. Mammon is about to say something when the Crow Drake leans over and picks him up by the collar of his jacket. Mammon is plopped onto her soft back, and she begins preening his hair. Making little noises every once in a while. “I know I used too much conditioner, stop harassing me” Mammon is blushing fiercely.

Levi

“Gah! Why can’t Lotan be more gentle.” Levi really wants you to meet Lotan, but it’s highly likely that Lotan would try to kill you the moment you met. All the photos of Lotan have been just… blue scales, or a big eyeball.

But Lotan is one of many Sea serpents. Actually, there are all sorts of magical creatures in the sea, and Levi is going to tell you about All of them. While he tries to figure out how to make sure you can breathe underwater.

“I am not allowed near the merfolk palace though, so... Can’t take you there.” If pushed on the matter, he will turn red and stammer about how Lotan just wanted a snack.

He found a spell! He’ll need Solomon’s help, but it should give you 24 hours of breathing underwater. Now it’s time to go into his tank.

Did you assume that he just had a normal wall sized fish tank? Of course not. The back wall has been turned into a convenient portal to The Ocean. It’s not an earth ocean, and hell doesn’t actually have a lot of clean water. This Ocean is an in between realm that connects to the abstract of earth’s waters, and all the magic that one could possibly find in those depths.

At first Levi gets distracted showing you all the fish. Look at the coral! And the trigger Fish! Oh, what a pretty anemone. He’s so caught up in showing you around that he’s not even embarrassed to be holding your hand the whole time.

Levi is such a strong swimmer he barely even notices dragging you along with him. His tail easily propels you both forward, and with great agility he can swim through the coral reefs. Then you hit the edge. Suddenly there is a vast nothing below you. Light fades below.

Down you go! It would be more unsettling if you didn’t have leviathan right besides you. Who is practically vibrating with his excitement. Underwater Levi looks so much more comfortable. Moving with such ease and without any hesitation.

You can feel the water begin to shift as something Massive approaches. Levi pauses and let's out a trill. Which is met by a deep noise that rattles your bones.

Red is a hard color to see in the deep ocean. Not enough light in that wave length can reach that far down. So at first it’s just a dark dot in the distances. Then it’s brilliant red head comes surging towards you. The water rushes around as the sea serpent begins to swim in a spiral around you and Leviathan. Leviathan is beaming and spinning around to keep up with the Serpent’s face. Letting out happy trills sporadically.

Eventually the Sea Serpent settles down and lets its body relax out. The Serpent stretches out so far that it’s back fines look so small. Yet their face is larger than a bus. The Serpent looks at you for a long while, and then it flicks it head upward. Which makes Leviathan blush a vibrant red.

She approves

Satan

Satan needs two weeks to prepare! But he has an idea. How do you feel about sewers?

“The Devildom aqueducts are actually one of the cleanest places in hell. It’s really an astounding work of engineering-” he goes on for a while about all the intricate workings. Seems there is a lot of plant filtering the waters, as well as creatures that can digest what the plants can’t process.

Satan gives you one of his books of magic. “I am their friend, but if you want them to accept your presence, it’s best to provide a gift. To show you mean well.” Unlike the others, Satan will give you a heads-up on whom you’re about to meet. Though, he gives the explanation as you’re walking towards the sewer’s entrance.

“Their name is Elos, and they are one of the oldest chimera’s alive. They were created in less than stellar circumstances, but handled it rather well.” By eating their creator. “Now they used the leftover alchemical equipment to do their own studying, as well as keep the aqueduct ecosystem in balance.”

The entrance looks like any other sewer grate in a city. Satan can easily move the heavy cover off, and watches as you begin to climb down the ladder. Satan closes the cover as he starts his descent. The sewers are Massive. The tunnel is about 20 feet wide and 20 tall. A perfect circle, except for the walk ways going along the side. A sort of seaweed is growing at the bottom of the waterways. Little fish duck in and out of the waving reeds. Further in more plants grow along the side. Some areas have full banks that cover the waterways. You can also see long claw marks running along the sides of the tunnel. As well as the residue of a recent magical explosion. “Hmm, looks like Elos got annoying company.” Satan smirks at the blast marks.

One of the original designers of the sewers was the grand wizard who made Elos. So there is a laboratory at the dead center of the sewer system. If one were to look at the blueprints, you’d be able to see a magic circle drawn by the tunnels. Well almost one. Those plans were later worked over to fix the functionality of the sewer system for the devildom. Elos didn’t want to do any city wide magic, so they aren’t really upset about it.

Outside of Elos’s laboratory is a large blue door. Painted on it are bright yellow runes that start to shimmer green as Satan approaches. Satan knocks, and it’s a full three minutes before the sound of the door unlocking. With effort, it swings inwards, and the smell of chemicals and herbs assaults your nostrils.

Satan goes about the polite introduction. Leading you into the laboratory, but it’s hard to pay attention. There are so many strange machines littered across the room, and Elos themself is a feat to understand. Their face is divided into three parts, one of a bull, one of a woman, and the other of an ape. They have large arms with hands that drag across the floor. Their fingers are thin claws of a bird. Chest comes from some great lizard not from earth. Hide legs appear to be lion like, and its tail is an arched scorpion stinger. Elos looks at you with deep eyes.

When you present the spell book Satan gave you. Elos sneers at you but takes the book. “A gift provided from someone else is weaker… but will do.” her voice is a dry and raspy. Speaking with vocal cords never crafted for such intricate language.

Asmodeous

“Want to meet some of the lovelies that help me torment souls?!”

They’re the creature Asmodeous has easy access to, so I recommend saying yes if you want to go with him

“They’re for a very specific time of person. The sort who think their beauty makes up for all the harm they caused.” A dark look smolders in Asmo’s eyes, but when he looks at you, it softens. Back to his normal bright heart eyes.

Asmo summons a cab to drive you both to the outskirts of the devildom. To… a ranch? Soft green meadows stretch out as far as you can see. Wooden fences mark the edge of the road. When you look close, you can see sigils carved into the posts.

Out in the field you can see them. Powerful horses with glimmering spiraled horns. Some are pure white with long wavy mains, but they are as diverse as any herd of horses.

“My beautiful unicorns,” Asmo leans over the fences to get a better look at them. “You’ll get to have a closer look at those in the stables right now. They won’t be too happy about being locked up, but they’re so wonderful just to look at.”

These unicorns come from more of a… vicious tradition. Their diets are completely carnivorous and with a strong preference for humans.

While you enter the stables, Asmo explains that these stables are more for necessary check-ups, and not where the unicorns stayed. They had their own dens somewhere in the meadows. Asmo hadn’t cared to find it, but it is out there.

So the unicorns that are in are here to have a thorough cleaning by one of the stable works. No you cannot help I’m afraid. These Unicorns would not be able to tell you apart from the souls they are encouraged to feast upon. All the other folk who work at the stable are non-human, and they still get bite. What’s worse is when a Unicorn decided to charge.

To make sure none of that happens, you’ll be safely on the other side of the door. Even though you can’t get close. You still can see the Unicorns very well. They are beautiful creatures. The shortest is still taller than the average horses. With eyes set more forward on their skull, and sharp angular bodies. Their legs are less brittle. With hooves that are divined into three sharp angles.

While most of the unicorns with in the stable seem antsy to leave. They all give their own greeting to Asmo. A dappled gray is the most affectionate. Letting Asmo pet the sides of their face, and rubbing up against Asmo’s head. It looks at you with curiosity. Sniffs the air and whinnies. “I know,” Asmo coos. “They are very tasty looking, but you can’t have any. I want this human to stick around.” The Unicorn snorts and flicks it tail in annoyance.

Beelzebub

His eyes light up when you ask to meet some magical creatures. “We won’t have to go too far… but we should wait till the house is quiet.” Que Mammon sprinting through the hallways trying to out run Lucifer. “They don’t like the ruckus.”

Beel asks you to meet him in the kitchen once everyone else has gone to their rooms. When you enter you find him setting out a tray with a dish of milk, honey, and some crackers. He then hands you a block of cheese. “Cut up some cubes of this.” and so you do. Beel doesn’t take any food from the tray, but he does rummage in the fridge while you get the cheese ready.

Once it’s all ready, Beel sets the tray in the middle of the counter. He then pulls out a little golden bell, and rings it. There is a beat of silence, and then doors you had never seen before open. One door is tucked into the wall trim, another in the backspace, and a third underneath the cabinets. Who comes tumbling out are small fuzzy creatures. They walk on their hind legs, and have large flat faces. Almost like a bat, but their eyes are old and wise. They are dressed in hand stitched clothes made from old table clothes, towels, or other scraps of fabric they could steal without much fuss.

“Who is this?!” One of them points pocket knife at you. “My friend,” Beel says and when he looks at you he can’t help but smile. “Hmm… did your friend cut this cheese?” Beel nods. “Next time make them smaller. Our children will struggle to hold these.”

These are House Brownies. A type of fae that can be found in most loving homes. They are a people of high standards but with over whelming big hearts. Beel is the main reason the house brownies live within the house of lamentation. No one else remembers to set out food for them. So no one else gets the help of the Brownies. Beel however often finds that his chores have been done for him, and snacks are often left on his bed side table. Small snack since the brownies can’t carry too much, but he deeply appreciates it.

Brownies are some of the easiest fae to talk with. The worst you can do is hurt their pride, but they are quick to accept earnest apologies. Not the sort of fae who will steal your name and trick you into dancing yourself to death… well… There have been a couple brownies who have done that. But the people were true assholes.

One of the brownies who is dress in a floral dress comes up to you. They give you a once over, and then start to climb up the back of your shirt. Now on your shoulder, the Brownie sniffs your face and pokes your cheeks. The Brownie’s whiskers tickle, and it’s hard not to react. But their fur is so soft, and they smell like honey and clove.

“You should have brought this one sooner.” The floral Brownie says in a sing-song voice. “They can bring us human snacks, yes?” “I want a candy!” Another brownie cheers. “Are human homes as noisy as demon homes?” “What is a cat? We hear the mean one speak of them, but never have seen them.” “Is cat friend or foe to the brownie?” Another brownie is now climbing you. This one decided to perch on the top of your head. “Human smells nice. Keep them Beel.”

Belphegor

“Okay, but you’re paying for their snacks.”

Which turned out to be nearly ten pounds of red meat. You’re also the one who has to carry the bag as you walk into the properly sketchy parts of the Devildom city. Belphegor looks as nonchalant as normal. Except for when he needs to glare at any other Demon who might start making eyes at you.

Now it’s into the dark alleys you go. Winding past business and into tight brick alley ways. The surrounding buildings seem to tower up through the sky. Blocking the darkness above. There is even a hint of sulfur in the air.

“Alright, set the meat down.” Belphegor stops at the intersection of four alley ways. It makes a small circle in the middle. The ground is dark and stained from years of murk. Moss grows up the walls, and blooms in the cracks. You set the meat down and then back up next to Belphegor. “Are you nervous?” He grins a little and then brings his fingers to his lips and whistles Loud.

You can hear them running. Many heavy feet charging down the paths. They’re coming from every direction, and now hear their panting breath. Growling and snarls as they try to be the first to reach their meal.

If you thought earthly wolves are big. You are blown away by the size of hellhounds. They keep their heads low but still stand at least three feet tall. Their teeth are as black as their fur, and they have barbed tails that whip back and forth in a frenzy. The Hell hounds are at first completely distracted by the food left out for them.

“When they’re not hungry, they’re really sweet.” Belphegor crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. Patiently waiting for the Hell Hounds to calm down. “They’re in the city to hunt down pests. Lucifer see’s them as exterminators,” One of the Hell Hounds now trots over to Belphegor. It rams its head into his stomach, demanding attention. Belphie laughs a little and starts to scratch its ears. Now content that it’s getting love. The Hell Hound eyes you. First a sniff, and then it tries to bite your clothes. “Hey,” Belphie says in a stern voice, and that’s all the Hound needed. You’re not food? Well then you must be friend too.

The message is spread through the rest of the pack, and soon you are surrounded. The Hell Hounds breath is rancid, and they will not stop trying to give you kisses.

Two of the hounds manage to get Belphie on the ground, and sit on top of him. Belphie’s face is flushed, and he only tries to get them off half-heartedly. Then accepts their cuddles and closes his eyes. “They’re not allowed in the house. So I come here a lot… you can join me next time if you want.”

A/N: Thank you @squidubus for the great idea of Mama Crow Drake preening Mammon’s hair. I luuuv uuuu

#I had... so much fun with this #mammon's mom is a Crow Drake #Obey me!#Obey me! headcanon #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeous #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #my writing #creatures #fantasy #I just love magical creatures okAY?!#also you with MC powers Can befriend the man eating unicrons if you really want but you gotta Earn it

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years ago

Photo

13/06/2022-Great Crested Grebes, Green Woodpecker, Marbled White and more at Lakeside and home

I was happy to see the young Starling in the first picture in this photoset in the buddleia bush in the back garden with a spot of adult feathering coming through. I also enjoyed seeing Collared Dove, Woodpigeon, House Sparrow and Goldfinch from home today. I didn’t take many pictures in the sun today with the sunniest parts of the day being the start and towards the end really which was lovely to enjoy this morning and evening but I did get the second picture in this photoset of the buddleia coming into colour nicely out the front in a brief bit of sun on my way to Lakeside for my lunch time walk. I also enjoyed the lavender and some steeplebush with bits of pink seen from my room in a neighbouring garden. When walking over I was thrilled to see the flower bed around the estate alive with varied coloured flowers, with the mustard type plants getting very tall. I saw a photo from a previous year on my Facebook memories the other day where a few years ago it was covered in colourful flowers and this is getting close to that when it reaches its full potential as a lovely oasis in the built up area. I took the third picture in this photoset of this area. Poppies, oxeye daisies, lovely pink yarrow which I also photographed with white yarrow too, white clover beside it on the green, forget-me-not and oxeye daisies looked amazing here, with dock just before my first seen on the green out the front this year looking nice before. I took the fourth, fifth and sixth pictures in this photoset of views as I went down the central path and cut across the southern fenced off area for the first time in a while at Lakeside. There were some nice views on a real feel good walk today.

When down at the shore of beach lake as well as the geese with Canada Geese flapping nicely in the water adult birds I loved seeing a few Moorhen chicks on the edge of the lake. I took the seventh picture in this photoset of one, I enjoyed seeing its rainbow coloured face with such a beautiful and flamboyant array of colours on it which I’d not noticed before. Its been an amazing year of Moorhen chicks for me at Lakeside with the amount of photos I have taken of them of which its not always easy to so its been great to witness them these past few weeks. I dare say the species is doing well here this year. There was a brilliant moment when a Painted Lady flew over the lake, after seeing Speckled Wood well in the fenced off area I got off to a good start for butterflies on the walk.

I was delighted to look down and see some self-heal here, my first of the year a summer flower I have become fond of. I took the eight picture in this photoset of this lovely little flower. Other flowers I saw on my walk today included broad-leaved clover, spotted orchids, yellow iris, black medick, ragwort just starting to come through, scarlet pimpernel, hedge woundwort, red campion beside Monks Brook, water dropwort, oxeye daisies and white clover at Lakeside too, dog roses and green alkanet.

I took the ninth picture in this photoset of beach lake as I walked around, and was happy to on Concorde lake catch the stunning Great Crested Grebes and chicks again. Such wonderful birds.

I had unfinished business somewhat in the meadow area by the woods where I saw my first Marbled Whites of the year there on Friday. I was thrilled to see them obviously as I said on Friday but in a dash around walk to fit everything in like today was a bit I didn’t manage a photo and I rued not trying that bit harder if I’m honest. It was gonna be hit and miss with it quite cloudy at lunch time but I was desperate to get to this precious patch of life rich meadow to try and see one again. And alongside Meadow Browns in flight I was over the moon again to see two Marbled Whites here. And I managed photos of them with my macro lens which I was thrilled with and was what I really wanted. It became just as thrilling achieving this goal as seeing my first of the year, and this year I heard a song for the first time ‘The First Picture of You’ by The Lotus Eaters where it says “The first picture of you, The first picture of summer” and with warm weather at the moment and the Marbled White being a quintessential part of my summer always alongside other butterfly species I see as summer ones I have seen lately this felt like this picture I so wanted takes me into summer a bit. The tenth and final picture in this photoset is one I took.

Its fascinating that I saw two Marbled Whites maybe these same two here on Friday, but not at the eastern meadows in a look that night. Internal site variation of butterflies coming out is fascinating in itself, but I went to Martin Down yesterday and with my desire for a photo of a Marbled White I had a feeling I might see one there in perfect habitat on a mostly pretty sunny and warm day, but they don’t appear out there yet. So this Marbled White emergence at Lakeside, possibly as brief as just two of them, is so localized and that makes it even more precious getting first glimpses this year of these butterflies that should be everywhere in a few weeks.

One last amazing moment awaited as I had seen someone I know on a Facebook photography group took photos of a young Green Woodpecker at Lakeside last week poking out of a tree. I had an inkling where the tree in the photo was vaguely, in the woods the meadow leads to the path through. Despite hearing a Green Woodpecker a bit in here when I explored on Friday I didn’t see any evidence of this. But today I took the path down from the woods that leads to the field west of the site beside Monks Brook. A sweet high pitched chirp led me there, growing into a typical Green Woodpecker cackle briefly. I seemed to pin it down to a tree with a hole that I felt was the tree and stood there and had a glorious brief listen. With the circumstances of my week and beyond, the way that I use Lakeside to walk around within my lunch hour and see as much as I can and other factors I don’t know if I’ll get to see this chick or chicks really, I’ll try to on my other walks this week. But it was just breathtaking and so exciting for me to hear this gorgeous young of one of my favourite birds. A top wildlife encounter today. Green Woodpecker, Great Crested Grebe and Marbled White are three species I would say my beloved local Lakeside Country Park is the best place I know for and they were three pillars of natural wonder in the great escapism I get from being so close to Lakeside on working from home days to use well today.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Green Woodpecker and Great Crested Grebe, one of my favourite butterflies the Marbled White, Mallards well, Moorhen, Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Black-headed Gull, Starlings well at Lakeside and home, House Sparrow, Goldfinch, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Painted Lady, Meadow Brown, Speckled Wood, Common Blue Damselfly, a dragonfly I couldn’t quite see which, a nice beetle on the ragwort and I heard Jackdaw well especially in the woods and I believe Blue Tit possibly young in thick vegetation calling.

It was so nice to see a lovely sunset and the spectacular super Strawberry Moon tonight which I enjoyed taking photos of.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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can we see chris just having a good day with like some happy stims? he is a huge comfort character for me and seeing an autistic OC who has the same stims i do and stims openly is just. amazing. sorry for no sentence prompt!

Of course, Anon! I know what I’ll do for this one, definitely.

CW: WRU/BBU and some pet whump references but this is pure fluff

Jake looks up, squinting as he hears a sudden thumping from the roof over his head, the kitchen light shaking very slightly. “Good or bad, d’you think?” He asks, and glances over at Kauri, who is leaning his back against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee from a mug shaped like a unicorn, his fingers wrapped around its rainbow tail. One ceramic eye seems locked on Jake.

“Fuck if I know,” Kauri responds, squinting. He’s been awake for twenty minutes and clearly has not had enough coffee yet to join the world under anything but serious protest. “It’s too early for anyone to have strong feelings, Jake.”

“It’s seven,” Jake says, gently, but he can’t help his smile. “You should’ve gone to bed before two, Kaur.”

“Used to be easier staying up all night. When did that change?”

“When you got old.”

Kauri glares at him, and Jake gives him a look of serene innocence in return. “You’re older than I am.”

“Yeah, and I also don’t go to bed at two and get up at six anymore without a damn good reason, now do I?”

Kauri snorts. The thumping starts back up above their heads, and Jake sighs, pushing himself out of his chair.

“Okay, I’m going to go up there and see what’s going on. He keeps that up, he’ll wake up my household, and not one of them isn’t in dire need of as much sleep as they can get.”

“Mmmn. I’m going to finish this coffee and go back to bed.” When Jake raises an eyebrow, Kauri grins at him. “I didn’t say I would sleep, now did I?”

Jake’s kiss is brief but forceful before he turns to head upstairs and see what has Chris making that kind of noise this early in the morning. It could be good or bad - but things haven’t really been too rough lately. Chris is doing fine in school, his friends are good, he and Laken started talking about living together next year... Jake runs through the list and he can’t find anything of concern, not now, not in this odd period of something like peace. Still, he worries.

Part of being somebody’s brother, he supposes, and finds a smile playing across his face. The eternal thought of I’m somebody’s big brother, popping in now and then, to remind him that how he started isn’t where he is now, and never has to be.

Chris’s door is closed and Jake knocks politely, the thumping stopping. Chris flings open the door, eyes shining and bright, wearing only his compression shirt and loose pajama pants, clearly interrupted during the process of getting dressed. Behind him, Jake can see a large blue t-shirt laid out on the bed, from the museum he went to with Laken a few weeks ago. It as some kind of dinosaur skeleton in black on the front, like a T-rex but Jake knows it’s not actually a T-Rex. He can’t remember what Chris said it was. Next to the shirt is his stim bracelet and a stim necklace, a flat black bat today instead of his usual feathers.

As always, Jake hides the wince at the sight of his forehead scar, fading slowly but still too bright and red for his liking. Too permanent. Visible evidence that when it mattered, Jake couldn’t get in to him in time.

“You’re shaking the house,” Jake says, scanning Chris’s expression, but all he sees is sparkling brightness, a smile playing there, fighting his attempts to look serious. “What’s up?”

“He, he called,” Chris says, quick and rushed, and lets go of the door, stepping back, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet on the hardwood floor. “He called, Jake!”

“Who? About what?” Jake steps in, closing the door slowly behind him, leaning back to watch Chris spin and then stop and start bouncing again, almost jumping, his hands flapping rapidly and eyes closed. Jake thinks with a pang of regret about how his longer hair used to float around him like a halo when he was happy like this. Now there’s hardly enough to even move at all.

He’s so fucking excited, though, whatever it is...

“He, he, he-he called!”

“Chris, hey, who called? What’s going on? Is this about getting an apartment? Did Laken hear back from-”

“No!” Chris stops long enough to look at him, breathing hard, but even when he stops bouncing his hands are still moving, almost a blur in the air. He can’t keep his body from moving, and fuck if it isn’t something Jake loves to see. He can still remember the silent statue they’d brought into the house that first rainy night, the frightened, dehumanized rescued teenager that had bloomed into pure sunshine in human form and now Jake watches a grown man who doesn’t police his own excitement. “I mean. No. No, it’s, it’s not... no. Jake, do, do you-... when Laken and I went to to the museum, the natural history museum? Do you remember?”

“Yeah, man, it was a few weeks ago. I don’t-... I don’t follow. How does that-”

“The, the, the Romantic I saw! I, I gave him one of our our numbers, you remember? Do you remember?”

“Yeah... yeah, I do remember you saying-” The full picture hits Jake all at once and he nods, slowly, feeling a smile of his own echo Chris’s expression. “He called? That’s who you mean? The Romantic-”

“Nine texted me,” Chris says, breathless almost, his hands moving, his body bouncing, a low hum coming from him between sentences, fading long enough for him to breathe.

Jake has seen Chris so many versions of happy, but never quite the same as this. The closest is maybe when his college acceptance letter came, when they got the proof that all of Chris’s work for nearly five years had been enough to get him back on track to the life WRU had interrupted.

Not stolen. Not for good. Not now.

“He, he, he he he-he called, he called, they’re gonna go go go get him, they, they, um, they’re gonna go get Rafael, he’s, they’re gonna get him, it worked, it worked it worked it worked-”

Chris flings himself forwards and Jake’s back smacks into the closed door behind him. He lets out a soft ‘oof’ but holds Chris tight, feeling him still moving even now, hands shifting easily into finger-twist-tap-tap-tap on Jake’s sides, his arms. He laughs against Jake’s shoulder, bright and brilliant laughter, and Jake finds himself laughing, too.

“Well, how about that? You did it, Chris.”

“I, I, I did it,” Chris whispers, and he rocks into Jake, and this is so familiar, now, too. “I did it, Jake, I, I did it, it worked, I did it, I, I... I, I helped someone. I, I helped someone get get get get out, I helped someone.”

“You did. I’m fucking proud of you, man.” Jake doesn’t mention that the escapes don’t always go to plan, or how common it is for Romantics specifically to try and go back once they run headfirst into starting over. He doesn’t want to mention it, anyway.

“Do, do, do, do you think I could see him? When they find him somewhere? Do you, you-you think?” Chris pulls back to look up at him, and Jake smiles down. “Will he want to, to see me? Do you think?”

“I think so.” Jake lets him pull back so he can go back to moving, watching Chris full to overflowing with pride in himself and happiness for the other pet, a buzzing energy he doesn’t hesitate, not by now, to allow to find its own way out. “I know I would, if it were me you saved.”

Chris pauses and looks over at him. “I would, too. Save, save you. I would. If it it it were you.”

“I know. What are brothers for?” He’s rewarded with another dazzling smile. “I’ll tell Kauri you need to shake the house for a while longer, okay?”

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Why, why is Kauri up? We didn’t stop watching the-the-the movie until two.”

“Yeah.” Jake grins moving back out the door into the hallway. “And he’s regretting all his choices today. Tell Nine I said hey.”

He closes the door again and moves back to the stairs, unaware that at the end of the hall, Eli’s door is cracked open and the quietest current member of the house stares out at his back, mouthing Nine?

Then Eli closes the door.

Jake gets downstairs to find Kauri staring outside at a tree. “Hey, Kaur, so-”

“I hate that bird,” Kauri says, and takes another sip. “It’s too early to be so fucking cheerful.”

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary

Rafael appeared in these three drabbles

#chris asks #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #pure fluff #original fiction #wru #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #happy stims #erase to control #pet whump references #brief but there

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goldafterglow · 4 years ago

Text

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

“Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold.

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

#iris writes #ezra #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x you #ezra x reader #pedro pascal x you #shgkdjfhgd #this one was #huh #idk how i feel abt this lol #hope you beautiful bitches like it though :)

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wolfcha1k · 4 years ago

Text

UNFINISHED Croods 2 Fanfic - Walls and Caves

This was a fanfic I had started around the time all we had was that single trailer for “A New Age”, where we knew literally nothing. So after I had seen it and warmed up to the sequel, I had decided to try my hand at a fic surrounding what happened when Eep and Dawn returned from their joyride and Guy catches them.

I never finished it though but I had gotten a bit of it done, nearly 3k worth. It’s disjointed af near the end as when I write I tend to jump around the timeline/scenes and then work my way into connecting it into one entity. Obviously this is totally not canon complacent but wanted to share what I had finished as to not waste it. Hope you enjoy what was done regardless ~

He woke up gasping, the scent of tar stuck in his nose. The frantic pleading for help rang in his head in echos. Guy lurched up from the pallet, panting as he pressed his hand against his chest. His heart was pounding like he’d ran a marathon, dark eyes looking around the room. He could see the brown wooden walls and the mixture of ceiling and tree branches above him. Catching his breath as he vigorously tried to scrub the awful smell of the tarpit from his nostrils, he began to slump his shoulders. The soft snores of the others sleeping nearby grounded him, Guy saw his found family curled up together in a pile not too far away. Just a dream, calm down.

Guy dragged his fingers down his eyes in an exhausted fashion, feeling Belt rumble sleepily in confusion that he was woken up. “Haven’t had that dream in awhile,” he said, swallowing. His throat felt dry and he idly stroked the soft fur of Belt’s head.

Rrrrr?

“Yeah… that one.”

Rrrrr…

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He rested his head in his hands, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to bed anytime soon. Belt, sensing this, looped his long arms tighter around his companion’s torso. Guy blinked his dark eyes blearily when he realized something felt… off. Guy swept his gaze back towards the sleeping bodies of the Croods as he took a mental count. It was a habit by this point, he always made sure all six were accounted for, that number was magical and felt like a safety blanket.

He spied the spindly, skinny form of the elderly matriarch Gran and the hulking figure that was unmistakable as Grug who lay sprawled out beneath her. Thunk was pressed into his side, one arm looped over his shoulders whilst the other snuggled Grug’s mate Ugga and the youngest of the Croods’ clan Sandy. He couldn’t see the wild red mane that belonged to Eep, getting to his feet he gingerly stepped around them to make sure she wasn’t crushed beneath the snoring family.

Guy willed his worry away the best he could, trying to convince himself that Eep wasn’t in danger somewhere. He pushed his anxiety as far down as he could until he was sure he was walking on it. Guy peeled Belt from his waist gently, the sloth giving a soft rumble in protest. He lowered Belt back onto his bed, hushing the tired sloth with a finger against his snout. “You stay here, Eep’s gone.”

Belt narrowed his intelligent blue eyes at Guy who merely patted him on the head, as if the gesture would be enough to pacify him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it. Go back to sleep, Belt.”

With one last noise, Belt curled up into a comfortable ball on the bedding and went back to sleep.

Guy grabbed the green jacket that was hanging on a hook nearby and threaded it through his arms. Picking up the sandals from next to the pallet, he slipped those on and idly wiggled his toes once to make sure they wouldn’t slip. He stepped lightly out the doorway, casting one last look at the sleeping clan of Croods.

Should he wake them? No, this place was safe… there was no way Eep was in danger. There wasn’t a need to get Grug worked up over where his daughter was. He walked out as quietly as he could until he was finally outside. Guy wished he had the sense of smell and hearing his found family did, they were keen trackers. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of foreboding press into his heart. Another reason you’re the outsider looking in, a voice in his head mocked him softly. Guy shook the words off.

He crossed the wooden rope bridge that attached this room to the many others stationed in the tall tree. Guy wondered where he should look first as he glanced at the farm silhouetted by the moon and its lowlight. Guy meandered, deciding to see where his feet might take him first. Perhaps Eep was just in another part of the house, that girl always loved to explore and he knew she’d been feeling cooped up lately. Guy stopped a moment and couldn't help risking a glance over at one of the four tall walls keeping the Betterman’s property safe from the outside world.

All he could see was darkness and absently, he took a step back as if the distance would really help at all. However, Guy tensed when he saw something leap over the Betterman wall. It was large and despite the twilight licking its form to be nearly black, Guy could recognize the beast from a mile off.

“Chunky? What is he doing over there?” Chunky loped down the side of the wall with ease thanks to his claws, feathers and tail flared out behind him.The macarnivore lumbered towards the base of the tree, Guy following along as he grabbed the bridge railing.

Chunky stopped and lowered his body down to let down what seemed to be two people off his back. Guy frowned and realized just who those two were. Eep and Dawn began to pick their way carefully up the stairs and braced their weight against each other as they laughed. Chunky earned himself a fond scratch between the ears and he chuffed cheerfully despite how ruffled he looked. He was shooed off as discreetly as a creature his size could be and slunk off to lay somewhere else on the farm.

“Ssshhh, someone might hear you,” Eep whispered between giggles.

“Hear me?! Listen to you, haha!” Dawn snickered into her wrist, dark head ducking when Eep swung her arm to bop the younger girl playfully.

Phil was going to be furious, Guy mused as he began to make his way down to intercept them. Actually, forget Phil, Guy was furious. That was an incredibly risky thing the two of them had done and he knew sweet, innocent little Dawn wouldn’t be behind this. He saw her bright orange hair and stopped in front of them. “Eep,” Guy said coolly and crossed his arms when he felt a chill. He looked between both girls, Dawn struggled not to fidget under his stare.

Eep tried looking innocent as she wrung her fingers together and shared a secretive glance with an equally grinning Dawn. “Guy, hey. It's a nice night, isn’t it? Plenty of suns out.”

Guy humored her for a moment and waited to see if she would take the way out instead of be frank with him. “Took Chunky for a walk around the farm?”

“Yeah, you know Chunky. He needs his nightly walkies, dad was sleeping so I thought me and Dawn would take him.”

Guy felt a pang of annoyance and hurt that she would lie to him like this. Then again, their relationship hadn’t been at its best since they arrived here, had it? He pushed the guilt down for later and took in a breath as he sighed, “I saw you two sneak in on Chunky, you can drop the act.”

She froze a little at that but shrugged it off coolly. “We just wanted some fresh air, Guy. Dawn and I didn't go far.”

Dawn jumped in to defend her. “Yeah, Eep had it under control.” She then cast her friend a dreamy kind of grin before she turned back to Guy. “I didn’t know everything outside the farm was so beautiful, Guy.”

“Dawn you don’t get it.” Guy started with a shake of his head. “The world out there isn’t all suns and rainbows. You need to be careful, your mom and dad would be so mad if they saw you two.”

The girl fell silent suddenly, no longer looking bubbly and her face looked ashen. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

Guy felt conflicted, dark eyes leaping between both girls. Before he could talk, Eep interrupted his thoughts. The cave girl threw her hands up, frustrated and Guy couldn’t help balking in surprise. “You’re starting to sound a lot like my dad lately, Guy.”

He knew Eep wasn’t stupid, in fact her being so painfully brilliant was a conflict in itself many times. At least, when Grug was involved. His mind drifted back to the tarpits and the many dangers he’d been unfortunate to see, and in his fears he could picture Eep and Dawn being maimed or worse. “You took Dawn on a joyride,” Guy began in a direct stern tone. He gestured with his hands for emphasis, as if to physically display what he was feeling inside. “The Bettermans built the wall for a reason!”

“Just like how everything new is bad and to always stay inside the cave at night, right?” Eep put her hands on her hips with a sigh, she shook her wild mane of hair.

And the door was so heavy that you’d think it would be easy to remember, Grug’s words droned in his head. That wasn’t the point of it at all. He combed his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “Eep, you know that’s not what I meant. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You’ve been acting so weird and not… Guy-like!” Eep exclaimed, she tried to keep her voice low so no one else would come looking for them.

He frowned in confusion at her words. “What? I’m still me, Eep. I haven’t been acting differently.”

“Yes you have! Ever since you’ve been stuffed inside these walls, I can’t remember one time you decided to just be you.” Guy felt Dawn’s eyes on the two of them as she fidgeted awkwardly at their fight. "Is it so bad to want more than walls and dark caves? You showed me that, Dawn deserves that choice too."

She saw a light and reached out to touch it… and she slipped.

And she fell.

He straightened himself up with a frown. “Maybe this was who I always was.” Guy gestured at himself with false gusto. He knew he was being immature but knowing Eep had possibly put herself and Dawn into danger made him frustrated. "There's rules for dealing with new things, Eep. You could have been hurt."

Eep narrowed her eyes and if Guy didn’t know her, he might have cowered under the weight of that stare. “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Guy couldn’t help but say it with more ire than he meant. “Dawn, you better get back to your room. I won’t tell your parents if you just go.”

“Okay,” she said hurriedly. She looked at Eep and the other girl smiled sadly. “Thank you for today, Eep.”

Eep managed to smile back at her and watched her tiptoe across the bridge and up the many steps of the tree house. She turned her eyes back onto Guy and being observant, knew something heavy like a rock was about to hurl his way. “Guy, what is it really?”

“What?”

“This isn’t just about the Bettermans, is it?” Eep frowned and took a step forward to touch his arm.

Guy relished in the softness of her hands despite how calloused and rough they were on his bare skin. They hadn’t been this close in awhile, not since arriving here on the farm. He hesitantly met her eyes. “I don’t know… maybe it was a long time coming and I just didn’t realize it.”

"Guy?"

"Eep, you don't get it. You'll never understand what it's like not having anyone there to protect you." He felt his throat tighten and swallowed. "You always belonged somewhere."

"Dawn is like me, Guy. She doesn't belong inside walls. This wall is her cave." She paused a long moment and added, "Neither do you, this isn't the Tomorrow you told me about."

Eep kept her voice calm and her touch gentle, two things he knew Eep never was. Or maybe he just didn't know Eep as well as he used to. The thought pained him and Guy shook his head to clear away that voice crooned in his ears.

[line break to later scene]

Eep’s words burned a hole through his skull, Guy leaning back on his elbows as he gazed up at the many suns high in the sky. “You’re not the Guy I found Tomorrow with anymore!” He sighed heavily, pressing his hand against his nose when he felt a migraine coming on. For the supposed brains of the operation, he sure felt stupid right now.

“Hey, you got room for one more up there?” He was startled from his thoughts, Guy glanced down to see the hulking form of Grug. His shape was covered in the darkness of twilight, the big man regarded him curiously.

“Yeah, sure. Not like I could make things any worse,” Guy said listlessly. Grug made his way up towards Guy and took a seat besides the young man.

“Grug, can I ask you something?” When the caveman grunted his approval, Guy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Is it really so bad to like it here?” He looked to the fire burning on a nearby torch. It banished the darkness of the room, providing a warm orange glow. Guy stared at it for a long moment before shifting his eyes back to Grug. His face was swathed in shadow but he could see sympathy in those brown eyes.

The big man looked thoughtful a moment, furrowing his brows before rolling his shoulders in a relaxed fashion. He comfortably leaned back like Guy did, craning his neck up with a loud sigh. “Well, once you get over Phil’s weird, dumb flipflops, I guess its not so bad.” Grug rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“You’re getting really good at this joking thing, Grug.”

“What’s a joke?” Guy shook his head when he caught Grug’s reserved smile. The caveman clapped his hand on his shoulder so hard Guy had to grip the back of the seat to avoid falling out the treehouse window.

"I just… Grug, it's so safe here.”

“Yeah, it's a real paradise, isn’t it?”

Guy couldn’t tell if Grug’s words were sincere or not, knowing the burly caveman had struggled to adapt to the Betterman’s way of life. For Guy, it’d been as easy as a duckling took to water. Everything clicked perfectly and it was like staring at a reflective shard of crystal, he had found like minded people. The inventor in Guy was eager to see more, learn more, so he could protect his found family and make sure nothing bad happened ever again.

“There’s always plenty of food and it's never dark.

“We survived The End but even after reaching Tomorrow… everything still went wrong.” Guy curled his arms around his knees with a frustrated huff, brows furrowed. He clenched his knuckles tightly. “I thought everything would be ok if I followed the sun but it's always too far away.”

“I’d still say we found a place that was better,” Grug mused, nudging him in the ribs.

“Eep says I changed. Do you think that too, Grug?”

Grug eyed Guy closely and lifted one of his arms’ with his big hand. He waved it around, Guy made a face at feeling his shoulder twist uncomfortably. “I don’t know, you were always this skinny weirdo kid we picked up with all these crazy ideas.”

“Um… thanks I guess?” Guy pulled his arm away and rubbed it.

“Now I feel like you’re just a skinny weird man and seeing you with Eep has been a challenge getting over that.”

“Huh? Grug, you lost me.”

“I blinked and Eep grew up, Guy. So did you. People change.”

“I’m not used to fighting with Eep, we never fight.”

“Well, you do now. Any other day I’d be happy about it but it's real depressing seeing you two moping like this. Whatever’s going on, it’ll pass.” Grug shrugged as carelessly as he could though Guy could see there was obvious emotion behind his facade. “You know Tomorrow best and about that.”

#thecroods #the croods 2 #the croods #croods #the croods a new age #the croods 2 a new age #thecroods2 #croods2 #croods 2 #dreamworks #croods fanfiction #the croods fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing #croods AU

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sharktoraptor · 6 years ago

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Cross-posting this chapter to tumblr because I’m particularly happy with it! Comments make my day, so if you like it be sure to let me know here or on Ao3 ^^

This is for the prompt “Sky Week,” and oh boy does it have loftwings in it.

---

They’ve come to know that being lost lost means that they’re headed somewhere new.

It puts some of the older heroes on edge, but Wind is fine with it, really. It’s kind of exciting, exploring all of these new lands, and maybe they’ll be somewhere with a real body of water this time, not that little puddle Twilight called a lake. The transition between Hyrules is usually pretty smooth, so he’s put himself on lookout duty to figure out where they are.

He’s right up front with Sky and Hyrule, scanning the trees for clues of their new location, and he sees the statue a second before Sky does.

“Oh!” Gasps Sky, running forward as Wind opens his mouth to point it out. He reaches the statue, a tall stone bird untouched by the moss covering the surrounding trees, and beams at it.

A bird? Oh! “That’s a loftwing!” realizes Wind, matching Sky’s description to the real thing. He looks up at Sky for confirmation.

“Yes! This is my Hyrule. But this statue, I haven’t seen-” Sky reaches out and touches the bird on the tip of the beak, and the base of the statue lights up at the contact. He gives a little laugh of delight and looks back down at Wind.

“I’ll be right back.”

Wind scrambles backwards as a pillar of wind erupts around the statue. Sky opens his sailcloth and it snaps open above his head, whisking him away into the air. Someone shouts in surprise, but as quickly as the updraft sprung into existence, it’s gone, and so is Sky. Wind peers upwards through the trees, but what he can make out through the branches is hidden by a layer of thick clouds.

“Where’d he go?” Asks Hyrule, neck craned backwards to stare at the sky.

“Up,” says Wild unhelpfully, doing the same.

Warriors rolls his eyes. “He’s coming back down,” he reports, pointing.

Wind steps back to make room and Sky lands next to him a moment later, still beaming. “Come on,” he says. “We’re going to the sky.”

Wild hops forward, and Wind reaches for his deku leaf, but no one else moves. “Um,” says Four, “Most of us can’t… do that.”

Sky waves a hand. “Don’t worry, a friend of mine is up there. I had a feeling he might be. He has an airshop, he can ferry us all from where we are to Skyloft.”

“Oh, like Beedle,” says Wind, thinking back on the New Hyrulian’s air balloon.

Wild glances at him. “You have a Beedle too?”

“It’s Beedle,” confirms Sky- it’s happened so many times that it’s not a surprise anymore, to hear familiar names between them. “Everyone hold on to me, Wild, or Wind. The statue should be strong enough to carry us all up together.”

This Beedle’s airshop isn’t quite like the one that Wind remembers, and he has an uneasy feeling that it’s not really meant to carry more than one person, much less ten, but soon enough they’re all aboard and cruising through the sky. If not for the lack of water it would really be a lot like sailing, thinks Wind, squinting into the distance at a huge island that’s slowly getting closer. It seems weird, too, for the merchant to be out here so far away from “land.”

“He’s not really supposed to be up here at all,” explains Sky, when he asks. “We’ve been living on the surface for a few years, but Beedle brings his airshop up sometimes to catch bugs that only live on Skyloft.”

“Why isn’t he supposed to be here?”

Sky gives him a small, sad smile. “It’s hard, but we have to transition to life on the surface. Everyone knows that, so we live down there exclusively now.”

He turns his gaze back out to sea- to air?- and Wind leans his head against the taller hero’s side. Sky wraps an arm around his shoulders and gives him an affectionate squeeze, and they stand there in silence for a while as the island in the distance draws nearer.

“There it is,” says Sky excitedly, lightly shaking Wind out a doze he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. “There’s Skyloft!”

The airshop tilts alarmingly as the others crowd the bow of the shop, taking in the sight in front of them. Wind is so awed by the sheer size of the floating island that he barely registers Sky stiffening beside him, but he looks up in time to see a huge smile spreading across his face.

“Sky?” It turns into a yelp of alarm. “Sky!”

He reaches out but it’s too late- before anyone can stop him, Sky takes a running leap of the deck of the shop. They run to the edge, yelling his name, but all that’s left is the faint sound of a piercing whistle drifting up from below.

WHOOSH

The bird is so massive that the beat of its wings rocks the airshop, and for a second Wind’s vision is completely taken up by the bright, crimson red of its feathers. Warriors catches his arm as he reels back and away from the edge, struggling to keep the it in sight.

The bird- it’s a loftwing! It must be!- corkscrews upwards in a brilliant swirl of scarlet and white, flaring its wings and diving back down towards them.

On its back, Sky is laughing ecstatically.

---

When they finally land on solid ground, Beedle points them in the direction of the plaza before wandering off in the opposite direction. There they find Sky and his loftwing sitting on the ground, cuddling as much as one can cuddle with a bird half the size of the Helmaroc King. He’s stroking its neck while it preens at his hair, making rumbling clucking sounds as it does so. Sky looks up at their approach, and the loftwing mantles its wings, clacking its huge beak threateningly.

“This is my loftwing,” says Sky happily and unnecessarily once he’s calmed the bird down. “Sorry about that, it’s been a few years since I last saw him, so I jumped as soon as I felt our bond come into range.” He untangles himself from the mass of feathers and pushes himself to his feet. The loftwing stands too, towering above them. Sky keeps his hand on its side and smiles at them. “Welcome to Skyloft. I would love to show you all around.”

There are loftwings everywhere. There are clusters of them on every overgrown rooftop, and Wind feels their intense eyes on the group as they pass. Some of the birds are bathing in the lake or simply strolling along the paths, but most of them are in flight, casting shadows over their heads and encircling the giant statue of the goddess with a cocoon of rainbow feathers.

Wild is in awe of the goddess statue, so Sky leads the others a few paces away and starts pointing out other landmarks, giving him a moment alone. Wind lags behind a little, trying to look in every direction at once. There’s so much happening .

“Wind, Twilight, come over here!”

Hm? Oh. He’s not the only slow one; Twilight is behind him. “Coming!” Hollers Wind, and stops to let him catch up. Twilight sighs and quickens his pace, and Wind matches it as they head towards the others.

The older hero looks faintly distressed. “I’m probably wrong,” he mutters under his breath before Wind can ask. “I think it’s the same place, but… it’s a coincidence. Surely.”

Wind taps his arm, and Twilight jumps. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t tell Sky,” says Twilight immediately, and refuses to elaborate.

Sky and Four are petting a purplish blue loftwing, which nudges Sky affectionately on the shoulder and takes off as Wind and Twilight approach. “Look,” says Sky, pointing. “See where she’s flying? There are some wild golden loftwings over there. They’re smaller than average and they can’t fly very long distances, but they’re one of the smartest lines. They’re not the most likely to bond with a Hylian, but we used them in games and ceremonies. It’s nice to see them living here!”

Twilight crosses his arms and frowns with an almost angry expression, and shakes his head vigorously when Time asks what’s wrong. Oblivious, Sky keeps walking along the path, chatting happily to Warriors and Legend about the brightly painted bazaar.

Wind is even more curious now, but he’s distracted when Sky stops dead and gasps dramatically. “But wait! We’re in Skyloft, and we haven’t even found your loftwings yet!”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. “We don’t have loftwings,” says Legend finally, glancing at the others.

Sky shrugs. “Everyone has a loftwing. That’s like saying you don’t have a soul- you haven’t met them yet, but once you do, you’ll feel it.” He reaches up and scratches his loftwing on the underside of its beak, smiling. “Usually you would meet your bird under the Goddess statue, but there are a lot of you. Let’s go get Wild, and then we’ll head back to the plaza.”

---

“Okay, call to your loftwings!”

“...How?” Shouts Warriors, over the sound of the wind.

“It’s hard to explain! You have to whistle, but it’s a specific whistle. It’s yours and your loftwing’s. Mine is this-” Sky brings his hand to his mouth and whistles out three sort-of notes. La sol do, thinks Wind. Sky’s loftwing is already next to him, but its tail uncurls and recurls a few times as though in response. “-And your loftwing will find you!”

Wind doesn’t really want to be the first to try, because what if he messes it up? But no one else seems to be doing anything, so he starts wracking his brain for something he can use as a loftwing whistle. What’s his whistle?

Twilight rescues him. He bends over and plucks a piece of long, overgrown grass from a crack in the plaza’s stonework, and holds it to his lips. Do sol do sol.

There’s a long pause as the sound fades out, and Twilight looks around expectantly.

“Try it again,” Sky encourages.

Apparently the grass isn’t loud enough for Twilight’s liking, because he casts it aside and whistles again on his own. Do sol do sol.

La do sol do sol.

The answering call cuts through the wind with astounding clarity, and a black loftwing alights on the platform next to them, looking at Twilight with its head cocked to one side. It’s not as impressively large as Sky’s is, but Wind sees something like awe flicker in Twilight’s eyes when he looks at it.

“Where did you get that whistle from?” Asks Legend, when Sky has walked Twilight through the next steps and he’s patting his new loftwing happily.

“Oh, I used to use it to call to hawks. It’s a traditional Ordonian whistle.” Twilight’s bird nudges at his hand and he resumes petting it, wearing an expression that he usually reserves for puppies and other small animals. “I wondered if it might work, and I’m glad it did.”

Well, if that worked… “I have a song like that too,” says Wind, digging in his pouch for the spirit flute. “For littler birds, but maybe-” He finds the instrument, blows into it experimentally, and is rewarded with a soft, clear note.

“Me too,” says Four, pulling out an ocarina. “This ocarina has ties to a place called the Palace of Winds. I’ll bet it works here.” Legend is nodding agreement, rummaging through his own bag.

“I know something similar,” says Time thoughtfully, but whatever he tries is covered up by Wild’s piercing horse whistle. Sky looks mildly offended, but the small brown loftwing that barrels out of the sky in response silences his protest. A tall, forest green bird with piercing blue eyes touches down next to Time, somehow wearing an almost identically exasperated expression.

Wind turns his attention back to the spirit flute. He takes a deep breath, double checks the notes in his memory, and plays the song of birds as loudly as he can. Do ti do. He waits thirty seconds, then plays it again.

Sky said whistle… Maybe an instrument won’t work? Looking around, he can see that Four (sol la sol fi fa me) and Legend (sol do re sol re mi), both holding ocarinas, don’t seem to be having much luck either. Whistling it is, then. Wind returns the spirit flute to its secure spot in his bag, then inhales deeply and whistles as loud as he can. DO TI DO.

He can whistle really loud.

A loftwing abducts him

One second he’s standing on the ground, waiting expectantly while everyone looks around wildly for the source of his whistle, and the next he’s suspended in the air by his armpits. He looks up, but all he can see is a feathery white underbelly as the bird holding him securely around the shoulders lifts him away from the plaza.

Aw man. Not again.

He realizes it’s not flying away with him when it banks hard and swoops back over the plaza. His friends are all pointing and probably yelling, though he can’t hear them over the wind in his face. Warriors has his swords out, because of course he does, but the steel grey loftwing beside him looks at best mildly curious of what’s happening. Sky is clapping and looks patently delighted, and Wind tries to meet his eye and give him a thumbs up a second before the loftwing drops him flat on his face.

It lands next to him, squawking excitedly, and a heavy, fluffy weight settles down on his back before Wind can move.

“Ow,” he mumbles into the wood.

“Aw, that’s adorable,” says Sky’s voice above him. He hears a slight creak at his side as the other hero crouches next to him. “She’s so small! She’s probably young enough that she doesn’t remember Hylians living here, but she still knows that she’s supposed to protect you. Come on, girl,” he says encouragingly to the loftwing. “Let him up so he can meet you properly!”

The bird makes a pleasant trilling sound and the weight on his back disappears. Wind rolls over onto his back, and there’s a big shoe-shaped beak in his face, so he doesn’t try to sit up. “Hi,” he says from the ground. “My name’s Link, but that gets confusing around here, so you can call me Wind.” He reaches up and strokes her bright blue feathers tentatively, and she leans into his touch. “How do you know she’s a girl?”

“Their tails curl more than the males when they’re perched,” says Sky, helping him up. “They’re usually the bigger ones of their lines, but she’s young, so it’s harder to tell. Alright,” he says, to the group at large. “Who wants to try flying?”

“Not like that!” Calls Legend. The almost white-grey loftwing next to him glances toward Wind’s bird and flexes one taloned foot experimentally.

“No, not like that,” laughs Sky, and takes a running jump off the edge of the plaza.

Wind’s expecting it, but there’s another bout of alarmed yells from some of the others before the crimson loftwing launches into the air and streaks after its Hylian. The pair swoops back into view a moment later, hovering a few feet above and away from the launchpad. “Who’s first?”

“ME!” Yells Wild, and all Wind sees is the blue blur of his tunic as he launches himself into the open air.

“For Hylia’s- Don’t forget to whistle!” Yells Sky, as Wild’s brown loftwing hastily throws herself after him, plummeting out of sight. It takes longer for them to reappear, but Wild is grinning like an idiot when they come back up. His bird looks exasperated, if birds can look exasperated.

Sky runs a hand through his hair. “You have to give your loftwing time to react. I can do that because we’ve been bonded for so long, but it was a bad example, sorry.” Wild has the sense to look sheepish, but his loftwing squawks defiantly and does an extra lap around the plaza before she lands.

Twilight and Four volunteer next, and it goes well for them. Four’s green loftwing returns to the plaza after it catches him, but Twilight stays in the air and heads off to fly around a bit on his own, muttering something about having a “chat” with the golden loftwings, and he doesn’t clarify what he means before wheeling his bird around and darting off. He’s followed by Hyrule and Wild, who seems to have gotten paired with a loftwing as crazy as he is, because she waits even longer to catch him this time.

Legend goes next and is settled quickly, his loftwing already airborne and ready to catch him, and he hovers in the air next to Sky, yelling down at Warriors, who is taking forever to jump. Time and his loftwing seem content to sit together under the shade of a tree with Four and his, but Warriors is determined, as always, if weirdly hesitant. Wind is about ready to push him by the time he finally leaps from the platform, and then it’s finally his turn.

His loftwing is his excitement made visible. She’s wiggling like a cat about to pounce, squawking with her wings half spread. Wind looks down at the empty sky beneath him, swallowing his nerves. He has his deku leaf, and he knows that Sky will catch him if his bird misses- that’s why he’s going last- but it’s still kind of alarming to be suddenly falling at terminal velocity.

Sky and his loftwing are plummeting down beside him as a scarlet blur, yelling something. Oh! I have to whistle! The wind carries the sound away, hopefully to where his bird can hear it. The clouds are getting awfully close.

He flaps his arms futily and all it does is make him rotate, and suddenly there’s a beak in his face. The blue loftwing has her wings folded in a dive, and she’s looking at him curiously. And upside down.

“Hi!” He yells at her. “Catch me, please!” Apparently she’s just remembered that too, because she suddenly swoops under him and snaps her wings out. He hits feathers, and his momentum tumbles them down together for a terrifying moment before Sky’s loftwing swoops underneath them, supporting Wind’s until she gets her bearing and pulls away.

When she swoops upwards his stomach drops exhilleratingly, and then she dives back down to gather speed and it feels like being aboard the King of Red Lions for the first time all over again. They’re flying! And it’s great!

Wind gives a little whoop as his loftwing crests the edge of Skyloft, and she circles a few times before mirroring Legend’s loftwing and trying to hover.

“How do you like it?” Calls Legend, leaning easily with his loftwing like he’s been doing it his whole life.

“It’s great!” Hollers Wind. “You?!”

“Beats walking! Wanna go find ‘Rule and Wild?”

Sky’s loftwing glides up from below them, and now Wind can really appreciate how huge it is, and how in sync they are. It caught his loftwing like she weighed nothing, and there’s not a crimson feather out of place. “They went towards the waterfall,” shouts Sky. “Good job, Wind! Lean in the direction you want to go, she’ll get the hang of it!”

They fly around Skyloft for a bit- it’s a city meant to be appreciated from the air, and Sky takes them on a tour that shows the island from a completely different perspective. They find Wild, Hyrule, and their loftwings settled down on a smaller island with water cascading down from it, all four soaked to the skin and laughing.

“Wild’s loftwing flew through the waterfall,” says Hyrule, grinning as they land. “Mine thought that was a great idea, but I think they’re too wet to fly now.”

The crimson loftwing looks up from grooming Wind’s and clatters its beak chidingly at Wild’s bird. She ducks her still damp head and squawks back, then flops over onto her side, bowling a laughing Wild to the ground and pinning him.

The sun paints the clouds a thousand colors as it sinks over the horizon, and the loftwings’ feathers reflect rainbows. Wind presses against his loftwing for warmth in the cool evening air, and she coos and starts combing through his hair with the tip of her beak.

Legend sits up from where he’s leaning against his bird’s folded wing and stretches. “It’s getting late,” he says, glancing at Sky. “Are we staying here?”

“...No,” decides Sky after a moment. “Beedle will be going back to the surface as night falls, and we should go with him. Most of you don’t have a way down, otherwise.”

Legend nods. “I’ll go find Twilight and check in with the others, then.”

“You can meet my Zelda,” says Sky wistfully, as Legend flies off. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

His voice is excited but sad, and Wind suddenly realizes that they arrived in his Hyrule and went straight to the sky. He could already be with his Zelda, but they’re here instead. “You must really miss this,” says Wind quietly, scooting over to sit next to him.

“Mm. Yeah,” says Sky. His loftwing nudges him, and he leans his cheek against its beak, cradling its head with a soft smile. “We hid away the statues by our new town, on the surface. Everyone agreed to it, but it’s still hard. Living down there, leaving our other halves behind.”

“Most of us, though, we’ve made our peace with that, because they’ll always be with us. It’s harder knowing that the next generation will never meet their loftwings. So, that’s why I wanted you to meet yours. And that’s why I want you to meet her. Because we’re making the Hyrule that you get to live in.”

“...And I want her to see that it’s all worth it.”

#linkeduniverse #my writing #skyward sword #my post

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dragonleesupporter · 5 years ago

Text

Unloved Siblings (Part 1)

Author’s note: H-OOOOLY crap, this took a lot. I’m pretty sure I went over this at least ten times, so enjoy this peek into the land where Lucaja was born!

Summary: Lucaja breaks in two.

Here’s the fics leading up to this one; Tear Down the Wall, Of Confrontation and Comfort.

Without further ado, let’s go!

...

“The Eternity Crystal’s calling…” Cush murmured, barely loud enough to hear.

The ball of spikes sat up and listened, trying to decipher what kind of signal the crystal was sending out. Though he had been the first born into his land, he was the slowest learner out of the rest. Cush was the Pain Monster. Specifically, physical pain. He was a porcupine-like creature with thick, black spikes sprouting along the spine of his deep red body. In contrary to his threatening body, his face was one of a tender mouse; large, fluffy ears, black eyes glistening and pointy nose constantly twitching. His long tail had the equivalent of a mace on the end of it which he liked to swing around whenever he was feeling playful.

His tiny limbs stretched and the spikes along his spine bumped into each other as he arched his back, spiky tail lashing with excitement.

“M-Mentora! Wake up! There’s a new manifestation monster!” Cush’s squeaky voice called into the cave behind him which housed his two friends alongside himself.

“What are you yakking about? We hardly ever get rest, Cush!” Mentora slithered out of the cave, her three eyes droopy and her tail sagging as her head was barely kept upright on her snake-like body.

Mentora was the Mental Instability Monster. Though she was the last born thus far of the three, she had more brain capacity, and therefore knew substantially more than the other two. She took the form of a large snake with a lioness head, complete with a strangely feminine-looking mane along with two horns that sprouted peacefully from her head. She had three eyes that glowed white like the rest of her body, and had little swirly patterns in her retinas that constantly rotated. She threw her head back and yawned as Pascal crawled out of the cave alongside her.

Pascal was the Emotional Turmoil Monster. The single eye on his otherwise blank face changed color with how he was feeling like a mood ring. The fuzzy rainbow fur along his long neck came to an abrupt end when it met his shoulders with feathers sprouting from the rest of the base of his body instead. The feathers had their own mood-ring fix, but would only turn the color of his eye if Pascal felt that emotion very strongly. Four, glass-like wings sprouted along his lengthy spine, and sat peacefully on his back. His six, grey, dragon-like legs moved in sync like clockwork machinery as his short, stumped tail twitched with curiosity.

“A new… manifestation?” He asked shyly, his eye turning an orangish-yellow.

“Yeah… actually you’re right Cush, that is the call for a new creature… but how could that be? I was only born a few millennia ago… what element could we be missing?” Mentora raised her eyebrows as she cocked her head to the side.

“Let’s go find out!” Cush started to run despite the difficulty with his short legs, so happy that he had identified the call correctly with the other two in tow.

The Eternity Crystal glowed a brilliant combination of colors- some not even known to humans- as its vibrations were sent through the ground and air, the soft voom of its call echoing along mountain where it stood. The three approached it carefully, and like all the other times a creature had been born, the crystal momentarily cracked open, booting a small form out into the light.

“Is it a… puppy?” Cush guessed, his round ears twitching.

“Not entirely… It looks like it has two faces…” Pascal murmured worriedly as his eye turned a light shade of purple.

Mentora stayed silent, watching and analyzing as the tiny figure tried to get to its feet, its two pairs of eyes blinking open to show one pair pink and the other purple, much like the creature’s fur…

“Why is it having such a hard time standing up?” The Pain Monster questioned as the three observed the small figure trying to get up and failing multiple times.

“Because it has too many limbs! Look!” Pascal exclaimed, using one of his clear, glass-like wings to point at the small creature as his eye flashed a bright, blinding red and yellow design.

It was true; the new manifestation had two sets of four legs on either side of its body, as well as two sets of wings and two tails.

“It probably doesn’t even know what’s right-side-up right now…” Mentora commented thoughtfully, sniffing the small form as it tried to decide which set of eyes would be gazing upside-down.

“Hey! Pink side! Try to stand up!” Cush called enthusiastically, trying to give the monster an easier solution.

Hearing this, the pink side finally took initiative and stood “right-side-up” while the purple was stuck on the bottom.

And that is how it stayed for most of Lucaja’s life. Debaja barley got any affection, just because she wasn’t very well-liked, unlike her sister, Lucia. Debaja was seen by most as too rough for a comfort monster. The other three had been surprised that Lucaja wasn’t actually a manifestation monster like the rest of them. She was, instead, a comfort monster to help balance out the damage caused by the others; whenever creatures couldn’t deal with them on their own. However, she could only be summoned at night, and only if either an individual was alone, or was with a group that was equally as tired as they were. This gave her the name of Sleep Deprivation Monster; the soft spot in the group.

It had been a thousand millennia, and, after giving it some though, Debaja finally decided to confront her sister. She was sick of being the unfavored one- she was literally dying from it! She had to talk to Lucia.

…

“Look, it’s not my fault!” Cush heard a high-pitched voice cry from inside his head. His eyes widened at the harshness in the tone as he looked around to see if he could find the two-faced monster.

Lucaja, since her jaw was interlocked between two different heads, could only speak in telepathy. She usually tried to keep her sentences as minimal as possible, since Mentora had told her that if she tried to have a full-blown conversation with a real being, it would make their head literally explode. But in the Land of the Infinite, Lucaja didn’t have to limit her diction.

“No, it’s not, but you could at least help! I’ve been starving forever now! Don’t you think you could give me a little attention?” Debaja’s voice hissed back and the weak crack in her voice echoed as Cush whined.

“But I can’t waste my energy, Debaja. I have to be there for those who need me-”

“I NEED YOU!” Cush covered his head and whimpered at the screeching cry… it had been so loud his ears were ringing from the inside. The Pain Monster was about to call the others for help when a familiar form slithered past.

“Mentora?”

“Cush, come.”

“What about Pascal?”

“I SAID COME! NOW!” The urgency in the Mental Instability Monster’s tone threw the porcupine-like creature off his bum and onto his legs, desperately trying to keep up with the smooth, swift form as his ears rang louder.

The scene both of them were met with when they reached the top of the hill was appalling, to say the least.

Lucaja had slit into her two relative parts. Lucia and Debaja now had their own separate bodies. Lucia had a pink, full-grown, healthy-looking body, smooth skin shining in the sunlight as the fur on certain parts of her body grew thick and luscious, her bright pink feathers filed neatly. Her form was an eye-spitting comparison to Debaja’s who’s bones were showing through her skin as her pink eyes were sunk into her skull. Her skin and fur were patchy and uneven, and her feathers were bent all the wrong ways; some were even falling off, making her look more dead than alive.

“Why can’t you be there for me?! Even just a little?!” Debaja spat and wheezed as Lucia recoiled.

Strangely, with their forms separated, they could now use their own jaws, and didn’t need telepathy.

“Why can’t you just drop it? Thousand millennia go by, and SUDDENLY you say you’ve needed me this whole time??” The pink side stood her ground and grinded her teeth, tail lashing. “If this is really a big deal, why is it popping up JUST now?? That’s not how you handle big problems, Debaja!”

“Then you must understand how hard this is for me!” The purple side sobbed out and clutched her chest, her heartbeat terrifyingly visible through her skin. “You get all the attention and love! Sure, you share, but I need some directly! With how much you love giving to our patients, can’t you give some directly to me??”

“Quit being so selfish! Come on, let’s just get back together and go back to the way things were! You feed off of my achievements. If we fuse back together, you’ll feel better! Please, you look so frail… let’s just stop this!” Lucia took a step forward, purple gaze softening as she tried to calm her sister down. Everything had been going so perfect, why did Debaja have to throw a big fit now?

“NO!” Debaja screeched and turned around, whole body shaking as she refused to look at her twin. “If I really mean so little to you… then I’m going somewhere else! You can deal with the imbalance on your own! Like I have!”

Lucia stood in shock as she watched her sister stagger and disappear into another realm. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her breathing became uneven. She suddenly realized two of her friends staring from the hill behind her.

“W-what are you looking at?!” She shouted defensively as Cush took a few fearful steps back. “What are you even doing here?!”

“Lucia, your thoughts aren’t flowing correctly, your head is in a whirlpool of insecurity and destabilization. Why else do you think I’m here?” Mentora hissed, her aura glowing brighter with Lucia’s growing panic.

“N-no! I’m fine! Sh-she’s fine!” The pink half trembled as the Mental Instability Monster slithered closer, her three, swirly eyes narrowed in anger as her lip twitched into a snarl.

“L-Lucia… what did you do?” Cush tentatively called from the top of the hill, too scared to get any closer.

A stake went through the pink side’s heart. Cush had never talked to her like that.

“I-I’m not the bad guy here!” She shouted angrily, causing the cute porcupine creature to hide behind the edge of the hill, gentle whining being heard from the other side. “I’m not the bad guy! I’m not!”

“Oh, and who is? Debaja?” Mentora spat as her snake tail lashed back and forth.

It was no secret that Mentora cared for Debaja more than Lucia. Lucia was the easy option most people chose, whenever Lucaja had to comfort someone. A shoulder to cry on, a smile on her lips, Lucia was the positive reinforcement that everyone preferred. Yet Mentora knew more than anyone else that Debaja was the more efficient choice. Yes, she also comforted her patients, but she also gave them a good slap of reality. Lucia makes her subjects dependent on her and others, hardly giving them anything real to stabilize their soul; while Debaja teaches the person to rely on themselves, and deal with reality on their own; only then would they be strong enough to find true happiness. But you see- most people don’t like to hear that. That’s why the purple side was almost never chosen. Making her suffer while her sister got all the spoils of laughter or comfort that rose from the patient.

“Wh-where’s Pascal?” Lucia finally broke the silence, not daring to look into Mentora’s three enraged eyes.

“Probably with Debaja.” The Mental Instability Monster replied coldly before slithering away to comfort Cush, leaving the pink half to think over what she had done…

@cefsticklestoo @bexxbeauty

Let me know if you want to be added to the overall taglist!

#Lucaja #unlovedsiblings #LandoftheInfinite

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etherealblasphemy · 6 years ago

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The End of the Beginning

he. it’s rather fitting that i post this on new year’s day.

STARBOUND IS OFFICIALLY OVER!!! I finished at ten last night and promptly fell asleep (oops), but I’ve finished the writing of my very first novel-length bullshittery! Forewarning now, there’ll be a looooong A/N at the end about the future of Starbound, but for now, let’s get right into the tomfuckery, shall we?

(as always, translations for the Vasryian language are at the end of the chapter!)

TW: Mentions of alcohol, intoxication, and referenced murder

“Does my dress look okay?” They turned again, trying to see how they looked from behind. They scrutinized the pale red fabric, watching how the shadows fell on their back as they twisted, the bottom fanning out. “It’s not too tight, right?” Two gentle hands grasped their wrists, spinning them around.

“Stop frettin’, ya look right,” the mechanic assured them. “Now hurry ya horse, or we’ll be late!” She fixed her navy waistcoat, smoothing out wrinkles. “Sirs, are y’all decent?” From behind the divider, Dominic called out that they were. The three guards popped out, greeting Cal. All three of them wore the original uniform of the Vasryian Guard, a dark red tunic with a brilliant yellow flower in the center covering silver breeches and a small, sheathed dagger on their sides. Their black riding boots, not unlike the ones Roman wore, also bore the Vasryian seal on the buckles.

“I can guide you to the Center Hall. The palace seems more like a labyrinth everyday I’m here,” Jamahl remarked, stepping forward. “Let’s go, before Prince Roman throws a fit that we’re not there!�� Cal burst out laughing as they set off through the palace, able to see the crowds through the tall, gilded windows.

“Only a month…” Terrence mused. “Only a month, and His Highness has won back the hearts of the people like Draven never existed… it’s a miracle.” Cal giggled knowingly, sending a silent thank you to their ancestor. “I’m so excited!” the guard continued. “Prince Roman will make such a good king!”

“He looks more and more like his father every day. I almost called him by his father’s name, did you know?” Dominic chuckled. “It seems like yesterday Her Majesty was scolding Prince Roman for getting lost in the catacombs again, or His Majesty was teaching His Highness how to properly wield a sword.” He sighed. “Those dear, dead days beyond recall.”

“Fifteen years,” Jamahl chimed in, “since that dreadful day.” He smiled bittersweetly at Cal and Wonder. “Thank you two, for bringing laughter back into these halls.”

“No, thank y’all,” Wonderling insisted, “for always believin’ in Roman.” A grateful, merry mood settled in them as they moved through the maze of hallways.

“Anybody know how long this ceremony is going to last? I’m planning on bringing snacks,” Cal joked. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look, Sir Jamahl! I’m only half kidding!” Laughter echoed across the walls, mixing with the growing clamour from the Center Hall. They could see a crowd beginning to form, a wild throng of feathers, furs, and scales jumbling together in blurs of color. They let out a heavy breath, never one to be at ease with masses. A hand squeezed their arm.

“Ya gon’ be fine, Cal?” Wonderling inquired under her breath, eyebrows raised with concern. Cal felt their face flush and nodded quickly, focusing on the floor ahead of them.

The guards escorted them through the growing multitude, bringing them into the Center Hall. Cal’s jaw dropped at the transformation that it had gone through since Draven’s defeat. The windows and chandeliers were newly polished, sparkling with a heaven-like light that cast rainbows across the marble floor. The throne Draven had used, which was ebony with golden ivy winding up the sides, was gone, replaced by the thrones of Roman’s father and mother, his own throne to the left of his mother’s. The three thrones were all made of a silvery wood, with scarlet cushions and elaborately carved reliefs in the arm rests and head crests. Every few feet down the hall were vases filled with blooming flowers of every hue, filling the air with pleasant aromas that reminded Cal of memories that weren’t even theirs.

Virgil, Logan, and Patton were clumped together at the front, talking amongst each other excitedly. “I’m thrilled to finally be able to listen to Vasry again. It’s been forever since I’ve heard it, and it’s such a pretty language compared to Aresan. Roman and I only used it when we spoke to each other in private,” Patton was saying as they approached. The guards split off from Cal and Wonderling and went into a side room, where their superior was likely giving out orders for the celebratory day.

“Will they use it in the ceremony, though?” Logan countered, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose. “It is to my understanding that Aresan is the principal language used in the Vasryian palace. Did I misunderstand?”

“Oh, no, Aresan is only used for diplomatic purposes… usually… maybe he changed it. But Vasry will definitely used. I remember Roman starting to learn the verses when we were kids. He always stuttered back then, but I‘m sure he’ll do fine today!” Patton grinned as he sat down. “Cal, I saved you a seat!” He waved excitedly at Cal, beckoning them to come and sit down.

“Aw, aren’t ya just a sweetheart, Patton,” Wonderling laughed. “I’ll go find my chair and leave y’all to yaselves for now, but I expect us to chat up afterwards, a’ight?” She smiled sweetly, mirth in her eyes.

“We literally just fought a battle together a month ago, what is there to catch up about?” Virgil scoffed with glee.

“Ya gon’ tell me everythin’ about ya and Roman, ya hear me? Or perhaps I oughta ask Patton?” she chuckled as Virgil flushed, unable to retort for fear of a backlash of wit. Wonderling escaped rapidly, finding her own seat a few rows behind where Cal and their friends would sit during the ceremony. As soon as the four took their seats, Cal still nervously adjusting their dress, an organ stuffed in a hidden corner of the hall began to play, signaling the entrance of the ascending prince. Cal immediately rose, as they had practiced at the rehearsal earlier that week, and turned to watch for Roman, eager to see what sort of regalia he had been forced into.

The mahogany doors at the end of the hall opened with grandeur, and in strode Roman. He wore a simple white tunic with tan breeches and black boots, a stark contrast to the dresses and suits the audience members wore. The soon-to-be-king also wore a golden cape that trailed for several feet on the floor, almost like a bride, with silver designs intricately sewn onto the fabric. Roman caught the eyes of his friends and smiled anxiously before returning his gaze to the end of the hall, where an old priest waited for him.

Roman walked slowly but purposefully, as though every step he took had been planned years in advance. He reached the raised platform where the priest seemed to tower above him despite her short stature.

“Prince Roman,” she greeted, her voice laced with cobwebs and dust. He bowed his head in salutation. “Thou stands before the judgement of the heavens today. Thou wishes to ascend to the Vasryian throne?”

“I do,” Roman stated.

“Then stand before thy ancestors and answer with an honest soul.” The priest retrieved a small, worn book from a shelf behind her, its cover a pale blue that had faded with the unseen sands of time. “Dost thou solemnly and honestly swear to govern and protect the Peoples of Vasryia and all its Territories, respecting the laws and customs of the lands thou reign over?” the priest said, her gnarled fingers curling around the spine of the book of myths.

“I solemnly promise to govern and protect, to the best of my ability, the Peoples over whom I have been given duty to reign.” They could hear Roman’s voice was shaking, no doubt scared he would stumble over his words and ruin everything.

“Will every action thou take be for the good and betterment of Vasryia and its Peoples? Will thee put the life of thy Nation before thine own? Will thee govern with an open and just heart, a wise and witful mind, and a humble and mighty soul?” The priest’s voice rang out, filling the entirety of the Hall so that each and every present being could hear the will of the heavens.

Roman hesitated. “I— I will.” Cal saw him swallow, digging his thumb’s nail into the soft flesh of his finger, almost hard enough to draw forth blood. The priest paused as though she noticed Roman’s momentary rumination, but continued without a word.

“Dost thou take the oath in good health, good mind, and good spirit, and allow the spirit of our Savior Calypso to take root in your soul?” Roman nodded. “Then all Ye who have objection to the ascension of our beloved and at last returned Prince to the throne of the Vasryian King, speak now or forever hold thy peace.” The priest fell silent, her grey eyes of sagacity turned to the audience, daring any one of them to stand up and speak their cavil. None spoke.

“The heavens have spoken. Prince Roman Machaizelli Bastian Prionsa of Vasryia shall ascend to the throne and bring balance once more to the lands as our rightful ruler. By the power vested in me by the spirit of Calypso herself, by the will of the Guardian and the Generals, I hereby proclaim thee the King of Vasryia. Come forth, and receive thy blessing from thy forebearers.” Roman glanced back quickly at Virgil, who smiled brightly, giving him a small thumbs up. Roman’s mood immediately shifted, his shoulders releasing their previous tension.

He stepped forward and kneeled, his head bowed. The priest placed the book she held before him. The prince kissed it, murmuring in his native language. “Eh saeuna fa eh saegha iwa oen na ise Cayso, kirō e talhyn viosa i fa fērka-dai e gal. Mae na Garda yaesen na alma reaga eh noma sha da eh uoye haseo fai na sasha de eh Vasr.” The priest mumbled something unintelligible. “E reja na alma Cayso!” The priest repeated Roman’s word with a shriek, head upturned to the ceiling as though some invisible bird was perched upon the rafters. “E reja na alma na Garda! E reja na alma na Saeona!” The walls of the hall seemed to shake with the fervor in Roman’s voice.

The priest put her book on a shelf behind them and took a vial of water. “These are the tears of Calypso, shed when she left her world behind.” As she spoke, the priest opened the vial and emptied it, the water spilling down Roman’s flower crown and face. The priest took a bottle of scented oil and poured it, too, over the prince. “This is the sweat of Calypso, shed when she trained with her Generals to protect her new world.” The third and final item the priest poured over Roman was a bowl of dark wine. “This is the blood of Calypso, shed when she died a thousand times to save her home.”

“I am one with the soul of Calypso. She shall live in me and she shall live in Vasryia,” Roman swore as the priest guided him to his feet. At last, the priest grasped a golden scepter and orb, bringing it in front of Roman. The woman handed them to the soon-to-be-king, her wise eyes smiling despite her emotionless expression.

“Prince Roman Machaizelli Bastian Prionsa, son of Vasryia, today thou ascends the throne as King of Vasryia. Thou hast sworn to protect thy nation until thy dying day. Thou hast received the blessings of Vasryia and her guardians. Now, turn to thy People and let them see the light of Calypso, the Generals, and the Guardian within thee.” Roman turned to the crowd, who waited with baited breath as he called out in the Vasryian tongue.

“E sa tu ren!” he yelled, the Vasryians in the audience quickly responding in their native language. Once more, Roman kneeled, bowing his head as the priest placed a crown on his head.

It was the Vasryian colors, gold and red, but it had gorgeous jewels adorning it in every hue, reminiscent of the Guardian’s wings. From where they were seated, Cal could see the small Vasryian seal embedded on the front.

“Rise, King Roman, and claim thy place in history.” Roman steadily arose, a new aura about him as he stepped to the throne, sitting down as a king should, elegant and graceful, but strong and proud. His gaze was unwavering, staring straight ahead at the carved scenes on the doors at the end of the hall as the priest kneeled, bowing before her new king. Cal and the others in the hall replicated the movement, bowing deeply. As they straightened, sitting back down, bells began to toll, clanging and ringing and proclaiming the ascenscion of the king at last. A cheer went up through the hall as Roman visibly relaxed in his chair, thankful for the ceremony to at last be over.

The crowd quickly dissipated, leaving Roman alone with the priest and a few select advisors to sign official documents. Cal heaved a sigh as the doors swung shut behind them. “Party time?” they asked hopefully. Virgil grinned conspiratorially.

“Party time— Ow! Logan!”

“The reception does not start for another three hours, and, anyways, Roman won’t be there for another five hours,” Logan reprimanded firmly. “I suggest we go and see the crowd outside, perhaps we can conversate with some of them. Roman will greet them in a couple of minutes, I believe.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Fine, we can be responsible adults for five hours,” he whined. “But as soon as Roman walks in that room I’m going to get him fucking wasted!” He giggled softly as Logan smacked him over the head with a huff.

The group headed outside, shielding their eyes from the burning sun. The mass of people lined up outside the palace was imposing, almost nerve-wracking for Cal as they stepped out of the palace. It was a warm day, one that without a doubt would end in a beautiful night, and not a cloud was in sight. Unfortunately, this meant that the gigantic crowd waiting to see their new king had absolutely no problem waiting hours to catch a glimpse in the beautiful weather.

They waited to the side, protected by one of the glass towers from the gaze of the burning star as they watched the crowd. Someone was selling treats to the little children who begged their parents for the sweet pastries, and another vender sold handheld flags that bore the Vasryian seal. A pair of old women sat in the grass playing in a board game to pass the time as their husbands played cards.

A sudden roar went up among the crowd, and Cal turned to see Roman exit the palace, waving at the Vasryian people. He walked up to the crowd held at bay only by a couple small wooden partitioners and several guards. He seemed to pick up on the eight eyes watching him curiously, and he pivoted to see his family. The royal waved them over, and, after a moment of deliberation, they heeded his request. As they got closer, the sounds of the throng grew, calls and shrieks and laughs and cries all jumbled into one cacophony of life.

Roman addressed the common people, saying, “E fauna tu hanna fai na meoso de na alda fa na saeuna agus talta tu chaka yai e na saga lune sa cayse de na fin de na ren-vio de eh babusha venna. E talhyn dorioga ferka sahaga e dan iga na alma Cayso-dai, agus e heuyo kaeh ser tu, eh Vasr, ina baego fa eh itda. Ingan vas irheo bakdan o vas irheo pasha, ingan vas kona o vas kana, ingan vas saeuna o vas fuath, e talhyn tu vas nunra vasya, na Vasr de Vasryia.” A paean went up once more.

The royal began to greet the people lined up to see him, grinning and saluting each one. He listened to the stories a group of miners told him about how Draven had begun to focus funds on expansion and conquering nearby planets, leaving their mines in dangerous conditions. Roman promised to look into it as soon as possible and pass safety regulations. He came upon a book club later; the individuals all gave him copies of fairy tales, somehow having learned that when escaping the palace, he and Patton had been unable to take their favorite book of fantasy worlds.

Patton, having grown up in Vasryia, was also a person of interest and recognition to the crowd; some of the braver children asked if they could touch his antlers, to which he agreed, a great delight among the kids. A few old women offered knitted scarves to all five of them, which they gladly accepted. Cal’s heart felt like it was going to explode from so much affection.

The last group Roman greeted that day, long after much of the crowd as dispersed and gone home, was a cluster of young children from a nearby orphanage. They were dressed in their finest, albeit plain, clothing, ranging from frilly dresses the color of lollipops to dusty suits to simple white tunics and a pair of trousers. The five of them spent a particularly long time with the children, most of them being orphans themselves.

Patton was very receptive with the youngest of the children, allowing to climb on top of his back for piggyback rides, and drape handmade garlands and daisy chains across his antlers. Logan recited a few children’s stories he had downloaded during his time as an android, though very few of the children spoke his interplanetary tongue and understood. Virgil and Cal played pick-up-sticks with some of them, purposefully allowing the children to win. Roman, of course, spoke a bit with the present caretaker before he sat with the children and told them fairytales, weaved flower crowns like his own, and played make-believe.

The caretaker took out a pocket watch and clapped their hands, garnering the children’s attention. They began to round up the kids, who all groaned in unison as they collected their belongings.

“Do they have to go?” Cal complained to Roman.

“I know, I want to adopt them all,” he replied with a pout. “But it’s dinner time, so they have to go.” Roman beamed as he waved goodbye to the kids as they walked back home; one paused and ran back, shoving a crumpled sheet of paper into the royal’s hands.

“Ekka sona?” Roman asked the little boy, who couldn’t have been any older than six. The boy ducked his head shyly as he wrung his hands.

“E eayo tu seongu na basta taeya. Madda seun tu kkayeong vas. Haepsu,” he breathed, his eyes the size of the moon. “Tu sa eh laoch.” A nearly inaudible gasp left Roman’s lips as the boy hugged Roman’s legs and ran back to the group.

“Oi! Ekka alta?” Roman called.

The kid turned on his heel as he ran, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Kit!”

“You want to adopt the kid, don’t you?” Patton simpered as Roman nodded vigorously. “He said he saw the whole thing,” Patton translated. “He told us we’re his heros.”

“I’m going to fucking adopt that kid if it’s the last thing I do,” Virgil declared passionately.

“Alright, is it party time now?” Cal yelped as Logan hit their head in exasperation, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he nodded. “Fuck yeah, let’s get totaled!” they cheered as the five of them at last headed for the revelry.

They had not expected people to surround them as soon as they walked through the doors, mobbing them with questions and praise and noise. Cal would have gone straight to their room then and there and asked a nearby maid to get them a drink, never to see the light again, if it weren’t for Patton’s grasp on their arm, pulling further into the horde inside the ballroom.

They said a little prayer for their sanity and put on their best I-don’t-want-to-be-here smile as the others began to greet the mob. For their family, Cal reminded themself, they could do this for their family.

Cal breathed a sigh of relief when the last guests went away. They hadn’t been able to have a single drink in the time they had been there, which was a problem in Cal’s mind. They rolled their head, working out the kinks in their neck as they spied a waitress walking by with a tray full of fizzy pink drinks. Cal felt themself smirk as they weaved around the crowd for their prize.

They lost her in the crowd, pushed out of the way by a dancing couple, who apologized profusely, but got them nowhere closer to their cocktail of inhibition. Defeated, they returned to their family, eyes focusing on a shadow behind Roman, gasping as realization struck them.

An old woman had snuck up behind the Vasryian, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Cal felt for their blade, going numb when they remembered there had been a strict no weapons rule for the coronation’s ceremony and reception. They opened their mouth to warn the royal when the woman suddenly hugged him, squealing.

“Oh, Roman! You’ve grown!” Roman shrieked in surprise, though the offending noise quickly turned to laughter as he recognized the old lady.

“Grandma!” he cried with delight as he returned the hug. “Sweet Calypso, I thought… I thought Draven had killed you, too!”

“Oh, my God, Roman has a grandmother,” Virgil muttered as Logan side-eyed him a silent warning to behave properly.

“My darling, I may be a Prionsa in name only, but we have the same fighting spirit. I promised I would not fall to that man,” the woman said with a fierce glint in her eyes. Seeing the question in Roman’s eyes, she continued. “Your grandfather did not die at that man’s hands. We hid with my sister on Dageron. He passed on to the heavens peacefully in his sleep some years ago and reunited with Duchess Haaija.” The woman’s eyes grew sad. “You must forgive me, my dear Roman. I’ve held off his funeral in hopes that you and Patton were alive as the guards told me. I thought Iske would like it, if you were there.”

Roman’s eyes were filled with tears. “I… I don’t know what to say…” He hugged his grandmother tighter, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Thank you.” The woman outstretched an arm to Patton, who quickly accepted the offer, hugging both of them.

“From what I researched—” Logan quietly explained to Virgil and Cal, “—Lady Kalopsia married the father of Roman’s mother. His mother’s sister adopted Patton, making him and Roman cousins. It seems all three of them consider each other family despite having no blood relation, like us.”

Cal chuckled. “Yeah… yeah, like us.”

Roman and Patton pulled away with damp eyes, Roman wiping away the streams down his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Well, you boys go back to the party, alright? Don’t let an old woman like me stop you from having fun. It’s your coronation day, you should be celebrating!” the old crone said as she pushed her grandsons back towards the festivities.

“Okay, Grandmama!” Patton acquiesced as he hugged her goodbye. She disappeared into the crowd, just another face among hundreds. Cal watched her go with narrow eyes, truthfully quite jealous of the boys.

“You good, guys?” Virgil asked, eyebrows upturned in concern. Roman nodded, took Virgil’s hand, and squeezed it, nodding. Roman’s eyes darted up at the crowd, scanning the faces. His eyes lit up with recognition.

“Vespera!” Roman cried as he noticed a woman pulling a young girl. The woman looked up and broke into a smile as she saw Roman, drawing near despite the girl’s whines. “How are you, dear? It’s been too long,” he greeted as he drew the mysterious woman into a tight hug.

“It has,” the woman agreed. “I’m doing wonderful, thank you for asking. A little worn out caring for my daughter, Annamer,” she sighed, gesturing to the little girl, who hid behind her mother’s legs as she studied the strangers, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Vespera paused, smile falling. “Did you hear? He tried to invade Dageron during our Festival of Dying Suns.” Roman gasped, shaking his head. “The damn fool thought his petty army stood a chance against ou mages.” The silence grew as all traces of joy disappeared from the Dageronian’s face. “I never thought I’d see you again. Draven told us you had died alongside your parents in a fire at your summer cottage. When I received notice that you to be crowned king, I almost didn’t believe it. It was quite a shock.”

“Well, here I am, alive and well… I… can’t saw the same for my parents, however.” Roman’s voice broke at the end, his shoulders tensing. Vespera placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“They would be very proud of you, Roman. I am very proud of you.” Roman smiled bittersweetly, bowing his head. The woman noticed someone in the crowd and called to them. “Samuel, could you please take Annamer? I think she’s getting cranky, and you can handle her better than I can when she gets testy.” A man quickly came to Vespera, kissing her on the cheek, and took the little girl’s hand, guiding her out of the ballroom.

Roman seemed to recall his friends were waiting to be introduced to this enigmatic lady and corrected his error. “Vespera, I’d like you to meet the people who helped me throughout my years as an outlaw and who’ve become family to me.”

“Hello to you all,” Vespera acknowledged, curtsying.

“You already know Patton,” he said as Patton waved, smiling at the old friend. “This is Logan, the brilliant man who always planned our exploits… even if I never really followed his instructions.” Logan huffed jovially and he bowed his head to Vespera, who curtsied again. “This is Cal, our bold but loveable gunner and leader. They’re the one who inspired us all to take a stand against Draven in the first place.”

“You’re wings are absolutely gorgeous, my dear,” Vespera commented as she shook Cal’s outstretched hand, her glittering eyes tracing every curve of their wings. Cal gave a curt nod in thanks. “And… who are you?” she asked Virgil, who was staring at the floor, uncomfortable with the attention.

“I’m Vee,” he mumbled under his breath, shuffling his feet. “I’m Roman’s emaja.” Vespera smiled.

“I’m Vespera Katriel.” She glanced at Roman, who nodded, gesturing for her to continue. “I… was Roman’s betrothed, once upon a time.” She laughed at Virgil’s surprise and apprehension. “You don’t have to worry, dear. I have my own husband, who I love as much as I’m sure you love yours.”

“Oh! Oh, we’re not—we’re not married,” Virgil blurted, his face coloring as Vespera hid a snicker behind her hand.

“Yet,” Logan muttered as Roman’s cheeks turned the same shade as Virgil, who turned in disbelief and smacked his shoulder. Cal snorted loudly, encouraging Vespera to laugh as well. Virgil opened his mouth to spit some witty retort at Logan, when a loud voice interrupted them.

“Ladies and gentlemen—” Cal bristled, “—we now invite you all to dance at the center of the room. First, however, the king shall perform the ceremonial coronation dance,” the voice announced. Roman cursed quietly.

“I was never any good at that,” he grumbled as he headed to the center of the ballroom.

“Vee, you might want to get a good place for this,” Vespera advised, already taking him by the arm and leading him as he spluttered, confused. Never one to miss out on a spectacle, Cal quickly claimed their own spot in the front. Roman was in the center of the circle the crowd had created, head bowed as the multitude hushed, allowing the music to trickle through, a soft piano accompanied by a mellow violin.

Roman’s eyes were closed as he began to move. He lifted an arm in the air, graceful as the winter winds as he swayed back and forth like a hesitant heart to the music. Roman was nothing less than the evanescent efflorescence of a flower blooming in the dark, a symbol of hope in a boundless void as he danced, spinning and twirling and bending to the will of the melody. Not a soul could drag their eyes away for one second as he danced, some even crying as they watched their long-lost king dance to a tune mournful but proud, bittersweet but hopeful. As the final note ebbed away to a time of what-ifs and yesterdays, Cal, like many others, found themself moved to applause as Roman, grinning despite the flush across his cheeks, bowed deeply.

“My dear People, friends, and family, I thank you all for celebrating today in my honor. Please, join me in dance and revelry,” Roman announced as the musicians in the back corner stage struck up a jolly tune, one apparently familiar to the Vasryian people who gasped and clapped with recognition and overtook the ballroom in a frenzied, energetic dance. Cal stepped back, bopping their head to the beat as Roman went to Virgil, bowing with his hand outstretched. Though they could not hear the words exchanged between the two, Roman must have delivered another one of his cheesy romantic lines, for Virgil’s face went red and he smacked Roman’s arms despite grinning like the lovesick idiot he was and gladly following Roman to the center as Logan took Patton’s hands and led him in a small waltz and the Drisine laughed, his smile bright as the stars.

They watched the dancing for a while until they got bored of ogling all the pretty dresses flashing by them in whirls of hues, and retreated to wall, where like-minded people were resting on one of the benches or were simply plastered against the wall in what Cal assumed was a failing attempt to be invisible. They hung out by a vase, the aroma of the flowers nearly overwhelming as they closed their eyes, letting their mind fill with the sound of the piano’s crescendos and diminuendos.

“Ya seem bored.” Cal was unsurprised at the sound of the mechanic’s voice. They opened their eyes to see her standing in front of them, her waistcoat from earlier gone and two buttons of her top undone. Her face was painted with a faint flush as she nursed an empty wine glass, depositing it on a tray as soon as a waiter got close enough. “Wanna chase away the dog and tell me what this angel hoo diddy is all about?” she asked, gesturing to Cal’s wings. Cal’s face flushed as they laughed awkwardly.

“Well, I’ve only had them for about a month, so… I don’t really know what’s really going on.” They shrugged, trying to shake off the embarrassment growing in their chest. “I’m, um… not, not what you said… I’m not ‘an angel’. I think.”

“What are ya, then?” Wonderling smirked. “Besides a kick-ass fighter, I mean.”

“Logan said I… transformed or something when I touched the Gazer Stone. Apparently, I’m a Stargazer.” Wonderling tilted her head, confused. “You know… the mythical beings who protect the legacy of Calypso and her Generals? ‘Daughters of Calypso and sons of the Guardian’ and all that?” Wonderling shook her head. “It’s—it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about.”

“Hey, Wonder, I’s wond’rin’ when I’d sees ya!” a man called as he came up from behind them, a pretty young woman’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as he dragged her limp body across the floor. “Ada found the apple jack again. I got’s ‘er a cup of Adam’s ale, but I thinks she just needs a dream before she airs the paunch. Ya thinks ya could give a horse?”

“Allers, Rowan.” Wonderling took a step forward, taking one arm of the woman and slinging around her own shoulder. “Hey—Rowan, ya never met Cal, have ya? C’mere, I’ll get y’all acquainted with one another. Rowan—Rowan, stick ya hand out, this ain’t Legion!” The man—Rowan—grumbled, but stuck out his hand in a friendly greeting. “Now, Rowan, this is Cal, a friend of the troublemaker boys, though Cal’s much more manageable than the rest of them, battling ancient evils aside.” Cal nodded curtly, firmly shaking Rowan’s almond-colored hand. “And, Cal, this is Rowan, my best friend’s brother—”

“Hey, I’m yer best friend, too!”

“Only sometimes, Rowan, sweetie.” Cal hid a giggle behind a cough. “Now, let’s get Ada to bed, how ‘bout it?” Wonderling heaved Ada’s dead weight back onto her, shifting her limp head into a more comfortable position. The mechanic paused, and turned back to Cal. “I wouldn’t wait up for me, Cal. Ada can be a bit much to handle when she’s whittled. Tell the boys I said good night, will ya?”

“...sure.” Wonderling smiled and thanked them, and started off with Rowan, moving slowly to keep the sleeping woman upright. Cal felt something akin to disappointment settle in their stomach. The mechanic was a beautiful, kind woman, but she had a job—two, actually, two that probably kept her very busy. This was very likely one of the last times Cal would be able to see her, talk freely with her. Unless they did something about it. “Miss—Miss Wonderling?” The mechanic turned around, eyebrows raised. “Would you, um…” Sweet Calypso, it felt like their face was on fire. “...would you like to… to share a glass sometime? I—I know you’re probably very busy and all, but I—”

“Cal?” They fell silent unhesitatingly, eager to hear their response. She grinned, radiating joy and warmth. “I would love to.” With that, she resumed her assistance again, Rowan and Wonderling continued to guide the unconscious woman to the room where she was staying. Cal sat themself down on a nearby chair, an unbelieving smile on their face.

Patton came running up to them, his excitement almost touchable. “Cal! Are you enjoying the party?” He quickly downed a tall flute filled with something golden, his cheeks flushing with colors and his eyes glazing just a little bit more as soon as he swallowed the sparkling liquid. “Whoo, that’s strong,” he mumbled. “Are you having fun? I said that before, haven’t I?”

Cal laughed, taking Patton’s glass and setting it on the tray of a passing waiter. “No more good shit for you, Patton,” they snickered as he pouted, whining at the loss of his liquid oblivion. “And, yeah, I am having fun. It’s been one of the best nights of my life.” They smiled, noticing Roman and Virgil in the center of the room, beneath golden chandelier burning bright with the flames of a thousand candles, their eyes locked as they danced slowly across the floor. “Looks like they’re having fun,” they noted, jutting their head at the lovers.

Patton smiled softly as he at last sat down next to them, though still extremely energetic, swinging his feet like a child and giggling and hiccuping uncontrollably at random intervals. “Yeah. I’m really happy for them, Cal. Roman and Virgil have both been through so much… they really deserve someone who loves them.”

“Well, we love them both, right?”

“We do, but…” Patton’s voice grew a tad more serious, despite his eyelids starting to flutter. “They need someone who will devote their whole being to them. They need something other than friends. I might be fine with family, or people who become like family to us, but Roman, and Virgil, and a lot of other people need someone to hold them and empathize with them and kiss them and love them in a different way. I still don’t really understand it—maybe that’s because I grew up away from my kind—but I’m starting to learn.” Patton’s eyes closed as he leaned against Cal, breathing deeper and slower with each inhale. “I’m really happy for them,” he whispered again as his breathing evened out, eyes staying shut.

“Patton, if you’re— Oh, well, that’s… alright, let’s get you to bed,” they mumbled as they got up, holding the shapeshifter upright. They tried to lift him up, struggling. Cal let out a defeated sigh. “...I guess we could stay here for a few minutes…” they conceded as they sat back down, maneuvering the Drisine into a much more comfortable position against their shoulder.

They saw Logan walk by a couple minutes later and called him over so at least they’d have company to conversate with. “What happened to Patton?” he asked, sitting on Patton’s left.

“He got a little too tipsy, he’ll be fine by the morning.” They chuckled, shaking their head as they thought back on misadventures they had had while drunk. The last time they had had a drink had been at Sleeping Stars. So much had come from that little glass. They spied a waiter passing by and snatched a drink from the tray, downing it in one gulp. At Logan’s raised eyebrow, they teased, “What? Last time I drank enough to actually have courage we ended up dethroning a bastard and making Roman a king. Who knows what will happen this time?” Logan snorted, eyes going wide as he realized the sound he had just made was a laugh.

Pointing a finger at Cal in an attempt to seem serious, Logan threatened, “If the fact that I just laughed ever makes it way back to Patton, I’ll never let you drink again.” Cal giggled, already feeling the effects of whatever they had just swallowed.

“Sure, sure.” A thought struck them. “Hey, how much has Virgil had? He’s not good with alcohol either, right?”

“You’re correct, though I’m surprised you remember that, Cal,” he replied with a hint of admiration.

“Got to look out for my friends, don’t I?” they contemplated. “Calypso knows where I’d be without you all. Probably would’ve thrown myself into space to fill the black hole inside of me… though I think you guys have done a pretty good job yourselves.” The scholar grinned.

Logan fell silent, his gaze on the sleeping Drisine. “Who knows where I’d be…” he mulled. “I would still be back home, working with the Guild. I might have actually reprogrammed myself…” He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Look how far we’ve come.”

They let themselves bask in the comfortable silence, needing no words to speak their friendship. Cal almost fell asleep to Patton’s subtle breathing, his chest rising and falling in time with the music that danced and spun and twirled through the hallways. Their eyes were closed, the darkness behind their eyelids no longer cold and distant, but alive and warm like a summer’s night spent exploring fields of fireflies.

Cal heard the tread of footsteps approach them and opened their drowsy eyes. Roman and Virgil were standing above them. “Sorry, Cal, did we wake you?” Virgil asked.

“Nah, I was just… resting my eyes…”

“...Whatever you say, Cal,” Virgil snickered. “It’s suffocating in here, how about we move into the gardens?” Cal nodded, wordlessly standing up, Logan helping them to bring a sleeping Patton to his feet. “Want me to bring him to his room?” Virgil offered.

Cal waved it off, saying, “It’s fine, I’ll just sit him down on a bench outside. Wouldn’t want you to miss a second of your lover’s coronation party.” Virgil blushed, swatting Cal’s arm playfully.

The five went outside, where only a few guests milled about in the shadows. Fairy lights decorated the silhouettes of trees, each little spark a different color. It was dark out, stars creeping out of their daylight sleep to shimmer dazzlingly, painting the heavens with life. The shadows of roses and weeping trees seemed to move in the low light, their spirits laughing together and dancing in the firelight of the moon.

“I’ll miss living among the stars,” Roman whispered, wrapping an arm around Virgil’s side, pulling him close.

“I’m really going to miss our days of swashbuckling outlawing,” Virgil mused, resting his head on the royal’s collarbone. “I suppose Vasryia has laws against stealing goods and fighting every asshole you come across?” he asked Roman.

“Fortunately, yes, we do,” he laughed. “Though, I certainly agree, I will miss having complete and utter freedom from responsibilities and consequences and whatnot. But, who knows? Maybe we’ll have some adventures with time.”

“Oh, please,” Cal snorted with merriment. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be on another adventure before we even know it.” For a moonlit moment, their eyes glowed silver as the clouds, perhaps just a reflection of the lights strung about the gardens, or perhaps but an auspice. “I just hope you’ll be willing to listen.”

Translation of the Vasryian language:

“Eh saeuna fa eh saegha iwa oen na ise Cayso, kirō e talhyn viosa i fa fērka-dai e gal. Mae na Garda yaesen na alma reaga eh noma sha da eh uoye haseo fai na sasha de eh Vasr.” (“My love for my country shall be as high as the heart of Calypso, which I promise to live in for every day I breathe. May the generals rip the soul out of my body if ever my eyes stray from the good of my People.”)

“E reja na alma Cayso!” “E reja na alma Garda! E reja na alma Saeona!” (“I invoke the spirit of Calypso!” “I invoke the spirit of the Generals! I invoke the spirit of the Guardian!”)

“E sa tu ren!” (“I am your king!”)

“E fauna tu hanna fai na meoso de na alda fa na saeuna agus talta tu chaka yai e na saga lune sa cayse de na fin de na ren-vio de eh babusha venna. E talhyn dorioga ferka sahaga e dan iga na alma Cayso-dai, agus e heuyo kaeh ser tu, eh Vasr, ina baego fa eh itda. Ingan vas irheo bakdan o vas irheo pasha, ingan vas kona o vas kana, ingan vas saeuna o vas fuath, e talhyn tu vas nunra vasya, na Vasr de Vasryia.” (“I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you have shown me this past month in light of the end of tyrannical reign of my late uncle. I promise to uphold every oath I took before the spirit of the heavens, and I swear to always put you, my People, in the forefront of my mind. Whether we face hardship or we face peace, whether we rise or we fall, whether we love or we hate, I promise to you we shall do it together, as the people of Vasryia.”)

“Ekka sona?” (“What’s this?”)

“E eayo tu seongu na basta taeya. Madda seun tu kkayeong vas. Haepsu.” (“I saw you fight a big black monster. Mistress says you saved us. Thank you.”)

“Tu sa eh laoch.” (“You’re my hero.”)

“Oi! Ekka alta?” (“Hey! What’s your name?”)

“Kit!” (“Kit!”)

and just like that, a legend ends

ha, who am i kidding? Starbound has closed it covers, and I couldn’t be more happy! Over a year and a half was devoted to this brainchild of mine, and I’m ecstatic to have finally finished and been able to have shared it with you all!

I’ll be honest with you all, I am seriously considering trying to publish Starbound. Naturally, it would be heavily revised (and most of it would probably be deleted but oh well) and all the names would be changed. What do you guys think? Should I try to get Starbound published?

To end, thank you. Even if you only read the original post with the headcanons, or if you’ve read every single chapter. Thank you. You’re interactions and enthusiasm are the reasons I kept writing. If it were any other story, I would have abandoned it within two chapters and moved on to another story that would also end up discarded. But you guys kept me going, and now I can proudly state that I’ve finished a novel. So, despite the fact that I always say this, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you guys! <3

tag list:

@asofterfan

@alix-the-skeleton

@hufflepuffsscrewdriver

@v-blue-writer

@sanderssidesstuff

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fabrowrites · 6 years ago

Text

White

Quick ficlet that's been running around in my head for a while. Cross posted on ffn.net.

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Gene's wings blend in perfectly with the dark colors of Darkley's School for Bad Boys. "My parents are high-ranking members of a biker gang," he brags. The proof is there for everyone to see, too. Green and charcoal splatter across the top of his coverts, joined by the little patches of color from his large circle of adopted aunts and uncles and cousins.

Brad's wings have bright silver tips and when his mom brings him a care package, the same bright silver gleams from the soul-feathers mostly hidden near her back. "I never knew my father," he tells Lloyd one night, in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Haha, see? No indigo anywhere here." He unfurls his wings and spins, and the only other color on his feathers is Lloyd's own.

Even Finn, the magician's kid, has acid green feathers scattered throughout his white primaries and secondaries. They glow when he's angry; he says it's a side effect of being created from pure magic. Lloyd doesn't have a problem with that, not really. But the fact remains that even the kid magically spawned on some isolated island has a heart-color brightening his feathers.

And Lloyd? Lloyd's wings are as white as the day he was born. There's not a splotch of heart-color anywhere on them, and he's checked, too, every night before he goes to sleep. White wings are the worst kind. They announce to the whole wide world that nobody has ever loved him: no, not his mom, not his dad, not the friends he's grown up with since forever.

Oh, he remembers his mom. He remembers the wings speckled with gold and purple, folding around him in a gesture of safe. The same wings betraying him, leaving him alone and abandoned on the doorstep of Darkley's. The olive green heart-color never appearing on his own wings, no matter how many times he looked in a mirror.

He doesn't remember his dad. He knows that he left before he was born and that he was the one to paint his mom's feathers in purple. But there's no face to go along with this knowledge- only rumors, stories, and gossip.

It doesn't bother him. Really. If he just ignores the ache in his heart and the repulsed yet pitying looks of his teachers, he can get through his day just fine. Darkley's, however bad it might be, is way better than the outside world.

That's what he thinks for a while, at least. But it can't go on forever, and something inside him snaps as Finn taunts him one too many times over his lack of presents on his birthday. Who needs love when you can have fear instead? he thinks, as he seizes a cloak on his flight out of the building. He slips the fabric over his blank wings, blanketing them in the darkest color there is.

The kids at Darkley's usually have just the one or two heart-colors from their parents. Lloyd's not prepared for the sheer amount of color that almost everyone has on their wings. He wanders, wide-eyed, for several hours in the village outside his school. Then his head kicks in and he shoves his heart aside. He's out here for a reason. He's gonna be the greatest villain in Ninjago ever, and then, people will stare at him for something far better than his white wings.

The plan is perfect in his head. The execution, well, not so much. Four ninja drop from the sky and carry him off, kicking and screaming, to their flying ship. Oh, he hates it at first. But the ninja slowly win him over and he starts to think of them as not friends, not yet, but not enemies either.

Kai's flight feathers are painted in gold and blue, but most striking is the large patch of dark red feathers that cover his entire mantle and stretch out to most of his outer coverts. Lloyd doesn't know much about winglore, but Kai tells him that the mantle feathers often represent the protector. The rest of his coverts are specked with a rainbow of colors, but the largest three sections are the colors of the other ninja.

Jay's upper coverts are colored in gray and pale blue. Lloyd catches flashes of color on his inner wings when he's training, but the lightning ninja moves too fast for him to clearly see. The feathers near his left alula are tinted in a maroon that darkens with each passing day and creeps down farther and farther- the same color as the feathers on Kai's back. Cole's, Kai's, and Zane's colors tint the edge of his flight feathers, climbing higher every time Lloyd sees them.

Cole's feathers are dyed in a rich gold and a faded orange, each covering a piece of his wingtips. "The orange used to be brighter than this," Lloyd overhears him telling Jay one night, as he sneaks into the kitchen for a midnight snack. "But she, well, you know. I guess that's why it's my favorite color." Jay's heart-color- a brilliant blue- is the largest of the ninja's colors on his coverts, but the others shine brightly too.

Nya's wings are tapered, built for speed. The secondaries on each side of her back are colored in the same gold and blue on Kai's, and a burnt orange color spreads across her mantle and creeps down to blend with the others. Many spots of different colors speckle her wings, but the biggest of them is the same color as Jay's that takes up a whole four feathers on her coverts.

Like Lloyd, Zane's feathers are almost completely white. A sea green colors the secondaries of his right wing, but slowly spreading across his wingtips are the colors of the other ninja. Something about the ice ninja draws Lloyd to him. They sit together in the crow's nest for hours at end, Lloyd talking and Zane listening, and something clicks into place for him. It isn't long before Lloyd sees his own green appear on his alula.

And Lloyd checks his wings every night, when he's alone, and he doesn't have to hide. And every night he's met with the same image- blank wings meeting his blank stare that doesn't, can't understand what's so unloveable about him that he still has no heart-colors.

He looses his cloak when the serpentine capture him. It's unnerving. He been with it so long that he feels naked and vulnerable without it's weight, but the snakes seem not to know or care about the human's winglore. Cramped within the metal cage, his wings grow dusty and ragged. Broken feathers hang from their shafts, bent at odd angles where they get stuck between the bars of his cage. His skin itches much the same way it did when he had to get out of Darkley's, but this time it's much worse and worst of all, there's no escape he can see for him anytime soon.

Lloyd's not sure what to think when he sees the dark man inside the Fire Temple. The tingling in his coverts surges as they lock eyes, and Lloyd is left gasping, but the moment passes and he's tugged away as Pythor tries to flee the volcano.

The man chases after them. He throws snake after snake over the edge into the lava. He fights whole groups of them at a time, winning every match. His eyes never leave Lloyd. Lloyd's throat feels dry. Is this-?

But his thought never gets to finish. Pythor jerks the cage on its hook and the door flies open and Lloyd falls.

He screams. His wings flare, but they are too damaged, too weak from the long term of disuse to be helpful. He crashes into rock.

He's not sure how long he stays that way, only that suddenly a presence is at his side and helping him to his feet. Lloyd stands up and it's Kai, face flushed and hair spikes dropping into his face and the gold on his wings arching in a protective stance above him reflecting the glowing magma below.

They escape somehow. Lloyd doesn't know how. But they're back on the flying ship and Kai is getting congratulated by the ninja and the dark man is still watching him. Lloyd gulps. He's been waiting for this moment all his life, but now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do.

"Hello."

The room goes silent. The dark man still watches him. Lloyd takes a breath and starts again.

"Are you my father?"

He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be. Or, at least, he doesn't think he does. But when the dark man nods, slowly, like he isn't sure himself, something breaks inside Lloyd and he covers the distance between the two of them and flings his arms around his waist. Garmadon stiffens. Lloyd feels tears breaking at the corners of his eyes.

"Why?" he whispers, and in that one question there hide so many more. Fingers card through his hair. Lloyd chokes on his sob.

"I'm sorry, Lloyd," Garmadon says, and like the question before, it holds more words than were spoken. His voice is low and rough. It's just how Lloyd imagined it.

"Lloyd," he says again, "I've missed so much. I did not know I had a son, but now that I have you, I am never letting go." Crimson eyes stare into crimson. And Lloyd feels the same shiver from earlier crawling down his spine.

He breaks away abruptly. Is this-? He hardly dares to hope. Not caring what anyone else might think, he stretches out his wings, displaying the vulnerable inner feathers, and brings them around so he can see. Lloyd scrubs at his wing. The soot falls off, the dust and the ashes, and there.

His fingers stutter over the inner coverts of his left wing, over the deep purple coloring the unkempt feathers. His mouth opens; no words come out. Something taps his shoulder; he looks around to see Kai.

"Over here, silly. I know you must have felt it earlier, and I've gotta say, you couldn't ask for a better mantle cover." He grins, easy and cocky but there's something else in his eyes, something more vulnerable.

Lloyd twists his neck. There, just out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of burnt orange. His heart definitively skips a beat this time. Two heart-colors in one day, after a lifetime of no color. He keeps staring, looking back and forth between the two.

"You're acting like you've never seen a heart-color before," scoffs Kai. He's scuffing the toe of his boot against the deck floor.

Lloyd only nods dumbly.

Kai's face morphs into poorly disguised horror. "Wait a minute. What did they do to you at that bad boy's school? They don't paint your wings black, do they?" he asks, like having black wings is the worst thing he can imagine.

Lloyd laughs at that. It's kinda breathless, kinda sardonic, all around astonished.

"No," he says. "No, not black."

#lloyd #jad #wings #wings au #ninjago

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loquaciousquark · 7 years ago

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5th Harvestmere. It is Properly Blustery at last

Sebastian’s singing voice is unfairly beautiful. Went to services this morning (he told us last week at WG he was cantoring) and enjoyed every minute of it. Classical training can only do so much—I proved that myself, to Mother’s consternation—and sometimes you just can’t help but appreciate raw natural talent.

Damn. I was trying not to think about

Varric told us this morning he’d heard a rumor about a ship waylaying a trading vessel out of Rivain last month. The captain was calling herself the Queen of the Eastern Seas.

She hasn’t tried to write me either, so I don’t know why it stings so much. Maybe because I know she could find me if she wished, and she...wishes not to, apparently. And I…

I don’t think the post delivers to Queen of the Eastern Seas. Especially not without a forwarding address.

15th Harvestmere. Chilly enough to break out the ugly sweaters

Orana’s been here a year tomorrow. She thought I’d forgotten—aha, but I hadn’t! Untrusting woman!

Had all her favorites for dinner—light meats, fresh fruit in tartes, and grilled slices of red potatoes in a vinegar sauce. Dessert was a flat chocolate cake thing that Bodahn makes only on very special occasions. Well, if Orana’s not special, I don’t know what is.

I got her a new lute. I don’t know if I should have, but she doesn’t know when she was born, not even the season, and there aren’t nearly enough opportunities the rest of the year for proper gift-giving. Not to mention her old one’s a half size too large for her (accursed merchant), and one of the keys won’t hold its place for tuning. The new one has ivy scrollwork on the neck that made me think of her. Strong at the root, even if the leaves look fragile.

One of Orana’s friends, a woman who helps out in Jean-Luc’s shop, came by for dessert as well, as did Tomwise, and an elf woman I recognized from Lowtown but couldn’t place the name of, and her little daughter. Toby naturally took the girl’s entertainment as his number one priority, which helped, and then all Orana’s friends and Bodahn and Sandal sat around just...having a very lovely conversation.

I hadn’t even realized she knew all these people. Bodahn was the one to invite them all.

I excused myself after a while, just to give them some privacy. I think I made the little girl nervous. I wish I could explain to her I belong with Tomwise a thousand times more than I belong with Lady Forsythe and the glittering errata.

Then again, I’m the one importing strawberries out of season and serving chocolate cake on hand-dyed porcelain. Flames, at this point I wish I could explain it to myself.

Later, almost midnight

Orana came and found me after all her friends had left. She asked if she could play something for me in thanks—I told her the lute was out of my gratitude, not meant to exacerbate hers, but she just gave that little smile that tells me she’s about to do whatever she wishes anyway, so I lit a few candles and she sat next to me at the window.

I don’t know what it was called. It was Tevinter and strange and sad, and she hummed a little in harmony as she went, and I wanted to cry without knowing why.

She said her father had loved that song. She said he and the other cooks used to sing it in groups in Hadriana’s kitchens, but she’s forgotten the words.

I wondered…

Mm. I wondered if Fenris would know the words, and Orana shook her head and smiled and thought it was unlikely, that what she knew of Danarius’s household offered very little of Napocan folk songs.

She said she’d heard of Fenris in Minrathous, that Hadriana talked of him sometimes, and that once Danarius had stopped to see his apprentice and Fenris had come with him. She’d seen him through a crack in a balcony and been frightened by his face.

She hadn’t recognized him at first, that day in the caverns among the iron cages. It hadn’t been until that evening, when he’d come to pace in my foyer, that she’d known him for who he was and who he belonged to. She’d been afraid already, and then I’d come home and Mother had taken her upstairs...

She said Mother had been kind. Even when she’d broken that vase of chrysanthemums—and I’d forgotten about that—Mother had only been patient. She said sometimes that made it worse in the beginning, but she’d understood Mother better by the end.

I burned to ask her if she’d seen Fenris leave that night, but couldn’t bring myself to get the words out. It didn’t matter the answer, anyway—it all would have hurt the same.

Why do happy occasions always make my heart ache the most?

17th Harvestmere. Cold

I forgot my nameday. It was the fifteenth, the same day as Orana’s party. I was so busy planning her day I forgot, and it hadn’t once crossed my mind until Fenris came by this morning.

He had a book. A volume on Aristone’s treatises, annotated by the elvhen mage Daliari, bound in black leather and with a blue ribbon for marking my place.

He said everyone else planned to give me something at cards tonight, but he—implied as obliquely as possible—wasn’t certain if I’d like it and didn’t want me to have to pretend to be pleased if I wasn’t.

I am very pleased.

23rd Harvestmere. Someone piled up leaves from the street right outside my door and Toby has been, in a word, romping

Thinking about Bethany today. Thinking about Varania, too (whether or not she exists), and Karl, Anders’s old lover, and Sebastian’s family, and the way people can leave without warning and that’s--that’s all there is to it, and you’ve only the Maker’s hope you said everything you needed to before it happened.

I keep remembering I never told Mother I liked her hair, the way she’d started wearing it. What a small thing to keep wrapping thorns around my heart.

Aveline mentioned Wesley the other day as well. An offhanded comment, because Fenris stepped in something sticky coming into the Hanged Man and Aveline (apparently) once walked barefoot into a whole cask’s worth of sour beer Wesley had spilled once. I haven’t heard her say his name in years. I wonder if that’s time’s influence, or Donnic’s.

I am infinitely tired of watching the people I love lose.

Satinalia! 1st Firstfall, and I can’t see a thing through this damned mask. Also it’s bitterly cold outside

Merrill’s already pattering through the kitchen (which means I need to get downstairs immediately before I end up with flour all down the stairs again) but a quick note before I go: next time I offer to host Satinalia feasting, don’t let everyone pre-drink at the Hanged Man first.

Later

New inkpen! Finer point than I had, lovely, a black lacquered ironwood courtesy Varric & Merrill, sneaky sneaky. Av gave a little book of hymns with Sebastian who wrote a decida de dedion dedication in the front. Ha! I can spell. I can spell better than most poeple. Except Varric.

Anders forgot it was Sat. Bought drinks for the whole group in apology & two more bottles to bring to my place. Laughed while he did it but didn’t drink & he def. can’t afford it. Memo: large donation next week, anon. Get V to drop it off via runner. Get the urchin with the whistle. Set the whole street awake if he sees a templar lurking

something is banging outside

He liked his scarf, though. Fereldan colors & part of the Anderfels skyline along one hem. Orana’s idea, smart as flames. Too bad he’s pathologically attached to those feathers or I’d have that paper-thin coat out in half a heartbeat

Merrill was trickier but liked the mittens & Av showed her the stitching on the inside, Dalish for heart & memory. I need to be craftier so I can stop leaching gift ideas off everyone else

Maker’s blood & bone this room will not stop spinning

Av, Seb, V & I all went in and got Fen a complete collection of Mader’s works. Historical/slightly fictionalized/encyclopedic thing. Eight volumes. Dry as bones but for flashes of brilliant humor & then you realize he’s just sarcastic as the Void. Plus rather decent Marcher history from Steel Age onward. Not flattering of Tevinter either. Seems perfect for him.

Fancy leather bindings, all in dark leather with rainbow bookmarks. Not all rainbow themselves. The first is red, next orange, etc. F couldn’t carry them all at once so they’re downstairs waiting for multiple trips

What is this banging

[There is no heading for the next section. Instead, there are large, red stains across the side of the page, as if the writer’s hand had not been washed prior to taking up the pen.]

Burn these smugglers! Now I’m drunk and bloody and my ear is cut and Fen is downstairs kipping in the guest because the Crimson We wa Weavers have death wishes & jumped him for coin

Stupid

especially right outside my house, went out and he had all but three down even swaying worse than Gamlen the morning after payday

laughed when I got two down with lightning, & he looked like a masterwork painting since he still had on the elvhen godshead mask. Fen’harel. Lyrium was glowing and made the eyes light from the inside, and his grin was wolfish as anything I’ve ever...

Now there are bodies in my leaves and no one will get them until morning

Damned inconvenient

17th Firstfall. Stairs to Lowtown were iced over today and one of the people who take the palanquins up and down the stairs broke a leg

Varric told me about a mummer’s show last night in Lowtown. He, Aveline, and I went--invited the others but Anders & Merrill were busy and Fenris said he might but never showed.

Varric didn’t tell me it was about me becoming the Champion. Fighting the Arishok, all that. They made him a monster. Grotesque, I mean. His face was purple and scarred and twisted, and I killed him with a sword as tall as Anders.

The audience loved it. They cheered when the Arishok died, and the woman playing me spat on him before kicking his body into the harbor.

I told Varric if I ever read something like this in any of his future books I’d never take him anywhere with me ever again.

20th Firstfall. Ice has melted and now everything’s soggy as spring

Apologized to Varric yesterday. I know he’d never write anything like that mockery, and it wasn’t fair to take my irritation out on him.

It was a ten-copper mummer’s show, and the lead had papier-mâché armor. There’s only so much self-righteous indignation I can manage at one time.

Absolutely sent the company an incensed letter, though. Enjoy ten pages of detailed, annotated corrections, you limp little eels.

30th Firstfall. Snowing lightly today, just enough to make everything slick

Had a letter today. No signature or heading, postmarked Brandel’s Reach. The corner was torn off and the whole thing smelled like salt. “Hope everything’s well there. Still alive. That’s all.”

That’s all.

Six months and that’s all.

19th Haring. Merrill brought a basket of snowdrops and she, Orana, and I covered the great room in garland. Damned lovely

Braeden asked me to marry him. He had a ring made of gold and sapphires and a pair of delicate lace gloves that are too small for me. He said these last months together have shown him I am more than capable of becoming a lasting partner in managing his life and his lands and he’s sure he can make me happy.

I asked him what my favorite color was. He didn’t know.

5th Wintermarch

She died a year ago today.

Fenris came and had dinner with me. We didn’t talk much, and afterwards we went to the library and were quiet there, too. He let me doze on his shoulder when I couldn’t sleep. He left around second bell, when I told him I would go to bed even if I couldn’t manage the dreaming.

Of all the painful anniversaries between us, this one is my least favorite.

21st Wintermarch. I’ve begun needing green -- this winter’s lasting longer than some of Lothering’s, or maybe that’s just because there’s hardly been any snow

I’ve had a terrible cold since Firstday. Orana and Bodahn have kept me bundled in fur & up to my eyes in hot soup and I think I’m finally on the mend. My throat’s so sore I sound like a tenor, though.

Went out to Sundermount last week with Merrill, Varric, and Aveline. We skirted the Dalish camp out there because Merrill didn’t want to speak to Marethari, but I saw her face at the aravel sails peeking over the hills. I’d give a thousand sovs to never see her look like that again.

30th Guardian. Wet and cold and grey and there’s smoke in the winds off the forge down the way

Didn’t mean to leave this so long, but I lost you, journal! Forgot I’d taken you along on a trip up to the farther reaches of the Wounded Coast, and then when I got back I tossed the bag to the side and didn’t think twice about it for a month until Orana started making faces at the smell of iron and brackish seawater. And lo and behold, what should be tucked into the bottom of the bag but a handful of dog biscuits (Toby is thrilled) and you, dear journal, your pages a little worse for the wear but still holding their binding perfectly well.

Naturally, I have nothing to say. The Crimson Weavers have been rooted out from the city and Cullen is now obliged to leave Pelarie’s sister with the family necklace. Something I can check off my list as Champion of this blighted city. Luck dictates I must have one success eventually.

I did have to go by the Gallows the other day to deliver a packet of herbs to Sol. The templars didn’t stare so badly this time, but I know the blonde one with the mutton chops would have killed me if he could. I’m not so far from pitched battle to not recognize death in a man’s eyes.

17th Drakonis. It warmed just for a day as if to tease, then went right back to the chilly damp drizzle. In like a lion, out like a lion, a very wet lion with a soggy mane

I’ve been itching dangerously for a few weeks in the absence of life-threatening peril, so I’ve been taking myself down to Anders’s clinic. It’s cruel to say, but there’s enough death there (and risk of death) to keep my blood at bay, and Anders needs the help besides. There’s a rash of pox going around (ha) and while it’s not too bad for most, the fever can take the very young and very old in a matter of hours.

Anders is getting thin. Reminder: have Orana put some of those turnovers in the basket next time. I’ll fatten him up if I have to tie him to the kitchen chair.

A pair of boys came in to the clinic day before yesterday. Brothers, it looked like, one ten and the other maybe seven or eight. They said they had no one else when I asked. The little one had the pox and was scratching himself to bleeding; the other had the dimpled scars on his neck and arms but no fever left.

I wish I could heal like Anders. He’s so talented at this sort of thing. I can’t even fathom how he can reach inside and feel for the wrongness, then just--pull it out as clean as anything, like separating ink from water in a thin line. Bethany could do that too, when she wasn’t afraid of it. She could sense the source of a cold from across the room and have it halfway to mending in two breaths.

I haven’t the talent like that. Father called me a hammer, once, and he wasn’t wrong, and since Anders was asleep I had to use what I could to heal this boy, which was -- well, me.

He left better than he came in, at least. The fever was gone and the open poxmarks were healed over, but he’ll have scars all down his arms for the rest of his life. Anders would have had him looking fresher than a newborn babe and sent him off with a lolly.

He’ll live. Why am I not satisfied?

1st Cloudreach. Cold

I didn’t want him to just live. I wanted him to be as he was before this sickness touched him, healthy and whole and without the memories of all the pain.

Funny. You’d think I’d have learned by now. If six years of friendship with Fenris has taught me nothing else, the memories make you who you are.

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #we into the break now folks #spoilers: hawke doesn't take it particularly well #super excited about the next part though because i'm a hopeless sap

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cgpsimpromptu-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Psychick (Pt. 1)

By Ben Togut

Snow sugarcoated the towering evergreens. The man lay sprawled on the cool pavement, his limbs twisted beyond recognition, forming an ironic snow angel in the dusted fluff, a pained expression on his ghostly face. The Shell gas station sign flickered above the words “never forget” spelled out in a gasoline rainbow semicircle around the body.

I never expected him to come. I never expected the friendly creaking of the bright orange door to awaken me from my morning daze. I thought I’d sit on a coy, oak stool near the window, my pale face pressed against the frozen glass, the dark clouds forming an eerie halo over the sleeping city. I had just started unpacking after returning from my three month tour of India, teaching ESL and making underprivileged children feel like they’re worth something. A wispy voice whispers my name Vera in my ear like a distant lullaby I had once known. I spin around but no one is there. Must be the wind, I think. Must be the soft welcoming of the tiger we call morning, purring, inviting you into that indigo crescent of silence known as peace. I continue nibbling at my bland, lumpy oatmeal, unperturbed. Hughes, an Abyssinian cat I’d adopted from Chennai, purrs, curling his velvety body against my bare leg. I haven’t taken the poison in ten days. I’m ready. I pace to the bathroom, and flinging open my medicine cabinet, slam down the remaining three bottles of Zyprexa onto the countertop. Opening the lid to the toilet, I waterfall the pills into the bowl, each falling with a soft thunking sound. “Bye bye,” I wave as the toilet swallows my last remaining chance at sanity. I grab the wrinkled note off of the coffee table and find Hughes’ favorite blue-tinged magenta pashmina underneath the expensive meerkat rug in the living room, wrapping it around his shivering skin. I can feel his walnut sized heart beat through the thin fabric as I walk out the door, leaving Hughes ensconced in his little nook where the wall meets the forest green Steinway piano before tapering into the claret walls of the hallway.

I live in the beating heart of Seattle, where the brisk ocean breezes fuse with musky pine cones, making a mélange of salty, wasted tears that fall in the unrelenting torrents of mid-October rain. Leaves of many colors, crimson, pumpkin, purple, casually coast to the ground, making a crunch squeak crunch against my beige UGGs as I clumsily fumble with my oversized velvet purse for the heck of it. Something my psychiatrist suggested was to keep myself occupied. Then again, my psychiatrist is a bald, oval headed man named Carl who always wears hideous maroon sweaters from the Gap. He thinks that “kick-ass brunette, schizophrenic, aspiring playwright, ” is an “unwise and detrimental personal description on your résumé,” but I disagree. I think it’s brilliant.

The rusted brick building is hugged by dead ribs of ivy and moss. Above the rotting rainbow wood door hangs an askew, pipe-cleaner sign that reads Saving Yourself from Yourself. I stare at the man who calls himself Devon, with the misshapen, closely cropped cherry mohawk. He leads me into the mismatched corridor of aubergine and peach and into the room of bleached concrete. People of varying degrees of chaos sit on dark bean bag chairs, sipping steaming beverages out of styrofoam cups. The calm one, Orion, sits in the center, raven hair elegantly framing his piercing emerald eyes.

“Welcome, welcome,” Orion projects. He then goes into a recap of last week, hands whirling around each other, a clumsy windmill. “Janice,” gesturing to a wrinkled women with dirty, blond hair, “overcame her fear of… Goldfish?”

“No, no, NO ya silly! Trail mix,” she screams; “TRAIL MIX!” she shrieks with more intensity, a witch burning at the stake.

“Chill out,” Orion responds, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Chill out…? Chill out…! Ok, ok. I’ll chill out when you stop patronizing me. You’re not my dad. I run the show, mister! I don’t need some teddy bear to cuddle…” With a crazed but collected look in her deep, sea blue eyes she jerks her head to the left, a glass doll with a broken neck, and begins talking as if to a small child. “I don’t need some low-class, wannabe therapist to tell me how to live my life. My psychosis is a beautiful thing, and who do you think you are, in your right mind, to try to take that away from me. Huh? HUH?!” Janice clutches a fistful of his shirt, squeezing with such intensity her inflamed knuckles turn a ghastly shade of white. With the other hand, she traces the outline of Orion’s olive features, gliding in circles around his prominent jawbone, where the hints of dark stubble have begun to creep along his face like a spider.

Orion maintains a serene expression, and staring straight into her poisonous glare, retorts, “Take your paws off of me and get out.”

“Fine. FINE! Henry,” she shouts into space, “you can come out now. It’s time to go.” A prickly silence envelops the room.

“Leave now.”

“I’m looking for my son. I’m looking for my son. I’M LOOKING FOR MY SON!”

“Well, keep looking. The door is that way.”

Janice briskly strides across the room in four paces before whipping her head around from behind the door. She opens her mouth, but is silent. The look of a puzzled monkey comes across her face and she deftly shapes her fingers into small circles over her eyes, before ducking out of the room.

Silence is a funny thing. Not the absence of noise, but the stillness of being: when thought thins out into a fine layer of steam, reducing to the nervous grinding of gears, before ceasing to exist. Silence haunts you, a specter caressing your face with the back of its hand, invisible, but you almost shiver from its presence. Not me. Never. Silence is my soul mate, as I drape myself across my white-feathered ottoman, holding my hand as I stare at the peeling navy paint of my ceiling. A leak in one of its corners has caused a single drop of water to continuously drip, turning the carpet soggy. Its constant, pendulous motion almost hypnotizes me. Drip. Drop. Drip. My eyes become heavy and start to flutter.

Flashes of black and white blur before me, rapid at first, animated cartoonish legs pinwheeling across a blinding surface, slowing down to the clicking of a film reel in an antique projector. Click. Click. Vera. The voice nears me, encroaching on the most distant corners of my mind. I try to move away from this devil, this monster, but my legs are suspending in time, swimming in syrup. My eyelids soar open, eyes transfixed on my rusting red alarm clock, registering 4:15 , before locking shut. Vera. Open. 4:28. Shut. Vera. Open. 5:00. Shut. Vera. Click click click. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Click click click click click. My body is paralyzed in an awkward fetal position, only my fingers in motion skittering across the couch, whose once soft fabric pricks my skin. A cool sweat breaks out across my body. I jerk my head against the solid arm of the couch, pain blossoming from my head as I feel it smack into a substance with the metallic consistency of monkey bars. Finally, after what feels like centuries, I wake up. The alarm clock reads 9:00. Shit, I’m already an hour late for work.

I’ve worked at Dripping Hand Candles for six months now, named after our logo, a hand holding a candle with wax that drips down from the bottom and envelopes the hand. Approaching the store, I can already spot the manager, Phil, a man with faded paper white skin and stringy blond hair, glaring at me. The bell fixed to the top of the door jingles as I enter. Phil sets down a dark blue candle before coming towards me.

“Vera-”

“Chuck, I’m sorry-”

“It’s Phil.”

“Right, Phil, I’m sorry. This won’t happen again. I think my alarm clock is broken or something-”

“Vera, I am tired of you making excuses. It’s the third time this week that you’re more than an hour late.”

“I-”

“Sorry won’t cut it. Go in the back and help Regine with the candle puns.”

I step out of the aromatic store and into the brisk night air, my light, maroon sweater doing nothing to shelter me from the wind-chill. Vera. I turn around, but nobody is there. I keep walking, thinking my mind is just playing tricks on me like it always does. Vera, you know I’m here. Don’t deny it. I start walking faster, covering my ears with the palms of my hands to stop the noise. Vera. Don’t be silly. You know you can’t shut me up. I start screaming, screaming for him to stop talking, but he won’t, he never will. I frantically take my boots off, leaving them on the ground, and barefoot, I start to run. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care, as long as it’s away from him. I run from bright yellow taxis and angry mobs that don’t exist. I run from dirty old men and beech trees and shrieking babies and black cats, but it’s no use. You can’t run away from me. My head smacks into a black telephone pole, and my body violently jerks backward towards the ground.

#btogut #serial #psychick

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